The Alternate World War One

[Motep]

What did everyone think of it? I would like to know the good bits and faults for the CHapters. Please always leave comments!

The first chapter is all right, I find myself having to agree with meldarion. i have not checked out the second chapter yet, But It looks to be better than the first.

-edit And it is.

[Baby Boomer]

Chapter III

A temperate day down by a gentle washing sea, with picturesque ships rising up and down with the waves, don’t we all dream of that? Fortunely, the small sea side town of Southhampton was enjoying that exact weather, to the extreme happiness of its inhabitants. The horrible weather which had beaten war time Britain over the last few months had subsided, thankfully, as had the war. When the veterans returned from Belgium, it all went quiet, as a sailor was found to be complaining down by the port one evening;
“Its not right Al, just not right. Those Huns are up to somethin’.” He told his friend darkly, shuffling a newspaper. The other sailor nodded and continued watching the sea. Mr. Hamburg, though, was entirely happy not to be being shot at. After a month though, he found himself empty, as if he had nothing to do. That though, was quite the contrary, he had a haven of things to do. He visited the old dock master Mr. Hammerston. He greeted him like a old friend with a shout of joy, which was expected since he had been Mr. Hamburg’s childhood idol, and was still a good friend.
“Freddy! My god, you look like a sunken ship.” He said, Mr. Hamburg, or Freddy, looked around in reminiscing. Above him lay fishing nets and lines, dead fish hanging, buckets, model ships. The wooden desk was covered in a mess of papers (Illustrated with detailed drawings of old wooden ships and new iron decked ships) and small models of ships. Mr. Hammerston , was now standing behind his desk, with his small glasses, a tuft of white hair and a chisel in his hand. Mr. Hamburg smiled warmly, he felt his face stretch at the loss of feeling. As he gave a hug to the dock master, his eyes travelled into a large luxurious room with shining timber off to his left.
“Still got that old ship going?” He chuckled. In the room, on a large desk, lay the most massive model wooden ship you could imagine. It was at least a two meters long, estimated some. Mr. Hammerston looked around at what Freddy was talking about, and quickly looked at him.
“You still remember that?” He asked in utter pleasure, Freddy, or his full name Frederickson, and made a half – half motion with his hands.
“Well, its time for the story then!” announced the dock master, carefully shoving his glasses from the tip of his nose and giving a fatherly smile. Fred groaned, but all the same, he sat down. After a minute the window was open and a chair to accommodated sat there, and a large cup of steaming tea (Hardly needed in this weather let me remind you) the story started by the old dock master, with his tuft of white hair blowing in the cool breeze sweeping the wooden room.
“Well I’d say it was forty years ago, I was probably about twenty back then, just a young wee Midshipman. A great ship pf the line took me on for service in the East Indies and the colony of Australia…” he started drawing a great big pipe and preparing to light it.
“The story of the ship, not you, isn’t it?” said Fred in an exasperated voice. Mr. Hammerston waved a wrinkled hand,
“You impatient boy, I’m telling you a story the true way, now listen! Ahem.” He issued a small cough before starting again,
“Anyway, where was I again? Oh, yes. We got broken up a large storm of the East Coast of Australia, no bloody people there up north, so we had to stop at New Guinea.” He nodded at a significant look from Fred,
“Yep, the German colony. Well, awfully friendly fellows. I felt like we were best friends by the time our ship left, but before I left the German governor there, bloody boring man he was, sat me down and said. ‘ Well! Mr. Hammerston,’ started he, a deep German voice this bloke had, ‘One day you’ll own that ship, and lead it into glorious battles! You’ve been greatly kind to our people here, and as a memoir, you may have this beautiful ship. Something to lead your dreams’ He said, and I was beside myself with happiness. Took it at once and brought it home, got chipped a few times, but good as perfect. And, uh, here it is!” He looked at it proudly, but Fred still had a question.
“Was he famous or something to afford it?” he asked, Mr. Hammerston uncomfortably rolled in the seat,
“Nope, but I think a ship from its port brought back a ton of gold as a gift.” He said lamely, but Fred took no notice and silently dwelled on the facts laid before him. As Fred walked home he imagined fighting so far away. He remembered Belgium, then Mons. He’d never been as far as Europe, and he drifted into an imagination which spawned images of him with his long French Lebel rifle in hand in South Africa, fighting against waves and waves of Zulu shielded warriors. It was in that port that he suddenly missed war, it was his life and he needed it. He had killed, and it no longer weighed his soul. Fred sat down on the concrete wall which stopped the sea, and let the small waves jump and try and reach his bare feet. On the ship nearby a sailor swung from the ropes while he roared something to his Captain down below. Meanwhile in another East Indian ship, a small trade runner, several men in pairs were lugging barrels of stuff aboard the small ship which seemed to sink lower with every barrel. He lifted his head to the sky and sucked in a deep breath of salty sea air. He leant back, and his eyes surveyed the scene behind him. A beggar sat there in a bundle of clothes with a hat of money and a toothless grin. But the grin disappeared and he fell backwards with his home of rags into a alleyway where his darks eyes glowed like a cats at night. A khaki dressed man imperiously marched down the street with a traditional army cap, and the moustache to go with it, and a short baton folded under his arm with a pair of white gloves. His thick eyebrows almost clouded his small eyes but he had a air of superiority. He knew he had the situation under control; was what Fred settled on. He nodded at the young ladies who passed him who giggled and looked back, and the boys shrunk before him and looked up at him like he was a titan, as it seemed he was. He marched to the cottage where Fred’s mother lived, but before he knocked he felt into his pocket and pulled out a sealed letter, and with that knocked twice and put his arms behind his back. A joyous lady answered the door; Fred’s mother. Her smile though was wiped out like a small ship in deadly waters, but she answered him all the same.
“Hullo, you look like your from the Army.” She said politely and with the air of one observing the weather.
“Hello, you are correct. I am Sergeant Major Steven Connell from Whitehall. I’ve come to give a Mr. Hamburg some news about his doings at the army.” He replied in the same tone, brandishing the letter as though she was blind.
“Yes, I can see the damned letter.” She said coldly before her eyes flickered over to Frederick. She stood out of the way and donned a welcoming smile,
“If you would deposit it on the table, and leave.” She added, the smile never reaching her face. He shook his head sadly, and then the Major’s eyes struck upon Frederickson and he gave a wide smile which reach Mr. Hamburg’s heart, in a cold way.
“There’s your son, I’ll give it to him now.” He commanded, and brushed past her without stopping to be gentle. Fred raised himself from the ground and patched himself up before receiving the Major. He raised his hand in a salute and stood to his full height.
“Good day, sir, I suppose I am to be recollected, right?” He said quickly and like steel. The major released a air of relaxation,
“Hell yes Captain, you’d think we’d been cozying around these last few months. Busy as hell down at London at the moment.” He chuckled and they both turned and looked out a the sea while some sailors dawdled for information nearby. The Major eyed them darkly before turning heavily towards the Captain.
“Well, I thought I’d deliver this to you in person, seeing as you got nothin’ for surviving Mons. If I would I’d give you the Bank of England, Captain.” Said the Major roughly,
“As long as I’ve got my life sir.” Replied Fred smartly. The Major raised his eyebrows before handing Fred the envelope, he slapped Fred on the back.
“Well Fred, you’ll find everything there. On your way to Plymouth, drop into the barracks there, I’ll tell you a few things.” He said, before drawing his baton once again and folding it under his arm. With the look from Fred he added,
“Army regulation boy, wait ‘till you’re a Major.” He tipped his cap and marched off with a thud of steel capped boots. The sailors swung back onto their ships in his wake, disappointed with the lack of information.
“Useless as fake gold they ar’” One was heard to say as he slugged off onto the ship Fred ignored these comments shot at him, but instead eagerly ripped open the envelope before he heard the approach of his mother. Her face was blanketed with a look of anticipation. She scuffled over and then looked up at him.
“Well? Are you recalled?” She asked quietly as if it was a death sentence, as it basically was. He nodded after a pause, and her face fell like a mountain.
“Just got here and your already off on another hopeless adventure!” She steamed, frog marching him into the cottage. She turned on the stove, but the kettle on and drew forth two mugs before seating herself and her son at the table. A ray of golden sunshine fell from a window right onto the table. Over the loud noises of whining from the kettle, he read the letter. Now, I would show this to you, but it goes for ever so long!
“What does it say?” his mother asks after his eyes had trailed a measurable way down the page.
“I’m recalled, I’ve got to get a coach and be at Plymouth in a week’s time, where they’re to assign me to a new company and we’re boarding the ships.” He said dully, finally looking up. She had one more question though;
“We are you going? Not Belgium again!? What a mess up that was, the stupid-…” He stood and calmed her down and poured them some tea, before seating himself again with the mug of hot, steaming tea.
“Portugal.” He said quickly, so quick his mother asked him to repeat before she understood.
“Portugal!? All the way down south? My god, I’d preferred Belgium!” She stated in shock, he laughed quietly then stood.

A week later; he was all packed with the items he had brought. He wore a khaki British uniform, a Enfield rifle slung of his shoulder and a polished Webley pistol in its holster. He had a traditional army cap seated on his head and in both hands lay a suitcase. He wore a sad smile on his face, and a few people were there to say goodbye. They were in the main street, blocked off for the army coach’s to come through, and at least a hundred people were there saying good bye to friends, family and loved ones. Fred’s goodbye party included his father, wearing a blue uniform, his mother in a long dress, and Mr.Hammerston in his white pants and overalls. His mother hugged him so he had to gasp for breath. Mr.Hammerston grinned at him as a tear trickled down his face, and shook his hand. But afterwards he hugged him,
“I want you to keep this to remember this place while your… your there.” He said weakly, handing Fred a perfectly modeled small ship. Fred muttered thanks before pocketing it and turned to his father. He bowed his head quickly before shaking his son’s hand.
“Good luck.” He whispered.
“Officer’s coach A!” roared a voice, a soldier stood there with his rifle propped up against a wall.
“Frederickson Hamburg, Andrew Blair! Officer’s coach A!” roared the voice again. Fred picked up his suitcase and hurried over to unoccupied Officer’s Coach A. He lifted the seat and dumped his luggage there, before waving a last time as he hung from the door then seated himself on the red, cushioned seat. He looked around, it was the same as the old one but not as luxurious. As he leaned back to relax, some dashed into the coach and pulled open the seat, dumped in his suitcase and hung out the window.
“Se’ ya’ Ma!” He yelled, waving furiously. The panel behind the newcomer opened causing him to jump violently. The driver’s head appeared,
“All ready, Captain, Lieutenant?” he said politely. They both nodded at the same time, and both looked out the window where there families were. They both started waving violently, and one at a time, hung out the window and yelled goodbye. There was the crack of a whip and they started off slowly, before they’d picked up speed and were leaving the city behind. As the dust rose steadily behind them he drew forth the model ship, ignoring his fellow officer. The man moved slightly then spoke;
“Goo’ model there.” He complimented coolly, eyeing it professional. Fred muttered his thanks and continued to observe it.
“I used to live up north before, around Inverness. We used to get lots of sailors there, never interested me personally, got there own bloody talk and all. Had a few bloody collector nuts hanging aroun’, I tell you.” He comically stated, shaking his mop of gold hair.
“You lived in Inverness?” asked Fred. The man nodded,
“Yep, me family lives up there now, wanted to send me in a regiment off to Mons. Hell no, I am darn lucky I didn’t join then, eh?” He stated. Fred grunted, the mention of Mons bringing back memories. The man noticed the medal hanging from his chest. He pointed at it,
“You’re a vet, eh?” He asked, Fred looked at him quizzically. A vet? He’d never owned a pet, let alone nurse one.
”I’ve never been a vet in my life. Soldier through and through.” Replied Fred. The man looked confused, then boomed out laughing.
“Hah! I meant a veteran. Come from Mons, eh? Me Pa’s Pa was in Crimea they say, like I care? I don’t think I’ve introduced meself either, I’m Andrew Blair.” He told him, grabbing his hand and shaking it. Andrew as basically jumping in joy, and seemed to be shining with happiness.
“I was sent off becaus’ I was too happy. Me Ma and Pa go’ sic’ of me. Same as me Aunt and Uncl’. They said, ‘Andy, you go off away from here, we’re sick of you bloody bouncing aroun’ here.’ So I lef’ the next morning, the bloody grumps ar’ probably cryin’ there eyes out by now.” He dreamed into space. Fred grinned,
“I come from Southhampton. My father’s a sailor, my mother stays at home. Ever heard of a Mr. Hammerston?” Fred asked politely.
“’My father’s a sailor.’” Mimicked Andrew, and laughed at the look on Fred’s face.
“Bloody pompous fool you ar’.” Chuckled Andrew, Fred looked stunned, then laughed.
“My names Frederickson Hamburg, just Fred for short.” He greeted, saking Andrew’s hand again.
“Well Freddy, we’re almos’ there.” He stated, yelling at him from outside the window half a hour later.
“We’re almost at Plymouth?” Asked Fred excited, hanging out the other window.
“No, you bloody fool, we’re almost at a…” Fred heard a thud and a groan and then another thud. Andrew had disappeared from the opposing window.
“Andrew!?” He asked wildly, looking behind the coach. There was no body, only leaves from the overhanging trees. He ducked to avoid one and ducked inside. He laughed at the sight which greeted him. Andrew was sitting on the chair rubbing a bruise on his head with rolling eyes.
“Ow…” He groaned, Fred grinned and playfully punched him. Andrew aimed a heavier one at him,
“Its no’ funny, I got hit by a bloody tree.” He groaned once more, he then hung at the window and swore at the disappearing tree, before ducking inside with a laugh. After a few more minutes eventful talk, the driver informed them through the panel this was where they were stopping for the night, as the coach screeched t a halt.

Fred jumped from the coach and stretched his legs and walked in a few circles, the result making him dizzy. Andrew nearly toppled from the coach when he tripped over god knows what. The two officers, both in khaki and with their Webley pistols slung in their holsters, followed the driver into the inn. There was no sign hanging over it saying Horned Pig, and it was almost full with already arrived soldiers from Southhampton. Fred and Andrew chose a table and sat. A long bar went along the whole room with shelves upon shelves of a soldiers dream; ale and wine. Wooden tables were dotted about the place while numerous fires flowed with the babble. A waitress came along with a notepad.
“What would you tow like?” She asked kindly, Andrew looked up as if he was staring at the sun, but Fred merely muttered,
“Noting thanks.” And gloomily looked around, he seemed to be missing the Horned Pig, strangely, and couldn’t place his mind on the reason. Andrew had obviously ordered something and was happily returning with his drink, and sat down with a spill of his drink. As he drunk Fred picked up a paper and was ready to scan the front page when Andrew spoke,
“Your not going to read the bloody paper ar’ ya?” He demanded, and thunked his drink on the table and ripped it from Fred’s grasp, throwing it to the side. The inn door opened and everyone roared a rowdy greeting before laughing and returning to their drinks and games. Two more officers entered, and scanned the inn. Andrew and Fred watched their eyes link up to their table, and then make a beeline for it.
“Mind if we sit here?” they asked, Andrew cheerily answered ‘Yes’ while Fred waited. They pulled up two chairs and both sat down, and while they ordered Andrew and Fred exchanged a look.
“Well!” started one, looking at both of the officers.
“We’re just Privates; the other two scheduled have made a run for it, somewhere in Wales by now. You two chaps are officer’s, I presume?” one asked. They both wore the same as Fred and Andrew but with the absence of several things.
“I’m a Lieutenant, this grump is a bloody Captain.” Introduced Andrew quickly, and they both shook the other soldiers hands. After some small talk, extra boring I assure you, and enough to make you want to jump off a cliff, the inn was full and several groups had started singing, as had Andrew and the three men. As they all sang a soldiers song remembered by only them, quite like a school only remembers the school song, Fred was reading the paper. Yes, it might seem boring, but he was extremely tired after that day, and yearned to reach Portugal. Though he was tired, and he would’ve been bored, he had only seen the days headlines. The rest of the inn hadn’t, it was out of bed and into work for them. But he was absolutely shocked. It stated that after Mons, the German Army had advanced rapidly through Belgium. The French armies were fighting in Lorraine and Alsace and the ones from Paris were still on the train when the Germans got to at least the 200 km from Paris, where they were barely halted by a quickly mustered volunteer army. The writer went on to state, that Britain was making plans to evacuate the French armies as soon as possible. Fred clutched his head, that’s why everyone (else, may I add, the soldiers around him certainly weren’t) was somber this day. The French were certain of falling within a year, or two. That’s why Portugal had been so hastily managed, because it would serve as a distraction. He noticed someone approaching him and looked up to see the beaming figure of Andrew.
“Com’ on mate, your missing out!” He said merrily. Fred threw the paper at his feet, Andrew glanced at it quickly before looking at Fred, then looked again at it horrorstruck. He bent down and picked it up and read the article through,
“Hell, that’s bloody crap.” He said weakly after reading, then turned to the pub as a whole.
“People! People! Listen up!” he roared, they kept on singing except those nearest. He tried again until,
“Shut up!!” roared the owner’s voice and silence was the ruling reign. “He’s going to say something!” The owner yelled again, pointing at Andrew, who at that cue started to read the article to the inn. Fred listened, as did the rest, and when Andrew had finished, all was silent. Occasional talk broke out but was silenced quickly, and men gloomily gulped their beers and started to head off to bed. Fred stood and went upstairs. Britain was all alone, for the first time ever.

The coach jolted high up in the air and then crashed back down, and Andrew nearly fell out the door. He got up and ruffled his hair,
“This driver’s a bloody maniac!” He screeched as he hit his head on the roof. Piravately, Fred agreed but didn’t voice his opinion. They were travelling at full speed to Plymouth, and Fred had been angrily awakened by Andrew that morning,
“Listen, you bloody sleepy fool, the coach is ready to go!” He stated, jumping away as Fred launched himself from the bed and threw his stuff into his suitcases, grabbed his gun and they both bolted outside. As his coat trailed behind him he jumped into the coach which banged backwards then galloped off. Fred now sat, in comfort, in the coach which was nearing very close to the surrounding trees. Fred and Andrew cheered and laughed as they barely missed trees and Andrew even hung himself from the window, when he jumped backwards yelling something about trees aiming or him. This lasted most of the day, and they were both good friends now, united by war. They both told stories, many which I am sure you may here later on. They talked and laughed like a pair of old ladies before Andrew reckoned they were within half a hours course of Plymouth. They finally stopped and Fred looked outside, behind the short river was a richly populated town sharing many similarities with Southhampton. People in richly dressed clothes walked past to the port. Women wore long dresses of different colors while carrying a parasol. The men usually liked to wear brown or black with long trousers and black overcoats. Coaches were trailing them and they were following one, and it was like a line of sheep. People waved at the windows they couldn’t see through and some even through in items. Andrew laughed as he caught a pack of flowers.
“I wish I had a garden.” He said wistfully as he looked at the lovely flowers. Fred laughed and watched the crowds. The increased, instead of decreased, and slowly tiled roofs were replaced with nailed wooden ships. Sailors roared orders and swung from ropes under admiring looks from the crowd while soldiers waved farewell to their family and friends as they disappeared below. A small child gave a startled cry as he narrowly missed being flattened by a rocking wheel and a distressed mother screamed in the grief of saying goodbye. The coach shuddered to a stop and silence was dominant. Andrew turned to him,
“Well, lets go, try to stick together.” He offered kindly, Fred was on the verge of agreeing when he remembered the Sergeant Major’s words. He shookh is head,
“I have to meet a Major, he needs to speak to me.” Fred told him, Andrew nodded and grinned.
“I’m going on the ship Racing Fury, yours?” Fred laughed and told him that was the same ship he was going on, and they both heckled for a while until a angry thump sounded from the door.
“Get out!” ordered the voice. They both tramped from it loaded with luggage and thought, and Fred said goodbye. Andrew waved and was enveloped by the massive crowd there. Hundreds of families and friends milled on the platform, while hundreds more soldiers there. Fred looked around as smiling and tearful faces swarmed past him, a confused ix of voices washed over him. A Major was yelling at a group of troops to move as if they were headless chickens, and a man walked past with five children hanging off him.
“Lucy, don’t play with Daddy’s gun!” he commanded as the little girl looked in awe at her father’s loaded Webley pistol, and the grandmother instantly swooped in and ripped it from her with a extra smack. Fred smiled as he heard the voice of the girl disappear into the crowd. A row of buildings were set opposite the harbor and set himself for it. He shoved out of the crowd and was welcomed by a large café. The windows revealed a place with small rickety chairs and a rather small desk with, comically, a small woman standing there. The whole place seemed tiny and Fred felt like a giant.
“Frederickson!” called a voice, Fred looked and there sat the Major. Looking as grim as ever. Fred shook his hand as he reached him, grinning.
“Good to see you sir.” Greeted Fred, tipping his hat and taking a seat opposite.
“Same to you, Frederickson. My name is, Stevens Connell. Some bad news over these few weeks…” He was interrupted by Fred.
“About Germany and France, the whole takeover?” he informed. The Major laughed and slapped him on the back,
“Yep, not a normal soldier you are, reading the paper like that. Yeah, that’s right, it seems pretty bad.” He said.
“Seems? So it is a bit of a non event at Whitehall?” Fred slyly asked, Steven eyes deepened.
“Hell no Frederickson, it’s a bloody a country fair.” He said sarcastically and in a snide voice.
“Yes! It’s a bloody mess up! The Lords and Politicians are blasting like foghorns on about our soldiers messing up in Mons!” He told Fred, who swelled indignantly.
“Us! Messing up! How dare they? It was there whole fault in the first place! At leas the public knows.” He said outraged, and wouldn’t have been surprised if steam was coming from his ears.
“The public, there treating the army, not to mention the vets, like a pile of dog…” The manager hissed for him to mind his language and he nodded respectfully as a couple near them looked over. Fred leaned back, absently watching Steven. If the army stuffed up in Portugal, the Parliament would eat them all for dinner. Fred saw it in the Major’s eyes. This last front, was a desperate gamble. They lost it, and the public would demand a end to the war. Isolated, hated, unwanted, what more could the army ask for?

A merry goodbye tune started near Fred, who was making hs way through a strong crowd. He and the Major had departed quickly when a nervous young Private had skidded in and told him he was needed down at the dock. So they’d departed and said their goodbyes. The whole crowd was facing the port, where hundreds upon hundreds of soldiers were walking up steel bridges to a massive transport ship which were all very much outdated, some even wooden. Fred grimaced as he saw Andrew standing looking for him urgently. He approached him and Andrew glanced.
“Took your tim’.” He commented and was almost cut off by a loud and obnoxious voice.
“So you’re the final Captain?” the voice yelled, Fred looked around and saw a poker straight, stern looking man. He seemed wild, as if he had just escaped from a jungle full of snakes and tigers.
“Don’t just stand there! Say something you fool! Irresponsible, as soon as I get to Portugal your gone! I will not stand for filth to infiltrate this great and proud Regiment. STAND TO ATTENTION!” He roared, actual spit hitting Fred in the face. He snapped his heels and his hand to his head so fast he stunned the wild man, but he regained his loudness. The man started circling him,
“Next time, I won’t be kind.” Something very hard like metal hit the back of Fred’s knees, and he buckled. The man laughed,
“Not so strong now, are we?” He said in a mean voice. He strode away with his metal baton an deep blue uniform, and to attend to the regiment of soldiers who stood to attention near the ship Racing Fury. Andrew pulled Fred to his knees,
“Welcome to our new Colonel.” He whispered to the answer of Fred’s groan, and then followed by a furious look and Fred said several nasty things about him, before he was calmed down by a stunned Andrew. They waved to happy crowds, who obviously had not received news from London, and their Colonel stood before the Regiment. Fred, as the new Captain, was standing in front of the four Battalions. The Colonel pointed to Fred, as several people watched them with fascination.
“This, is a new Captain. His name is…” The Colonel looked at Fred who paused before speaking,
“Frederickson Hamburg.” He told them at large. The Colonel sniffed and continued.
“He is assigned to Battalion B, now get outta my sight!” He ordered and the Captain went to his new Battalion. He jolted in surprise when he saw Andrew waiting with a grin.
“Regiment will move into marching formation!” roared the regiment’s Sergeant Major, Unfortunly not Steven. The whole 600 of them fell into a rigid formation.
“Regiment shall load onto transport, move out!” The voice cracked over them. The steady fall of boots as they ascended the steel bridge which was in the air over a clam sea. A iron boat was connected to it with many curious faces aboard. Fred quickly looked behind and saw a mixed mass of people jammed into the docks with a fine city laid before him full of coaches and humans. He looked in front again and was finding that he had to step over a small bump, before they were there.
“Regiment dissolve!” roared the voice and they broke off to get a good position to say goodbye. Fred and Andrew proceeded to go into the ship. Several glass doors were there and they took one, and went along a narrow, finely dressed, hall way. Several cooks seemed to edge past occasionally until they found stairs and more glass doors.
“Hell!” Swore Andrew deciding which one to pick, and then threw himself down the stairs followed by a surprised Fred. They meet no one and come into a hall way with hundreds of wooden doors set along with no numbers. They ran down to the end and picked the last one and opened it. Two bunk beds and a tiny porthole. Andrew already had the top one and Fred claimed the bottom, awaiting a long trip to Portugal.

A sound of something thick hitting a heavy floor, as Andrew vomited into a bucket again. They were in there cabin, on the other bunk was the two soldiers they’d seen on their way to Portsmouth. They were all lying silently, while the lights flickered dully. A small window revealed enormous waves tipping the boat constantly. One slept while the other fiddled with the ammunition of his Enfield rifle. Andrew was pale and kept his eyes on the roof occasional vomiting ovr the side of the bed into the bucket. This unfortunely, meant the vomit passed Fred as it travelled down. Fred rolled over covering his nose and stared at the model ship Mr Hammerston had given him, it was beautifully crafted and Fred was sure it was not made in Western Europe. He turned it around, but as a wave of vomit flew from Andrew it slipped from his fingers as the vomit spalttered over the floor. He hung himself over the side,
“Can you mind your aim…” He was thrown against the wall as a particularly vicous wave seemed to pick up the ship and throw it. He looked up and Andrew was hurriedly pouring pills to make him better into his mouth. He lay back with a groan,
“I hate travelling.” He said lightly. Fred stood and pocketed the model ship.
“I’m going for a walk” He informed the cabin at large, and Andrew weakly grunted while the other men kept reading. Fred opened the door and slipped out, thankful he was away from Andrew. As he walked down the passage the lights flickered and he head waves repeatedly smashing the ships fragile walls. When he was climbing up the stairs the whole place seemed to fall sideways, and everything went black. As the whole scene chucked itself around Fred gingerly picked himself up and struggled out into the area where the lifts and stairs led off from. It had a high ceiling and was eerie in the dark. Light was being thrown from a door and was quickly eclipsed with a muffled crunch of closing door. He sensed someone else in the room and his suspicions were quickly realised.
“Hello?” asked a voice, the lights flicked on and off then turned on slowly. Fred was standing in front of a Private, who was wet and staring at him. He saluted,
“Sir! Just going for a stroll!” He jumbled out. Fred waved away his salute,
“No worry Private, I was also going for a stroll, the waves seem quite brutal.” He observed and continued outside. The steel ship rolled as waves over 40 feet high trundled past, frequently spalashing onto the deck. Fred heard shouting and turned his head as the icy sleet pounded over him. He walked down the deck his view blocked by the massive steel cabins. Sailors and soldiers alike were there, a few soldiers merely watching like Fred while the sailors pulled away ropes and pulled levers and the likes. Fred had no clue what they were doing, and was about to ask when one of the sailors started roaring something. Fred heart seemed to jump from his chest as the sailors slid quickly around and eyes widened at sometinhg behind the boat. The rain had stopped and Fred turned around as did the soldiers near him. A absolute massive wave was coming towards them. It was bigger then the Tsunami’s sailors are told to have experienced in Asia. Men at the other side of the ship were now all inside, and the ones at the bow were now exposed. Someone screamed and Fred grabbed a flailing piece of rope while others grabbed something else. The soldier nearby though sprinted for the door.
“Here!” roared Fred as everything seemed to go quiet. Other waves were minor, and the ship was trawling up the side of this wave, on the edge of falling on itself. Fred grabbed the soldiers arm and gave him the end of the rope, and he weakly held it. The waves crashed high in the air as it hit the captains cabin, and slowly the tall wall of water fell upon the helpless men on the bow. Water upon water, the rope seemed to slip from Fred’s hands, his mouth was full of salty water while he was being compressed into a tight space, water seemed to push him into the wooden deck while his ears filled up. He felt himself sliding down the vertical deck. He hit something and spun past it and bowled over another man who also fell. He closed his eyes then opened them and saw the bars which represented the end… A strong hand wrapped itself around his arm and he stopped painfully while water slid down the deck. The boat fell down the other side of the ship and they all hung towards the stern before straightening up. A men in a drenched Private’s uniform was grasping Fred’s arm with a grateful look. Fred beamed and spat out water as he stood up,
“You saved my life.” Said Fred simply, as the men around him got up and mourned over their dead friends. He then groaned and held his head. More waves were crashing by and the rain continued its steady stream. He looked up into the face of the man who saved him, and felt like it was familiar. Its expression though was uncertain and worried. Fred shook of a feeling of danger and smiled and left. As he walked down the stairs dripping water over the carpet he wondered. The man had only saved him by instinct, if he had’ve seen who he was, Fred was sure the Private would’ve let him fall into that vengeful sea. He slowly opened the door of his cabin and was met with silence. He flicked on the lights and saw everyone asleep, all though the water was still constantly whipping the sides of the ship. He dried himself down and changed into comfortably warm clothes then relaxed onto his bed where he drifted uneasily into a sleep.

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The plot now drifts into the story, so take careful notice. Things which happen now point to things which happen later. This Chapter was 11 Pages, the story so far is 26 Pages and the next Chapter will be even longer. Sorry there so long but it is needed to be. It usullay takes a while to write these Chapters, at least two or three weeks, so there is always going to be a very long wait between them.

[Baby Boomer]

Chapter IV

Accept nothing, challenge everything – Anonymous

Cowards die many times before their deaths;
The valiant never taste of death but once – William Shakespeare

Thud, thud, thud, thud
“Wake up! Get up! We are nearly there!” roared a voice outside their cabin. What Fred had taken for the fire of cannons was in fact someone’s boots hitting the floor outside. He raised himself out of bed while Andrew fell from his onto the ground. While on the ground he pulled out his stuff from under the lower bed and stuffed it into a small bag. The four of them were soon ready and filed outside into the hallway. Fred glanced out of the porthole as they left and saw the outline of a landmass. He then gloomily shuffled out of the cabin and closed the door behind him before taking his spot in the line of soldiers which had formed up and down the hallway. The Colonel walked before them and as his foot fell before Fred he gave him a hard look of intense dislike.
“You will form up on the bow and organize yourselves into Company’s. We will then go out into the port where you will be assigned to a house, where we stay the night. Questions?” He spat out.
“Sir? Can we travel out during night, sir!?” saluted a soldier opposite Fred. The Colonel stopped suddenly before him and turned slowly.
“No, Private. You my not get drunk and disgrace our army. You move out during night and I assure you I will shoot you personally.” Fred had no problem believing the Colonel would. The whole two lines snapped to attention facing the stairs and the two lines slowly ascended the stairway before they were in the room with so many hallway’s and stairs and then out into a golden sunshine! Fred blocked his eyes then was greeted magnificently by a clear day. Many ships were docked in a large harbor and thousands of British soldiers could be seen, like ants below them, marching off the ships. Some ships were steel like the one Fred was in, others simple wooden ones dating back to the Crimea War in 1850’s. He was shoved forward and noticed his Company readying itself. He composed himself and before heading there noticed the deep black clouds swelling on the horizon. He snapped before his Company and noticed many eyes upon him.
“I am Captain Frederickson. I am your new Captain and hope to lead, and know, you soldiers well.” Fred felt color rising in his face and faced Lisbon. He felt his words were stupid, such portrayed by an outspoken Private;
“Obviously he is our new Captain; I didn’t think he was te bloody new trumpet boy or somethin’.” He heard a few chuckles behind him but continued to observe the city. It was quite beautiful, though the history it possessed had been destroyed between wars and disasters. Portuguese citizens were roaming the docks and watched in awe at the massive ships unloading so many foreign soldiers.
“March down bridge and stand in formation at docks, move o-u-u-t-t!” yelled the Sergeant Major who led the Regiment down a steel bridge much like the one in Portsmouth. Finally they reached the bottom (Fred now rubbing his burnt neck) and stood in formation. The Regimental Sergeant Major stood before them with a stern look,
“A Change of plans; we move out TODAY!” He roared, he was always roaring and it was surprising the man didn’t lose his voice. The soldiers around Fred were preparing themselves for a long march. Tightening boots, donning hats and comforting sleeves. They grouped into a tight formation and then a single word was roared;
“March!” And what followed was a continuous thud as boots smashed grass and ground. Fred stood by the side of his Company and watched over them. Andrew was behind him and with him laid the responsibility of keeping them in order. Small children ran along beside their formation, but on the whole were entirely ignored by the British soldiers. Wave upon wave of khaki dressed men marched through the streets of Lisbon while man with large top hats observed these foreign men fighting for their cause, or the women stood with their parasols and watched these men who may die within weeks. The children tried to march like them and imagined the day they could wield a gun and be thumping through the streets of foreign lands while people cheered them on. The sun was cooling and calming. Fred’s water bottle lay full, to his mighty gratefulness. And finally after a hour of marching like sheep the houses wore away and the people retreated inside. The sun blinked many times before seemingly slipping down the slippery slide of sleep. As the moon rose and the darkness enveloped them so you could only hear shouting of men falling in holes or Sergeants getting tired of cheekiness, or when the thud of boot smashed numerous rocks. Fred looked back and saw a small moon glaring at him over the heads of thousands of soldiers.
“Break formation and make camp!” roared voices, repeated like a Mexican Wave. Men sighed and groaned and pulled forth blankets and rags which they threw upon the ground. They collapsed on this makeshift bed and slept, nearly every single one of them sleeping like a baby. Fred yawned and rolled over before remembering he had a diary, and would be certain to write in it the next morning.

He scratched a tired eye. Fred had been woken early by a mixture of things loud voices nearby and a loud bird screeching in the tree near him. There was a shot and it dropped dead and a sleepy Sergeant tucked away his Webley before snoring loudly signaling he had gone back to sleep. Fred eyes twinkled with amusement before he wrote down several more sentences of his experiences here, certain to give them to his parents in Portsmouth and to Mr. Hammerston.
The days are long and drawn out. Portugal is not what I imagined; I don’t know what I expected here. Lisbon was sad I thought, it had no history to its name and its people seemed… down. I could not explain it and I won’t try. The trip here was fine; we encountered a storm which washed many over board.
Fred paused before putting quill to paper again; he decided not to tell of his life threatening moment aboard that ship.
We march through the country; it is much like those pictures we have seen of Spain. I am sure father and Mr. Hammerston have been to Spain before. The family goes well? Are the docks going well and no one come over with sickness?
From Portugal with love,
Frederickson Hamburg,

He sucked the end of the quill and eyed his painfully short message before sealing it and tucking it away in his pocket to give to the postman. Men were rising and putting on boots and puttees, as did he, and soon they were in formation leaving behind a mess.
“Move out!” roared the voices again and they, in a timed fashion, marched away from these Portuguese fields. They passed farmhouses where the farmers stood up and wiped the sweat from their brows before feverishly picking the dirt with their pitchforks. They passed coaches full of rich people who stared politely from their windows at this host of British soldiers, People travelling from town to town in wheelbarrows who desperately tried to avoid this foreign army. Many types of Portuguese people; Fred was full of wonder at the place. But after a few days travelling the shadow of a large city proposed itself before the sunny horizon and soon a tide of people were meeting them. They were then told to behave and mind their manners to these allied people. A rumor, soon confirmed, went around and Fred was told by Andrew.
“We’re in Spain now; the Germans are rumored to be at Madrid by now.” He whispered quietly in the hope no superior officer would hear him. Fred took this news carefully. The Spanish Army had been hopeless so far in its efforts. The Spanish had still been reeling backwards from their lost Spanish – American War where they lost many West Indies possessions.

They reached Salamanca soon and were greeted by the Spanish population very cheerfully. The people were excited at the fact that they were being protected by such a foreign army and the fact there were foreign troops there. The whole army received houses and places to stay and Fred, Andrew, two Sergeants and another Lieutenant were staying in a shamelessly cheerfully Spanish family’s home. It was large and to a limit quite comfortable. The old man and wife didn’t mind their presence at all and even offered a mug of mead. As Andrew downed it in the room he couldn’t mind complimenting;
“Well I hope someone else invades Spain after the Germans! If I was the big brass I’d be stirring up other nations just for this!” He said loudly and the others agreed with no thought on mind. Fred sipped it and looked around the room. It was plain, that much was certain. Its walls were brick and cream colored and the door led to a hallway with several windows giving view to the whole city of cream colored houses. Fred leaned against the sill and looked out. Spanish villagers walked through the streets with carts full of items they tried to persuade the British foreigners to buy. The sun spun off cozy rooftops reflected into Fred’s eyes. He shied away and turned around smiling, this war was going to be easy.

“They say the Germans are there.” Gossiped a soldier. Fred, Andrew and several other officers were sitting around a wooden table. They were inside a low room and were passing rumors.
“The Germans are where?” asked a soldier who just entered the room with some beer. He took of his cap and threw it o the floor and listened closely,
“Madrid, of course! Where the hell else could it be!? Not bloody Edinburgh or somethin’.” Pointed out the officer, and the soldier waved away the insult.
They all sat in silence and wondered the same thing; why was the British Army in Salamanca?

Weeks drifted past; sun and rain; cold and warmth. News had not reached them, letters found no home. Things were quiet; the veterans were scared. Soldiers sat sleepily on the walls and watched the horizon for smoke and flames. News reached them soon though, and left its traces visibly. The Germans had cracked Madrid like a shell. Quite easy, the Spanish troops were fleeing southwards and several hundreds were now heading to Leon, north of Salamanca.
“Why don’t they come here?” questioned Andrew one day. He was quite right; the Spanish would be safer in the strong hands of the British Army. The Germans were chasing them, and were ignoring the troops to the south. They were expected to cross the strait and head into Allied controlled land. More news rushed in tumbling away rumours and speculation. They were wild, mixed and uncontrollable. The Germans were heading south and flanking them, the next day they were crossing the Channel and attacking Dover. None were true, but the common soldier couldn’t discern fact from fiction. Letters were far and few. Panic had ridden the place like a plague; the Generals even worried of they were making the right choice staying there. Fred sat on his meagre bed while another officer was lying down nearby reading a letter which was months old from England. Fred did similar but instead of reading wrote thoughtfully of their time so far. After deciding what would pass the Military Police’s strict rules, he started.

Dear Mother and Father,

Time is most fine here where we are. We are now in Spain and it is quite hot. How goes the English summer? I so dearly miss Southampton and the cold. The war seems to have gone cold. The Germans are backing off I hope, as we would all know. I have received no letters from home. Have your hands grown weary? News seems to have reached us from abroad, things such as England invaded! I dare not believe any of them and instead pray fervently that you remain safe. Its all good here; the stockpiles remain high and we remain well fed and well kept. When you write again please make such letters full of news and truth; I here assure you I remain safe and sound. Not a soul has been killed on this journey yet, other then the trip over here where some literally tripped overboard.
I eagerly wait for assurance and news,
Yours truly,
Frederickson Hamburg,
As Fred folded it away he prayed that it reached the shores of Britain quickly and before the place was sieged. He wondered how hid parents and Mr. Hammerston were faring. Fred imagined the port alive and full of life, ships daily coming in from nations and colonies far away. His father ship docked, as it had been for years and years, and Mr. Hammerston’s business thriving and drawing in cash. Fred laughed as he wondered what it would be like to return to parents rolling in money. Fred left the room to the sad officer and walked the stairs and ripped though the door, seemingly rolling down the street to the post office. The tide of cream colored houses he had originally seen now were a mixture of cream and white. He passed a large bank and came to a post office. Red boxes lined their walls and two Military Policemen were stationed on either side of the door. He passed through the doorway into a partly crowed room. Many were anxious to send off letters to receive news that their friends and family remained safe. Fred handed approached the counter, gave his letter and pushed himself out of the throbbing crowd. As he walked the streets he heard, and sensed, someone following him. He quicklyturned into a alley and theninto another in sharp succession. The outline of a shadow displayed itself across the paving, the hot Spanish sun burning over the person.
“Capatain Frederickson, I know you’re here.” Said the unknown voice. Fred retreated down the alley quickly and out into the busy streets. He sighed and went down the familiar street. Someone stepped from a alley, and Fred realised he was walking the same streets.
“There you are.” Greeted Major Connell, Fred smiled as he remembered who the man was. He was the Major who’d collected Fred from Southampton.
“Go get a ale at the oub?” offered Fred in a friendly manner. The major shook his head darkly and wheeled Fred into a alley way. Dark light enveloped them and they could not be seen from the street.
“I’ve come to warn you Frederickson. Your Colonel… Colonel Whitby?” That was the Colonel’s last name then; something Fred didn’t know. Fred nodded though;
“He will summon you later t’is afternoon. He will demand something... accuse more like it…” said the Major mysteriously. Fred quickly interjected his own question.
“What? Is it serious?” He asked in wonder; what could he have possibly done? Fred racked his brain for every sin he had committed and could list quite a few. He silently swore, and had to add another to the list. The Major threw him a impatient and annoyed look and Fred clamped up immediately.
“No questions. You’ll find out, be shocked; in fact show you’re shocked. But do not give in no matter what, uh, happens. Decline it; that’ll find something to frame you with but I’ll make sure you get through.” Major Connell assured him, and Fred did feel reassured. He was bursting his brain trying to think, wonder, what it was. The Major beamed a grim smile and patted him on the back before tipping his hat and spitting himself into the sun lit street. Fred leaned against the wall of the house behind him as the Major disappeared down the other end of the street. After moments to recollect he emerged innocently from the alley and felt no different then before the dire warning.

Fred waited in his room; the sun was falling gracefully from the sky while darkness spread across the lands of Spain. A sweet smell of pork floated into the room so his stomach growled and whined. The room was empty and the scene was eerie. The only sound drifted from below the balcony where the streets of Salamanca were alive. The British Army and Spanish Garrison still fearfully awaited the arrival of the evercoming German troops. It was rumoured a Advance Guard was only coming to snatch their supplies. The other German Corps were heading south and strangely; north to Leon. The Corps heading to Salamanca though was von Kluck’s 1st Corp. Feared and well trained, they had beaten the British at Mons and were veterans. It was rumoured there was even the elite of the German Army accompanying them; the Stormtrooper’s. Fred shivered as he thought of his last encounter with the feared German Elite. It had been when he had run from the forests of Belgium trying to escape the pursuing German forces and they had, somehow, found him and two soldiers who were travelling with Fred. Only two had made it out though…
Knock knock
Rang the door as a hand obviously hit the wood. Fred raised himself and shuffled along the outer corridor. His fingers twisted around the doorknob and it opened before him. Colonel Whitby stood there with a stony face, but even stonier eyes. His eyes acknowledged Fred’s arrival.
“Captain, the General is demanding your presence for a reason you will soon find out; please come with me to the Commander’s headquarters.” Informed Colonel Whitby. Fred wondered of his kind tone. It was certainly a complete opposite to his usual stance towards Fred; complete dirt. They both walked from the building and down the busy Spanish street. Locals rushed past; concerned with their own events, offering them food and items, begging for money occasionally when they passed a particularly dark alley. Fred was tired but somewhat; excited. The silent Colonel Whitby beside him had a different stance and tone. He seemed sombre almost. Fred started worrying, was it something to do with England? A horrible crime he had committed? Or perhaps a doomed expedition into enemy territory… Fred laughed to himself, he was getting carried away. Whatever it was, it was simple. Two Military Policemen stood with Lee – Enfield rifles propped against the wall. They were sitting down but fired upwards like a rocket at the two officers approach.
“Sir!” they both saluted and opened the doors to a somewhat bland interior. The building was normal. A normal Spanish house with two large pillars standing before the building supporting it. Inside the room stood a host of people. Many were high ranked, or the ‘big brass’ named amongst the ranks, due to the number of ribbons upon their arm. A table stood in a decorated room, and on it was maps of Spain, Salamanca and Portugal from a glance. Red, blue and black marks were etched over it and most was covered by even more parchment stuffed full of writing. A tapping noise consisted and Fred looked around; it was like an annoying mosquito. The General stood and clapped his hand. The General; General Haig was a prestigious figure in British society. He was older now but a very experienced General. He had been noted at Whitehall and was shipped off to the Asian fronts in 1903 where he fought the Chinese uprisings and Second Indian War. He had then been shipped backed to Europe in due course as the war was looming but arrived too late to affect Mons or the affair at Belgium. He was though in command of the British Army in Salamanca. He had at least 20 medals hanging from his chest. Fred was surprised his navy blue uniform didn’t slip off with the extra weight. The man smoked a large cigar and ruffled his grey moustache before turning to the assembly before him. Someone grabbed Fred’s arms from behind and roughly pulled him belong side a already formed line. Fred glanced along it before looking back towards General Haig who was prepping himself for a speech.
“Gentlemen, I apologise for the manner of your arrival and the unfortunate but a source has revealed important information to us.” Started Haig. Fred imagined the source of information. The British Secret Service probably hunted the poor soul down and tortured him for information.
“But this source has said that a… informer…” Fred rolled his eyes at the decorated words Haig was using “… has infiltrated this Army.” He eyes glared at each of the men paraded before him and all of them seemed to shuffle suspiciously. Fred eyed them all suspiciously then realized he was in the line, and started dearly to hope they were meant to find the spy.
“The German Secret Service is cunning, but we are just as. Any German Spy caught from hereon in will be trialled and most likely hanged. We will first torture you for information. You know who you are, and I can only say be very afraid. So come forth; we offer you help and protection from the German Kaiser!” bribed the General adopting a kind expression on his face. No man moved, the room was quiet as if someone had died. Fred looked determinedly at the General and wiped all traces of suspicion and doubt from himself. He was a figure standing proud and confident of innocence. Haig turned to his desk and inclined his head to note it was over.Fred heard the tapping again and seeked the disruption and found the source. Several men were sitting in front of typewriters writing furiously.
A Colonel stood forth;
“You will return to your rooms and resume normal activity. We will call you all forth in a few weeks when certain events have taken place. If you come forth within that time we will offer you forgiveness. If not… our actions will be far from kind. You are dismissed.” Told the man and the seven suspects trotted from the room and away. Fred faltered to hear the words then sped forth to his room full of fear, doubt and impatience.

He raised a the binoculars to his eye and scanned the empty horizon. Colonel Whitby snapped them away disappointed, ever eager for a sign of coming battle. They stood on some defences. The RSM waited quietly behind the Colonel and Fred. Away behind the three of them stood the three other Captain’s looking envious that Fred gained such inspection by the Colonel. Fred would’ve gladly traded such attention in to them for some peace. The Colonel turned around with his officer’s baton. He motioned that Fred follow him and they set off along a cobbled street.
“Captain, I’ve singled you out to tell you one thing; you’re suspected of being a German.” He seemed to spit the words out in hatred. They stopped and looked each other eye to eye.
“Are you?” He asked slyly. Fred shook his head,
“That’s noanswer man! ARE you!?” He roared.
“No, sir!” Fred roared back. The RSM rushed forward but Colonel Whitby made him stop with a raised hand and the Major retreated to a respectful distance. The pair strolled along,
“That’s better. You’re to attend to another inspection in a week’s time. No funny business ‘till then. If so, all fingers point to you. Sergeant Major, bring the others over here!” He added after speaking quietly to Fred. They all came over gladly and eyed Fred carefully. The harsh words spoken to Fred weren’t known; they thought Fred was in the Colonel’s good books.
“I’ve got orders for you all. General Haig suspects a attack upon this bloody place in two weeks or so. Honestly, we’re not prepared for anything, much less a horde of Huns.” He told them all. The Captain’s nodded fervently to gain Whitby’s praise.
“Captain Frederickson, you’re battalions to build trenches in front of the city. It won’t do no good but hell, it’s better then standing in front of ‘em naked.” He rattled off orders to the rest and they all tipped their heads when spoken to.
“You’re dismissed.” He finally said and they all ascended the slopes and then into the city. Fred sighed; what good trenches would do? The Germans would simply rush forward and take them out. He clicked his fingers, machine guns would do it. But did they have enough? That was true, they didn’t and he knew many men would die for it. Fred brushed away such matters. He was no General and probably never would be so the rate he was going, let alone live. If he was accused of being a German Spy they’d unfairly trial him and then let him hang or execute him by gun. Fred’s hat fell from his head and he bent over to pick it up. Soldiers rushed past sharply as he did so and he stood soon. The RSM was lolling around behind him and he was certainly annoying Fred. Fred continued to walk to his accommodation. As he merged from the crowd he noticed the RSM watching him carefully and as Fred lay down alter that evening he felt as if he was being watched by not the enemy but his friends. Such suspicions came to mind as he was reated carefully by his roommates who seemed alert. Fred wouldn’t have been surprised if some people had been warned a German Spy lived amongst them. He now shyed away from people; kept quieter ten usual. A gloom settled like a surrounding mist and it grabbed him and refused to lift. He tried to shake such feelings from his mind with a walk to the HQ, rumor was that orders were ready to be issued. Fred shook his head; rumors seemed to be a common thing now, worse then back in Southampton. But thinking of home made his heart ache and added to his misery. He kicked a rock, could not everything go smoothly! Why couldn’t these damned Germans attack and kill them all! Fred quickened his pace as the pebble hit a higher ranked officer in the heel and he sped past the man and around the corner. It was busy; a mix of Spanish and English rushed past them. One house contained two people arguing loudly over a large box of fruits, causing many to stop and see what was happening. Another had several comfory chairs in front of a row of mirrors and people dressed in black skirted around those sitting down, chopping off their hair unprofessionally. Fred noted not to get his hair cut there; he might come back with no ears. He chuckled and passed a shop where a confusing mix of languages came from a back room. He slipped inside and looked around. Foods and many items lined the shelves and were neatly packed; almost obsessively. Notes marked the price and name and his eyes fell off all. It was very expensive here. There was a back room behind the counter, its entrance blocked by a wooden door. Fred edged towards it slowly and a French voice and… was that German? It must be a British officer (Fred covered his guilt at eavesdropping on his fellow comrades by the fact it was his right)
“… and that’s very lucky there hidden; there checking the town out.” A voice commented, finishing a sentence. Fred wished he heard who ‘They’ were. He knew these people were talking about the British.
“I’m selling good. Remember why I came here! I shan’t do your dirty work!” said a rough voice.
“Dirty work? I mentioned no such thing!” said the second voice in a insulted voice. Fred heard a faint doubtful sniff.
“I know why you’re here! You want me to spy why’ll you run off before they get here.” Accused one.
“Do you not know why you remain here?” asked the second voice slyly. Fred knew a threat was coming and so did the other, they detected danger.
“Yes, to get away from the war in France…” The voice switched to French and seemed to swear at the other. The sound of a chair scraping back could be heard.
“No you idiot! You stay HERE, because we ALLOW you to!!” roared the voice, “If we did not protect you the British would be on to you like flies and horse (He swore in German) They would arrest you for being a accused spy, ship you to Ireland and let you rot!” yelled the voice. There was a stiff silence punctured by a voice.
“Here’s what I want you to do…” started the voice. Fred leaned in eagerly; this could get him off the hook. As he did so he tripped over a large bucket at his feet and a loud noise of it clanged around the room.
“Run! Through the back door!” Roared a voice. A door opened, and a echo of footsteps rang through the door.
“If you’re some British MP I’ll run for it, I swear. I have a gun!” said the voice calmly. Fred’s eyes widened and he drew his Webley.
“I shall not harm you, just come out quietly and you won’t be charged.” Yelled Fred so he could be heard. He heard a gun cocking from behind the door. Fred launched himself backwards as a large splinter from the door flew straight over him. The bullet smashed into a glass of olives and water splashed over the ground. Fred seemed to skip over the counter and watched the door. The top half of it blew off with a splitting noise and Fred covered his head and ducked. It smashed into the counter and all the mess upon it spread across the door. Fred raised himself and fired two shots towards the door. He heard something like someone swearing in French.They fired two more rounds, before someone skidded into the house. It was a British officer followed by two soldiers, all with drawn guns and fiearce looks. The officer pointed at the door,
“Ther’s the man!” He yelled. The soldiers raised there Enfield rifles and fired towards it. Fred looked at the door. It had fallen from its hinges, someone had just thudded into the floor. More bangs and several bullets flew past before the person obviously raced from the building. One soldier vaulted the counter and ran after them and the other twisted outside. The Officer raised Fred to his feet and brushed away the dust and wood.
Good work man; if you don’t receive a praise for that I’ll shoot the General myself.” He joked.
“Be prepared to go to gaol then…” muttered Fred under his breath. The officer’s face hardened;
“A joke man; no time for them!” He ordered. The two marched from the building. A crowd of curious people surrounded the building. They backed away except the more brave ones. A bang sounded from deeper in the city, a obvious gun shot. The Officer dragged Fred by the sleeve and pushed him outside and down the steps.
“We’re going to the General. He might want someone to question you. What were you doing there?” asked the Officer, after he shooed away the people.
“I was taking a walk.” Replied Fred. He knew this wouldn’t count as a answer, and he was right. The Officer offered a mere doubtful nod.
“Sure… Tell that to the Military Police. Hard as me shoes they are.” As the Officer spoke several soldiers arrived at the building behind them and fanned around the doorway while some Military Police went inside for the obvious sweep of evidence. Fred cursed himself. If he hadn’t acted rashly the other wouldn’tve started shooting. He’d have one probable German Spy, and if accused of being a Spy the MP would now have evidence to frame him with. He hadn’t done anything wrong, but they’d make sure they do find something wrong. They arrived at the General’s room. General Haig stood up from behind his desk and several people who were spread out around his desk looked around. Several were dismissed. The General pointed and the Officer roughly pushed Fred into a wall before walking into the crowd. Another man was dragged in and pushed up beside Fred. Several minutes passed. The other five suspects were coming and they were to be told important information, but what? There was a thump from outside and the crowd looked there. A man was dragged in from outside by two soldiers. Behind them followed another two Enfield armed men. The man was dropped next on Fred’s other side. Haig stood before them and the crowd behind him. He started pacing,
“You have been brought here today because we have hole proof evidence you ar ein fact associated with the German Secret Service. You are going to be trialled; the politicians in the Parliament think you shan’t be punished until convicted of the crimes accused of. aYou may assemble one person to speak as a acting lawyer for you in your case, and ‘till then shall be put under house arrest back in Portugal, location not to be known.” He spoke officially and even had to read of a piece of paper once. At the end of his sentence several more soldiers walked in carrying three fully packed packs. Fred recognised his and realised the others are the two men standing beside him. Haig pointed a steady finger at three Military Policemen and then at the bags;
“Search them!”
They obeyed and ripped the bags open with no respect. Things scattered across the table and everyone waited with bated breath. After several minutes searching it was all done. Haig pointed at the three suspects.
“Search them!”
This was also obeyed; the three were frisked and all weapons removed. Nothing was found.
“Read the accusations to accused. Excuse me.” He added and left the room. One MP stood before the man next to Fred.
“You have been watched all week; your actions are regarded as supcious and you are under light accusations. Your trial may not commence.” The MP switched to Fred.
“You were found at a scene of obvious crime late this afternoon in the town. It has also been confirmed by high ranking spies in Germany you have connections with the Royal House of the Kaiser. You are certain to be trialled and under heavy security.” He moved to the other man.
“You have attempted to run away from the Army twice this week; even if found innocent you shall be shot for such cowardess. Arrest them and take them to the car.” He said to four MP’s satnding nearby. The Big Bras lined up before the door. A MP grabbed the htree of them and tugged them like boats through the middle of the line and down the steps outside. Two vans waited outside. Black smoke poured from the muffler’s. A door was opened and Fred was pushed inside the first, the others the second. He was seated in the back. The large doors were slammed shut with a loud bang. Light poured in from airholes and Fred peeked outside. People watched with hands of mouth’s and stunned faces. Fred saw Major Connell and tried to yell as he watched grimly. The car started as he did so shutting off all noise and he fell into the side of the van as he moved away.
“Quieten down there!” Yelled a voice through the small shutter above him, before sliding shut with a snap. Fred looked at the roof; Connections in Germany? He had been a orphan since he could remember, found at Southampton. He thought of his innocence; it was certain, had to be. He screwed up his face and thought away all miseries. The van flew up in the air as it hit a large rock and he heard a Englishman yelling from the front. Fred looked through the air hole; countryside rushed by them. He lay down and attempted sleep to pass time.

They sped through small villages; people watched the small convoy trudge on through Portugal. He saw a a group fo heavily armed British soldiers stop the convoy. One got off and cocked and load his rifle while the another got out his Webley handgun and wheeled around the other side. The door slowly opened and Fred raised a hand to stop the stream of sunlight.
“Show your face ya Hun.” Said a rough voice. Fred lowered his hand but squinted.
“Looks fine. Lets check the next one.” Said another. They raised a vertically flat hand to the van behind and inspected it as well. The British drivers pulled forth documents and yelled their intentions. They were waved through. As Fred watched the door suddenly slammed shut with a blast of air and he hit the roof with fright. As he settled down one of the soldiers banged the side with the butt of his rifle and psat at the vechile.
“Bloody traitors!” He spat. Fred watched them disappear beyond the horizon.

He bent down and tore at the stripes on his arm. Damn it! Damn it! Hr thought over and over. The British Secret Service makes a small mistake about his relations… and he dies for it! The had made up his mind. They must’ve made a mistake, he had no true family but those in Southampton, even they proving to be not through and through. Fred punched the wall of the van and it blasted loudly. The shutter opened;
“Shut it you pig! We’re nearly there, just look outsid’.” Said the voice before it whipped shut. He looked outside as told and saw people bolting out of the way as the convoy sped up. The van bounced several times and he fell back with rekindled hope. He needed a lawyer to defend him. The only two men he trusted in the Army were Andrew and Major Connell. Both miles away from him, and days away from a country and war changing battle which they’ll probably die in. He shook his head and laugh.ed The complications! Could they never end? Here he was to die and still problems dropped from nowhere.
The tried to stand; and ht his head. He’d felt that way for a long time. When he tried to stand and take some credit for something; he was hit. He’d become a Captain, and was then sent of to Mons. He got lucky with staying in service; and then he was accused! He wanted a bible suddenly, some way to pray. He hadn’t done so since going to Church in his childhood.

Home…

He suddenly thought and wiped it from his mind. What good would missing something do? He had been accused; he couldn’t change that. He’d have to grin and bear it. This wouldn’t sort itself out; he always hoped for that. He was going to take matters his own way. And the only way he could do that… was getting away from Portugal, Spain, the Army and his life! How… How was he going to that? He was going to jail, and then to court. So…

It had to be when he was going to court! His head pounded and started hurting. Too much thinking, and such little hope. He also recognised that when his head pounded it was when he knew he was in a hopeless situation… only outside help could get him out of this one as it had so mnay times before… At Mons the soldiers, then the boats when they were running, then when he was certain to go in dsiactive service the Major Connell… He sat up quickly as if stung and the answer came so suddenly and quickly he was full of hope.


~~~~~~~~~

Well; I've been wrting this constantly. Its my new big book and I really, really want comments upon what you enjoy the most and parts I cna imporve on. CC4 please. So far 36 Pages; no more comments and I might even stop posting them...

Over the next few days I may edit it for spelling mistakes, a few changes to adjectives and some adverbs and most of all some plot mistakes. But be certian only the last few paragraphs shall not be final (The first paragrpahs are fine, I've read them hundreds of times)

Enjoy! Please!

[Baby Boomer]

Chapter V

Ours is composed of the scum of the Earth — the mere scum of the Earth. ~ Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington

By careful observation, reason, and verification, we can discover truths that we were initially blind to, or even opposed to.
~ Paul Rosenberg

Fred jolted as the van stopped and he heard the pebbles beneath them crackle. A door opened a bang from the side of the truck;
“We’re here!” Yelled his captors. The door opened and a pair of arms piked him up and pulled him out (Gently he noticed) He blinked in amazement and then again.
“Yes, we’re in Lisbon.” Told one of the captors. He looked around. A large manor stood further down a crackly stone driveway. Lined upon either side was a forest, or so Fred thought. Trees and flowers of every kind were there. He looked behind. Two other vans were coming in the driveway now. A large stone fence surrounded them and the gate was gold (Not real gold he reminded himself) and had lions on its head. He was pushed in the general direction of the manor and saw several people outside. Someone came striding down the driveway and spoke quietly to the main captor. Fred could hear;
“The Major’s already here.” He informed the captor. The Captor nodded,
“No; ask them tomorrow.” He said and the other man was brushed away before trailing back to the manor. A bang from behind and someone was pushed into the gravel. As he was dragged towards the soldiers at the manor he fell to his kness. A quick shake of one man’s hand and he was dragged inside. His vision swayed, his breath slowed. He noted being dragged up stairs and then into a room before the silk sheets before him suddenly disappeared as he slept…

He puffed on the cigar burning in his mouth. The thought’s fo certain torture which had entered his mind at first were blown away with every puff. He felt reassured; as if it was some big prank. It wasn’t of course, he wasn’t that stupid to be in denial.
Or was he?
As he squirmed in discomfort he noticed more of the room. When Fred had awoken earlier he had remembered the deepest sleep he’d had for ages. On the table which was positioned before the window stood a pack of cigar’s, a newspaper and breakfast (Bacon and eggs which were fine quality) And here he sat with a reasonably packed stomach. The newspaper was blasted with large Portuguese letters. The date read 4th March, 1915. It meant nothing to him; as did the paper (He only understood it by scanning through the pictures several times) As he looked at the pictures the door opened. A British Military Policemen stood there.
“You’re requested by the Major.” Snapped the man. Fred lazily pushed away the paper and puffed on his cigar several times. He jumped as the cracking voice hit him again;
“Hurry!” He stood with hands in pockets and the two left. The MP locked the door then they strided down a hallway. No words were exchanged and Fred got rather bored with the man. The MP stopped and drew a long, gold key which he unlocked a door. Fred was shoved in a looked around. It was dark and a light stood on a table with only one other on the ceiling above the only wooden table there. Two heavily armed British soldiers guarded the door. Fred sat on the chair and soon another man entered.
“Major; our guest is here.” Fred gasped.

But then faultered; the man jogged his memory. He couldn’t remember who… He thought furiously as he observed the Major. Nope; nothing suddenly came to him. The Major grinned in a sick way.
“Enjoy your stay, Captain?” he asked politely. Fred nodded;
“Suposse you won’t be a Captain for long.” He commented before sitting. Fred moved defensively.
“How many patriot’s have you shot in the heart, Major?” sneered Fred.
“A country’s worth you could say.” His answer confused Fred but the Major didn’t care. He was staring at him as if Fred could actually, literally, crack.
“Captain, were you aware of your relation’s in Royal Germany?” asked the Major.
“No, thus the fact I received the news with greatest of supirse.” He answered. The Major nodded as if a suspicion was confirmed.
“You were orphaned, hm? Where were you found and what day of the year?” he asked again as if prodding a live bomb.
“Yes, I was found 1884, on the 1st of June in Southampton Bay.” He replied.
“Your name’s German.”
“I got it from my fake parents.”
“Why’d they call you such a German name. They obviously knew nothing of these German relations, right?” asked the Major leaning back. Fred was bewildered;
“I don’t know. Probably not though.” He added hastily. The Major wrote down something andd turned to the Guards.
“Leave.” They did quickly. The Major stood and circled Fred. At Salamanca, what did you hear from those two men in the backroom?” asked the Major.
“Something about the British moving in and then one, who sounded French, was told to do something. I didn’t hear anything else.” He said. Then straightened his back.
“Crap! You heard more! Now shout it!” He yelled, Fred yeled back.
“I heard nothing more. Cut my bloody foot off but I herd nothin’ more!” He prepared for a lashing from the Major but his face calmed.
“Dismissed; bugger off.” Fred stood and left so he left behind a feeling of conclusion.

The Manor was interesting. He saw nothing of Lisbon but defntely heard it. Occasionally officer’s came. He suspected they were extra secutrity but were also there for the comfortable rooms. The backyard was very large. Chairs, pavillion’s and a well kept garden was they’re. The first day Fred was satisfied strolling through lines of flower’s and exotic trees. That night he was given a shower and dinner before falling asleep unantraully quickly again.

The next morning he was ushering into that room again. His eyes were misty with sleep and he rubbed them feebly. It was very early as explained by the absence of the guards. The Major was already there.
“This is off the books.” He started as Fred sat down.
“Now… Mister Hamburg. Have you visited Manchester, Antwerp and Oxford beforehand?” he asked.
“I visited All but Oxford. Never went there.” This was true. He went to Antwerp in ’14 for the war and Manchester for a training exercise. This answer was right by the expression the Major proposed.
“Do you have a friendship with a Mister Hammerston?” asked the Major. Fred’s head whipped upwards in a stunned look. How! How!? They’d been to Southampton obviously. Checked the place out, asked around for clues and evidence. Fred swore over and over.
“Yes… Yes we are rather good friend’s.” The Major knew the answer; the question was merely asked to startle Fred to the large resource’s being wielded against him.
“When did you change your hair color?” asked the Major. Fred was confused. His hair had always been brown.
“It’s always been brown.” The Major continued as if no answer had been said. After at least six hour’s questioning Fred was sick of the place. Question’s regarding if he’d been to germany, where he’d been with his parents, and so on. The Major was also tired. After the six hour’s he face was centimeters away from Fred’s.
“TELL ME THE TRUTH!” He roared with slying spit. Fred moved slightly backwards.
“I’m TELLING the truth, SIR!” He roared back as loudly. The major swore at him.
“No you’re not. Your some bloody Hun from germany. Born in a bin and you’v ebeen raised like a PIG!” He threw the insult at Fred and it hit him at the heart.
“I guess we very alike then.” He said coldly. The major threw a swear word at him. He laughed cruelly as he circled again.
“Fine then… no truth from you.” The Major stood behind him and Fred was forced to look at the opposing wall. He felt nervous. A barrel was pushed into the side of his head until it made a mark. His heart started to beat faster and his breathing slowed. The man was mad! He was going to shoot Fred and go to gaol!
“Tell the truth or die you Hun.” Said the cold voice behind him.
I am a…” He started. The major suched his breath in.
“Yes?”
“British soldier.” The Major swore.
“That’s it….” He muttered a number of times and entered Fred’s line of vison with a Webley handgun.
“You’re a German.”
“Englishman.”
German”
“Englishman.”
“GERMAN!”
”BRITISH AND PROUD OF IT!” Fred roared. The Major kicked him in the stomach and Fred leaned in pain. A loud pistol shot and a piece of floor chipped off and a second landed right between his big toe and smaller one. The man was a crap shot. The door banged open and smashed into the wall and a gun barrel protruded in.
“All’s fine” Reported the Major tucking away the Webley.
“Dismissed. To the attic.” He added to a solder. Fred didn’t like the sounds of it. Sure enough he was shoved into the tiny attic with a awful bed (All which was in the place which stunk of wine) and was quite a step down from the luxury upstairs. He was now in a definte prison. Allowed out only when allowed and guarded constantly. He slept awfully and woke with a fright. He was disturbed by it all.

On the Sunday, after being there for five days, he was called in for a third interrogation. When he entered there was no politeness.
“Well, Frederickson.” The Major used his full name strangely. There were no Guards and no buzzing of machinery. This was followed by a procedure of questions which were answer as always. But a awkward silence followed and then;
“Frederickson… I’ve been contacted by someone.” Fred’s ears picked up.
“Says he is a German agent.” Was added. Fred leaned back in disappointment. Another stupid attempt for him to give in.
“He wants to pay a ransom… or the Kaiser-!”
“Give it up. I’m not falling for your scum tricks.” Snorted Fred staring him in the eye. The Major gave up all caution;
“Well you’re gonna have to. Because if you don’t then the Court’s will rip you raw.” He snarled. Fred believed this but was certain they would anyway.
“I’m British. Ask me parents, ask me colleagues. I’m British and proud of it.” Replied Fred.
“Dismissed ‘till final interrogation. Take him back!” ordered the Major.

Fred rolled over in his bad bed. He couldn’t sleep. He’d be sleeping in a few weeks… forever in a dirt hole. Where’d they bury him? Tney wouldn’t most likely. Probably toss him into the sea with a curse. The night was completely still. Another week ahd passed and he was used to this place. Its effect meant to have on him didn’t work thankfully. He rolled over and stared at thr iron door. Escape lay beyond that… death more likely. As he was thinking this the iron door shuddered. Fred sat up, then stood up. It shuddered again and this time there was a sound like scraping fingernails. It stopped suddenly and he heard shuffling. It didn’t move for minutes, so Fred put his ear up against it. There was something like whispering… but not in English. Two footsteps and then-
He jumped backwards as the iron door moved slightly towards him, and then after some time it fell forward. Large scrape marks were on the door and there stood a strangely dressed man.
“The Major has requested you…” told the man in a accent. He, and another bewildered man in unfitting uniform, gently (What was meant to be rough) grabbed Fred and pulled him outside. As they went up the stairs he noticed several people following them.
“What is happening?” asked Fred anxiously.
“Quiet, Monsieur, or they will hear.” Whispered the French man. Fred shut up immediately and stifled a gasp as they came into the great entrance hall with its glass dome and hanging lights.
“We are taking you away.” The Frenchman explained, “We’re not MI6, we are not British. We are here to help you.” Two (Obiouvsly Portuguese townsfolk) had Lebel rifles in their hand, and catiously put hands on the door. Four other’s backed up Fred and the Frenchman. The Frenchman shoved a Colt pistol into Fred’s ahnd.
“For safety.” Assured the man.
“Open!” And the Portugese peasant’s pushed.

The doors shuddered and then slid open. The Portuguese peasant’s sucked in their breath and the Frenchman grimaced and drew a Webley. He doors opened wit no noise and the group carefully made their way down the cobble driveway. Fred dare not cock his gun, due to the noise it made. He needed to cough; but couldn’t. He jumped violently as a voice yelled a warning;
“Sir?” The peasant’s scattered into the bushes and disappeared. Fred bristled angrily over this before being shoved strongly into the scrubland.
“Sir?” asked the voice with more urgency. A British soldier came forward. His face noted a hint of recognition.
“Good day. Why do you need to leave, sir?” asked the soldier.
“To get a drink, of course. Better then what they serve here anyway.”
“You don’t like the wine they serve here?” asked the soldier. Fred noted the Frenchman’s pride in his country’s wine.
“Of course I like it! Tastes like its from Dijon, no?” asked he. He bent to scratch his leg and quickly signalled for them to continue on. The silently moved forward.
“Dijon! Hell no, sir! That’s German now1 That stuff is merely from Caen…” the soldier commented sadly. The Frenchman bent his head in recognition of the fact his homeland was falling. Fred couldn’t hear from then on. He wondered who these rescuer’s were as he pushed aside a hanging branch. The peasant’s were obviously being paid in gold. But this man was professional… so much that he was even accepted into a top class British manor. Fred looked away and saw the large golden gates standing there with two smoking soldier’s. They were British and had small cigarette’s. One had his rifle propped against the wall and the other only had a small handgun.
“Bloody crap stuff this is!” spat one as he lifted a bottle of wine to his mouth.
“Bloody Spanish stuff from down south.” Explained the other, and both acted as if this confirmed the fact the stuff was bad. Though it probably was. A pair of voice’s came down the road and Fred saw its source. The Frenchman and Guard were walking slowly down the driveway, deep in conversation. Fred marvelled at this. If he was taking a top security prisoner away he’d be out of this place already. A single gunshot fired from the manor. All three British soldier’s drew weapon’s and faced the manor. The Frenchman spoke;
“May I leave? Something seems wrong.” He observed a Guard roughly shook his head.
“Lockdown proceudure’s. It was a flare gun.” They formed a line and raised rifles, watching but not the Frenchman. He drew a pistol aimed at one and shoot three time’s. Before the man fell a peasant rushed from the bushes with his unsteady rifle, raised it and spat two shot’s at another. The man’s hand seemed to blew up bloodily before the dead body smashed sideward’s into his friend who fell with him. He scrambled up before staggering backward’s as blood flew from his chest. Fred shot again and he twisted strangely to the floor. Silence.
“Good job.” Complimented the Frenchman absently before motioning to continue. Fred could hear the manor stirring and already heard car’s coming toward’s them from further inside Lisbon.
If we do not move within ten minutes then I assure you; we’ll all die.” And from the noises echoing around Fred, he was ready to believe the Frenchman. The group moved away from the manor and across a open courtyard. The suburb’s opened before them. They sliced into a alley and silently moved deep into the city. He heard voice’s from further back but dared not stop and listen. A gunshot sounded as well. They stopped. The Frenchman brought forth a bag of money and flicked each peasant several golden coin’s. They said thanks in their language, or so Fred guessed, before gliding into the shadow’s. Soon only Fred and the Frenchman were left. They ran past beggar’s, a stunned tavern owner, they passed rugged looking people and spilt into the main street. The Frenchman stopped as someone stopped and gasped. Fred watched themas they fearfully turn away and walked quickly. The Frenchman took off and Fred was closely following. They rushed through the maze of dark alleyways which hosted a different surprise, or so it seemed. The sirens had stopped thankfully, and it started spitting just as the man stopped. He pointed and Fred wondered in amazement. There was a fine car, and the Frenchman held the keys in his hand. It was a normal car. A wooden protection sheltering them, small tyres and a basic metal frame. It coughed innocently a few times as he pulled the keys sideways. It finally spluttered into life and he looked at me.
“Ready.” Meaning the Army order of prepare to fire. I cocked the Webley and beamed at him, and he in turn as if it was good luck, as I spotted the small package of Lebel rifles, several grenades and a Luger. I drew A lebel, cocked it and loaded and fell back into my wooden seat as he smashed his foot into the accerlator. My head arched backward’s as we rocketed out of there. Several sreams of alarm as pedestrians jumped from hungry wheels. Fred laughed. The Frenchman glanced in amusement before his face shadowed with a serious look.
“Some Brits on our tail.” He reported. Fred cocked his Webley, twisted in his seat and spat three shots at them before pocketing it without looking. He cocked the Lebel rifle, aimed and fire fifteen times before it slid out the empty rounds, and he slammed another cartridge of ammounition into it. He fired again crazily as they turned dangerously around the corner and its blind flashing prevented him seeing his targets. A bullet shattered the mirror next to him and he cursed like a madman as glass lashed his face, leaving stinging cuts. He stared down its sights and watched the British soldier, one of two, waiting for Fred to stop his sniping. He raised himself from the seat just as Fred’s rifle bit back into his shoulder. The mans head snapped back with a fountain of ruby blood before the body fell limply over the side. The dirver looked shocked as he glanced sideways before a bullet smacked him in the side of the head cuasing him to fall into the seat next to him. The car skidded as his dead hands trailled on the wheel and the friction caused it to flip high in the air, watched by the crowd, Fred and the Frenchman, before plummenting to earth amongst a panicking crowd. It blossmoned in a ball of flames as they turned the corner. The Frenchman laughed a admirable laugh and Fred himself was amazed how he did they. He singularly picked off two men at roaring speed and caused that bloody accident. Their car had burn marks and bullet holes along with a bloodied passenger and one mirror. People stared but no one chased them. Fred stared as Lisbon gave way too a rocky countryside. He jolted as a head flashed past and saw a stunned Portugese family watching the speeding car. Deeper smoke rose from Lisbon as Fred started the pummeling question’s.
“Portugal. A fine place Monsieur, non?” asked the man politely.
“Yes, its sea’s roll like hell.” Said Fred remembering his trip there.
“Not as good as France. Though your Isle’s contest it in some… ways.” The Frenchman finished lamely. This proposed a host of question’s to Fred.
“Who are you? Why do you want me? Why not that other poor sod?”
“I am Lieutenant Richeaul of the French Foreign Legion. I was sent to you by my eager Major. I first travelled to Spain and heard you were in Lisboa. Here I am.” He momentarily took his hands off the steering wheel.
“You are Captain Frederickson Hamburg, right, monsieur?”
“I am. So where do we head now?”
“Your… comrades shall be chasing over the hills of course. Spain most likely.” He informed.
“And then? Spain can’t hide us forever!”
“Onward’s, monsieur, a field of opportunity awaits us eagerly!” he said ina eager voice. Fred was sceptical.
“Yeah. Let’s all run from the unforgiving British hands straight into the cold German’s bayonet’s!” he said in a mocking voice. Richeaul shrugged in a careless way which denoted nothing.
“Fine then. Mock me monsieur. Go back, be imprisoned, questioned, sent to a bloody judge and shot at dawn.” In a way he really would.
“But you get my point?”
“I realise the statement you are trying to make monsieur. There are ways to undermine the Germans easily.” He said in a confident voice.
“Head south? We could sail north from Tunis and find refuge in Italy.” Suggested Fred. He looked at Fred like he was a coward.
“Hell no monsieur! We’re no cowards! Straight to Toulon and then to Italy!” He said his opinion on the deserts and Spanish cowering down south near Granada. Fred shook his head dejectedly and stared out into Portugal. Richeaul did make a fair point. Go back, find yourself shot. Ditch Richeaul, get shot by the Germans. Stay with him, most likely get shot by some over alet Spanish garrison.

Either way; he’d get shot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


The next part in my story. I particularly enjoyed introducing Richeaul, though maybe not a actual French name, I have a deep facination of French culture so used it every possible chance.

No comments? Chapter VI is already 18 Pages in, so I might have to divide it in two. From my calculations the story is 53 pages so far, congrats on reading so much! And give me feedback, I say again! I see all these views but no talking!

[Monk]

Hm. Looks like i know what i'll be doing tonight. I've managed to read a little bit of your story Baby Boomer, and what I did read I've liked. In the first chapter the scene transition was a little off, but it's clear it's simply a prologue so that's quite excusable. In the second you clean this up a little and make improvements.

So far I like it, I'll come back with further thoughts as I get time to read more!

[Monk]

Very interesting! Still haven't gotten over the entire story (there's an aweful lot here..) but so far I'm rather enjoying it.

I do have some pointers though, first and foremost I highly suggest picking up a program like MS word (i know, i say this a lot around here. I'm a broken record so sue me!) since it can actually spot grammatical errors for you and help you clean up your paragraphs a lot nicer. Keeping the readers' eyes moving and flowing smoothly from page to page is a secret that is held in good grammar and spelling (well along with a really good story too ), programs akin to ms word can really help in that regard.

Still, even with the trip ups that i've spotted it doesn't detract a great deal from the whole. I'm looking forward to reading more!

[Baby Boomer]

Thanks Monk, your help and tips are greatly appreciated!

The Chapter's are quite big; if people need so I can divide the Chapter's and deliver them half at a time? All up the story is 6-something pages. I'm careful with MS Word, due to the fact I like to use the Australian spelling in it (Can't get it too work) and a lot of the words are Americanised (z instead of s.)