Title: King and Country

Fandom: Blackadder

Timeline: Blackadder Goes Forth, soon after the episode 'General Hospital'

Author: Thesseli

Email: thesseli@yahoo.com

Rating: PG-13

Summery: Captain Blackadder needs more than a cunning plan to get his command back...

Disclaimer: I don't own the series or any of these characters -- I'm just borrowing them. No money is being made, and no Englishmen were harmed in the writing of this fanfic.



King and Country
by Thesseli

Part One: I Want to Break Free

The sun’s rays were just beginning their half-hearted illumination of the dank prison cell when Captain Edmund Blackadder awoke, with the vague sensation that his slumber had not been restful. He was aware that his dreams had been peopled with strange figures, figures he could only half remember, as if they were characters from a book he’d read many years before. Yet somehow they were more real than that. It was almost as
though they were trying to tell him something, trying to get some kind of message through…

“Oh, bloody hell,” he groaned, as he suddenly came fully awake. Now that consciousness had returned, he had no trouble remembering -- and he sincerely wished that the dreams he’d had were just dreams, and not the hazy recollections of the night before. He covered his head with his pillow and groaned again.

“You all right in there, Captain?” called a voice from outside.

“Yes, yes, I’m all right,” he spat. “Why shouldn’t I be all right? After all, I’ve just been humiliated by a roomful of MP’s, visiting me during intimacies with a lovely young lady ambulance driver -- how was I to know she was General Melchett’s niece? -- and arrested in the nude, no less, by that gawking desk jockey Kevin Darling, and then stripped of my command! So, private, why shouldn’t I be all right?”

“Um…‘cause they’re comin’ to get you out now, sir?” offered the thoroughly chastened enlisted man.

At that moment, the pompous voice of Captain Kevin Darling wafted into the holding cell through the barred door. It seemed that he was speaking to someone who had arrived with him; Blackadder raised himself to an elbow to listen.

“…and now perhaps Captain Blackadder will learn that a bit more decorum is expected of an officer in the British army. He should be more like you, sir…no wonder they gave you his unit. Congratulations on your new command.”

Blackadder could have shredded the moth-eaten prison blanket with his bare hands. //My replacement?// he thought indignantly. //They bring my replacement here to collect me? How could they have found someone so quickly? It would have to be someone at least equal to my rank, and I don’t know of any new officers to be assigned here. It’s not that paper-pusher of Melchett’s, so--//

“Thanks, Captain, but there’s nothing about this command to congratulate me for -- not yet, anyway. Only a loser like Blackadder would have been satisfied with it…ah, I can’t wait to get back to my own unit, flying free through the clouds, blasting the Germans to Kingdom Come and sending their pilots to fiery death on the unfeeling earth below…”

Blackadder’s head whipped around in shock. He sprang up from his cot and peered out the cell door at the figures in the hall. //That voice, that contemptuous, oh-so-arrogant voice -- it’s not possible, they couldn’t have given my command to *him*…//

Beside Captain Darling, a tall, blondish man stood, decked out in the tight-fitting and stylish uniform of the Royal Flying Corps. His arm was in a sling and he was surveying the holding area with obvious distaste.

“Flasheart,” he gasped in disbelief. He backed away from the door and cast his eyes heavenward. “There is,” he muttered to himself, “no justice in this world.” Blackadder had taken malicious pleasure in the news that the egotistic pilot had been shot down during the past week, but on the whole he’d hoped never to hear the name of Lord Flasheart ever again…much less encounter him in person. Worse yet, it now seemed he would be serving under him. He shuddered involuntarily at the wording. His short stint in the Flying Corps had been unpleasant, to put it mildly; this would undoubtedly be even more unbearable. He grimaced as the men outside approached his cell.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Captain Blackadder,” purred Darling, smiling like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. “I hardly recognized you, with your clothes on.”

The prisoner just glared wordlessly, although this seemed to amuse the other man even more.

“I suppose you could say that I caught you with your pants down, ‘eh, Captain?” Darling continued, chuckling to himself.

“How lucky for you that doing so brought some measure of amusement to your otherwise dreary life,” he retorted smoothly. “Have you come to get me out, or are you just here to relive fond memories of annoying the animals at London Zoo?”

Darling’s eyes narrowed. “The general wants you to be released. At first I advised against it…until I found out what was in store for you.”

“Oh?” he asked suspiciously. “And what, pray tell, is in store for me?”

“Not just you, Blackadder, but also for the men formerly under your command,” Flasheart replied briskly, finally condescending to speak to him. “You’ve been replaced by a more competent officer, someone who’s not so stupid as to be caught with the niece of his commanding general; and someone who’s guaranteed to have your men whipped into shape in no time. Got to separate the wheat from the chaff, ‘eh? Can’t have any slackers in *my* unit,” the pilot said, staring pointedly through the bars at the cell’s lone occupant.

The Captain held his temper admirably, he thought, and said through tightly clenched teeth, “May I point out that it is highly irregular to give a ground assignment to a member of the Royal Flying Corps, particularly the command of an infantry unit?”

“Melchett’s orders,” the pilot retorted. “And what he says goes, even if he *is* mad as a mongoose. But cheer up, it’s only temporary -- just until this heals,” here he gestured towards his injured arm, “Or until they send Melchett a permanent replacement. Whichever.”

Blackadder considered this. “They’ll never find another officer before your arm is completely healed,” he pointed out.

“Then I guess I’ll be gracing you with my presence until they do.” Flasheart grinned at him. “And as an added bonus, I’m sure that all those lovely ladies at the field hospital will be glad to hear that *I’ll* be sticking around, if you get my drift -- woof woof!”

The dark-haired man moaned inwardly as the door to his cell was unlocked and he was led to freedom…or as much freedom as he could enjoy under Flasheart. So immersed was the Captain his own misery that he almost missed what (oddly enough) sounded like the word ‘roses’ in the middle of Flasheart’s lewd ramblings…



Part Two: Keep Yourself Alive

Neither the many years of military experience nor the vivid imagination of Captain Blackadder had prepared him for what was to come.

The Captain had originally thought that the change in the unit’s top position would fall hardest upon him, but he was mistaken. To his surprise, the men were bearing the brunt of it. This was due to a fundamental difference between his style of command and Flasheart’s, and it could be described in a single sentence…

Up until now, the enemy was the biggest danger a soldier had to face.

Edmund Blackadder had been in the army for fifteen years. He had learned the fine art of keeping body and soul together in a very perilous world, and had tried to pass on this knowledge to those under his command. As a young man, he had always taken an odd sort of comfort that the bullets couldn’t tell the difference between low and high ranking personnel; and because the commanders were just as much at risk as the rest of the unit, they tended to be careful. The feeling that they were all in this together had always been present. Until now, that is.

Captain Blackadder was well aware that wars were unpleasant, that they were hazardous to your health, and that there was an ever-present chance of getting your head blown off. He accepted all of this. What he could not accept was that the new commander of his unit seemed hell-bent on demonstrating all this to -- or perhaps with -- his men.

“I’m telling you, George, he’s far too reckless to remain in command,” Blackadder stated, at the end of a lengthy conversation in the barracks. “Flasheart was trained for aerial combat…he knows absolutely nothing about ground warfare. Something must be done about him, and it had better be soon -- while we still have some enlisted men left.”

“Now sir, don’t you think you’re being a little bit hard on Lord Flasheart, just because General Melchett gave him your job?” chided the young officer, who had been trying to keep the peace for the last month. “Isn’t ‘reckless’ a tad harsh?”

Captain Blackadder folded his arms across his chest. “What about those three fatalities last week?”

“Well, we *are* in the army, sir. That sort of thing’s only to be expected.”

The dark-haired man pinched his eyebrows together. “On a training exercise, Lieutenant?”

“Oh.” George’s guileless face showed concern. “But there’s nothing we can do about Lord Flasheart…is there?”

“Yes, there is.”

“What?”

“We get rid of him,” Blackadder announced firmly, as if the answer was obvious.

George’s brow furrowed with the effort of though. “How do we do that?”

“I haven’t quite worked that bit out yet,” sighed Blackadder. “‘Separate the wheat from the chaff’, indeed…I’ll tell you this, George -- the life expectancy of an RFC man may only be twenty minutes, but here in the trenches it’s considerably longer…unless you’ve got the intelligence of an especially dim-witted tree sloth.”

As if on cue, Private Baldrick walked in.

“Guess what, Private! The Captain here’s going to figure out how to get rid of that bounder who’s taken over our trench!” enthused the rather inbred young lieutenant.

“Well, that’s a very welcome piece of news, sir,” beamed the scruffy enlisted man, his hat torn and his short, multi-colored scarf coming untucked from his jacket. He had the second half of the latest issue of ‘King and Country’ sticking out of his pocket (the first part of the magazine had mysteriously disappeared two days ago). “‘Cause me and the rest of the lads have just about had it up to here with that Lord Flasheart.” He nodded in a conspiratorial manner. “We don’t like him, you know.”

Blackadder smiled proudly. “It’s nice to know that my men want me back in command.”

“Oh, they don’t care if you’re back in either, sir; they just want to get rid of Flasheart,” replied Baldrick blithely.

“But better the devil you know than the devil you don’t,” George pointed out.

“The confidence you all have in me is overwhelming,” he deadpanned. “All right. I can’t say I have a complete plan yet, but I do have the beginnings of one.”

“Ooh, you’re not gonna shoot him, are you sir?”

“Much as I’d like to, Private, the answer to your question is no. My plan will require subtlety, a quick mind…and something unpleasant we can pin on Flasheart.” He frowned. “Which, unfortunately, is something we don’t have.”

“Which part don’t we have?” asked George, too wrapped up in the tale to pay attention to the more intricate details.

“It would have to be something that would get him into trouble with the big boys, something major…”

“Captain, I’ve just remembered something,” interrupted Baldrick thoughtfully. “When I was in the field hospital the other week, gettin’ my foot fungus treated, I heard some of the nurses talkin’ about how Lord Flasheart had been tomcatting ‘round there after some other nurse, but she didn’t want him bothering her.”

“That’s a welcome switch from the way they usually fawn over him. Does this have any relevance to the problem at hand?”

“It might, sir. I couldn’t make out exactly what they said, but it was something like…oh, let me think—”

“And change the habit of a lifetime? Come on, Private, what was it?”

Baldrick looked confident. “They said ‘if she ever let on what she knows about him, he’d never be able to show his face in polite society again’. That’s what they said, sir. If you could find out what it was, then you could use it against him.” The private’s eyes narrowed behind his round-lensed glasses. “I’ll just bet it was a bourgeois act of oppression. Them aristos are all alike,” he declared.

Blackadder rubbed his chin, examining all his options. Then he reluctantly admitted to himself that he had only one option, loathe as he was to actually follow it through. It was based on hearsay, and it came to him from a man with the wits of a piece of moldy bread. It was likely to be the worst plan since Hannibal said ‘No, forget about those damned horses, we need something a lot *bigger* to get over the Alps’. But, unfortunately, it might be his only chance to get his command back.

“What a good idea, Baldrick,” he heard himself saying. “Tell me, you wouldn’t happen to have gotten the name of this other nurse, this angel of mercy, would you?”

“One of the other girls called her Rosie.”

“Rosie…yes, I heard Flasheart saying something like that, when he was driveling on about the female staff at the field hospital,” he mused. “After bringing up that regrettable incident between myself and one of the former staff members, of course—”

The lieutenant chose this point to interrupt. He did not often have good ideas, and he wanted to tell the Captain this one before it slipped from his mind’s tenuous hold. “Sir, that big party the general’s throwing for Lord Flasheart is tomorrow night, in honor of his first month of command. That nurse will probably be there. Nobody would miss a party given by General Melchett, even me…even if it’s only to get away from Baldrick’s cooking.” This was George’s main reason for going. “Rosie…I know, they must have meant Rosalind Stuart. Short, blonde, and quite pretty, or so I’ve been told. She transferred in a few weeks ago.”

Captain Blackadder smiled contentedly. “Rosalind Stuart,” he repeated. “Rosalind Stuart, you don’t know it yet, but tomorrow is going to be your lucky day.”

“Oh hurrah, sir!” the lieutenant cheered.



Part Three: Party

The next evening, Captain Blackadder waited in readiness for the arrival of Nurse Rosalind Stuart. He himself had come to the party especially early, so as not to miss the young woman when she first came into the crowded recreation hall. Not that anyone could miss *him*, he thought proudly. He’d pulled out all the stops for this evening’s affair. His dark dress jacket had been specially pressed, his boots polished…even the buttons at his cuffs were shiny. Plus, the jodhpurs he’d chosen for the occasion were the ones that were just a bit too tight (this was simply following the principle of a peacock showing off its plumage, he’d told himself). With his short, dark brown hair and mustache neatly trimmed, and his riding crop clasped firmly under his arm, he could have been on a recruiting poster. He was sure he could melt the heart of any female.

“Excuse me, but could you get out of the way? Other people have to use this part of the floor besides *you*.”

Captain Blackadder turned to see an impatient woman with fiery-red hair standing at his right. His mind raced…this must be the head of the nursing staff, and he wished to make a good first impression on her, knowing that he might have to meet Miss Stuart at the hospital. Unable to remember her name, he smiled amiably. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure—”

“And you’re not going to, either,” she said curtly. “Now move.”

Completely taken aback, Captain Blackadder could think of nothing else but to do as she said. She shook her head, the bright red bow in her hair utterly incompatible with her dark expression, and sighed that this one looked like yet another person to avoid. She stalked away.

Still confused by this unprovoked attack, the captain almost didn’t hear the name he’d been listening for all evening. His eyes followed the voice to the other side of the hall.

Edmund Blackadder had never believed in love at first sight. He still didn’t.

Lust, on the other hand, was something that he had no problem with whatsoever.

Captain Blackadder was aware that he was staring. He couldn’t help it, nor did he wish to stop; for George’s designation of ‘quite pretty’ did not begin to describe the woman he gazed upon.

Rosalind Stuart was petite, delicately formed in her white and blue uniform that seemed to have been designed only to accentuate her stunning figure. She had golden, shoulder-length hair, framing an oval face with pixieish features. She was lovely.

Captain Blackadder was still staring at the young woman when it dawned on him that perhaps it was *his* lucky day as well. Just as he started across the room, however, his way was blocked by the most unwelcome form of Kevin Darling.

“Captain,” began the other man, with a condescending smile on his face. “I must confess that I didn’t think you’d be here
tonight.”

“Oh? Why is that, Darling?” Blackadder replied, equally insolent. He didn’t miss the brief flare of annoyance at the familiarity of the address. “Oh, I know. It’s because the only ones invited here were officers who survive on their incredible good luck…something quite useful to a man totally lacking in talent, such as yourself.”

“What a clever thing to say, for a man who lost his command to someone not even in his own branch of the service.” Darling looked smug. “Maybe now you’ll start behaving as if you were actually in the army.”

“And if Melchett transferred you away from your cushy assignment as his glorified secretary, *you* might even start thinking you’re in the army.”

Darling shook his head and laughed at the ludicrous idea. “I hardly think the general would do something like that.”

“Hope springs eternal,” replied Blackadder, entertaining thoughts of just what he’d do if he ever had Captain Darling under his command. But he knew it would never happen, so he contented himself with the thought that soon one of his (other) problems would be gone. “If you’re quite through pestering me, Captain, I believe I’ll be on my way. I have much better things to do than to waste my time talking to someone who hasn’t got the brains to get a job as a firing squad target.”

“You should know all about that, Blackadder, since it was a job that you’ve already had,” he chuckled. “You couldn’t even do that one right, as I recall.”

The dark-haired man smiled tightly. “Goodbye, Captain, I’ve got to go speak to members of the human race now.” Pushing past Darling, Captain Blackadder marched purposefully over to the group of party-goers containing Rosalind Stuart -- and unhappily, Lord Flasheart -- but at least the unfriendly chief nurse was nowhere to be seen. Now he could put his cunning plan into action.

* * *

The rest of the night was, unfortunately, quite unproductive. The very tipsy Lord Flasheart had been passing drinks to his adoring listeners all evening, as he regaled them with incoherent tales of glory. Consequently, the vision of loveliness in the nurse’s uniform had become too drunk for him to get anything more intelligent from than ‘My feet are going numb’. Besides, Flasheart was still there, so it would have been impossible to discuss sensitive matters with her. Such was his luck

//I’m not through with this yet,// Blackadder told himself determinedly. //I’ll visit her tomorrow, at the hospital. I’ll come up with a brilliantly clever excuse for why I’m there; then I can start getting to know her, and then later, finally, I’ll make known my feelings for Lord Flasheart.// The captain smiled confidently to himself. //Now all I’ve got to do is think of an excuse…I’m sure something will come to me.//



Part Four: Good Old-Fashioned Loverboy

As it turned out, Captain Blackadder did not need to invent a reason to visit the field hospital. In stead, a reason obligingly presented itself to him.

Lieutenant George St. Barleigh sat on an uncomfortably hard bed in the field hospital. This was due to his overly-enthusiastic participation in a drunken brawl the previous night. He was worried, not because of the trouble he knew he was in or because Captain Blackadder had been called to come and collect him, but because the person overseeing his hospitalization was Chief Nurse Madeleine King. Unlike his captain, he had met her long before last night. He was thoroughly acquainted with the woman and he knew much more about her so-called bedside manner -- he had been the victim of it on several occasions, and the experience had had a lasting effect. He still couldn’t speak her full name, or hear it mentioned without crossing his legs (in protection of his most valuable personal assets). He’d also heard that the chief nurse’s office contained a dartboard with surgical scalpels embedded in it. George’s look of perpetual bewilderment had been replaced by one of barely-contained anxiety. Even now, he could hear the ominous footsteps of his captor -- or rather his caregiver -- from the room beyond.

“I’m so bored,” he sighed to himself. “This is pointless…keeping me here all night and most of the morning, when I should be back in the barracks getting ready for Lord Flasheart’s latest insane mission! I shouldn’t have to stay in this medieval torture chamber.”

The nurse’s head appeared in the doorway. “I heard that, Lieutenant,” she said, perhaps as a warning against making himself too much of a nuisance. As she turned to leave, George stuck his tongue out at her…and realized he had made a major tactical error when she stopped in mid-stride and turned back to glare at him.

“Watch it, Lieutenant, or I’ll see that you get another complete physical. And it will be just as thorough as the last time.”

George shuddered. Based on his previous visits to the hospital, he had determined that Nurse King had the strength of a rugby player, plus she had long, wicked, red-painted nails, which he could see quite clearly now. The light glinted off their blood-colored surface…the color, he was sure, was not a coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t even nail varnish at all…

King smiled in a predatory fashion, obviously enjoying herself. “Oh Lieutenant, don’t be afraid of me. I’m a nurse, and my job is to help people. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt one of God’s creatures…” Here, her eyes became somewhat maniacal. “Except for *fun*.”

George whimpered. The redhead regarded him with amusement. “Still,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. “I agree with you, that it’s about time that you got out of here. I’m going to release you.”

The lieutenant jumped to his feet. “Really? Why?” He regarded her with suspicion. “What do you want in return…?” His hands involuntarily went to protect his ‘assets’. “What are you going to do with me?”

King’s gray eyes showed extreme exasperation. “Do you honestly thing I have to turn to someone like you for favors?” she asked. “You’re getting out because your captain friends has come to collect you. I left him filling out the report outside…” She cocked her head. “Now, I wonder where he’s got to?”

* * *

//This is good,// Blackadder thought to himself, as he stood before the entrance to the hospital’s main ward. //Nurse Stuart is the only staffmember on duty. No-one else is around, no-one to interrupt us. I can introduce myself now, maybe set up a more personal meeting later, if I’m lucky. Yes, this is very good indeed.//

Taking a deep breath, the man rapped on the door a few times, then entered. “Hello?” he called.

The vision of loveliness he’d seen the night before stood up from her chair next to a hospital bed. She was clad in the simple blue dress and white smock of her profession, but to a soldier who spent most of his time completely cut off from the female sex…she could have been Venus herself.

“Hello, Captain. Are you lost?” she asked melodiously.

“Well, now that you mention it, yes, I do seem to be lost,” he replied smoothly, with just a touch of self-deprecation. “I’ve come to pick up a friend of mine.”

“Oh, you must be Captain Blackadder!” she said brightly. “I’m Rosalind Stuart. Are you here for George?”

“Yes,” he replied, pleased at this unexpectedly warm reception.

“Everybody’s heard of you, Captain,” she giggled. “Especially after last night.”

“Really?” He smiled winningly at her and took a few steps closer. “My, I must have made quite an impression at the party.”

“Oh no, it wasn’t because of anything you did -- it was because of George. That’s why he’s here. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

That was something he hadn’t thought to ask…although he hadn’t been told exactly how the lieutenant had received his minor injuries. He’d assumed that they were due to a typical drunken fall on his way back to the barracks. Now he was suspicious. “No, Nurse, I wasn’t told why my second officer was in hospital. How was he hurt, and what did it have to do with me?”

“Well,” she began earnestly. “After you left last night, some of the men from the Flying Corp -- the pilot types, you know -- started saying all kinds of horrible things about you. That you were just a lazy, scrounging, idle loafer, who didn’t have the wits to run a lunch cart, much less an infantry unit. Lt. George leapt to your defense, and told them that you were *quite* capable of running a lunch cart, and that you were going to get your command back soon because you were lots better in charge than Lord Flasheart, since Flasheart didn’t know a thing about ground fighting. And then *they* said that if a weasel-faced git with a service record resembling a piece of Swiss cheese like you could do it, then Lord Flasheart didn’t
need to know a thing about ground fighting to be in charge. So Lt. George belted him one, right in the jaw. BAM!” she enthused, pantomiming the blow with her right fist and narrowly missing the very crestfallen captain. Suddenly her face fell. “Oh no, I haven’t offended you, have I?” she asked, her eyes round. “I do tend to ramble sometimes, you know…just saying whatever comes to me, without really thinking how it’s going to come out. Can you forgive me for being so rude?”

“Before I answer that, I’d like to ask you one thing,” replied Blackadder, still rather wary of her oblivious description of the argument. //But I must remember to thank George for his defense, assuming that Captain Darling doesn’t lock him up for inciting a riot.// “Nurse, do you believe the outright slander that those pilots had the audacity to speak?”

Stuart’s pretty face showed dismay. “Oh no, Captain, never. Any officer who’s had an army career for as many years as you without a single serious injury, no matter how fierce the fighting around him was, has got to be some kind of hero! And he must be very clever, to have been an officer for so long. And he’d *certainly* have the wits to run a lunch cart,” she declared firmly.

“How could I turn down such a sweet apology…but perhaps, if you would care to spend some time with me, I could accept it later this evening,” he purred, taking a few more steps closer to her. “May I suggest a quiet dinner, and the movie playing at the base tonight? To get to know each other?”

“I think that would be lovely,” she said, smiling up at him.

“Not half as lovely as you are, my dear.” He returned her smile. He was so suave, so smooth…that centuries-old Blackadder charm was working. And as an interesting side effect, he was also beginning to feel very warm. (He’d been in the trenches for quite a while, after all.) “Oh yes,” he said, with some effort. “I…really want to get to know you better, Miss Stuart.”

Eyes the color of the sky in springtime gazed into his own. “Call me Rosalind,” she breathed.

“Rosalind,” he repeated, and the warm feeling got warmer. Much warmer. She seemed to be experiencing something similar -- judging by the ward’s residents, she probably hadn’t been around any men who were healthy and whole for some time either. He put an arm around her and drew her close; she tilted her head back in preparation to meet him, when suddenly…

“There you are, Captain,” an annoyed voice rang out from behind him. “Come on, your rabbitty lieutenant is free to go. We can’t have you lot cluttering up the hospital all day.”

The moment was shattered hopelessly. The very disappointed man released the blonde from his embrace, and stood sulkily by the row of beds. Pouting.

The chief nurse looked at him like a squashed bug. “Captain Blackadder, you know you’re not allowed in here. You could contaminate the patients.”

Blackadder had the distinct impression that the redhead’s remark had nothing to do with maintaining proper hospital sterility. “There is nothing in this room that is adversely affected by my presence,” he retorted huffily.

“I’m sure. Now run along, Captain, your friend is fine and Nurse Stuart has work to do.” King took hold of the other woman’s wrist. “Hmm. 110. Out, Captain. Now.”

As he emerged from the ward, the captain broke into a grin and sighed in happy relief at how easily things had been going for him lately; and after a few blessedly peaceful moments, he went to meet George. The smile was still in place when he left that evening for his dinner date.



Part Five: Calling All Girls

Lt. George St. Barleigh was sitting cross-legged on his bunk late that night when Captain Blackadder returned, hat and riding crop under his arm. The young officer noted that there was a very odd expression on his captain’s face, and he rose to his feet in concern. “Sir?” he asked hesitantly. “Is there anything wrong?”

“Wrong?” repeated Blackadder, looking somewhat dazed. He crossed the room to his own bunk and fell heavily onto it. “Yes, something is wrong. Very wrong.”

George fidgeted uncomfortably. “Didn’t you have a nice evening, sir?”

“I had a very nice evening, George,” he said, staring blankly at the bare wooden wall on the far side of the dugout. He didn’t appear to have had a nice evening at all, and the lieutenant was prepared to find out why.

“Er…wasn’t the dinner all right?” he asked.

“The dinner was fine, George.”

“Um…didn’t you…didn’t you get to, well, you know,” here George pantomimed a rather blatant physical act. “Didn’t you, sir?”

Blackadder frowned disapprovingly at him. “Yes, I did.”

The young lieutenant was bewildered. “Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, sir, you don’t look very happy about it.”

“That, lieutenant, is because I am no closer to regaining my command than I was a month ago,” he said, his voice grating like metal on metal. “Do you know what happened tonight, George? Everything was absolutely perfect, all evening, from dinner right until the cigarette-smoking stage…damn, I should have known things were going too well—”

“But captain, sir, you and Nurse Stuart seemed to get getting on splendidly, you should be happy.”

“That’s not the point, is it, George? The point is that for the rest of the war my body might very well be happy, but my brain will be miserable because I’ll be taking orders from Flasheart -- or some other idiot of Melchett’s,” he snapped, getting up and pacing back and forth in front of George’s bunk.

“Won’t Nurse Stuart help you with your plan to get rid of Lord Flasheart?” the young man squeaked, trying to surreptitiously get out of range of the captain’s riding crop.

“No, she won’t. Do you want to know why that is, lieutenant?” He paused for the tiniest fraction of a second, then began counting on his fingers. “One: because Nurse Stuart doesn’t know anything about Flasheart that isn’t already public knowledge. Two: because Nurse Stuart sees nothing at all wrong with Lord Flasheart; in fact she idolizes him as much as the rest of the world seems to. And finally: because Baldrick’s information was not only wrong about her disliking Flasheart, it was also wrong about her name. When I called her Rosie, she looked at me like I was speaking Mongolian. She acted like she’d never been called that before. Do you know why, Lieutenant?”

George had a feeling that he knew why, but asked anyway. “Why, sir?”

“Because she hadn’t been called that before. Ever.” The captain sank heavily down onto his bunk, fuming.

“You’re not giving up, are you sir?” George asked, looking appalled that he might even consider it.

Unexpectedly, Blackadder smiled at him. “Never,” he declared firmly, reaching for his pipe. “For one thing, I refuse to believe that I was acting under a completely false premise. At least part of it had to be accurate. Baldrick, you’re sure that what you told me about the nurses’ conversation was true?”

“Very true, sir,” the enlisted man replied earnestly, having the courage to speak for the first time since the captain returned. “I remember it clear as day.”

“And you’re quite sure the name they used was ‘Rosie’?”

“Yes sir,” he said, even more earnestly than before.

“Hmm.” He tapped the lit pipe on the bedpost. “George, are you sure that there are no other women with a name anything like ‘Rose’, on the base or in its immediate vicinity?”

“No, Captain, there aren’t. And I’m totally, positively, one-hundred-percent sure of it.”

“Yet the woman both they and Flasheart referred to must be on the base…but the only person this name could attach itself to is not the obvious choice of Rosalind Stuart. The only thing we can do now is whittle away the other possibilities until we come to the right person.”

“That sounds very logical to me,” said Baldrick. George nodded vigorously, murmuring something about how good it was that the Captain was so stubborn.

Blackadder pointedly ignored this interchange. “The first question we should ask ourselves is who else could this mystery woman be, since it’s not the obvious one. What else could Rosie be a nickname for, other than a proper name?”

“It could be part of a surname.”

“No, I’ve already checked that out. Any other ideas?”

The other two men looked completely blank. Captain Blackadder sighed in exasperation and said, “All right, if you’d like a simpler question -- what do we know about roses, as a noun and not as a name?”

George brightened immediately. “Oh, I know lots about roses, my mother grows them in her garden, you know,” he replied, and happily began listing the names of the numerous varieties he knew. When he had finally run out, he glanced at his captain quizzically. “Did that help at all, sir? Did you hear anything that might give us a clue?”

“No, not really.”

“Do any of the nurses grow them?”

“No,” he sighed.

“Oh.” George gave him his most hangdog look and put his chin in his hand. “Baldrick, do you have any ideas? I’m fresh out, I’m afraid.”

“Umm…” The private’s brow knit with the intensity of great concentration. “Oh, I know,” he smiled, then stood up and clasped his hands behind his back as if giving a presentation at school. “‘Roses are red, violets are blue.’ Roses are red, sir.”

Blackadder stared at him balefully. “Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. My career is on the line, and my men start reciting nursery rhymes at me.” He shook his head; and then, as an afterthought, added “And incidentally, private, not all roses are red. As our resident expert George could tell you, they come in a variety of colors and shades, all of which are more pleasing to the eye than you are.”

“Ah, but Private Baldrick has a point,” replied George matter-of-factly. “Roses *are* mostly known for being red. It’s a fact.”

“And General ‘Insanity’ Melchett is known for being a bit out of touch with reality. That’s a fact, too, and about as helpful as Baldrick’s.” He laughed scornfully. “Private, the only red things in that hospital are blood, and—”

“Sir?”

Captain Blackadder had stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. He looked positively ill; and George noted with alarm that the dark-haired man looked more distressed than when he’d arrived. “Sir?” he repeated. “Are you all right, or are you just having flashbacks to Umboto Gorge again?”

“I have just had an extremely unpleasant thought,” said the captain slowly. “Having to do with things at the hospital that are red.”

“Do you know which of the nurses it is, Captain?”

“Don’t keep us on tenterhooks, sir -- tell us!” urged George, on the edge of his bunk in anticipation.

“It’s a flimsy lead to go on…but then again, nothing about this plan was based on solid fact to begin with.” He leaned back against the wall, peering through a thin haze of tobacco smoke at his associates. “I just with I was wrong.”

“But why, sir, if it can help you?”

“Think, George. Think about everything you saw at the hospital that was red,” Blackadder prompted. “Something that could scare the living daylights out of you…or should I say some*one*, who just happens to be the only woman on this base with red hair, tied in a red ribbon.”

The lieutenant’s mouth fell open in shock. His eyes were like saucers. “Oh no, sir, you don’t mean *her*…” he whispered.

“Nurse King?” echoed Baldrick fearfully. “She told me the doctors were gonna have to amputate my foot, just ‘cause I had an ingrown toenail…”

“Oh Captain, please don’t tell us you’re going to ask *her* for help,” George implored.

“I wish I didn’t have to,” he replied. “Madeleine King is a notorious loon…but if I can convince her to help me get rid of Flasheart, it’s well worth the risk.” He gazed thoughtfully around the room. “That’s who he was talking to himself about, that first day of his command. I wonder what his connection is to Nurse King?”

“It’ll be your job to find out,” warned Baldrick.

“So it will.”

The young lieutenant was whimpering again. He recognized the look of single-minded determination on his captain’s face, and he knew that neither he nor Private Baldrick would be able to talk him out of it. But he felt that, as a friend and comrade, he had to try…



Part Six: March of the Black Queen

Chief Nurse Madeleine King sat in her office, leaning back in her chair at her desk. In one hand she held two horse-chestnuts, which she was rolling around in her palm; in the other was held a scalpel, which was being carefully aimed at the dartboard on the office door.

There was a knock from outside.

The scalpel whistled through the air and struck the door dead-center. “Enter,” she intoned, glad that her shot had not been thrown off by the interruption.

Captain Blackadder cautiously stepped inside, sparing a quick and dubious glance at the still-vibrating blade.

“Well hello, Captain. What brings you back so soon? Have you fallen down and skinned your knee?”

The captain gritted his teeth and forcibly reminded himself to be civil. “No, Nurse King,” he said evenly. “I have something that I would like to discuss with you.”

To Blackadder’s surprise, her manner suddenly turned businesslike; something he hadn’t expected, given the stories he’d heard about her. “If it’s about your lieutenant, you have nothing to worry about,” she said. “He has no broken bones, no concussion, and the cuts and bruises that he does have will heal within a week. He’ll be fine.”

“That’s very nice to hear, but this has nothing to do with George,” he replied.

“Then why are you here?” she asked, back to her previous attitude. “Have you developed some new form of social disease that you want us to cure?” She sounded bored, and resumed rolling the nuts in her hand at a blinding speed.

Captain Blackadder now found it easy to empathize with his lieutenant, and the seasoned combat veteran fought the urge to let his hands fly to his crotch protectively. He swallowed hard, deciding then to be direct and to the point. “No. What I’ve come to ask you about is your relationship with Squadron Command Flasheart, Nurse King…or should I say ‘Rosie’?”

The redhead’s hand involuntarily clamped around the chestnuts, squeezing so tightly that they shot out from either side and dropped to the floor. “How dare you call me that?” she hissed, her eyes flashing dangerously.

//Bingo,// he thought to himself, but he was unprepared for such a vehement outburst and was rather startled by it. “Something one of my men overheard while he was here,” Blackadder replied nonchalantly. “You don’t like Flasheart very much, I take it.”

She smiled grimly. “Correct.”

“And when I met you at the party the other night, he was the person you were trying to get away from, wasn’t he.” It was a statement, not a question.

“I should have thought *that* was as plain as the nose on your face. Which would make it very plain, don’t you think so, Captain?” she replied sweetly, resting her chin in her hands and bestowing him with an angelic smile.

Blackadder didn’t feel like being sidetracked. “I didn’t come here to be insulted—”

“Oh? Where do you usually go?”

“You know, Nurse, you might want to show a little more respect for the fighting men around here -- why, just last week we had to put up with twenty-four hours of shelling—”

“And what did you do *after* you were through with the peanuts?”

The captain knew he was getting nowhere, and his frustration was mounting. “Nurse King, you have been nothing but hostile to me since the moment we met. Could you at least do me the honor of telling me why?”

“Why, he asks,” she grumbled. “You, Captain Edmund Blackadder, are responsible for the loss of one of the most competent members of my staff, at a time when we are *seriously* undermanned. If it weren’t for you and your idiotic spy-hunt, Nurse Fletcher-Brown would still be here today. As it is, she’s transferred out and refuses to set foot on this base again because of you.”

“I stopped the firing squad before they shot her. If that’s not dedication, I don’t know what is,” he replied haughtily. “What else could she want from me?”

“Gosh, I don’t know. By the way, how’s your jaw? She hit you pretty hard after that, or so I was told.”

The captain felt the bones on the left side of his face throb, as if in remembrance of the incident. “She slapped me. And it wasn’t all that hard, if you must know.”

“Any harder and you would have been eating baby food for a month, because your jaw would have been wired shut. And I can’t say that I blame her…especially not now, with you coming here and bringing up things that I’d thought were private.”

“Your nickname?” She nodded but said nothing. “Is that what Flasheart calls you?”

King’s eyes narrowed. “If Flasheart ever calls me that to my face again, he will quickly find himself stuffed down the nearest latrine.”

This was clearly a sore spot, which Blackadder would definitely avoid in any future dealings with her. It would be ‘Nurse King’, or ‘Ma’am’, if anything. “I’m glad to see you feel the same way about that overblown pilot as I do.”

For the first time, the chief nurse seemed to look at her visitor with some sort of interest. “What do you mean, Captain?”

“The reason why I came here, Nurse King, is to discuss a subject that pertains to the both of us. If you can keep your mind on the matter at hand, that is.”

“Why not? Go ahead, Captain, I’m all ears.”

“Premise One: you dislike Squadron Commander Flasheart. No, make that you *despise* Squadron Command Flasheart, yes?”

“You do have a way with words, Captain,” she said. She didn’t disagree.

This was exactly what Blackadder wanted to hear. “Premise Two: Lord Flasheart’s new command has brought him into closer contact with the hospital and its staff. In other words, you’ve been seeing a lot more of him lately, since he took on this ground assignment.”

“Yes. Unfortunately.”

//Better and better,// he thought, and prepared to deliver his coup de grace. “Premise Three: based on the previous two assumptions, you would like to see Flasheart lose his new ground assignment and be reassigned elsewhere. Anywhere.”

“Your assumptions are correct.” She leaned back, regarding him with a look of bemused curiosity. “Now it’s your turn to give out information, Captain. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way to HQ to get my opinion of a grounded pilot.”

“You’re right,” he answered. “Nurse King, do you know of my relationship to Lord Flasheart, and how he came to be in charge of a ground-based unit?”

Blackadder could almost see the gears turning in her mind as she considered the question. When she looked back at him, he could tell that she understood. “That was *your* unit,” she said, in a mildly accusing tone. “Flasheart stole your command.”

The captain nodded solemnly, hoping for some sympathy.

Madeleine King blinked once, then burst into hysterical laughter. “*You’re* the one who was arrested buck-naked with Melchett’s niece!” she giggled in delight. “I can’t believe it -- you’re the one, when all those MP’s came storming in, and you were just about to—” Her sentence dissolved into mirthful incoherence.

Edmund Blackadder had never been a man to blush, but he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks, and he was currently very conscious of his pale complexion. He cleared his throat. “Yes, Nurse, I’m sure it must seem extremely amusing to anyone not actually involved in it—”

This brought on another round of laughter. The captain waited patiently for a few moments; then, when it appeared that she had calmed down enough to listen without snickering, he bent down and rested his hands on her desk. “Hilarity over with, Nurse?”

She smiled up at him, looking very much like the cat who swallowed the canary, and she nodded briefly. “Do go on, Captain,” she said, a little too quickly. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that yes, my command was usurped by Flasheart, who knows nothing of the intricacies of ground warfare tactics. This has led to an inappropriately high number of casualties from my former unit.”

The nurse nodded, all hints of amusement gone. “I’d noticed that a lot of men from his…from your unit were coming through the hospital. He must still think he’s in the Flying Corps, where a man’s life expectancy is only twenty minutes. He hasn’t a clue about handling ground troops.”

Blackadder nodded curtly. “So, why is it that non-military personnel can understand this, but the people running the army can’t?” he asked cynically. “There is no logical reason for Flasheart not to return to the Flying Corps.”

“Since when does logic have anything to do with General Melchett? He put Flasheart in command, he’ll be the one who takes him out.”

Captain Blackadder rocked back on his heels, looking very smug. “Exactly.”

King’s gray eyes seemed to light up with anticipation. “You have an idea to get rid of that overbearing buffoon?”

“Yes,” he pronounced. “But I will require the assistance of a member of the gentler sex…preferably one who considers Squadron Commander Flasheart to be a blight upon the Earth. I’ve heard rumors that you might know something about him, something damaging. Is that correct?”

“You’re very well informed, for someone who lives in a hole in the ground.”

“So it’s true?”

The woman considered the question. “I know a few things about Flasheart that most people wouldn’t, yes -- but I don’t see what use you could make of them.”

“You’re willing to lend a hand to a noble cause, then?”

The nurse’s mercurial disposition took another swing towards the positive. “I must say that I’m intrigued by your invitation, Captain.”

Blackadder smiled. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

The two regarded each other silently for a few moments, then the woman scowled darkly. “I believe you wanted to know about my association with Flasheart.”

“By your reaction to his name alone, I can guess that you’re more acquainted with him than I’d thought.” He raised an eyebrow. “Some sort of long-standing grudge against him, perhaps?”

King laughed. “I suppose you could call it that.”

“Just what I wanted to hear,” he purred, rubbing his hands together. “Shall we get to work, Nurse King?”

The redhead nodded, then tapped herself on the chest. “Madeleine.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you, Madeleine,” he replied. He took a step forward and extended a hand. “And please, call me Edmund.”

Their hands met, their eyes met, and they began to plan.



Part Seven: My Life Has Been Saved

Lieutenant George sat on his bunk in the barracks, which were surely the most interesting and exciting barracks in the whole of the front lines, or so he had always believed. The most recent events that proved this to the impressionable young man concerned his former C.O. Captain Blackadder, who was at that very moment on the most dangerous mission of his military career: an unsupervised meeting with Chief Nurse Madeleine King. George had protested vehemently that this was not a wise thing to do, but of course the captain had decided to go anyway. All of this had been detailed by the lieutenant in today’s letter to his mother (who agreed with her son that yes, he lived in a very exciting place indeed); however, this letter had been finished several hours ago, and now George’s mind was free to wander indiscriminately. Even his favorite magazine could not keep his attention.

“I’m *worried*, Baldrick,” the lieutenant moaned for the hundredth time. “Who knows what that woman might be doing to the captain, right at this very instant?” He wrung his hands together, nearly shredding his copy of ‘King and Country’.

“The captain’s prob’ly doing just fine, sir,” Baldrick assured him, remembering not to mention the nurse’s name aloud to the skittish young officer. “I bet that she won’t do anything to him that she didn’t do to you, when you were in hospital. Captain Blackadder’s not getting anything that you didn’t.”

“Oh *no*…” George wailed.

“Come to think of it, lieutenant, what *did* she do to you before she signed your release form?” Baldrick raised a speculative eyebrow. “Nurses are allowed to see you in your natural state, and she was the one who examined you, so maybe she wanted—”

“It wasn’t that!” he cried in anguish, remembering his complete physical. “She never laid a hand on me in a way that wasn’t totally medical in nature!”

Baldrick nodded sympathetically. “That’s always how it starts, isn’t it sir.”

“But -- but -- ” George stammered incoherently.

“But what, lieutenant?” Captain Blackadder asked casually as he breezed into the barracks, a sheaf of paper under his arm. He headed straight to his desk and began to lay out the papers in front of him.

“Sir, you’re back!”

“Sir, you’re alive!”

Blackadder spared his two trenchmates a glance as he put on his reading glasses. “So it seems,” he said agreeably.

After several moments, when nothing further appeared to be forthcoming, the young lieutenant sprang up from his bunk. He landed next to the desk. “Permission to ask rather a stupid question, sir.”

“Permission granted,” the captain replied, not looking up from the paperwork.

“What happened?!” George started to pace, his pent-up nervous energy demanding an outlet. “You go off to see that.. that *person*, and then you come back without so much as a how-do-you-do, or a guess-what-went-on, or even a let-me-tell-you-all-about-it! After all our years together, sir, I can’t believe you’d be so cruel as to keep us in the dark like this.”

“We was worried sick about you, Captain Blackadder. Lieutenant George here was sure that you would’ve ‘ad all kinds o’ weird medical experiments performed on you, ‘cause you went to bother Nurse King. She doesn’t like being bothered, you know.”

The dark-haired man raised an eyebrow. “Well, let me assure you that Lieutenant George had nothing whatsoever to be concerned about. My meeting with Nurse King couldn’t have gone better.”

“So it really was her, then?” George asked eagerly. “Does she really have something against Flasheart? Is she going to help us?”

Blackadder paused for a moment as he pushed back his chair, turning his attention away from his work. “Yes,” he replied thoughtfully. “But I would strongly advise anyone mentioning anything about roses while in her presence.”

“Why, sir? It’s not to do with Flasheart, is it?”

An odd look crossed the captain’s face. “Yes and no. I rather wish I hadn’t blurted it out before I knew what was behind it.” He paused uncomfortably, but their questioning looks prompted him to continue. “You see, Madeleine King isn’t her original name.”

“You mean she’s living under an assumed identity?” asked the astounded lieutenant. “Is she.. on the run from the law?”

Blackadder took off his spectacles and stared incredulously at George. “No she *isn’t*. King was her husband’s name,” he explained quickly. “She was born Madeleine Grace Berrigan.” This last statement was accompanied by a self-satisfied expression on the captain’s face, for it had produced the desired effect. “Recognize that name, do you lieutenant?”

“Of course I do, sir,” answered George. “The Berrigan family owns all that land near the old estates in Ridley.. Good Lord, Nurse King isn’t *that* Berrigan, is she? The one with no brothers or sisters, who’ll inherit all that in a few years?”

The captain nodded. “Do you know any more about her?”

“I haven’t been able to keep up to date on society news since I’ve started living in a trench for the greater glory of my country, sir,” he said apologetically. “Sorry.”

“That’s quite all right; I know enough for the both of us, including the reason why Nurse King is willing to help us with our problem.” He leaned forward, glanced over his shoulder as if to check for unwelcome listeners, and then continued. “Two years ago, Madeleine Grace Berrigan married Lt. Harold King, a young Canadian army officer who was definitely not of the upper crust, as it were. He was the one who called her Rosie. The *only* one.”

The lieutenant was fascinated. “Do go on, sir.”

“Lt. King, being a volunteer from a foreign nation, didn’t quite fit the image of ‘proper husband material’, at least not to her social circle.. no matter that he survived his first year of the war as the most highly decorated member of his unit.” Blackadder’s voice was tinged with sarcasm.

“So it *was* a bourgeois act of oppression,” breathed Baldrick, astonished that he had gotten something right for a change.

“You mean they still didn’t want her to marry this king person, even though he was a war hero?” asked George.

“They didn’t think it appropriate, if that’s what you mean,” Blackadder replied. “They went on about how scandalous it was for her parents to condone her choice of husband.. what they meant was that it would be scandalous that her family’s estate wouldn’t be going to one of them, via an arranged marriage.”

The lieutenant nodded solemnly. He knew all about the social strictures of the aristocracy. “So that’s why Nurse King is helping us. Lord Flasheart would have been just the type to speak out against her marriage.”

“George, think about it. Has Madeleine King ever cared -- no, has she ever even *noticed* other people’s disapproval?”

“Well.. no, now that you mention it,” he admitted.

“Her dislike of Lord Flasheart has more to do with his actions than his thoughts concerning her marriage. She never cared what anyone said about her. She didn’t have to.” Blackadder smiled. “I had to ask her how it felt to be so rich that she didn’t need to worry about what she said, or who she said it to.”

“When did you ask her that, sir?”

“Right after she asked me how I got such an asinine name as ‘Blackadder’,” he replied dryly.

“Then why does Nurse King feel the way she does? It just doesn’t fit together,” said Baldrick.

“It will in a moment, when I tell you which particular branch of the service her husband was attached to, and the circumstances under which he died.” Blackadder looked at them. “Lt. King was a pilot, serving in the Royal Flying Corps directly under Lord Flasheart.”

“You don’t mean—”

“He died when his plane was shot down, on a reconnaissance mission just inside enemy lines. He wasn’t the only pilot lost, either.. almost half the squad gone for little more than a sightseeing tour.”

George’s eyes were wide. “It all gets so sinister, when you really look at it,” he whispered. “And she blames Flasheart for her husband’s death?”

“Let’s put it this way: I don’t think pilots would be called ‘the twenty-minuters’ if Flasheart wasn’t in charge of them,” the captain stated dourly. “Although the final nail in Flasheart’s coffin, at least where Madeleine King is concerned, was pounded in at her husband’s funeral. Lord Flasheart never cared for Lt. King and didn’t consider his death to be much of a loss. He didn’t say it in quite those words, but he let the man’s widow know how he felt.”

“I can’t believe it,” George stated emphatically. “Not even Flasheart could be so callous.”

“It gets worse.”

“How?”

“He said ‘You know, Rosie, it’s his own damn fault he’s dead -- he let himself get shot down’.”

George began to pace again. “I can’t believe it. I just can’t believe it.”

“It still gets worse.”

“*Impossible*.”

“After Flasheart said what he did, he propositioned her. While the funeral was still going on. Told her she could have a ‘real man for a change’.”

“I think I need to sit down,” the lieutenant replied weakly, rubbing his forehead. He felt rather dazed. “Sir, we’ve really* got to get rid of Flasheart, now that we know all this. Why, with him stationed here, it must be just awful for her! I mean, when we started this it was just for us, but now it’s for something bigger.. why, we’ll be taking a stand for all British womanhood.”

“George, your symbol of British womanhood is the same person who told you that shaving your head was the best cure for your dandruff,” he reminded the other man gently.

“But no wonder she’s the way she is.. it would have made anyone nasty, having to put up with all that—”

“According to Nurse King herself, she claims to have mellowed in the last few years.”

The lieutenant was undaunted. “Captain, I must respectfully insist that we do whatever we can to remove Lord Flasheart from his current command.”

Blackadder smiled slightly at the look of fierce determination on the younger officer’s face. “Charging to the rescue on your white steed, ‘eh lieutenant?” he asked, then rose to his feet to regard the man who now stood at attention before him. “Lieutenant. You know enough of me by now, after three years, to know that I have never been the type to rush off to save a so-called damsel in distress. However.. ” he said, raising an eyebrow, “when saving this so-called damsel in distress will also save my command, I’m willing to give it a try.”

“Permission to cheer excitedly, sir?” George asked hopefully.

Blackadder indulged him. “Granted.”

“Hurrah, sir!”

“Hurrah!” echoed Baldrick. The enlisted man had been uncharacteristically quiet during the previous conversation, but now he spoke easily. “You still ‘aven’t told us how you’re getting rid of Flasheart,” he pointed out.

“Me?” the officer responded, putting on a look of utter innocence. “*I* don’t have to do a thing to remove that odious wretch from our piece of the war; he’s going to do that for himself. All I have to do is write a letter.”

“Write a letter? To who?”

“That’s ‘to whom’, lieutenant -- the person to whom it will be addressed is Miss Buckingham, the charming and multitalented ambulance driver.”

“The general’s niece? Again?” the lieutenant choked out. “I thought General Melchett never wanted you to contact her.”

“Ah, but it won’t be me contacting her, will it?” he replied cagily, slipping his glasses back on and winking.

“’Eh?”

“What do you know about forgery, lieutenant?”

“Er.. not much,” answered George, watching as his former commanding officer took his seat behind the desk and got down to work. “You’re going to forge someone’s name on the letter?”

“Yes.”

“Flasheart’s!” George pronounced confidently, proud that things were finally beginning to click in his mind.

“Wrong,” replied Blackadder, busily writing.

George rubbed his forehead near his eyes; his head was starting to hurt and he almost believed it was because his brain was overheating, from trying to keep up with everything. “Then who, sir?”

The captain mulled the question over before he answered. “The only person’s name I can forge believably.” His attitude made it clear that this information was, as yet, classified, and that it would only be made known if the plan worked. “Now do be quiet, I’ve got to finish this before tonight -- and I sincerely doubt that Nurse King is having this much trouble with her staff distracting her while she writes her letter.”

//Another one?// “Who do you suppose hers is addressed to, and do you think *she* knows anything about forgery?” George whispered to Baldrick, in a very soft voice.

The private merely shrugged, and sat back to wait for things to start happening. He’d learned from experience that they always did, when the captain was involved.



Part Eight: Hammer to Fall

//My Dear Lady Jennifer,// the first note began. //I have missed you so very much since our last meeting, and would dearly like to make amends for the brevity of our most recent conversation—//

The woman continued reading, her smile brightening as she did. When she had finished, she opened her notepad to a blank page and wrote (with an elaborate flourish) “Nine O’Clock, Recreation Hall lounge, TONIGHT.”

The letter sent to the second party, however, was of considerably different tone. It began with an apology for certain actions committed in the past, went on to discuss the possibility of a future alliance, and ended with something about corsets, leather underclothing, and “doing all those things you’ve talked about.” As with the first note, it set the time of the meeting as 9 PM, and the place as one of the smaller back rooms of the rec hall; but unlike the first note, it had a postscript with the cryptic message “you can bring all the meringue you’d like.”




Part Nine: Dead on Time

That night, at approximately 9:01 PM, all hell broke loose.

Or so it seemed. The two people who had engineered it knew better, although only one was present at the time, and she was well-hidden. The other was safely tucked away in his barracks, miles from the main base, but when he looked at his watch at nine he fancied that he could almost hear the commotion.

(It would be pointless to try to describe that evening’s incident in detail; however, it did involve a great deal of yelling, screaming, general mayhem.. and lemon meringue. It ended with a pilot being marched off to the stockade, and an indignant ambulance driver demanding to see her uncle.)




Part Ten: Great King Rat

The next morning, Captain Blackadder was summoned to General Melchett’s office, as he’d predicted. He met a very irate Captain Darling outside.

“You had something to do with it,” the man accused.

Blackadder’s face was a mask of wide-eyed innocence. “To do with what, captain?”

The curly-haired man stared at him coldly, although it was plain to see he was seething underneath. “Don’t play games with me, Blackadder. It’s all over the base. You set up that farce with Commander Flasheart and Lady Jennifer last night, don’t try to deny it. Why else would the general call for you at this hour of the day?”

Captain Blackadder put on his best expression of outraged dignity. “How *dare* you, Darling,” he replied, adding the emphasis to the man’s name that always made it sound marginally obscene. “I come here at the request of the general himself, only to hear allegations of criminal activity from his pet desk-jockey.. if I were Melchett, I’d be just about fed up with you by now.” He casually leaned closer and continued. “You know, Darling, it’s people like you who give toadying little gits a bad name.”

Captain Darling grit his teeth but said nothing. He was certain that General Melchett wasn’t going to fall for anything Blackadder said. Not this time. True, he himself hadn’t been told what this meeting was for, but he knew it had something to do with last night’s commotion; and it was obvious to him that Captain Blackadder was involved. It was obvious to anyone with even half a brain that Captain Blackadder was involved. Unfortunately, General Melchett did not have half a brain, so it would be necessary to steer the general in the right direction during the inquiry. Darling forced a smile as he ushered the other man into the general’s lavishly decorated office.

“Sir,” said Blackadder, saluting promptly.

The rosy-cheeked lunatic sitting behind the desk beamed at him. “Well hello there, captain. Long time no see, ‘eh?”

“Indeed, sir,” he replied, the picture of both good manners and correct military procedure. “You sent for me?”

Melchett nodded in a conspiratorial fashion. “As a matter of fact, I did, captain. Do you know why?”

“I haven’t the foggiest, sir,” Blackadder said, still at attention but with such an oh-so-innocent look that Captain Darling had to clench his teeth again, for fear of saying something he might regret. He settled for glaring silently from his position behind the general’s desk as Blackadder spoke again. “General, has something happened that pertains to myself, or to the men under my -- pardon me, formerly under my command?”

“Last night,” Melchett intoned gravely, “your unit’s temporary C.O., Squadron Commander Flasheart -- who was formerly thought of as an officer and a gentleman, and the very paragon for male virtue -- was involved in a most *ungentlemanly* incident.”

“What sort of incident, sir?” Blackadder asked, concern in his tones (if not in his heart).

Melchett could contain his outrage no longer. “Commander Flasheart tried to engage in illicit acts with an unwilling and innocent girl -- my niece! In a back room at the recreation hall, no less!” he seethed. “He has alternately claimed that he didn’t know it was her *and* that he’d been *invited* to participate in such an act!”

“The *cad*,” Blackadder gasped, seemingly horrified.

Melchett nodded vigorously. “And that’s not all. When I asked my niece what she was doing there in the first place, she told me the strangest thing.. that she had gone there to meet you that night, not Flasheart, and that she even had a letter from you to prove it?”

“Really, sir?”

Darling smiled nastily. “Really, captain.”

The dark-haired man paused thoughtfully. “And this is why I’ve been called here?”

“Of course that’s why you’ve been called here,” Darling sputtered. “You sent that note to Lady Jennifer and fixed it so that Flasheart would be there, drunk, and all ready to spend some time and money on a cheap French tart who rents herself by the hour—”

“Captain Darling, I resent these blatant attacks on my good name and character -- I hardly find it plausible that I could convince Squadron Commander Flasheart that Lady Jennifer Buckingham, the general’s niece of all people, was a common tramp.”

“Yes, that will do, Darling,” the general snapped. “It’s ridiculous to implicate Captain Blackadder in this. Why, it’s the least plausible thing I’ve ever heard.”

“But sir, if you didn’t want to see him for that, then why is he here?” he asked in confusion. He was desperate that Blackadder should get what he so richly deserved. “What about Lady Jennifer’s letter? You saw for yourself that it was his name at the bottom—”

“Oh, do you have the letter here?” the captain interrupted politely. “May I see it?”

“I don’t see why not; you wrote it,” muttered Darling as the general handed over the slip of paper, which Captain Blackadder slowly perused before he spoke again.

“An obvious forgery,” he pronounced.

Darling eyed him dubiously. “And what makes you say that, captain?”

“Three reasons. First, this note was sent to ‘Lady Jennifer’, which is something I’ve never called the young woman in question -- because I never knew she was titled until recently. I took this to mean that she never wished me to know, and therefore did not want me to address her as such. Had I actually sent this letter, I would have addressed her as Miss Buckingham. Or Jen, she seemed to prefer that.”

“That is what the family calls her,” nodded Melchett approvingly.

“As for the body of the letter, well.. what can I say?” Captain Blackadder shook his head. “This flowery prose doesn’t sound a bit like me. It’s more like what an acned adolescent with a public school education might write after having a tiff with his girlfriend Muffy. Probably over something like an accidental dent in his new motorcar.”

“But what about the signature?” protested Darling. “That’s yours, you can’t deny it.”

Blackadder shrugged. “I can’t deny that it’s my name, captain, although as to the person who actually signed it.. ” He turned to Melchett. If you would allow me to demonstrate, sir?”

“Permission granted.”

“You see, sir,” he began, as he took the general’s favorite pen from its place in the desk set, “the signature on the letter matches mine only superficially, as if it had been produced by tracing it from another piece of paper. Compared with what I’ve just written beneath it, which is of course the genuine article, you can see how choppy and stilted the name signed on the letter to your niece is. As I said, an obvious forgery.”

“Well if you didn’t write it, who did?” challenged Darling.

“Yes, who?” asked the general, upset that such treachery could be going on under his very nose.

Blackadder smiled angelically. “Why sir, there’s no need to be so modest. To an officer of your caliber, it must have been clear from the start that both the titled address and the structure of the note itself pointed to someone with an upper class background.” He blinked. “Come now, sir, you’ve known from the beginning that it was Squadron Commander Flasheart. It’s obvious. He knew of my relationship with your niece and decided to use my friendship with her to lure her to a secret rendezvous, knowing that she missed me and that she felt guilty because I’d lost my command. That’s how Flasheart set his trap.” He pointed to the note. “He had no difficulty with writing the letter, but he knew that Lady Jennifer would know my signature. How, then, could he falsify it? By copying it from an already-signed document, of course. That’s why the finger points directly to Flasheart and no-one else. I mean, who else could possibly have access to documents with my official signature? Who else but the new officer in charge of my unit?”

Darling, horrified that the general appeared to be considering this, was frantic to salvage the situation. “But what about Commander Flasheart’s claim that he went to the hall to meet someone else, and that he knew nothing about Lady Jennifer, had never even met her? Explain that, Captain Blackadder, if you can.”

At that moment, there was a loud knock at the door to the general’s office...



Part Eleven: Gimme the Prize

“Aren’t you going to answer that, Darling?” Blackadder asked softly, after several seconds had gone by.

“Yes, Darling, see who that is,” growled the impatient general. “I’m more concerned with getting to the bottom of this Flasheart business than being bothered with these innumerable interruptions.”

The agitated officer muttered something under his breath but did as he was told. Standing on the other side of the now-open door, completely calm and collected, was a red-haired woman in a nurse’s uniform. It was she who was now the focus of General Melchett’s nearly nonexistent attention span.

“Nurse King! What a delight to see you again so soon -- will you two show some respect, there’s a lady present -- now then, my dear, what brings an angel of mercy such as yourself to my office?”

“Commander Flasheart,” she replied, and smiled prettily at Melchett. “At your orders, sir, he was taken to the base hospital to sleep off the alcohol that we thought was affecting him. This morning, however, there was no change in Lord Flasheart’s condition; and from this it was determined that there had in fact been no alcohol in his system the previous night.”

The general was aghast. “None?”

“None whatsoever.”

“Do you mean to say that Flasheart was fully aware of what he was doing?” questioned Darling, suspicion evident. “That mean that he *was* invited there.. by someone.” He stared pointedly at Captain Blackadder, who ignored him. “I don’t know how you did it, but you were the cause of this, I know it—”

“If I could be allowed to clarify my last statement,” interrupted Nurse King, deftly shutting up the captain with an icy glare that could have frozen the flames crackling in the office’s fireplace. “Commander Flasheart may not have been drunk, but in no way was he fully aware of what he was doing. He’s come down with a bad case of food poisoning -- you remember, captain, the kind that hit Ypres four months ago.”

“But that’s where my niece is transferring -- to get away from all the crazies around here, or so she says -- the sickness isn’t going ‘round there again, is it?”

“Oh no, Ypres itself is clean. Flasheart picked up this bug here.”

Darling took a quick step backwards, just in case the nurse might have brought some of her patient’s germs with her. “You mean the strain that causes muscle weakness, violent stomach upset, fever, chills, dizziness, confusion, and delirium?”

“Why yes. You have an excellent memory, captain.”

“And Flasheart’s got *that*? Shouldn’t he be quarantined from the rest of the base? Sent to another hospital or something?”

Nurse King made calming motions. “The commander has been isolated, pending his reassignment to his original unit. Unless General Melchett wishes for him to stay on here, at this base.”

“Flasheart’s being transferred?” Darling asked in disbelief.

“Keep that bounder here? I’ve never heard of such poppycock,” rumbled the general. “Send him back where he came from, that’s the thing to do. I decided that last night. Can’t have him molesting other female personnel.”

Captain Darling was well aware of the implications of Flasheart’s reassignment. “Perhaps, sir, his improprietous actions might have been caused by the delirium and confusion brought on by his illness.. both of which are major symptoms of the Ypres variety,” he hastily pointed out. He did not particularly care for the RFC officer, but the alternative would be utterly intolerable.

“At that early a stage, the bacterial toxins could have only produced instability along the lines of alcohol intoxication. There would have been a breakdown in self control, but little else.”

The tall man scowled. “And that’s the hospital chief’s confirmed diagnosis?”

“Yes, it’s Dr. Mitchell’s diagnosis.” She held out the report she’d brought with her. “If you’d care to examine it, Darling?”

The captain moved to take the file from her, but his hand never quite reached it. Instead he froze, rooted to the spot, as his brain processed what the woman had just said.

Madeleine King cleared her throat. “I say, Darling, are you all right?”

She’d said it again. Darling’s eyebrows shot upward. Madeleine King had just done the unthinkable. She had just addressed him in the overly familiar manner used only by the general, and no-one else.

No-one, that is, except Captain Edmund Blackadder.

Darling stared blankly at the nurse, horrified at the possibility of collusion between her and the dark-haired officer who had remained so very quiet during this interchange, almost as if he’d known what she was going to say..

“It can’t be,” he murmured to himself.

“’Eh?” Nurse King stepped forward for a better look. “General Melchett, would you like me to examine your second? He doesn’t look at all well.”

The offer of medical assistance prompted Darling to snatch away the file. “I’m fine, thank you,” Darling replied hurriedly, not wanting to stay within reach of the nurse with the gentle bedside manner of Ghengis Khan. He leafed through the report, then glared suspiciously at Captain Blackadder and Nurse King. “Tell me, nurse, what was the name of the doctor who diagnosed Commander Flasheart?”

“It was Dr. Mitchell, chief of surgery.”

“I see. Well, Nurse King, forgive me if I say that I’m very skeptical of this whole business, and that I’d very much like to speak with the doctor in person. Just to make sure that this report is one hundred percent accurate, of course.”

“I’m afraid that will be quite out of the question,” the nurse replied.

“Oh?” asked Darling, his suspicions growing by the moment. “And why is that?”

“Because,” she finished apologetically, “Dr. Mitchell seems to have developed a case of food poisoning himself.” She shrugged. “Quite a coincidence, really.”

“Really,” repeated the exec, deadpan. He already knew what the answer to his next question would be. “And I suppose that Dr. Mitchell is already in the second stage of the illness, the delirium, and that by the time he’s recovered he won’t remember a thing pertaining to Flasheart’s case?”

“Why yes,” the woman said brightly. “Captain Darling, have you ever considered joining the medical corps? We could certainly use someone like you, with a good eye and a good memory for symptoms.”

“No thank you, nurse,” he sighed. He knew he was beaten, yet again, and that this time -- as always -- Captain Blackadder had escaped unscathed. It just wasn’t fair.

“So, my dear,” beamed General Melchett, for whom things had settled firmly into place. “I’ll leave it to you and the rest of your staff to get Commander Flasheart’s belongings together. Captain Blackadder, you can see to his things in the trenches.”

Blackadder smiled in a very similar way to Nurse King. “I’m sorry, sir, but during the last German aerial attack the dugout section containing Commander Flasheart’s gear was completely destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” echoed the general.

“Buried ten feet under, sir,” he replied. Then he sighed long-sufferingly. “But I suppose we’d best dig it out, to make it ready for the next unit commander.. ”

“Oh, no need for that, captain. Considering the lack of talented officers, and what’s been going on here with the one talented officer I managed to find, I’ve decided to reinstate you. That’s why I called you here. Your unit is yours again.”

Blackadder saluted, barely able to contain his glee. “Thank you, sir. And may I say that I shall do my own personal best to command that unit, and—”

“Don’t worry about doing your personal best, Blackadder. Just run the unit like you always have.”

“Why thank you, Darling,” replied Blackadder, in far too good a mood to be riled. “And if I’m no longer needed here, I should be on my way.. ”

“Yes. Get back to your trench, Blackadder, and see that everything’s ready for my next inspection.”

“Yes, general,” he said, saluting again. “Nurse King, could I give you a lift back to the field hospital? I shouldn’t want to see such a dainty little thing as yourself worn out from such a long walk.”

“Why captain, I’d be delighted,” she said, taking the arm he offered. “How very kind of you.”

“Come along, then. My transport is right outside.. ”

Captain Darling glared after the two as the door of the general’s office shut. Then he rubbed his forehead wearily, deciding that he needed to relax. Yes, it was definitely time to make another unscheduled visit to the officers’ club.



Part Twelve: Heaven for Everyone

“…and I think he nearly burst a blood vessel when she called him ‘Darling’,” chuckled Captain Blackadder over his glass of wine, as he related his story to the attentive audience back at the trench. “Although my first thought that he was another hapless victim of the dreaded Ypres food poisoning, but Nurse King said there was only enough of the lab culture for two…you know, I do believe we could win this war in a week if we’d simply point *her* at the Germans.”

“But wouldn’t that be considered cruel and unusual punishment, sir?” asked George, also with a glass in his hand. He had suggested a small celebration, but it had rapidly developed into an excuse to get squiffy. He’d noticed that this often happened when soldiers got together for ‘small celebrations’.

Blackadder nodded gravely. “You’re probably right, lieutenant. I suppose we’ll have to stick with bullets and bombs until we come up with something more destructive.”

“But less destructive than Madeleine King.”

Blackadder blinked in surprise. “Why George, you said her ladyship’s name -- and you didn’t even flinch.”

The younger officer grinned sheepishly. “Well, captain, she *did* help you get rid of Lord Flasheart and get your commander back,” he reminded his C.O. “Besides, she can’t possibly be as nasty as she lets on. I’ll bet there’s a perfectly lovely person inside her, begging to be let out.”

“Only if she practices cannibalism.” The captain didn’t look convinced. “And how lucky we are that this hypothetical perfectly lovely person stayed in hiding, while Nurse King’s actual personality helped us with our little problem with Flasheart.” He chuckled. “And incidentally, George, I found out something that might help you the next time you visit the field hospital.”

“What’s that, sir?”

“Nurse King is an agitator. She harasses you because she likes to see you jump, not because she particularly dislikes you. I asked her,” he said proudly. “The higher you jump, the more she’ll goad you on. Now you know.”

“And knowing is half the battle,” George finished, raising his glass.

Private Baldrick laughed, into his third mug of wine. “I’ll bet that Captain Darling never wants to see Nurse King again, that’s for sure.”

“Never,” agreed George, laughing.

“Yes,” Blackadder said plaintively, a hand over his heart and nobility in his eyes. “How unfortunate for the poor captain that he missed his last routine physical.. and that a certain member of the hospital staff has decided to have him hauled in tomorrow for an extremely thorough examination.”

“Is it true they keep all the hospital equipment on ice?” Baldrick asked impishly.

“I’m afraid so. It slows bacterial growth, or so I’m told.” Blackadder reached for the wine again.

“Uh-huh,” said George, more than slightly potted. He grasped at his captain’s sleeve. “Sir, before you pour any more of that, I think we should have a toast. We really should,” he insisted. “’Cause we got out of this without any trouble, and we got rid of an officer who didn’t know what he was doing, and we got our old commander back. Those are good reasons, I think.” He stuck out his chin, waiting for a response.

Blackadder nodded, then wished he hadn’t because the room had begun to spin lazily around him. He smiled anyway. “All right lieutenant, propose your toast.”

George giggled. “All right, now tell me if you get this.. you might not, because it’s very clever, but I’ll do it anyway.” He pulled himself to his feet and braced himself against a support beam, and then hiccupped. “Well it’s really very simple, isn’t it? What we’ve got to toast. Considering who we are, and where we are, and what just happened, it should be obvious. Gentlemen,” he raised his class. “To King and Country.”

Blackadder rolled his eyes, because he knew he should have seen it coming a mile off, but he saw nothing wrong with echoing the lieutenant’s cheerful words.



END