War waited for no man and moments when Squad 7 weren't fighting, or training to fight, were very few indeed. Nevertheless Catherine tried to snatch an odd ten minutes every day to settle down with a cup of tea and her reading book. Today though, that little pleasure was being interrupted by a ruckus outside. With a suffering sigh, she slipped her bookmark onto her page and went to see what the fuss was about.

As she wandered outside she was shocked to see two squad members being held apart from one another. Oscar's lip was bleeding and Cezary's left eye was bruised and swollen. Ramona and Cherry stood a little away from them, looking appalled, while Susie was utterly white-faced and seemed ready to faint.

"Goodness! What's going on here?" Catherine asked as she approached.

Ramona sidled over to her. "Oscar and Cezary had a little scuffle," she whispered. "Cezary made a comment about Emile's health holding up the team and Oscar struck him."

"Bastard!" Oscar was shouting. He managed to slip an arm free from Hannes's grasp and took a swipe at the other sniper, though he was just out of reach. Hannes quickly restrained him again before he could have another go.

"Damn kid!" Cezary muttered fiercely. "You'll be sorry for starting a fight with me!" He wasn't struggling against his captor though, wisely accepting that he didn't have the strength to break free of Rosina's hold.

Oscar meanwhile was thrashing in Hannes's steadfast grip, desperately trying to break free so he could have at the other sniper. "Let me go!" he yelled.

Catherine swept in front of him, placing a hand on each shoulder. "Oscar, pull yourself together!" she said, shaking him firmly.

"Miss O'Hara, you should have heard what he said about Em!" Oscar blurted. "He said that…"

"I don't care what he said," she told him levelly. "You need to calm down."

Her words seeped past his rage the way no-one else's could have. While Oscar breathing remained heavy and dangerous, he stopped trying to pull free of Hannes's hold on him.

At that very moment Welkin came striding around the corner, with Aisha (who presumably had been the telltale) in tow. His fists were clenched and he looked as cross as Catherine had even seen him.

"Hey! Just what do you two think you're doing?!" he shouted in the authoritative voice which he rarely deployed off the battlefield.

Both culprits spoke at the same time.

"That bastard…"

"That damn kid…"

"I don't want to hear it," Welkin bellowed. "I will see both of you in my office in ten minutes!"

Without waiting for any type of reply, he turned on his heal and strode away.

"Oh dear," Catherine muttered to herself. "Hannes, can you take care of Oscar for a bit?"

"Yeah Ma'am," the gruff trooper replied.

"Take him to his room and calm him down. I'll be right back."

She gave Oscar a quick pat on the cheek, then turned and jogged after Squad 7's young commander. She caught up with him just as he was about to head inside to his office.

"Sir! Might I have a moment?"

Welkin, who already has his hand on the doorknob, turned back to face her. The crossness in his face had faded away already; Catherine wondered how much of it had been for show.

"Oh, sure Catherine," he said. "Do you want to come inside?"

"No thank you Sir, this shouldn't take long." She stood to attention in front of him, then bowed her head remorsefully. "I wish to apologise for the conduct of my sniper team."

Welkin blinked, surprised. "Oh, that's not your fault Catherine. Squad 7 are a passionate bunch. That's a good thing of course, but it does mean that tempers flare every now and then."

"All the same I apologise," she said, dipping her head respectfully again.

"Well if you insist, then your apology accepted," said Welkin. "But that's not the only reason you came to me was it? You want to know how they're going to be punished don't you?"

"That's right Sir," Catherine said. There was no point in denying it.

Welkin sighed, fiddled with his cap. "I don't like doing it. But I have to follow protocol on this. Both of them will get twenty-four hours in the stockade."

Catherine's eyes widened in panic. "Please Sir, you can't do that!"

"I'm afraid I have to Catherine," Welkin said. "I don't mind if they argue. But I have to draw the line when they start fighting each other. We've got enough enemies as it is without raising our hands to each other."

"I know. And I can't defend what they've done. Lock Cezary up. That's fine with me – he could do with being taken down a peg or two in all honesty. But I must ask that you don't do the same to Oscar."

"I know he's your student Catherine," Welkin said. "But I can't make an exception just because of that."

"Yes Sir, he is my student," Catherine stated. "Because of that I've come to know what's best for him."

"How do you mean?"

She sighed. "You see, Oscar is a confidence worker. He has so much talent, but he needs constant reassurance to make the best of it. Without it, his demons get the better of him.

"A day in confinement will not be good for him. He'll brood on things, wear himself down. It'll break down the little self-belief that I've been able to instil in him."

Welkin scratched behind his ear in an unconscious guilty gesture. "I see what you're saying. But it'll be bad news to set a precedent that striking a team-member won't be punished."

"I'm not saying that he shouldn't be punished. I'm saying delegate the punishment to me."

Welkin gave her a curious look. "Oh? What do you have in mind?"

"I'm not totally sure yet," she said, touching the corner of her mouth thoughtfully. "But it will involve the scolding of a lifetime and more laps around the base than you can count."

Welkin chuckled. "Sounds worse than any punishment I could give him! Okay then Catherine, I'll leave him to you."

Not for the first time, Catherine thanked the heavens for granting them such a considerate leader. "Thank you very much Sir," she said, gratefully saluting him before heading off to deal with her charge.

# # # # # # #

Five

"Okay," said Emile once Oscar had finished. "So what do we do now?"

The two brothers were outside chopping wood. It was a small way of repaying Catherine for letting them stay the night, and also allowed their hostess a little private time to wash and change clothes. The pair of them had formed an efficient two-man production line, with Oscar (the stronger of the two) chopping and Emile (ever dexterous) stacking. As they worked, Oscar had filled Emile in on the late-night conversation he'd had with their former mentor. His brother's brow had furrowed more and more with every miserable detail that he'd told him.

"What do you mean 'what do we do'? There's nothing we can do," Oscar replied, sinking the axe deep into the log in front of him. "Her mind's made up."

"So you're just going to accept it?" Emile said incredulously. With his voice raised the childish lilt in his accent was more pronounced than ever. "Sheesh Osc, you're always like this!"

"What does that mean?" Oscar asked, eying him tetchily as he eased the axe free.

"I mean you're being so negative." Emile pointed at him accusingly with a shard of wood. "This is Miss O'Hara we're talking about! How can we just let her walk out of our lives?"

"What do you suggest we do then?" Oscar spat. "Throw a sack over her head and drag her away with us, kicking and screaming?!"

Emile didn't reply, but his eyes still sizzled.

Oscar sighed. "Look, I don't like it either. But we don't have the right to tell her how to live her life."

His brother glared at him a moment longer, but finally succumbed and looked away. "I thought she'd stay with us, even after the War ended," he murmured. "And not just as our mentor." He returned his gaze wistfully to Oscar. "I thought she could be our …"

"I know. Don't say it. You know I felt the same way," said Oscar. "But we can't force her to be that for us." The downcast look on his younger brother's face made him add, "But we'll always have each other Em."

"Sure we will. But who will Miss O'Hara have?" Emile said back.

Oscar didn't have an answer to that. He couldn't blame his brother for feeling disappointed and angry. After all, he had felt the very same way last night.

Sleeping on the conversation and mulling it over in the light of day had made him see the issue with logic, rather than just feelings alone. He was beginning to understand how Catherine's pain could drive her to isolate herself. After all, he lived every day with the fear that Emile's health might give out, knowing that if it did his life would be torn apart. Catherine had lost things equally precious to her. Her life had been torn apart on two occasions now. So why shouldn't she hide from the world that gave her such pain?

And yet in spite of that it still seemed wrong to him...

He suddenly wished that Coby or Juno were here to offer their opinions on the matter. Both of them had been close to Catherine and, with their intelligence and confidence, would surely have known exactly how to deal with the situation. But who was he, a young country-boy to say what was best for someone – especially a woman so much wiser than himself?

His musings were interrupted when he realised that Emile was speaking to him. "Maybe we can't change her mind about staying here," he was saying. "But isn't there anything else we can do to help her?"

"How do you mean?" Oscar asked.

Emile spread his arms hopelessly. "I don't know. Something to cheer her up a little. Maybe something to remind her that she still as friends who love her, even if she doesn't want them around."

Oscar lifted the axe and decisively hacked it into the log. "You've got something in mind bro. Just spill it."

Emile smirked wanly, realising that he had been caught out. "I was thinking I could paint her a picture for her wall. You know, to brighten up her shack a little."

Oscar propped the axe on the chopping block thoughtfully. It only took him a second to consider it before his face perked up.

"Hey, yeah! Great idea Em, go for it!"

"Well, sure," said Emile, pleased with his brother's enthusiasm. "I can splatter something up no problem. But what shall I paint?"

"Hmm..." Oscar pondered this for a moment. Then his eyes lit up with sudden inspiration. He picked up his jacket from where he had dumped it on the ground. He fished his hand in the pocket and brought out his photo, the one taken on the training field, in which Catherine stood and smiled with an affectionate hand on each boy's shoulder.

"Here. Can you paint this, bro?"

Emile's face broke into an excited grin. "You bet I can bro! It'll be tough to get the colour right, but I can do it!" He clenched his fist in front of himself, his excitement threatening to overwhelm him. "That's brilliant Osc! This is just what she needs to see to remind her of the time we had together."

Before Oscar could speak again, the door to the shack rattled and opened. Emile quickly snatched the photo off his brother and stuffed it in his jacket as Catherine emerged.

"How are you getting on boys?" she asked. After the events last night her smile seemed painfully forced. She clearly wasn't sure how much Oscar had told Emile, and as a result seemed caught between two roles.

"Getting through it, little by little," Oscar said, wiping his brow. "We'll have the whole lot done in another half-hour I reckon."

"Oh don't worry about it. That pile that you've cut for me will last me a good long time," she said. "You should take a wee rest. I'll get you a cool drink."

She headed over to fetch their refreshment from the water-butt by the side of the shack. While her back was turned, Oscar leaned in close to his brother. "How long will you need to paint it?" he whispered.

"Well, I don't want to rush it," Emile replied quietly. "I'll need a full day if I'm to do it properly. But if you can get her out of the house for a couple of hours I could at least get the outlines done for her."

"That'll be difficult Em," said Oscar. "She wants us gone as soon as possible. She'll probably be expecting us to leave as soon as we've had a breather. How are we going to convince her to let us stay a whole extra day?"

"Don't worry about that, bro," Emile said, snatching a sly glance at Catherine's turned back. "I've got it covered. All we need is a little white lie."

He bent down to snatch up a handful of dust, which he held up to his mouth. Before Oscar could stop him he inhaled the whole lot, which sent him down on his haunches spluttering.

"Em, what are you doing?" Oscar immediately went down by his side, thumping his back. Emile hacked painfully as the dust clogged up his already weak lungs. He may have inflicted himself with this but his reaction was very real.

A second later, Catherine was on his other side, shaking his shoulder with concern. "Emile! What's the matter?"

Emile cleared his throat and gathered his voice back. "Sorry Miss O'Hara," he wheezed. "I'm okay, just this damn body getting the better of me again."

"Oh my. You poor thing. Quick Oscar, get him to bed. I'll go fetch the doctor right away."

"There's no need for that Miss O'Hara. I'm fine, really I am," said Emile, through coughs. "I think I overdid it yesterday. I'll be okay today though. It'll be much easier going back downhill."

"Oh no, you can't go anywhere in such a condition," Catherine said, gently taking him by the shoulders. "Quick, get into bed. You need to rest."

The three of them headed back into the shack, Emile still coughing from the dust. Catherine ushered him into the bed while Oscar fetched him a glass of water to place by his bedside. Catherine set a small canister, which glowed an eerie blue, next to it.

"There. Some ragnaid if you need it."

"I'll be fine Miss O'Hara," said Emile. A little guilt at Catherine's overblown reaction had crept into his tone. "We really need to get on the road…"

"No, I won't hear of it." She paused then slowly said, "You can stay another night. It's no trouble for me."

Upon hearing that, Oscar felt a sudden surge of hope. He knew full well that it was trouble for her, letting them intrude for longer in a life which, she had told Oscar in no uncertain terms, was to be solitary from now on. Yet in spite of that she was willing to let them stay an awkward extra night, for the sake of Emile's well-being. It suggested that she did still care for them on some level at least, even if she didn't want them in her life any longer. It made Oscar feel all the more ashamed to have tricked her like this.

"Try to rest up for now," Catherine said. "I have to head into town anyway. I'll pick you up some medicine while I'm there, and some food to build up your strength."

"I'll lend a hand," said Oscar, seeing his chance. If he went along with her, he could stall her long enough to give Emile the time he needed.

Catherine gave him an odd glance, seeming surprised at his eagerness to volunteer. "Shouldn't you stay here with you brother?" she asked.

"He's fine. He needs rest, that's all." He gestured at his brother with his chin. "You going to get some sleep now Em?"

"Yeah, I reckon so." Emile replied, playing along.

"Might as well leave him alone them," Oscar said. He hoped their charade wasn't as obvious as it was sounding to him.

If Catherine was suspicious though, she didn't show it. "Well, I could use the hand carrying the load back," she said. "Will you be all right by yourself for a while Emile?"

"Just fine, Miss O'Hara," he said, giving her a weak thumbs-up.

"Right then." She shouldered her rifle. "See you later then. Come on Oscar, let's go." She headed out the door, her sharp, self-conscious movements showing how ill at ease she was. Oscar supposed that anyone would be uncomfortable if they had to go shopping with a person who you had verbally rejected from your life.

Before following her out, Oscar faced his brother once more. "That was rather shameless," he muttered to him. "I don't think even Edy could act as well as that."

"Hey, it's a little white lie just like I said," Emile retorted. "Besides I told her I was fine and that was the truth. She assumed the rest by herself."

"All the same…"

"Come on bro. How else was she going to let us stay?"

"Well, okay," Oscar said, conceding. "I'll try and fetch you an hour or two. Do your best with the picture."

"You know I will bro," Emile replied.

***

The silence lasted the whole way down the mountain. Fortunately, in order to stay upright on the loose stony trail, they had to pay most of their attention to their own feet, rather than to each other. Yet it saddened Oscar how what once would have been a pleasant hike in his mentor's company had become an awkward traipse with a practical stranger.

The village of Ettau was as lifeless as Oscar remembered it. Since it was early in the day he had expected to see at least a few people going about their daily chores. But no, the village felt just as abandoned and soulless as it had before. The streets were empty and no sounds could be heard save for the lonely wind which whistled around the humble buildings. The only sign of life was a skeletal grey cat, which yawned aggressively at them before scuttling away into an alley.

"So where do we go first?" Oscar asked. It was the first time either of them had spoken since they'd set out.

"There's only one place to go – Neill's grocery store," replied Catherine. "There's not much choice when it comes to shopping in a village of this size. I'm afraid dinner will have to be something from a tin tonight. Fresh vegetables are only available to buy here on market-day…and that was yesterday."

"That's okay Miss O'Hara," Oscar said. Once again he found himself contemplating the desolation of this place. Down in the lush countryside of Gallia you could barely take a step without treading on a vegetable patch or walking into a fruit-tree. Fresh food was plentiful. In light of that it seemed like madness to Oscar to live on this bleak mountain where nothing could grow and fresh veggies could only be bought (at a hefty premium he supposed) once a week. It would have sent Largo into a murderous rage if he'd known about it, he was sure.

Just then they came to a T-junction. Oscar instinctively headed to the right, but Catherine stopped him and pointed in the other direction. "Other way Oscar dear."

The last word caused Oscar to stop in his tracks. Catherine had heard her slip on the tongue too and looked away with a sheepish cough. "Come on, let's go," she said, as though moving on could cover up her mistake. Oscar followed her, not knowing quite what to make of it. Had it been an old habit, or a true feeling breaking through?

They wandered into the main street. At first it seemed as deserted as the rest of the village, but then Oscar saw someone coming down towards them. A large man in a thick brown coat which swamped the whole of his hulking form. His face was blotched from a bad burn, and was set in a frown as grim as a statue. Unnervingly, as he approached his eyes remained on them, full of what could only be called hatred. Oscar shuddered, the hackles on the back of his neck rising up. Catherine must have sensed the hostility of this man as well, for her hand unconsciously touched the rifle on her back.

Oscar adjusted his path to allow the stranger to pass them by. As they drew level, he mumbled a 'good day' to him. The man didn't acknowledge him with anything more than the same aggressive look.

Once the man had walked a comfortable distance away, the pair relaxed again. "You have to be careful in this village," Catherine said. "They're not very fond of strangers here."

"Yeah, we found that out yesterday," Oscar said, remembering the locals in the tavern. A sudden thought occurred to him. "What about you Miss O'Hara? Are you still a stranger to them? Or have they accepted you as one of the locals?"

Catherine's face became stern. "You know I didn't come here to make friends Oscar," she replied admonishingly.

***

Emile smiled at the sky as he sat himself down on the one of the few logs which they hadn't gotten around to chopping up. It was cold outside, but bright with not even the slenderest cloud overhead. A perfect day for painting.

All right! I'll paint this for Miss O'Hara's wall so she'll see it every day. And one day, she'll look at it and remember that her place is with us.

That was the plan. Perhaps he had told his brother that his painting was simply to cheer her up, but in his own mind he believed he could paint something that would bring their Catherine back to them. It was a childish hope perhaps but he didn't care. He would fight for it with his every brushstroke.

He had always wanted to create pictures which touched hearts. Well, this one was tasked with touching a very special heart indeed.

He set out his materials beside him. Ideally he would have used his large pad and his easel for a project this important. Of course, he had left them tucked safely under his bed back at Sleepy Lakes. As a result, he would have to make so with his small sketchpad and his tin-box of travelling paints. But that was okay, it wasn't as though this picture required much detail beyond the three main figures. And it wasn't as if Catherine had the wall-space for a much bigger picture anyway.

Settling himself down with his pad on his lap, he took out the photo which was to be his subject. He stared at the monochrome image for several moments, both to engrave the picture into his mind and to recall the day it had been taken – the feeling of the gentle weight of Catherine's hand on his shoulder, the happy smiles that all three of them had worn, how afterwards they had all shared a joke, laughed and how she had then squeezed each of them with a lovingly warm hug 'because they were so dear to her'. Emile remembered that moment well. The moment, when they stood wrapped close in each other's arms, marked the very instant he decided that he wanted Catherine O'Hara to be his mother.

The memory dizzied him, moistened his eyes. He had already lost one mother in his life. He would be damned if he was to lose another.

He steadied his emotions, took a deep breath and blinked his eyes dry. Now he had a grip on both the image itself and the memories of the feelings that underlay it, he took out his good pencil and started to draw.

He started with Oscar. He was the easiest to draw for Emile, seeing as though they had been together ever since the womb. It meant he could warm up before tackling Catherine, whose image had to turn out perfectly.

His pencil moved with confidence as he drew in the outlines of Oscar's head. Without even realising it, a smile crept onto his face. He loved this, the very process of creating a picture from a blank sheet of paper. In truth, the act of creation itself gave him more pleasure than that the finished results did.

That wasn't to say he wasn't a good artist. His steady hand (useful for painting and sniping alike) had always been a talent he had been proud of and served him well in translating the ideas in his head into fine paintings on paper. He had even managed to sell a few of his pictures during the war – for actual money. Of course, he was not so naive as to think that they had sold for their quality alone. He knew that their primary selling point had been the fact that they had been painted by 'a young soldier-boy fighting on the front lines for his country!' which had given the paintings an aura of mystery and romance that he could not, at least yet, produce purely with a paintbrush.

That said he felt himself improve with every picture he produced. And even though his materials here were not the best, he was determined that this one be his magnum opus. It would have to be to keep his dream of a little family alive.

As he drew the outlines of his brother's rifle, he suddenly detected movement in the top of his vision. Looking up, he saw someone approaching; he had been so engrossed in his drawing that he hadn't noticed him until now. It was a colossal man wrapped in a heavy brown coat. He was coming towards him quickly with an element of threat in his stride.

Emile laid his pad aside and apprehensively climbed to his feet. Catherine hadn't mentioned expecting any visitors and this man certainly didn't look friendly. He realised with a jolt that he had left the rifle inside, propped against the wall by the cupboard. He almost darted inside to fetch it but decided against it – no need to reach straight for a weapon just because a stranger had come to call.

He stood up straight and gave the man a polite nod. "Can I help you Sir?" he asked when he was close enough.

The man's grim expression didn't flinch as he pulled open his coat with one meaty hand. To Emile's horror, a hefty shotgun had been strapped to the inside lining.

Before he could react, the stranger ripped it out and suddenly the double-barrel was staring at him like the ominous eyes of a hellhound. He gaped, mouth deathly dry, and slowly, hopelessly, lifted his hands up in submission.

For the first time the man's face moved. The severe line of his mouth parted, showing growling teeth. He tossed his gun-arm back, then brought the shotgun down like a club, smashing all sense out of Emile's skull. The agony lasted a mere split-second before everything fell away to darkness.