"Osgood, I'm glad I caught you – I'm just about to board, but I wanted to check in with you first. Anything urgent needing my attention in London?"

"Nothing urgent Ma'am. You've only been away for two days…"

"I know, I know – but it seemed like weeks! What a waste of time! I can't believe they dragged me all the way to Geneva for that."

"Oh? The conference looked interesting…"

"Well, it wasn't. A lot of technico-babble nonsense, and a pseudo Aliens expert who'd never even met one. I can't believe UNIT head office funded such a farce. We got some lovely complimentary chocolates though – I'm bringing you some back."

"Thank you, Ma'am."

"So if there's nothing urgent, I'll go home tonight, unpack, unwind, and see you at the Tower tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of your day, Osgood."

"Thanks! Safe travel"

"Thank you."

Kate Stewart had just rung off when she was called for take-off. The small Squirrel helicopter was waiting for her on the tarmac. After exchanging a few words with Captain Thompson, the pilot and strapping herself in the seat, Kate settled for the flight back to Brize Norton. She didn't like small aircrafts – too noisy and stuffy - but as she was the only one to fly back to Britain, she had had no choice in the matter. Her thoughts were wandering alternatively on Unit ongoing affairs and on the hot bath she was going to take at home when she heard a variation in the engine noise:

"Problem, Captain?"

"I don't know, Ma'am – trying to find out."

"Well, do! And please tell me asap!" That sounded a bit cranky, but she was tired and fed up about having wasted precious time in Geneva. The chopper began to shake, and she heard a trace of panic in the pilots' voice coming in her flight helmet: "Engine's failing, Ma'am – prepare for crash-landing over the Channel."

"Really? Is that the only option?"

"Afraid so, Ma'am."

For a millisecond, Kate's brain froze, and she tried desperately to remember and focus on what they'd taught her during the training sessions. She sat up and located the nearest exit, and grabbed the Emergency Breathing Device the pilot handed her. One memory from training flashed in her brain – the helicopter would be upside down, flooded, and sinking in seconds, if it didn't blow before impact. Her chances of surviving this one weren't good. She thought about her sons, and in her mind, she apologised to them – they didn't know exactly what she did, and she had never told them she could be in mortal danger. And she hadn't told them she loved them either, not for a long time. Then, as she braced herself for impact, tucking her head on her chest into her arms, her last thought was: "I've survived dinosaurs, Silurians, Daleks, Missy, and I'm going to die in a freak helicopter accident - that's a dirty trick!"

Then she felt herself thrown into the air, flying objects all around her, and the ice-cold water slowly submerging her. She tried to take deep slow breaths for the EBD to work, but she panted, gasped and suffocated before losing consciousness.

The only visible part of Bernie Wolfe were her eyes, and they showed concern. Even with all her trauma expertise, she knew they would have a job to save the woman currently lying in theatre. She had been paged away from an elective surgery for this one, and she would fight, but the odds were against her – against both of them. The patient had suffered several grave burns, in addition to a broken leg, a ruptured spleen, multiple rib fractures and injuries to the spinal cord and vertebrae that could leave her tetraplegic if not treated properly. Her face was a mass of bruises, her nose broken, and she had been intubated in the Medevac. As Dominic Copeland enumerated the injuries listed on arrival, Bernie sighed and braced herself – she had treated many multi-traumatised patients in Afghanistan and Irak, but this would be a challenge: "Dom? Do we know her name and what happened?"

"We don't have her name yet, but she was on board of an army chopper that crashed near the coast. Luckily, the pilot must have been able to send a signal before the crash, because the rescue team was nearly already on the spot, and they managed to medevac her. She was already suffering from hypothermia, though"

"I see… what about the pilot?"

"DOA"

Bernie sighed – another lost life, not even on the battlefield. Dom's voice broke her thoughts: "You know the strange thing? Apparently she was in mufti – one of the orderlies told me."

"Nothing that strange about it – maybe she's a civilian, a journalist, or something. Let's concentrate on the job at hand, shall we? We haven't got time to waste in speculations!"

The operation lasted for more than eight hours, with various specialists coming in to give a hand, and Bernie was exhausted. She thought she'd managed to save her patient's life, though, and that was the most important thing. When Serena saw her walk into their common office in AAU, she took one look at her and all but ordered her colleague to go and have a lie down in one of the on-call rooms. At first Bernie protested, but when Serena reminded her how she had strained her back again a few days before, she agreed to rest for a few hours, stipulating that she had to be paged if there were any new development on her mystery patient.

She must have dropped off in the early morning hours, because when she woke up several hours later, it was already 1.00 pm. After a quick shower and change of scrubs, she hurried back to the Trauma Unit. She grabbed a cup of coffee on her way, and made a beeline for her patient's room. The woman was apparently sleeping peacefully, although she was still intubated, and most of her face hidden by bandages. Bernie checked her file – someone must have come in the morning to identify her, because her name, Kate Stewart, and her age – 52 – appeared on it. Bernie noted idly that they were the same age and thought no more of it.