David and Maria walked back toward the hotel after lunch to refresh before continuing to the Embassy. "Are you sure I should be going with you? The invitation was for you, not us."

"That's because he isn't aware we're us." He gently pulled her to a stop in the street and wrapped his arms around her. "We're one, and they need to know that. I told that gentleman who greeted us you're my wife. Shall we continue pretending to be married?"

"I cannot think of any way to be more married than we are. We don't need to pretend."

A while later, back in their suite, Maria said, "I should tidy your beard. It's never been trimmed, and it has a few scraggly areas." She giggled. "Don't worry, I used to do Dada's. I won't leave you looking like a poorly-sheared poodle."

He looked at it in the mirror. "Good idea. Over seven weeks now, it could use some touching up, particularly on the moustache." He chuckled. "I've begun eating it."

Half an hour later, at the Embassy, David told the woman at the reception desk they had an appointment with Mr Grant Duff. Two minutes later, the same tall man who had greeted them earlier came out through a door and nodded his head to them in acknowledgement, then he looked around the waiting area and announced, "I'm looking for Mr David Berry."

David stepped forward. "That is us, Sir. Sorry for the confusion; we were being careful this morning."

The man smiled and extended a hand. "I'm Picot, Lieutenant-Colonel Henry Picot." They shook hands, and he escorted them past a guard, through a door and along a narrow, featureless corridor. "I've read your letter, and I'm impressed by the little you told us. Now I see more of the smart thinking that has brought you safely here."

Picot stopped at the door at the end of the corridor and knocked. A small window opened, and then a guard opened the door. Picot ushered them through and smiled. "A shortcut. Saves being seen by all and sundry." He led them along a broad hallway to the door at the end, then knocked and opened it. "Private David Berry and his wife Maria, Sir."

A grey-haired man rose from behind a massive mahogany desk and strode briskly toward them. "So pleased to meet you." He extended his hand as he approached. "You certainly don't look like the standard Army private, nor from your letter do you act like one," he said in a broad Scottish brogue as they shook hands. He turned to Maria and took her offered hand to his lips. "And you definitely don't look like standard Army issue."

He looked across to Picot. "Have you been able to rearrange your schedule, Henry?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm able to join you."

"Great. Please, let's sit." He motioned to the leather chairs around a low table. "Your wounds? You appear to have recovered. Do you need medical attention?"

"I was fortunate to have my face stitched back together by a skilled surgeon, Sir. It's fine now. The beard hides the scars, so the two missing teeth are the only reminder."

"And where was this surgeon?"

"In the German field hospital behind their lines in Belgium, across from our position outside Ypres. I forget the name of the town now, Sir."

"So you had been captured?"

"No, after I regained consciousness and realised the Germans had overrun our position, I stripped a dead German soldier and dressed in his uniform, then I blended in from there."

"That's an incredibly dangerous move," Picot said. "You not only risked being discovered by the Germans, but you made yourself a target as an enemy to your own side. If you saw no way back, it would have been excusable to surrender."

"Surrender was never an option, Sir. Besides, I heard a patrol being instructed to slit the throats of all the wounded enemy. They had too many of their own to care for."

"Outrageous! We must report this, it's in direct violation of the Geneva Conventions. What date was that? And where, exactly?"

"Just outside Saint-Julien, early morning of 26 April."

"So, had you been involved in the gas attacks?"

"The first one took about half my company, Sir. I was just upwind of the clouds as they drifted over our trenches. During the attack two days later, we soaked our handkerchiefs in urine and breathed through them."

"There seems too much of a story here for us to draw out piecemeal," Picot said. "Save us the questions and tell us the story, starting from your experiences with the first gas attack and take us through with all your observations as you moved through Germany. Tell us of your intelligence on the rail lines and on the border crossing through the vineyards. That one intrigues."

A few minutes to four, the Ambassador interrupted David. "Tea time shortly. Would you prefer something stronger than tea? Some Sercial or Amontillado? Perhaps a Cognac?"

"Your pleasure, Sir. We'll have what you choose."

Grant Duff got up and went to his desk to push the bell button, then instructed the woman who came in a few seconds later. He returned to his seat, looked at David and said, "Please resume. You've completely captivated me with your story."

David finished his recounting as they all sipped Amontillado and nibbled on almonds, olives and cubes of various cheeses. "Now the engineering drawings and the photographs are at Sonnenhang, less than a kilometre this side of the border. I'll need to have my leave allowance docked since I granted myself some after I crossed into Switzerland."

"Balderdash!" Picot said, "You deserved that time after what you had been through. Injuries affect more than just flesh and bone." He looked closely at David. "You speak very well, your writing is lucid and succinct, you're fluent in German, besides English, and you appear to have a broad awareness. What schooling have you?"

"I'm also fluent in French, Sir. I grew up speaking it. I attended a private preparatory school and was about to begin my third year of university when war was declared."

"Why did you enrol as a private rather than as an officer?"

"That's where I was placed, Sir. I was unaware of options."

"Now's the time to correct that. I'm in charge of the Canada desk, as well as being the Military Attaché here. I'll cable Ottawa to get the ball rolling. In the meantime, keep your transportation, lodging and dining receipts so you can submit an expense claim."

"The hotel is rather expensive. We're in the Emperor Suite at the Bernerhof. It was all they had available."

"Yes, there's been a steady stream of refugees from Eastern Europe as conditions decline. The extraordinary expense should be allowed because of the circumstances. We keep two rooms blocked in the Bernerhof in case we have a need. We can arrange to move you to one of them tomorrow."

"That would be good. Cut down on the expenses and leave more money for the war effort. With the transportation expenses – the only ones we've had are for the gasoline for the vehicle, but I have no receipts."

"There's a new mileage allowance now to cover a claimant's own vehicle use."

"You can have someone go over those details with him later, Henry," the Ambassador said. "Leave the technical things until then. Let's look at the personal side of this." He turned to David. "I've asked for a report on how your battalion fared. I thought you would want to know. It may not be a pretty picture; there were many casualties at Ypres."

"I have a good appreciation of that from what I saw, Sir."

"The battle continued for another three weeks after you were wounded. There were nearly sixty thousand casualties on our side, including about sixty-five hundred Canadians. Details are still unclear as to who among them were captured, missing, wounded or killed. There may well be more like you who have managed to escape, and lists of prisoners are slow in arriving. We remain uncertain of the fates of many."

David closed his eyes and sat back in his chair, nodding. "I was aware it was bad." He sat up and opened his eyes. "That's why my thinking turned to other ways to fight them. Things that damage their supply lines and hamper their ability to throw so much at our defences. The front line has been stable since the first months of the war, and it seems as though each side is doing little now but using the lives of our young men to hold that line."

"That certainly appears to be the case."

"What happens when we run out of men to feed the trenches?"

"There's hope it doesn't come to that. We have people developing new weapons, developing new and more effective ways to use what we now have. With people like you emerging, our strength grows."

There was a knock on the door, and a woman came in with a folder. "One of the cables you were waiting for, Sir." She handed it to the Ambassador and left.

He read for a while, then looked up. "This is the reply from the War Office to my request. Your battalion was relieved on 26 April, but only six officers and three hundred and fifty-seven men mustered for roll call when they fell back. They had succeeded in holding the line but at a high cost."

"How many were there to start with?" Maria asked.

"It doesn't say here." He looked at David. "Do you know?"

"We were at full establishment when we moved forward to the trenches, Sir. Thirty officers with eleven hundred and twenty men. From what I saw, I'm surprised so many made it. Both flanks were open. Without reinforcement for three days, we were on our own to hold the gap that had been opened when the French retreated."

Maria stared at David in silence.

The Ambassador looked again at the cable. "There's more here." He scanned the page, then looked up at David. "It says here you had twice been mentioned in dispatches for your courage in the face of the enemy."

"Simply doing what seemed expected of me."

"It's far beyond that, David. Here, there's a third mention that looks more like a citation for a decoration: With his company pinned down by fire from two German machine guns and the enemy advancing, Private Berry ventured forward through persistent gunfire to overwhelm the occupants of one of the gun pits. He was then joined by Private Ganong, and they turned the gun to fire on the other machine gun pit, rendering it quiet, before sweeping fire across the advancing enemy, taking many and sending the rest scurrying back to their trenches. His selfless action in the face of enemy fire prevented a near-certain breakthrough of our lines. I would recommend a decoration for bravery, were there one for enlisted soldiers."

David stared at his hands as this was read, then he looked up and shrugged when the reading ended. "It was my idea to take out the gun pit, so I figured I was the one to go forward and do it. It was easy; one end of the platoon opened a steady fire on the two pits while I ran forward from the other end."

"The officers and NCOs, where were they?" Picot asked.

"The one remaining Platoon Commander was badly hit, Sir. Lost most of an arm to a mortar. Both our sergeants had gone west, and the only corporal left was ... he was incoherent. A few hours after we had sent the Germans scurrying, the Company Commander was taken out by a sniper. I took charge."

Maria continued to stare at David as she slowly shook her head with her mouth open in a silent remark.

"That's great initiative, but not wise to venture from the safety of your trench with the enemy advancing," Picot said.

"We had long since left the trenches and had little cover. I thought my chances of being hit while advancing were the same as remaining pinned down in the shallow shell craters with the rest of the company, awaiting our fate."

Picot nodded. "The Army needs more like you. We'll send Ottawa a recommendation they'll find impossible to dismiss. We'll have them send you to an OTC in England. Many are now doing accelerated indoctrination and training for commissioning officers from the ranks."

Ambassador Grant Duff stood. "We're engaged this evening, but we'd be delighted if you and your wife could join us for dinner tomorrow if you're free."

David glanced at Maria and caught her nod before he replied, "We would be honoured, Sir."

The Ambassador led them to the door. "Until tomorrow evening, then. I'll arrange to have my driver pick you up at your hotel at seven fifteen. Colonel Picot will give you details."