Sunday, 21 May 1916

On Saturday afternoon, David and Maria drove south from Sonnenhang to Küsnacht for another sumptuous dinner with her grandparents, Mary and Michael. Then, on Sunday morning, the four boarded the train in Zürich for Basel. As they settled into their seats in the otherwise empty compartment, David shook his head. "Exactly eleven months ago today."

Maria snuggled into his side. "I was just thinking about that. So much has happened since then."

"I'm lost here," Michael said. "What happened eleven months ago?"

"Boarding this train and heading to Oxford."

"Was that only eleven months ago? With all your disruption of Fritz, it seems much longer."

David nodded. "Indeed, but I think the greatest disruption is about to begin – shifting the teams out of harm's way and into a battle for minds and emotions."

"You've lost me again, David."

"We're shifting our focus to subversion."

Michael tilted his head. "Propaganda?"

"No – truth aimed against propaganda – against what the Germans feed their own people."

"Yes, of course. From what I see in the ​​Züricher Post, they systematically distort reality."

"What's published in the German-owned papers here is mild compared with what appears in Germany. Information is heavily censored, and what little truth is printed glosses over both the details and the scale of the horror. People far from the battlefronts know little of the war's real impact – other than that many men are away and food and commodities are growing scarce."

"And then there is hearing about friends and neighbours being killed, injured or captured – and about losses within their own families." Maria closed her eyes and winced.

"Indeed."

"Let's move to lighter things, David. Is it true what you said about the origin of propaganda?" She grinned at him. "Or is that only your dislike of religion showing through?"

"It's true, Maria. The word comes from the Catholic Church's Congregatio de Propaganda Fide – the congregation for propagating the faith. Over time, propaganda has come to mean the spreading of falsehood to advance a cause."

David paused and shrugged. "But unlike the Church, we'll be spreading neither falsehood nor deceit – only truth and reality."

"How will you do that?" Michael tilted his head again as he stroked his chin.

"The men will pose as tourism promoters, using brochures, pamphlets and postcards to show German women the peacefulness of Switzerland to those they can most easily influence. They've already learnt how eager the German women are for companionship, so they'll –"

"Eager? How do you know?"

"With so many young men away, conscripted to fight or to support the fighting, single women are common in the Gasthäuser there, unlike here. In the Central Rhine Basin, we saw women outnumbering the men by about two to one, and many of the men were old or disabled. The women go in small groups to keep each other company while hoping to meet men."

Maria nodded. "So unlike the public housed here – men outnumber women three or four to one, and the women are mostly accompanied by men." She paused and smiled. "Before the men went into the Mannheim area as fuse salesmen, I taught them how to recognise the subtle and not-so-subtle signs women use to show interest."

Michael shook his head and shrugged. "And what are these signs?"

"You were so smitten with me when we met." Mary chuckled as she patted Michael's hand. "You wouldn't have seen them even if you had known."

He blew a kiss toward his wife. "True. And I'm still unaware of them."

"Things like this, Grandpa." Maria tucked a stray tress behind her ear and adjusted the cuff of her blouse as she bit her bottom lip and gazed into his eyes. "Women do such things subconsciously. Most do not even realise they're doing them."

"Fidgeting." Michael nodded. "And I've seen women do exactly that."

Mary laughed. "You would have; you're a very attractive man, and it always warms me to see others notice and react."

He smiled at her. "I must remind myself to take notice." Then he turned to David. "So, doing this blind, so to speak. You'll have no way to measure the success of your subversion."

"No, not blind at all. We'll judge our success much as we did after closing their rail lines and destroying their gas works – by monitoring their newspapers. Then it was easy to see the scale of our disruption. With subversion, the changes will be subtler, but they'll still be there. I'm looking forward to being amused by them."

Maria giggled. "And as you said yesterday, their changes will allow you to adjust and refine your approach. In effect, the Germans will be assisting you."

When the train left the station, they were still the only ones in the compartment, so the conversation ranged widely all the way to Basel, where they changed to the Neuchâtel train. As they settled into the new compartment, Maria said, "I still have last year's itinerary etched into my mind. This isn't the route you took, David. Why the change?"

"Going through Belfort takes us too close to the fighting. For fifty kilometres or so, the rail line runs about ten kilometres from the trenches of the battlefront. Though it's the shortest route to Paris, it's far too much risk."

"But you went that way last year."

"You weren't with me."

"Point taken."

David stood and took a map from his satchel on the rack, unfolding it as he sat. Then, tapping a spot, he said, "The borders of Switzerland, France and Germany meet here – at the end of the trenches that run unbroken all the way to the Belgian coast. From the Swiss frontier to Belfort and beyond, the rail line runs close to the German – French border and the trench system along it."

Then running his finger down the map, he continued, "We'll go south through Bienne and Neuchâtel, crossing into France here and continuing through Pontarlier and Dole to Dijon, where we'll spend the night."

"Stay the night?" Maria grimaced. "In the same hotel as on our way back from London?"

"No, not with its hole-in-the-floor plumbing." David chuckled and turned to her grandfather. "Michael has reserved far more civilised accommodations for us, but I forget the hotel's name."

"It's Hôtel de la Cloche, rated Grand-Luxe, and its restaurant has a superb cellar – one of the finest in Burgundy. At dinner, we'll reconfirm how closely the quality of Bethia's wines match the greatest the Côte d'Or can produce."

"Excellent. Then I'll be better prepared the next time I meet Prinz –" David paused when an elderly couple entered the compartment. Then raising a finger to his mouth, he caught Maria's and Mary's eyes before he turned again to Michael and continued, "Now might be a good time for you to begin familiarising me with the background of Burgundian wines and cuisine."