Anne-Marie opened her eyes and looked down at the face of the woman, asleep on her stomach. Such a pretty face, she thought, and such a woman! Even though it had been work, she had enjoyed herself. Moreover, she had done such a great job of building trust the next phase could begin. She needed to make a call, but it needed to be private. 'I'm going out to get us something for breakfast.'
Severine murmured an acknowledgement and Anne-Marie slid her arm out from under her. She pulled on some jeans and a top and ventured out into the street. She stopped and placed a call before going into the boulangerie.
'It's me. Yes, last night went well. You should proceed now, whilst she is with me.'
Breakfast consisted of coffee, croissants, and jam. The conversation was polite and not at all heavy. Neither of them wanted to say or do anything to ruin the glow they both felt from the night before.
'I should get back you know.'
'You are welcome to stay, you know that.’ Anne-Marie replied, surprising herself with the truth of that statement, a sense of guilt threaded its way up her spine and lodged itself in the base of her brain. That one is not going away any time soon, she thought to herself.
'I know. But if I don't go, how can I look forward to seeing you again?'
'OK, I give in. You can leave....’ Anne-Marie grabbed Severine gently but firmly by the hand and, leading her back to bed, she whispered '…after lunch.'
12:35 07 November [11:35 07 November GMT]
Home of Mme Margaret-Julia Pascal, Felletin, Central France.
'Bonjour Madame Pascal, is Severine at home?' Julia eyed the man with suspicion. Dressed as a civilian she couldn’t mistake his military air.
'Severine does not live here. Would you like me to give her a message the next time I speak to here?' Julia was determined not to give anything away, after all this could be that Fleubert bastard...
'Just give her my card the next time you see or speak to her.’ He offered her one of his calling cards, 'I'll be in the area for a few days, if she happens to pop by.'
The man smiled and left Julia on her own doorstep, looking at the card and wondering what was going on. If that was the man, I will hunt him down and kill him myself.
Severine arrived back in the early afternoon; Julia noticed the air about her had changed, much for the better. Every time Sev looked at her, it was with a smile on her face, just like she had had when she was a little girl. Julia explained about the strange encounter and described the man to Sev, thankful to know he could not have been Fleubert. Severine, feeling happier with herself, decided to call straight away, rather than have it pray on her mind.
'Who is calling please?' the woman's voice was unfamiliar to Severine but it sounded well educated.
'Severine Pascal.'
'Thank you Mademoiselle Pascal, I will put your call through.'
'Ah Ms. Pascal, I am so glad you have called. I guess you probably have a hundred questions for me, which I am willing to attempt to answer, but may I suggest that it would be easier in person. I could call at your Grandmother's home this evening. Say seven thirty, if that would be convenient?'
'Ye…yes,' Severine stammered, 'seven thirty is fine.'
'See you then. à bientôt.'
The line went dead. The man had simply ended the call. Severine looked at her grandmother.
'He is coming round at seven thirty.' Severine could hardly believe it.
Julia hoped the man would be bringing good news.
The man arrived promptly and introduced himself as Monsieur Chevalier. He entered without being invited, but that seemed both OK and natural. They waited for him to be seated before taking their own places.
'I would like to tell you why I am here, why I have looked you up and as much as I can, which I'm afraid will actually be very little.' Monsieur Chevalier began. 'I am here to offer you a job, a career, a vocation, how much will depend upon you. I have looked you up because I know a lot about you; you have served without apparent distinction for thirteen years, all you have ever known is the army. You never really found your place, moving through the army only sideways, never upwards. Finally, you faced Courts Martial where you plea-bargained your way out of not only prison but also a dishonourable discharge. There, have I missed anything out?'
Severine had gone quite pale. To have her career, her life summed up in such a fashion would test anyone's character, but then to have her rape at the hands of Fleubert misconstrued as being in some way her fault... Severine however remained composed. She placed a gentle hand on her grandmother's, sensing her growing anger too. When she spoke, it was with quiet dignity.
'That's all correct, that is an accurate summary of the official record of my career.'
Severine matched Chevalier's gaze, never wavering for a second.
'I see.' he continued, meeting her eye, 'There is however the matter of the unofficial record.'
'The unofficial record?’ Severine said raising an innocent eyebrow.
'Yes, yours in particular makes for very interesting reading.'
'Nana,' Severine's heart raced as she felt the need to have her grandmother out of the room. 'Could you be a darling and make us some fresh coffee?'
'It's OK,' Chevalier said to Severine, 'I think it is about time your Grandmother knew the truth.'
'What truth, what are you talking about? Will someone please tell me what is going on?'
Chevalier waved down Severine's continued objections. 'You see, Severine has been on many unofficial missions. Official unofficial missions that is.'
'Black Ops you mean?' Julia interrupted, wanting to show that at ninety-two she hadn't lost it yet.
'Yes, your granddaughter has acquitted herself very well, very well indeed by all accounts.'
Chevalier went on to tell Julia about some of the special operations that Severine had undertaken. The danger she had faced, the courage she had shown and the friends she had lost and all the time never being able to tell anyone about it. Never seeing her official career blossom. It was most unfair he agreed, most unfair indeed. However, they had recognised her talents and now they wanted her to resume special operations, this time permanently.
'I won't ask you to make a decision now.’ Chevalier said, standing to leave, ‘Take some time to think about it, talk it over and when you've made up your mind give me a call.'
Julia poured two glasses of wine and holding one out she offered her granddaughter a salute.
'But I haven't decided to take the offer.' She pleaded.
'I know dear, I know, but here is to the opportunity.'
09:55 08 November [08:55 08 November GMT]
Apartment of Anne-Marie, La Courtine, Central France.
Severine arrived at Anne-Marie's a little breathless. She had been cycling faster than she would normally, faster than she realised. Keen to discuss the offer with her and just plain keen to see her again she ran up the stairs to her door. Knocking rapidly upon it she was relieved when it was opened but heart broken when the face that greeted her was old and wrinkled.
'Where is Anne-Marie?' She asked the old woman.
'She has gone to the shops, would you like to come in and wait, I've nearly finished cleaning.'
'No thanks,' Severine said over her shoulder as she raced back down the stairs and out into the street. Darting around the town square, she spotted Anne-Marie coming out of the butcher's shop. Gaining her composure again, she walked over to meet her.
'Bonjour Anne-Marie, Ça va?'
'I'm well thank you Severine, yourself?'
'I have some exciting news which I want to tell you over lunch.'
'Well it's good that I have just been shopping for more food, I have enough for two if you don't mind sharing?'
'That sounds perfect.'
They talked whilst making lunch and continued whilst eating it. Severine feeling that she could be open about her past now with another person. However she kept the salient facts to herself, no names, countries, dates or anything that could be used
to work out where she had been doing the things she told her she had done. Finally, it all came down to one question.
'So, what do you think? What should I do?'
'You know,' Anne-Marie began, seeing the expectant look on Severine's face. 'I think if there had been any doubt in your mind you wouldn't have told me about it. I think you should go for it!'
'Thanks, I actually hoped you would say that, would you mind if I rang him now?'
'Not at all, do you want some privacy?'
'No that's OK, a glass of wine to celebrate might be nice.'
'Hello, Monsieur Chevalier? Qui, it is Severine. I would like to accept your offer.'
'Of course, I'll be in touch. Oh and welcome to le soixante-dix-neuf.' Monsieur Chevalier replied.
'What did he say?' Anne-Marie asked when Severine had finished.
'He said welcome to the seventy-nine.'
10 An Old Job
11:55 05 November [11:55 05 November GMT]
Magdalen College, Oxford University, Oxford, England.
Professor George Hamilton looked out at the audience for his lecture, he was aware that someone had just spoken, but not who or why.
'Professor?' The student asked.
'Yes?' George replied simply.
'Well, what do you think?'
'About what?' George didn't have a clue.
'About my question?' The student replied, clearly irritated.
'Question. Your question. What do I think about your question?' George was desperately trying to work out if he could remember him asking a question. Nope, he decided, not a clue.
'Could you repeat your question?'
'Very well,' the student replied, clearly annoyed and not afraid to show it. 'I asked, what is your opinion on the similarities between the Battle of Thermopylae and the Battle of Hastings?'
For most professors of military history this would have been an insightful question and would clearly have marked the student out as one with great potential. Unfortunately, for this student Professor George Hamilton was not in the category of most professors of military history.
'Well of course they show similarities, that's obvious. The question is why. Why, when there is no evidence that William the second of Normandy was aware of the Thermopylae.'
If the student had let his irritation and annoyance show, then George had both emboldened and underlined his as well.
'Now are then any real questions?’ George asked the students, 'No? Well I hope things will improve next time.' With that, he simply walked out of the lecture hall.
'Don't worry' said another student to the one who had asked the question, 'he is always like that. I hear he even treats other Professors the same.'
'He's an asshole.' The first student said.
'Probably,' replied the second, 'but his lectures are always packed and he is one of the most respected military historians in the world.'
George was distracted, much more so than usual. Since his brother Jack had visited explaining about his sabbatical from work to complete his PhD, he had felt restless. He looked again at his notes on his book “Modern and Ancient Military History”. A simple title, this was to be the definitive work on the subject from the definitive author. The trouble was it was still only notes and only rough notes at that. He needed time, he needed space, he needed to get his book written. Wet-nursing a load of undergraduates or even postgraduates would not do it.
What he needed was some time away from lecturing. In short, a sabbatical of my own. Now of course Jack will think I’m copying him. Maybe I am… but fuck it, he thought, it's what I need. Of course, the sabbatical will be unpaid and as I’ve already spent the advance from the publishers that means I’ll need another job, money to live. I guess I’ll have to go back to photography…
George was an accomplished war photographer. He had spent time in most of the major conflict zones since he was in his late teens, now thirty it was time to return to the field. The reality of it would be very different to the thought of it, he knew. Nevertheless, once back into the situation he wagered that he would be able to cope again.
The nightmares would be a different matter though; the reporting of conflicts was a long way from the job on the ground. The photos that sold were never representative of the conflict. The smell, the taste, the fear, but most of all the consequences. People died. People just like everyone else, with mothers, fathers, children, and friends. He had to deal with those. Up close and personal, the individuals concerned were real to him. He had spent time in villages and towns only to see those consumed by fighting, his photographs recorded for posterity the lives and deaths of civilians and soldiers alike.
The wounded are the worst. Children missing limbs, screaming for parents who have died. Then there are those who use raping and pillaging as another weapon. George had never been a direct witness, witnesses were rarely left alive. He had photographed the victims and heard their statements after the event. Knowing it would happen made his stomach churn every time. That’s the job though. That’s what I’d be going back to. He picked up the phone to his agent.
'Hi Jackie, its George Hamilton. I'm fine thanks, yourself? Good, good. Look the reason I'm calling is I'm looking for some work. Probably a couple of years. Yes, really. I'm looking to finish my book and I need some time away from academic life to do it. No, I don't expect to be able to write whilst I'm being shot at, very funny. You know how it is, time on and time off. I need the time off. Really? That's great. Yes, I know Jane, that is I know of her by reputation but I've never actually met her. If you could, yes, that's terrific. OK, I'll wait for your call.'
Now that is a real result, George thought to himself, Jane Spencer-Brown is looking for a new photographer. He had heard about her being shot on assignment and it was no great secret that she suffered from depression. It’s unusual that I’ve never met her though, especially with war reporting being such a close-knit community, but I guess life is like that sometimes. Besides, we both go where we are sent.
09:15 06 November [09:15 06 November GMT]
Windsor & Eton Riverside Train Station, Windsor, England.
George liked the slow train into town. He could have opted to take the branch line into Slough then the fast train into Paddington, but he preferred this one. This was the start of the line, so he was always guaranteed a seat, the journey taking about an hour as it stops at many stations en route. It moves at a nice speed and it gives me time to think. An hour spare is always welcome, he thought as he stood in line waiting to be served. The line was moving along at an efficient if not fast pace. Again, he preferred this to the automated and impersonal ticket machines. His ticket now in hand, he stopped at the kiosk to buy a coffee for the journey. He had his small computer with him; about the size of a hard-backed book with a nine-inch screen, it was perfect for work on the go. He settled down on the train, obtaining a seat with a small table.
He started to review the few notes he had made for his book. He had his title “Modern and Ancient Military History” but this provided a scope so wide he could spend many lifetimes researching and writing about it. I need an angle, a purpose for the book, especially if it’s not to become another dry treatise charting dates and facts. He wanted his work to have life, purpose, and meaning. That means an angle such as the one I suggested to Jack, about how Coal and Iron are better investments than Gold.
He did have one idea already, and that was that warfare had evolved along the same time-line as society. As the human race had learned to farm, they gained time and resources that they had never had before. Previously their entire existence was dependent upon the need to gather food every day. Now a few could gather food for the many, leaving a number of people free to do other things. Some of them turned to productive work, making better homes, finding sources of fresh water and providing the farmers first with simple tools, then better tools. However, there was still spare capacity, and some found it easier to take what others had produced rather than trade for it.
&n
bsp; Then as society grew from villages into towns and towns into regions, the people were organised to protect their region against the neighbouring regions. Such protection often involved attacking a region perceived as a threat. This escalated into regions forming alliances or taking over other regions and nations were born. Society had now advanced sufficiently to support full-time standing armies. Now nations warred with one another. They built alliances through agreements or empires through conquests. They mechanized the tools of war so more people could be killed. Empires fought and brought forward the concept of world wars. Finally, society managed to create the means through which entire cities could be destroyed. This moved conflicts into war-by-proxy. Now the empires fought one another through a series of relatively small scale, local conflicts like chess players moving their pieces around a global board. War had reached its zenith, the ultimate recreational pursuit, now performed not for survival or conquest but for ideology and always somewhere else.
This, thought George to himself, is the Iron and Coal of the argument. It explains how the concept of war was born and how it grew. It doesn't answer the student's question from the lecture however, about the similarities between the Battles of Hastings and Thermopylae. This was just one of many that George was aware of. There were more than could be explained by chance. The real problem was two civilisations, which had used the same strategy and tactics, had never interacted. That and the fact that the similarities were so strong it was as if the same person who had lead the first war was leading the second somewhere else in the world, long after they should have been dead.
This was where George struggled. Although a spiritual person, his belief in religion was limited to its positive messages rather than literal interpretations. Noah did not live to be 950 years old. However, the story of Noah about loss and redemption was an inspiring one. The problem is that the battles and wars were well described in the local language of the time and these have only come together relatively recently.
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