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The Third Son of a Duke

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By now, the idea of finding Louise is but a distant memory.

A week in the second and third lines, after coordinating with the Air Corps and going on several observation runs, taking photos, ironically with a German camera, and getting shot at from the ground by the enemy, a meeting with the artillery group and a plan hatched, one that could not be guaranteed to work, everything is set in place.

It is close to Christmas of 1916, and in the two years since he parted with Penelope, his life had changed so much that he had become a totally different person.  Would that have happened if he had stayed home?  No.

Would that have happened if he had not met Rose, or Louise, or Margaret, to name a few, on the ship?  No.

Had there not been a war, well, he would still be rotting away in those musty chambers with the cobweb-covered cadavers called senior partners.

Hunched into a corner of a trench with several others, waiting for the inevitable whistle, listening to the artillery fire going over their heads, and the odd returning fire exploding nearby, it was remarkable how quickly one became accustomed to what was business as usual.

A stalemate.

Waiting for the moment when a theory would be tested.

And cheat death.

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2155 words, for a total of 45270 words.