A time like no other

by Warks1999

It was an ever changing world, but a world that would soon be at War, with consequences that would devastate families forever... their family included. A new adventure, setting the characters back in time to World War II. Enjoy :)

32. Seelöwe

Chapter 32: Seelöwe 16th July 1940

Months of monotony went by in Berlin for Lyla Walsh. Month after month, the same daily routine almost always occurred. She would be awake at around six o'clock each morning, making herself a cup of tea which she would drink whilst watching the street outside the office building. Around half past six, the fully dressed Lieutenant Hartmann would join her, her tea being finished coinciding with his tea being made. They would converse about the weather or whatever else they could find to talk about for another half hour, before they went their separate ways. He would head out to his regiment's headquarters most mornings or simply for a walk in the clear air, allowing her the space she needed at the offices. She would wash whilst he was out, making herself presentable for his return where they would then come to the only part of the day that would differ. On some days they would sit around the offices reading, doing little else than drinking tea and holding pleasant discussions. On other days she would go out into the city to pick up the food that they required, sometimes finding herself a new dress to wear to utilise some of the money Kurt left her. But whenever they returned, the evenings would be spent doing little other than listening to the radio. A boring life really…

The boredom came to an end though, as an invitation that she simply did not expect arrived the day before from a staff officer. With Kurt away completing his vile research program, she would have thought that any hope of gaining access to Hitler was gone. Surprisingly, it was The Führer who reached out to her, requesting her presence when she believed he'd most likely forgotten about her. Their meeting the year before seemed to be a long time away in the memory bank after the trials and tribulations of the months that followed, though she remembered it well. There was, of course, evil in the man, but there was also some kindness that he showed, especially to her. She did not reminisce though, not at all believing that the man was beyond the severe punishment that would be dealt to him when the war came to an end.

"Lyla, du siehst super schön aus". He told with a smile on his face.
("Lyla, you look beautiful".)

Being told of one's beauty so sincerely by a man such as Adolf Hitler made one's blood curdle. For the servant to the British Crown, it was particular revolting to be paid such a compliment, but in order for her to remain inconspicuous, she accepted the compliment with a smile. They were in his offices at the Chancellery, the Irish woman arriving around two in the afternoon. Lieutenant Hartmann drove her there, opting to take the car on the short journey rather than walk in the rasping sunshine that was bestowed upon them. The young officer thought it may have been the hottest day of the year as the sun burnt the unprotected skins of those who dared to go out in it.

"Danke, Adolf". She replied
("Thank you, Adolf".)

"Ich muss mich bei dir entschuldigen". He started, his lips only just now curving into a smile. "Wie du siehst habe ich zu viel zu tun gehabt, um dich sehen zu können".
("I have to apologise. As you can see, I have been too busy to be able to see you".)

"Du hast einen Krieg zu kämpfen. In Vergleich dazu sind unsere Besprechungen von geringer Bedeutung."
("You have a war to fight. Our meetings are of little consequence compared to the fighting".)

"Vielleicht...aber ich glaube, dass unsere heutige Besprechung eine von großer Bedeutung ist"
("Perhaps… but I believe our meeting today is one of great consequence".)

"Echt? Wieso?"
("Oh? How so?")

There was panic… internally, of course. She remained the same woman on the outside thanks in no small part to her terrific acting skills, yet rooted within her, there was fear. If a meeting with the leader of Nazi Germany was going to be one of great consequence, her experience taught her that the consequence would most likely fall against her. She would never give up the secrets of the Crown though, the small capsule lodged at the back of her mouth an indicator of her willingness to make the ultimate sacrifice should it be required. After months of the same routine, finding very few chances to be able to communicate any worthwhile information to Captain Smithers, being uncovered as a spy appeared to be an almost ridiculous notion. Her days of espionage against the German High Command were almost a distant memory. Regardless of how, the pill was ready, Lyla faced with the stark reality that she might have to use it.

"Erinnerst du dich daran, wie wir davon geredet haben, in Großbritannien einzumarschieren, als du mit Kurt zu meinem Büro kamst?"
("Do you remember when we spoke about invading Britain, when you came to my offices with Kurt?")

A small sigh escaped her…

She could not forget the conversation they held, where she'd shown the leader of the country just how adept she could be at living in a man's world. He was taken aback by her opinions at the time, although later on through Kurt she'd learned of how much The Führer valued them.

"Ganz gut." She answered.
("I remember it well".)

"Was wäre, wenn ich dir sagen würde, dass ich jetzt die Absicht einzumarschieren habe?"
("What if I were to say to you, that I now intend to invade?")

Everything came together. She was not called to the Reich Chancellery that afternoon to be confronted on counts of espionage or to be executed for them. Far from it, she was there because he needed her opinion on an invasion that she'd advised him to be cautious of. The caution would still stand if he was going to ask her again, as little had changed in a year despite the drastic changes to the landscape of the very continent where they stood talking. Britain might have been demoralised somewhat, but stand it still did. To her, the German Army missed the chance to destroy their final opponents in France, the Dunkirk evacuation being a twofold embarrassment. There was embarrassment for the British Army, that it was forced to pull out from Mainland Europe having only broken sweat in retreat… but there was also embarrassment for the Germans too. The golden chance of dominating Europe slipped through their fingers, a chance which people like her were determined to ensure that they would not get again.

"Das...das ist eher überraschend". Lyla gave a stuttered answer.
("That… That is quite surprising".)

"Du denkst, es ist nicht vernünftig?" He questioned immediately.
("You do not think it is wise?")

To tell a man like him that he was not wise was akin to asking for one's head to be chopped off with immediate effect. It would have to be wise, even if it really was not.

"Es steht mir nicht zu, zu beurteilen, ob es is vernünftig ist oder nicht."
("It is not my place to judge whether it is or not".)

"Bitte, sag mal deine Meinung".
("Please, speak your mind".)

Trying to avoid having to do exactly what he asked of her, she walked straight into it. Her opinion mattered to him more than the opinion of the majority of his senior military staff. She supposed it was the different perspective she could bring to a campaign in Britain. Her understanding of military tactics and strategy was by no means poor, but Lyla held no experience in planning mass invasions of countries by sea. In reality, few did, for it was often foolish to even consider attacking an island nation such as Britain. The logistical nightmare it would cause, should have been enough to put any sane man off but when dealing with the Nazi's, the concept of sanity was one left long in the past.

"Um den Sieg zu garantieren, müssen Sie die Royal Navy besiegen, oder?"
("To guarantee victory, you must defeat the Royal Navy, must you not?")

"Meine Admirale sind der gleichen Meinung."
("My Admirals share your opinion".)

His disdain for those who would not tell him what he wanted to hear was known. There were men that served underneath him that endeavoured to let him hear what he wanted to hear, ignoring the plain truth of matters if they did not fit the agenda that the German Leader set out on. But then there were those who could not ignore the truth when it screamed out at them. It was those men that he could not stand.

"Adolf, deine Admirale haben Recht." She reiterated. "Solange Großbritannien die Royal Navy hat, hat es Hoffnung."
("Adolf, your Admirals are correct. As long as Britain has the Royal Navy, it has hope".)

"Hoffnung?" He questioned. "Es ist einfach eine alte, einsame Insel, das einfach der letzte Überleber ist. Wie sind die Briten in einer so...trostlosen Situation so hoffnungsvoll?"
("Hope? They are a lonely old island that is simply the last survivor. How do they draw such hope from a situation so… bleak?")

If men like Einstein ever got bored, then they could attempt to discover the equation that worked out the secret of the unbreakable character of British attitude. The country might have been winded, and fairly downcast as a whole, but unlike many countries who'd stared down the barrel of the Nazi's, they were not broken. The key to what made the British spirit so strong was one which she could not define, although it was perhaps her Irish blood that drowned out any hope of finding the answer. There was no logic to why the country would hold out when the fate of those who'd done so before was in evidence just the other side of the Channel. The last truly great dictator in Europe found them to be a thorn in his side, one he could never remove. He quite literally then met his Waterloo.

"Die Royal Navy ist aber nicht unbesiegbar..." She changed tactic, offering him hope.
("The Royal Navy are not invincible though…".)

"Ja! Das ist der Optimismus, der meinen Admiralen fehlt! Ich bin froh, dass ich nicht der einzige mit dieser Meinung bin"
("Ah! That is the optimism that my Admirals lack! I am glad that I am not alone in that thought".)

"Es ist eine schwierige aber keine unangemessene These. Die Briten sind überlastet mit einem Reich zu beherrschen."
("It is a difficult proposition yet one which is not unreasonable. They are stretched with an Empire to keep control of".)

"Sie können isoliert werden." He mused.
("They can be isolated".)

"Ich weiss wenig vom Krieg auf See, aber ich würde sagen, die könnten schon."
("I know little of war at sea, but I would say that they could".)

"Lass mir dir dann die Kriegskunst beibringen."
("Allow me to teach you the art of war then".)

In the half an hour that followed, Lyla probably taught him more about war than he did her. She was quite taken aback about how little he thought of the consequences of certain actions nor the risk that was involved in them. She would not say that he was reckless, as the decisions were always calculated, but the calculations were not always straightforward. The main factor that Hitler ignored was British defiance. There was no 'what if' when it came to whether Britain would be able to hold out, the war very much over in his eyes. Eyes that would turn to the East, where the conquest of the Soviet Union would take place following their betrayal of the peace that was agreed. Any fool could tell him that it would not be that easy, for the great thorn of Britain would again be in the side of a great European dictator, difficult to remove.

"Jedes Mal, dass wir treffen, finde ich mich von dir komischerweise aufgeklärt, Lyla." He admitted.
("I find myself oddly enlightened by you every time that we meet, Lyla".)

Their meeting was coming to a close, a relief for her after finding it to be to an intensity that she did not particularly wish to experience again. Her cover was staked so closely to the matters at hand, making it far from simple to converse with him without showing her true nature.

"Du erweist mir Ehre." She accepted the comment through gritted teeth.
("You honour me".)

"Du erweist mir doch Ehre. Kurt ist ein sehr glücklicher Artzt."
("The honour is mine. Kurt is a very lucky Doctor".)

Her breath seemed to catch at the mention of his name. Externally, it would seem as if she missed him ever so much, having not seen him for months after his transfer to Poland. Naturally, it was upsetting to be away from a loved one for so long, a feeling that another Irishwoman could understand, missing her English fella so much. But inside she'd bristled. Thinking about Kurt Van Der Heijden was not a regular task for her. Hans would mention him in conversation sometimes, wondering what he might be up to, but she rarely entertained any thoughts of the man that she was pretending to be in love with. She could almost feel his sickly cool breath on her skin once Hitler mentioned his name, a chilling reminder of her bodily sacrifices made in service to King and country.

"Es tut mir leid. Ich hätte ihn nicht erwähnen sollen." Hitler quickly apologised.
("I am sorry. I should not have mentioned him".)

"Nein. Es ist kein Problem." She remained calm in her reply.
("No. It is not a problem".)

"Er muss dir fehlen?"
("You must miss him?")

"Er fehlt mir sehr. Ich hoffe auf seine baldige Rückkehr."
("I miss him very much. I hope for his return soon".)

Lying to Adolf Hitler was a deadly game. Lying to anyone with power in Nazi Germany was far from advisable, but to The Führer would normally be a complete absence of one's senses. Lyla Walsh knew what she was doing though and that was what set her apart from anyone else. The deadly game of espionage was the one that she played, the one that she was both a player and referee in, depending on the assignment's nature.

"Wenn sein Dienst fertig ist, stelle ich sicher, dass er wieder neben dir ist."
("When his duty is complete, I will ensure that he is back by your side".)

"Danke, Adolf, du bist zu lieb."
("Thank you, Adolf. You are too kind".)

So kind that he was willing to kill Jews without thought, she pondered as the words fell. Meaningless words that were designed to fill the void so that he would not become suspicious of her. Any sincerity on her behalf would never be seen.

"Tschüss, Lyla. Ich hoffe, dich demnächst wieder zu sehen."
("Goodbye Lyla. I hope to see you again soon".)

"Ich würde mich darüber freuen."
("I would like that".)

Further lies slipped from her as he reached forward, taking her hand to place a chaste kiss to the back of her knuckles. She was glad that, despite the heat, she'd decided to wear gloves. The poor gloves would have to be burned in the fire when she got the chance, but it would save her the job of having to scrub her hands clean for ten minutes once she'd return to the Doctor's offices.

After being escorted out of the Chancellery by the perfectly affable soldiers that guided her in, a novelty that she'd not anticipated at all, she reunited with Hans back at the car. It was clear that he'd spent some time away from the car, as the smearing of lipstick around the side of his mouth gave away what he'd been up to. She giggled when she first saw it, his face glowing pink when he realised that he'd not been as thorough as he'd thought when it came to removing the evidence. Lyla was delighted for the young man that she'd taken in almost as a son, though without him knowing, it was her that influenced the young woman that the Lieutenant was proceeding to eat the face off. He'd let slip about Elsa one day as they ate dinner. A couple of glasses of Kurt's fine wine later, he'd revealed just how much he thought of the girl that he'd grown up with in Potsdam. Like him, she'd moved to Berlin, working with a relative at a small shop in the city. Regular visits to the shop without him knowing became the norm as she influenced the relationship from both angles upon gleaming from the young woman that the feelings were very much mutual. She quite enjoyed Elsa's company too, though not clearly as much as the Lieutenant judging by the state of his face…

Trying to hide the red cheeks did not go well for Hans, as Lyla spent the rest of the way back to the office's mocking him. He did not mind though, as she'd done so much for his confidence since they'd met that he could allow a certain amount of jesting. The jesting continued into the early evening until she had to stop in order to make them something to eat. Having sorted her emotions out when it came to the young German man, their friendship was one element of her double life that she knew she would miss when it came to an end. It was not part of her cover to act as his surrogate mother, but in the absence of a mother who cared, her instincts overpowered her duty.

Dinnertime was a particularly enjoyable part of the day for the two of them, as it allowed them to speak openly over a glass of wine or sometimes a tankard full of beer if they wished to change. She would drink whatever when the company was as good as it was with Hans.

"Hans, darf ich dir eine Frage stellen? Eine militärische?"
("Hans, may I ask you a question? A military one?")

"Ja...natürlich." He replied hesitantly.
("Yes… yes of course".)

"Wenn ich dir sagen würde, dass ihr morgen in das britische Hauptland einmarschieren würden, glaubst du, es würde euch gelingen?"
("If I were to say to you, that you were to invade the British mainland tomorrow, do you think you would succeed?")

"Das ist eine komische Frage, Lyla."
("That is a strange question, Lyla".)

"Ich weiss…". She smiled. "…aber bitte beantworte."
("I know. But please, answer".)

She was almost one hundred per cent sure what his answer would be, but it did not hurt to find out anyway, she reasoned to herself. The one element of his nature that she was trying her best to chip away at was his brainwashed devotion to the Nazi cause. There was no judgement to be found from her when it came to that; he could not help having it drummed into him everyday as an impressionable young man. Inroads were still to be made however, which she was reminded of rather stoutly when he answered a few seconds later, having stopped to measure how much passion was needed to convey his thoughts.

"Deutschland wird es immer gegen Großbritannien gelingen, wir sind überlegen trotz der Tatsache, dass unser Blut so eng verwandt ist."
("Germany will always succeed against Britain, we are superior despite our blood being so closely linked".)

There it was. The answer that she'd expected the handful of moments before, dropped from his lips like she knew it would. There was a small comfort in knowing that he was predictable at least. An unpredictable Lieutenant Hartmann would leave her nervous on a daily basis.

"Würdest du nicht befürchten, dass die Royal Navy den Weg blockiert?" She asked the obvious.
("Would you not fear the Royal Navy blocking the way?")

"Nein!" He called out enthusiastically. "Sie werden schwächer während unsere Flotte stärker wird, die können nie auf Erfolg hoffen."
("No! They grow weaker whilst our own fleet grows stronger, they could never hope to succeed".)

"Es wäre nicht einfach." She persisted.
("It would not be easy".)

"Lyla, ich glaube dass der Krieg nicht einfach sein soll."
("Lyla, I do not think that war is meant to be easy".)

Snorting at his comment, she could not disagree. Although she hated his lack of respect for the opposition to the Nazi war machine, there was no faulting his sentiment on war. If the war was meant to be easy, then she would not have been in Berlin and would have been back where she belonged. There were people, one person in particular, that were suffering in her absence. Hans would have his brother back too if war was supposed to be a simple exercise. It was anything but.

"Lass mir dir eine Frage stellen, Lyla."
("Let me ask you a question, Lyla".)

"Natürlich, Hans." She responded, a tinge of apprehension in her voice.
("Of course, Hans".)

"Wenn wir morgen in Irland einmarschieren würden, um deine Heimatstadt Derry zu befreien, würdest du mitmachen?"
("If we were to invade Ireland tomorrow, to liberate your home city of Derry, would you join us?")

Liberating Derry would be easier said than done. To breach the Derry walls would be a legendary achievement if the German Army could so. However, she knew that they would face stiff opposition from all quarters should they sail up the Foyle. They would have to fend off wooden spoon wielding eighty-year-olds as well as screaming young children, none of whom would give up their city without a fight. It was not the Derry way to allow such tyranny to creep into their lives unchallenged.

"Wenn es uns ermöglichen würde, die britische Macht über meine Heimat zu beenden, dann ja." She answered tactfully to maintain her cover.
("If it allowed us to put an end to the British's control over my home, then I would".)

"Die werden besiegt!" He declared emphatically. "Die Briten glauben, dass sie sich auf ewig auf ihrer Insel verstecken können. Unserer Bomber werden sicherstellen, dass sie schon bald um den Frieden bitten."
("They will be crushed! The British believe they can hide away on their island forever. Our bombers will ensure that they request peace soon enough".)

"Du bist selbstsicher."
("You are confident".)

"Die Französen konnten uns mit ihrer ganzen Macht nicht aufhalten. Was kann kleines Britannien machen, was die Franzosen nicht konnten?"
("The French could not stop us with all of their power. What can little Britain do that they could not?")

Little Britain should not have been able to do anything. They were alone in the fight, facing up to a bully of monumental proportions. From the banks of the Volkhov to the foothills of the Pyrenees, the all-conquering Nazi's reigned supreme whilst any territory that they did not control was either neutral or in alliance like the Soviets. There was only Britain that still decided to defy them, foolishly so in the opinion of German High Command. Sometimes though, it was those who judged men to be fools that were the greater fools themselves. Europe faced the most pivotal moment in years upon that calculation.

Bloodied, bruised and with their backs well and truly up against the wall, the people of Britain could have easily thrown in the towel.

But instead, they spat out the coppery taste of blood from their fear-tipped mouths.

If the Germans wanted a fight, they were going to bloody get one.

---

Captain Robert Smithers never believed he would ever be involved in matters such as the ones he found himself in. When he'd first joined the intelligence service, he assumed a career of monitoring reports from agents in the field would be ahead of him. There would be challenges along the way but none of them being to the magnitude of those he'd faced since the start of the war. Emerald One was one of the most highly regarded agents in the service, so it was an honour to watch over her operations. None of them, not even Lieutenant Colonel Menzies, could have imagined the scale of information that she would be able to bring to them. They'd hoped that with her high level of competency, she would be able to discover certain pieces of information, but instead she'd given them an absolute gold mine to work with.

When he'd taken her report, disguised in multiple layers of code, he couldn't quite believe ir. Such detail could have only been discovered from having direct access to Adolf Hitler, a line of contact that they'd believed to be dead in the water once Doctor Van Der Heijden left for the front. He was the go between when it came to their agent and the leader of the Nazi regime, but it appeared she appealed to the latter without the need of the Doctor. Neither of the Nazi men suspected where her true allegiances lay, happy to pass her information that would normally be classified, that would then find its way into the hands of high command on the British side. There were a few different fronts that the war pivoted on, the RAF's continued resistance to the Luftwaffe being one, the Naval threat being another and Emerald One's information from Berlin ranking just as highly. As well as one Lieutenant Commander James Maguire…

Menzies still kept his cards close to his chest when it came to the young man. Every time they would meet, the Captain would attempt to subtly find out more about the officer that vast amounts of their resources were utilised for. Not one single agent in the field was allocated more expenditure than the Fleet Air Arm's golden boy. His special status was not known to many throughout the Kingdom, which was ideal as there would be public outcry when they discovered how much money was lost to, what on the surface, was a normal young man. Under that surface, were layers of secrecy that hid the real James Maguire away from the rest of the world's prying eyes. He was deeper into the web than the public were, but could not find his way to the centre, no matter how hard he tried.

James, for once, was an afterthought however, as the need to pass Emerald One's information onto those in higher offices outweighed the pilot's life. Travelling to London to arrive at first light, Smithers went straight to Lieutenant Colonel Menzies office, a destination he'd become acquainted with over the past months. They'd spoken on the phone the moment he'd decoded the message, conveying its concerning content to his superior. In the middle of the night, it was hardly the time to call a meeting, but Menzies wanted a meeting with those who needed to know as soon as it was possible. It meant that the Captain barely got an hour's sleep before heading off on the trip to the city, arriving exhausted. With an hour before the meeting got underway, Menzies was gratuitous enough to allow Smithers to have a sleep in the room next to his office for half an hour, to recharge himself before having to present what their top Berlin operative had discovered.

After his half an hour sleep, Smithers returned to Menzies' office, where the two quickly briefed. The Captain would be leading the meeting for the first time in the presence of anyone but his superior officer. As if it wasn't already pressure enough when it came to the subject matter, Menzies let slip exactly who would be joining them for the meeting. As soon as he said it, a nervous chill shot down Smithers' spine.

Winston Churchill would be joining them.

The Prime Minister, and his accompanying bodyguard, would be the only other men present for what was perhaps the most significant finding of the war so far. A directive that was almost considered the law in Nazi Germany, orders which could only be countermanded by a change of heart from Hitler himself. They'd discovered these orders before but not until well after them being issued. This time though was different. He'd only issued the order the day before, Emerald One somehow being able to swipe its contents to be sent back to London in order for high command to prepare.

Smithers was alone in the office, as Lieutenant Colonel Menzies went to greet a man that he knew personally. In the circles that his commanding officer mixed in, there was ample opportunity to get to know a man who was now in charge of lifting the spirits of a demoralised nation, constantly threatened by the aerial bombardment of enemy aircraft. When the door eventually re-opened, Smithers shot up to his feet, standing to attention to greet Churchill. Churchill was not the first man through the door, his bodyguard leading the way alongside Menzies who filed in just before the PM.

"Prime Minister, this is Captain Smithers from my section".

He wasn't expecting the PM to offer his hand out to be shook, but Churchill took him by surprise in that regard. Without hesitation, he took up the offer with his hand, a firm handshake shared between the two. Privately, Smithers held great faith that the Conservative leader was the right man for the job. An inspirational quality was present in his voice, an inspiration that the King could never quite muster whenever he gave a speech. Smartly though, Smithers never aired those thoughts… some would consider them treasonous.

Once their handshake was concluded, Menzies showed the PM to the two seats that were set out in front of the board where Smithers would be presenting. The two of them quickly took to the seats, as the bodyguard stood protectively behind the Prime Minister. They might have been in one of the safest buildings in Britain, but it didn't harm to take precautions just in case.

"I apologise for the secrecy, Winston, but you know how we must operate".

What Smithers did not bargain for, was his commanding officer being on a first name basis with the PM. Menzies was a mystery at times though, so in many ways it did not completely surprise the man who served under him. There was a lot more to his commanding officer that he did not know about, but Smithers knew enough to know that it was not worth the time nor the grievance, to investigate further. He certainly wasn't a German spy at least.

"I hope you have not dragged me out of my bed on a Wednesday morning for a cup of tea and an art exhibition, Stewart. I could have received the same from my dear Clementine, without having to move out of my bed".

The humour of Winston Churchill was noted by many, and Smithers agreed with them about his witty nature. He did not dare burst out into laughter, but it was fair to say he was highly amused by the comment that the PM made.

"The matter is of the highest importance, I can assure you".

The PM didn't turn his nose up as the Captain expected him to. Smithers himself was still slightly aggrieved about having to rely on just a small amount of sleep to tie him over, so he could empathise with the Prime Minister. Churchill reached for his cup of tea, taking a big sip before returning his attentions to the board in front of him where Smithers waited patiently. Menzies copied his action too, once more amusing the Captain who tried his best not to laugh at their synchronised tea consumption.

"Well then Captain, do bloody get on with it".

"Yes, Prime Minister".

The most important minutes of Captain Smithers' life were about to begin. He was nervous, any man would be in his predicament, but he was also very much aware that being the man who presented the information to the PM would see him in good stead down the line. An overtly ambitious man he was not, but he'd have been masking the truth if he'd said he hadn't thought about the potential of promotion thanks to Emerald One's efforts. He would make sure that she would be rewarded in time too, though he was wary of delving too far into her personal life…

"Last night, our lead operative in Berlin was able to pass a detailed message to us, one which contained orders that are engrained in Nazi law".

"Another directive?" Churchill interrupted.

"That is correct, Prime Minister. This directive was issued yesterday after what she believes has been years in the making. It is the sixteenth directive that the Führer has issued, but of all of the ones we know of, this is perhaps the most vital to the war".

It really was. It was the holy grail of German intentions, the final masterstroke in the series that would leave Europe in their hands, to do as they see fit. A plan that was in many ways already underway, but not in the level of detail that Lyla managed to provide for them.

"Operation Sea Lion. The German plan for the Invasion of Great Britain".

Churchill was glad not to be holding his cup of tea as the words fell from Captain Smithers' mouth. In truth, they were all expecting the invasion to come at some point, but to have the intelligence service telling him that the plans were more imminent rang initial alarm bells in the PM's head. From a strategic perspective, they were already knocking on the door anyway. Hitler's directive was the mere instruction to break it down.

Eyeing the discomfort that the PM looked to be in, Smithers paused for a moment to allow him to take in the news. It was a moment that the man appreciated, a slight curve of the lips present when he waved the Captain on a minute later.

"There are several stages to the plan, many of which our operative could not disclose in detail, but I will summarise this the best that I can. Their intention is to invade via the south of the country, on a front that would stretch from Ramsgate to Lyme Regis. In order for this to proceed, there are two main logistical requirements which they must achieve before they begin".

"Which are?"

"They believe, Prime Minister, that supremacy in the Air and at Sea are prerequisites to be able to launch a full-scale invasion".

Hefty prerequisites they were, but having seen how the rest of Europe fared against the Nazi war machine, not one of them in that room would call it preposterous for the Germans to achieve. Certainly in the air, the largely unproven Royal Air Force would be up against the far more experienced Luftwaffe. At sea though, the PM could be confident of the Royal Navy, who very rarely let the country down in its hours of need.

"Their thinking is quite fanciful gentleman, but I do not see how it could work".

"I concur, Winston". Menzies agreed with his superior. "Though an invasion could become a credible threat should they achieve those prerequisites".

Scoffing, the PM's mind was already made up despite his apparent caution. To be able to invade Britain, a foothold would need to be secured, an invasion by sea on a scale which the world had never seen before. There were so many details that needed to be perfected for it to work, from the logistical supplying of men to whether the tide was high enough on the right day. To even attempt such a move would be near-enough suicide in his eyes, wasting the lives of men who were not at all likes their leaders. The German soldiers, merely doing what their country was asking of them, would be put to the slaughter on the beaches of Southern England should they try. It was a slaughter which he did not want to see.

"A discussion of tactics is not one that I will hold with you today, Stewart, but I believe for the Germans, it would be handing us their own victory if they were to try. One cannot believe that they would risk their dominant position on a dangerous excursion which would achieve no more than the current situation would".

"Yet they seem inclined to try it. Our operative was very certain, wasn't she, Captain Smithers?"

"She was, Sir. It would see that Hitler is keen to try".

Rapturous laughter was certainly low on the list of reactions that either Smithers or Menzies would have expected from the PM. His opposite number's issuing of the directive showed clear intention, but the leader of Britain would not be moved from his position. It would be pure folly for the Germans to attack Britain via the Channel, pure folly that not even the most conditioned Nazi should have considered for a split second.

"I would also like to add…". Smithers spoke up again. "… that our agent reports that there is a lack of faith from the German Navy and Air Force about their chance of succeeding".

"Sensibility is not a concept entirely lost on the Germans, Captain…". Churchill reminded him quietly. "… they have been set an impossible task by their leader but must try to accomplish it at whatever cost that might befall them. I do not envy them in the slightest".

A lull followed, as the information was dissected in greater detail when Smithers passed the file over to the PM. Churchill sat quietly reading, whilst Menzies diligently watched ready to explain anything should any questions be asked. As he was not needed, Smithers took up a seat of his own in the corner, rubbing at his eyes when he hoped none of them were looking. The dismissal of the plans being unfeasible was not quite the reaction he'd hoped for, wishing to leave a lasting mark on the PM, which would not come if he was not going to take the report seriously. Although the Captain held similar reservations over whether it was truly viable that the Germans could invade on a large scale, he would not rule out the possibility either. Many people in Britain thought that they would never defeat France, but the French defeat came about almost as quickly as the Polish one, with the Poles having far less troops available to them than the French.

"Do we know a time scale for their proposals?"

The precious element that Lyla could not provide was exactly that. As far as she knew, there was no fixed date, only that their intentions were imminent. The Luftwaffe were already beginning to make inroads on the RAF, but for the Kriegsmarine, it was going to take some time to successfully engage the Royal Navy. Even if they were to only distract them, the distraction alone would have to be substantial enough to keep the Navy out of the Channel. The Admiral's knew too well that they could not fight the might of the British Home Fleet successfully.

"Not yet Prime Minister". Smithers answered. "I have asked our operative in Berlin to find out more if she can, but her opportunities are limited".

"Nowhere near as limited as their chance of success". Churchill scoffed.

Still stuck firm in his belief that the Germans would not find any success from their invasion adventure, the PM took another sip of his tea. Running out of ideas to attempt to at least humour the man, Smithers was beginning to wonder whether there was any point to even telling him. Of course, the man in charge of the country would need to know about a potentially grave situation, but so confident that they would not dare attack, he merely batted the information away. It may have been a massive risk, but so too was the invasion of France and the attack through the Ardennes. If the French would have been ready for the move, then the Germans would not have found the easy victories that they came across once they'd made it into the north of the country. There was a risk in invading Poland too, the risk that the somewhat underprepared German Army would immediately be engaged against a fierce allied force. They took both and came out the better for it.

A strange clash of contrasts was shaping up in Europe. Nazi Germany were preparing a plan that only they could execute to success but were up against the one country in Europe who had a penchant for upsetting the odds. The battles in the fields and the streets that the very man sat before him had predicted, Smithers reflected on the tumultuous times that they were living in as silence crept up on the room.

"Is there anything else, Stewart?" Churchill asked.

"Nothing more Winston. We will endeavour to find out anymore that we can as a precaution".

"Very well". The PM nodded. "I am afraid I must depart gentlemen. Though the tea was excellent, my presence is required elsewhere".

In what was perhaps the most pointless meeting to have ever graced Lieutenant Colonel Menzies' office, Captain Smithers was left feeling aghast. After having hauled himself in on barely any sleep, all his efforts were rewarded with a Prime Minister who was indifferent to the news. It wasn't only him either, as Emerald One had taken great risk to their own cover in order to retrieve the information. If she'd been found to be leaking the plans for Sealion, then her death sentence would have been set within a half second or less. To Churchill though, the Germans were being far too over adventurous this time. In a way, Smithers hoped they did attack if the PM was that confident, as it would end the war a lot quicker if the Nazi's war machine came to a spluttering halt in the rough seas of the Channel.

"Thank you for the tea". Churchill addressed the men. "And thank you for your efforts, Captain. I appreciate the lengths you have gone to in order to tell me what I already know".

To some, it would have been a rebuke, but there was a fondness within the Prime Minister's voice that he did not miss. Though it was clear that the man did not want to be pulled from his bed at such an hour to be told the plans of an invasion that would not happen in his mind, it was pleasing to know that the Intelligence services were monitoring communications in Berlin. Being able to have an idea of what the dastardly rogue Hitler wanted next for his growing Empire, gave them plenty of time to react to it when it came.

"The… the agent…". Churchill suddenly spoke up again, addressing them both. "Is it?"

"It is". Menzies confirmed.

The two men shared a look that told Smithers that he was not party to all of the information that was being shared in the locked eyes of his superiors. Which no doubt meant it somehow led back to James Maguire. It always did with that level of secrecy…

"And how is… the boy?"

Winston Churchill was not a man to outwardly show nerves. Letting his guard down for a brief second, Smithers could hear what he hoped he was mistaken for as worry. As if the Prime Minister genuinely feared for the young pilot.

"He is well. The Illustrious has been working up in Bermuda ahead of the move into the Mediterranean and barring one or two incidents, there has been nothing to concern us".

"Good".

With that, the Prime Minister and his bodyguard left the room, leaving Captain Smithers more exhausted and bewildered than before he'd started. The mystery of James Maguire would rumble on for him for yet another day, with only a hint that the Prime Minister appeared to be taking a vested interest in his progress. An interest that the leader of a country would never usually have about a Lieutenant Commander of the Fleet Air Arm.

Just what was James?

Or who was he?

Very few people truly knew the answer to the question and as Menzies continually made clear to him, he was not one that needed to know.

---

Torture could be completed in a number of ways.

Physical torture could be inflicted quite easily upon anyone if they could be placed into danger. Whether it be through the gentle cuts of where a knife slid across the skin or through the gruelling cracks of a large whip; it could be done. It did not even have to be done by someone who knew what they were doing because as long as they knew how to draw pain then it would not matter. Almost anything could become an object that could be used in torture. There was a mental element too, the psychological battle between victim and torturer. One trying to ignore the pain or simply scream from it, while the other did their best to inflict further suffering as they remained in control. It could be quite harrowing, the lengths that a man could go to in order to break another.

Boredom was another form of torture. One of the slowest and most gruelling.

Erin could not remember a time that her Uncle Colm was not a boring old man. Her very first memories of him were falling asleep in front of him because he'd started speaking, despite having been asleep for hours before. There were other times she could remember too, when the family were out together, spotting their relative in the distance and hiding from him. In her younger years, she always thought it to be a cracker game of hide and seek, but changed her mind when she was older, realising exactly why they were doing it. It's not that the family didn't love him, the opposite in fact. Joe looked after his brother more so than a lot of them gave him credit for, regularly checking in on Colm whenever he was out and about. Unlike his brother, Colm never found a woman to marry, which meant he faced his old age alone at home. The family did not know why there was never a woman as Joe was unwilling to elaborate on his brother's behalf despite knowing the truth. Even though he was the most boring man alive, Colm would always be loved by his brother.

That being said, when it came to the rest of them spending time with him, it was a very different story indeed. Nobody wanted to go to see Colm unless they really needed to, or if he was about to die. There was often a threat of being sent to him if there was misbehaviour in the Quinn house, when the wooden spoon was otherwise engaged. He was as an effective deterrent as the spoon too, with Erin and Anna falling into line smartly when faced with a visit. It was the former of the two though, that was facing him without it stemming from poor behaviour…

When Joe returned from Colm's the day before, he'd waited until everyone was back home from work to reveal that his brother's vegetable patch was in need of attention. A dodgy elbow, or at least that was all that Joe told them he could stand to listen to, was his brother's latest ailment which kept him from the garden. The July days were bright and warm much the like the summer before, though the summer before did not bring with it the threat of German bombers. A sunny Saturday morning would be the perfect time for one of them to go around to help him out, but Joe ensured that it would not be him. He already had commitments to meet up with some of his old friends, someone else needing to stand up and be counted for when it came to Colm.

Mary was dead to Erin.

She loved her Uncle Colm, but Saturday was supposed to be her day to meet with Charlene. Her Mammy's wishes conspired to ensure that it did not happen, volunteering her daughter to go around to Uncle Colm's to help him with it. James introducing her to the finer points of gardening was working against her a year or so later, not that she would ever curse her handsome lover for it. He was far too beautiful…

An argument of monumental proportions ripped through the Quinn house the night before as she tried every trick she knew to get out of going. Nobody could know about her meetings with Charlene, or at least the true intentions of them, which left her with a limited set of excuses to use. Mary did not buy a single one of them. Erin held many qualities in her mother's eyes but being able to pull the wool over the same said features was not one of them. There weren't many who could deceive the fiery matriarch although it did not detract on most of the family trying. Gerry was about the only one who could on a consistent basis, though how much of it was down to her being blinded by loving him could not be quantified. Losing the tussle, Erin settled for a compromise, if it could be considered one. She would not have to attend church the following morning if she helped clear up Colm's vegetable patch. A deal was very much a deal. With the amount of cursing under her breath, she could have done with the confession box though…

The sorry state that she found the vegetable patch in at least gave her some distraction from her Uncle when she arrived. Ten minutes later than she wanted it to, mind. The first ten minutes advanced her knowledge of his elbow injurdy no further than what Joe told her the night before. She did however earn the privilege of knowing about a woman with a dodgy elbow fourteen years earlier, a classic for the ages. A classic tale of Colm going so far off topic from the conversation, it was, rather than a literary one or one of her amazing pieces of poetry… or shite depending on who was asked…

After over an hour's work where she sweated away, Erin was feeling more content about the task at hand. To her delight, Colm mostly left her alone to get on with it rather than staying in attempts to direct her in what to do. Contrary to the opinion of some of her friends, who knew she could work hard at her job but believed her to be lazy outside of it, the progress that was made that morning was quite reasonable for a young woman working alone. It was another task where she wished she had James by her side though, as it would have it made it far more entertaining to be able to work together with her English fella.

"Erin…".

Hearing Uncle Colm's voice, she looked to the back fence and winced. He'd not been near her for at least twenty minutes, the young Quinn growing accustomed to the silence of not having him there. To find it shattered was most annoying.

"Aye Uncle Colm?" She replied, turning to face him.

"How are ye gettin' on there?" He asked.

"Ach not bad. I'm movin' onto the carrots in a minute. Ye have quite a big patch ye know Uncle Colm, have ye thought about maybe gettin' someone to help ye?"

One rule of being around Uncle Colm was to never ask him a question. A question to Colm was like a new territory to the Nazi's. Once it became available, there was no stopping the typical outcome of it either. Immediately setting her conscience on a course of internal chastisement and castigation, she nervously tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. Standing in her old striped dress, almost certainly the most unflattering one she owned, now covered with soil, she awaited his certain drivel in return. The terrible state of her dress was at least a slight distraction. She wouldn't want to be seen wearing it in her grave, let alone out in the garden of her Uncle's house.

"I have…". Colm replied quite snappily. "I said to myself, Colm, said I, why do ye not get yerself some help for the vegetable patch. Now, did I ever tell ye the story about old Pat Bolger who kept a vegetable patch out near Limavady. Pat said to me one day, he said Colm, ye really ought to see the carrots I have growin', they're bigger than Fionn himself, so they are. He was not jokin' either. Those carrots could have killed an elephant, so they could. I said to Pat, Pat, ye really ought to make sure those carrots don't get any bigger. And he said to me, he said Colm, ye know, yer probably right".

After quite possibly the most boring story that ever fell from the lips of Colm McCool was finished, Erin shook herself to ensure she stayed awake. There'd been some bad ones in the past, some incredibly bad ones, but the story of Pat Bolger's giant carrots took the crown.

"That's… well…". She struggled to even find anything to say about it. "… they were big carrots".

FECK'S SAKE! KEEP YER MOUTH SHUT, ERIN!

"They were big carrots, so they were. But they were nothin' on the turnips that he grew a year later. I have never seen turnips so big and I said to Joe, I said Joe have ye ever seen a turnip so b-".

"Uncle Colm!" She interrupted vigorously. "Is it not time for ye to go to church?"

Father Peter would often turn to his congregation for help around the church on a Saturday, Colm being an ardent helper when the help was required. With one of the greatest strokes of luck she'd ever received, Erin took a wild guess that it must have been getting towards midday. The realisation from her Uncle that he would be late if he did not leave within a few minutes was priceless to say the very least. His usually unreadable face became a hive of flurried emotion when the thought of being late for church dawned on him.

"Will ye be alright on yer own there, Erin".

"I'll be grand, Uncle Colm, just grand". She smiled sweetly. "Ye get yerself off to Church now".

Enticing him to get a move on with her calm words, he did so. Within a minute, Colm was back in the house to grab a couple of things before heading off for church another minute or so after. Left alone to get on with it again, Erin soon returned to her stride. There was a lot still to do, the carrots being the next vegetable on the agenda, but it was well within her limits. In James, she'd gotten herself the perfect trainer, though where a city boy like him learned to tend a garden was quite the mystery. Unbeknownst to her, the men of his squadron were discovering the mysteries that were James' abilities to seemingly achieve everything he set his mind to. There was almost nothing that he could fail to do, every task being sent his way, completed without breaking sweat in some cases. Though break sweat they had on his vegetable patch the previous summer, his idea of it being fun dampening the mood for her despite the skills that were learnt. Still, she remembered fondly how he'd made up for it afterwards…

Back in the real world where she needed to belong, another half an hour passed without incident. She'd considered asking Clare for her assistance as well before leaving the house, ultimately deciding not to bother when she thought of attempting to explain to her Da why she needed her. A general distrust of Sean Devlin formed in her mind after what Clare had told Michelle weeks earlier about what he'd said about her. Learning later that it turned out to be a misunderstanding, a part of her believed that there could have been some truth in it. One Sunday at church, she'd noticed a mark that Geraldine attempted to hide from everyone. Her evasions to most of her friends were a convincing success but of all people, it was Erin who saw straight through it. Behind the usually bright eyes of Clare's Ma was something darker. She couldn't outright accuse him, as if she were wrong then Mary would never let her leave the house again, but Erin was fairly certain that Sean hit his wife… perhaps even hit Clare, not that her friend would ever tell her.

"Erin…".

Beant over the carrots, she heard a whisper of her name faintly on the wind. So faintly that she could not even identify who's voice it belonged to. As if by instinct, she quickly convinced herself that she was hearing things.

"Pstttttt… Erin!"

There was no doubt that her name was called the second time, putting a name to the sound as soon as it filled her ears too. Looking up around her, she couldn't see her, but she knew that Michelle was around somewhere. Quite where she would be in an area far from her own home, whilst not having any relatives that lived on that street, was anyone's guess. Then again, it was Michelle and glancing upwards to the neighbour's house, it was abundantly clear where the young Mallon was. In truth, she should have looked there first…

"Up here!"

"Aye Michelle, I can see that". She hissed.

Hanging out of, what Erin assumed, was a bedroom window of the house next door, it didn't take long to know exactly what she was up to in there. The duvet covers were pulled up around the dark-haired girl, protecting her modesty from anyone in the houses behind who might be peeping. Her hair was frazzled, as if she'd just woken up from sleeping. Considering it was midday, Erin having been up since just after six, it was difficult to fathom why she would have only just got up. There was also the fact that she wasn't at her own house. Erin knew what Martin's rules were ever since the Johnny Kells incident, so it would definitely be a difficult evening for Michelle when she returned home to face the music.

"What are ye doin'?" Michelle asked her, a look of curiosity on her face.

"What am I… What are you doin' Michelle!"

Incredulous that Michelle would decide to question what she was up to when she was in the state that she was in, Erin gave a typically dramatic answer. It was quite obvious, to her at least, that she was doing some gardening for her Uncle Colm. Although she might have avoided ever having to go to his house, she did not at least appear totally out of place there. Michelle, on the other hand, did not have a good reason to be where she was. She didn't have any relatives that lived at the house next door to Colm nor were they friends of her parents. Neither of those explanations would have explained why the duvet was wrapped around her instead of her usual attire of a dress anyway.

"Come on Erin, can ye not guess?"

Rolling her eyes, she picked up a cigarette and lit it. Below in the garden next door, Erin subconsciously knew what she was there for, making it mere confirmation when the mischievous tone became present in her friend's voice. The fella was yet to be seen with her, but the young Quinn knew that her Uncle's neighbours had a lad that was a year older than they were. Unless she was ridin' the husband…

"Which one?" She had to ask.

"Ach come on! The lad, obviously!"

"After E-… ye know, I have to wonder…".

Shaking her head and deciding to ignore the comment, Michelle continued to smoke as the warm air began to heat her face. There was a couple of minutes silence before anything else was said, Erin using the time to take a break from the vegetable patch. She examined a bruise she'd picked up, coming off worst in an argument with the spade. The gardening tool struck her in the shin by mistake, the evidence showing up prominently on the right one in comparison to the clear but pasty left.

"So yer gardenin' then?"

Breaking the silence having finished the cigarette, Michelle turned her attentions back to Erin's activities rather than her own. She knew how much Erin hated visiting her Uncle Colm, even with the rest of the family. That was after working out that she'd woken up in the house next to where Erin's boring Uncle lived, having been too hammered to work it out the night before. It had been a surprise to see her out there when she'd first peered out before Erin knew that she was there, hearing the sound of someone working and expecting it to be Colm or perhaps Joe. A welcome sight it was when it turned out to be her best friend.

"Aye. Mammy… volunteered me". Still angered, Erin huffed out the response.

"Ha! Good to see Mary's still got a good sense of humour on her…".

"Michelle!" Erin chastised her in return.

"What!?" She jokingly tried to justify her answer. "If something's funny then it's funny Erin, I'm not goin' to be all sympathetic when it's feckin' hilarious".

Frustrating conversations were a staple to their friendship, Michelle finding it well within her powers to do so all of the time. Whether it was Erin or Clare, she could enter under either's skin just as easily to be able to manipulate a chat, bending it to her will. The only one of their group who she could not frustrate was Orla. The married woman could not be so easily agitated unless there was a direct attack on something that she cared about, though with her preference for triviality, there was not quite the fun to be had in trying to than there was with the other two.

"Yeah well, it's been nice to get out in the sun ye know… instead of sleepin' around all day like some of us…".

A lack of subtly on Erin's part was completely deliberate, provoking Michelle instantly as she'd planned to. Michelle's… habits… were beginning to annoy the rest of them. If she wanted to ride half of Derry then she could do so, but there was not a single time where they would not either see the lead up or the aftermath, and in the case of Eddie Walsh, the deed itself.

"Wise up Erin, it's just a bit of action". The frustrated Michelle responded.

"A bit of action? Every night seems to be a bit of action for you Michelle! Christ, did ye not even go home last night!?"

"No". She giggled. "Da's goin' to kill me when I get in, but it was so worth it! Ye know, this fella, his c-"

"That's enough! I get it!"" Erin shouted her interruption.

A few people in the houses behind were beginning to be drawn to the scene of the duvet covered Michelle hanging out of the window. She did not care at all, nonchalantly extending her middle finger to anyone that decide to scowl at her, Maureen Malarkey being one such lady to do so. Nobody liked Maureen Malarkey, a particular enemy of Joe's over many a year, no friend to the Mallon's either.

"Oh, I can hear my fella comin' back upstairs". Michelle waggled her brows as she spoke. "If I'm lucky, it might be round five".

Blowing Erin an imaginary kiss, Michelle slammed the window shut behind her as she retreated off inside towards the bed for her evening, come morning and now afternoon, of pleasure, to continue.

"Round Fi… feck's sake Michelle".

Grumbling to herself about Michelle's total disregard for anything else other than sex, Erin was soon back to tending to the vegetable patch. She'd not gone out with Michelle the evening before, reasoning that the now very real threat of German bombers overhead made an evening out in the city a far less palatable choice. The arguments at work the previous lunchtime ended up souring their friendship for the afternoon, with Michelle insisting that life should go on regardless in opposition to Erin's caution. Clare, cacking herself as she always would, sided with the latter out of fear of ending up being trapped under rubble if a bomb struck as she was claustrophobic, forgetting the very likely possibility that she would dead by that point anyway.

The afternoon flew by for Erin. Channelling the efforts of her Da and Granda when they built the Anderson Shelter, she did not stop for anything to eat at all until the job was finished. She could feel the sweat running down her legs at one point, ending up looking a long way short of the usual glamourous look that she believed she held. James certainly wouldn't have found her attractive if he came across her in her current state, she thought to herself, though then again knowing her fella, he would probably find her more attractive like it. He was a man of surprises, though she wished he'd have surprised her by turning up at her Uncle Colm's that afternoon to see her. She would often wish that he would come out from behind a door or walk into the factory whilst she was working, the scene playing over in her head where she would run to him, jump in his arms and tell her that she loved him. That would be before the conversation that they desperately needed to have, in case things would not be the same afterwards. As well as the question he wanted to ask, not that she knew of his intentions of asking it…

By five o'clock, the job was done and a well and truly knackered Erin breathed a massive sigh of relief when she put the spade back in the wee shed in Colm's garden. He himself returned around three, coming out only to announce his return instead of bothering her like she assumed he would. The weather remained just as beautiful as it had been all day, the rays of sunshine glistening down onto her like they should in the summer. It was not quite the harmonious outlook over the other side of the Irish Sea, especially in the south, where between beams of heat lay preying ME109's and bombers, unleashing their fiery hell on the British mainland. The Royal Air Force was digging in for battle against their counterparts, those in the highest office knowing of the true importance of defending the air from the Luftwaffe. Sea Lion could not succeed.

Uncle Colm was a fair man, allowing Erin to pinch some of his food rather than wait until she got home. She didn't have too much, as her own dinner was not too far away, but a little bit of bread did the trick to tie her over along with some cheese. She finished clearing up after herself, finding that it was gone half past five by the time everything was back where she'd found it in his kitchen. Exhausted from the sixth day of hard work in a row, she would be more than glad of the rest the next morning.

"Are ye off now, Erin?".

Sat in his chair in the living room, Colm caught sight of her walking past him towards her string bag that she'd brought with her. Waiting to respond until she picked it up, Erin found herself a seat on the chair opposite, taking a moment to make sure that she'd gotten everything she'd brought with her for the day.

"Aye… shortly". She replied, smiling as sweetly as she could, looking at him with her tired eyes. "I… I wondered whether ye might want to hear some of my poetry".

The time to write eluded her most nights, being so knackered from the long days at work, that she often did not feel in the mood to make the most of her evident talents. Her evident talents that only James, and occasionally Anna, appreciated. The family did not encourage her to keep writing either, despite Mary noticing how little she did of it, although Erin put that down to jealousy instead of their bitter resentment of her works. Clearly jealous of her incredible literary ability, not a single one of her family and friends would listen to her work as they were obviously made to feel self-conscious about how good it was. Colm never really listened to her works that much, which meant she could choose from a whole list of poems that she'd written previously without having to worry about repeating herself.

"Poetry? Now, ye remember… ach no, yer too young, ye won't remember… but yer Ma will remember. There was a lad yer Ma's age, Peter his name, Peter O'Rourke so he was. He was the same age as yer Ma, so he was, and I was listenin' to him in public one day, and I said to myself, I said Colm said I, that man could take the crowd off their feet like a great gust of wind off the Foyle, so he could…".

"He must have been cracker…". She commented half-heartedly.

"He was… let's hear yer poetry then".

Unusually, Colm was direct, rather than rambling on with another pointless story to add to his many pointless stories that were in the family collection. Rifling through her bag, she hoped she'd remembered to actually bring some of her work with her, otherwise it would be an embarrassment to promise to read him something that she did not have. She could only remember one or two of her own works off the top of her head, though it was only because she'd written so many it was hard to keep track of them all, of course. It certainly wasn't because they were not memorable as every piece of her work was unforgettably brilliant. Erin Quinn only ever wrote masterpieces.

"Ah, here we go".

Glancing up to her Uncle Colm, she caught his smile as he saw that she'd managed to find a piece that she was comfortable with reading out. Strangely, the poem was more about James than anything else, one of the… cleaner works... she'd written about him. There were others, of course, but they were for his eyes and ears only, scandalous to anyone else other than her fella. Just thinking of them made her blush.

"Alone in the wind

The Rose did travel

From a city of tarmac

To roads of gravel

In a foreign land

With no f-

Barely a few lines into her poem, Erin was interrupted by the rudest sound she could have possibly fathomed at that moment. From his seat across the room, Colm began snoring, dropping off as soon as she started speaking. Her work of art was being vandalised by his sinful actions. Nobody in their right mind could possibly just drop off when the genius that she was, started orating her works. After everything she'd ever heard from Michelle's mouth or seen her do, she'd never experienced anything quite so despicable and insensitive as her Uncle Colm falling asleep whilst she read out her poetry. Uncle Colm of all people, a man who could put the room to sleep by opening his mouth!

Raising herself from the seat, the justifiably enraged Erin grabbed her string bag, rushing from the house whilst muttering to herself about how rude he was under her breath. A day's work getting his vegetable patch up to shape would be a day which would never be repeated again, words which would be said the moment she got home when Mary no doubt asked her how the day had been.

"She's gone… thank you, Lord".

Having opened his eyes, Colm could praise God himself. He was not just the boring old man that they all thought him to be. There was a smart man of wise years underneath the armour of old Uncle Colm, one who knew full well how terrible young Erin's poetry was. He would have rather taken his place in line at the pearly gates than sit and listen to her latest manufactured drivel. Feigned sleep was the more preferrable option though and she'd bought it very nicely indeed.

He owed God at morning mass the next day.

---

The final days of training in Bermuda were tiresome for the aircrews. Following the incident on the island, James took no further chances of ill-discipline within his squadron or any other of the squadrons. They were drilled hard, worked even harder and allowed no rest. None of the men seemed to think any less of him for doing it, as they all understood why it had to be done. Airman Bailey might have been one bad apple rather than the squadron being a rotten barrel, but the young officer could not afford to take any chances. As the training came to a close, their time in Bermuda coming to an end, only the Lieutenant Commander himself made another trip onto the mainland, informing the marines of their imminent departure. He hoped to return one day, arriving in better circumstances than he'd left in.

Another incident befell them too during the last day of training. All of the squadrons went out together on a final practice run, James commanding them as they completed the exercises he'd set. When it came time to land however, the wind that they'd took off in was no longer around. For the two Swordfish squadrons, it was not a problem at all, the 815 and 819 both landing all of their aircraft successfully due to the adaptability of their planes. However, the 806 squadron had a problem. The Skua's and the Fulmar's did not have the ability to land as nimbly without the wind on their side and for the crews of limited experience, it provided a challenge. Lieutenant Commander Evans went first, but he'd approached with far too much speed, having to slam the nose into the flight deck to stop his Skua from rolling off the end of the deck into the Atlantic. The second Skua managed to even take off again as it was unable to clear the runway on the landing deck before a whole host of calamities when the others went to land, which sealed their fate for the change of plans that James had to discuss with Captain Boyd in the hours after.

They would be returning to Britain.

Heading straight to the Med was never going to be feasible with the amount of damage sustained to both the Illustrious and the aircraft of the 806. Repairs and refits for the Illustrious would take place in Scotland, using the naval base on the River Clyde to conduct them. The plan for the aircraft was for the two Swordfish squadrons to be moved to the airfield close to the base whilst the Skua's and Fulmars departed for further repairs elsewhere. It was not the start to active service that James hoped for, but the lack of wind around Bermuda was damn bad luck, and with the need to find Bailey a suitable prison, a return to home shores was not completely unreasonable. Headquarters agreed once the information was communicated, and they'd set a course for Scotland the next day. Along with the light cruiser, HMS Fiji, the Illustrious made its way back across the Atlantic, the Swordfish crews acting as spotters on a rotational basis for the journey home, looking for any signs of the Kriegsmarine's surface ships or submarines.

Journeying to Scotland from the Atlantic meant that they would have to pass along the Irish coast before making the sharp turn up the Firth of Clyde. Having to almost hug the coastline at times, the Illustrious travelled painfully close to Derry, the early morning sun making the city stand out in his binoculars. James, and David for that matter, would have given anything to be able to dock the Illustrious in the Foyle rather than the Clyde, to run home to their loved ones. Yet it would have been a dereliction of duty to do so, even if that meant ignoring the duty of looking after their own hearts. The Englishman's heart was heavier, having been away from Erin for nearly a year. A year after just a few months with her could have been several lifetimes. He was not reckless though; he simply couldn't ask Boyd to stop there. Derry was soon left behind as the two men watched it disappear from the horizon, silent looks conveying the pain they both felt.

It was not too much longer after that, that they arrived in Scotland, though they ended up having to wait for their destroyer screen which was late in setting off from the base they were heading to. By the time they'd docked that evening and the necessary paperwork and formalities were concluded, it was too late for anything other than something to eat and a night's sleep. The men of the air crews as well as the Navy crew were quite exhausted after their Bermudan training block, the Lieutenant Commander of the 815 even more so. Whilst the rest of the crew's night ended once they were ashore and billeted, his did not finish until well into the early hours. Airman Bailey was disembarked from the carrier in cuffs, led to the first Military Police outpost that they came across. The charges that James had explained to him were read out properly by the Captain in charge, the airman reaffirming his guilt on the central charge of attempted rape. With the additional paperwork and testimony that he was required to give, it was after three in the morning when James finally found his bed, trying his best not to disturb Barnes who was in the room next door, snoring away.

Morning came around only two and half hours later for the Lieutenant Commander. He would be running on fumes for the day, a day which already held a meeting at seven o'clock sharp as the first stop. He'd been greeted by a staff officer when they'd first arrived, who'd given him his orders that headquarters in London sent up for him. They were, in effect, the same as the ideas he'd put across to HQ, except from one small detail which he knew would cheer the men up.

The men, but only the men, could all have two weeks leave.

The repairs to the Skua's would require them to be away for a couple of weeks and with no active need for the Swordfish in that area, and nowhere else for them to be used, the crews could go home to their families. The officers were required though, none more so than James himself, as he would be receiving the final set of orders for their whole stint in the Mediterranean. It was yet another agonising blow, to know that his men would be able to have two brilliant weeks with those that they loved whereas he would be forced to miss home yet again. Every time that the possibility of being able to return to Erin's side came about, it was cruelly ripped from him by one circumstance or another.

David would be allowed to return home though, and before he went and told the men, he wanted to track down his best friend first. As Marie continued to grow, it would be a fantastic opportunity for her father to spend a couple of precious weeks with her, to make the three of them fit as a family again even if it only was for the two weeks. Tracking him down was proving to be difficult though, as across the vast base in Scotland, there were thousands of men stationed. From Navy to Air Force to even some units of the Army, there were men in uniforms everywhere. Having left first with Airman Bailey, he'd not seen where his own men were meant to be sleeping, only knowing where the officers were staying. After a friendly army Lieutenant pointed him in the right direction, he eventually found where his men were staying, David already outside the billet as if he knew that James was coming.

"Ye look like shite, Sir, and I mean no offence".

Noticing the bags under the Englishman's eyes, David frowned. He was not a fool; he knew that arranging Bailey's custody would be a lengthy process but to see James looking very much unlike himself was a shock. A solid sleeper on a normal day, the Lieutenant Commander carried a deep grey tint underneath his eyes as a mark to notify anyone around him that his sleep the prior night was unsatisfactory.

"Quite alright, David. Just stop calling me, Sir". James rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "I could do with you telling me jokes all day, if I'm honest".

Grinning, the Irishman appeared to have anticipated where the conversation was going, though James was too tired to work out how he'd done so.

"I know a joke. The feckin' beds in there".

Using his thumb to point backwards through the door of the billet, David's face showed unexpected pain. The pain was his way of signalling to his friend that the beds inside were the most uncomfortable he'd ever slept on. At war, they were not expecting luxurious palace spreads to rest their heads, but they'd have been better off going to sleep on the ground with what they were given instead. The ground would have at least been easier on their backs, as the beds they'd been given were no more than stone pillars with some hay and sheets on. There was a medieval look to them, which many of the men were more than happy to point out to the officer who'd first shown them their billets the night before. His vicious reply ensured that they did not point it out to him again, but knowing that James would take onboard the concerns, David voiced it on their behalf once more.

"Not enough feathers in your pillow?" James asked mockingly.

"Hah! Nice one James… but I was bein' serious, so I was. How do ye expect us to sleep on that shite?" He replied.

"One does have to put personal comforts aside in order for the greater good". The Englishman explained lightly. "I myself know that all too well…"

The manner in which James' voice trailed off, immediately raised David's suspicions. Whenever James' voice dropped or became uncertain, there was something on his mind that he needed to get out into the open. Being his best friend, David was the prime candidate to listen to his frustrations and fears. On that morning, it was certainly the former that took precedence over the latter.

"I thought I should let you know first, but yourself and the rest of the men can go home today for two weeks leave".

Instantly, David's face lit up. James suspected it would, as any father would be overjoyed to go home and spend time with their young son or daughter. He was expecting to receive the same reaction from the other men in his squadron with children, around just over half of them if he had to estimate. For the others, it would be a chance to see their loved ones regardless. However, what he did not expect was David's face to fall after a few seconds, at the moment that this friend looked back directly into his eyes. The friends stared at each other for a few seconds, almost attempting to read the other through their irises.

"David… what is it?" James eventually asked him.

"James… I…".

"I know you are overwhelmed by the sudden opportunity, but I think you should grasp it. Besides, who knows when you might get another chance".

There were not many times where James found himself so wide of the mark when it came to reality, but one of those rare occasions suddenly began to play out. David was delighted by the prospect of seeing his Orla and his little Marie once again, but in going home there was less joy to be found elsewhere. He would once again be returning to Derry without his best friend, which felt wrong when the Englishman's influence on their family and friends around the city was so powerful. It would also mean having to spend time with Erin again, who would look at him sometimes and be reminded of exactly what she was missing. As much as he wasn't in love with her, at no point did David ever wish to upset the young Quinn by simply being present. He was not that type of man.

"I… I am… I'd love to but…". He dithered through the attempt to speak. "It's just…".

"Just what, David?

Saying a quick prayer in his head, he asked the Lord to not make James think that he was an eejit for what he was about to say. The judgement would only be one he wanted to hear from himself, a judgement which saw him favourably in one light but not in the other.

"I just can't go back without ye again… I can't face it…".

His own voice trailing off, the concern returned to the Englishman's side. David would be on his own on the return journey, though would be surrounded by the family from the moment he returned to the house. The thought that he would have to answer questions about not only his own life, but James' too, never crossed the Lieutenant Commander's mind. Erin would no doubt want to know every single detail of every day they'd spent in service to the country and there would probably be countless random questions from all of the girls and Sarah. It was a lot to face alone when he thought about…

"David, you have to. You have Orla and Marie t-".

"No James. I'm not goin' back home until yer with me again. It's not right that I can go home without thinkin' about you. You deserve a trip home more than I do… I've been back feckin' twice and ye haven't been able to at all!"

"I have my duty…".

"And I have mine!" David cut him off, a tad too aggressively than was required. "I have a duty to see you happy James and I know ye'll be feckin' miserable knowing that I can be at home whilst yer here doin' whatever it is that you are doin'".

Incredible. He could never ask for such loyalty, not even from his best friend but there David was offering it up anyway. Their friendship was long established, but it spoke volumes when one of the two was willing relegate their own flesh and blood for the other. Despite his young age, James often reflected on his decisions in the past, of experiences that were missed, opportunities squandered. Becoming friends with David Donnelly was one of the best decisions he'd made in his life, with only meeting Erin Quinn being above it. They were both incredible people in their own right, but in David he'd found a man who he could place his trust in, to find the feeling reciprocated with undying loyalty.

"I… I do not know what to say". A clearly emotional James replied. "I suppose I can pass you off as my temporary adjutant".

"Temporary?" David snorted merrily. "I was hopin' for a more permanent position, Sir".

"Do not get ideas above your station, Leading Airman Donnelly".

The two broke out into laughter, that before long turned into a full embrace. James did not care if the rest of the men, or anyone else at the whole base saw him hugging his best friend. David didn't either, the two of them needing it more than anything. The tension James carried with him whilst he tried to find him that morning evaporated as they were pressed close against each other, a few stray tears from the Englishman highlighting that the final sinews of emotion were leaving him.

Coughing and spluttering, a car pulled up alongside the two men as they pulled away from each other. The car appeared to have been a previously luxurious one that had since been fitted out for service, stripping away the luxuries it was built with. Clearly, the engine did not appear to have enjoyed the refit, something which appealed to the natural mechanical sense within David. As much as becoming James' temporary adjutant would keep him amused, being able to fix a car would give him a slice of the home life he would miss out on from staying. They watched on as a young man stepped out of the car to greet them. His hair was too pristine to be a man who'd seen service, the ungloved hands he held out before him being too clean for a man who was on active duty. Glancing at his sleeve, James determined that he was a junior staff officer, most likely attached to one of the Admiral's around the base.

"Lieutenant Commander Maguire?"

"Yes?" James answered pleasantly.

"Rear Admiral Lyster wishes to see you now, Sir".

Nodding to David, James received a nod in return a second later, knowing that their time was up until later that day. The Real Admiral was no doubt eager to get the staff meeting underway, sending out his staff officers to round up all of the officers that needed to be present. James would be the only man from his squadron there, though the Lieutenant Commanders of 806 and 819 squadrons would be present too.

"I would appreciate your silence on the matter discussed, Leading Airman Donelly".

Knowing that James was inferring to the leave that was going to be granted, David smiled. It could not come from his lips that the men were allowed to return home; it had to come from James.

"Absolutely, Sir".

The friends went their separate ways, but once again left each other with the knowledge that they would always be there to look out for each other, no matter what the cost.

In the weeks to follow, the cost would only be stretched…