The Stone of Idris: Consequences accepted.

Dreaming, I became aware that I was moving purposefully and stealthily through the night. It was the dark of the moon. I was following a trail laid down earlier in the week when there had been enough moonlight to see. I eased towards enemy lines with the taut string held in my right hand.

There was a whistle and a crack. Lying flat, not moving, my squad and I waited for the flare to die on the ground.

We were seven. If we lived long enough to retreat, the other three left in our squad had stayed to cover us. Our mission was to take out two machine gun nests and an artillery emplacement that had been cutting our battalion to pieces for days and had stalled our advance.

In the flare’s light, I saw the uniforms we were wearing. They were World War 1 issue.

‘That would make this Flanders,’ I thought. My great-grandfather fought here towards the end of World War 1.

I could sense Eldrick was worried, terrified even. He wasn’t sure his son was going to survive this mission. He stepped in and took control.