John Watson never thought he would ever find himself thinking it, but he really would have given good money for a salad. He smiled up at the mess orderly, who had just plonked a load of mashed potatoes on his tray and smothered the lot in gravy. Somewhere in the kitchen tent a brave and dedicated soul was cooking Christmas Pudding and Custard. John could smell it. He could smell the spices and the sweet vanilla mixed in with antiseptic and the cordite and that intangible smell of the desert. The hot, sandy, foreign smell John though he would never get used to.

His mother had sent him parcel. A small piece of home packaged in cardboard. His chocolate Santa had melted. Somehow that upset him more than anything. He got a chocolate Santa every Christmas whether he wanted one or not. Every year he could remember, the cheap chocolate wrapped in red and gold and white foil. That moment when you carefully peeled off the foil to reveal the faceless chocolate figure beneath and then the glorious hollow crunch as Santa was decapitated. It was kind of the same guilty pleasure as breaking the foil on a new jar of coffee. Only this year the heat of the desert had stolen it away from him.

There were Christmas cards in the box, from Aunties and Uncles and friends, scribbled best wishes on glittery card, all of them distant ghosts. And soap. Imperial Leather. His mum always bought Imperial Leather. Apparently it was the soap the Queen used and Mrs Watson obviously thought that an officer in her Majesty's Army should do the same. And socks. Another thing he always got for Christmas. And a jumper. His mum had knitted him a jumper. It was beige and thick and was obviously just what you wanted when it was hot enough to melt your chocolate Santa. "It gets cold at night John!" He could hear his mother's voice as she had said her goodbyes. John stroked the warm wool. It still smelled faintly of the washing powder his mum had always used. They were a Persil household. John wasn't sure if the Queen used Persil or not.

He swallowed the last of his meal, thinking that if someone had been to the trouble of cooking him a turkey dinner in the middle of the desert; the least he could do was eat it.

"Do you want custard or cream on your pudding Captain?" The mess orderly, Alex, that was it, Alex Jones, was asking. "The custard is slightly warmer than the cream but only just!" He added.

"Custard please, Alex!" John noticed that Alex always went a charming shade of red under his tan when John addressed him by his first name. Alex handed over a bowl containing what John was sure was at least a double portion of pudding, swimming in a sea of yellow.

"Watch out for the elephants!" Alex sashayed off with a smile leaving John to prod his potentially elephant infested custard with a spoon. It wasn't half bad actually. John had taken two mouthfuls before the shout went up.

"Captain Watson, we have incoming wounded."

Xx

John knew there was little to be done. He couldn't save the leg and he had to stop the bleeding. The young soldier's body armour was shredded and his face sprayed with blood. There would be internal injuries. Possibly brain damage. John knew his job was to stabilise the casualty and get him out of here. In the background John could hear the radio in the hospital office playing The Little Drummer Boy. The soldiers eyes flickered open for a moment.

"Hello? Can you tell me what your name is?" John shook him gently.

"Joseph."

"Hello Joseph I'm Captain Watson. You're in the field hospital. Can you tell me what day it is?" There was a pause.

"It's Christmas!" Joseph smiled. And closed his eyes.

Xx

John returned to the mess tent to retrieve his Christmas presents some hours later. It was getting dark and cold. The box had been neatly placed on a side table. On the top of the box, carefully wrapped in foil was a slice of Christmas cake. Alex had obviously felt sorry for John's interrupted pudding. When John returned to his bunk he pulled his sweaty t-shirt off and pulled on his jumper. His jumper that smelled of home.

"Merry Christmas." He whispered to the dark of desert.