They came out of their homes and shops, stood at the door, watched. If they felt animosity towards Princips before, this expanded ten fold as their leader was marched past. One lunged, fist raised, but he was too slow, the butt of a rifle breaking his nose the only thanks for attempting to aid the head of the rebellion. Another moved forward, then another. Before strikes could be made Du Puteron said, "leave them, let them take me, do not waste your lives now when they could be so much more later."

The head of the guards stopped the group as islanders stood back in line. "Try to make any more rousing speeches like that and I'll shoot you in front of them."

Du Puteron nodded back, and the party continued on their way, down into the town centre, past glass shop fronts and small houses on the steep multi levelled hillside akin to a small fishing village that had expanded into a bustling town centre. Finally, they moving on through to the sea front, where the tarmacked road bordered brightly coloured buildings rising up higher than the one before on one side, and dropping suddenly to the sea on the other. Light reflect off the water in the old harbour, where a myriad of yachts and motor boats used to be moored. It was a beautiful sight, old meeting new, tradition meeting future, countryside meeting urban sprawl. But there was no time for Du Puteron to observe the scenic beauty of his home, as they pushed him forward at a quick march. There was no need for the guards to do this, he was a willing participant in the march, but they had little bossing to do in day-to-day life so were taking every opportunity today.

As they crossed the trafficless road, a slight whirring picked up on the light breeze. The leader of the guards held his hand up, everyone stopped, frozen to the spot as an ominous shadow appeared over their position.

It was a plane of sorts, similar to those they had seen on the satellite imagery. Its shiny blue body reflected the sun away from the group, leaving them in an eerie darkness. No speaker could be seen, but a voice emanated from the craft, "drop your weapons and step away from Lord Du Puteron, and you will come to no harm." Princips, not used to being told what to do, followed their first instinct, to raise guns and shoot. As soon as the leader started to lift his, the others followed. The spray of bullets made no dent in the aircraft, instead ricocheting in every direction, creating a deadly shower and sending Du Puteron and the guards scattering. Odd grunts were heard as bullets skimmed skin and clothes, one unlucky guard dropped to the floor, a bullet embedded in his upper leg. The leader held a hand up and the guards regrouped beside him, one clasping Du Puteron's wrist too tightly and pulling him into line, another limping and groaning in pain.

"We did warn you," came the voice once more. The lead guard spun the barrel at the end of his gun, then quickly released a bullet. The shell exploded on impact, but left only a minor dent. He watched on as the airship turned, pivoting ninety degrees so the front of the plane now faced them. From the beak like front appeared two guns at a point where there had been nothing but a smooth outer shell. With a frustrated grunt the leader threw his weapon to the ground. Five clangs rang out as the other guns joined it in a pile on the hot tarmac.

The airship lowered with a crunch, not bothered by the guns it landed on. It took all the parties effort to keep their footing, wind from propellers trying to take them off their feet. Lines appeared in a rectangular shape at the side of the aircraft, then a doorway opened up, a ramp folding down. From within stepped three people, guns primed in case any resistance was offered. As they strode toward the Princips guards they walking in the classic V formation, with the central figure marginally ahead of the other two. He wore a deep brown leather jacket with patches sewn on, along with khaki trousers and strong brown boots. On top of his head sat a pilot's hat, golden wings sewn onto the dark blue material. But the eye was drawn somewhere else, to a dark black patch that covered his right eye. He looked as if he had stepped straight out of World War Two, or even more likely been dressed by every stereotype of a nineteen forties American pilot.

"Unhand him," the man said, his thick black moustache quivering. He pointed his gun in the general direction of the group.

The guard who held tight to Du Puteron looked unsure, but a nod from his leader told him the correct course of action. As the guard release Du Puteron, he could not help but push him towards the new arrivals, causing the elder leader to stumble.

When Du Puteron was safely behind the three, the pilot said, "now raise your hands." Without taking his eyes from the Princips guards, he asked the leader of Guernsey, "where do you want them?"

"I suppose Castle Cornet would be the most secure place."

The two others from the airship ushered the guards back the way they had come. When they were a few metres away, the pilot embraced Du Puteron in a great bear hug. The island leader felt a slight pain as he was crushed, but allowed his over exuberant friend to finish the embrace. A smile played across the pilot's face, distorting his moustache so the ends pointed skyward, "well, I suppose you were right, they did come for you."

"Lucky you listened and didn't send your troops to fight as well, let's just hope the powers that be don't know Jersey is involved too."

"If they don't know now, they will soon."

"Come on, let's go find a suitable room to lock this lot up in," Du Puteron pointed to the guards being marched along the seafront.

"Best offer I've had all day."

The two leaders amble behind, taking in the summer sun. The atmosphere had almost become a relaxed holiday, with no cares in the world. A few metres down the road, Du Puteron asked, "so, Nigel, what's with the get-up?"

The leader of Jersey gave a deep chuckle, "well, you know me, I like to make an entrance."

"Wasn't the aircraft enough?"

"First impressions are great, but I thought I needed to back it up."

"You look like some mad, war crazed psycho."

"Maybe I am."

"We both know you're not. At least take off the eye patch."

"And reveal the gruesome wound behind?" Nigel put on theatrical suspense.

"And reveal your eye," Du Puteron replied with dry wit.

"Oh, OK, you have to spoil my fun don't you?" Nigel took off his hat and removed the eye patch, revealing a perfectly functioning eye. There was no sign of damage, no cuts or bruises.

"Your penchant for drama will get you in trouble someday."

"Maybe, but not today."

Du Puteron stopped, letting Nigel take a few paces before realising he no longer followed. The leader of Guernsey had that look, as if he had left the oven on, or forgotten to lock the front door. "I need to contact Luka, I have a pretty good idea he is harbouring a mole."

"A mole? Here? But we have been so careful."

"Something did not add up with how quickly Princips got here. Plus, they only sent six people to take me in. Who sends six people to a whole island?"

"Someone who knows that there are no fighters left there."

"Precisely. Also someone who knows there is a battle coming, a battle they will need lots of soldiers for, a battle where, if they lose, news may spread like wildfire and cause civil unrest in the more affluent parts of the world. No use wasting too many soldiers on one frail old man."

"Well, yes, I think I could take you down with one hand tied behind my back."

"I'll have less of that cheek young man," there was a glint in Du Puteron's eye and a smirk on his lips, "did your mother never tell you to respect your elders?"

"Could have done, I never really listened, you see."

"Right, enough of this, I best let Luka know the intel." Du Puteron moved his arm upwards, unlocking his watch. He scrolled through the apps, finding his contacts and selecting Luka. The watched buzzed, 'connecting' flashed up for a brief moment before Du Puteron waited for Luka to answer. The connection timed out. As if it would make any difference, Du Puteron tried again immediately. Once more there was no answer, "he's not answering, must be busy flying, I'll try my contact at Princips." Du Puteron went through the same actions once more, twice trying to connect with his own mole inside the large corporation. The contorted appearance of his face told the whole story.

"Can't get him?" Nigel asked.

"No, he must be busy, thought he would be free given the time difference. Oh well, can't be helped, I'll just try them a bit later."

The Channel Island leaders continued to Castle Cornet, now a more sombre atmosphere hanging over their heads.