Three

The Doctor pulled something to him. From where he was standing, he couldn't tell what it was. As he contemplated this, the realisation dawned that even if he stood next to the Doctor, he still wouldn't know what the object was.

Whatever the Doctor was looking at, his gaze shifted from the men to the thing and back to the men again. He intended to approach the Doctor and ask what was so interesting when the Doctor flipped the device up and paced around the console.

"What is it?" the Doctor muttered as his fingers tapped the side of his head. "I need a sample, then I can test it. It's familiar but also strange. I can't remember why it's familiar. Not possible. Maybe… no, definitely not possible. Must be something else. Ahh, but what if, just what if. Can I take that chance? Need to find out, for sure."

The Doctor stopped his pacing and faced him for a moment or two. The Doctor seemed to be working toward a decision. Unsure of what he could say in this situation he stayed quiet.

"Captain," the Doctor said at last. "I need to find something. I know I have it somewhere in the Tardis. At least, I think I do. Kindly have everyone ready to leave so we can go the moment I find what I need. Time is possibly running out."

"Okay, Doctor," he replied. "Don't worry, we'll all be ready when you are."

The Doctor disappeared down one of the corridors that led from the room.

"That old geezer's right," Jenkins whispered behind him. "Time's sommat we don't 'ave much of. If we don't gerra move on it'll be the second year running I've missed me Christmas dinner."

"Why, what happened last year, Jenkins?" he asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Well, sir," Jenkins replied. "I were hit in the leg by a piece of shrapnel. Weren't big, but enough to give me a nasty limp. I got sent down the line to the dressin' station. Bit of a muddle there an' I ended up on a train with some lads a lot worse off than me. When we arrived at the rear area, the doctors took a gander an' told me I was fine an' I could go back to me unit. Took me another three days to get back to the lads, course they'd already had theirs. Buggers hadn't left anything over for me. Guess they thought I was 'avin it at the field hospital, in clean sheets, wiv beautiful and carin' nurses all around me."

"So what did you have instead?"

"The usual, sir. Maconochie stew, hard biscuit and petrol-flavoured water. What about you sir, I bet you 'ad some nice stuff for Christmas, seein' as you're an officer an' all?"

"Ha, I wish," he smiled at the memory. "In 1914 I had the usual stuff, in fact, I swapped most of it for some cigars from a German officer. We watched as some men had their hair cut by one of their barbers. Then I sat drinking port with two or three other officers and cheered the boys for trying to have a game of football."

"What? Your lot played a game of footie 'gainst the Jerries, sir?"

"A 'game' is pushing the definition a bit far, Jenkins," he answered. "There must have been twenty men on each side, and they used an old ration tin as the ball. One of the goals was even on the lip of a shell-hole. There was no referee, and I doubt anyone was keeping score. I suppose we were all just happy to be out of the trenches and not have anybody trying to kill us."

"An' last year sir. Bet you had a slap up meal at Regimental. Roast turkey with all the trimmins." Jenkins' face glowed as he pictured the imagined meal in his mind.

"Jenkins," he replied. "I've no idea where you get these ideas from, but they really are amusing. No, last year I spent four days, from Christmas Eve until the 28th, stuck in No Man's Land."

"Eh? Ow come? What 'appened, er if you don't mind me askin' sir?"

"No, it's fine, Jenkins," he said. "I don't mind." He glanced up and saw the other members of the party listening to him.

"We had two of our guys hung up on the enemy wire. Well, I suppose I hoped that since it was Christmas, the enemy would allow me and a few others to get the poor buggers back. The odds were reasonable they would, I think they were Westphalian or Bavarians. I asked for volunteers to join me and picked four of them. We got forward with no problems.

"When we got there, I found out we hadn't brought any wire cutters. A stupid mistake to make if I'm honest."

"What did you do sir?" Stanley asked.

"Only thing I could think of," he replied with a grin. "I shouted across to the German trenches and asked them if we could borrow a set of theirs." He stopped at the look of incredulity on the faces of those listening.

"What 'append then?" Jenkins asked, his eyes wide.

"Three pairs of wire cutters came flying out of the trench towards where we were. It was a fine Christmas gift, so I rummaged around, and the only thing I had to trade was my hip flask with some brandy in it. I took a little nip, sealed the cap and threw it towards the Jerries.

"One of the men with me, Howarth, recovered a nearby set of cutters, and we freed the two men from the wire. Both were in a bad way, wounded, cold and dehydrated. We looked at their injuries, did what we could and then carried them back to our own lines. Half-way back and some idiot decided there should be no truce here and fired. I'm not even sure which side started it or whether we were even the intended targets. I suppose it didn't matter. Within seconds most of our bit of the front was awake and shooting, soon Whizz-Bangs and Jack Johnsons were dropping all over the place.

"The six of us spent the next four days at the bottom of a shell-hole."

"Six?" Jenkins asked. "Don't you mean seven, sir?"

He sighed. "Howarth didn't make it to the relative safety of the shell-hole, he fell in the initial exchange. Anyway, a bloody machine gun kept us pinned in there for the next three days. One of the men we'd pulled from the wire died of his wounds, there was nothing we could do for him. That hun knew exactly where we were and would not let us out. I don't know, maybe he blamed us for ruining his Christmas." He gave a small chuckle at the absurdity of it.

"Some people," Maybach filled the silence, "they have lost friends, many friends. They can no longer see the enemy as another human being, doing his duty. I have witnessed such people. They mistreat prisoners. They shoot the wounded man crawling back to his own lines. The idea of live and let live is not something they understand. Everything is about revenge. It shames me that not just the Prussians but also some of my countrymen are so."

"We have them on our side too," he answered. "War brings out the worst in people, but somehow, also the best. Though, I fear that this war will have more of the worst to show us. Our governments become more desperate to win, to break the stalemate here in the West. Look at how much has changed in the two years we've been fighting. We're fighting on land, sea, in the air, under the sea, and under the ground. We've used gas, bombs, flame weapons, machine guns, and artillery that hurls death from several miles away. And all the time, we here, in the trenches have so very much in common. The wet, the cold, the mud, rats as big as cats, lice, sickness, shelling, snipers. Need I go on? We seem to be trapped with no idea of how to break the circle of destruction."

"How do you cope with it all, captain?" Nurse McDonald asked, all of a sudden by his side.

"I have my duty to perform," he replied. "There's also my responsibility to those men whom it is my pleasure and privilege to command." He paused as his mouth quirk upwards. "That, and a family tradition of serving the Crown. How could I face them if I didn't uphold the honour of the family?" He looked into her pale-blue eyes. "And what of you, Nurse McDonald? What does your family think of you serving so close to the front line in this war?"

"My father is dead, captain," she replied. "My younger brother died on the first day of the Somme, a victim of the German machine guns. At least, he died with his friends. No more suffering for them, free at last. I had completed my nurse training in the summer of 1915 and was serving in a hospital back home, looking after the shattered soldiers that returned from the front. When my brother died, I applied to come over here and serve at the front. I'm young, but I'm also determined and competent. I was with my mother during the suffragette protests before the outbreak of war. She is worried, who wouldn't be, but also proud of what I am doing here."

"As she should be," he replied. "Your presence in the aid stations, hospitals and other places over here, is a great help to the morale of the men. Seeing something normal, something that can remind them of home, of those they have left behind is a great blessing."

"Captain, I'm not some delicate bauble to be dangled before the mangled and damaged bodies of these brave boys. So you can hope that my presence shames them into withholding their moans and screams of pain."

"That's not what I intended to imply," he apologised. "I meant to state, in my clumsy way, that seeing someone as beautiful as yourself, so close to the front, sharing our hardships… it restores a little faith. That is something that quickly evaporates in the trenches, where all we see is death, destruction and rats. You offer a proof we're not forgotten, that we don't suffer alone. And that people do care about the men here."

"Oh, I'm sorry," she replied. "I guess I'm rather too quick to take such comments as an attack on myself and my gender."

They talked for a while longer, he wasn't sure about what, just remembering that they had. He glanced around and noticed that the others had drifted off while waiting for the Doctor to find whatever it was he needed.

He cleared his throat and rose from the step on which he'd been sitting. "Well, Nurse McDonald," he said. "It was a real pleasure talking to you."

"Please, captain," she replied. "My name is Evelyn Grace. I think you can call me Evelyn."

"Evelyn," he replied with a smile. "And please call me Jack, all my friends do." And giving her a slight bow, he turned and sauntered over to where Jenkins and Stanley were in deep conversation.

Before he reached them, though, the Doctor reappeared holding something about the size of a pistol and pushing it into his jacket pocket.

"Found it," the Doctor announced. "Now, a quick check before we step outside the safety of the Tardis doors." The Doctor took a quick look at something hanging above the circular desk before flipping it back with a flourish of his wrist. "Shall we go, captain?"

"Go where?" he asked puzzled.

"Into the night," the Doctor replied with a smile.

"Sergeant," he called out. "Let's go. You know the drill."

As he watched the sergeant lead the men out of the Tardis, he cast a quick glance at his watch. It read 01:16, it was officially Christmas Day. He exited the wooden box, followed by Nurse McDonald and the Doctor, who turned and locked the door with a standard size key.

Everyone looked at the Doctor. It was obvious that they were no longer in the field that they had entered the Tardis. This had the look of No Man's Land.

"Doctor," he said. "Where, how did we get here?"

The Doctor looked at him as if he was a simpleton and closed his eyes before letting out a very audible sigh.

"Okay, captain," the Doctor answered, "a little Tardis 101."

A minute or so later and he really was none the wiser as to what had happened and how, yet the evidence was before his eyes. And two years at the front had taught him to trust his instincts.

"Okay, Doctor," he said. "Most of what you just said sounds impossible. But here we are, so I guess we just have to accept it. What now?"

"Okay," the Doctor said while rubbing his hands together. "If you would lead us off in the right direction, I'm sure we'll all be back in time for Christmas."

He looked around for a few moments, trying to remember one landmark or other from his last visit to this part of No Man's Land. Fortunately, the distance between the trench lines was almost half-a-mile.

"That way," he said, pointing to their right.

Everyone looked in that direction.

"Sergeant, you have the rear," he ordered. "McGiven, you take the lead. Evelyn, Doctor, kindly place yourselves in the middle of the column. Walk where the men in front of you walk. Stop when they do. Do exactly what they do." He stared at the Doctor, "And try not to make any noise."

As he moved forward to consult with McGiven regarding their direction, he slowed as he came alongside Jenkins. "Jenkins," he whispered. "Keep an eye on the nurse and both eyes on the Doctor. He's a bloody know-it-all and probably won't like getting his clothes muddy. Just make sure he doesn't come to harm or cause any of us to come to harm. Understood?"

"Yes, sir," Jenkins replied. "An' 'ere I was opin' for a quiet Christmas by the fire."

"If we find what the Doctor is looking for and get back safely, I'll arrange for a real Christmas dinner for us all."

"D'ya know what he's lookin' for, sir?"

"Not really," he replied. "Whatever it is, it seems to be related to what happened to us… God, was it only a few hours ago?" he shook his head and continued. "Anyway, it's obvious this Doctor fellow is holding something back, he's not telling us everything, that much is certain. So, keep your wits about you near him."

"Don't you worry sir, I'll keep 'im in me back pocket."

The ground was uneven and very muddy, a thin sliver of moon, briefly free of cloud cover, provided minimal illumination for movement. Muttered curses could be heard from behind him as the others struggled through the mud. Off to their left a star shell burst in the sky, throwing stark shadows across the landscape. He heard Jenkins' fierce whisper "Freeze," to Evelyn and the Doctor. This was the most dangerous part now. The instinct was to throw yourself to the ground to reduce the chances of being seen. Yet that same movement might draw an observer's eye towards you with deadly consequences. Old hands at moving around in No Man's Land knew the best thing to do was to stay perfectly still. The harsh light from above created strange shadows and effects on the ground which often meant someone standing still was not seen.

There were several trees nearby that weren't too badly damaged from shelling that should offer a measure of concealment and if needed, protection. Quickly deciding a route, he waited until the last light of the artificial illumination died away before signalling everyone to follow as fast as possible.

As they slowly made their way through fallen branches and trees toppled by shell fire, the Doctor and Evelyn McDonald came to be standing nearby. Finding a convenient spot to rest that offered concealment, yet with a good field of view, he signalled for the others to take defensive positions. McGiven and Sergeant Stanley moved forward to scout the way. Both men flowed over the ground like an early morning mist.

"What are we waiting for now?" the Doctor asked.

"If you must know, we're making sure that the way ahead is the correct route and is also safe enough to risk it."

"We could be there much quicker if we just got up and walked there," the Doctor commented.

"I'm sure you could," he replied. "However I'm also sure that should an enemy patrol be about, they'd put a stop to your nocturnal wanderings without so much as a by-your-leave."

"The captain is correct, Doctor," Maybach added. "My unit makes regular patrols in areas such as this. Prisoners are a prize that the intelligence people would pay for."

"Soldiers," the Doctor grumbled. "Why should I expect anything any different?" Then leant back against the side of the shell-hole and conversed with Nurse Evelyn McDonald.

He spoke for a while with Maybach and having spent time in his company, he found the German to be no different from any of his own men. Tired, though, he soon found his eyes closed and his head leaning back. The Doctor and Evelyn's whispered conversation drifted over to him. Obviously, they were unaware of how far sound could travel on a cold night like this. He was about to tell them to be quieter when he heard himself being mentioned.

"We'll never get there in time at this rate," the Doctor complained to Evelyn.

"It makes sense to take care in No Man's Land," she replied. "Jack told me about some of the things that could happen out here."

"Jack?" the Doctor sounded surprised.

"Oh, we were talking while waiting for you in the Tardis. He said I could call him Jack, all his friends did."

"Captain Jack," the Doctor muttered.

"Yes," she replied. "He's been out here since the beginning. Wounded twice, but has so far survived. I think he doesn't want to abandon his men, he feels responsible for their safety. He seems a decent type."

"That can't be right," the Doctor didn't seem to be in the same conversation as Evelyn. "I wouldn't have forgotten such a thing, surely."

"Doctor, what are you talking about?"

"Nothing my dear," the Doctor replied. "Waiting for the soldiers to stop playing their games is not one of my strong points."

"I don't think they're playing games, Doctor," she replied, a hint of steel in her voice.

"What do you expect?" the Doctor asked, missing the vocal signals that he was treading on dangerous ground. "They're all soldiers. Blindly following each other, nobody actually thinks things through and so they make the same mistakes over and over again, all in the cause of duty. Stupidity more like. Soldiers cannot be reasoned with."

"My brother was a soldier," she hissed.

"And does he enjoy the killing? That's all they know. That's what they do you know. It is their principal function, it's in their job description."

"I don't think Bertie ever got the chance to find out," she snapped. "He died on the first day of his first battle."

"Oh," the Doctor floundered. "I'm sorry about that."

"Are you?" she asked. "I mean he was only a soldier, and only seventeen years old at that. He lied about his age to join up and be with his friends. And he was just one of thousands to die that day and the days that followed. So just how sorry are you, Doctor? These men are risking their lives to get you where you said you needed to be. I think a show of appreciation and respect would be in order."

His eyes opened a crack to see what the Doctor would do next.

The Doctor paused and looked at Evelyn's face. "I find it difficult around soldiers," the Doctor replied. "I've had bad experiences in the past."

"May I suggest that you picked the wrong place to visit if you don't like soldiers then, Doctor," she snapped back.

It was all he could do not to burst out laughing at her reply.

Yet, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Bentwood stiffen, removing all thoughts of humour. Someone, or something, was approaching.

He pointed a finger at the pair of them and signalled for silence. With utmost care, he turned to face the right way and manoeuvred his rifle over the lip of the shell-hole. Bentwood's hand pointed out the area. His eyes stared out, looking for movement, not shapes.

After a moment, he saw it. First one, then two, three, four shapes moving with extreme care towards them. The shapes stopped twenty feet from them and sank to the ground. One lifted its head ever so slightly, and a voice called out in a whisper made harsh with stress.

"Jam."

"Biscuits," Bentwood replied. "Identify."

"Stanley and McGiven with Sharpe and Gilbert," came the response.

Bentwood looked across at him. He nodded to the unspoken question. It sounded like Stanley, it was the right challenge and response, but there was no way of knowing if it was under duress. Another example of why going into No Man's Land was so stressful.

Soon four mud covered individuals slid into the hiding place. It was indeed Stanley and McGiven with Sharpe and Gilbert. A hasty conference took place between himself, the sergeant and the two newcomers. Then he made his way across to the Doctor.

"What's happening?" the Doctor asked.

"Sharpe and Gilbert are two men from my unit," he answered. "They got separated from the rest of their squad when they were out here on patrol. They stumbled across some… bodies, enemy bodies."

"What about these bodies?"

"It looked like they'd killed each other. Sharpe says one had even buried his teeth into the body of another."

"Was there any signs of foaming at the mouth? Were their eyes white?"

"Doctor," he hissed. "What is it you are not telling me?"

"Was there?" the Doctor insisted.

"They didn't stay to look, Doctor. Yet Gilbert swears some of the bodies were unusual. Make of that what you will."

He watched as the Doctor wiped a hand across his brows. Did the Doctor's hand tremble as it did so?

"We need to go to those bodies now," the Doctor instructed.

"What? Not until you tell me what is going on we don't."

"You wouldn't understand," the Doctor snapped back.

"Because I'm just a stupid soldier?"

"Ah, you heard? Well, it doesn't matter. This time, no, not because you're a soldier. The fact is I don't understand it myself. This is like something out of a nightmare. A memory so terrible that it's buried deep beneath all other memories hoping that it would never resurface." The Doctor closed his eyes before continuing. "Captain, I need to make a positive identification of what is causing these deaths. What is changing the behaviour of the men? Is it something you humans have invented for yourselves or is it something foreign? If it's something of your own making, well I think you can clear up your own mess this time. If it isn't, we must see if we can stop it." The Doctor opened his eyes again. "But I can't do that from here. I need to get to the place where the bodies are and start from there. Then trace it back to the source if I can."

"Okay," he said. "We'll make for the scene. But I have to warn you they also spotted enemy patrols in the area. Maybe they were ordinary soldiers, not the raving mad men we've encountered before. But I cannot guarantee that. So for your own safety, the safety of Nurse McDonald and my men, I ask you to please do as we say. When we say it, and not to argue until the danger has passed. Do you think you can do that, Doctor?"

"I can," the Doctor replied at once.

He looked into the Doctor's face and nodded.

"Okay then," he turned to Stanley. "Sergeant, we're going to the location of the bodies Sharpe and Gilbert found. Let's take it nice and steady. Give Private Maybach a weapon, just in case. No shooting except on my order."

It took thirty-eight minutes to reach the area of the bodies according to the frequent glances at his watch. The men formed an effective perimeter around the area as the Doctor bent with intense concentration over the bodies sprawled in violent death.

"Do you have what you need Doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, and no," the Doctor replied without looking up from the body he was examining.

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?"

"It means, my dear captain, that I have more information, but not enough to make certain. As always more data is vital to the success of the enterprise."

"Enterprise," he snarled. "We're in No Man's Land, Doctor. We don't have the time to perform full bloody autopsies on these men."

"What's the rush captain? Do you have somewhere else you'd rather be?"

"I'd rather be home in my own bed," he replied. "Yet failing that, anywhere is better than here. In a few hours, our front will be at Stand-To. The enemy will do the same."

"Stand-To?"

"That's when the trenches are fully manned and everyone alert for an attack. They will fire on anything unusual in No Man's Land. I'd class your Tardis as unusual, to both sides. As such I expect both would shoot at it."

"Well, good luck to them," the Doctor replied. "They'll not be able to destroy it, and they won't get in it."

"Neither will we," he replied, teeth gritted. "We need to be either in this invincible box of yours or out of No Man's Land by the time the sentries can see it in the dawn light. I've no intention of spending another Christmas in a shell-hole."

The Doctor looked up at him. "Understood captain. I have enough information to allow us to make the next step in the investigation."

"And?" he asked.

The Doctor stood. "And we can return to the Tardis now."

The journey was a nightmare of caution competing with the need for speed. Go too slow and they may not make the Tardis in time, yet go too fast and the risk of discovery increased with all the dangers that entailed. The moon had once more disappeared behind winter clouds that dropped a light drizzle on everything below, just to add to their misery.

Breathless, edgy, covered in mud and sweating in damp clothing, the weary band trudged into the welcoming chamber of the Tardis.

"Grab a drink and sort your equipment out," he ordered the men. He then followed the Doctor to the central desk where the Doctor was busy twiddling dials and things.

"What now Doctor?"

"I'm feeding the data I collected into the Tardis," the Doctor replied not deigning to look up from whatever he was observing on the console. "The Tardis will then extrapolate the data and tell me where we need to be."

"How long will it take?"

"Captain, it will take as long as it takes. Instead of interrupting me with your unhelpful questions isn't there something else you can be doing? Such as sharpening your knives or polishing your bullets or something."

He stared long and hard at the Doctor before moving to join his men, brushing past Nurse Evelyn on his way.

He looked at his watch for the hundredth time. It hadn't moved, still reading 03:42, when the Tardis made that unusual noise. There was a sudden whump, which reverberated around the chamber and the Doctor looked up from the desk. "We're there."

"Where?" he asked.

"As near as the Tardis could extrapolate the likely location of the source," the Doctor replied. "Shall we go, captain?"

"Sergeant," he called out. "Get the men ready. We're leaving once more."

"Yes, sir," Sergeant Stanley replied and at once got the men organised.

"Doctor, it seems you know the way we need to go, and that presents something of a problem."

"What sort of problem?" the Doctor asked nonplussed.

"It would mean you leading the party," he replied. "However, you have neither the experience nor the skill at moving around here safely. Also, you're the only one who can get us back to our unit in the Tardis. If something happens to you, everything is lost. So I'm tempted to place you in the middle of the men—"

"I do not—" began the Doctor.

"But you won't do that, will you? So you will be behind two of my men, close enough to give directions, but far enough back not to be a danger. You will need to do exactly as you are told. Understood?"

"A danger to whom?" the Doctor's eyebrows raised.

"Everyone," he replied. "Understood?"

The Doctor nodded and walked to the doors of the Tardis. After a quick look around the Tardis, the Doctor opened the door and gestured for the party to leave.

He gave a nod of his head and Sergeant Stanley led the men out of the Tardis.

On leaving the Tardis, the first thing he noticed was the wood sixty yards to their left. There were still trees standing, yet due to the winter weather and shelling, few still had leaves. The ground to the right sloped away ever so slightly. In the distance, he suspected another wood, given the darker aspect that rose from the ground. Besides that, there was nothing of immediate concern in the vicinity.

"Okay Doctor," he said. "Which way?"

The Doctor waved his fancy apparatus around and, at last, nodded his head toward the nearer wood.

"That way captain," the Doctor answered. "I suspect it's somewhere amongst the trees."

"Absolutely marvellous," he replied before turning to Sergeant Stanley. "Okay sergeant, you know what to do. Remind the men to be extra vigilant. I've no idea where we are at the moment."

"Me neither, sir," Stanley replied with a shrug. "Okay you lot, you heard the captain, nice an easy does it."

"Hey Sarge," said Gilbert. "Do we know what we're looking for yet?"

"How old are you son?" Stanley asked.

"Eighteen Sarge," Gilbert replied after a slight pause, worried and unsure if he was in trouble.

"An' they believed that at the recruitin' desk did they?" Jenkins commented with a laugh. The other men in the unit joined in with smiles and guffaws.

He could imagine Gilbert's blush in the dark. Everyone in the unit knew that Gilbert had lied about his age to enlist. The boy hadn't even started to shave yet. Losses being what they were, though, the army had accepted the lad at his word. They had trained him, equipped him and then shipped him off to France as a replacement. A few weeks in the brutality of the bullring at Etaples ensured the replacements, and those returning to the front, were ready for the front line. And then they assigned him to a unit and sent him up the line to join his new comrades. In Gilbert's case, that was five days ago.

"Well, son," Stanley began in his most fatherly tone. "There are only two types of sarges in His Majesty's army. That would be mes-sarges and saus-sarges. The correct form of address is Sergeant, or Sarn't. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sar… geant," Gilbert hastily replied.

"Good," Stanley continued. "Now get yerself fell in and put a sock in it."

The men moved off still chuckling toward the woods indicated by the Doctor.

"Why do they do it?"

Nurse McDonald's quiet question took him by surprise. He turned his head to look at her.

"What, lie about their age?" he asked.

She nodded, her lips pressed together. "This is what it must have been like for Bertie," she said.

"Ah," he replied, then remembered what she'd said regarding her younger brother. "Your brother was in one of the Pals battalions of Kitchener's Army?"

At her nod, he continued. "No, I suspect it would have been different for your brother. The men he joined up with would have trained, marched, ate, slept and shipped together. They would have had a bond that no replacement has in his new unit."

"They also died together," she said, eyes downcast, her face averted.

"Yes, they did. And the army no longer works like that. The downside is that the newcomers have to fit into an existing family unit. Often they don't last long enough to be fully accepted into it."

She turned to face him, a puzzled frown on her face.

"Death is all about us out here," he said. "It is directed, like a sniper's bullet and it is random such as the artillery shell that drops short. The common thread is that someone is dead. Whether you've known that person for years or hours shouldn't matter, but it does. When so many of your friends have died it can become hard to want to know the newcomer, the person taking his place. I suppose that inside you think you're protecting yourself, that it will hurt less if they are the next to die."

"And does it?" the Doctor asked from his other side.

He hadn't even been aware the Doctor had moved to join them. He took several steps before answering.

"At first," he replied. "But there have been so many, it no longer makes any difference. Each one is a painful cut. And a blessing it wasn't me. After a big show, for example, it's even worse. When we're back in the rest area, we have to write the letters to the families of the dead. Once, three of us had to write four hundred and twenty-seven letters in one week. After that, we got absolutely blotto."

"Blotto?"

"Drunk," Nurse McDonald answered the Doctor.

At last, they reached the woods and crept forward.