Thursday, 24 February 1916

Rick returned to Bern mid-afternoon on Thursday, and he went directly to David's office to report. "No indication of any bombardment, Sir. Neither at Oppau nor Pirmasens."

David nodded and pointed to a chair. "We feared that. The French have moved more bombers into position, and they're waiting for an overcast to fly above."

"It's clear up there; the entire central Rhein. And very cold. We were told it has been freezing since Sunday night."

"That makes sense. Clear and cold behind the front. Is the mood of the people still upbeat?"

"With the soldiers all moved into position, there was no partying in the streets. It's pretty much back to like it was before." Rick expanded on his observations, and when he had finished, he said, "The border was simple both ways. Dolf met me at the station in Weil, and we continued north by train. On the way back, he drove me from Weil to Basel, then he carried on to Schaffhausen."

"What did he use as a reason to cross?"

"Looking for greengrocers to sell potatoes. He had two bins of samples in the back."

David nodded. "Good. We don't want to become complacent."

"And what has transpired at Verdun?"

"Let me write a note to Pageot first, reporting no observed damage."

Four minutes later, Rick returned from the message centre, and he sat to listen to David give a summary of the situation.

"The estimate is now a million shells were fired on Monday. Fritz began an advance from the north late in the day, gaining about two kilometres along the east bank of the Meuse using mostly grenades and flames."

"Flames?"

"Another new weapon with which they've surprised us. Reports from the few survivors describe soldiers with tanks on their backs and spewing flaming liquid ten metres or more from long lances."

Rick shuddered as David continued. "First light Tuesday, the artillery resumed, then paused for the infantry to consolidate their new positions. By the end of the day, the French had realised the seriousness of the attack, and they moved reserves forward. Yesterday, the French counter-attacked, inflicting many casualties as they pushed back. But by day's end, they were forced to withdraw to not be out-flanked."

"And today?"

David spread his hands, palms up. "Still no reports."

Monday, 28 February 1916

Monday noon, David laid a map on the Ambassador's desk. "This is their progression, Sir. I've copied their daily positions from Pageot's plots."

"So, this shows they've passed Fort Douaumont on the twenty-sixth."

"Yes, Sir. They captured it on Saturday."

"Good God! That was the major stronghold on the Right Bank. How can they be stopped now? They've already made half the distance from the stabilised front."

"The weather is now helping us since the cold snap ended on Saturday, and the thaw turned the saturated ground into deep mud. The Germans cannot move their guns forward, nor do their infantry battalions dare an advance through the quagmire the artillery created."

Evelyn tapped his finger on the map. "What about here – from the east?"

"I would think the ground there is also a swamp. We need to hope the temperature remains warm."

"And hope for more rain."

"They now have a cloud cover, and we're awaiting word about another bombing sortie."

"But, isn't it dangerous to fly in the clouds?"

"If they can get above them without being spotted, they can navigate by compass and wristwatch, then drop through the clouds to find their targets.

"Piercing back down through the clouds. That must be scary, not knowing how far they are above the ground."

"They now have an altitude meter to help, and the maps show the heights of the mountains and prominent hills. Pageot said there are two crew. One flies the machine, and the other navigates and drops the bombs."

"So, how will they get above the clouds? From what you've told me, as soon as the aeroplanes launch, the Fokkers are in the air to shoot them down or chase them back. The Germans appear to know the locations of the French aerodromes, and they're watching."

"They're planning to leave before dawn so they can be out of sight above the clouds before daylight. The navigator can direct the course using the instruments until it's light enough for the pilot to see."

Evelyn shook his head. "Technical advances are making warfare more complex – and more deadly. Where will it all end?"

Küsnacht, Switzerland — Saturday, 4 March 1916

David and Maria arrived at their grandparent's home on the shores of Lake Zürich mid-afternoon on Saturday. After greetings, Maria visited the loo to refresh, and she returned with a beaming face. "It's still white, David."

He wrapped her in a tight embrace. "But it's still too early to tell."

"You're trying again so soon?" Mary asked. "I thought you would wait a while. Let your body readjust."

"I barely got to experience any of the symptoms. Besides, Mama's baby needs a playmate with whom to grow up."

Mary chuckled. "That would be fun. Hers an aunt or uncle of yours." She raised a hand toward the sitting room. "Let's relax and get caught up. Letters always leave so much unsaid."

While the women chatted, Michael and David carried fourteen cases of trockenbeerenauslese to the wine cellar. "They'll keep much better here than in your closet." Michael pointed along the bins. "While you continue your story, I'll find something appropriate to go with your 1886."

David recounted his adventure, Michael chuckling at the image of the tongue-tied Prince and generals. When David finished, Michael picked up a bottle of each of the 1893 and the 1899 Mouton. "These should show well. I'm so pleased you're here again so we can do this."

"We'll have to come more often." David pointed to the tags on the bins, reading off the years as he did. "1864, 1865, 1870 and 1893. Why is there a long gap between the 1870 and the 1893?"

"You're very observant. A root louse invaded the European vineyards in the 1860s, and it rapidly spread, destroying the vines. The 1870 was the last great vintage in Bordeaux until the 1893. We had bins of 1874, 1875 and 1878, but they were light, matured early and are now gone." As they made their way upstairs, Michael added details about the scramble to find a way to stop the effects of the Phylloxera invasion.

After they had stood the bottles on the sideboard, David said, "So, that's why Nikolaus had the long gap after 1865."

"I would think so. The Phylloxera louse had spread broadly throughout the continent before it was recognised."

"How did they stop it?"

"The louse is native to North America, and it is believed to have arrived on vine cuttings imported for hybrid research. Because American roots are unaffected by the louse, the cure was to graft European vines onto American rootstocks." Michael chuckled. "The French, in their usual fashion, resisted the idea as they tried all manner of methods to keep their vines fully native. By the late 1880s, most had relented, and the 1893 was the first great post-phylloxera vintage."

David nodded. "That's likely why Nikolaus had a successful 1886. The Germans would not have hesitated."