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 :)

53. The Face of the Enemy

Chapter 53: The Face of the Enemy 10th – 11th November 1941

10th November…

Frightfully early it was.

Or at least it felt, even though it was no earlier than normal.

Then again, it looked set to be no normal week in the Quinn household.

The war may have continued to rage around Europe, mostly to the East in the ever-taxing fight between the Nazi's and the Soviets. Two groups that were not particularly liked, though one hated far more than the other, they were continuing the main theatre of the wars fighting. When it came to land combat, Britain was nowhere near as involved in such important conflicts even though it was still engaged on many fronts. The battle over shipping in the Atlantic raged on, with American ships finding themselves targets of the German U-Boat divisions, who were risking the whole Nazi regime when it came to annoying the Americans. Albeit, there were orders that covered them to do so. A calculated risk but one which was considered appropriate to take.

Back in Derry, there was still far less action which had prompted the business of the area into some action of their own. There simply was no need for a lot of workers to be in work that particular week, whether it was the girls in the factories or the men working on the docks. In an unprecedented move, the workplaces enforced a shut down for the week, under the proviso that the workers could be called back at any time should the need for them suddenly change. It did not extend to the schools, much to the dismay of the local educators, the children still being expected to attend, but parents and older siblings found themselves with some much-needed time off. Derry was not the only city to do so, Belfast following a similar pattern, though the factories stayed open with fewer staff working. Every single workplace told their employees not to become used to such privileges, but with the wheels of war industry turning well enough without them, they appeared to be able to be spared.

However, there was no rest for anyone at the Quinn household that morning. Anna still needed to be up ready for school, which meant that Mary and Gerry would be up anyway to feed her and see her off. Erin was up as well though, and she was joined by Joe, who was still not telling any of them where he was staying, Orla and Marie. That was all before the clock struck six as it had done a few minutes before. Mary didn't mind so much, as it meant that she could start her Monday off nice and early, with plenty of washing to be done. Although as it was proving to be, it was going to be no ordinary Monday. The girls had been planning a night out, one which they'd even invited the still moody Erin to, for weeks, having first found out about the existence of such a party on the dreadful night that saw Orla create one of the greatest brawls the city had seen for years. It was a night that was going to be complicated though, which involved Gerry travelling with them on the train to Belfast, where the party was being held. Michelle's resourcefulness, as she'd so eloquently put it to the rest of them while gesturing with her hand as to the real source of her information gathering, allowed them to get tickets to the event. They were buzzing, but in the time of war, their families were apprehensive. They'd finally been given permission a couple of days earlier, with Gerry raising the valid point that the young were suffering a lot, sacrificing more in some cases. A night to forget the troubles of the world was well deserved in his eyes, the Mallon's and Devlin's coming around to his way of thinking eventually.

The party was much later in the day though, with the first concern in the house being Anna. She was bright eyed that morning, which was going to be a very important one for her even if it was a quiet day for everyone else. The tests that she'd become so worried over, clashing with Erin before having Michelle and Clare come to her aid, were marked and the results were due to be given to them. The class of mostly five year olds did not have much to gain or lose from the experience, the tests meaning absolutely nothing when it came to the future, but the worry of the cane remained. Sister Michael made it clear that for those who'd done poorly, the threat was there, although most privately doubted she would go that far. They were five year olds after all.

It made it all the more surprising when, with the family ensconced in front of the fire that morning just after six, the headmistress arrived at their front door. Orla sprung up to answer the door, greeted with a huff from the Sister whilst she tried to work out what she was doing there. None of the others heard the answer that was given, but whatever it was, it was sufficient enough for Orla to let her in. Erin began to wonder whether she was still asleep and having a nightmare when the nun walked in until she reminded herself that she was no longer a pupil. The Sister had also made it quite clear that she cared for her too, which would have made any visit only a positive one for her rather than anything negative.

"Sister Michael…". Mary enquired, startled by her presence in their home. "… I wasn't expectin' ye… cup of tea?"

"No thank you Mrs Quinn. I thought the girls would have told you by now that I only drink the blood of sinners".

For a brief second, not a single one of them could find the words for a response to the oddly dark response from the Sister. She was known for her incredible whit, but it was never quite told as shudderingly as it was that morning. Joe raised an eyebrow at the comment from where he was sat in the armchair in the living room, turning to look at the Sister like the rest of them were. Presented with multiple sets of wide eyes, she frowned herself at the eejits.

"I was joking".

Eejits the lot of them, she thought. For some reason they'd actually believed her for a moment…

"Aye… right". An offput Mary offered a weak smile. "Take a seat".

In the kitchen, Anna was sat eating her breakfast and out of all of them, she was the most unaffected by the Sister's presence. She should have been the one to fear her being at their house at six o'clock the most being the only student of the school present that morning. In time, Marie would be the next victim from the family sent off under the Sister's wing, but until then, there was only Anna. She did not fear Sister Michael at all though, holding more respect for the woman than most students. She was difficult to love as a headmistress and as a woman in general, yet she was an idol in the young life of Anna Quinn. There was a strength to the woman that she admired, the young girl hoping that one day she might have her fire. Those days were well into the future though, a future that looked bright nonetheless.

"Good morning Anna". The Sister greeted her, Anna chewing her toast. "Are ye well this morning? It's a big day".

Some would have answered immediately out of their terror at being asked a question by the Sister, who they would automatically assume would want an answer. The sophisticated Anna was not an ordinary young girl though, far more trained in keeping her manners at the table at such a young age than most. She could have turned up to one of the Kavanagh's famous dinner parties and would have fit right in, knowing when to say what she needed to and when to keep her mouth shut and eat. Sister Michael was left to wait for an answer until she'd finished her mouthful. Every single day the young Quinn terrified her even more…

"Good morning Sister. It is". She nodded, a smile as wide as the Foyle slapped across her face. "Sure, it is lovely to see ye".

Shaking her head, trying to wonder if she'd actually heard the compliment or whether she was dreaming herself, the Sister chose to ignore it. It was far easier to ignore a compliment than to wonder or not whether it such be accepted. At five years old, there was no way Erin would have told her it was lovely to see her, more likely running away at the first opportunity. Defying expectation and belief at every turn, she could at least be sure in her belief that Anna was a gift that the Quinn's and McCool's were lucky to have. Second coming of Jesus, she was not, but a confident, sweet and smart young girl she was. Her older sister certainly shared the confidence trait with her but sweet and smart were not consistent comments that could be applied to Erin.

"I can't say I wanted to drag myself out of bed so early". The Sister huffed, drawing a frown from Mary, who she tilted her head to look at. "My head is killin' me…".

The empty whisky bottle underneath her bed back home was a contributor to the headache. She was by no means an alcoholic, not all of the whisky being consumed that night, but Sister Michael's alcohol intake from the night before was far too much for a Sunday evening. Church usually forced her into drinking on a Sunday, when after mass she would have nothing to do, requiring a strong drink to wash Father Peter's drivel out from her head. He was not the worst fella out there but in her mind, he could talk the over seventies committee to their graves if he were given the chance. She also detested his behaviour when it came to the local married women of the community, well aware of what he was doing on his visits to their homes unlike Sean or some of the other devoted members. They were blind to his clear attempt at shagging his way around the married women of a certain age around the church, but she could see it clearly. It was detestable behaviour… though it would be far too much work to report him.

"Ye should drink less, Sister. Sure I heard Mrs Mallon tellin' Michelle that she drinks too much, maybe ye've got the same problem?"

Mary closed her eyes into a squint as Anna made a comparison between the nun sat across the other side of the table from her, and Michelle Mallon. If there were ever two entities that were completely at other ends of the spectrum in the world, they were the two. Although both may have relied on their whit to get them through the challenges of everyday life, they went about the life in very different ways. An unhealthy shade of red adorned the Sister's cheeks when Anna finished speaking, glaring back at the young Quinn with eyes of uncaged fury, anger bubbling from deep within. She quite possibly had never been as offended in her life at the comment, though because it came from Anna, she could not feel as disgusted about it as she normally would. It was almost as if the young Quinn girl saying it made it more truthful. Not that it was at all.

"Thank you, I'll consider it".

Letting out a sigh of relief at the Sister's almost ignorance of the comment that Anna made, Mary found her way to a seat in between the two. She'd already finished breakfast for everyone else that was in the house that morning, apart from Joe who was going to eat when he got back to wherever it was that he was staying. Pump Street being the likely destination. Mary's mind pondered on how good a cook that Maeve was… probably a great one if Joe was still interested. Tart…

"I suspect you want to know why I am here?" Sister Michael spoke up again, turning to Anna.

"About my results?" Anna replied, for the first time showing nerves.

"Yes. It is".

She may have been positive, wondering whether Sister Michael carried similar drinking issues to Michelle just a minute before, but that positivity was gone when the Sister's reasons for the visit were listed. They were due to find out their results at school, not a home before it. Her mind immediately went to negative thoughts, thinking that she must have failed all of the tests spectacularly. Going into the week of tests, the pressure was most certainly at the front of her mind but thanks to advice from Michelle and Clare, she'd hoped to fight off the negativity. It appeared that it was not the case though. Sister Michael could have only turned up to the house while it was still dark outside, to inform her of her failure.

Sensing the distress within her youngest, Mary held out a hand for her to take which Anna did so without hesitation, much to the confusion of the nun. In the living room, Joe, Erin and Orla were definitely not straining their necks to hear every word of the conversation… well not the first two at least. Orla appeared to have believed she was some sort of elite soldier, crawling across the living room floor as if it were the jungles of Burma, to take up a position crouched by the entrance. Joe was amused by her, in contrast to Erin who could only shake her head. Orla was dressed in her best as well, which made it all the more ridiculous. Then again, Orla very often only did the ridiculous.

An envelope was passed over to Mary by the Sister, within it the scores from the first ever set of exams sat by Anna. A pivotal moment in her development was occurring, being missed by her father who was still upstairs getting ready for his trip with the girls. Mary was beginning to get a little flustered herself, thoughts crossing her mind of how she would deal with a crushingly disappointed Anna should the results be not what she hoped. There was no pressure on her to perform from her or Gerry at least, but both knew how much it meant to her. Sister Michael's facial expressions remained unchanged, unwilling to give an indication either way as to what the results were. Summoning all the courage that she could, mostly by thinking about what James would do in the situation, her guiding light at such a time, Anna took the envelope out of her mother's hands to open herself. If she was going to suffer a blow, she was going to meet it head on not cower away behind her Mammy.

Gently opening it from the side with her wee finger, Mary on edge the whole way across hoping that she did not manage to cut it, Anna wasted no time in retrieving the handwritten results sheet from inside. Her focus was completely on her daughter, away from Sister Michael, who'd changed her facial expressions accordingly as Anna's eyes found the results. She was grinning wildly though none of them were looking at her. A voyage of discovery of her own abilities lay in wait for the younger Quinn sister. The start was perfect. Literally… perfect.

"I… I…".

Anna thought she might have tears in her eyes when she opened the envelope but ones of disappointment and sorrow, not joy and adulation. She almost couldn't believe it was true even though she knew she was a lot smarter than everyone else. Good but not that good was the first thought that came into her mind. Those smarts told her that Sister Michael would not go to such lengths to perform a practical joke on a five year old, which must have meant that the results were completely true. She really had done that well.

"Full marks in every single subject…".

Sister Michael spoke up in a tone that Erin nearly collapsed at. That was not the Sister Michael that she knew and feared.

"I'm so proud!". Mary cried tears of joy too, shrieking with pride. "My wain is such a clever little girl!".

"Well done Anna love!" Joe shouted from the living room. "Ye'll get yerself a big cuddle from ye Granda later!".

"Aye!" Orla shouted, far too loud for someone crouched so closely to the table. "Well done Anna. Yer dead clever, sure I was never that good, was I, Sister?"

"No". Sister Michael replied in an almost deathly tone before continuing in a mutter. "And that's a feckin' understatement…".

Orla never heard the reply, preoccupied with rushing over to Anna to give her a cuddle. Her wee cousin made her proud all the time, doing so again by showing her academic prowess. Erin filtered through to the kitchen too to give Anna a cuddle, putting aside her own moods as she could only do when it came to her little sister. She took a quick glance at Sister Michael, who was still showing her rare smile, though there was a look in her eyes that Erin read correctly. Although she did not hold the brain power of her younger sister, there was a feeling of what could have been for her, which was reflected in Sister Michael's eyes too. She could have done so much better in her school days without the influence of a sex-driven Michelle and the company of lads. If her mind was fully put to it, she could have excelled.

"Well done you". Erin whispered to her sister, hugging her tightly. "Sorry I didn't help ye more".

"That's alright". Anna whispered back. "I love ye, that's all that matters".

Anna was going to make her cry if she wasn't careful. They stayed hugging for a moment, to the joy of Mary, who finally saw some of her true daughter back. The Autumn felt as if it was going on forever, with the worst still to come, she knew, and Erin's sudden break of character was as unexpected as it was welcome. She'd shown such defiance against her mother's orders to help her Sister, that when she hugged Anna tightly, Mary was honestly surprised. There were some residual feelings of guilt from the argument that day that harboured themselves with Erin's conscience, though she would not admit it. Anna's success was not down to her at all, disappointed with herself that it was not when it could, and should, have been. Delighted by her sister's success, Erin could only condemn herself to more misery with her own failures.

Backing off, Erin retreated into the living room with Orla, the latter going to tend to her daughter who was playing at Joe's feet. Marie was quiet that morning as she played, though the moment she saw her Mammy coming towards her she called out for her, Orla scooping her up for a kiss and cuddle. The love and affection between mother and daughter was infectious, though Sister Michael's immunity to such sights was well built up. She wouldn't be fawning over them, that was for sure. It was her time to leave too, the need to get to the school to open up being more pressing than staying to discuss Anna's results.

"Right, I'll be off now". The Sister said to them all.

"Thank you, Sister." Anna said to her, looking to Mary for permission to leave the table, which was granted with a nod.

"Yer a credit to yer family Miss Quinn. Make sure it stays that way".

Anna walked her out to the front door, a mature act that set Mary's heart alight with pride once more. Her daughter was such a smart, well developed young woman for her age, showing more signs of acting like a grown up than her sister who had more than fifteen years head start on her. Erin's circumstances were different to Anna's though, which Mary would not fault her older daughter for when she'd been through so much emotional turmoil. As much as the moods annoyed her, upset her and some days made her feel just as miserable as her daughter, deep down Mary understood. A mother could always understand their child no matter how difficult it appeared to be. There was a natural instinct that never left a mother, whether they were eighteen years old or eighty.

Unfortunately for Sister Michael, her early morning ordeal was not over. On her way out to the front door with Anna, they were beaten to it by the next arrivals at the house who were also up far earlier than they should have been on a week off. Michelle and Clare were meeting at the Quinn house first, joining Erin and Orla on the trip to Belfast with Gerry as their minder. An unwelcome meeting for both parties, when their eyes locked Michelle and the Sister both mouthed words that the Lord would have been most displeased with at having to be in each others company. Clare took it upon herself to hide behind Michelle, hoping that the nun hadn't seen her, but she should have known better than to question how observant Sister Michael was. Nothing got past her.

"Alright Sister, still kicking about?" Michelle asked with a smirk, not at all questioning her presence at the Quinn household in the early hours of the morning.

"The lord in his infinite wisdom has not yet found a reason for me to be called to his right hand…". She responded, dryly as ever. "… but another few minutes with you and I'm sure Satan might find some reasoning to pull me the other way".

"Morning to you too". Michelle grunted in return.

Rolling her eyes, the young Mallon thought no more of it. She held precisely no chance in winning a protracted battle against the Sister, especially when she was as sharp as ever. Battleaxe was a word that Deirdre had strictly forbidden her from using to describe another woman, but one firmly associated with her old head mistress.

"Ye know, I can still see you there Clare Devlin. Christ, how are old ye now? Too old to be hiding behind Miss Mallon's back".

"I… I…". Clare panicked as she stepped out from behind her. "Ach… hello there Sister… I… I didn't see ye there…".

Michelle only just avoided rolling her eyes again, this time at Clare rather than the Sister. Having a cack attack as she always did around Sister Michael, who held absolutely no authority over them anymore, the diminutive blonde lost the power of speech. It happened so regularly that Michelle wasn't surprised by it, but it made it nonetheless embarrassing that years on from leaving school, Clare still ended up shiteing her tights. They were supposed to be adults, but every single one of them still acted like a child in one way or another.

"What are ye… doin' here?" Clare tentatively plucked up the courage to ask.

"Thank ye for askin' Miss Devlin". She glared back at her, sending a shiver down Clare's spine. "I've came here to give Anna her exam results".

"Ach how did my little princess get on then". Michelle grinned, Anna grinning back at her.

"Full marks in everything Michelle!"

Rushing forward, Michelle mirrored what Orla had done a few minutes earlier, lifting Anna up from the floor rather than Marie but cuddling her and giving her a big kiss too. The giggling young Quinn sister couldn't feel happier, with Clare coming to wrap her arms around the pair too, being careful not to actually touch Michelle's back. She couldn't afford to lose her sanity when a nun was stood a couple of feet away.

"Thank ye for helping me". Anna mumbled.

The mumble was not as quiet as she might have hoped, Sister Michael hearing it. Whilst Michelle and Clare proceeded to compliment her genius even further, the older woman tried to process exactly what she'd just heard. Anna's results showed that she was a smart girl but clearly her common sense was not following the trajectory of her academic ability. Choosing a mentor was a difficult decision; choosing Michelle Mallon and Clare Devlin to share the responsibility was a wrong one. Then again, she quickly looked at it from another angle as the three continued to embrace. Anna was proving that even with a negative influence like Michelle in her life, she could still achieve a full sweep of the exams… that made her even smarter than what the results suggested. The thought genuinely terrified her.

"God does work in mysterious ways…". She uttered quietly. "I'll be off now. Make sure yer not late to school, Anna".

"I won't be Sister".

Departing the Quinn house, thankful to the Lord for making her exit with haste, Sister Michael was off down the path and out of sight in seconds. She didn't need to go to the trouble of giving Anna her results early, but such was the true caring nature of the woman, she went out of her way. If she waited until the rest of the children received their results, the reaction from them to her may have been different, and not wanting to cause any tensions or make Anna feel awful for doing far better than the others, Sister Michael got up early instead. Being able to get to the school in good time also allowed for her to get the results prepared for all of the other students who'd sat the exams. None of them were anywhere near as good as Anna's, and the thought of crying children entered her consciousness. She hated them when they did that.

Erin and Orla were perched waiting for their friends in the living room, Michelle and Clare gravitating towards them whilst Anna returned to her mother's arms. Joe huffed from behind the book that he was reading in the armchair, mostly at Michelle being present when she could cause so much trouble. The young Mallon couldn't catch a break that morning; first Sister Michael and then Joe, both giving her foul looks that made her feel anything but welcome. She was forever herself though, and Joe's attitude did not go unchallenged.

"Don't sound so happy there Joe". She commented with disdain.

"I've dragged myself round here in the dark and now look what's dragged in behind me…". He replied with equal disdain. "… I was lookin' forward to readin' this book but now yer here…".

"Now I'm here ye've got no chance because I'm a mouth? That it, Joe?"

"Precisely".

Michelle was stopped from arguing with Joe any further by Gerry walking down the stairs, finally ready for the trip out. He headed straight into the kitchen to see Mary and Anna, who were cuddling while the tears of joy still rolled down Mary's cheeks. She was so happy that her daughter had done so well and was now in the position where she could share the brilliant news with Gerry. They could be proud parents together, which always created a warm feeling within her that was truly special. They'd been able to share those moments with Erin in the past too, albeit none quite as academically perfect as with Anna that morning.

"Did I hear Sister Michael?" He asked his wife.

"Aye ye did Gerry. She came by with Anna's results, so she did". Mary confirmed.

"And?"

His eyes darted between wife and daughter, wondering which one was going to tell him the good news. He knew it must have been good, because if it wasn't Anna would have been upstairs in her room crying, waiting for his intervention. There was never any doubt in his mind that she would pass the exams anyway, she was his clever little girl who he loved dearly and believed in greatly. Her smarts were truly incredible, a blessing at such a young age that he wasn't sure that he deserved. Where she found the brains from, he did not know, as whilst he and his wife were not stupid by any means, neither of them were a patch on her academically. Mary was the first of the two to react in the end after an initial silence, passing her husband the piece of paper with the results on. His face lit up as he read them.

"Full marks in everything… ye've done me proud, so ye have Anna".

They were soon locked in an embrace, Mary joining them, while Gerry's delight flowed for his youngest daughter. Both of his daughters always did him proud no matter what they did, but Anna's academic achievements were already very high on the list of the greatest moments of his life. Her face of unbridled joy that morning would stay with him for a long time, grinning wildly away as she basked in the glory of her results. It may have been dark outside, and inside the light of the candles were the only light, but never before was a morning at the Quinn house so bright. Being able to experience such happiness as a family with Anna was truly fantastic after experiencing such sadness with Erin over the past couple of years. Their elder daughter watched on with a pang of jealousy close to her heart, although it was beneath the layer of genuine admiration she had for her sister. Erin was getting used to trying to forget what could have been, with James and with her own academic performance. She was having to live in the future, not the past.

"Anna's a genius". Michelle said to them all.

"Aye". Erin responded first. "She's done better than we did already".

"That's not too hard though, is it Erin? Anna's way smarter than us, so she is".

"We're not exactly stupid Michelle!" Clare argued.

"Not all of you…".

Scowling at Joe, whose comment was not followed up by any eye contact, making Erin wonder who he was talking about, Michelle really wasn't enjoying her morning. Just about everyone wanted to have a go at her about one thing or another. It started at home too. She'd been out late on the Sunday night, and when she returned home expecting her parents to be asleep, Deirdre was waiting for her. An intense argument ensued where she ended up being honest and admitting she was with a fella, to her mother's ire, and when she'd woken up early again, Deirdre had to, continuing their argument. Still terrified of staying with one fella for an extended period of time, she still sought the company of any lad that she could get a night with. Michelle being who she was, there was no shortage of candidates.

Finishing his cuddle with his youngest, Gerry strolled into the living room himself, which only got Joe's back up even further. Despite his son in-law having stuck up for him the day before after church, when Mary made comments about Maeve to him again, his usual dislike of the southerner remained. Joe was proven correct that he would not get to enjoy his book as well, closing it and returning it to the side table, with the living room full of the family and their friends. Looking down at Marie, she looked back at her Great Granda and smiled, some comfort on a morning that was beginning to look frustrating.

"Come on girls, we need to get goin' so we can make the train on time". Gerry said to the four of them, who were all nattering away in the corner.

"Will we need our Gas Masks, Gerry?" Orla asked.

"Yer goin' to be around Belfast at night, I think ye'll need them love".

"Belfast!"

Joe's looks of contentment to Marie were changed to those of disgust when he looked over towards Gerry and the girls. He couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. Belfast! Although trains did run between the two cities for purposes that were not associated with the wartime effort, they were done so sparingly, usually only one train either way a day or at a push two. When he'd been told that the girls were going to a party, and that Gerry was having to accompany them, he'd assumed it must have been somewhere on the outskirts of the city. A long walk back, especially if they'd had a drink, would require a guardian. There were hundreds of people better suited to the job than Gerry, he'd thought, but it was what it was. The party being in Belfast changed those thoughts completely.

"Isn't it a bit early, Daddy?" Erin enquired with a frown.

"It's the only train there today love, we can't take chances". Her father replied, tilting his head slightly as he smiled at her.

"This thing's in Belfast!?" Joe reared up again.

Mary began to make her way through to the living room with Anna, wary that there might be another argument coming to the boil between her father and her husband. For once, Joe hadn't completely gone for the jugular with Gerry, although that only concerned Mary more as he may have had something worse planned for him. Knowing how her father, he probably had a plan the very second he heard the name Belfast drop from Gerry's lips.

"It doesn't arrive at the station until nine". Erin continued to argue her point to Gerry.

"We'll be cutting it fine". He continued to argue his own point back, trying to ignore the stare of a seething Joe, who was now on his feet.

"Belfast! Sure, why don't ye sell the wains to the Luftwaffe and be done with it!"

Fury rising, Joe was nowhere near as contented as Mary and Gerry appeared to be. Belfast was bombed savagely at Easter that year, far more so than Derry, which left the city very much unsafe in his eyes. It was also a vastly different place to their city too. For a start it was bigger, with more communities crammed into its streets than they could even dare think of. He'd spent plenty of time in the city himself years earlier to vindicate his distrust of them going there for the party they'd been going on about for weeks.

"Christ, calm yerself Joe, those Germans aren't about". Michelle snarled in defence of their plans.

"Aye, they stopped bombing months ago!" Orla fiercely pointed out.

"Gerry will be with them Da". Mary joined in, alluding to Gerry's presence minding the girls.

"That's worse! Sure they hate his kind there!"

The argument that Mary saw coming was about to break out if they weren't careful, and she needed to stop it progressing any further or Gerry and the girls certainly wouldn't make the train. She was about to open her mouth to do so when her husband, foolish as ever, decided to take the bait and rise to Joe instead of staying quiet like he should have done.

"My kind?"

"Pricks!"

With Anna and Marie present, Mary was far from pleased about her Da's language that morning, especially when she'd reminded him on numerous occasions to watch it around them. She wouldn't be denied a second time when it came to breaking up their disagreement, cutting off Gerry who'd gone to defend himself like a fool yet again. He really did need to stop rising to his father in-law when Joe was ready to snap at him for everything.

"That is enough. They're goin' to the wee party and there comin' back and stayin' here tonight! That's the end of the matter!".

She had the final word.

Nothing more was said on the matter, Joe returning to his seat with the same incredulous look of fury that he'd risen from it with. Returning to his book, he kept his head down and mouth shut, satisfying Mary that it was a job well done on her part. Going back into the kitchen herself, she continued to clear up after breakfast whilst her mind settled back into happier thoughts of Anna's success. She was still the main priority that morning, although by the time she'd finished in the kitchen, her youngest had already excused herself upstairs to get dressed. She'd not once told Anna during her schooltime to get ready, the reminder being ineffective when her wain was already completing the task.

The girls decided to wait outside for Gerry to say goodbye to his wife and share a few more moments with his youngest. They were experiencing such a joyous morning upon learning of Anna's academic brilliance that he almost did not want her to go to school, wanting to treat her. The Quinn's didn't have the kind of money for anything expensive, especially since there was a war raging around them, but Anna was deserving of something nonetheless. Whilst the girls attended their party in Belfast, he did have some time to find her a gift, even with the girls help if it was before the doors opened at the venue in the city.

"Do ye not think that dress is a little… ye know". Erin commented to Michelle as she fiddled with the hem on her own.

Puffing out smoke, cigarette in hand, Michelle didn't really care for her opinion. They were wrapped up anyway, dresses beneath the coats that were required for a trip out in November when it was so cold outside. There wasn't any rain that morning, but the wind whipped up quite fiercely in places to bring its own chill.

"It just shows off more of my best features…". Michelle answered, sticking her chest out. "… the fellas need to have somethin' to look at".

"Aye I agree with Michelle". Orla piped up, to the dark-haired young woman's delight.

"See Erin. We know what we're doin'".

Whilst Michelle might have thought that she did, Erin sincerely doubted her friend's statement. Michelle was a brilliant friend that she loved and respected, but sometimes her confidence exceeded the acceptable boundaries of what it should. In the young Quinn's mind, she might have thought she knew what she was doing but whether she was truly in control was another matter.

A night out was a night out though, and an important one too in fighting her moods that often took over the day. She'd started out well that morning, yet to find much to huff and puff about, greatly aided by the good news that Anna received from Sister Michael.

She needed it to… it took her mind off what the following day was going to be… the eleventh of November…

A year.

---

The evening soon rolled around in Derry, after a day where barely anyone worked. With the majority of factories and warehouses giving their staff the week off, it was only the emergency services and the schools that were open and working. One or two other business stayed open to support them but other than that, the rest of the working population of the city were free to do as they pleased. The girls made the train on time with Gerry, arriving with plenty of time to spare as Erin predicted. For once in their lives there hadn't been any major catastrophes to befall them on the way there or the way to Belfast, leaving them ready to enjoy a relatively stress free night. As stress free as it could be for Clare anyway.

With Orla out with the girls and Marie staying over with Mary and Anna for the night, Sarah was left alone with Shane at his home on Ferguson Street. She'd moved in as they'd agreed to after his offer, much to her Da's disgust, not that either were particularly bothered by him. She was a woman on the wrong side of forty not the right side of fourteen; she didn't need Joe to watch over her when she was capable of making her own decisions. Shane's offer was a far more generous one than she could have ever asked for, the fireman taking the effort to make her, Orla and Marie feel welcome in his home. It was nowhere near the size of the burnt-out McCool household, the repairs to which were already underway with an aim to get them back in by Christmas. It would be a tall order to do so, but Joe being Joe, he'd managed to convince someone at the council to speed up the work. There might have been a war on, but his name still carried weight.

It was the first evening when she'd been alone with him since moving in, not that she'd thought about it all… but of course she had. Sarah was a woman who should have been mature enough in the world not to fall into the realms of fantasy and for a long time she had been. Although she'd lamented to Anna, Erin and Orla that she missed having a fella to care and look after her, the thoughts were extinguished, especially when the latter two's fellas were both killed. Her need may have been dire, but it was nothing compared to theirs. The thought of a perfect fella coming along to sweep her off her feet at her age was a fantasy that was ridiculous… she'd accepted that. Shane coming along completely changed everything. The ideals that she'd told herself she wouldn't become wrapped up in were suddenly in control of her life.

Shane didn't appear to have the same level of attraction to her as she did to him though. Throughout their stay he'd been a complete and utter gentleman, and although it was appreciated, she wished for something more. Her heart was warmed by how he'd taken to Orla and Marie immediately, helping the young mother look after her daughter as if he were a seasoned parent, despite not being so. The two of them got along well with him in return, Marie falling asleep in his arms one evening when she cuddled into him. Sarah's heart practically exploded when she stumbled across the scene, although she did have to help Orla break it up to get Marie to bed. Shane being made to sleep on the sofa in his own home didn't sit completely well with her when she slept in his bed, in turn setting off her hopes of something more. In her dreams one night, Sarah saw him returning to his bed to share it with her. Sadly, it was only a dream…

She owed the fireman a lot, despite his insistence that she did not owe him anything, other than a promise made upon their first acquaintance when he was sat by her bedside in the hospital. She'd promised to cook him a good meal even with rationing being what it was, and he was determined to hold her to that. After the death of his wife, he'd always cooked for himself. Whilst his own skills were not bad, to find someone else's food to experience was a change that he desperately required. It was far from a simple task in finding someone to do so when he first set out, but Sarah walked into his life at the right time. Well, at the wrong time on the day in question, her breaking her leg and he his collarbone as their lives met. A start it was though, no matter of how strange.

"It'll be done in a few minutes Shane!" She called out from the kitchen.

"That sounds grand, Sarah. Do ye want me to pour ye some of this wine?"

"Aye that would be cracker!"

Only a couple of bottles survived the move from Belfast to Derry with him. He'd reserved them for special occasions when they found their place in his new home in the North West. The night alone with Sarah called for a special occasion though, with no Orla there to share the wine with or Marie, who may accidentally consume it. When it was just the two of them together, it felt more appropriate for people of their age to have some wine to drink. He was not a big drinker himself unlike some of his colleagues in the fire brigade, who could drink most of the city under the table without hesitation. One bottle would be more than enough.

Setting the scene for a pleasant night in for the two of them, he'd lit candles around the two spots at the table where cutlery rested ready. The atmosphere in the house was almost romantic without their being anything of the such between them nor, to Sarah, it being Shane's intention to do so. He was such a kind fella that she thought he'd do it for anyone and she was right. He would have done. Shane reminded her of James and David in some ways, being men of honour like they were as well as being a brave man. Charging off into fires to save the lives of those in distress, which she'd gained first-hand experience of through him, was a dangerous profession yet one which was rewarding. He could be the difference between a persons death or their survival. For her, it was the latter that won out.

"I'm intrigued by what ye've done for me tonight!". He called out to her.

"Aye well not long now!"

She'd insisted that he did not go anywhere near the kitchen as she prepared, wanting it to be a surprise for the man she cared for dearly. He'd come in from a long day at work hoping for a good meal too. The day shift was not always that entertaining, made less so by the amount of businesses that were not open that week. Apart from one small fire at the docks, and their ladders being required to rescue some children who'd climbed so far up a disused building that they were scared to come back down again, there was little to do but it meant paperwork. Shane despised paperwork with a passion, having to write up full reports on incidents that occurred over the weekend from the scraps left by those men who were at work during it.

He was on his feet waiting by the table when she began to walk through from the kitchen, two plates in hand. Her leg was well on the mend, though there was still a tiny limp present when she moved. It was remarkable progress in a couple of weeks, starting out as still being sofa bound, but that quickly changed. With his help when he was at home, along with Orla's, they'd gotten her round to exercising her leg more often. The pain was still there for Sarah whenever she was walking around, but it could be ignored for a short while. She was still a little way from going back to work under a sustained effort on the healing limb, though positivity could be found. It made a stark contrast to the woman who was terrified that her life would be ruined by the injury. If anything, breaking her leg was one of the best things that had happened to her.

"That smells gorgeous". He told her, his voice almost silky in her ears. "Ye weren't lyin when ye said ye were good".

"Did ye think I was!?" She asked, surprised by the admission.

"Never for a minute!". He grinned, saving himself.

Holding her chair out for her like the gentleman that he was, he took his plate out of her hand and placed it down in front of his seat at the table. Sarah carefully angled herself onto the chair, having to take it steady still with the leg. Her injury's healing process prevented her from completing certain actions like twisting to sit down. Shane was always on hand with a steady grip on her whenever it was needed though, easing her down onto the chair. She smiled up towards him to thank him, the words being unnecessary with an understanding like they had. An understanding she liked to think they had anyway.

"Cottage Pie. Made the recipe myself so I did". She chuckled as he sat down.

"Ach really?" He asked, a hint of disbelief in his voice. "Ye didn't borrow it from the radio then?"

"Well… I wrote it down!"

The two broke out into laughter at her partial admission, not that she saw it that way. It was her recipe no matter whether she may have written it down word for word from the radio. They couldn't have her arrested for copying it so it didn't matter. Even if they could, Joe would have gotten her out of prison anyway. Her Da was a useful man when it came to that. Raising his glass up before he started, Shane gestured for her to do the same, Sarah complying immediately.

"A toast. To friends who can cook".

"Aye". She chuckled again. "To friends who can cook".

Their glasses clinked together and from behind them, the two locked eyes. Sarah's couldn't betray the longing which she held for him, that had grown so quickly since they'd first met. Their meeting may have been in unceremonious circumstances when she'd stepped out into the road in front of him while he was cycling, but it was one which sparked off a time of her life which was becoming more memorable by the day. The pain of her injury should have been the main memory from the time, yet it was brushed aside from the power of love. She was old enough to realise what those feelings were. She was in love with Shane.

"This is brilliant, Sarah". He complimented her after the first mouthful.

"Thank ye. Sure I wasn't lyin' was I? She teased.

"Ye weren't… by Christ, I could get used to this…".

As soon as he'd made the comment, Shane realised exactly what he'd said. Thoroughly appalled with his manners, he quickly went to apologise to her, hoping that he hadn't created a poor image of himself from his words.

"Sarah I didn't mean…".

"Ach it's alright Shane, ye just eat up now before it gets cold".

If he had offended her then she certainly wasn't showing signs of it. Nodding at her request, he quickly tucked into his cottage pie, trying to forget that he'd spoken so forwardly to her. It was not his intention at all to suggest that she should be the one cooking for him every night when she was his guest. She would be returning to her own home in the not too distant future when it was fixed, the fireman chastising himself for becoming too comfortable in her presence. It was too long since he'd felt that way, at least in his head, the first time since the passing of his beloved wife during the bombings. Sarah reminded him of Arlene in many ways, and it was not the first time he'd pondered the matter either, though he quickly forced it to the back of his mind. He could not allow himself to think that way when she was merely a guest and a friend that he cared for.

Nothing more was said between them as they both ate, though Sarah flashed him a few smiles which were reciprocated. They'd quickly realised when she moved in that they enjoyed each others company. She would often take up position on the sofa when he was at work, which left them time to talk in the evening providing he wasn't on the night shift. Orla would join them after she put Marie to bed too, and they would hold interesting discussions on a variety of topics. They were all hard-working people at heart that looked out for each other, building a healthy bond as friends on their shared backgrounds. It was not the first time that he'd gotten into a smiling match with Sarah either, and as he ate the cottage pie that evening, it was beginning to dawn on the fireman that at over forty, he was finding himself falling in love again. Arlene wouldn't have wanted him to stay alone forever, but he was astonished at how quickly he'd found another woman to love. He'd found Sarah McCool, being a better man for it.

"That was lovely, so it was, Sarah". He told her as he finished.

Waiting for her reply, Sarah still finishing her own meal, he watched her as she ate. Under his transfixed stare she wasn't sure that she could cope, cheeks glowing a furious shade of red like a teenager in love for the first time. If he asked, she was going to blame it on the heat from the meal, even though towards the end of it, it was nowhere near as hot as it was when she'd brought it in. The candlelit setting did her no favours, becoming lost in the almost magical setting that it created throughout his front room. To her delight, he did not question her reddening cheeks, which left her to get the next word in a couple of minutes later once she'd finished.

"I'm glad ye enjoyed it. I'm a good cook, so I am". She stated once more.

"That ye are".

For a brief second neither knew what to do next, certainly not acting their age as they stared at each other. Shane took charge eventually after the staring match, getting up from his seat to pick up both of their plates and take them into the kitchen. As a domesticated man, he did not mind doing the washing up seeing as she'd cooked them a lovely cottage pie that night. He was not like Sean Devlin, who would have made his wife wash up. Shane would fairly share the load. Not that he and Sarah were married of course…

An awkward silence rained down on the house while he did the washing up, Sarah sitting at the table finishing her wine. Both of them were fighting similar mental battles, trying not to act strangely around the other. Sarah was prepared to admit her feelings to him there and then, but a part of her mind told her not to in case she found herself hurt. When all she wanted in the world was a fella who would love her and care for her, Sarah became terrified that Shane was too perfect. A strapping fireman who was kind, sophisticated and charming, he was everything that she could have asked for. Yet she'd been thrown those openings by life before, only to have them cruelly closed in her face. She didn't want to be hurt that way again. Shane too fought mental battles, though his were of thoughts of his dearly departed wife. She would have wanted him to move on, he already knew it and had thought of it that evening, but was it too soon? Sarah was almost too perfect for him. Quirky and caring, she was every bit as beautiful as the woman he'd lost earlier that year to the Germans. He didn't want to rush into anything yet could not deny his feelings for the Derry woman who he shared dinner with.

Time appeared to slow, a strange phenomenon that even appeared out of place in the city they were in, which was used to odd events. The second that the washing up was completed he turned around, with a plan to tell her how he felt about her ready in his mind. It was perfect, except from the part where he forgot that she might have ideas of her own. Sarah had risen from her seat unassisted, walking her way over towards him when he turned. Meeting halfway, just outside the entrance to the kitchen, they stopped. Her eyes were impossibly wide, their hearts beating away in their chests while their eyes sought answers to questions neither had asked nor knew they were asking. They were forty year old eejits… but it was never going to happen any other way.

His hand went to her cheek, and hers to his. They leaned in slowly at first but when the distance to their lips got closer, they sped up. His free hand went to her waist, while hers came to rest on his chest. Words were not needed. Their actions were enough.

After a few seconds they pulled apart, but only to allow Shane to scoop her up over his shoulder, a fireman's lift turning into a fireman's carry as he made for the bedroom. There was only ever one ending to that night when they'd admitted their feelings with the kiss, neither attempting to stop when they started. Sarah squeaked as he did, setting of a series of giggles that they were both sent into at what they were doing. Confirming their love for each other was not in either of their itineraries for the evening, but it was a welcome development regardless.

"Such a troublemaker…". He whispered to her, opening the door with his foot.

He was gentle with her when they got into the bedroom, laying her down onto the bed before quickly rushing out to extinguish the candles. They were not going to be resurfacing from the room for some time, that was for sure.

A night that was not expected, Sarah McCool finally found the connection she was looking for, in a man that she'd truly fallen in love with.

The next chapter of her life was beginning.

But other chapters around her were coming to an end.

---

11th November, Taranto, Italy…

A sentimental man James did not think he was, but when he was told the date out of the blue by one of Molinari's assistants, his mind would not leave the infamous night of the year before. Most shockingly it was a year, a year since he'd completed what was the greatest but also worst night of his life. A whole year had passed since David Donnelly was taken from the world and from his side as his best friend, though their better times in Derry did not seem that far away at all. The afternoons where they would watch the football together or the evenings where they would go to the pub, the memories burned brightly even when they were over two years older. He'd not known David for that long during his life, but the impact the Irishman made was immense. He missed him dearly.

It was also a year since they'd made a successful attack that changed the balance in the Mediterranean, but the war in the Med still continued despite it being so successful. Italy were very much in the fight against Britain, with their German allies also contributing in the Africa campaign under the able command of Field Marshal Rommel. At sea though, the British Mediterranean Fleet were still dominant, to the detriment of the poor Italian soldiers who required supplies for the fighting in Africa. Just a couple of days earlier, although the news was yet to filter through to the public, a convoy was heading for Africa when it fell into the clutches of a strong force of British ships. At night the Italians did not have the technological advancements that Britain had, and the convoy was destroyed, the only survivors being the escorting ships. Every single merchant ship was either sunk or on fire.

For James, the progress of the war was important but no longer his main focus. There was a time, in the couple of months before the attack, where he became one of the most important men in the outcome of the conflict upon his promotion to Captain of the Fleet Air Arm. There was no one in that branch as high a rank as he was in the whole theatre, prompting him to have the control of all the aerial operations alongside Admiral Cunningham, who held the final decision on every action regardless of where it took place. The days where the young Englishman had power were long over, reduced to a man that was lucky if he was told what month it was, even if he could work out which day it was thanks to the church bells.

The visits to his room became ever few and far between. The assistants actually talking to him made a change that morning, though it was likely on purpose to remind him of what he'd done to their country a year before. Molinari had come by only once in the last week or so, with only one question to ask in regards to his welfare, which James shrugged off to say that he was unchanged. The truth was that his only illness remained in his heart because Erin was not with him, but it was not one that he could admit nor the Professor fix. Giovanna's visits ended after the night where he'd let her down gently. The Englishman felt awful for a few days afterwards, and though his conviction to stay faithful to Erin was as strong as ever, he hated to upset anyone, woman or man. He was used to having to fend women off who thought they may have their way with him, like he had done in Bermuda when David decided to abort a rescue mission for him, but none were as intimate in their advances as Giovanna. He couldn't deny her beauty; any other man would die to have her. She just wasn't the one for him though, his heart set on the young blonde back in Derry who'd found her life broken by his apparent death.

Somewhere around ten minutes after he'd finished his final sessions of pull ups, the tide of the day changed. It was already dark, the light coming from the solitary candle that he was allowed in the room. The cold seeped into the room too from the barred window at the other end. He'd mostly been unconscious during the coldest spell in captivity the winter before, however he wasn't a second time around. The Professor's attempts to keep him alive and well still continued when their friendship did not, more blankets being brought in to ensure that he did not catch cold while he slept at night. A thoughtful gesture that confused him to that day, James accepted that he was clearly being kept well for whoever the torturer was that Molinari promised. The man or woman was yet to materialise, but the Professor did. His presence changed the otherwise normal day in captivity for the Englishman, when the door opened to reveal him carrying in a large meal, accompanied by his assistants.

"Hello James". The Professor greeted him.

"Professor". A wary James replied, eyes fixed on the Italian.

The three of them arranged the meal out on the floor beside his feet, able to calmly do so when they all knew that James would offer no resistance in return. He'd made it quite clear to the Professor on more than one occasion that he would not be making any escape attempts and would show no aggression to those tasked with keeping him in the room. James was a man of his word too.

Once the meal was arranged, the assistants took their leave from the room, although James could tell that they were still stood outside the door, unable to hear the retreating footsteps that would indicate them having walked off up the corridor. He was back alone with the Professor, who appeared to have aged when he took a proper look at him, which he hadn't done on any of the man's fleeting visits. His eyes, cocooned beneath his thick rimmed glasses looked strained, wrinkles beginning to drag away at the sides. The war brought stress to the lives of everyone involved in it, but the Professor looked far more stressed than most. James would not mention it though, instead intrigued by the meal.

"Have you come to dine with me?" James asked him outright. "I receive the bread and cheese, and you consume the rest?"

Laughing at him in return, the Professor had to push his glasses back up his nose after they dropped. It was only then that James noticed the suit that he was wearing. Molinari was always a well-dressed man in the whole time that he'd known him, yet the Professor appeared to have gone all out that evening. The suit he was wearing looked to be tailored to the finest quality, like the shirts that the Englishman was wearing courtesy of the very same man. As much as he may despised him for believing that he was a spy and acting dishonestly with him, James could only produce compliments when it came to the man's appearance and his tailor's performance.

"No James. This is for you".

Wildly grinning, too wildly for a man with honest intentions, the Professor's smile became haunting. James decided not to focus upon it, a rare time in his life where he was completely unnerved by the actions of another, turning his attention back to the food at his feet. The customary bread and cheese were present, but they were almost an afterthought compared to what else was on the plate. A whole cooked chicken was beautifully presented with some form of seasoning atop it, with vegetables arranged in a platter around it. There was also other meat on a plate alongside it too, with what appeared to be a large glass of wine to wash it down with. The meal was fit for a King not a prisoner of war, alarming the young Englishman, whose suspicious mind went into overdrive. None of his captivity could be described as normal but being offered such a meal when they lived in a time of shortages and rationing was too outrageous.

"A poisoned meal to finish me off…". James snorted. "… how very pragmatic of you".

Holding his hands up in a mock surrender, the Professor shook his head. He knew that James would jump to that conclusion like any other man would, but his intentions were not of harm to the Pilot. Not yet…

"Believe me, if I wanted to poison you, I could have done long ago…". The Professor chuckled. "… you really should thank me, James. If that is your real name, of course…".

"I do not know why you think that I am not who I say I am, Professor, but if you think I am convinced that you are not attempting to kill me through this meal, then you may think twice!". He snapped back.

"Then let me show you".

Crouching down by the plates, the Professor went straight to the chicken, tearing off one of the legs with his hands. Surprised by the decision, it was becoming clear that the Professor was keeping his word for a change and no lies were being told. No man in his right mind would poison a meal for another then try it himself. Although he might have been a man of medicine that would know the outcome of digesting poison, it did not make him a higher being that could avoid the effects. When he bit into the chicken leg and began to chew with not a single visible hint of any disgust in the taste of the meal, the younger man was satisfied. He really was being treated to a meal fit for someone far above his station. The question was why.

"'appy?" Molinari enquired.

"Yes". James breathed out a slightly aggrieved reply. "But why? Why are you treating me to such a meal when I am your prisoner, and you think I am a spy".

Molinari did not answer at first, but his trademark grin appeared across his face when he lifted himself back up from the crouched position he was in. Assuming that he was not going to answer at all when he turned around and walked towards the giant iron door, James let out a sigh. The meal was far too tempting to leave when he'd found himself on a strict diet of bread, cheese and water for a year. The true reason for why he was being honoured made his stomach grumble in a far different manner though. It might have been a year since the battle over the skies of the city he was held in, but the Italians would hardly be celebrating the date that their fleet became crippled in port thanks to James and his men.

He was again proven wrong. Molinari did answer before he left him alone.

"What is the saying? The last meal of the condemned man, I think. Enjoy it, James".

The iron door closed behind the Professor, who he heard leaving a second later up the corridor while James remained stunned back in the room. Molinari was not a man that came across as naturally chilling, having originally showed a caring side during their early discussions whilst he recovered from his injuries. Chilling was precisely what his statement was when it was delivered, sending shivers of discontent rushing through the body of the young man in his captivity. The last meal was sometimes a right allowed for a man who was facing execution, should those responsible for executing them allow it. Was he to follow that fate too? The Italians might have kept him alive and well for so long, but a year was a very long time in war. His welcome may have been outstayed.

Unwilling to dwell on his future for too long, James decided to relax and enjoy the present. He tore into the meal like he'd never eaten before, without a care in the world for remain gentlemanly. There was no cutlery provided anyway, which meant he would have to eat with his hands, but it was of little concern. The taste of chicken was one he'd almost forgotten, having been so long since he'd eaten it last, making it ever so sweet when he tasted it again. Before he began consuming the meal, it appeared huge to him, yet as he made his way through it, it was not as bad as he first thought. For a man who hadn't eaten so well in a very long time, he did not find himself feeling sick afterwards for consuming far too much. The plates were left completely clean by the time that he was finished, the wine drank recklessly quickly too. It was of little concern to him though; he was not drunk afterwards and the taste was incredibly refreshing.

Molinari's assistants had remained outside the door, coming in a few minutes after he'd finished to take the plates away. He thanked them for the meal, though whether any of them were listening or even understood him, he did not know. The one who'd given him the date must have known some English, he'd thought, but when they gave no reaction to his comment, he wondered whether that was not the case at all. Lying back on his bed, staring at the bar hanging above him, his mind turned to thoughts of the night the year before. He could remember the approach almost move for move, how they'd flown in through the clouds, to be presented with a sea of fire following the flare droppers being discovered. A whole coastline of guns were firing upon them but they were in the obsolete hero that was the Swordfish, and that didn't matter at all. The Italian ships were not ready for such an attack, despite what had happened at Benghazi a couple of months earlier. Weaving between ships, threading a path like a seasoned knitter, he and David completed the perfect torpedo run on the Conte Di Cavour, sending it to the bottom of the harbour. It was only after then, the peak of his career as a Pilot, did the world turn against him. The turning point for the downward trajectory that took him to where he was laying at that moment, in the basement of one of Taranto's most influential men.

There were tears in his eyes, mostly because all he could think of was the sacrifice that his best friend made and the promise he was yet to fulfil. He could not look after Orla and Marie when he was still in Italian captivity. Slowly, it was killing him that he could not honour the agreement he'd made with the mortally wounded David.

But that night was one which did not allow for mindsets to stay focused for more than a few minutes at a time. Suddenly it turned again, to a sound he'd not heard in a very long time.

Gunshots.

At first there were only one or two, which made him think that the soldiers on guard around the mansion could have been doing some target practice, though he'd never been consciously aware of them having done so before. That thought was shattered though, when the original shots were countermanded by the sounds of automatic gunfire, that this time appeared to be above him. A couple of pistol shots outside could be explained by target practice; a sub-machine gun being let off inside could not. There was a firefight taking place on the grounds of the Molinari mansion. For the first time in a year, his training took over.

He quickly made his way over to the barred window, to see if he could see what was happening outside. Frank the Pigeon was smartly away that evening, where he could have easily became a target should any soldier's aim be off. Unfortunately, little could be found from staring out to the mostly pitch-black grounds of the mansion. They were lit up a short distance away from him, but he could see no one, alive or not, in or around the light. Backing away, his mind turned to himself in case he became caught up in the fighting. It was to his advantage that he was locked away in the basement and therefore theoretically safe from the fight above him, but that advantage could easily turn depending on who the next visitor to his room was. A prisoner of war did not exactly have a choice of weapons to wield, their own fists usually being about all they would have. James was different though, as he always was. He still had one weapon left.

The wooden spoon.

The weapon of choice for the strict Irish mother, the spoon was suddenly looking set to receive its introduction into the field of combat in the new war that raged around Europe. Unorthodox when men carried killing machines such as flamethrowers on their backs, it was hardly going to break him out from captivity and see Britain to a victory. It was all that the young Englishman had though. He could at least stun the first person to his room with it, perhaps even injuring them if he could take an eye out with it. It was a rather large 'if', though.

With the weapon in hand, retrieved from the small table next to his bed, he was again drawn to the barred window by the sound of a car arriving at the mansion, to the backdrop of gunfire and shouting. The shouting was all in Italian if he were to guess, not able to understand a word apart from the screams of when a man was wounded. The scream ripped from his lungs indicated a fatal wound, a tragic shriek that echoed down the corridors of the mansion. When he peered out through the bars, he could see the outline of the very luxurious car that had arrived, along with the presence of a couple of men that must have been in it. They were both armed and firing towards the house, though he could make out little of their uniform or appearance to see who they were. What he could make out was an object thrown by the first man in the direction of the front of the house. James dived down to the floor from where he was stood as soon as he saw it. It may not have been thrown in his direction, but the effect would reach him for certain.

BOOM!

The grenade detonated somewhere near the front of the mansion building, a dying scream filling the air as it did. In the basement, the ground shook as some of the dirt from outside the barred window was thrown into the room, and onto the Englishman's back. He'd jumped down deliberately knowing that he would be blown down otherwise, a fate which would have been most unwelcome to him. Raising himself from the cold floor uninjured, James retrieving the spoon, which he'd dropped onto bed as he fell himself. Re-armed and ready, he was contemplating his next move, not rushing the decision at all when there was time for a more thought-out plan to be constructed.

He could not leave the room that he was in via either the door, which was locked, or the window, which he could not fit through even with the bars off. Self-defence was his only available strategy, but if the next visitor was someone who did not know that he was down there, then the element of surprise was on his side. Quite why anyone would attack the mansion unless it was for him, he did not know, but he did not expect to be rescued either. The papers may not have confirmed his death to the general public but those in command must have believed him to be dead along with David when he did not return. Nobody could have confirmed his existence to them, unless there was a spy at the mansion, but it certainly wasn't Molinari nor his assistants, nor the rough nurse or Giovanna. In Britain's eyes, he must have been dead.

The wall to the side of the iron door, on the side where it swung open, would be where he would take his position with the spoon. It was somewhat of a cliché, to hide in such an obvious place, but it was the only option available to him. Bereft of anywhere else to hide himself even in a room as big as the one that he was kept in, he could at least jump one person who entered the room, although if there were any more than that, he was in for trouble. Molinari's comment that he was the condemned man was brought to the fore of his mind again when he rested against the wall ready. He was sure that Molinari didn't mean that it would be an execution conducted in this way, but it could have all been an elaborate cover up. The Italian was a very smart man and without the details of how well known it was that he was there in the basement, James could only speculate as to why it would require such an elaborate effort to get rid of him.

He did not have long to wait to find out though, as footsteps rang out from the far end of the corridor a couple of seconds later. Someone was on their way down to him, but whoever it was, they were alone. It was to his advantage that they were, as if it were one executioner, he could at least put up a fight and go to his grave valiantly, though his bravery would go undiscovered. The seconds, perhaps some of the last peaceful ones of his life were ticking away, and only one person in the world could occupy his thoughts at such a time. The light of the life he'd lived, the one who owned his heart.

Erin Quinn.

When he retrieved the spoon minutes earlier, he also grabbed the photograph of the two of them, his final remaining possession in the world. That evening was not the first time during his spell away from her that he'd thought he might die, but with only a wooden spoon to defend himself with against the likely sub machine gun wielding soldier who would be executing him, the odds were very much against him. She was a vision in that photograph, as she always was. He would forever remember the greatest time of his life, the summer that he spent completely in love with her. Going to the grave with the regret that they never married nor had any children, he could only think of how lucky he was to have her. To many she was a frigid, narcissistic young woman who got under people's skin easily, but to her English fella, she was everything he could have asked for. No woman was as beautiful to him as she was. They hadn't seen each other for over two years but the love burned stronger, absence making the heart grow fonder.

He pressed a kiss to her head on the photograph.

"I love you Erin".

The footsteps were closing in on the door, prompting him to return the photograph to his shirt pocket. The spoon was raised ready to greet whoever his executioner was going to be. They were in for a battle if they thought they could kill him that easily. Whoever it was, they'd came into possession of a key for the door rather than needing to shoot the lock off, confirming in his head that it was the elaborate scheme of Molinari's. He'd been given a final meal to go his grave with, then as soon as he'd finished and the plates were taken away, he was going to be killed. One of his men in the 815 Squadron told him at a briefing once that the Italians enjoyed a spectacle; his man was right, albeit not in the manner he probably meant.

The door was slowly pushed open.

"James…".

If the man was, the executioner was not who he expected it to be at all.

A woman spoke his name, not a man.

"Giovanna?"

He kept the spoon where it was, as before he saw her face, he saw the pistol that she carried with her. It was most off putting to find her wielding a gun, but his nerves were slightly cooled by it being her holding it. She looked behind the door to find him stood there, spoon in hand. A frown soon broke out across her face as she tried to work out why he was stood there of all places, expecting to find him on the bed or hanging from the bars, doing pull ups. She'd failed to think about his reaction to the gunfight that was breaking out above him, one which she'd been involved in momentarily before making her way down.

"What are you doing here?" He asked her when their eyes met.

"We are getting you out". She explained. "You must get everything now".

With all of his worldly possessions on him, James didn't have to get ready other than put on his shoes and jacket. Returning the spoon to his shirt pocket, he rushed over to the bed to retrieve his shoes, brushing past the nurse. She was dressed in her uniform as normal, about the only part of her appearance in the room that was normal that evening. Lacing his shoes, James began to realise why she hadn't come back. If her true aim was to rescue him, and everything that had transpired between them during the last visit, it would have made it frightfully awkward to be in his presence every day. Molinari's suspicions could have easily been raised too. The reasons for her wish to rescue him were unclear to the Englishman still, but her mention of others suggested that the plan was not a personal one despite her clear feelings for him.

She watched him carefully with every move, though with an eye down the corridor for any movement. The door remained open the whole time, another source of air into the room which could become incredibly stuffy at times. The gunshots continued to ring out above them along with the shouting, a fierce battle being fought in order to get him out of the mansion. The people that she was with must have been well armed, he thought, as there were bursts of sub-machine gun fire that he assumed were from both sides. The men who'd arrived in the car were either dead or out of grenades, no more explosions ripping through the mansion, to his relief. The last thing he wished for was to be trapped in any rubble, dying slowly beneath the ground.

James had other things on his mind though, thoughts brought forwards thanks to her presence. It was perhaps the only time he would ever set aside thoughts of Erin for Giovanna, who he needed to clear the air with before they went any further. He'd felt terrible for days after their last encounter, worried that he'd truly offended her by rejecting her advances. She was a very attractive young woman, it could not be denied, but he already had everything that he wanted in Erin, faithful to her and her only. He wished he'd have never allowed the situation to develop as far as it had done, to have to let her down when she was prepared to give herself to him. It did not sit well with him that she'd left his presence that night upset. The gentleman within him needed to put that right.

"Giovanna, I… I need to apologise for w-".

"You do not need to do anything…". She replied. "… you are… good man. You love her, yes?"

The curving of his lips was not intended to offend her, but reminded of how much he loved Erin, he couldn't help but smile. She was the light in a life that was descending into darkness.

"Yes. Erin and I were very happy before the war. I… I want to marry her when I get home".

"You should. She is… lucky to 'av you".

"Thank you".

Giovanna's feelings for him were no longer as strong, relief washing over the young Pilot once again. He could not have continued on with her, had there been any awkwardness between them, but the tension dissolved immediately. She'd gone away and thought about her actions since, concluding that she was wrong to have tried to take advantage of him in the way that she had. The young woman that the English prisoner was with was clearly the one for him, a thought the Italian woman had confirmed when he revealed his plans to ask for her hand in marriage. It was on her shoulders to deliver him to that outcome, a new personal mission developing after another's failure. She was determined to see him escape back to Northern Ireland so that he could marry the woman that he loved.

"We wait for the shooting to stop…". She explained to him. "… then we go".

"Do you have another gun?" James enquired, hoping to be able to arm himself with more than just the spoon.

"No. My friends 'av one for you".

Contented that at least when he got upstairs into the mansion, he would have a weapon, James stood back up, laces tied and jacket on. Molinari's insistence that he have appropriate clothing was coming back to haunt the Italian man, as his prisoner would be escaping without having to face the full nature of the element of cold weather. The Professor himself was probably involved in the firefight, though James doubted he would ever fire a weapon in anger, more likely being the one trying to escape to get reinforcements. James didn't know too much, but from what he could remember from the air as well as what the Professor had told him, they were a little way away from the rest of the city.

Gunfire continued for another five minutes or so as the two waited. In that time Giovanna closed the iron door, which was too heavy for her to hold open on her own, as well as forbidding James to hold it when he offered. They could still hear the gunfire with it shut, making it pointless leaving it open. She took the opportunity to reload the weapon, having fired it on her way in when she had to. James didn't need to ask to work out that her cover as a nurse was supposed to have gotten her friends into the mansion somehow, but clearly the plan was not conducted as smoothly as it should have been.

Eventually though it did stop.

Captain James Maguire of the Fleet Air Arm was about to become a free man again. How they were going to see him safely into British hands he did not know but even if he was not returned safely, if the escape were to fail, he would not be dying at Molinari's hands, away from the world. He would get to experience fresh air once again and that was almost enough. Yet if it was successful, he could return home… home to his beloved Erin, to make her his wife. The hope that had drained away in recent months began to flood back to him. It was a chance that he needed to take.

"We go now". Giovanna told him.

"Wait…". He asked her to stop, her hands halting on the door before she could yank it open. "Why are you helping me? Who has asked you to?"

Sighing, the look on the nurses face told him that they really didn't have time for the story. However, she already knew how curious he could be, so an answer would have to be given, even if it was in brief and not a full one.

"We 'av to protect you… from him".

"Molinari?"

"I… I will explain when we are… out. Come on James, we go!"

Giovanna's explanation was far from convincing, but it would have to do. She pulled the door open with one hand, showing off previously unheralded strength that James was unaware of, the pistol staying in the other. The Englishman vaguely remembered the way back to the outside of the mansion, Molinari having taken him to see David's grave months before. He would still need to be guided out though, which would be her job until they met up with her friends. What would happen after that point was the great unknown to him, but Giovanna and her friends had a plan to extract him into British hands, which would be shared with him when they were clear.

A plan which was falling apart.

Giovanna found that out… but all too late.

James had hung back slightly to take a deep breath, saving his life in the process from what occurred in the two seconds that followed her stepping out of the room. It was a rare time in which the footsteps did not echo down the corridor to mark the arrival of a visitor… but there certainly was one. The shots from the gun, one of the sub-machine guns that he'd heard going off above him, smashed into Giovanna, throwing her backwards into his arms. At least four bullets found their way into her body, three hitting her in the chest and another in the stomach, though there may have been more. If he'd have took one further step forward then some of the bullets would have hit him too. Luck was with him there, but it deserted her.

"NO!" He shouted into the nipping air as she fell back against him.

Taking her into his arms, the Englishman stumbled backwards, regaining his balance a second later in order to drag her back to the bed. His hands were already bloodied from catching her, red liquid flowing out of the young nurse as she struggled for breath.

"Giovanna!... Giovanna!" He shouted again. "Giovanna! Can you hear me!?"

"J…". She could barely speak, trying to utter his name.

"Come on Giovanna, stay with me!"

Lightning was striking twice for James as she lay in his arms dying. The eleventh of November was becoming a dark day in his mind, Giovanna the second to have lay dying in his grasp. The year before it was his best friend that passed away in his arms when he was hit by flak. A year on the beautiful young nurse was falling to the exact same fate. He'd been fairly unexposed to the brutal realities of the world before the war but just over two years in, death was becoming a regular occurrence in his life.

"J…". She struggled again. "J… Jam… James…".

"It's alright Giovanna, you'll be alright!"

He was lying to her like he'd lied to David. She was going to die, there was absolutely nothing that he could do for her. Even if he was the greatest surgeon in the world, he would not have been able to repair the damage that the bullet wounds had inflicted on her. When he'd been shot, he was fortunate that the bullets all missed crucial arteries or other areas that would have killed him quickly. Giovanna's luck did not hold like his. Her torso was a bloodied mess, far from the beautifully tanned skin that she'd showed off to him on her previous visit. Sweat began to pour from her brow as she looked up at the Englishman, who would be the last person she would ever see. It wasn't the worst way to go at least, she pleasantly thought to herself.

Her killer walked into the room with the gun still piping hot, pointing at James. When the young man looked back at him, he could tell immediately that the trigger was not about to be pulled on him too from how the aim was precise yet casual. The killer was often the one who looked wide eyed and maniacal, but that was the look in James' eyes when he looked at the man. The soldier was clad in what looked to be a more camouflaged version of the regular Italian infantry uniform, though his eyes were bluer than most of the Italians he'd seen.

"Don't just stand there! Help me!"

Shouting at the man who'd shot Giovanna, James was livid that there was no thought for her life. They may have been on different sides, clearly not one of her friends that she said was waiting, but he could have shown compassion regardless or of whether she was to die. Instead, the man ignored him completely, choosing to wave someone through from the other end of the corridor.

"Jam… James…". Giovanna coughed out his name, blood in the cough landing on her chest which was bloodied too.

"Save your strength Giovanna". He told her, taking her hand in his.

Gradually, she was slipping away into death's abyss like David had. He did not love Giovanna in the same way he loved even David, but it did not stop the emotions beginning to flare up within him. James Maguire was dancing on the edge of death again, without falling into the pit himself, yet having to watch those who cared for him take his place. His heart was pierced again, holding the guilt of the survivor for the second time.

"G… go J… James…". She tried again.

"Gio…".

"No…". She weakly interrupted him. "Y… you m… must. S-S… S… S-save your… yourself… from 'im…".

She finished on a cough, wailing in agony with pain shooting all around her. It was a cough that signified death, one that could not be prevented no matter how hard anyone tried. Her hand gripped his tightly for one final time, searching his irises with hers, allowing herself a pleasant final view before the afterlife commenced. Far too young to die, Giovanna had given her life so that James could have a chance at resuming his. It was not to be that day though, making the sacrifice to be seen as completely in vain.

Like David one year before, Giovanna took one final, raspy breath, before dying in his arms.

James could only close his eyes in a wince, greatly pained by having to witness another death. Fate left him alive once more, at least for the time being, taking away those who cared for him in his place. The war continued to steal from the generous gentleman, who was left with only a photograph and a spoon to remind himself of the man that left Derry to fight. Being the gentleman that he was, he rose from the bed with Giovanna still in his blood-soaked arms, her body then being lowered onto it as a resting place. She'd died with her eyes wide open, a look of tense fear being the one that she departed from the world with. A gentleman as ever, he leant down, using the middle and index fingers of his right hand to close them, allowing her the dignity of looking peaceful.

"Rest in peace, Giovanna". He uttered, in a far more composed tone than he expected.

A kiss was planted onto her sweat glistened forehead too, out of a love that was not like his for Erin or the friendship with David, but out of respect for what she'd tried to do for him. He was never going to forget the long-legged brunette for the rest of his life. The duration of that life would soon be discovered, as once again he was alone against whatever the world was going to throw at him. No one was going to save him now.

"Such a beautiful girl…".

James never heard Professor Molinari coming, such was his focus on the dying nurse. He'd ambled down the corridor quite leisurely when he'd received the sign from the silent killer, who'd made as little eye contact as possible with James during Giovanna's final moments. The Pilot was not focused on him though, his head turning to meet the Professor who continued to walk towards him.

"It is such a shame that she decided to leave her… legacy… as that of… a… traitorous bitch, shall we say?"

Desiring to vent his fury at the Professor's insensitivity, James held his tongue, but Molinari did not miss how he balled his fists at the comment. There was once more a chill about the bespectacled Italian man, who finally came to a stop around halfway between James and the soldier. He could do nothing to the Professor when the man with the gun was stood in the room pointing it at him, but if he was not, he would have strangled the Professor with his bare hands. Gentlemen like him were not known for such violence but so aggravated by the lack of compassion for the deceased young woman behind him from Molinari, he would have gone against his regular self without another thought.

"I thought you loved the Irish girl…". Molinari flashed a small, crafty smile. "… not this… slut".

"Your disrespect for the deceased is as unwelcome as it is surprising, Professor". James seethed. "You should not treat death so lightly… you may be next".

"Ha! I think you will find that your… rescuers, 'av been dealt with. It is only you who has something to fear now".

"I do not fear you, Molinari". James almost lashed the sentence out, voice full of noble conviction.

Molinari took a moment before he responded, taking a step back so that he was next to the soldier, by the door that was now propped open at its full extension. He was a different man now to the man that first delicately rehabilitated James, who listened to him and shared stories from the war. The information gleaned from the German spy in Derry changed his outlook when it came to James and also life, a darker man that was menacing in appearance compared to the previous warmth he'd shown when in James' eyes, he was a diligent Professor.

"It is not me that you need to fear…".

Another chilling statement was delivered to the frowning James, who stood staring at the two men. His shirt and arms were covered in Giovanna's blood and his own sweat, a mess to anyone who looked at him. A mix of grief and anger coursed through his veins, an uncomfortable concoction that only added to a wild, almost feral look to the man who was normally seen as a complete gentleman. If he'd have been given a mirror, he would not have recognised himself, though he knew too well that he was not quite the man that he used to be, no matter how hard he tried to be.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

He was deafened by the sound of the gunfire, which at one point in his life he was so used to hearing. Never before was it in such close vicinity to him though, in a confined space at least. Death could be smelt on the wind that night, but his own death was not looking likely to be one of them. The wheel of fate fell most unkindly, but on Professor Molinari rather than the man he'd held captive for a year.

James' prediction was right… he'd treated death far too lightly…

Giovanna's killer's gun was the one that was triggered again, the bullets crashing into the spine of the Italian Professor from only a foot or so behind him. The short burst of fire sent a shockwave through James' body to accompany the ringing in his ears, taken aback by the Professor being gunned down just a couple of feet away from him. His eyes found Molinari's, which were already beginning to look devoid of life. His face was the death mask of complete and utter confusion, killed when he was wielding the most power he'd ever done, lording it over the Englishman who was sent to spy on his great nation. Unlike the young nurse who at least could spare a final few words before she passed on, the Professor's eyes rolled back into his head in what must have been only a second or two later, lurching forwards. His body smashed into the cold, stone floor, but he was dead long before he hit the ground.

The soldier behind him had taken his second kill of the night… and in turn, James' breath away.

It was then, during the confusing moments where James tried to understand all that he'd seen that cold, miserable night, that he heard another set of footsteps. The next visitor to his room was not going to take the full thirty seconds it would usually take for someone to walk down the corridor; they were too close. The Englishman did not know whether to frown, furrow his brows or run a hand through his hair. The latter option would have been rather unpleasant, given that his hands were covered in the drying blood of young Giovanna, but shellshocked from all he'd seen, he found himself unable to come to a permanent decision, opting for a mixture of both.

It was the face that the new arrival in the room first saw when he strode in, donning an identical uniform to the soldier that stood to attention to greet him. The man was tall, a similar height to the Captain himself, but he was not as young, most likely of similar age to the now deceased Italian Professor. Molinari's body was where the man headed to first with a look that James did not understand at all. There was genuine remorse upon an initial sighting, but he searched the man deeper for the couple of seconds he was able to, finding a more sinister layer waiting. This man was definitely someone of higher stature than the Professor, he was sure.

Crouching, without completely kneeling down next to the corpse, the stranger rolled Molinari's body over. Molinari's glasses were cracked by the deathly drop that the Professor endured, one of the lenses lying smashed to the side of his body. Odd behaviour emanated from the stranger like a foul smell, choosing to remove the spectacles from Molinari's face, placing them into the breast pocket of the deceased man. Like James, he chose to close the eyes of the departed being, though there was nowhere near the level of respect written across his face, as there was James' when he'd completed the honour with Giovanna.

"Roberto… my old friend… you knew too much".

His English was fluent but not native. James thought for a brief second about where he could be from, a couple of possibilities immediately entering his mind. He chose to stay silent though, waiting to see if he was to share the fate of both Giovanna and Professor Molinari. He'd escaped death twice that night, which he could only conclude would mean that the next time it was faced, his luck would run out.

The stranger was back to his feet after a moment of reflection, sending a nod to his soldier. There was not a single word spoken between them, but such was their understanding, the soldier completed the silent order immediately. Moving over to the side of the room where the barred window let in the light, he kept the sub-machine gun trained on James the whole time. The prisoner was not stupid though; he was never going to try anything when kept at gunpoint, drenched in the blood of another. All he wanted to know was who they were, and what his fate was to be.

He would have asked first, but the stranger beat him to the conversation, pivoting so that he stood before the Englishman with a smile on his face, one that was an attempt at charming. It didn't charm the young man though, chilling him instead. There was more of a menace about this man than there was Molinari, radiating a murderous intent thanks to his sinister stare. When Molinari visited him, James would never come away believing he felt his life to be in true danger at any moment. A few seconds watching this man made him throw his future into jeopardy, internally. Externally, the stiff upper lip of the British gentleman put on a fine show when it was required.

"You must be James…". The man addressed him.

"If your intention is to kill me, Sir, then might I ask you bloody well get on with it". He moaned back at him.

A snort of amusement came his way in return, the man finding his wish for death to be humorous, a further indication to just how vile James concluded him to be after no more than a couple of minutes in his presence. Whilst he chortled with a bellyful of laughter, he gestured another instruction to the soldier, who miraculously to James, understood what he requested yet again. James glanced across every couple of seconds, watching him lower the weapon before taking off his jacket. They must have both been sweating immensely to have felt the need to do so, as the stranger also took his jacket off too. Only then did it dawn on James that there was yet another twist in an evening that he would never forget.

When their jackets were taken off, underneath was a very different jacket. A uniform James was yet to see in the flesh.

One that he'd hoped he would never have to lay eyes upon in such close proximity.

"I have not come here to kill you, James…". The stranger addressed him again. "… but we will discuss that… later".

Transfixed, eyes narrowed, James watched the stranger's every move. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that the soldier was pointing the gun at him again, but did not flinch when he did. The stranger's comment that Molinari was an old friend was proving to have some substance, as James watched him produce a needle from a little bag that was tied to his waist. Only one of them was going to be the recipient of its contents, and no geniuses were required in the room for any of them to know who. James might not have been about to be killed, but he was about to have something enter his bloodstream that he did not know, with an effect that was just as unknown. It was not the evening he expected…

"Ah, I have not introduced myself…". The man grinned at him again.

He still did not make the introduction, instead walking slowly over to James's right side, rolling the Englishman's sleeve up for him, without a hint of resistance whatsoever from James. He wasn't going to die so whatever fate was in store for him was going to be whatever it was going to be. More than anything though, he wanted to know who the man was before he was prodded with the needle.

Half a second later, the answer reverberated around the walls of the room.

The needle sank into his arm, straight into the large muscles he held.

"I am Doctor Kurt Van Der Heijden".

Then the world went black.