Those Who Fought for Us

by D. Allen Henry

  Chapter 9

  The Bagpipe

  London – October, 1917

  Robert met Alastair at the King’s Arms Pub in Piccadilly. “Good to see you, Alastair,” he said, shaking the latter’s hand. How long has it been?”

  “Quite a while, Ah’d say,” Alastair responded, “Moost’ve been jist afore the war - August, 1914.”

  “Actually, truth be told, I’ve seen you since then,” Robert responded.

  “Och, when?”

  “That day - Christmas Day, 1914 - on the Western Front. You played the bagpipe, right out in the middle of no man’s land.”

  “Ye were thar that day?” Alastair responded in amazement.

  “Yes, Alastair. And it was absolutely heart-rending. I’ve never been prouder of you, my friend. You brought home to two entire armies the futility of war. I have many memories of this war, some of them happy, most of them unhappy. That moment was, at least for me, the most memorable one of this entire sad affair.”

  “Thenk ye, Robert. It seemed the thin’ tae do that day,” and pausing to stare off into space, he continued with, “Soo much has happened since. Ah dinnae kin Ah’d have the civility tae do the sam today, if’n ye git my meanin’.”

  “Yes, of course. I quite agree, old chap.”

  “Tae much has happened since. Tae many dead, Ah suppose.”

  At this, Robert stared at him for a moment and asked, “Like who, for instance?”

  “The lads are all dead, Robert.”

  “Which lads?”

  “The ones from Arthur’s Seat, that night afore we all went off tae war. They’re all dead.”

  “My, how did they die?”

  “Dinnae kin exactly. Quickly and painlessly, Ah hope.”

  “But here we two sit, somehow still alive.”

  “Och aye, but thes war main gang oon forever. Ah fear we shall nae survive it. Jist like Margaret.”

  “Margaret,” Robert responded wistfully, Yes, of course, dear, dear Margaret. How did you know, Alastair?”

  “Reit. Elizabeth told me she was killed.”

  “When was that?” Robert responded idly.

  “Dinnae reitly kin. Ah was daein’ myself none too good at the moment, all trussed up in the hospital. Must’ve been sometime in early August of last year.”

  “Right, the doctor told me she’d been killed. I went back there in mid-September to see her, after I was released from the hospital in Paris. He told me she’d been hit by a stray artillery shell a couple of weeks earlier.”

  “Reit. Elizabeth told me it was an artillery shell as weel. She must’ve died quick, is all can be said.”

  Robert murmured, “My God, everyone is dying. This is horrible! Is Elizabeth alright?”

  “As far as Ah kin,” Alastair whispered, he too obviously overcome by it all.

  “So what are you doing now, Alastair?”

  “Och, Ah’ve a war injury, oor soo they say. Ah was shot in the arm last year. Cracked through the bone, oor some sich pish. Soo Ah’m safe from front line duty, at leest fur the time bein’.”

  “Ah, good for you! What do they have you doing?”

  “I’m with British Intelligence. We’re makin’ wireless telegraphs.”

  “I say, that seems quite appropriate, given your particular skills. I do recall you had one concealed within your bagpipe once upon a time, if memory serves.”

  “Reit. Turns oot that one didnae work tae weel. Disnae matter anyway – it was purloined from me bagpipe when Ah was wounded last year. But we’ve made the device quite perfect noo. We’re hopin’ tae place them ontae the battlefield afore too long.”

  “Excellent! It’s good to know that your scientific skills haven’t gone to waste.”

  “Weel, we’ll jist have tae see aboot that, eh, Robert? And whit might ye be doin’ fur the moment?”

  “I’m assigned to headquarters at the moment, but I imagine I’ll be going back to the front before long.”

  “Weel, that disnae soond good a’tall. Ye be keepin’ yer head doon, ye hear?”

  “I shall do my best, Alastair,” and at this he rose to depart, shaking Alastair’s hand as he did so.

  As Robert reached the door, Alastair called to him, “Robert! Dinnae be waitin’ three long years afore seein’ me again!”

  “Right-o, old chap!” Robert called back in return, and then he was gone.

  Edinburgh – Christmas, 1917

  Elizabeth stepped down from the train in Waverly Station, a flood of memories sweeping over her as she did so. Little more than three years has passed since she and Margaret had departed from this very platform, but the world had changed immeasurably. Still, the station seemed to appear much the same, as if no one had found the fortitude to inform the hustling commuters within of the maelstrom sucking the life from humankind scant few miles to the east.

  She trudged towards the exit, wondering as she did so whether, in accordance with his promise, Alastair would be waiting within the station. And suddenly, there he was, waving exuberantly. Waving with a spurt of exhilaration that she had not anticipated, she screamed, “Alastair!”

  Racing towards her, he bounded his way directly into her awaiting embrace, subsequently bestowing her with a crushing hug that literally took her breath away. “Elizabeth! Dear Elizabeth,” he exclaimed, kissing her on both cheeks, and finally, pecking her lightly on the lips.

  Flattered by his attentions, she suddenly felt a level of physical attraction that she had never before experienced in his presence. Touching one hand to her lips, she whispered, “You naughty boy!”

  An impish grin spreading across his face, he responded, “Och aye, Ah’ve been wantin’ tae feel those lovely lips again fur nigh ontae three years noo. Life tis short, Elizabeth. Ah say, we must make haste while the opportunity strikes, if’n ye get my meanin’.”

  At this rather provocative suggestion Elizabeth blushed and, grinning conspiratorially, she blurted, “Well, we shall see about that, soldier boy, all in good time, all in good time,” and at this rather enigmatic response, she led him to the nearest pub.

  Recounting events each had survived over the course of the preceding three years, at the completion of their first pint of ale the barriers built by long absence had been swept away. Indeed, the mutual affection built by shared remembrance reasserted itself resoundingly in virtually no time at all.

  Eventually, certain unfortunate events being unavoidable, they got round to Margaret. Accordingly, Alastair inquired, “Soo, Did ye nae find oot more regardin’ Margaret’s unfortunate death?”

  “No,” Elizabeth responded thoughtfully, “It happened while I was away at another field hospital. So I don’t know much about the details.”

  “Reit,” he responded.

  “You had a thing for her, didn’t you, Alastair?”

  “Nae, lass, Ah never did. Ah was taken with ye from the faerst time Ah saw ye.”

  At this rather presumptuous remark Elizabeth blushed and, pushing onwards, she admitted, “Oh, I thought you and she were an item for the longest time, Alastair.”

  “Nae, Elizabeth. Never happened.”

  Moving on to happier memories, they came round to reminiscence of Alastair’s convalescence at the ANZAC battlefield hospital during the previous year.

  Upon handing her a second pint of ale, Alastair exclaimed, “Ye saved my life, Elizabeth. Fur that Ah’ll be furever grateful.”

  “Yes, well, I’m so happy you’ve survived, but I can’t take credit for it, Alastair.”

  “Weel, here’s the thing, Elizabeth, nae goin’ intae the unmentionable details ay thit one dreamlike night, Ah ben thinkin’ oon it ever since, and it strikes me ye did jist the reit bit ay nursin’, if’n ye ask me. Fur oon that night, ye got my heart racin’ stoatin like, and whither it be the direct cause oor nae, is nae here noor there. The fact is, the memory ay yer loveliness that night has held me prisoner fur the longest time noo.”

&
nbsp; At this rather poignant discourse, Elizabeth was completely overwhelmed with affection for her Scottish lad and, thusly moved, she leaned forward toward him, slid one arm round his waist. Tugging him forward in a cuddling embrace, she thenceforth cooed an at once familiar refrain, “My goodness, Alastair Stewart, ye’ve curled my toes!”

  At this response Alastair’s eyes lit up, and gazing into hers, he cupped his hand behind her neck and drew her face to his, bestowing her with a passionate kiss. Later that night Alastair made good on his provocative suggestion.

  The Western Front – Early May, 1918

  Robert had by now spent the entire winter and spring on the Western Front and, although it had been a long and hard campaign, he had somehow survived. Though his shoulder still bothered him at times, especially in cold weather, all in all he considered himself lucky compared to most.

  So many troops killed or maimed. Almost everyone he had befriended was now gone. He had taken to purposefully disregarding their names, preferring not to get involved, somehow fearing that the simple act of knowing a fellow soldier’s name would render the moment unbearable when that name was read from the list of the recently departed. It had become a necessity for every soldier to carve out a tiny emotional cocoon within the dark recesses of his mind. Any attempt to comprehend the massive loss of human life had long since disappeared, having been far too horrific to fathom.

  Time no longer held meaning for him. Each morning he awoke and, stretching his aching muscles, he brewed himself a cup of coffee. No matter how revolting the flavor, regardless of the bone-chilling depth of the morning chill, he found solace in the simple task of tasting. This was now the world within which he existed, the miniscule radius extending no more than a few feet in any direction, nothing beyond of any consequence whatsoever.

  Lately he had taken to reflecting on happier times as a means of escaping reality. And on this day, as so often was the case, his mind wandered back to those happy times in Edinburgh, before it had all gone so wrong – before the world had been stolen from them all by Satan. Unable to resist, he succumbed to his mind, contemplating those two lovely young ladies. He could still recall the exact emotion he had felt the first time he had laid eyes on Elizabeth, how desperate he had been to attract her to himself. How young he had been - how enormously naïve.

  But then, over the course of time, what with the intervention of war, his emotions had necessarily changed with each mounting horror. Somehow, his fondness for Elizabeth had waned with time. He hadn’t been certain until he had taken the train to York to see her, Margaret’s insistence having necessitated that he see her. True to form, Margaret had been right, although not in the way she had intended. On seeing Elizabeth, he had recognized instantaneously that she no longer held the key to his heart. It all seemed so long ago, so inconsequential, and yet, reminiscence was somehow his only means of escape from reality.

  His mind continuing to transport him elsewhere, he saw framed within that night on Arthur’s Seat, the ugly moment when Margaret had shown her knickers to the boys. Why had she done it? He had by then begun to grow so fond of her, perhaps even more so than Elizabeth.

  But then, his mind losing control for just a tiny moment, he realized that Margaret was now dead. How could she have died, just when she had stolen his heart? He still had no idea, after all these months, the world outside having been completely cut off from the Western Front. Surely she couldn’t actually be dead, for there she was – still alive and well within himself.

  Still, there it was, the reality creeping back within his consciousness, the certainty that nothing would ever be the same again. It was all too incomprehensible. No point in having dreams at all, as Margaret had pointed out before her passing. Any and all dreams, be they large or small, were eventually shattered and ground to dust by the war.

  The sounds of the battlefield now encroaching on his temporary escape from reality, he had time for only one more thought before, as was so often the case, the present obtrusively asserted itself. And so, he thought of it, for perhaps the thousandth time, the fulfillment that he had at least had that one night with Margaret before she had slipped away from this earth, hopefully to a far better place. Perhaps he would join her there someday, somewhere beyond this life, perhaps even somewhere better. For now, he could only hold her within his heart and soul, forever.

  On this day, nearing his eighth straight month on the front, he lowered his field glasses and, something new and uncharacteristic encroaching on his senses, his gut told him that something was going on out there. Somewhere out there beyond no man’s land the enemy was up to something. He couldn’t be sure what it was, but he could feel it, as if the ground were trembling in fear beneath his very feet.

  The afternoon heat of summer would soon be stifling, the mosquitoes unbearable, but anything was better than the months of frigid water in the trenches. “Funny,” he thought to himself, “How one could actually think of this existence as comparatively better than anything at all, simply demonstrates how far we’ve come down in this world. I’m no longer living a human existence; I’m just a common insect, living in a mud hole, killing in order to avoid being killed.”

  Still, throughout the day the feeling would not subside. How he knew, he still couldn’t say, but he knew nonetheless – something was coming. An hour later, a soldier informed him that he was wanted at headquarters. “Here it comes,” he murmured to himself as he stepped into the command tent a few minutes later. “Yes sir, Captain Sutherland reporting,” he said, saluting as he did so.

  “Get your gear, Captain, you’re being reassigned to London,” his commander said.

  London – Three Days Later

  Robert was promoted to major and assigned to Headquarters, once again due presumably to the intervention of Lord Sutherland. Although he had escaped the battlefield physically, he found it somehow impossible to feel himself away from it. Sitting in the hallway of Headquarters awaiting his orders, he glanced sullenly at his fingernails for perhaps the hundredth time since being ordered back to London. He could not seem to find the emotional detachment to clean them. Although the horrid stench of the battlefield had been washed from his body, it had remained emblazoned deep within his soul. And as long as that was the case, his fingernails would remain thus unkempt, his reminder to himself that they represented reality – that he was nothing more than a single hot bath away from the battlefield – and that was reality.

  On this particular day he was ordered to report to a top secret briefing. Accordingly, he entered a small briefing room at the appointed hour, finding himself among a half dozen other mid-ranking army officers. They chatted for a few minutes, none of them having the slightest idea what the briefing was about. Suddenly, a two star general entered the room to the announcement, “At-tent-tion!” All rose immediately, then once again took their seats when the general ordered, “At ease, gentlemen!”

  The general then stepped to the head of the table and announced, “Gentlemen, I am General Warwick. This is my adjutant, Colonel Smith. You have all been temporarily assigned under my command. The purpose of the meeting today is to brief you on a critical situation that has developed. Let me preface those assignments by saying – each of you has been hand-picked for this mission based on your unique qualifications. This is highly classified information that cannot leave this room. Understood?” At this all present nodded their understanding, thus prompting the general to proceed.

  “Gentlemen, we have intercepted German communications indicating that a major offensive is being planned against the Allies, along the Western Front. That offensive will get underway sometime in the first half of July, and we intend to defeat it. If we are successful, we expect that a counter-offensive by the Allies will end the war within the next few months. Therefore, I cannot overestimate the importance of effective planning of this operation. Understood?”

  Once again, all present nodded their understanding, prom
pting the general to say, “Excellent. Now, as a part of our planning for the German offensive, we have been developing our own battlefield operations plan. Toward that end, several of our ranking officers have been flying clandestine missions behind enemy lines in an attempt to better assess the enemy’s capabilities. Yesterday, one of our officers was shot down behind enemy lines. The aircraft was seen by another patrol aircraft on the ground and it appears that the observer, Major William Heathrow, escaped the aircraft before it exploded and burned. Now, as it turns out, Major Heathrow is privy to some very sensitive information regarding the Allied plans for a counteroffensive. It would be a gross understatement to say that Major Heathrow cannot fall into enemy hands, gentlemen. The mission for those of you in this room is to get Major Heathrow out of harm’s way before the enemy can gain access to the information that he possesses. Understood?”

  At this everyone within the room nodded their comprehension yet again, prompting General Warwick to say, “Excellent. Now, Colonel Smith will describe your respective roles in this operation. Gentlemen, I wish you all the best in this endeavor. God speed,” and at this, he saluted and took his leave.

  The soldiers then retook their seats, Colonel Smith now taking the floor. He commenced by saying, “Gentlemen, I wish you a good day. You may not feel like it is a good one after what I have to tell you,” at which point he attempted a smile, but managed only a grimace. Continuing, he announced, “Major Sutherland, you are to be inserted behind enemy lines for the purpose of extracting Major Heathrow. The purpose of this meeting is to plan the details of this operation.” At this revelation Robert paled, several jaws within the room dropping simultaneously.

  Colonel Smith thenceforth unfurled a map, secured it to the wall and pointed to a spot north of Reims, announcing, “Major Heathrow’s aircraft went down here, approximately twenty miles north of Reims. We have reason to believe that there were no enemy troops in the immediate area, thereby suggesting that Major Heathrow may have evaded capture. Major Sutherland was pulled from the front lines just three days ago in the immediate area where Major Heathrow went down. He is therefore the most knowledgeable person available for this assignment. Accordingly, he shall be flown into the immediate area with the intent of locating Major Heathrow and spiriting him to safety.”

  The meeting now degenerated into a discussion of the logistics involved in such a dangerous mission, eventually breaking for lunch without any resolution to the dilemma they faced.

  During the lunch break Robert hustled down the hall and, shoving his way into his father’s office, he announced surreptitiously, “I assume that you know what I’ve been assigned to take on, father.”

  “Well, er, not exactly, Robert. Security, and all that, you know, but I do have a vague idea, of course.”

  “Right then, I am in need of your help, sir.”

  “Yes, of course. How may I be of service to you?”

  “I need to have someone accompany me on this mission, sir.”

  “Oh? And who might that be?”

  “His name is Alastair Stewart. He’s in the Highlanders, but I believe that he is currently assigned somewhere here in London.”

  “I assume that you have a reason for wanting him along…”

  “Yes, of course, father. He’s been designing and constructing wireless telegraphs.”

  At this revelation, Lord Sutherland stroked his chin in contemplation and responded, “Yes, I see…that might be rather useful, if I do say so myself. Yes, well, then, follow me, Robert. We shall see about your request.”

  Two hours later Robert was seated with General Warwick, Colonel Smith, and Lord Sutherland in the general’s office. They were of course joined shortly thereafter by Corporal Alastair Stewart.

  General Warwick announced, “Major Sutherland, I understand from Lord Sutherland that you have a plan in mind. Please, proceed.”

  “Yes, sir,” Robert responded, “It seems that time is of the essence. Assuming that Major Heathrow is still at large, it is quite likely that he won’t be for long. I know from my battlefield experience that when aircraft go down, the troops in the field make sure that every soldier onboard is accounted for. And when one goes missing, they search until they find him. Now, Major Heathrow has been missing in action for nearly twenty-four hours. Assuming he is not injured, he may last two or three more days, but they will eventually capture him. I therefore respectfully request that the recovery mission get underway immediately.”

  “Yes, I quite agree,” General Warwick responded, “Go on, major.”

  “As for Corporal Stewart, he is an electronics genius, sir. He knows how to make and operate wireless telegraphy. I would suggest that he be allowed to accompany me for the purpose of reporting our activities to Allied support personnel in the field, sir. By establishing direct communications with our personnel in the field, we can perhaps affect a means of egress once we have located Major Heathrow.”

  “I see,” General Warwick responded, “Could Corporal Stewart not simply show you how this wireless telegraph operates, thereby mitigating the necessity of sending him into harm’s way?”

  “Yes, sir, that is true. However, there is quite another reason that I request that he accompany me.”

  “What is that?”

  “Sir, Corporal Stewart, like me, survived battle on the Western Front for more than two years. Not many men have survived so long. I would suggest that Corporal Stewart is quite an unusual soldier.”

  “I see,” General Warwick responded and, glancing at Alastair with new-found respect, he subsequently inquired, “Anything else, Major?”

  “Yes, sir, just a couple more details. First, Corporal Stewart is the one person on earth that I would trust with my life. Second, he is also an ingeniously devious character, and this may be his most important trait for this assignment.”

  Noticing that Alastair was by now squirming within his seat, the general queried, “What! What makes you say that about him, Major?”

  “Sir, he is known to hide all manner of items within his bagpipe. Such skills would seem to me to be essential in the current situation.”

  At this, General Warwick now turned to Alastair and inquired, “Is this true, corporal?”

  “Och aye, tis all true, sir.” Alastair replied matter-of-factly.

  “And are you willing to accompany Major Sutherland on this mission?”

  “Sir, it would my stoatin honor and privilege tae gang with him,” Alastair replied.

  “Alright then,” General Warwick responded. “Gentlemen, I believe we have an agreement. Colonel Smith, please handle the details straightaway. I want these two soldiers on a plane across the channel within three hours’ time. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Colonel Smith replied.

  “Oh, and one other thing, Colonel,” General Warwick commanded.

  “Yes sir?”

  “Get this corporal a set of lieutenant’s bars.”

  “Sir?”

  “You heard me! He is now a lieutenant in the army. We can’t have an enlisted man chasing around behind enemy lines. If the two of them are captured, so long as one of them is enlisted, they’ll be sent to different prisoner of war camps. We need to be certain that they remain together, and if by chance they are captured, they will most likely be sent to the same officers’ detention camp as Major Heathrow.”

  “Yes, sir! I shall take care of that right away.”

  Stansted Airfield – Three Hours Later

  Robert glanced warily about, noticing that the late afternoon haze had begun to settle in. He tried his best to appear self-assured to his fellow observers, but he was churning within. In truth, he had never been quite so mortified, not even when leading a charge on the Western Front. He turned to Alastair and apologized, “Sorry for getting you into this, old chap, but I knew I couldn’t pull it off alone.”

  Alastair responded, “Och aye, nae tae worry, Robert, naethin’ quite soo excitin’ h
as happened tae me in this whole loosy war. Ah’d nae have missed it fur the warld.”

  “So we’ll have to fly over separately. It should be dark by the time we get to France. We shall refuel, catch a couple of hours sleep, and they will drop us off behind the lines before sunrise tomorrow. Hopefully, we shall find the major and be out of there by sunset, with no harm done.”

  “Hoo do you propose tae gang oot, then?”

  “I’ve been thinking on that problem. I’ll let you know when we get there. Have you got all of your trinkets?”

  “Och aye, they’re all knitted up in my bagpipe, jist as we discussed.”

  “Right then, let’s get going, Alastair. God be with you. I shall see you in France when we touch down.”

  They shook hands just as a lone officer suddenly appeared from within the hangar. Approaching the pair, he exclaimed, “Good afternoon, gentlemen!” At their simultaneous salutes, he returned them, adding, “It’s a great day for your first flights! Now, we have two planes, so that means one of you in each, along with the pilots. Who would like to volunteer for the first plane?”

  Seeing no volunteers, he said, “Gentlemen, you disappoint me!” Pointing at Robert, he commanded, “You there, Sutherland. You go in the first plane. Your planes are right over there,” and at this he gestured towards two aircraft some distance away. “Now, get to it!”

  At this command, Robert and his equally forlorn companion made their respective ways to the two aircraft, both of which were already preparing to start their engines. Indeed, by the time Robert arrived at his designated plane, the mechanic, obviously waiting to yank the prop, inquired, “Need a hand up, sir?”

  “No, I’ve got it,” Robert replied, still trying to appear nonchalant. And so saying, he clambered up the awaiting ladder and struggled into the aft seat. The mechanic then went forward, yanked on the prop at the pilot’s command, and the aircraft engine coughed into motion.

  Robert had seen worse things in the last three years, but this was nevertheless not his cup of tea. He supposed that he would get through it somehow, but all things considered, he’d still prefer the comfort of a trench on the Western Front.

  The plane taxied to the runway, halted for a moment for the engines to rev to full speed, then lumbered down the runway and took off at an alarmingly steep angle of climb.

  Once aloft, Robert was amazed at the serenity of it all. From up in the sky, it was possible to imagine that the world was yet a beautiful place, perhaps one even touched by God himself. Indeed, the act of flying seemed itself beyond the reach of humankind, yet here he was, up in the clouds, gazing down on the absurdly serene English countryside below.

  Still, all was not to be serenity, as Robert soon found out. The pilot shortly announced over the radio that he was going to perform some aerobatics for the purpose of instilling ‘aeronautical skills’ in Robert. Thus said, the pilot immediately drove the aircraft into a steep dive, then rolled over and flew upside down for a few seconds. He then finished off with a complete spin that culminated in an upward motion, only to fall swiftly back toward the earth, at which point Robert’s lunch popped out of his mouth, thereby soiling the entire cockpit.

  Seeing Robert’s distress, the pilot emitted a chuckle and asked, “Are you alright, Major?”

  Lying as best he could, Robert croaked, “Yes, quite so…”

  The aircraft flew on without further incident and, descending to earth two hours later, it made a superb landing within France.

  The pair climbed down, the pilot leading the way. “How did he do?” The approaching air commander inquired of the pilot.

  “Other than leaving his lunch onboard, “I’d say he did alright,” the pilot responded with feigned seriousness.

  The pilot then turned to Robert and whispered with an accompanying wink of the eye, “Had to do it, old chap. It’s part of the initiation right, you know. Builds proper fear into the initiates. You played your part perfectly, if I do say so myself.”

  Realization coming over him, Robert frowned at the pilot and blurted, “You mean, that wasn’t a normal flight?”

  “Heaven’s no!” the pilot snickered, “Unless you meet up with the Red Baron, you shall likely never undergo another maneuver quite that entertaining. Good show, though, what?”

  Robert nodded his ascent, but inside he was thinking to himself that he would be glad if he never had to fly with this particular pilot again.

  As it turned out, they only flew one more time together – the following morning.

  Northern France - The Following Morning

  Robert and Alastair arose at three in the morning and, grabbing a quick bite to eat, they headed to the airfield on foot. Their pilots were awaiting their arrival, exactly as planned, the pilot announcing, “Alright, we’re going to land as close as possible to where we believe Major Heathrow went down. With luck, we may even spot the remains of his aircraft. However, as we must necessarily drop you off in the dark so as to provide the best possibility of your not being captured, we may not land in exactly the right spot. Any questions? None? Alright, gentlemen, hop aboard. We should be over the landing spot within the hour.”

  Robert and Alastair each boarded their respective planes and took off. An hour later, the lead aircraft came to a bumpy stop in the middle of a field, the pilot exclaiming, “This is it, major! Good luck!”

  Robert hopped down from the plane, and as he did so he observed the other plane rolling to a halt nearby. Alastair jumped down moments later, the pair making their way towards a copse of trees as quickly as possible. By the time they reached cover, the two planes were already making a mad dash toward the far end of the field, both taking off successfully. Within seconds the night was deathly silent.

  Turning to Alastair, Robert whispered, “We’d better stay put till daylight. There’s no way to tell if our major is nearby or not in this darkness.”

  “Pardon, sir, but mightn’t it be better if’n we moved a bit farther from the drop point? It’s jist possible we were spotted oon landin’.”

  “I say, I suppose you’re right. Let’s do that. And by the way, don’t call me sir!”

  Following in the general direction that Robert was heading, Alastair whispered in return, “Reit.”

  Robert murmured over his shoulder, “Got your bagpipe?”

  “Och aye.”

  “Well, don’t be playing it just now,” he said jokingly, and seeing as how Alastair found no humor at all in it, he immediately lapsed into silence, the pair intent on making their way as discretely as possible to a place of safety.

  Two Hours Later

  Robert peered cautiously from within the underbrush they had chosen for cover. “It’s getting light, Alastair. I’m thinking - this is going to be tougher than it seemed at Headquarters. Seems to me the only way we can find the guy is if we can locate the wreckage of his plane. On the other hand, the Germans have most likely discovered the wreckage already, and if we go searching for it, we’re liable to search our way directly into their awaiting hands.”

  “Reit,” was Alastair’s loquacious response.

  “At the moment, I’d say the best chance we have is to sit tight for a couple of hours and see if he finds us. If he remained in the area where his plane went down, and if we actually landed nearby, then he would have heard us land, and he would know that we are here to help him. So let’s wait here for a bit and see if he shows up.”

  “Reit.” Alastair responded yet again.

  “Is that all you can say?”

  “Ye’ve tauld me tae nae call ye sir,” Alastair responded pithily.

  “Aw, come now, old chap. We’re in this together. That’s why I asked for you. Now, can we get on with it?”

  “Ah suppose soo,” Alastair replied, but it was obvious his feelings had been hurt. “Anyway, yer reasonin’ soonds stoatin tae me.”

  “That’s better. But be sure and tell me if you think it isn’t.”


  “Och aye.”

  They waited silently for yet another hour, the morning fog slowly lifting as they did so. Eventually, the pair could see more than a mile across the open fields. “Ah thought caertain we’d see the German lines off toward the sooth,” Alastair volunteered.

  “Too far. We’re about ten miles north of the lines,” Robert responded with certitude.

  Taking this realization in, Alastair eventually inquired, “Soo, hoo were ye thinkin’ tae gang oot ay here, assuming o’ coorse that we find this bloke Heathrow?”

  “Right,” Robert offered, “I discussed that with Colonel Smith before you showed up yesterday. We have been assigned a frequency for purposes of sending messages. The Brits will be awaiting a signal from us, and when we send it, they will be waiting for us beyond the German lines.”

  “Och, that is quite stoatin,” Alastair replied sarcastically, “Soo we’ll jist waltz reit through the German lines, raise our hands in the air, and be welcomed back tae our side with oopen arms,” and at this ludicrous suggestion, he actually winked. He then threw in just for good measure, “Soonds a might weak, if’n ye ask me, Robert.”

  “Reit,” Robert responded in his best Scottish accent, accompanying it with a wink of his own.

  “Nae ye be funnin’ me, Robert Sutherland.”

  “Listen, Alastair, there’s a tunnel, under the German lines.”

  His eyes widening in surprise at this, Alastair exclaimed, “Surely ye’re funnin’!”

  “No! Well, yes, a bit,” Robert admitted, “But there actually IS a tunnel. Unfortunately, it doesn’t quite go all the way to the German lines…” his voice trailing off.

  “Soo ye’re thinkin’ tae sneak halfway across noo man’s land from the German side and then just burrow yer way oot, like some scraggly mole?”

  “Something like that,” Robert agreed, now grinning at his own tomfoolery.

  “Stoatin! Had Ah known ye’d have sech a brammer plan, Ah’d ‘ve brung me parasol, fur sech a lovely walk in the woods.”

  At that moment, noticing something moving across the field in front of them, Robert inquired, “What do you suppose that is?”

  Peering in the selfsame direction, Alastair suggested, “That be a lad, Ah’m thinkin’. Dae we kin what our bloke looks like?”

  “Does it matter?” Robert responded ludicrously, “He will be the only one wearing a British uniform.”

  “Reit,” Alastair replied and, ignoring Robert’s condescension, he observed, “And soo he is! Look there, he’s holdin’ his hat up jist soo’s we’ll be certain ay it.”

  At this, Robert gazed about to see if the man had been followed and, seeing that he apparently had not, he cupped his hands together and called out, “Show yourself!”

  The man immediately stood and called in return, “Don’t shoot! I’m British!”

  “Come on in, sir,” Robert replied cautiously. The man then came trotting forward, keeping his head low. Halting nearby, he announced, “Major William Heathrow, British Army, at your service!”

  “Welcome, major,” Robert responded, “Come ahead.”

  The man came forward, hands raised in supplication. Once he reached the pair, Robert held out his hand and offered, “Major Robert Sutherland at your service, sir.”

  Major Heathrow shook his outstretched hand, saying, “Thank God. I hoped they’d send someone for me.”

  “Here. Have a bite to eat, major. I imagine you’re a bit hungry.”

  “Yes, thanks,” and at this, he took the proffered loaf of bread.

  “Cooked this morning,” Robert offered and, measuring the man’s apparent state, he queried, “How are you holding up?”

  “As well as can be expected. My pilot was killed in the crash. Somehow, I survived unhurt. Lucky, I guess.”

  “I’ll say, old chap. Those things are death traps, if you ask me,” Robert responded.

  Their newfound comrade now inquired, “So what’s our plan, Major Sutherland?”

  “Funny you should ask,” Robert responded, “Lieutenant Stewart and I have just been discussing that.”

  “And?”

  “And it’s like this, old chap. I was right over there, on the other side of the Western Front for eight months, right up to a few days ago. I know every inch of that line. At least, I do on the Allied side. I plan to make our way over there, look for some identifying markers, and if I can spot something familiar, we shall go through the lines there.”

  “Ah’ve a better idea,” Alastair put in.

  “What’s that?”

  “Why doon’t we send a message to the British, get them tae send oop one of those observation balloons where thes tunnel is located. Then we coods locate the entry point from thit.”

  “Send a message?” Major Heathrow inquired.

  “Reit. I’ve a wireless telegraph,” Alastair responded.

  “I say! I’ve heard of such,” Heathrow put in, “How does it work?”

  “Magnetic waves,” Alastair responded enigmatically.

  “Don’t bother, major,” Robert interjected and, nodding toward Alastair, he posited, “He only gets more technical each time you ask for clarification.”

  “Got it,” Heathrow responded knowingly. “So, what now?”

  “I think that we should lay low until dark,” Robert replied. “Any movement during daylight is far too risky.”

  “I agree,” Major Heathrow responded, “Perhaps we should get some sleep. Tonight may well be interesting, to say the least.”

  Accordingly, the three lay down to get as much rest as possible.

  Twelve Hours Later

  Robert arose and, observing the encroaching dusk, he commanded, “It’s time to get moving.” At this his two companions set off behind, heading in a generally southerly direction. “It should be dark quite soon,” Robert noted, “I’m hoping to see a familiar landmark before it is too dark to see. You two keep an eye out for Germans.” They subsequently headed across an open field, keeping as low to the ground as possible.

  They continued walking south for several minutes, when suddenly a shot rang out, prompting them to crouch low. Major Heathrow immediately gasped, “Oh, bother! I say, I’ve been hit!”

  “Bollocks! How bad is it, major? Let me look at it!” Robert then examined the wound and, shaking his head ominously, he ruminated, “This isn’t good, major. I’ve seen wounds like this many times. It is simply not possible to staunch the bleeding. Unless we can get you help soon, you shan’t last the night.”

  Major Heathrow responded, “I know. I’m done for, Major Sutherland. Get out of here.”

  “No, we can’t leave you here, sir.”

  “Why?” he inquired and, pausing a moment to contemplate, he suddenly exclaimed with apparent realization, “Oh, I see - you’re here to make sure I’m not captured, aren’t you?”

  “Yes, I’m afraid so, Major,” Robert responded, “Apparently, you have been privy to some very important information.”

  “Well, it matters not, sir, because the enemy shall be upon us in short order,” Major Heathrow responded knowingly.

  At this, Alastair put in, “Whit should we doo, Robert?”

  “We’ve no choice, Alastair. They’ll be upon us in seconds.” At this, Robert prepared to raise a white flag.

  Major Heathrow now volunteered, “Hold on, old chap! Look, I shall play dead. Surely the enemy will believe it. That way I shan’t be taken prisoner. Just leave me here. I shall be assumed dead. That way, you accomplish your mission.”

  “No. That simply won’t do,” Robert replied, preparing yet again to raise the white flag.

  At this Major Heathrow suddenly pulled out his pistol and shot himself in the head, his body slumping sideways into the pair of them. The gory mess having spattered both Robert and Alastair, the two stared in stupefaction at the now deceased soldier before them.

  “Bollocks!” Robert blurted. “I hadn’t counted on that. Dam
ned fool!”

  Peering reverently at the now dead officer, Alastair said wistfully, “Damn smart one, if’n ye ask me. Ah’d say he gave his all fur his country, and fur us as weel. Noo we two haeve accomplished our mission, althoogh nae quite in the manner we might’ve planned.”

  By that point, the Germans were on them, ordering from nearby, “Übergeben Soldat! Übergeben!”

  Alastair rose and called out, “Dinnae shoot, Ah surrender! Dinnae shoot!” Robert stood as well, and the distraught pair advanced towards the enemy, their hands thrust skyward, realization sweeping over them that they were now prisoners of the selfsame people they’d been attempting to kill for the better part of four years.