Free To Ride the Wind by Peter Watt

the machine-gun crew? Or was his senior officer really suffering the after-effects of shell shock and did not remember? Jack scowled. No matter what the reason, he did not care. All that mattered was that he survived the war to return to his beloved wife and child and eventually go back to the jungles of New Guinea and Papua to prospect for gold. Medals were simply cheap metal and cloth to attach to a uniform. Jack Kelly preferred to see the end of the war in one piece.
    *
    Sean Duffy did not return to his company straightaway. He had completed all his military duties and chose to stroll down a leafy lane to sit under a beautiful old tree with branches that hung to the ground as if the tree were weeping. He sat down with his back against the trunk and, out of sight of any living human, he began to cry softly. The shell shock had not gone away and he knew that his sanity was hanging by a fragile thread. Only the fact that so many depended on him kept him from the edge of madness. How was it that he could remember very little of what had happened in the trench when he was with Corporal Kelly? Had he killed all the men that had been reported dead by personally inflicting their fatal wounds? All he could remember was the soothing voice of the corporal pleading with him to snap out of his stricken state. Colonel Duffy had been beaming when he announced to him at BHQ that he had submitted the recommendation and would not be surprised if he did not receive a Victoria Cross for his actions. How could he tell his distant cousin and man he most admired in the world that he, Captain Sean Duffy MC, was actually a craven coward who had relinquished his command in the middle of the attack on the German lines?

4
    W ith the first buds of the spring of 1916 appearing in the trees, the balmy day could not be better for an outdoor garden party overlooking the city’s harbour. George had sent out invitations to the most influential people he knew, wanting them all to hear his most important announcement since his marriage to Sir Keith Gyles’ daughter, the very attractive and charming Louise Gyles.
    To most of the guests the war raging in far-off Europe was of little interest, apart from how it impacted on their commercial or social interests. There would be no European holidays this year as the tedious war continued, interrupting their social plans. The slice of society George had invited comprised people much like himself – men interested in company profits and concerned about the restrictions to trade caused by the threat of German U-boats and surface raiders interdicting the sea lanes between Europe and Australia. The tiresome casualty lists mostly consisted of working-class names, and these human losses did not impact on the lavish lifestyles of the better-heeled, although there was the occasional comment from one of their own, usually some foolish, patriotic officer who was ‘going west’ somewhere on the Western Front or in the Palestine campaign.
    Louise dutifully welcomed each guest with a bright smile and the offer to help themselves from the lavish spread of food set out on the tables in the garden. White-coated waiters carried silver platters, carefully balancing crystal glasses of expensive French champagne. There were one or two men in uniform, usually with red tabs at their collars denoting staff officer appointments. Although Captain Alex Macintosh was the most junior officer among the guests, his wife Giselle looked most elegant and turned one or two heads from the men present.
    ‘Oh, Giselle,’ Louise said, giving her long-time friend and sister-in-law a peck on the cheek. ‘I am so glad that you and Alex could make it today.’
    ‘Is my brother going to announce that our companies are making record profits?’ Alex asked sarcastically.
    ‘Stop it, Alex,’ Giselle rebuked. ‘I am sure that he is not going to do any such thing.’
    ‘No,’ Louise said. ‘George has something much more important to announce today,