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April 9th 1917-Arras, France (cont.)

"Lady-like Lizzie. What's up?" Philadelphia came into the communications niche yawning widely.

"What irritates me is that I am not doing anything and yet I am not permitted to fall asleep." Elizabeth yawned again.

"Poor Lizzie." Philadelphia pulled a miserable face. "You know Lizzie, I feel certain that weariness is not what ails you......Hmm, shall we consider that a large sized Major would fix up your problem?"

"He is not a Major Delphi, and you are a total clutter-wit." Elizabeth rolled her eyes in mock disgust.

"Oh isn't he? Well that is of little matter, the fact remains Lizzie that I feel certain....." Philadelphia was prevented in continuing her teasing by the muted jangling of the telephone.

"Base Hospital 23." Elizabeth grimaced at Philadelphia, who responded with a grin and a mocking curtsey before she withdrew.

"Oh sorry....do you have a Lieutenant Florington-Smythe there?"

"I'm afraid that is classified information." Elizabeth rolled her eyes in annoyance.

"I do appologise Sister. Major Miles Holloway, 14th Hertfordshire Battalion. The enquiry is for important reasons, we are infact trying to track down a Captain Ashington-Frankston from Squadron 284. We were informed by his C.O. that he was headed out here and I was trying to ascertain whether he had been and gone, was currently there, or has yet to arrive."

"If you will wait for a minute I will see if anyone has seen or heard of him." Elizabeth took a look up the corridor and waved Philadelphia back.

"What's up?"

"Major Holloway wishes to know if Captain Ashington-Frankston has been here yet?"

"Dark-haired chap, scarred chin and one of those hideous Flying Corps jackets?" Philadelphia quirked an eyebrow.

"I really couldn't say....just go find out." Elizabeth rolled her eyes as Philadelphia dodged off down the corridor. "Major Holloway Sir, are you there?"

"Uhh.....no, no, no, the Major's out, just leave them on the desk.....NO! That's the piano, please, that is his desk." There was a moment of pause. "Thankyou......Sorry about that Sister just minor problems with where the papers are to go....but you were saying?"

"Not much, just checking you were still on the line. Captain Ashington-Frankston may possibly have just arrived."

"That is decidedly pleasant to hear......No Sir, Harring just brought them in......yes it seems that he may just have arrived." There was a pause as conversation rumbled at the other end of the line. "No sir.....yes sir......I'll have to speak to him first sir......Sir they are my men so if you don't mind keep your nose out of it." There was a rumble of laughter at the other end. "Oh go and sleep sir, Binty can deal with those papers....and don't you forget to eat....AGAIN!" There was another moments pause. "Sorry about that, our Battalion Commander is being scatterbrained......Yes Sir I am talking about you and being most disrespectful....Now back to you Sister, anything on the mysterious visitor yet?"

"I fear not yet." Elizabeth bit back on a laugh.

"Lizzie!" Philadelphia came scurrying up. "He informs me, the Captain that is, that he does indeed answer to that regretable name of Ashington-Frankston, he also says that you'd better get a name and battalion number unless whoever it is is willing to hang on and blow idle air for a while."

"Sir....."

"Yes I heard it, and unless you have objections and are expecting a call I would prefer to blow the idle air."

"Then idle air it shall be."

"No Sir.....Johnstone will you go and tell the Major from me, most politely of course, that he's TO GET HIS BLOODY HIDE ONTO A BED BEFORE I STEAL IT!" The latter was seriously amplified.

"Miles if you don't cease giving jaw I'll transfer you back to the reserves!" The response was quite audible.

"You wouldn't dare Sir." The response came with a laugh. "now if you don't mind I do have a Sister on the telephone and this can't be exactly pleasant for he......." There was a loud explosion which drowned out the rest of the remark. "That was close....any sight of the Captain Sister? There seems to be some risk of our losing external communications."

"I'm afraid not yet." Elizabeth frowned. Some risk of losing external communications? There was another echoing crash over lines.

"I hear there is a telephone for me to......hello, hello, hello. Good evening Sister Bennet, a pleasant surprise." Ashie nodded a polite greeting.

"Sir." Elizabeth handed the telephone across to him. "Major Miles Holloway, 14th Hertfordshire Battalion."

"Millie!" Ashie pounced on the telephone. "I do appologise Sir.....Though, Millie, the Major seems to be outstripping you.....Now why are you apparently asking for me at hospitals of all ungodly places?........Oh." Ashie's face abruptly soberised and he rubbed his chin. It amused Elizabeth to watch the quick transition of attitude. "Just past seven o'clock in the evening you say, namely three hours ago?.......Blangy Wood.....just east of Blangy Wood, or at least I suspect that is where you will find them....and tell the Major it's code 9......Right-ho and likewise cheerio, Sir. Twiddle-di-dee." Ashie hung up the receiver on that note and chewed a thoughtful lip. "Here's hoping the Major's memory has not deserted him....for if it has Miles will most certainly not find his Company."

"The company is nowhere near Blangy Woods I take it?"

"That would be telling Miss Bennet. But frankly, if you think I would actually give the exact location of an entire company over field telephone when I could safely send it coded, then I am amazed."

"You need not be amazed." Elizabeth gave a yawn, then frowned as she saw Florrie painfully pushing his splinted arm through his coat sleeve.

"Fear not Miss Bennet, he has just been discharged into the safe hands of our Squadron Medic, thus giving you more space for people with a far greater need of it."

"Hmm." Elizabeth grunted doubtfully but let the two pilots go, it was not like she could actually stop them from departing.

Carrigan was intermittantly massaging his midrift as he searched through his pack, checking he had everything in it. Carrigan had spent the whole of the afternoon searching for news of the battle, but information was sketchy at best. Carrigan's forays had been terminated by the efforts of a horse which had kicked him in the stomach. Having been checked over by a bored medic and informed he was fine, Carrigan had retreated to his bedding and slept for a couple of hours. Nine in the evening had produced a Captain who had most politely dug Carrigan out of bed and informed him he was to join the 14th Battalion up on the lines with Forsythe, Muir and Tesson. Carrigan finished checking his pack and with the three other officers loaded up and marched off and onto the road.

"Bless the ammo trucks, bless the tenders, bless the whole bloody world.....why is there not a bloody bus?"

"Because there isn't." Carrigan hooked his finger into Muir's ear and dragged him up the road towards the lines, it was a dark and a relatively miserable night. It was going to be one long trek if they were to reach the Battalion headquarters before midnight. They found a bus just short of Hell's Corner and that took them as far as the former Battalion Headquarters.

Carrigan had quickly lead the way across the previous No-man's-land and into the old German Line, where he had called a breather and sat down. Five minutes later they were up and going again and Carrigan lead the way across one of the cleanest battlefields he had ever seen, infact he saw only one dead Hun. It was just past twelve thirty when the four officers staggered into the new Battalion Headquarters, and Carrigan was simultaneously disgusted and relieved to find all but the signalling officer on duty fast asleep. He was disgusted because in Carrigan's personal opinion you should welcome the first of the reserves, even if they were only officers who had been culled out two days previously to provide for precisely this situation. Carrigan was also relieved though because he had watched far too frequently as Darcy and Miles had literally forgotten to eat and sleep while they struggled to keep in touch with the movements of the troops around them. Carrigan had been witness to these acts for the simple reason that he had been the adjutant for the Battalion, not a job he was sorry to lose, and he'd had to similarly disregard health and hunger just to keep up with the flow of paperwork across his desk.

April 10th 1917-Arras, France

It was just starting to be light enough to actually see around when Carrigan finally found his assigned platoon. The entire company was infact in sorry condition, of the original eight platoons only four remained, and they were formed of a hodge-podge of the other platoons.

"Morning Sir." It was a tired looking Private who had greeted him.

"Morning....Who's where?" Carrigan had taken a moment to recognise one of his own former privates.

"Well, Corporal Hacker would be a better one to ask than me Sir, he's been up all night sorting everyone out with Sergeant Phelps."

"Is Hacker near here?"

"No Sir." The Private shifted somewhat embarrassedly.

"Relax, I've only just got here, so you may as well give me a run through of who's where and why."

"Have to say I'm awfully glad you're here sir.....want a watch?"

"Hey?" Carrigan shot a sharp look at the Private, had the man lost his mind?

"A watch sir, the Boche seem to have left hundreds behind.....likewise with topping soda bottles, no whisky though, 'Q' will be delighted when these come in, must have been a devilish retreat."

"Up." Ashie unceremoniously upended Pyro's bed as he passed the foot of it. The first fingers of light were already lighting up the land and it would not do for Squadron 284 to be late.

"Florrie's not going?" Pyro's sleep-fogged mind was not going anywhere fast.

"Not with that arm of his. MOVE!"

"Oh damn, sorry Florrie I forgot you were smashed.....coming Ashie, coming." Pyro hastily rolled out of bed and grabbed his flying jacket and boots before running for the door, Pyro was in no hurry to let Ashie exercise his tongue today. Florrie had rolled over and was morosely watching the departure of Pyro, but with Pyro's departure Florrie rolled over even further and cautiously swung from his bed and into his boots before he shuffled out of the barracks.

The morning was fairly chilly and a spring mist held the aerodrome in its thrall, causeing everything to sparkle and glimmer in an unearthly manner. Florrie hunched his unbuttoned jacket around his shoulders as he shuffled across to where Thomlin was working with the Ack-emmas to prep the pups. Florrie watched somewhat despondantly as Thomlin worked on his Pup. Phillips had returned at about three in the morning on the back of an empty ammunition truck, having toured half of France in his efforts to get back to the Squadron, and he had returned without his pup.

"Florrie, will you go take a check of the current ammunition stock and the reading on the fuel store."

"Yes Sir." Florrie shuffled off and quickly counted up the barrels of ammunition, before he crossed to the small back room where the huge fuel storage tank was kept.

"How much?" Thomlin was hanging upside down while he fiddled with Ashie's fuel lead when Florrie came back.

"Should be enough to last the week, especially considering that four of us won't be flying."

"Right." Thomlin twisted around so his feet hit the ground first as he slid from the pup.

"All ready?" Ashie was trailing his cap by its strings as he walked up, his gauntlets and goggles protruded over the top and hung down limply from either side.

"Seems to be......we need to fix up that tail of yours soon." Thomlin spoke up from where he was digging around in Ashie's engine.

"Well now is too soon." Ashie swung up into his cockpit as he spoke and started fiddling around and checking that his personal equipment was in place.

Five minutes later an annoyed Florrie was watching as the five pups circled for a few minutes before they arrowed off for the lines.

"Come on Florrie, we're going to have a busy day around here." Thomlin was walking to the hanger as he spoke.

"Why?" Florrie followed, but his curiousity was minimal, he would have much preferred to be up flying......even strafing was preferable to this.

"Because we have some Pups to fix up." Thomlin was rifling through the repair stores as he spoke.

"Pups?" As far as Florrie knew all the pups currently allocated to the aerodrome were up in the air, all the rest had been either totally trashed beyond repair, or they had been crashed in inaccesible positions.

"Yes Pups." Thomlin finally found what he was looking for and pocketed it. "Squadron 176 have just had a complete change of 'planes.....infact they've gone across to two seaters. So we get to pick up their stock......but I put no reliance on the reliability of them."

"But 176 is rather far from here isn't it?" Florrie had his doubts about this.

"Correct, which is why I've dug a motor out of General Headquarters for the day. Saine will drive three of us out there, and drive back while we fly back. A method we shall continue to repeat until we have retrieved everything......including all available spares.

Elizabeth was conning over a map of the immediate district in desperation, but the map merely confirmed what she already knew. The hospital was over extended and for any more patients to be taken they would have to billet out all those who did not require twenty-four hour surveillance.

"Lizzie." Philadelphia came flying into the small, dark, equipment room.

"What is it Delph?" Elizabeth folded up the map with a sigh, there were no options but to call for a Paris Transfer, and they were tiresome to say the least.

"Hospital 14 is diverting here because they are full."

"What?! Does Matron know?" Elizabeth nearly fell over in surprise.

"Yes, she told me to tell you."

"But we couldn't fit another person in, we're already five wounded to a bed and all the personnel accomodations have gone. Why are 14 full?"

"They got bombed the other night by some 'plane."

"Casualties?" Elizabeth abruptly remembered the morning report.

"A couple but it just flattened their emergency wards."

"Oh lord, 14 is the hospital that goes directly from the front. Look where's matron, we've got to get billeting."

"Matron was arranging for a mass transfer when I left her. We're to send forty of our most recovered to Paris. All but the seriously injured Flying-Corps Personnel are to be returned to their respective aerodromes to be cared for by the medics attached to them."

"But that's going to mean we'll be accomodating for nine to a bed at this rate." Elizabeth rubbed her head in annoyance, it was at times like this that she regretted having been transferred across to Hospital Management.

"All the more men for us." Philadelphia gave a grin as she ducked out of the room. Elizabeth shot a dirty look after the retreating Sister, but then allowed herself a wry chuckle.

"Sister Bennet." It was an hour later when the Matron appeared in the doorway.

"Yes Matron." Elizabeth promptly ceased her work.

"When this offensive is over you are returning to England."

"But.....May I enquire why Matron?" Elizabeth had a sinking feeling in her stomach.

"Because you are going to sit your nursing exams. Sorry if you don't want to sister, but the fact remains that you have impressed enough people that it is officially decided that you are wasted as a VAD and you are to return to England for further training."

"But...." Elizabeth stopped, she didn't know what to say, she didn't know what to think, infact she was currently of the opinion that she did not know anything at all.

"Having sat those exams to the satisfaction of Dr Alastair you are going to be back out here as fast as they can get you here."

"Here as in here? or here as in France?" Elizabeth queried cautiously.

"That is to be seen, but right now we need to find out how we are to accomodate another fifty injured while 14 re-establishes."

"Do you think it was deliberate?" Elizabeth asked the question which had been nagging her.

"The bombing? No, it was only a single bomb and in the same night the nearby aerodrome was fairly pounded."

"Well we should be able to house twenty or thirty in the barn, we can probably fit ten or so in the halls....and we're out of tarp so we can't camp them out."

"Can we billet any out?"

"Not really, but we might be able to borrow someone's barn."

"Not likely. Get Baker to find some spare men somewhere, we need to get the roof back on the back room." Matron turned and left, leaving Elizabeth to find Philadelphia. The backroom was in reality an old chapel which had been ruined for close on one hundred years by Elizabeth's guess, it would be no small job to get the roof back up.

"Lizzie." It was twenty minutes after Elizabeth had returned to the equipment room that Philadelphia poked her head cautiously into the room.

"Yes?" Elizabeth laid aside the box of new deliveries.

"There are no reserves within four hours of us, and those that are are under strict orders."

"Oh glory." Elizabeth rubbed her forehead. "Where's Matron?"

"Up in B-ward, she said the decision was up to you."

"Wake all the men who are camped out and get all the sisters up, we've got a roof to raise."

"Oh what fun.....shall I do a jig? Or would you prefer I waltz?"

"I'd prefer you got waking people up."

"Why the men in the tent?"

"Because the room is partly for their benefit, we need the tarp from over their heads."

"What fun." Philadelphia slipped out of the room to attend to orders.

It had been mid-afternoon when the 46th Brigade passed Carrigan and his platoon and took over the assault. With little trouble the Brigade made Feuchy, they then took Orange hill and the Brown line. The embankment gave a famous view view of the front in other directions and with the aide of a telescope Carrigan could almost believe that he was up there, but the view from a telescope never replaced reality. Just as dreams rarely lived up to reality. As Carrigan lay watching the battle front he found his mind drifting backwards.

"Hey! Jackson!" Carrigan had come flying into the main room at the Metro, he was waving the Times in one hand.

"What's up Jack?" Howard Jackson had been practicing his late cut in one corner.

"I made it!"

"You what?" Jackson abruptly lost interest in his late cuts and came across to where Carrigan was spreading the Times out on the table.

"I made it." Carrigan jabbed at a column in the newspaper. "Oxford Heroes! We beat Cambridge, we're the first to send of a full group to enlist."

"Did I make it?" Jackson had traced a anxious finger through the paper, but his name was not to be seen. "What's Specky doing on the list?"

"I couldn't say. But won't it be a laugh to see him with a rifle, it's bad enough to see him with a Cricket bat." Carrigan had given a snort.

"Oh well, we needn't worry, Specky won't last long out there......if he ever gets there. Come on Carrigan, let's go out, Fordyce is throwing a lark at his dorm."

"Sounds fine to me.....Specky in?"

"Lord no, last I saw of him he was headed for the library looking like he had the hounds of hell on his heels."

"Probably did. Come on Jackson, let's go find Fordyce."

As he lay there listening to the dull explosions from the front and the never ending rattle of machineguns, Carrigan found his thoughts at odd varience. Specky, the infamous Specky from Oxford, who would have thought that they'd have ever had anything in common. Specky who had been nearly unable to tell one end of a cricket bat from the other. Specky who had been the laughing stock at rugger and invariably crabbed while rowing, Specky who fell over his own feet when ever he tried to run. Carrigan shook a rueful head. Who'd have thought Specky would become one of the most brilliant Officers on the Western Front, second only to the Major. Specky, that unresponsive pacifist who would swear at anyone who even tried to discuss war, was now one of the most decorated men in the battalion.....but he still swore that war was not the best option. Carrigan gave a sigh and rolled back into the trench so he could stare up into the sky. Specky. To this day Carrigan had no idea who had named Miles Holloway Specky, for Miles did not wear spectacles. Specky, the hermit-tempered scholarship holder who was rarely seen but with some intimidating tome in hand. Specky, who to this day held the record in the Classics department. Carrigan could still remember the Professor's face when Miles had corrected him concerning some abstract fact relating to some relatively unknown essay by Cicero. Specky, who was without question the best shot at Oxford. Specky, the young man who had shamed Carrigan into passing Advanced Mathematics and attempting the Advanced Physics, the war had interrupted the Advanced Physics. Carrigan sighed again and rolled over, since the brown line was taken only about a hundred yards had been gained by the Division.

"The reserves are too far back, we could have had Monchy by now if the 15th had been brought up sooner." Miles' voice brought Carrigan back to earth.

"What's that?" Carrigan rolled over and looked enquiringly at Miles.

"The 15th, they were too slow coming up and the Boche had time to get a rearguard in place, we'll have to fight for Monchy, and fight hard."

"Any other reason for coming here?" Carrigan took a sharp look at Miles' drawn and wearied face.

"Correct Lieutenant, we've been ordered up the the Fuechy Redoubt and the Major wants you to get the lie of the land and make arrangements for us before we move in."

"Very good sir." Carrigan gave a nod, and having seen Miles safely off to the back Carrigan hastily caught a runner and headed up to the lines.

"Oh Lord!" The exclamation from the Adjutant startled the entire Battalion headquarters.

"What's up?" Darcy caught the piece of paper which was held up for him to take. "Hmm." Darcy frowned. "Miles, when did you send Carrie up?"

"Few hours ago, he'll be getting back soon."

"He'd better." Darcy handed the scrap of paper to Benchly, the Intelligence Officer, before walking over to study the map on his tabletop.

"What's up?" Miles finally turned his full attention to Darcy.

"We've just had our orders cancelled and new ones issued. You'd best get your men prepped, we're leaving in ten minutes." Darcy pointed to something on the map and then waved Benchly to join him, Miles had fled the second Darcy had given the ten minute time limit. While Darcy and Benchly studied the map, the Adjutant, Horton, and a few privates were already closing up the headquarters, filing away maps and disconnecting the communication lines for the trip to the lines.

Carrigan knew something was up the moment he was back within sight of the old German Trenches, for men were running everywhere as they found their platoons and formed up. With a wave Carrigan dismissed the Runner and plunged into a familiar trench. Carrigan had only just located his pack and his platoon when the orders to march came through.

"When did this all come through?" Carrigan asked the question of another officer.

"Damned if I know, but ten minutes ago Major Holloway came up and said we were marching in ten. No one knows where we're going.....excepting the C.O."

"Which means Benchly and Horton also know." Carrigan gave a nod, without doubt this move was sudden, fast and secretive. Where in Hell were they going because this would most certainly not take them to the Feuchy Redoubt. The evening brought the answers as the Battalion marched through Feuchy and out the otherside to Orange Hill.

It was a shrill and earpiercing whistle, and under Carrigan's astonished gaze the first platoon abruptly deployed. A second whistle and four paces to the right the second platoon deployed. Carrigan's gaze was not astonished because of the deployment, Carrigan would have immediately demanded a transfer had the Brigadier not called for a deployment for the long-range machine guns were wreaking havoc. Carrigan was astonished for the simple reason that under excessive firing and unusual conditions, the Battalion of sixteen platoons was deploying as if on parade ground. Very quickly Carrigan found that his platoon had also deployed and now they were all lying face down, except when the signal came to advance, and advances never lasted long.

Machine gun bullets whined overhead and puckered up the surrounding ground. Things became even hotter the closer they got to the Lines and questions were asked fairly frequently, the most common being where in Hell had the Brigadier gone. But soon an answer was supplied for the question, the Brigadier was ahead.....infact except for the Intelligence Officer, there was no Officer further forward than the Brigadier.

It was an hour short of darkness when the Battalion was finally stopped and for a period of five minutes intense discussions were held between Officers. Carrigan frowned as he saw Darcy's immense form approaching.

"Carrie." Darcy gave a brief salute in response. "We're going to dig in on this side of Orange Hill. Due to the lack of cover there is to be one man per every two yards and warn them they'll have to dig fast. It's the best point to dig in, but it's devilishly exposed."

"Yes sir." Carrigan quickly formed up and moved off with the departure of Darcy, in Carrigan's opinion the side of the hill was not exposed, it was completely naked and open to enemy fire. Broken telegraph poles. Ohh.....what a large quantity of cover they would be for a Battalion. Carrigan rolled his eyes but never the less marched his men off to their position. Ten minutes later Carrigan came to the firm conclusion that the Major's warning for speed had been unnecessary. When being continuously fired at there is little incentive for being slow, and when you add to that snow and no overcoat one might be amazed at how fast the British Tommy could dig. The falling of night brough an icey, ankle deep slush to the trench, it also brought the reintroduction of the artillery and more snow.

Ashie stared morosely through the blur of his propeller, how the devil he had got so far from the aerodrome was a matter which Ashie would have to ponder later, right now his concern was with getting back. And getting back was precisely the trick which was occupying Ashie's mind as he tried to pick out a landmark on the darkened surface below him. For all Ashie knew he might be flying straight to Germany, and by the same standard he might be flying back to England, infact it was not improbable that he was just flying around in circles wasting fuel and getting nowhere.

"A melancholy thought indeed." Ashie studied the smashed remains of his compass and with a shrug admitted that he had no idea where he was. "These pups should carry sufficient fuel to stay up for the entire night." Ashie frowned again and took another look at the ground below, but it was an uninformative dark blur of cloud tops and without a compass there was no way Ashie could tell which direction he was going. Though he had ascertained that he was not going north. And knowing how to not go north he chosen what he guessed to be a celestial south. Ashie took another look over his shoulder at the star he had decided was the pole star, or at least it was the pole star as Ashie remembered the Major as having pointed out. "And the Major is never wrong, so if something is inaccurate it is my memory." Ashie reflected thoughtfully to himself for a moment, and then abruptly put his nose down, one never knew a landmark might look the same at a lower altitude. Ashie's efforts to find a landmark ended in a near collision with a tree and prefering to stay aloft as long as possible Ashie resumed his previous altitude, climbed a bit higher and looked mournfully across at the moon. "The options my friend are not good. Infact they are very bad, which do I take, a snow storm or your genial companionship?....True, I'll take neither. Good night old friend, I am going to land.....and hopefully I won't hit a tree in the process.....I also hope I'm on the right side of the lines." Ashie gave a brief wave, then put his nose down once more and was quickly swallowed up by the clouds.

"You what?" Florrie was staring at Phillips in amazement. The past two days had had a heavy toll on the Squadron and now only Phillips and Katt were fully operational, Pyro had had his engine shot to scrap iron and crashed just this side of the lines. The Pups from 176 had been worse than even Thomlin had predicted and everyone had been working flatout on one of them since Pyro had returned, but as yet the pup was still not operational by Thomlin's standards, and certainly not up to the rigours of strafing.

"I last saw him flying straight across the lines with some Fokkers on his tail."

"And you didn't go help?" Florrie stared at the man. "There is a difference Lieutenant from fights during regulation flights and fights which interrupt strafing runs." Florrie's scowl darkened. "There was ten minutes of light left and you didn't even try to get the Captain back intact?"

"Look I'm sorry, but I was low on fuel, Ashie seemed to be coping and I didn't have much ammunition left."

"Have you considered that Captain Ashington-Frankston might have had none left at all? Ashie doesn't run from a fight and well you know it."

"Okay, so I cried chicken, so I turned into a nervous bag of jelly and buggered up. But honestly, my presence was going to be of no help to Ashie, infact all that would probably have happened was that I got shot down or Ashie had to come rescue me." Phillips was shaking violently now and Florrie closed his mouth firmly.

"This is going no where. Get some sleep for the night Phillips and pray like hell that Ashie returns before five." Florrie turned and stalked from the room, leaving Pyro to whistle softly.

"Will you stop that!" Phillips swung on Pyro in irritation. "It's not like he has any reason to bawl me out, he's only a Lieutenant as well."

"Sorry laddie, but no."

"You..." Phillips visibly fought to control his temper.

"And before you go further I think there are a few things about Florrie which might cause you to over look his having bawled you out. Lieutenant Florington-Smythe has been grounded for the entire day, he watched as we took off at dawn, he has counted us nervously as we returned, he has helped as much as he could to keep us in the air, but the fact remains that he has been idle for most of the day. The C.O. and Denny have their own work to do, as do the ack-emmas. They have work which keeps them occupied and ensures that they do not think. Florrie has been thinking for the entire day, and unlike you he has not been thinking distances and targets, he has been thinking in lives. Florrie's been wondering for the entire day who won't return......and fate must have it that it was his own cousin who did not make it, and what's more he hears that a fellow pilot just watched as his cousin went flying to no where. How would you feel under those circumstances Lieutenant Phillips?" Pyro paused. "There is not one of us here at the Squadron who do not owe our lives at least once to Ashie. Ashie's rescued me when he had no ammunition at all, he's rescued people when he knew there was no way in hell he'd get back to the aerodrome on the fuel he had. Ashie's landed in enemy territory to pick up a crashed flight member. Ashie doesn't tell of his exploits, and he usually forgets his ribbons, but there aren't many he doesn't have and most of them are barred at least once. So if you don't mind, I'm going to repeat Florrie's remark, pray like hell that Ashie returns by five or you could be in for a pretty uncomfortable ride....even if you were to transfer from this Squadron to another things will still be rough."

"How does he do it?" Phillip whispered the words. "How does he do it when he so effectively plays the foolish aristocrat."

"Because that is who he is. Have you ever heard of Brigadier Darcy.....or a Darcy of any other rank?"

"No."

"Well Brigadier Darcy is a name which will probably become familiar with if you last much longer. Ashie is an anomaly, few people understand him. Hell, I sure don't. But the one thing is definite, if you run into trouble and Ashie either hears or sees it he will move heaven and earth to get you out of it.....and he'll do it with a complete disregard for his own life."

"Then why must the fact that I am not the Captain be held against me?"

"Oh it won't......unless Ashie doesn't return. In which case you could be King George and we'd still hold it against you." Pyro gave a faint grin. "Don't start worrying until tomorrow Lieutenant, Ashie's refrained from coming home more than once and he tends to arrive just after you've given up all hope."

"But....." Phillips stopped and his shoulders drooped. "I like the Captain Sir and I hope he comes back."

"I'm not superior to you Phillips, and you're not the only one who hopes that.......and don't worry, Florrie'll come round no matter what for we all know that in your shoes we wouldn't have gone to help. Unlike Ashie, we all have a reason to preserve our lives, and we all wish that Ashie did as well.....until we get into trouble that is." Pyro finished with a quick grin. "Sleep well Phillips.....you're going to need all the sleep you can get, Ashie would never forgive you if you died now."

April 11th 1917-Arras, France

"Carrigan?" It was a soft call, and it was most reluctantly that Carrigan uncurled from his partially sheltered little corner which had just begun to seem warm.

"What is it sir?" Carrigan scrambled awkwardly out of the trench, only to fall straight back into it again. The wind was blowing a gale over the top and driving icey hard snow infront of it. Carrigan untangled his legs, appologised to the Private he had fallen on by offering him a drink of Johnnie Walker, and then scrambled back out of the trench again. The Private had very willingly taken the drink, the trench was a miserable, snow-filled gash and everyone was freezing. "What is it sir?" With knowledge of what to expect Carrigan managed to keep his balance as he came out of the trench for the second time.

"It seems we're to attack Monchy." Darcy moved windward of Carrigan as he spoke. "Do you have any N.C.O. you an trust with the platoon?"

"I've got Johnnie Hooper." Carrigan mentioned the Lieutenant who had been tagging along for months with no real command at all.

"Well hand your platoon over to him. Miles is crook and you've been given the company."

"Badly sick?" Carrigan's brows creased worriedly.

"Trench Fever, not too bad but he'll be out for a while. I sent him back at two and we've been trying to get a replacement ever since, but no, there is not a company officer to be had for love of mud."

"It's more a snowy slurry I think." Carrigan responded warily, one never could tell how the Major would respond to a joke.

"I think you're right, and pray hope it isn't a bloody slurry come this evening. We're to march in an hour, if you can set Hooper up and then get down to Headquarters."

"Very good sir." Carrigan gave a shiver as Darcy's tall form vanished into the blowing snow and hastily jumped back into the trench. It took Carrigan five minutes to locate Johnnie Hooper and set him up with his new command, and then Carrigan grabbed his pack and went hurrying down the trench network in search of the new headquarters which he had never seen.

"Oh there you are Carrie." Darcy was huddled over a map in one corner of a slightly larger trench. A waterproof coat was being used to protect the field telephones, which really should not have been brought to the battlefront. Darcy had a second waterproof stretching between his head and the wall of the trench which protected both the map, and the torch which was lighting it. "Johnstone, get the other Company Officers up here for a minute." Darcy turned his head away from the map to nod to Carrigan. "You had any problems with the platoon last night?"

"Not a peep." Carrigan tried to settle into a cranny out of the wind which seemed to fairly howl through the trench.

"I find it amazing what they'll take. We move them off with ten minutes warning before they have their dinner and up into this blizzard. It's not even one of our objectives."

"Only complaints I've had so far are from a Private who has chilblains from sitting over the heater at Hotel de L'Universe."

"That Hotel is a liability." Darcy turned back to the map for a minute, and then immediately lifted his head again as three Captains came into the trench with Johnstone. "Morning."

"Morning Sir." The three Captains settled quickly into corners.

"We're to join the assault in..." Darcy quickly inspected his watch. "Half an hour. Due to sickness Major Holloway has been sent back, Lieutenant Carrigan if to replace him as Commanding Officer of C Company. He is impowered to act as a Captain under this change of situation, and he will continue to hold the position until Major Holloway returns.....any objections?"

"No sir." The response came as one voice.

"Right, now gather around so we can work this out, we've got the Division on our right...." Darcy abruptly paused as a wearied looking runner came flying up waving the small bags they tended to carry messages in. "Yes?"

"Message from the General." The runner was gasping desperately for air as he dug into his satchel for the message.

"No response." Darcy scanned the dirty scrap of paper quickly before he nodded dismissal to the runner. "We've just been turned into Brigade reserve so you can tell everyone to settle down again." Darcy nodded dismissal to the four men and returned his attention to his map.

Carrigan found his company again and gave the change of orders before he went back to Headquarters trench again, he had no place he was meant to be. If he was in the Headquarters trench he would be found much more easily than if he were somewhere in the trenches around C Company.

"Carrie will you keep an eye on our right, I want to know the moment the 29th start moving out."

"Okay Sir." Carrigan took a squint over the parapet. "Or maybe not okay sir. Visibility is somewhat poor today."

"Carrie, the visibility is bloody horrible and that's why I've asked you to do the watching."

"Well it seems....." A loud whistle, followed a minute or so later by a louder crump interrupted Carrigan, and another whistle came soon afterwards. "That the visibility is improving, and the barrage seems to have begun." Carrigan raised his voice to be heard over the barrage.

"You might say that." Darcy was looking speculatively upwards as yet another shell sailed overhead.

"The division is just moving off sir."

"Five o'clock on the knocker." Darcy scribbled a brief note into a small and battered book he pulled from one pocket and then joined Carrigan on the parapet and watched as the men came piling out of the trenches further down the slope. The visibility was abominable to begin with, and the half-light of dawn did not help at all, but even with the conditions as they were, the dark blobs that advanced in irregular little rushes were unmistakeable. "They're going for the Pelves-Monchy Ridge....but they're in for one hell of a time to get there." As the light improved the dark blobs gained definition as they went down into Happy Valley, before starting up to the Orchard north of Monchy. The German artillery had done little, but the Division was clearly being given a ferocious time by the Machine Guns.

"You know I can't help feeling that the German's must have a reason for why they prefer the machine guns to the heavy artillery." Carrigan made the remark as the first of the walking wounded came back, the clock had just ticked over six and their Heavy Artillery had died away as the battle moved out of range. The curse of the storm was that all the heavy artillery were mired down in a bog and unable to move.

"The German's have some very sound knowledge on the use of Machine Guns, and they certainly know how to use them effectively. Infact it is a great pity that we can't drag some of the munitions people out here just to show them WHY we have ceaseless demands for more machine-guns and suitable ammunition." Darcy rubbed his head and studied the land infront of them. The wounded were returning at a steady trickle which would undoubtedly increase, though it would hopefully never reach the torrent which seemed to mark any assault.

Pyro was gazing thoughtfully up at the leaden, snow-filled sky, watching as the snowflakes drove across the aerodrome. There were no merry dances on the way down, just a straight diagonal dive which only ceased when the ground, a tree, a building, or a person was hit.

"Pyro, what are you doing out here?" Thomlin's head emerged from the Recording Office, and soon the rest of him followed.

"Trying to decide whether I'm relieved or totally cheesed that we can't fly today." Pyro hunched a bit lower in his coat and stared out at the driving snow.

"I think you should be relieved."

"Well I don't think I am, because right now there is nothing I want to do more than to kick some Hun up the arse and pump him full of lead."

"That is hardly a polite thing to do."

"I'm not feeling polite, infact I'm feeling exceedingly rude." Pyro glared darkly out at the snow.

"Well in that case go shovel some snow." Thomlin gave the advice as he returned to the Recording Office. Pyro scowled darkly at the closed door and then gave a wry laugh and smiled faintly. Why the hell not? Pyro straightened up and quickly brushed the snow from his coat before he dodged between the barracks until he reached his own.

"Hi! Florrie!" Pyro crashed the door open as he charged into the single roomed hut which had carefully cleared paths through the innumerable pieces junk and garbage.

"What's got you?" Florrie's expression when he looked up from his bed was plain bored.

"We are going to shovel snow."

"But it's still snowing!" The look Florrie gave Pyro was distinctly doubtful.

"Precisely, now hurry up before I start shovelling it into your bed." Pyro dug around and retrieved two shovels while Florrie painfully eased on his coat and boots.

"I still fail to see why we should shovel snow while it is still snowing.....especially since it is still snowing faster than I could shovel even with two good arms."

"Stop grousing and get moving." Pyro drove one of the shovels into the snow by the wall before strolling off to the middle of the Tarmac.

"I am not shooting birds.....it is most certainly the wrong season for such activities." Florrie extricated the shovel with difficulty.

"Then stop whinging and whining."

"Better than wining and dining." Florrie scowled at the snow for a moment and then started experimenting with methods for shovelling up snow with only one hand.....he soon discovered the most effective way was to walk the shovel across the Tarmac and just pushing the snow into banks on either side.

"I wonder if snow cricket would work." It was nearly an hour later when Pyro spoke again, and turning Florrie observed that Pyro was hefting a snowball about the size of a cricket ball in his hand.

"Only one way to find out." Florrie dropped his shovel and quickly unearthed the cricket bat from behind the door of their barracks. "Bowl away Old Chap, and allow me to murder you if you hit me."

"That's fine with me." Pyro hefted the snowball one last time and then bowled a gentle full toss, which Florrie pounded into a cloud of loose snow.

"I think snow cricket needs some modifications." Florrie rubbed his forehead thoughtfully.

"Well we can't.......or maybe we can." Pyro scooped up some more snow and rapidly set about making a snowball of the rockhard variety. "Now don't hit it so hard."

"I'll try." Florrie fixed his one handed grip again and watched as Pyro's slow lob came in. Florrie's swing missed completely and he had to retrieve the snowball from the snow. "Here, you bat and I'll bowl....it might work a bit better."

"I doubt it." Pyro reluctantly took the bat, and then gleefully handed it over to Katt and resumed his snowball production as Katt had just come out of his barracks.

"What are you two up too?" Katt eyed the cricket bat with distaste, the fact that Pyro had willingly given it up made him feel doubtful.

"We are trying to devise snow cricket....afterall we can't fly and we must do something." Pyro shrugged as he set to work packing the snowball down as hard as he could.

"Wait a minute while I get Phillips out here, we need a fielder as well as ball maker and bowler."

"Good thinking." Pyro gave a nod, and then glared at Florrie who was pulling a sour face. "I don't care how you feel Florrie, we are at war and we can't afford for Phillips to go west on us." Pyro had waited until Katt was out of earshot before he caught Florrie's shirt front in a hard grip and made the remark. "If for no other reason than because Ashie would wish it I expect you to behave decently!"

"How can you be so certain?" Florrie muttered the remark sulkily.

"Because you know as well as I do that Ashie lived for this Squadron, we can't afford to drop back down to three pilots again Florrie."

"Sorry Pyro." Florrie flushed slightly. "I'd forgotten myself for a bit. Don't worry, I won't misbehave."

"Good." Pyro released Florrie and resumed his snowball making just before Katt emerged with a distinctly nervous looking Phillips.

"Come on fielder, don't hang back or I may just bowl very wildly." Florrie waved the snowball he held threateningly.

"No picking on your own team Florrie." Katt retrieved the bat from the snow. "Now bowl away and don't hit the poor blighter."

"Why on earth not, he's nothing like the shocking skinny target you are.....beanpole!"

"Well I guess that just makes you a fat ass."

"Well let's find which is better." Florrie carefully lobbed the snowball to Katt, who swiped at it and demolished it into a cloud of flying snow.

"Here Florrie." Pyro handed over another snowball while Katt coughed and spluttered and tried to get the snow out of his shirt.

"It would seem the Katt makes an error. Batter ready?" Florrie gave a short laugh, and then hastily threw his snowball out to Phillips and waved for Pyro to chuck him another snowball.

"Why he is holding a snowball!?" Katt frowned accusingly at Florrie.

"Is he?" Florrie pulled an innocent face and looked across at Phillips, who had empty hands. "I can't see one."

"No I'm sure you can't." Katt paused for a moment. "If that snowball hits me Phillips I can promise you a VAST amount of snow in your bed tonight."

"Carrie, I've got a job for you." Darcy had been watching the progressing assault below them in total silence, except for occasional interruptions from staff and the communications system, for three hours before he abruptly spoke again. "I want you to go to the Rouex end of the trenches and take a look at what is happening there......and in particular I want you to note the barrage formation. I am not certain whether it is the one commander or whether it is training, but the barrage has a very distinct pattern."

"It does?" Carrigan hadn't really been noting the barrage before, it was just heavy artillery and wasn't at all interesting.

"Well how about you watch it for the five minutes it takes for me to fill in the latest information and then we'll see if you've picked it up." Darcy reversed back down from the parapet and returned the the rough ledge which served as a general table for the maps and for the unwanted communication lines.

Carrigan stared out through the now lightened curtaining of snow and carefully noted where the barrage fell and it didn't take him more than a minute or so to pick it up. The German's were firing at two distinct lengths, the first length was where ever the advancing line had reached, the other was about a hundred yards beyond the first length.

"Picked up on anything?" Darcy returned to his former position.

"They seem to be firing at two distinct lengths, the first is where ever the line is, and the second is about a hundred yards or so this side of it."

"Correct, now shift off and see what's happening at Rouex." Darcy watched in silence as Carrigan vanished up the trench, and then he turned his head up and gazed pensively at the snowfilled sky. "I am of the opinion you will thaw very nicely just as we move out, I will pity our replacements, but rejoice in my own departure......Damn it to hell I'm talking to myself again." Darcy abruptly rolled off the parapet again and returned to his rough bench and map. Bully beef for lunch and stale water.......oh for a nicely roasted chicken and some of that '79 Claret.

Mac was tinkering morosely with his engine, sparing the odd glance out into the swirling snowflakes, but for the most part saving his curses for the engine. There was only one thing worse then strafing, and that was being prevented from strafing by the weather, not that the weather was Mac's only problem, he also had some engine failure which had defeated the Ack-Emmas for answers.

"Hi! Mac!" Freddie came charging into the Hangers.

"What's up?" Mac willingly discarded his spanner and sat up.

"You were out near Arras at eight last night weren't you?"

"Nearish.....why do you ask?"

"Were you out there when the snow started?"

"Yes." Mac was frowning in puzzlement.

"Sorry, I'm getting this backwards." Freddie rubbed his head. "Ashie's gone missing, some greenie at the Cads saw him last headed straight for Germany with a couple of Fokkers on his tail. Denny's ringing around hoping to find someone who might have seen of heard of him since the snow started."

"'Fraid I can't help.....You tried Johnnie?" Mac referred to his observer who was currently suffering from a violent head cold.

"Already have, but he swears he saw nothing."

"Things must be fun out there." Mac gave a rueful whistle.

"Denny said that they are currently trying to work out how to play snow cricket......and so far they have only had two snowball fights."

"Snow Cricket?"

"It consists of a lot of snowballs and a cricket bat, it seems you get out when your snowball dissolves into loose snow."

"I think I'd guess that Florrie is fit to murder the Greenie and Pyro is keeping him in check."

"Oh everyone quite agrees with you.....infact I think it's only because of their current shortage of both pilots and 'planes that they haven't all murdered him......and they won't thank you if you do murder him."

"I had no intention of doing so. I hope they can find some trace of him, it will be a bore if Ashie just vanishes."

"Well my current fear is that a bore is precisely what it will be. Nothing has been heard or seen of him....not even an Archie battery has reported an abnormal 'plane around it's literally as if he's vanished."

"Nothing from Germany yet? No gleeful reports that they have captured the mighty Ashie?"

"Not a peep....any headway on that engine of yours?"

"No, but lots of ice.....I might run out to 284, Thomlin may have a suggestion and the loss of their dinner may cause the Cads to forget their loss of a Captain."

"Charming idea.....I hope Old Icey can help you out because you're no good to anyone with a dodgy engine."

"So do I......can you ask Shippley to dig the cycle out....then cross your fingers and wish me a safe ride." Mac swung down from the Fee and grinned as Nero came loping up.

"Oh great! Here's trouble." Pyro moaned and pitched the snowball he was holding to one side. "What's up Mac?"

"Not much, I've just come to see your C.O.."

"What, you got engine problems too?"

"Who else has them?"

"I do for one." Pyro gave a shrug. "He's in his office."

"Thankyou." Mac took a speculative look at the positions of the other pilots, it had not been snow cricket he had interrupted, it had been another snowball fight, then gave a shrug of his own and headed for the office building.

"Why do you think he came?" Florrie frowned disapprovingly after Mac as he asked the question.

"I have never made the presumption of trying to read Mac's thoughts and motives and I won't start now." Pyro gave a shrug, and then abruptly shoved his handful of snow down Florrie's collar. "And don't talk to the enemy, we have bad habits of stabbing you in the back." Pyro gave a short laugh and just avoided the large snowball which came in from where Katt was entrenched beside the Hangers.

"Good Lord! I thought they had given up on them in 1914!" Darcy's stunned exclamation cause Carrigan to jerk around and look back over he shoulder.

"What?" Carrigan couldn't see a thing.

"Cavalry." Darcy response was brief as he stared in fixation back towards Arras.

"They had some over near Rouex this morning....but the Hun artillery gave them a fine dusting and they retreated post haste." Carrigan finally found the approaching Cavalry.

"Well.....Yipe!" Carrigan later had no idea what Darcy had started to say, and infact he had no idea if Darcy started to say anything because a huge weight abruptly cannoned into him and darkness claimed him.

"Come on Carrie, wake-up!" The voice seemed to be at a great distance and whoever it was was clumsy because there were constant crashes and bangs. "Look I know you're there! Wake up!" The voice was growing gradually closer and the darkness dissolved into swirling white and a pounding headache. "I knew you were there. Shake a leg Carrie, we need to move."

"Don't want to." Carrigan moaned feebly as he tried to clamp his head between his knees, but for some reason he seemed unable to find his knees. "Oh...please don't tell me I'm hit."

"Only by dirt, now hurry up and get your eyes open, I can't dig you out alone, and I won't even try." Darcy's voice was getting acidicly edged.

"Sorry sir." Carrigan tried desperately to clear his vision and ignore his head, slowly his efforts met with success and finally Carrigan was able to turn his head to look to where he believed Darcy to be. "Good God sir, hold still, I'll be free in a jiffy." It had taken Carrigan only one look before he completely forgot about his headache. With an endless source of energy Carrigan easily shovelled away the dirt, mud and snow, which buried him to his waist and was soon trampling a track to where Darcy was awkwardly piled. "What happened?" Carrigan asked the question as he started digging carefully.

"Incoming shell....." Darcy's brows contracted sharply. "Saw it just in time to get us back off the parapet." Darcy waved a hand at the now non-existant parapet.

"Well I'll thankyou for saving my life sir......is the leg okay sir?" Carrigan had more than once shared the duty with Miles and Bing of concealing the fact that Darcy was nearly unable to walk after he had taken some fall.

"Damned if I know." Darcy started awkwardly easing himself out of the dirt. "I'm afraid to say I'm completely numb from the waist downwards."

"Well can you stop trying to move then until I've dug you out!" Carrigan snapped as Darcy tried once more to move.

"Lieutenant you forget yourself."

"I really couldn't give a damn sir, you're much too good a battalion officer to lose because of stupidity." Carrigan dug a bit deeper, piling the mud to either side.

"I think I could easily be insulted by that." Darcy made the observation gravely.

"Do so, for it would be utter stupidity if you were to injure yourself by trying to escape." Carrigan frowned and finally took up tunneling as he followed the khaki coloured leg downwards. "Your legs are too damnably long sir."

"Very polite." Darcy frowned for a minute. "The artillery are slacking off and we have seen no cavalry pass. Would you mind seeing where they've gone Carrie?"

"Just a moment." Carrigan packed away his last handful and scrambled up for a quick look out of the trench. "The Cavalry, sir, are returning to Arras." Carrigan gave the report as he resumed his digging.

"That is much as I suspected." Darcy gave a satisfied nod and took up digging painfully around his other leg. "We're meant to be relieved tonight.....and I really hope they actually manage it this time."

"A bit of relief certainly wouldn't go astray sir." Carrigan was relieved when he finally found a boot.

"There, I quite agree with you." Darcy took over his visible boot and left Carrigan to dig after his other boot.

"Feeling anything yet?"

"Plenty." Darcy was brushing the dirt off his boot. "I think it was just cut off circulation.....my leg is killing me."

"And that is, in my opinion, very good news indeed." Carrigan gave a grunt of satisfaction as he found another boot. "Now you recomission your much bashed legs and I'll go and retrieve the map......how long was I out for?"

"Ten minutes maybe, it was a fairish clod which wacked you on the nut." Darcy pulled his legs up and cautiously stood up. "You are not doing anything......sit down Lieutenant!"

"But...." Carrigan paused and then nature asserted itself and he collapsed to the ground.

"Now stay there." Darcy lurched across to where the map and communications lay, somewhat covered in dirt, but rapidly whitening under the snow, and sat down heavily on the ledge as he gently rubbed his legs. Most certainly they weren't broken, but whether his right leg would be sufficiently recovered by the time the relief arrived was entirely another matter.

"I might look into that." Mac gave a nod as he rose stiffly to his feet, he had been sitting in the same position for four hours and was now abominably stiff.

"Well it's the only answer I can give." Thomlin rose as well, stowing the plan back into his files as he stood. "Will you be staying for supper?"

"Well...." Mac hesitated. "Let's say I won't refuse if invited."

"Then let's move, or Pyro will be in to fetch us." There was a soft knock almost as soon as Thomlin stopped speaking. "Come in Pyro."

"Supper time......as ever....Mac staying?" Pyro's eyes flickered back and forth between them.

"I've certainly extended an invitation to him.....I take it you have no objections?"

"No." Pyro gave a disinterested shrug.

"Good, keep the Captain company while I speak to Morgan."

"Very good sir." Pyro stepped aside and stood in silence until the outer door had closed after Thomlin. "We don't want to talk about it."

"Did I say I was going to?" Mac lifted his eyebrows shortly.

"No, but everyone else has so I was getting in first."

"My only request is that I be told if anything is heard.....but that is a side issue, I take it Nero was not too unsociable?"

"Not after he had stolen the beef." Pyro responded quietly. "We snowballed him thoroughly and I believe he's sulking in the hangers."

"Oh joy." Mac gave a laugh.

"You two coming?" Katt's face appeared inquisitively around the door.

"Yes." Pyro responded somewhat shortly and soon Mac found himself in the Cads Mess, and it was the tidiest he had ever seen that Mess.

"Pyro has been keeping himself and everyone else occupied." Thomlin pulled a somewhat rueful face. "For the sake of the Squadron I hope he is not dead........for his sake, well I almost wish he were."

"And his family's sake?" Mac lifted a curious eyebrow.

"His family." It was a pensive response, and Mac knew from experience that he would get no more on the subject. Mac had hit it before and he had a feeling that he would probably hit it again, but Ashie was a person who seemed to have no history at all, it was a subject which was never discussed.

In Carrigan's opinion the trenches were miserable back at Arras, but he knew for a fact that they were even worse out at the Line so he was not going to complain. It had snowed heavily until midnight, which had been unpleasant enough, and then a thaw had come, which had turned the trenches into small rivers, and by the time their relief had arrived there was not a single one of them who was not soaked through and through.

The march back to Arras had been miserable, weatherwise, but jubilent in the minds of the rank and file. Boots squelched noisily through the mud and packs creaked, here and there snippets of song sprang forth, rarely the same song came and even less rarely was it a song to be heard in mixed company. It had not taken long for Carrigan to drift around to where Darcy was walking, at a considerably slower pace than the rest of the battalion, and it was in silence that the two men slowly dropped further and further to the rear before Carrigan finally gave a sigh.

"Sir, can I have permission to call up a stretcher for you?"

"Carrigan, I can walk well enough." Darcy responded softly, then stumbled for the umpteenth time.

"True, but you are falling further and further behind with every step and soon we are not even going to see the Battalion."

"You need not walk with me.....infact your company are probably in need of you as it is." Darcy stopped and frowned around himself, and then gave a sigh before he walked on again.

"The Company has the Lieutenants, it is more important that you are returned intact." The last come out with a grunt as Carrigan only just manged to catch Darcy after he tripped over some loose shale. "Sir, will you please reconsider that stretcher, this is not a time for heroics we are only going to be back for a few days."

"Carrie...." Darcy paused and looked around at the dim pre-dawn surroundings. "I cannot take that stretcher, even if I wanted to I cannot. Everyone is tired and very cold, the probability of my being dropped is high and my tolerance would be non-existant. Go ahead and find Gordon, tell him he is to see to the battalion's accomodations in the Old Trench. Tell him I'll come as soon as I can."

"Yes sir." Carrigan's mouth compressed for a moment and then he darted off and was swallowed up by the battalion. Darcy blew out his breath as the last of the stragglers passed him, and then settled down onto a nearby boulder. Admittedly it was not wise to sit alone in such a region, but it was even less wise for him to walk at the present moment in time. Darcy gently scratched his chin as he studied the raindrops which splattered around. Three day growth was, for Darcy, little more than a faint black shadow on his chin, many of the battalion were starting to sport quite respectable beards, and it was not the first time that Darcy thanked the fact that he could go for months on end without a haircut. Was it raining everywhere, or just here. Darcy studied the raindrops for a few minutes more before he finally rose stiffly to his feet. Oh for some leave.......even just a day or two of it. Darcy shook his head, he didn't need telling that no leave was likely to come his way for several months yet. They weren't being moved back for more than a few days to refresh and plot out the new line of offensive. This meant he would have to sit through hours of exceedingly boring and irritating conferences, listening while the lives of his own men were casually disposed of without so much as a 'do you mind'. Darcy shook his head again, and then hastily caught himself as his right leg once more failed to grip the shale. The tumble earlier during the bombardment of the cavalry had played havoc with the nerves and tendons in his right leg and if things didn't fix up by tomorrow morning he was going to have to call in sick.

"There you are sir." Carrigan's familiar form suddenly merged out of the raindrops. "Gordon sent me back to keep you very bad company and he said that the Old Trench sounded good to him."

"It should have for the 36th have moved into the rest and we won't make Arras tonight." Darcy had given a short laugh, and the rest of the trip had taken an hour, where they were met by a relieved Gordon and the best coffee Carrigan had tasted in months and some hardboiled eggs.

Posted on Tuesday, 28 November 2000

April 14th 1917-Netherfield, England

"I can now say with complete honesty that I do not envy Lizzie at all." Jane Bingley made the statement firmly, then immediately took a bite from her toast.

"You were envious of her?" Bingley looked up from his consideration of his egg, which still had an intact shell.

"Yes, I was envious of her for several months after we joined the VADs." Jane swallowed her mouthful before she spoke. "From my point of view this was just my sister who seemed to have caught the lucky trip and was cutting a blazing path across the nursing world. While I was just one of the girls Lizzie was making a name for herself which might well become legendary, and I didn't think it was fair."

"You haven't been envious the whole time have you?" Bingley took aim and with one accurate blow he took the top off his egg, unfortunately the top then went cartwheeling across the table and onto the floor. With a remark which was not supposed to be heard at the breakfast table Bingley left his seat and retrieved the top of his egg.

"No....I don't think my real envy lasted past April of '15." Jane frowned thoughtfully as she considered the marmalade and toast in front of her.

"Why not?"

"Well....because papa pointed out several things to me which I had been ignoring." Jane shrugged slightly. "Lizzie came home from the hospital and with a laugh she'd drop into a chair, still in her muddied trousers, and announce that it was a pretty good day today. Except for papa, none of us realised that Lizzie's 'pretty good day' meant that of the patients coming in only about a quarter were being just left to die in room 3. I can remember the day very clearly when papa pointed out the fact to me. It was just after the first staph infection that hit the hospital. I hadn't seen Lizzie in nearly a week, she just hadn't bothered coming home, then she just arrived one evening and dropped into the usual chair in her muddied trousers and observed with a slight laugh that it had been a bit rough lately. I think it was the only time I lost my temper with Lizzie, that she could vanish for a week than casually return and laugh to me was beyond bearing. I can see her very clearly, she just sat there, completely silent and motionless, while I shredded her. I called her arrogant and quite a few other things....in fact I don't remember half the things I called her, or even a quarter of the accusations I threw at her, but I was not nice....and it was all because we had lost a patient." Jane paused and rubbed her head. "Netherfield Hospital...or Weatherton Hospital as it was then, was a hospital with closed doors, for the residents at Meryton we didn't know anything of what went on there, it was a closed book and a banned subject. When I had finished yelling at her Elizabeth just gave a quiet nod before she pulled wearily out of her chair and walked to the door. She paused at the door and turned back and spoke for the first and only time that evening 'Leave me alone, don't anyone come near me for I am not going to be responsible for my actions.' I can remember Lydia giggling about it, but I was thrown off balance, Lizzie wasn't meant to take my telling her off so silently. I leapt to my feet and left the room heading straight for the top story, I wanted Lizzie to be angry, I wanted her to be as hurt and angry as I was, and I wasn't going to stop until I had it." Jane stopped and fell silent.

"You didn't resume the argument?" Bingley had completely forgotten about his egg

"No...I couldn't."

"She had shut the door?" Bingley fished cautiously.

"No....but a locked door wouldn't have stopped me. I entered Lizzie's room, and then my temper abruptly evaporated. Lizzie was lying on her bed sobbing her eyes out. I still don't know if she realised I had entered the room, but I can tell you I left it as fast as I could, this was a Lizzie I didn't know, and I certainly wasn't qualified to deal with her. I met papa on the stairs as I was descending and he didn't even have to ask me to come to the Library, I just knew that I was in for a Library session. When we were young Library sessions meant we were in trouble, Lizzie and Folin were always having them. It seems so strange, papa didn't say a word as he walked back down the stairs and across into the library." Jane had completely forgotten her breakfast at this point.

"What happened Jane?" Mr. Bennet sank into the heavily upholstered chair behind the desk.

"I beg your pardon?" Jane blinked uncomprehendingly at her father.

"What happened today, what's got Jane so upset?"

"I'm not upset." Jane stomped her foot. "I'm only irritated at Lizzie because she does absolutely nothing at all, and seems to believe it is her right not to have to do anything around the house. She hasn't been home in a week, and then she tracks mud all over the place."

"Jane....that usually wouldn't upset you this much. What happened to you today which makes you want Lizzie to hurt."

"Nothing."

"Private Fawcett died didn't he?"

"Yes...oh yes, it was horrible papa." Jane started crying.

"Jane." Mr. Bennet had waited in silence until Jane ceased crying. "What do you know of Weatherton?"

"Well they get the patients and Lizzie gets to line them up in order of surgery need." Jane shrugged. "And for this she gets her name blazoned everywhere."

"Jane....how many patients have you had die since you started at Meryton?"

"Two or three I think...but what has this to do with anything?" Jane looked at her father in bewilderment.

"Jane...Lizzie has that many men die on her at close on a daily rate, frequently more, sometimes that is the hourly rate."

"She must be awfully careless."

"No Jane....Lizzie is not being careless. You got cross at her for flippancy....how would you react if you had to make the decision over whether someone was to live or die? What would you do if it was left to you to decide whether he would survive through surgery? You may not admit it, but you are jealous of the name Lizzie is making, but will you please consider what price she is paying for that name. You had six other sisters to feel miserable with when Fawcett died, Lizzie has no one but herself. When an error is made, the blame is divided between you and the six others, if there is a mistake in Lizzie's corner she takes the entire blame for it. You are probably wondering at Lizzie's response just now, but please remember, she has just spent a week watching the population of her hospital decimated. Not only were the patients dying, but so too did two Doctors and four Sisters....and that is in one week, Lizzie's only home now because medical officials are trying to decide whether the hospital should remain open or not."

"I can't remember what else papa said that day, but I can remember papa sitting there, so grave and considering. He wasn't out to put me through a guilt session, he didn't want me to feel guilty for having got cross with Elizabeth. In fact I sometimes think that papa was glad I had got cross with Lizzie, she had been drawn so much into the hospital that she was forgetting the outside world. It was shortly after this that papa laid down the law that hospitals could not be brought into the house. Lizzie and I had frequently discussed things over the dinner table and papa disapproved for reasons I understand now, so we could only talk hospitals in the bedroom or outside." Jane abruptly took a sip of her tea. "I'm glad papa took so much care of us."

"I don't think I was ever jealous of anyone." Bingley chewed meditatively on a piece of toast as he considered the matter. "Well I was jealous of the fact that the Darcys had been around the world, but that had only ever been an impossible dream, so I don't think it counts.

April 17th 1917-Cambridgeshire, England

The Honourable Gerard Lewis Ashington-Frankston gazed blankly out at the rain soaked countryside. Rain splattered dismally against the window and trickled in mournful rivulets to pool on the outer sill. A noise from the immense bed which dominated the room caused Gerard to look back into the room.

"You spoke?" Gerard crossed to the bed and looked down into the pale and creased face which was all that was visible of the Earl of Deraux.

"James....where is that stupid boy? James!" It was meant to be a yell but it was little more than a hoarse whisper.

"Papa, James is in France."

"Well tell him to come home." It was an exasperated whisper.

"Papa we sent a letter a week ago but have not yet received any response." Gerard struggled to keep the worry from his voice.

"Stupid, stubborn boy." It was now a sad and tired whisper. "Ask him home Ger, I want to speak to him."

"I'll....." Gerard stopped as the door swung open and Jenkins, the elderly butler, came softly into the room. "What is it Jenkins?"

"Telegram for you sir." Jenkins took a nervous breath. "It's from the War Office."

"No." Gerard caught the bedpost to save himself from falling and stared disbelievingly at Jenkins.

"I'm afraid so sir." Jenkins held out the flimsey sheet of paper still in its envelope. Gerard opened it with nerveless fingers and stared blindly at it.

"This can't happen now..." Gerard could barely speak at all.

"What is it?" It was an aggravated whisper from the bed.

"Sorry Papa." Gerard hastily pulled himself together and returned to the head of the bed. "A telegram just came from the War Office....James is Missing-in-Action, assumed dead."

"Can't be true." The head tossed in irritation. "Go find out all the details and don't come back until you have them."

"Very good." Gerard hastily retreated casting a worried look at Jenkins. "How on earth am I meant to get details?"

"Well Mrs. Summers got a letter from the Colonel when her boy went. His stuff will probably come in a month or so."

"I wish I knew how it happened.....of all damnable times for this to happen." Gerard grumbled in annoyance as he stared at the heavy grey wall. "You're excused Jenkins...where's my mother?"

"Her ladyship is in the Grey Saloon."

"Thank you." Gerard watched as Jenkins retreated before he turned and made for the Grey Saloon.

Lady Amabel took the news of her second son's decease as she took everything, with a pale, colourless smile and a gentle sigh. Gerard, satisfied that his duty was done left the Grey Saloon and walked slowly down the stairs. In the main hall Gerard removed an oilskin from behind a small door which let out into the garden, and then exited the house and walked into that garden. It was a small garden with high stone walls, though here and there the smooth side of the wall was interrupted by a piece of smooth white marble. Gerard idly touched them as he wandered past, brushing his fingers over their smooth engraved surfaces, his grandmother Helen, Great-Grandfather Stephan, his wife of one year Anna. The direct line were remembered in this garden. Gerard touched a small stone low down on one wall, Lord Harold Charles Julian Ashington-Frankston would have turned 28 today had he lived. Would James get a block? Gerard didn't want to think the thought, but it persisted.

Life was never peaceful when James was around, doors were always banging, footsteps pounded everywhere, voices were frequently raised in argument and dispute and Gerard had no recollections of ever having entered his younger brother's room without being reminded of a wild storm. The contents were invariably scattered around in wild disorder where James threw them while searching for something, usually his handkerchief or some equally minor item. Mrs. Bold the Housekeeper had frequently thrown up her hands in despair and sworn never to enter James' room again. It was with a wry smile that Gerard remembered how easily James could pacify Mrs. Bold, a smile that quickly faded, for no matter how easily James pacified Mrs. Bold, he never even attempted to pacify their father. Had Gerard not been a member of the family he would willingly have sworn that the Earl of Deraux despised and detested his younger son, an emotion which was apparently reciprocated. But Gerard was a member of the family and he knew from long experience that James was quite liked....as long as he was not within 100 miles of Deraux Castle. James invariably ran, he was usually shouting and Gerard only knew of one person who had successfully silenced his younger brother. Another wry smile graced that grave countenance as Gerard remembered the tall and dour cricket captain who could silence James by the simple means of turning his head. The Captain of Cricket had been a University Senior when Gerard had met him for the first time, though he had frequently heard James talk about the man.

Gerard moved towards the centre of the garden and wondered idly where the Captain of Cricket now was, probably dead and it seemed a pity. Gerard gave a small shrug as he tapped his fingers on the head of the small urchin who blew a steady stream of water up into the air. All in all the fountain was an ugly ornament in that garden, the urchin wore torn overalls and a crumpled shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the collar absent. The overalls were rolled up to the knee and bare feet clung to the pedestal where the urchin sat. The urchin's hair was abnormally neat for such a ragged individual, but Gerard knew it was no joke, the urchin was a real person and that was how his hair sat. The chin was too strongly marked and the grin was too wide for the urchin to be even remotely handsome. The fountain was remarkably like the original, and yet....Gerard was well familiar with his problem with that fountain, it was as if the fountain were only half-finished. The maker had easily caught the stubborn character with it's casual streak, the external appearance was perfect and yet wrong, for the fountain did not irradiate with the mischievous magnetism of the original. In many it might be called charm, but it was too strong to be charm. Gerard abruptly quit the small garden and returned to the house. His long strides easily carried him up to the small study/nursery where three children had once had their schoolroom fights and brawls. The walls were decorated with various pictures, one of which was hidden in a corner behind the door. Gerard never knew how Margaret had done it, for all her other efforts at drawing had been terrible, but this was a drawing Gerard had ever liked. The ragged urchin still sat on the pedestal, clutching it firmly with sunbrowned feet, but it was not water he blew into the air but soap bubbles which almost seemed to drift through the air as you looked at the picture. The urchin seemed either to be on the verge of winking, or he had already winked. This picture, in all its rough and childish lines seemed to irradiate with the same mischievous magnetism as the fountain lacked.

Gerard was nearly an hour late when he descended to eat his lonesome Supper, gone were the days when prandial arguements were rule of thumb and Supper usually ended with James storming from the room in a fit of temper which would probably throw his room into even more chaos. The Earl of Deraux had now been unable to leave his chambers for months, the wasting sickness had him firmly in its grips and it was now only a matter of time. Lady Amabel, the Countess of Deraux, had never descended for Supper since James had turned fifteen. Margaret. Gerard prodded thoughtlessly at his meal while he considered his little sister, they had never been close. Gerard had never attempted to bridge the thirteen year gap which separated them, and Margaret had never been interested in doing it herself. Gerard thoughtfully applied himself to his pudding, he could still remember the fight, it had been December of '14, the day after Margaret had been married to Viscount Caudly, Gerard now wanted to spit when he heard the name. James had come home for the wedding, but he had not troubled to tell anyone he was coming and the Earl had turned an alarming shade of red when he realised that his second son was seated near the back in uniform and chatting with some labourer who had slipped into the Cathedral. With the departure of the Bride and Groom the Earl had descended upon his wayward son, who had greeted him with a cheerful grin, the grin had not remained for long and only long practice had enabled Gerard to hasten father and brother into the nearby motor before the storm broke. The storm had raged for three days without cease, voices had been yelling perpetually, doors were slammed and after the first half hour of it all Gerard had retreated to the small study/nursery and waited for the storm to die away. Gerard had been startled when James' grin had entered the small room late on the third night, the two brothers had talked but briefly and then James had left the room again. Gerard thought no more of it until the next morning when James did not show for breakfast and then Gerard realised what he had missed the night before. James had been saying goodbye, James had absolutely no intention of ever showing his face at Deraux Castle again. Gerard found it strange for James had displayed no bitterness towards their father, it had just been cool and distant disinterest. Had James continued his cool disinterest, or had he become bitter over the years since then? Gerard considered his brother for another minute and then shook his head, James was not a person who was bitter, he might yell in anger, but he rarely meant it five minutes later. Gerard shook his head, James was gone, as was Margaret, the matter merely wasted time so Gerard relegated it all to the back of his mind and started reading through the estate reports.

April 18th 1917-Southern Alps, Switzerland

They had been walking since first light, and they had been walking in total silence. In fact they made not a single sound except for the odd crunch from their feet, and the odd flurry when a stone or rock was disturbed. Then abruptly the came to a halt and dropped low. The move was prompted by a hand wave from the leader and the move was executed without a sound.

"What is it?" The soft whisper would hardly have been heard by the bush they crouched beside.

"There is someone ahead." The response was even softer. "Chris, stay alert and stay here, I'll be back in a minute."

"Right." Chris eased the knife from his belt as he crouched lower to the ground. "Count." The soft whisper caught the other just before he left.

"What?"

"I've got a feeling the person could be useful." Chris rubbed at his chin.

"So do I, but I think he may cause us a lot of trouble first."

"Why?"

"You'll see if he returns with me."

"Right." Chris nodded and fell silent, watching as the earth seemed to swallow up the Count.

"DAMN!" It was brief, it was to the point, it came five minutes after the Count had left, and it was most certainly not the Count. "Okay, just put the banger aside, I'm coming out and I won't misbehave." There was then a brief pause. "Who in Hell are you?...okay, okay, put the banger aside....either that or shoot me fast." There was a scrambling sound and Chris heard a set of footsteps approaching and then the Count rounded the bush with a man at the business end of his revolver.

"Good Lord, Ashie! What in hell are you doing here?"

"That's what I want to know." Ashie gave a yawn and stepped away from the revolver. "But first knowing where I was would help."

"You don't know where you are?"

"Well I know I'm not in France and I know that I'm not in Italy, but that doesn't help me much." Ashie gave a shrug.

"But why are you here?"

"Some sod shot my compass to bluey and due to a snowstorm I couldn't see the ground. I got a bit too low on fuel so I decided to land. I crashed in some valley a fair wack from here which satisfied me that I had no idea where I was and I've been on the run ever since." Ashie gave a shrug and frowned sharply at Chris. "And since you know me, would you mind overly much identifying yourself?"

"No problem at all, I'm the other real Angel." Chris gave slow grin as recognition dawned on Ashie's face. "But right now we need to acquire a change of clothes for you....those most certainly will not help you get away. Ashie, meet the Count, and Anne. Captain Ashington-Frankston...but he's only ever called Ashie that I've heard."

"I think actually that clothes are not the primary problem...Anne come here for a minute." The Count spoke softly and Chris watched in amazement as quite subtly Ashie began to turn away. Chris had noticed that Ashie was almost constantly shifting and easing his shoulders since the moment he arrived, but this turn had been unexpected. "Hold still." It was curt, it was a definite order and the Count's grip on Ashie's arm prevented Ashie from turning any further away.

"Chris...who is he?" Anne asked the question after she had made a brief inspection of Ashie's back.

"Captain Ashington-Frankston as I said, he's in my brother's Squadron and his back is a permanent mess." Chris gave a shrug.

"Not this type of mess Chris." The Count responded briefly and then turned his attention back to Ashie. "Can you bend over?"

"Don't be bloody insane." Ashie's response caused Chris' expression to jump in amusement.

"That being the case then I think we will obtain the most ragged clothes we can....and then they will become the cleanest ragged clothes ever seen."

"Are we still going to Turkey or will we just cut back across the border here?" Chris was blinking wearily, but his weariness was not so great the he did not see the blink at the top of the hill. "We've got company."

"Not surprising." The Count turned and started walking off.

"Do I go with you?" Ashie looked somewhat doubtfully at Chris.

"If you don't you'll be dead inside of fifteen minutes." Chris responded shortly as he indicated Anne to go ahead while he watched back over his shoulder. "You go with them and tell the Count I'll come in five."

"Okay." Ashie moved off quickly after the other two leaving Chris to prepare his little surprise for the people who were following them. Chris hurriedly caught up with the others again and gave a minuscule nod in response to the Count's enquiring eyebrow. Ten minutes after that the ground seemed to heave and rock as a column of debris shot skyward from the valley they had been in.

"I think Turkey calls us." The Count spoke gravely as the countryside settled again and without further ado he moved off again.

Ashie had been bringing up the rear for three consecutive days, a feature which irritated Chris to the point that during the evening meal on the third day that as they finished he bluntly ordered Ashie to remove his top.

"No." Ashie had stared flatly back.

"Okay." Chris gave a shrug and pulled out his revolver. "Five seconds and I'll shoot you through the left hand.....five seconds after that I think my hand will twitch again and your right hand will suffer....one....two...three..." Chris paused as with a dark scowl Ashie started a very cautious removal of his coat and shirt. "...Four...." Chris resumed his count when Ashie stopped.

"Devil take it shut up!" Ashie abruptly snapped and rounded on Chris. "Put that bloody revolver away before I tell you to go to the devil and let you kill me!"

"Why'd you stop then?" Chris had seen the burns the first night when he had helped Anne to dress them, but Ashie had rigidly warded off all other help since then.

"Because I can't take the bloody thing off, why else do think I'd stop when you were threatening to blow my hands off?"

"Anne?" Chris spoke resignedly as he returned his revolver to its handy corner. Anne had crossed to stand behind Ashie and a few seconds later she winced.

"Count...is there any water near here? Preferably salt but any will do."

"Not clean water.....We're still a day's walk from that."

"Then I suggest we get walking." Anne grimaced again and stepped away. "I also suggest we don't stop until we reach some."

"What's wrong?" Ashie looked at her curiously.

"It's infected...and quite badly, I'm not going to touch it until we get you to water, and preferably the salt variety."

"I don't like that idea." Ashie grimaced. "In fact I dislike the idea intensely."

"Any reason?" Chris yawned somewhat sleepily.

"If you ask that question you've obviously never taken a bad cut or some near relative swimming." Ashie grimaced.

"If we start now and don't waste time we should be able to get to the Mediterranean about midway through tomorrow." The Count was shouldering a pack as he spoke.

"Then let us proceed." Anne calmly motioned Ashie to proceed her, there was a slight hesitation, but nevertheless he obeyed and the four of the vanished into the shadows.

They had reached shore just before lunch, crossing the seemingly impassable terrain by invisible paths which the Count followed without fault. Chris kept a silent lookout on the shore while Anne and Ashie entered the sea, and the Count left on one of his obscure missions which he never even bothered attempting to explain. Chris had long since learnt that the Count's obscure missions invariably tended to either seriously inconvenience the enemy, or to enable a much easier departure then originally expected. Chris had also learnt that it was a subject which should not be questioned for no answer ever came.

"Still trying to get his shirt off?" The Count's return, which Chris did not notice until the Count spoke, did not particularly surprise Chris.

"Would seem so." Chris gave a shrug. "Anne's come out several times to dry and warm up, but Ashie hasn't stirred out since he entered....not that I blame him, it must be nearly killing him."

"Forty-five minutes." The Count frowned at the horizon for a moment or two. "Tell Anne that you're all free to do whatever until dark, I'll be back then and we'll move off."

"I'll let them know when Anne next emerges." Chris gave a nod as the Count disappeared up the cliff again. Chris had known ever since they arrived that he was on permanent watch duty until they moved again, the Count, if for no other reasons than for old-fashioned chivalry, would not even hear of Anne ever being left alone, and Ashie certainly did not count as a person when it came to his ability to defend someone.

"Chris, could you please see that these get dried." Anne approached with Ashie's rags in hand.

"Sure." Chris took the shirt and draped it over a nearby rock, before he glanced back at the sea. Anne was sitting down, letting the sun dry her uniform and Ashie had finally pulled himself from the water and was draped limply over a large rock. Idle curiosity caused Chris to leave his rock and move down to where Ashie lay, and as he approached he saw that Ashie was actually working a sizable lump of wood from his mouth. "What is that for?"

"Hmm." Ashie looked up and blinked somewhat hazily for a moment before he glanced down at the block of wood he had finally removed from his mouth. "Oh, something to bite. I cracked a tooth at Gallipoli during a bathing session because I clamped my mouth shut too firmly." Ashie displayed the block which had an impressive set of teethmarks.

"Impressive." Chris sank down on a nearby boulder and hastily smothered a yawn as he shot a covert glance at Ashie's back. The skin was now peeling away from the burns, but two deep welts had a sickly white look and even as he looked Chris could almost see the puss forming along the length of them. Chris swallowed somewhat sharply and with a few more words he moved back to his previous rock. A few minutes after Chris left Ashie rolled off his rock and having resumed chewing on his block of wood he re-entered the water and rolled over onto his back so he could stare up at the sky and hopefully ignore the stinging and racing pains across his shoulders and back.

"You all right?" Anne had been watching Chris for a while.

"I probably will be in a few minutes." Chris responded somewhat tightly.

"It's the only way, and he knows it well." Anne gave a faint smile, she did not feel it at all bad that Chris felt somewhat queasy, in fact she knew that she herself would feel decidedly ill if she let herself consider the matter.

"The Count says do what you like for the day, but we're leaving this evening." Chris finally managed to shrug away his nausea and return his full attention to what needed to be done.

"One might wish for warm water, but I feel it would be too much too soon." Anne gave a sigh and Chris realised that she was watching Ashie where he floated in the water.

"You are worried?"

"Yes and no." Anne paused, obviously considering the options. "He may be fine, but this may also just continue to get worse." Anne gave a slight shrug.

"I would make the assumption that he will recover with few if any side effects. Ashie is one of the most enduring objects you will ever run across, he can put his carcass through hell and come out the other side nearly unscathed." Chris paused. "Have you ever met Brigadier Darcy?"

"I've met him a few times." Anne gave a quiet nod.

"That man swears that Ashie could be dragged through a mangle and come out unscathed. I've seen Ashie rolled over by a horse and all that happened was that his canteen was smashed beyond recognition." Chris gave a shrug. "Most of us would call in dead with a crushed ribcage under those circumstances, the horse was an absolute monster."

"A question, provided you can answer it, how did Ashie get the permanent bruising around his shoulders?" Anne looked curiously up at him.

"As far as I know it occurred around about the same time as his hands. Do you have any theories about how it occurred?"

"The only time I've seen the equal is a survived strangling attempt. By the looks Ashie's had immense internal bleeding....in fact I'm surprised he still has his arms at all....let alone alive."

"Ropes, turkish torture. He's had a rope noose knotted around each arm and then been suspended above the floor. Absolutely deadly, the more you move the tighter the ropes get and at the same time your shoulders are dislocating and every muscle and tendon is screaming in agony." Chris paused, observing that Ashie had once more emerged from the water and was back on his rock basking in the sunlight. "Guessing from his hands and his character in general I'd say that Ashie was hung more than once." Chris gave a somewhat sardonic laugh. "The trick is not the torture, the trick is keeping them alive while you do it."

Continued in Next Section