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 :)

35. Walls

Chapter 35: Walls 21st September 1940

To catch Erin in the act, Michelle really had to behave herself that Friday night. There were few Friday nights that she would not spend out in the city, getting herself into trouble and usually finding herself with a fella. As much as she enjoyed having her fun with the local lads, there was a far bigger task at hand on the Saturday. Quite what Erin thought she was doing, getting herself involved with Charlene Kavanagh, she did not know, but what she did know was that she did not like it. A week working with the young Quinn made it difficult to hide her thoughts on the matter, but she buried them the best that she could. It never came up in conversation which helped greatly, a miracle as far as the dark-haired girl was concerned. Erin would usually brag about her supposed friendship with the rich young woman, so it was odd that she did not. Michelle was not party to what was said at the Mansion the weekend before though; if she was, it would have not seemed so strange.

When she'd watched Erin running away crying, albeit she could not see the tears from her position, Michelle considered her own feelings. Her initial unfiltered anger was the prevailing emotion for some hours. Angered that Erin was continuing to visit Charlene, months after she'd stopped working with the rest of them. She hadn't minded Charlene too much when she was working with them, despite finding it very odd that she had to. However, there was something about Erin's continued visits that didn't sit right with her. After all, she knew from school that the rich young woman was hardly someone who would look out for Erin. She would often mock her poetry, although she couldn't argue that it wasn't terrible in her friend's defence either. There was jealousy, the dark-haired girl realised. She was jealous of Erin, because the blonde was able to seamlessly fit into another world of wealth that she knew she would not.

Anger remained prevalent. That Saturday morning, all of them could have done something together, Orla included. For whatever reason, one she was determined to discover, Erin decided that Charlene Kavanagh was more worthy of her time. They were supposed to be a solid group of friends that would always be there for each other, but it appeared as if Erin had her own ideas about who her true friends were. Of course, none of them could boast a mansion or have their own butler. None of them could wear the expensive dresses that Charlene did, or prance around without a care in the world because of their wealth. It angered her that Erin could so easily be turned by a simple bit of money, until she thought about it further. James wasn't short when it came to money either… perhaps she just gravitated towards those whose pockets were overbrimming.

Clare would not be involved when it came to confronting Erin. Even though she resented Erin for not wanting to participate in activities as a group, some activities were best left for her to conduct alone. Sneaking around in an attempt to confront one of the others about behaviour which she did not like, was one such venture. Orla wouldn't be much use either, as she would have most likely told Erin of the intentions before they'd set off, ensuring that it would be her that was confronted instead. Michelle didn't mind though, as the time to plan for herself appeared to work better. There was no need to account for Clare messing it up with her panicking, nor was there the need to consider whether Orla would get bored and wonder off. Her full focus applied, Michelle could get on with the task at hand.

Although she did not know it, Erin would not be heading to the mansion again that Saturday. The weather of the previous week eventually resided into the current one, which meant that Charlene would meet Erin in their agreed spot as they usually would. Right out at the bottom of the Kavanagh Estate, in the woods that could have covered a mass killing should one have taken place. The route to the mansion shared some similarities with the route to the rear of the estate, and before the turn off to the latter, she found a spot in the undergrowth at the side of the road. Finding her oldest dress, one which she would not mind getting a wee bit dirty in the vegetation on the roadside, it was nine o'clock when she took up her position. There was no way that Erin would head out any earlier, as she would be too tired from work, but Michelle could not take any chances either. She reckoned it would be any time after nine that Erin would turn up. It was a plan well thought out too, as around half past, she looked down the lane to find her friend walking briskly up it.

Erin wasn't quite sure what to expect when she met with Charlene. She didn't even know if Charlene would actually show after her performance of the week before, having not seen her since to at least apologise for storming off. She'd made a complete fool of herself in front of her wealthy friend, who would have no doubt been angered by the performance. She did believe Charlene to be a woman of her word though, so the trip was made in the hope that their friendship would remain intact. It would devastate her if she couldn't hear about James' escapades in the Med. Just to hear that he was safely in port was music to her ears, a tune that she never wanted to stop hearing. Of course, the fact that Charlene did not even consider her a friend at all was yet to cross her mind as it was preposterous to even think that she would not.

What she didn't expect was Michelle.

As Erin closed in on where she was hiding, she could feel the rush of the hunt creeping up on her. It was the same rush when she'd take to the dance hall on a Friday night, the exhilaration of looking around the room to find the fella that she would be having for herself that night. The tingling sensation that brought waves of joy into her body, albeit the waves of joy were mixed with those of anger and resentment. She could just punch Erin, knocking the sense back into her, but she would never set out to truly harm her best friend. No matter what the deal with Charlene was, there was always a place for Erin in Michelle's heart. The space could shrink, so far down as to a size that could not be imagined, but it would never be removed. They'd experienced too much together as friends for anything to change her heart, even if it was not the answer she wanted.

"SURPRISE!"

Leaping out of the undergrowth, that camouflaged her perfectly, the surprise was more akin to one that would be thrown to mark a birthday celebration. There would be no tea and cake for Erin that morning though, as the determined Michelle's joviality would not last for long.

"JESUS!" Erin shouted. "Christ Michelle! Ye'll give me a heart attack jumpin' out like that!"

Erin might have shouted, but she quickly realised that the conversation would only be heading one way. Catching the look in Michelle's eyes, the one that betrayed steely determination, she knew it would not be easy with whatever her friend wanted. She'd seen the look before when they'd been out together, Michelle spotting a fella across a room and her mind working out how she could get him to a bed to get the trousers off of him. There was always the same gritty look, one that could be covered quickly with a less than friendly wink and the slight flash of her chest. The chosen fella would never find himself looking into her eyes after the wink, which meant she could safely wear a face of determination without the young man questioning it. That face being turned on her was most disconcerting.

"W-What are ye doin' here?"

The question was asked tentatively, Erin unsettled by what the reasoning could be. There was certainly no logical reason for Michelle to be hiding in the undergrowth at nine thirty on a Saturday morning. She looked far too comfortable to have spent the night passed out there after drinking too, which made her presence all the more odd.

"I could ask the same of you…". Michelle hummed inquisitively. "… but then I suppose I could go and ask Charlene Kavanagh…".

If Michelle was ever asked the exact moment where she'd seen Erin at her most heightened state of shiteing the tights, that moment would have been it. The moment the name fell from her lips, she watched as Erin's face turned from a slightly pensive looking frown to a full-blown quivering bottom lip. The theories as to what might be going on in her friend's head, assaulted Michelle's own, wondering what bullshit excuse would be thrown her way to attempt to get her to back off. Erin might have been terrible at meaningful literary work, but to her credit, she could produce incredible amounts of verbal nonsense upon request.

For the blonde, terror set in. She'd been well and truly rumbled. Not needing to be told that her exterior was not hiding her emotions, inside, her conscience could have been mistaken for the port of Benghazi a few nights before. The verbal bomb that Michelle dropped went straight through her carefully crafted friendship with Charlene, sinking her Borea of deception without reply. Unlike the destroyer, she would be shedding water if it were not for the fact that a small part of her managed to resist the temptation to burst out into tears to reveal everything. She was already worried about not seeing Charlene anyway, and now Michelle had really thrown a spanner into the works by showing up.

"Ask her what?" She eventually replied, somehow managing to mask her upset.

"Really Erin?" Michelle raised an eyebrow, placing her hands onto her hips. "Ye know, ye really aren't that good at hidin' shit like this, ye wee dose".

"Catch yourself on Michelle!" Erin reacted furiously. "I'm not hidin' anythin'!"

The young Mallon was merely toying with her friend. It was abundantly clear that Erin was going to the mansion again in her eyes, as the natural defences that Erin would normally erect in an argument were up. She was a stubborn debater at her worst, never backing down until she was either proven right or proven to be made to look like a fool, though with the latter it would almost always be someone else's fault. Holding all of the aces that morning, Michelle could even afford to play along for a while longer before revealing her knowledge of what she'd seen the Saturday before.

"No? Then why the fuck are ye out here?"

The original questions they'd both poised to each other remained unanswered. A challenge it was from Michelle, to see whether Erin would fall in line for once and answer her, rather than wait to have her answer first. Knowing that having to admit her reason for being there would have revealed the knowledge of the week prior a lot earlier than planned, it would not be the same as having Erin dangle like a carrot in front of the storm she would eventually throw her way. She could lie, she thought, but then lying defeated the object of the point in a way for her, as Michelle was trying to get to the bottom of the deception… not add to it.

"I… I'm on one of my wee walks…".

Gamble paying off, Michelle grinned in delight that Erin was forced into showing her impressive array of lunacy. She might have liked a wee walk, that was true, but to Michelle's extensive knowledge of her friend's routes, she knew that it was not one of the usual ones. Erin would usually walk around the area of the cottage, but they were far from the place that James called home. There was no reason why she would be out so far from the Quinn house, unless she was going to visit the main attraction of that area; the Kavanagh Estate.

"Are ye now?" Michelle sneered. "A bit far out for you though isn't Erin… ye know, unless yer here to see Charlene, of course".

"I… I'm not!"

Being the poor liar that she was, Erin was never going to convince her of anything else. The argument was won already for Michelle but delivering the coup de grâce could be held until the moment was right. Making it even worse for Erin, she did not openly attempt to mock her squirming at first. Instead, Michelle nodded her head whilst pretending to decide whether or not that she believed her friend. Completely trapped, the blonde was as hapless as a weak swimmer in a strong current against the tidal wave that was a determined Michelle with the bit between her teeth.

"If ye were on one of yer wee walks, ye wouldn't come out this far…". Michelle started, waltzing around the still figure of her friend. "… and ye certainly wouldn't without tellin' yer Ma the night before…".

"N…w-what?" A confused Erin replied.

Taking the liberty to plan the confrontation to the specifics that she required, her night without chasing the fellas around the streets of Derry was spent on gathering intelligence. Erin was in bed and asleep by half past seven, which allowed Michelle the chance to pop round to the house whilst she was snoring upstairs. Mary was not asleep, and under the guise of a visit to see her favourite Anna, the question about Erin's plans for the next day crept into the conversation. Convinced by Michelle's lie that they'd forgotten to speak about it at work, Mary revealed that Erin was planning on going for a walk. Assuming correctly that Erin would tell her Mammy exactly where she would be walking to, Mary confirmed unknowingly in advance that Erin had no reason to be where she was.

"The route that yer Ma gave me last night is a bit different to the one yer on now, so it is. Ye must have gotten lost, taken a wrong turn somewhere around one of the country lanes".

"Ye… ye a-asked my Mammy… where I w-would be walkin'?" A shocked Erin stuttered out the words.

"Aye, I did!".

The fear that was festering inside Erin, quickly turned to the same anger and resentment which was being subtly thrown at her. She didn't like whatever it was that Michelle was getting herself up to, especially when it came to getting her Ma involved. Mary would crucify her if she knew that she was meeting in secret behind the backs of her oldest friends because she'd always pushed her daughter to keep them all close by, and not to hide secrets from them. She'd hidden her relationship with James, although all of them except Michelle had worked it out, but she did not hide much else from them, only certain things that were very personal. Information that did not belong with even her closest of friends. She deemed the meetups with Charlene to fall into that category.

"Are ye spyin' on me, Michelle!?"

The accusation did not start out in Erin's mind as a shout, but it came out as one. She was in no position to take any moral high ground at all when it came to sneaking around, seeing as she was herself. Michelle was too though, and it did not sit right with her at all. For Michelle, the time of toying around with Erin was at an end. The shouted question signalled the coming to a head of the dance they'd started around what she was doing there in the first place. An unconvincing, and ultimately untrue answer was given by Erin for her own appearance, yet an answer it still was. Michelle had not accounted for her presence and doing so would certainly start a chain reaction that could not be stopped. Breaking barriers that were not meant to be broken was Michelle's speciality though.

"Last Saturday, I saw ye. Runnin' out of the Kavanagh's fuckin' mansion like a feckin' bolt of lightning! Rushin' home after yer mornin' tea were ye!"

Instantly, Erin was seething. She could not believe that one of her best friends, who she'd trusted for years, was suddenly spying on her. Sure, she might not have been telling her the truth about what was going on with her meeting every week with Charlene, but it was none of Michelle's business either. If she was so needy that she had to know everything that the blonde got up to, Erin thought to herself, then she was going to have another thing coming…

"Not like you to be up that early on a Saturday, Michelle!" She huffed, sniping away in return.

"Well it was about time one of us figured out what the hell ye were getting' up to on a Saturday with yer walks!"

"Yeah… well, jealousy isn't healthy, Michelle". Erin lifted her chin, folding her arms in front of her. "I know it must be hard for ye, knowin' that Charlene sees me as a friend, but that's how it is, so… tough!"

In a conversation that touched upon so many uncertainties, the biggest certainty of all was that Charlene did not see Erin as a friend. Erin was simply her mission, a literary criminal of a mission, but a mission nonetheless. Emerald Two's instructions, passed through from the ever-diligent Captain Smithers, were the only reason that she would even give the young Quinn the same airspace as her.

"Ye… ye think I'm jealous?" Michelle snorted.

"Clearly ye are, Michelle!" Erin carried on with her fallacy. "I get it, I get to go to mansions while the rest of you's don't. But I don't choose who Charlene is friends with, so if ye have such a problem with it, take it up with her!"

Erin really did not understand Michelle. There was jealousy, to a small extent, but that was not the issue at hand. Sneaking around to meet with Charlene Kavanagh without telling her friends why, was the problem. Their friendship was fuelled by trust in each other, much in the same way that James and David's friendship was. When one member of the group caused that trust to be called into question, they had every right to be interrogated about it.

"I'm not jealous because I don't get to enjoy a nice biscuit while I talk to the local fuckin' posh bitch society about the latest fashions in London!" She argued back. "What I am, is feckin' angry! Why haven't ye said anythin' about this to me or to Clare, or Orla. We're yer friends for feck's sake Erin, we're meant to tell each other things!"

"Not everything Michelle! Can I not have anything without the rest of you's having to know every single detail about it!"

"We only want to know because we care, Erin!"

"Ach, wise up! Ye don't care about what I'm up to! Yer only here because ye couldn't find a fella who wanted ye to drop yer knickers for him last night!"

The rebuke shot out of Erin's mouth before she'd thought about what she was saying. Too enraged to take the comment back, she remained stoic as a momentary silence descended upon the two of them. Michelle's face was a picture of offended horror and unchained rage. She was raging… no, absolutely Jack the Ripping from the comment that Erin made, fighting the urge to do what she would have done to most other young women in that situation. Punch her so hard that she'd forgot which year it was. It took several more seconds for her to offer a response, having to measure what she said with the control that she had left.

"Don't you speak to me like that!" She reared up.

"What? Scared of the truth Michelle?!"

All of a sudden, the two of them found themselves right up in each other's faces. Faces that were glowing red, brightened by the rage that flowed beneath the cheeks. They were two young women made in the image of their mothers, stubborn as anything, unwilling to fly their flag of surrender when they were convinced that they were right. Lost in the fog of her own rage, Erin was being particularly hurtful to Michelle, whereas Michelle did her best not to unleash hell upon her friend. The problem for her, was that she did not have the level when it came to verbal insults. The next step for Michelle was going to be physical.

"Would you calm the fuck down?!" She screeched. "I'm yer friend for fuck's sake! This is about you, not me! And… and well, ye know… me ridin' different fella's is my choice, not yers!"

"You ridin' different fellas is just yer way of ignorin' the real problem!" Erin bellowed back.

"WHAT!?"

"That yer so terrified of actually committin' to someone, yer willin' to shag yer way through the country to avoid havin' to confront it!"

Lines were being crossed at every opportunity that morning, but Erin crossed one which Michelle never aired. There were some truths that cut far too close to home, Clare knowing full well about them too, and for the dark-haired girl, Erin's words did the same. She'd never had the courage to admit to anyone that she feared committal, was scared of the prospect of being a wife to a man. Her own insecurities told her that she would be a terrible wife, never able to meet the standards of what her husband would require. There was more to marriage than just sex and when she was so good at it, at least in her eyes, then there was no reason to abandon the latter in favour of the former. Quite how one of her best friends could identify the weakness, she did not know but what she did know was that their conversation was over. Michelle Mallon would not be brought to tears… at least not with an audience.

"TO HELL WITH YE ERIN!"

Shoving her friend with an almighty force, Erin only just about stayed upright as Michelle began to storm away. She was still raging too though, apoplectic with her friend for spying on her activities with Charlene.

"RUNNIN' AGAIN, MICHELLE!" She yelled at the retreating figure.

Coming to a stop, Michelle turned. Her eyes still held the tears within, as the same look of determination she'd shown before appeared. This time, the determination was born from her being unwilling to let Erin see her cry. A scenario she'd been in charge of, the tables being turned on her emotionally was not where she expected it to go.

"JUST FECK OFF ERIN! DON'T YE FUCKIN' TALK TO ME, I AM FINISHED WITH YOU!"

"FINE!"

Dashing off down the lane, Michelle burst into tears when she finally let the walls down around her. She was so scared of the next step in life, the one that would see her with a man till death do them part. It would keep her awake at night whenever the thoughts would come. That was another reason why she would often be in search of a fella's company for the night. If she was with someone else, then the thoughts would not come to her at all. The nights when she was alone was where they would, slithering through the pitch black of her bedroom, spiralling up the side of the wooden frame.

She did not want to think about Erin, let alone talk to her for the foreseeable future. She was not always the most easy young woman to be friends with, but after what was the most ferocious argument that they'd ever had, a newly found hatred of her began to form in Michelle's mind. There was so much venom in her friend's words, a sincerity in her insults that was never there previously. There were times when Erin would lose it, and say things that she didn't mean, but on the way back home that morning, Michelle struggled to believe that it was another case of the same. The blonde almost appeared to enjoy laying into her, as if the thoughts had been on her mind for some time. James could do much better than her, his cousin thought to herself, and she would make sure that when he did finally return, he would know as much. Not that she expected him to give her up, as even in her upset, she knew that the two were in love.

Tangible rifts were new to their friendship group, but as was happening across Europe, people were having to adapt to a new normal.

A normal that Michelle hated instantly.

---

HMS Warspite was an aging battleship. Laid down before the start of the Great War, it was approaching thirty years in service of the Royal Navy, an impressive feat for a ship that had seen its fair share of action down the years. Most notably was the mauling it received at the Battle of Jutland, where multiple malfunctions resulted in the ship being an easy target for the German High Seas Fleet of the time. During the early years of its service, it was the unfortunate victim of multiple incidents, including collisions with other ships as well as being rocked in its moorings after another ship suddenly exploded in port, its magazine having detonated by mistake.

In the Mediterranean Sea, the Warspite was a king, however. There were other battleships that were present in the fleet, Warspite's sister ship Valiant being one, having arrived into the area at the same time as the Illustrious. The difference with Warspite, was that it was the Flagship of the man in command of the whole fleet, and in effect, the man tasked with keeping the balance of power in the Mediterranean firmly on their side. That man was Admiral Sir Andrew Cunningham. Born in Ireland, to Scottish parents, he'd risen through the ranks of the Navy since the turn of the century, where he'd started off as a Midshipman in the second war against the Boers. He was a man who'd seen plenty of wars in his time, years of experience that shaped his decision-making process with the responsibility that he was given.

Cunningham was a master of the seas, but in the ever-changing theatre that was warfare, he was adapting to the ever-growing usage of aircraft in naval operations too. Aircraft were part of the Navy for years anyway, so it was not completely new to him, it was instead the frequency of them being called upon that he was having to get used to. The Fleet Air Arm's presence in the Med was only attributed to the carriers Eagle and Illustrious, along with a smattering of land-based units who were stationed in Malta. Yet he found himself to be the luckiest commander of any theatre, because within the Air Arm of his fleet, he was fortunate to have the best pilot that Britain could call upon in its time of desperate need. The twenty second day of September, a Sunday, would be the first time he'd met Lieutenant Commander James Maguire. The meetings that he'd been involved in did not include the young commander of the 815 squadron, as the younger man would attend the meetings held by officers under direct instruction from Cunningham. There was no real reason for the two to meet up until that point. In the same way he did with everyone though, James was making an impression and the Admiral could ignore him no longer.

James was in his cabin when the instruction found its way to him. Alone, he was finishing up his reports on a training exercise that his airmen were involved in the day before. Their behaviour was exemplary in Alexandria, the men all aware that James would not tolerate anything out of line after the incident in Bermuda. Their attitude in working in tandem with the crew of the Navy pleased him greatly, as some of his men were even learning how to operate the firing systems of some of the Anti-Aircraft weapons onboard the Illustrious. If the ship ever came under attack, and for whatever reason the Swordfish could not be launched, then he could be confident that his men could still play a part in the defence of the ship. He too was learning the systems, as like he would do in the air, if it came to it then James would lead from the front.

A knock on the door prompted him to look up from his paperwork. He'd asked not to be disturbed unless it was urgent, therefore when the knock came, he was immediately curious.

"Come in". He called out.

The door opened to reveal his second in command, Lieutenant Barnes. A man who he'd first met and believed to be one of few words, the Lieutenant began to open up a lot more under James' command instead of Borrett's. He was particularly chipper that morning too, as he'd finished a letter to be sent home to Olivia, who he was very much in love with. A relationship that he owed James credit for, the Englishman having sent her his way, he could not believe his luck.

"Apologies, Sir, I know you did not want to be disturbed".

Barnes addressed him formally, which was completely unnecessary for James. He preferred those closest to him, his senior officers and David, to address him informally in the surroundings of his own cabin. Barnes proceeding to address him formally, only heightened his curiosity.

"What requires my attention then". James sighed.

"One of the men from Warspite is on the deck. You have been summoned to a meeting with Admiral Cunningham".

Furrowing his brows, James nearly considered asking him to repeat what he'd said, struck with disbelief. A summons to meet with the commander of the fleet was going to be either one end of the scale or the other. There was either high praise or a stripping of command waiting for him, he assumed, and with nothing of note that would require high praise, he immediately thought it to be the very worst. In his mind he'd done nothing that would necessitate him losing command, but the attack on Benghazi perhaps was not up to the right standard. Even though they'd sunk three ships, including a destroyer, they'd not sunk the other thirty ships that were in port that night. Some of them were small auxiliary ships, that would have little impact whether they were afloat or not. They'd failed to hit a couple of other destroyers though, James presuming that the failure being reported back to the Admiral left the man with a decision to make.

"I see". He answered, dejection evident in his voice. "Thank you, Lieutenant".

He fell into formalities too, watching on as Barnes saluted him and departed. Before leaving his cabin, he had to dress himself into his full uniform. Doing his paperwork, he was sat in just a white shirt and an older pair of shorts, a look that he could not carry aboard the flagship of the British Mediterranean fleet. Once he was dressed, he made his way through the labyrinth of corridors on his way up to the landing deck. On the way, he bumped into plenty of sailors who were all busy tending to the ship and performing drills as required. Some of the crew were on shore leave too, operated on a rotational basis so that the ship could still be manned at all times. He didn't see David below decks, although that was because of an instruction he'd given that morning. All of his airmen were busy performing maintenance checks on the Swordfish in the hangar deck, which he did not have to pass in order to reach the landing deck.

Approaching the officer, James was shocked by how young the man was. He might have only been nineteen years old himself, yet the Englishman at least looked his age, if not older. The officer stood in front of him carried the appearance of a pre-pubescent boy, plucked fresh from the colleges of Eton or Harrow.

"Lieutenant Commander Maguire". The young man addressed him, in a nature that confirmed his privileged upbringing to James. "I am here to escort you to see the Admiral".

"Very well. Lead the way, Midshipman".

Addressing the young man by his rank appeared to anger the teenager. It was all the more evident that he was from significant wealth, the way in which he carried himself as they disembarked the Illustrious. Little did the young man know that the man next to him held far more financial wealth than he or his family could ever dream of, but that was a story that neither man knew and if certain men in London retained control, would never know.

No further exchanges took place between the young men on the short journey from the Illustrious to Warspite, James thankful for them not occurring. He took an instant disliking to the young midshipman with only the young man's facial expressions to go on. However, he liked to believe that he was a fair judge of character, and he could almost smell the obnoxious mannerisms of the young man. There were plenty of young, privileged men, like the potential Etonian, who'd set off to war with the thought of glory in their heads. Ruled by their heads without knowing what it was like to be told to be wrong, they all wanted to leave their mark on the campaign, not stopping to think of what they were doing. Incompetent officers, whether they be in the Navy, Army or Air Force, were ones that he did not wish to associate with.

They climbed the ramp up to the top deck of the Warspite, which was very different in appearance to the Illustrious. There were heavy guns all over the ship, designed to be effective against fellow surface ships, especially battleships. The top deck was crammed full of such weapons, along with anti-aircraft batteries that could be manned to fend off attacks from Italian bombers. A crew of around one thousand, two hundred men were present aboard, along with the complement of staff officers who were attached to Admiral Cunnigham. Retaining an office within the city too, the Admiral would not always be onboard the ship when it was in port, often due to the necessity of fulfilling diplomatic obligations as well.

A man walked over to greet them, one who James did at least recognise. Captain Fisher, a former Captain of the Home Fleet, was present in some of the meetings that he had attended, and the two held mutual respect for each other. Unlike the young Midshipman who was brought to fetch him, he could at least be comfortable in talking to Fisher.

"Lieutenant Commander Maguire". The Captain saluted.

"Captain Fisher". James saluted in return.

"Admiral Cunningham is waiting in his office. I shall take you to him".

Finally rid of the annoying young man, James set off with the Captain, into the heart of the battleship. It was not his first time aboard the Warspite, having attended a meeting, with Fisher present, whilst they were in port previously. The scene inside the ship was much the same as that of the inner workings of the Illustrious, with men working away at their stations whilst some of their fellow crew were on shore in Alexandria. On another day, the meeting might have taken place on the bridge, but it would be below decks in the office of the Admiral on this occasion. Like James, he would often prefer the comfort of his own cabin in order to conduct operations, appreciating the serenity of such a place, which was cut off from where the rest of the men slept.

"Are you well, Lieutenant Commander?"

"Quite well, Captain". James answered cheerfully. "Although I would be a dishonest man if I did not admit to feeling rather apprehensive about being called to meet with the Admiral".

He would not be the first man to fear a meeting with the Admiral, nor would he be the last. It was not often that the Admiral of the Fleet would ask for an officer of the Air Arm by name. As James already noted in his head, it would often hint that he was to be at the very least rebuked, if not stripped of his rank. Fisher knew the Admiral well though and he knew James well enough too, admiring the way that the nineteen year old took on such a great responsibility and executed it so very well. A reputation was something that James was not meant to have, at least not according to the Intelligence Services, but around the Mediterranean Fleet he gained one. To some of his fellow officers, he was the key to victory, although to others he was a dangerous outsider who threatened their path to the highest of commands. To all of the men though, whether they were airmen or sailors, he was an inspiring young pilot. A fearless leader and an even more fearsome fighter, he was arguably held in higher regard than Admiral Cunningham.

"I cannot say that I know of his intentions…". Fisher admitted. "… but every man in this fleet knows of your courage and bravery. I think your fear may be misplaced".

"I could have done better the other night over Benghazi…". James quickly responded. "… I suspect my failure to achieve more has not gone unnoticed".

Coming to a stop, the Captain placed a hand on the shoulder of the young man. It was easy to forget that the Lieutenant Commander had not yet even reached the age of twenty and was still not quite the fully matured officer that men like Fisher were. James' expectations of himself were sometimes wildly misplaced, requiring a more experienced officer to reset them for him.

"You set the bar too high, James. Benghazi told the Italians that they cannot just leave their ships in port and expect them to be safe from our fleet".

"But…".

"Lieutenant Commander…". Fisher interrupted him. "… we intercepted and decoded reports from the Italians. They were enraged about the catastrophe of what happened to their ships. Your objective was achieved, was it not?"

James had to nod, as technically it was achieved. He was asked to sink Italian ships, and he'd done just that. There was never a total that needed to be met, as despite their superior intelligence gathering compared to the Italians, they could not say exactly how many ships would be in the port that night. There'd even be one further success hours after the raid, though it was as much to James' chagrin than anything else. He detested mining the harbour entrances, as his belief in the Swordfish's ability as a bomber outweighed its use for dropping mines. He'd once thought that he would be happy to be proven wrong about mines, but after finding out that he was wrong, he certainly was not proud. The destroyer that came to the rescue of the Borea's crew, the Aquilone, decided to leave port during the evening that followed. In fear of the Swordfish returning, knowing that the anti-aircraft defences were not up to the task of stopping them, they were to head to Tripoli along with a couple of escorts. Unfortunately for Aquilone, two magnetic mines were waiting in the waters at the harbour entrance, both striking the ship at the exact same time. Abandoned quickly, the casualties were minimal, but it was yet another loss for the Italian fleet.

Setting off walking again, it was not long before the two men came to a long corridor. There was a door ajar at the bottom of it, with not another man in sight unlike most of the corridors around the ship.

"This is where I shall leave you, Lieutenant Commander". Fisher told him. "The Admiral is in the room at the end".

"Thank you, Captain".

Holding out his hand for the Captain, Fisher reciprocated the gesture of the handshake. Their respect for each other showed, with the young Lieutenant Commander well aware of Fisher being one of the better men around the fleet. He turned on his heel, returning to the bridge where he would assume command of the operations onboard that day. It left James alone in the long corridor. Setting a pace which he hoped would constitute appropriate, he made for the door of the office.

Surprising him before he reached the door, Admiral Cunningham opened it fully. James nearly jumped out of his skin on sighting the commander of the fleet, who found it highly amusing that the young man was so nervous, though would not tell him so. Retaining a serious expression, the Admiral was dressed in his full uniform like James was. The heat of Alexandria made it quite unbearable at times, though that morning was unfathomably not as warm as most. The flies that plagued the men throughout the summer appeared to have stayed away for the morning too, making manoeuvring around the port far less irritable.

"Lieutenant Commander Maguire".

Cunningham was not overly posh, but there was a distinct level of etiquette within his voice. It was a voice that went through years of careful schooling, having to be up to a level to be able to perform the diplomatic expectations that were placed upon him. Whether he would ever hold a command as high as Cunningham's, James did not know, but he would not have to spend as much time perfecting his tone should he be required for diplomatic engagements. He could swap effortlessly between the well-mannered young man that was raised in relative comfortability in London, to the laid-back joker that would spend nights at The River in Derry, enjoying a drink with David Donnelly without a care in the world.

"Admiral Cunningham, Sir". He replied, standing to attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant Commander. Come in".

Invited into the office, James followed without hesitation. For an officer of his rank, it was hardly an office that befitted, but due to the necessitations of warfare, Cunningham was required to sacrifice a far plusher space to conduct operations. It still held all of the necessary equipment that a commander of the fleet would need, albeit with far less space than most commanders would have. In the middle of the room was a large table with a map. Taking his position on the far side, Cunningham indicated to James that he was to stand on the other side. The map was one which covered the whole of the Mediterranean, from the entrance at Gibraltar to the west, to the Suez Canal in the far east. A pin was stuck into Alexandria, indicating their position, whilst several others were placed in various locations including Malta.

"I am pleased to finally be able to meet the young man that I have heard such a great deal about…". Cunningham opened. "… your reputation amongst my staff is quite high, Lieutenant Commander."

"It is an honour to meet you and be considered worthy of such praise, Admiral, Sir".

After just a couple of sentences, James knew that he was not going to be stripped of his rank. Their positions around the table were far too informal to suggest that serious matters would be discussed, as if that were the case, they would have been sat at either side of his desk in the corner of the room. Although he might not have felt worthy of receiving high praise, it was exactly what he was going to get from the commander of the fleet.

"The honour belongs to me Lieutenant Commander. I cannot say that I have known too many officers in the Fleet Air Arm in my time, but I can ensure you that I do not believe there has ever been an officer of your ability within it".

Becoming stuck for words, James was not sure he'd ever received such a glowing compliment in his entire life. The only person in the world that it could have meant more coming from was Erin, not even David being able to top the Admiral of the Mediterranean Fleet's comment on his superior ability. Cunningham might not have been an aviator, but he knew a fine officer when he saw one, none finer than the man stood in front of him. A technical ability was one that the Admiral could not go into details on. James' ability to motivate his men to achieve success did not require knowledge of aircraft though, and his staff officers consistently reported one statement to him whenever the 815 squadron was mentioned. They were the most highly motivated men in the whole of the Mediterranean because of their complete faith in their commanding officer.

"Your faith in my ability is most welcoming to hear". He replied, unable to shake the grin appearing across his face.

"We are at a critical time in this war, Lieutenant Commander. The tide is beginning to turn in our favour at home as you know, so it is up to us to ensure that we do not let the power shift here instead".

The decisive moment in the Battle of Britain was not one witnessed by either man. A day before the 815 and 819 caused havoc in Benghazi, the Luftwaffe made a decisive attempt to force Britain out of the war for good. After multiple waves, thrown at London in order to strike terror into the working people of the country, the Luftwaffe limped home. They'd been smashed by the Spitfires and Hurricanes of the Royal Air Force, who'd inflicted a severe defeat on the bombers. The German High Command received a message by their actions that day, the first indication that a colossal underestimation had taken place. Fighter Command were not on their knees as they suspected, whereas they could not afford to keep replacing their own losses. Little Britain, isolated from the rest of Europe, was not going to give in despite the incredible disadvantage it had.

"Your actions in Benghazi the other evening were noted by the Fifth Sea Lord". Cunningham continued. "It appears that your ability is recognised back home as well".

"I am glad to hear that it is, Admiral, Sir".

Cunningham nodded, a smile appearing on his face. James was not sure what caused it, but unbeknownst to him, he was about to find out. The Admiral was quite glad that he was given the honour, making their first meeting all the more memorable.

"I received a message from Admiralty House this very morning, James". Cunningham dropped to informality, James scrunching his nose from the unexpected action. "When you leave this room, you will be Captain James Maguire".

Promoted again.

The meteoric rise he was receiving through the officer's ranks would never cease to amaze him. A little over a year ago, he was still working in a bank whilst enjoying Saturday afternoons with the women he loved. After their meeting, he would be returning to the aircraft carrier that he served on as the undisputed commander. The Fleet Air Arm did not keep the rank of Commander, which would have been the next step up in the Naval ranks, bypassing it to grant him a rank equivalent to Colonel Kavanagh. There was no other man his age in the entire British military who held such a senior rank, none getting anywhere near. Even the young men of the nobility could not obtain such a position despite the amount of money they could provide to do so.

"I…I do not believe I am worthy of such rank at my age…". The stunned James stammered the words out.

"I have to admit Captain Maguire, it is highly irregular for a man as young as you to receive promotion to such a high rank…".

Admiral Cunningham believing the same as he did, James really did have to wonder whether he was receiving special treatment. He might have had his old friend the Major back in London, a man he would now outrank, but the Major didn't have enough influence to see him promoted so highly up the ranks of the Fleet Air Arm. At every turn, he appeared to be receiving promotions and praise where other, in his opinion, more heroic men, went almost unmentioned. There was little military history in the family, so it was not as if there was a relative who could pull the strings for him. He would have to find out who it was that was ensuring that he was promoted so often, not believing it to be the Fifth Sea Lord himself. There must have been an advisor to the Fifth Sea Lord, who was telling him to award James with promotions, a man whose hand would need shaking one day.

"But it is not a promotion that has come without merit. I am sure I am not the first man to tell you this, Captain, but this country needs more men like you".

"My endeavour has always been to serve with honour and fortitude, Admiral, Sir".

"Your record shows as much". Cunningham nodded. "Here, I am sure you would like the honour of sewing the new patch onto your uniform yourself".

The Admiral handed over the new rank that would have to be sewn onto his sleeve that night. It was a small piece of cloth that he'd never dreamed of holding, one which set him apart from most men. He was a true leader, with the power to influence decisions from his information and experience in operations. He'd barely been involved in any to get that experience, but there was no doubt that he'd been involved in some of the most daring moves that the Fleet Air Arm pulled off. There was also his scrap over the North Sea with the German pilots, a testament to his ability as an aviator that he was able to defeat three fighters singlehandedly, with barely a couple of hours flying time in an aircraft he was unfamiliar with. Britain did not have another man who could be so versatile whilst retaining an inspiring ability to command the men who would serve under him. There was no better man to be a Captain of the Fleet Air Arm than him.

"May I ask a question, Sir".

James spoke up after he'd spent a minute looking at the new rank, a gleaming smile creeping out from him. The new rank would also mean change, and he was keen to find out what the changes would be.

"Of course, Captain".

"To what extent will my responsibilities differ as a Captain? Will I still be able to fly combat missions with my squadron?"

They were the questions that the Admiral hoped he would ask. London were very specific, the most specific instruction he'd ever received from Admiralty House, was to outline what James would be doing as a Captain. Retaining command of the 815 was a certainty, as even from the dirt covered windows of Westminster, Naval Command could see how important he was to their successes continuing. Some men of the equivalent rank would take a back seat during conflict, taking command from further behind the lines or back aboard a vessel. The Fifth Sea Lord made it abundantly clear in his instructions that James was not to be left to do so, wanting him to be leading from the front, coincidentally in the same way James wanted to lead his men. There would still be change though, even it was not as drastic as it should have been.

"Do not fear Captain Maguire, you will be exactly where you are needed…". The Admiral smiled again, pointing upwards. "… but as you rightly suspect, there will be new responsibilities. You are the highest ranking officer in the Fleet Air Arm here in the Mediterranean, so all operations in the air will be at your command whether they be conducted from Illustrious, Eagle or the base in Malta".

He suspected as much, but Cunningham confirmed it for him. There were multiple Lieutenant Commander's in the Med, but there was no man of any higher rank who served in the Fleet Air Arm. They were all either back home or serving in another part of the Empire, leaving the Lieutenant Commander's of the Med to fall under the supervision of Cunningham. The burden would be eased slightly on the Admiral, as it would now be down to James to oversee any aerial action that would take place, though the plans would all still have to be approved by the commander of the fleet. He was almost second in command of the whole fleet in terms of rank, with only a couple of Rear-Admirals who outranked him alongside the man he shared the room with.

"That is the other reason that I asked for you, Captain. I require your opinion and perhaps your help".

Less than five minutes into his new life as Captain, the responsibilities were mounting. It did at least answer the question of why the map was on the table though, James quickly realising that the Admiral needed his strategic opinion. Another string to his expanding bow, James quietly would make notes of everything he gleaned in the meetings he'd been involved in, even the details that did not directly concern him at all. It was for a time such as this he was prepared for, when a senior officer would ask him what he thought the best course of action was to retain control over the seas of the Mediterranean. He'd gradually developed a theory for the couple of weeks he'd spent in the Med, tinkering with the details as he saw fit, adding any new information he'd either seen or heard. The moment finally appeared to be coming, at least in his mind.

"It would be a pleasure, Admiral, Sir".

"Very well…".

Cunningham moved away from the table for a moment, moving over to his desk to retrieve his stick. Another surprise waiting for James later would be the delivery of his own stick, one which would no doubt strike David Donnelly's wrist at some point in the form of a joke.

"We are here…".

Admiral Cunningham reached across to James' side of the table, placing the stick down next to the pin that marked Alexandria on James' right hand side.

"At the moment, neither ourselves nor the Italians are keen to engage in a direct action between the fleets." He explained. "Intelligence that has been decoded, has revealed that the Italians do not believe that they are yet ready to face our fleet in strength, hence why they are sheltering away in port".

"Protected by onshore batteries along the coast of Italy no doubt…". James added. "… keeping themselves out of sight and out of mind".

"Precisely".

Oddly enough, James felt at home discussing tactics with the commander of the Fleet. He commented like a man who'd been present at hundreds of these meetings in the past, not appearing out of place in the new environment that he would be getting used to. It was yet another task which, when he turned his hand to it, the young Englishman achieved spectacular success.

Taking the lead again, Admiral Cunningham's stick moved away from Alexandria, back out into the middle of the Med.

"After considerable thought, I believe that they will attempt to draw us out to battle in the early months of next year, perhaps even January. So I intend to strike them first".

Drawing the Italians out of where they were hiding would be difficult. If the Intelligence was correct, then they would do everything they could to stay away from battle with the British Fleet, clearly fearful of the power within it. Simply blockading the port they were in would not work, as it would leave the British ships susceptible to aerial attack from the Italian mainland. Equally, the fleet could not just turn up outside the port and blast through the Italian fleet, as there were minefields on the approaches that only the Italians held the maps for.

"Do you know where the majority of the Italian Fleet is currently moored, Captain Maguire?" The Admiral asked.

"That would be Taranto, Admiral, Sir".

Taranto.

One of the largest cities in the south of Italy, it sat on the heel of the boot that was the enemy nation. A natural harbour, it housed the battleships of the Italian Regia Marina, a forward base at the south of the country where they could conduct operations from. They could very easily become a threat to merchant shipping around the Mediterranean, particularly the supply line to Malta which lay directly within striking range of the fleet. Always forward thinking though, plans to attack Taranto were years in the making. What Cunningham did not know before he told James of them, was that the young man's own theory of how to defeat the Italians was the exact same one. The senior heads in the Med were all coming to the same conclusion about how to defeat the Italian menace.

"What would you say, if I were to ask you to lead an aerial attack on the harbour at night, to sink the fleet?".

He could have laughed, but it would not have been proper. It was indeed the same plan of action that he thought would be pertinent for them to take. The Swordfish, despite being the antiquated old biplane that it was, was an incredibly effective aircraft at night due to its adaptability. A night attack on Taranto would catch the Italians completely off guard if they were to do so, making it the first time in history that a ship-to-ship battle would feature an attack entirely composed of aircraft. The rest of the fleet could stay far out at sea whilst the men of the Swordfish squadrons went to repeat what they'd done in Benghazi, albeit on a far grander scale. Sink the Italians.

"I would say, Admiral, Sir, that as long as I am given my squadron, the Italian Fleet will no longer threaten our control over the seas here".

"It is one of the most well defended harbours in Europe, Captain". Cunningham pointed out.

"With respect, it is has never had to face my men attacking it, Admiral, Sir".

The incredible spirit and fortitude of the young man was displayed once more to the Admiral. Some officers, almost certainly the majority of officers in the Fleet Air Arm, would have scoffed at the suggestion of attacking a harbour like Taranto at night. Despite having the incredible adaptability of the Swordfish on their side, it could be argued fairly that the mission would be complete suicide. There were twice as many anti-aircraft batteries around the city as there were ships in the British Fleet, at least, which would turn certain men's guts inside out with the prospect of flying against them. Britain did not have that problem with the young Captain though, who would dare to dream that he and his men could pull off the attack successfully.

"Then it is settled in my mind. We will attack Taranto next month on a date that is feasible, under your command, Captain".

"Yes, Admiral, Sir".

Staying in the office, the two men both pulled over a seat to sit either side of the map as the discussions of the plan took place. Although the groundwork was already put down years earlier by other Admiral's, it would be Cunningham's final touches that would determine whether the attack would be a success. A resounding success was unlikely in the best of circumstances; there would be casualties, that he did know. However, in appointing the greatest pilot in Britain to lead the attack on the Italian Fleet where it sat in port, the Admiral was giving them a fighting chance of swinging the balance of power in the Mediterranean over to British hands for good.

In the early afternoon, James returned to the Illustrious, with the newly commissioned rank in the palm of his right hand. One look across the deck of the carrier told David to shift himself to meet his best friend and commanding officer in his cabin. Stood in the cabin, James waited patiently for David to arrive. When he did, the Irishman was instantly suspicious about the gleeful grin slapped across the Englishman's face, wary of a practical joke that might be being played on him. When James opened his palm to reveal the rank in his hand, a joke was exactly what he suspected.

"Feck off".

"Captain. Captain James Maguire".

Grabbing him by the shoulders, David pulled his best mate into an embrace whilst the pair of them laughed away merrily. Putting aside the thoughts of why he was deserving of such a promotion, James allowed himself to enjoy it. He'd never considered fighting a war in his life, let alone being a man who would make decisions for the safety of the nation. Above all though, he would get to live the almost fantastical situation with David by his side, their formidable partnership in the sky remaining intact irrespective of James' rank. As he pulled himself away from David, his thoughts went to the woman that he loved, the woman that could boast that she was together with a Captain of the Fleet Air Arm.

Erin would be immensely proud of him when she found out.

He would just have to remain hopeful that he would not only be her Captain, but also something more.

But that would have to wait.

There was a war on.

---

Erin would be immensely proud of James when she found out.

But until then, and probably beyond, she would be incredibly annoyed with Michelle.

As James was finding out about his responsibilities, thousands of miles away, Erin was busy chewing the unfortunate Orla's ear off about how rude Michelle had been the morning before. She'd not been able to vent to Charlene, scared of being told that with her friend sniffing around, they would not be able to meet up anymore. Her fears that Charlene would not show the day before were unfounded, as she was already waiting for Erin when the young Quinn turned up in the woods at the bottom of the Kavanagh Estate. She was told of James' heroics in Benghazi, that he and David were responsible for sinking a destroyer. Menzies determined that a low-level operation such as that one could be divested in full, as there were no secrets to be hidden from it. Buzzing from hearing of more of his successes, her mood picked up for the rest of the day but come Sunday morning, when she spotted Michelle at Church, she was back to being moody again.

Orla did not expect that she would have to listen to Erin's anger when she accepted the offer of company on the walk she was going to have. Marie was out there with them too, safely tucked up in her pram, silently watching her Mammy. She'd been a good girl for her Mammy, sleeping better and better at night as well as crying less in the day. A hardened character like her mother, Marie was developing nicely, to the joy of the whole family who only ever wished to see her safe. Her mother was in fact jealous of her though, as she would have done anything to be a baby who could barely understand a word of what was going on in order to avoid Erin, who would not shut up.

"Who does Michelle think she is!" She continued to shout. "Ye know, I don't follow the rest of you's around to see what yer doin'!"

"Aye…". Orla responded as unenthusiastically as she could.

"And ye know what I don't get, why does she care that much? I mean, I'm not a fella who's wantin' to ride her… what else is that important to Michelle!?"

"She is yer friend, Erin".

In hindsight, Orla was probably the worst choice apart from Clare to vent frustration upon. She would not give any coherent answers that would help her cousin, when Erin was searching for someone who would agree with her. Michelle was out of order in spying on her, completely and utterly out of order and she would not regret a word that she'd said. Their friendship was going to have to suffer as a consequence, but it didn't matter. It would be far worse to back down to Michelle and admit that she was wrong, even though she'd once said to Clare that she would try to do that more often. Erin wouldn't keep her word when Michelle resorted to underhand tactics to find out what she was up to.

"She might be my friend, Orla, but I am having a hard time seein' her that way!"

Having spent so much time away from the group, Orla could have been forgiven for feeling out of place and not up to speed with the developments in their lives. Yet she understood the very foundations of their friendship as a group, very much aware that Erin was shaking those same foundations with her anger over Michelle's behaviour. She never enjoyed them bickering as a group, although it would rarely be her that was on either side of it. It made it distinctly worse in a way, as she was often caught in the middle. If sides were to be drawn, then familial ties would tell her to be on Erin's side, but she was no fool either. Erin was wrong far more times than she was right, and even without Michelle's side of the story, Orla held quiet reservations that Erin wasn't telling her everything. Like Michelle, she found it odd that Erin would be walking so far away from where she usually would.

"She's gone too far this time!" Erin huffed again in anger. "Ye know I have a mind to tell Deirdre what she's been up to with all this sleepin' around!"

"Would that not be doin' the same as what Michelle did to you?"

Unexpected insight came from Orla, which threatened the fabric of Erin's argument. Thinking on it for a second, through her cloud of rage with Michelle, she could not deny that her cousin was right. She would be no better than her friend if she marched off to tell Deirdre of Michelle's various sexual exploits of the past weeks. Admitting that to Orla was not going to happen though… she was still Erin Quinn after all…

"Ye… No… catch yourself on Orla! S-she was wrong and she needs to calm herself down and apologise or else we won't be friends anymore!"

Scared of the group that was so solid around her and little Marie was going to break apart, Orla's heart skipped a beat. There was a war raging around them which couldn't break their bonds as friends, but a private one that Erin was going to wager, looked likely to be the catalyst that would ruin their friendship forever. Before she could attempt to fix the fissure that threatened the almost institution-like nature of their friendship, there was another problem that appeared on the horizon. It was not guaranteed to be one, or at least it shouldn't have been, but the two of them knew better than to leave their guard down.

She might have been two or three years younger than they were, but Tina O'Connell was a nasty young woman that they knew to steer clear of. In truth, the whole O'Connell family were well worth avoiding. Her older sister was Big Mandy, who'd been a victim of the sheep stampede that Michelle and Clare caused at the dance at the school the summer before. Despite knowing to stay away, there'd still been the odd occasion in the past where their paths collided. Mostly from Michelle's mouth leading them into it. There was no Michelle to get them into trouble that afternoon though. It didn't stop Tina from making her presence known.

"Why look, it's the frigid bitch and her half-baked retard of a cousin…".

The snarl from the small young woman was not welcomed at all. Her words even less so, with the already moody Erin becoming far more annoyed by the introduction. A fist clenched in advance, she was having to fight her body's natural wish to teach Tina a lesson that she would not forget.

"Ach sorry, I should have been more specific, as that could be either of ye, couldn't it?"

Unsettled by the tone within Tina's voice, Orla was already beginning to take steps backwards. Her first thought was to stay out of the argument to protect Marie. She could not comprehend that Tina would do any harm to her baby, but Orla was never going to take any chances. It left Erin to confront the wee girl, or at least that's what she was in their eyes, alone, although in her state of rage it was not a task that she baulked at.

"Why don't ye just move on, Tina. There's no need for yet to start on us, so there's not and yer scarin' the baby! Won't ye think of her?"

Tina certainly did not wish to do any harm to Marie. Noticing over Erin's shoulder that Orla was backing off, upsetting the wain would not be a problem any longer. If left her to antagonise the blonde instead, a task that she was certainly up for.

"Well now they're gone, I guess it's just me and you. Not that I would want to be seen talking to you, ye dirty English shaggin' bitch".

The moment even a hint of James was brought into the conversation, Erin saw red. Even though the insult was as much aimed at her as it was at him, she detested the notion that he was somehow disgusting because he was English. Tina was blind if she could not see how beautiful James was. To her, he was even more so, as she'd been able to see behind the beautiful exterior, getting to know the loving gentleman that it covered. James was many things, some of which would make her cheeks heat up at the thought of what they'd done in her dreams, but he was not dirty and there was nothing wrong with him being English.

The previously curled up fist, that was clenched by her side, was suddenly drawn back. With all the power that she could muster, and with her fury reaching unprecedented levels, there was plenty of it, Erin smashed her fist into Tina's face. Contact was made with the younger woman's left eye, knocking her to the floor next to the wall of the building that they were walking past. Shocked with her own strength, Erin looked down to find Tina rolling around, groaning in agony as she touched her eye. The adrenaline began to wear off for Erin as she stared down at the scrunched-up figure of Tina on the floor. That was until she heard Orla call out to her, and then the sound of heavy breathing in the direction that they'd supposed to have been heading it. At no point during their brief exchange did she stop to think that Tina was on her own.

Because she wasn't.

Her big sister was with her.

Mandy had been lagging a bit behind her younger sister but caught up to her at the exact moment that Erin threw the punch that knocked Tina down. She did not know that her sister provoked the reaction, asking to get punched in the face thanks to her sheer nastiness towards the cousins. Although being a woman of little intellect, it wouldn't have mattered much as anyone who punched her little sister in the face was going to get it.

"Ach… h-hello t-t… t-here M-Mandy…". Erin began to cack it. "… y-yer l-lookin' well".

Big Mandy might have been looking well, but she was also looking at her target. With the rage having evaporated, every ounce of it spent on sending Tina crumbling to the floor, Erin was defenceless against the far more muscular Mandy. Orla was in full retreat, crossing back over the street behind them, some one hundred metres or more behind her petrified cousin. Erin prayed that James would pick his moment to return to her, as he would have found the right words to even diplomatically negotiate with the thick Mandy. He would not be coming though, far too busy earning his promotion and pondering what to do about the Italian Fleet that sat in the Taranto harbour.

No defence was even attempted when Mandy's leg came off the ground. Her boot went straight into Erin's chest, which was thankfully covered by a jacket to avoid the marks of the ripping O'Connell's boot being made across it. The air was taken from her lungs as the contact was made, finding herself thrown to the floor by the sheer force of muscle that Mandy could generate in her legs. She was nicknamed Big Mandy for a reason, her muscular nature raising suspicions of a direct genetic link to a gorilla, most likely her father according to several people within the city, as their mother was not a married woman; all of her children were considered bastards.

Slamming onto the ground, Erin's chest was ablaze on the inside and outside. She began to panic too as she could barely breathe with the air being taken from her thanks to the massive boot from Mandy. Time did not wait for her though, as there was none of it available when Big Mandy leant down a second later to pick her up as if she were a stick. Erin's arms were thin compared to Mandy's who effortlessly lifted her up by the collar of her jacket before nonchalantly tossing her into the wall next to them.

If Erin thought she'd hit the floor hard after being kicked, she believed death was upon her when her back bounced off of the wall. The force was tremendous, the young Quinn crumpling as she came to rest on the tarmac at the foot of it. Luckily, her back took the full brunt of the impact, her head being bent away at an angle which avoided it making any contact with the wall. If it had, her head would have been cut open, if not fracturing her skull in the first place. She wanted to burst out crying, scream for her James to come to her aid. All of his gentlemanly ways would be put to one side if he were to find Mandy hurting her, she thought, probably even punching the rageous beast that was the older O'Connell sister if he had to. Tina was back to her feet to aid her sister, making Erin's predicament even worse. Her vision was already becoming foggier, as the pain took over.

James was who she wanted the most at that moment.

She would not get him, but arguably she did get someone just as useful.

It was no surprise, considering they shared the same blood as her heroic English fella.

Where Michelle came from, she did not know, but the first time that Erin knew that she was saved was the sound of glass smashing, followed by Mandy's accompanying shriek. It was the cry of a wounded animal, a wounded animal that turned around to face its attacker. A mistake was made as Michelle made sure that she was carrying a second glass bottle, which found the bridge of Mandy's nose a second later. The animal's wounded cry would have attracted the attention of all of the houses around if there were any, but they were out by the factories that were shut for the weekend. There was no one around to hear Mandy being set upon by a rabid Michelle Mallon. Trying to return the favour to her sister, Tina lunged at Michelle but was punched in the other eye after the dark-haired girl ducked out of the way of the blow. Two black eyes for one sister and literally glassy eyes for the other, convinced the O'Connell's that they were better of bolting off home to face their Ma than to try to fight Michelle.

"THAT'S IT, FUCK OFF THE PAIR OF YE! YE FUCKING GORILLA LOOKIN' MONGRELS!"

Making sure that the two were gone for good, Michelle span around to divert her attention to her stricken friend. She'd been angry since their encounter the morning before just like Erin, though her anger came after a severe bout of crying on the way home. Her plan was to continue the resentment until an apology came from the blonde, but upon seeing her being attacked by the O'Connell's, instinct kicked in. She told her that she was finished with her the morning before, she might have even meant it at the time, yet she would never allow her to be hurt. Michelle cared far too deeply, annoyingly deeply, about Erin, to abandon her to her fate.

"Erin… Erin!"

"M… Michelle…". She coughed out. "I… AAAHHH!"

The shooting pains that ran through her back and chest were overwhelming Erin. She didn't know if any damage was done but it certainly felt like it. Mandy had done a real number on her, one which she was undeserving of in her mind. Tina was being the usually abusive bitch that she always was. It was just a bit of bad luck on her part that Mandy happened to see what she'd done in reminding Tina of her place.

"Yer alright… yer alright…". Michelle reassured her.

"M… Marie a.. a-and Orla?"

Lifting her head up for a moment, Michelle desperately searched the street to see if she could see the two of them. From the moment she'd spotted Erin, she was solely focused on rescuing her from the clutches of Big Mandy. She'd not noticed that she was not alone. Her search did not last for long though, as Orla began rushing back towards them with Marie still safe in her pram. With the danger over, she was safe to approach again. It hurt her deeply to have to watch from a distance as Erin was thrown around by Mandy, but she could not risk Marie's safety in order to help her.

"They're fine, so they are". The young Mallon confirmed.

"Michelle… I…".

Erin tried again but the fiery pain caused her to wince, the tears trickling down the side of her face.

"I know Erin. I'm sorry too". Michelle, correctly guessing that Erin was attempting to apologise, beat her to it. "I shouldn't have got involved in yer business, yer right, it isn't my place".

"I… I shouldn't have said what I said". Erin choked out.

"We all make mistakes, Erin, even you". She snorted.

"Not often".

The air cleared between them as Erin even afforded herself a small laugh, though not for long as it would have hurt her chest otherwise. It appeared that when the anger escaped her to strike Tina, her anger with Michelle went with it. They would have to talk in depth when she was not lying injured in the street, a discussion where she could go into detail about how sorry she truly was for the hurtful comments she'd made. She would never be able to tell Michelle about her real reasons for meeting with Charlene every week, but she would make an effort to ensure that Michelle would believe that she'd really made friends with the rich young woman. She realised something, the same thing that Orla wanted to tell her before Tina ruined their Sunday walk. Their friendship was far too precious to be disrupted by something so trivial.

"Come on, I'll carry ye".

Placing her hands around Erin, Michelle lifted her as gently as she could. It was always going to hurt no matter how she did it, the shrieked wail that emanated from the lungs of her friend a second later confirming the agony it was causing her.

"AAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

"Easy…Easy Erin".

"How bad is it?" Orla piped up from where she was now stood a few feet away.

"I don't know Orla, but I think it's best I take her home. Can ye go to mine and fetch me Ma?"

"Aye".

Pushing Marie along at pace in the pram, Orla went off in one direction as Michelle headed off with Erin in her arms, in the other. Feeling numb and drowsy, Erin wanted to go to sleep but her friend was far too conscious of her wellbeing to let her do so.

"Now don't ye be goin' all funny headed now Erin…". She warned her mockingly. "I might be from the same blood but don't ye be confusin' me for James now, ye hear".

Giggling, Erin was forced awake and the rest of the way back to the Quinn house she was kept so by Michelle, who regaled all sorts of nonsense to keep her friend talking.

They might have started the day as enemies who did not wish to speak to each other again, but by the end of it they were friends once more. Although their initial emotions of the prior day clouded their judgement, over twenty-four hours and a run-in with the O'Connell's later, the pair of them knew they'd known each other for too long than to let their friendship fall to pieces because of Charlene Kavanagh and the young men of Derry.

Whilst James might not have been there to save her, which Erin knew he would regret if she told him what happened when they saw each other again, there were some perks to being in love with a man that the British Intelligence Service protected….