Downton Abbey 1. Chapter 1 The Volunteer

**_This is my first and possibly last attempt at writing a fanfic. My excuse for inflicting this contribution on those readers who might stumble across it, is that the story has been rattling in my brain for several months now. So, in order to maintain some semblance of focus in my everyday life, I figured it was best to get it told via fan fiction._  
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**_The characters of John Bates, Robert Crawley, and Vera belong to Julian Fellowes and Carnival ITV. I'm not writing this for any profit, other than my own personal sanity. Reviews will be very much appreciated. It will help me to figure out if I should continue on with it, or just leave it dangling like a participle._**

Before There Was Anna…

Robert looked at his sergeant, staring into his eyes intensely… hoping to see some indication of regret, or hesitancy… But, typical Bates, he just stared back calmly, making it clear to his superior that his mind was made up.

While he had originally been assigned Robert's batman, his allegiance was foremost to King and Country. And John saw this new role he was called upon to play to be very important and vital to the success of the current campaign. It was 1902 and unlike the First Boer War, this one was dragging into its third year. The British people were shocked at the reports coming from the war zone. The Stories of concentration camps where primarily women and children were being victimized and starved to death, coupled with a cruel scorched earth policy turning rich and fertile farms into barren wastelands, had turned more and more of the British citizenry against the war. It had to end soon. So when the General from the home office came to the front and gave the speech requesting volunteers for a mission that would bring the war to a speedy close, John raised his hand and volunteered.

Robert shook his head slowly and turned away from the sergeant, not wanting John to see the dismay spreading across his face as he came to realize that Bates was determined, and nothing he could say or do would dissuade him.

"When will you be leaving?" Robert inquired, his back still showing to his former batman. He was trying to get his emotions in check before facing John again.

"In three weeks, Sir. I've some training ahead of me. I've got to work on turning my Irish burr into something sounding closer to an Afrikaner's accent. And, as this is the first attempt the Crown has made to infiltrate the Boer militia, there are some details that still have to be worked out."

Robert finally turned around to face John. "Three weeks? That doesn't seem like much time to get you prepared?"

"I've you to thank for that, sir" Bates replied with a smirk.

"Me? What could I have possibly done to speed your deployment? My good man! You know I'd rather you not go at all. And, I certainly wouldn't do anything to speed things along faster! Tell me what I've done. Though, I must be honest and say if I can undo it, I will. You must know that this mission is suicidal. The chance of you surviving is slight. You're the best batman I've had, and I hope you've come to realize that I think of you as more than just a servant, but dare I say it, a friend."

"There's nothing you can do to slow my deployment down, Sir. Remember when I mentioned to you how I'd run out of reading material? Do you remember what you did?"

Robert closed his eyes and sighed. Of course, Bates and his blasted need to read, damn the man. One of the other commissioned officers had heard the discussion between them and generously offered to lend him a few books which included an Afrikaner dictionary and several short novels written in the vernacular. That was over six months ago and Bates blessed with a voracious need to read and a near eidetic memory had picked up the Afrikaner dialect quickly.

"Of course, you already know the language" Robert spat the words out. He hated the fact that he'd played a role in speeding up John's deployment"

"Dit is reg", John replied. He couldn't help the smirk from reappearing on his face. He admired Lord Grantham, and respected him, but on occasion he enjoyed giving him the needle.

"Is there anything more, Sir?"

Seeing Robert shake his head no, John turned and left the officer's tent. Once outside he took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, hoping to slow down his rapidly beating heart. He was excited at the thought of his new mission. Despite its danger, he embraced it with his whole heart and soul. It was a chance to serve his King and Country as more than just another foot soldier. No, this mission, should he survive it, would be life changing. He could feel it in his bones.

And if he returned triumphant, a hero, he hoped he'd find her still waiting for him. He knew she had been having a hard time back home. He could feel her pulling away from him. The letters came fewer and far between this past year. Their content no longer addressed their future but dwelled more on what was missing. She was unhappy, and with good reason. It had been over a year since he'd been home. But what he was about to do, would make this war end sooner. And the sooner he returned to his wife's loving arms, the better. "Vera" he whispered. How he missed his Vera…


	2. Chapter 2 The Brotherhood

_**Thank you for the kind reviews. Your encouragement is deeply appreciated. Hope this story continues to hold your interest. Again, reviews and comments are appreciated.**_

London! John was shocked when he first learned that his volunteer group was going to be sent back to the capital to receive additional training in tactics and survival. Yet, three weeks to the day after the announcement, Bates had found himself standing on British soil. The original timetable had been tossed aside as the high command realized that if they were going to be successful in infiltrating the enemy's ranks, it was necessary to give their men thorough training in the ways and culture of the Afrikaners. The speed at which the decision was made to move the training operation back to Britain and the men boarding the ships taking them home, left no time for John to write Vera and let her know of his new station. Though unsure how much leave he'd be getting when he'd arrived there, he hoped that once she knew he would be just a few miles of their home, she'd be willing to come visit him.

He'd written her upon his arrival in London, but had been transferred the next day to Sandhurst where tactics and additional study in language and culture were to be drilled into the volunteers until it was all automatic reactions for them to any situation. They would know what to do no matter what kind of danger they found themselves in. The goal was to make their responses second nature… no necessity to ponder what to do, which escape plan to use… automatic, that was the plan… when seconds could mean the difference between life and death, there was no room for doubt and less than a second to react.

It was late in the morning , the 4th week of their London schooling. The room was hot and stuffy and the officer in charge was droning on and on about the history of the First Boer War. John could feel his mind drifting to other things. He'd done his homework, already knew the history parts… As usual, when his mind started to wander his thoughts turned to his wife…

They'd been apart for so long. Bates tried unsuccessfully to fight off the physical reaction he had whenever the thought of Vera crossed his mind. He could picture her dark, raven colored tresses cascading down to the middle of her back. She wore it down at night. She knew how he loved to run his fingers through her hair, lightly tug on it when in the throes of making love… He loved the texture, the smell, the shine…the feel.

John jumped slightly, when he heard the screech of chalk upon the board. He suddenly recalled where he was… He felt his cheeks flush, and hoped none of the other men in the class had noticed. He felt a real kinship with these men. Being an only child, he often felt out of place when it came to the roughhousing and teasing that he's witnessed between other males while growing up. Joining the Army certainly helped rid him of his initial awkwardness. But these men were much more than mere comrades in arms. No they were like his brothers… and he'd die for them, just as he knew they would do the same for him.

Later that afternoon, he found himself outside on the parade grounds, the summer heat beating down on his body. He wished he could take off his shirt and use it to fan himself. The training had been hard, harder than the former batman had imagined. John stood in the middle of the training yard bent over at the waist, hands resting on his knees feeling the sweat pour down his face, forming a muddy puddle upon the sandy surface below him. He looked at the other eleven volunteers who had managed, like John, to gut their way through the brutal physical and mentally punishing selection process. Designed to root out those who lacked the crucial combination of brains and brawn needed to pull off their mission, at this moment the remaining dozen looked more likely to cough up a lung than stage a battlefield coup for the Queen and dear old England.

"All right men", training sergeant Fisk bellowed. "Form two lines over here. The Major wants to have a word with you all. The sooner you line up, the sooner the talk will be over and you'll be able to return to the barracks and cool off."

The two rows formed quickly and John found himself at the end of the back row. Looking down the line he observed he was the tallest of the lot and based on the physical trials they'd all been put through, the fittest. In hand to hand combat he'd easily defeated all of the men in this select group, and was also the best shot. It was widely believed by this special squad that Sgt. Bates would be one of the first men to be deployed into the Transvaal and embed himself within the Boer militia.

John spotted Major Dornan standing behind Fisk. Dornan was a highly decorated officer and John recalled him accompanying the General that had spoken at the front when they were initially looking for volunteers. He stepped gingerly around the training sergeant, looked up and down both lines then began to speak.

"First, I'd like to commend you all for volunteering for this dangerous mission. You dozen represent the finest, fittest and most thoroughly trained group of fighting soldiers in Her Majesty's Army. The Queen has asked me to impart to you all her heartfelt appreciation for your commitment to your country and wishes you all a safe return to your homes upon the successful completion of your mission. When I announce your names please step out of line, come forward and stand behind Sgt. Fisk. Smythe…..Doogan….Culver….…and….. Bates. The rest of you men can fallout and return to your barracks."

John was relieved that his name had been called to stand apart from the main group. He knew both Smythe and Doogan were exceptional soldiers and had both received sharpshooter status while training. Culver was more a middle of the pack fellow when it came to the physical training, but he was probably the smartest in the bunch, and possessed flawless language skills. The young private had been born in the Free Orange State, the son of British missionaries. John had sought him out as he worked to refine his Afrikaner accent and vocabulary and came to admire the fine mind and quick wit of Private Simon Culver.

As it was mid afternoon, the hottest time of the day, John found himself shifting his weight from one foot to the other anxious to hear why the four of them had been pulled aside from the others. He could feel the sweat trickle down his back, and found it distracting like a watery tickle. Hearing Major Dornan clear his throat, Bates focus switched to the officer and what his next order would be.

"You four represent the top third of our team and as such will be the first to deploy. Originally we had hoped for you to be in place by the end of the month, but there's been a decision from high command that we hold off until the entire group is mission ready."

A low grumble was heard coming from the men. They were trained and ready to go and resented having to wait for the rest of the command to catch up and be declared ready to infiltrate the enemy militia.

Dornan continued once the group settled down. "It has been decided that you men should have some reward for your dedication to duty and willingness to undergo the physical and mental demands this scheme has placed upon you. You've born the discomforts nobly and so Her Majesty has deemed to give you each a week's leave in London. It will go into effect at 06:00 tomorrow morning and you will be expected back in the barracks next Friday by 21:00. You are dismissed."

Bates couldn't believe his ears… leave…London…a whole week to spend with his wife! He smiled and joined in the celebration as his brothers whooped and hollered in appreciation of Her Majesty's gift to them all. John could feel the smile spread across his face, he couldn't control it. He decided right then not to tell Vera… He was going to surprise her. He imagined her reaction… She might even give a little scream when she saw him walk through the door, then run to his arms, pressing herself against him hard… her lips desperately searching for his…


	3. Chapter 3 The Surprise

_**Wow.. thank you for the reviews. I do appreciate them and the encouragement you've shown me.**_

_**This chapter is very angsty and twice the length of my previous chapters. Perhaps I tried to stuff too much into it, so if you feel that way, or have any suggestions, again, it will be very much appreciated.**_

_**This chapter gives you a little bit more of Bates' backstory...what attracted him to Vera. There is some sexual imagery.. but nothing smutty. So I think a T is still the right rating. If you think different, again, drop me a line.**_

John had his leave all planned out in his head… not that it was the slightest bit complicated. Once home, the remainder of the week would be spent in bed, with his wife, with only the obligatory breaks for sustenance and the loo. He justified his single-mindedness towards a marital bed marathon as a way to maintain his fitness level for his future South African mission. Why he was being downright patriotic!

"If only all of my future physical training would be as enjoyable," he thought, feeling a huge grin beginning to spread across his face.

His plan was indeed very, very simple. He'd leave the Sandhurst depot at 6:30, arrive at Kings Cross station around 8:30am, then a short walk to their home and straight into the loving arms of his breathtaking Vera.

"Longest 2 ½ hours of my life", he muttered to himself. Bates couldn't help but chuckle at the irony. He hadn't seen his Vera in over a year and there he was brooding about just a few more hours delay. She was always a late sleeper, he recalled. Perhaps he'd catch her while she was still in bed.

John shook his head to clear away the mental image of Vera lying in bed gloriously naked with a sated smile upon her face.

"Get back to packing man, or you'll miss the train." Bates stated out loud in an attempt to snap out of his reverie. "Back to the task at hand, you bloody fool!" He had less than a half hour to catch the train.

XXXXX

John had decided to forgo wearing his uniform while on leave. He was very aware that this war was losing the support of the British public. While on board the train, he didn't want to take the chance of having to engage in a debate over the pros and cons of Britain's desire to turn the Boer Republics into British colonies.

He'd heard all the arguments, including the most plausible one which was that it was the politicians' lust for the gold fields found in the Transvaal and the Free Orange State that was the true and less than noble driving force behind the war.

John wanted to believe that they were fighting to liberate the indigenous populace from slavery and that their cause was a just one. He'd also heard the rumors about some concentration camps the British had put up to contain the captured leaders of the rebellion and that a few acres of Afrikaners crops had been burned. But he hadn't seen signs of either when he was at the front with Robert.

"No", he huffed to himself. It was all just a bloody bunch of lies and propaganda put out by the South African sympathizers or those blasted pacifists and their soft, unpatriotic message that no war is a just war. He wasn't going to be put in a foul mood debating the war with those idiots and traitors. Not wearing his uniform was a wise choice.

He yawned and stretched his long legs out into the aisle of the 3rd Class train car. Just less than an hour left. The gentle swaying of the compartment made him a little drowsy and he fell into a light sleep. He was barely aware of the sound of the train as it chugged forward, bringing him nearer and nearer to his home and his wife.

His wife… My God, how he missed her. Theirs had been a tempestuous and short courtship. They had met at a pub one chilly winter's eve, the end of which found him in her bed that night.

Vera inflamed his soul and body like no other woman had before. She possessed nearly grey eyes that grew dark when in love's passionate throes, and her large, full breasts, were more than a handful for even his massive paws. Then there were her strong thighs, that he sometimes thought were capable of squeezing the life out of him. And finally, the sound of her voice as she alternated between screaming his name out loud at her release, to whispering it softly as in a prayer while running her fingers through his hair in the afterglow…all this added up to a woman that John had to have in his life. While he sought to possess her he found himself enjoying equally every moment when their roles would be reversed and she'd be the possessor and have her way with him. John wasn't sure if it was truly "love" he felt for her. But, it definitely was Lust which at the time was good enough.

The key thing to their relationship that John knew, but couldn't explain, was that for some unfathomable reason, he felt protective of her. He prided himself at his ability to see beneath the brash and outrageous masquerade she showed to the outside world. Only he, John Bates could see the real Vera.

Inside, he saw the emotionally fragile and frightened young woman that was looking for a knight to take her away from all of the defeats and brutality that she had experienced in her young life. Yes, he found himself attracted to her most of all, because she needed him. Sometimes he felt her very survival depended upon him and the protection from life's blows that he afforded her

She must have felt and needed it too, he reasoned. Because, when he proposed a few months after their first meeting, she immediately accepted.

They had only been wed 18 months before he volunteered to join the army. It seemed like the right decision at the time.

Bates was smart, strong, resourceful and self-educated. What he lacked in formal schooling he more than made up by way of his voracious reading on all matter of subjects and a unique ability to remember effortlessly what he'd just read.

He also possessed another valuable, unteachable trait. He had street smarts. He knew how to get along in the rough backstreets of London. And his inquisitive mind and love of reading afforded him the opportunity to learn about the manners and culture of a more refined society. It was one that he learned to admire and respect and hopelessly wanted to be part of.

The military offered him a chance to make a better life for Vera and himself, by advancing through the non-com ranks. John's goal was to become a Regimental Sergeant Major, the "first among equals". Bates knew it would take years to get there, but he was sure he could do it, having reached the position of Staff Sergeant at a relatively young age. Volunteering for the spy mission, he assumed, would also help his cause and make his dream of becoming an RSM a reality that much sooner.

The brakes screeched and the passenger car shook as the train slowed down its approach to the Kings Cross station.

"It won't be long now," John said to no one in particular. He gathered up his fairly new leather clothes bag and stood anxiously next to the exit waiting for the porter to open the door and then stand aside to let the footrace begin out of the 3rd Class car.

Finally the door swung open and Bates jumped out of the car and walked towards the station's exit gates. He squeezed through them along with the other passengers and then took off at a gentle trot towards his home and Vera.

About 15 minutes after he left the station, John found himself standing in front of his house. It stood right in the middle of a line of 5 nondescript brick townhouses. He could feel his heart race faster and faster the closer he got to his front door.

His plan was to just walk in unannounced, totally surprising her. He opened the door slowly, hoping that the hinges didn't need oiling. Bates slipped in quietly and gently placed his bag upon the living room floor. Around the corner, in the kitchen he could hear Vera softly humming a somewhat sad melody. She was probably up and making some breakfast. John tiptoed towards the direction of her singing, hoping she was at the sink so she wouldn't be able to see him when he entered the room.

He breathed a sigh of relief as he saw that her back was towards him. He continued to move stealthily towards her, admiring her shapely body, which he could see through the sheer nightgown she was wearing. She looked a bit broader in the hips than he remembered, but that just meant there was more to love he counseled himself. He was within six inches when Vera felt his breath upon her neck. But before she could scream…or even turn around, John revealed himself as her stalker.

"Vera, my sweet." John whispered into her neck as his hands wrapped around her chest, pulling her closer to him in a second.

"J-J-John…?" she gasped, as she felt his hands and lips all around her. Hands kneading her breasts as his lips peppered her cheek and shoulders with quick wet kisses.

John's reaction to having his wife back in his arms was stronger than even he expected. He was mad for her and gradually let his hands wander down her torso. He loved to ghost his fingers over her body… just skimming the surface, making the goose bumps rise on her skin and hear her moan for deeper and even more intimate touches…

AS he began to slowly inch his way down, he heard Vera's breath hitch.

"J-J-John.. wait…!" Vera sounded frantic.

The feel of her full rounded breasts and hardened nipples had all of John's attention so he didn't hear the distress in her voice at first.

"John… no… stop!" Now, it almost sounded like a wail… and as such got his attention. He let go, confused and unsure of what just happened.

Slowly Vera turned to face John. And what he saw shocked him. Her eyes were sunken, missing that spark of fire that initially attracted him to her. They were rimmed red, as though she had been crying for quite some time. Her nose was red also. He finally saw, as the morning light outside seeped more and more into the kitchen, that the nightgown she wore was tattered and torn, nothing like the clean and pretty nightclothes Vera liked to sleep in.

"Vera, my sweet… What's wrong…what's happened to you?" John's throat tightened up as he gazed upon her forlorn features.

"Vera, tell me please, my darling."

"Oh, John" Vera sobbed rather than said his name…She threw herself at him and buried her face in his chest… "Six months… six months ago…" She started to blubber, "I was attacked and assaulted by a man."

At hearing those words, John felt as though his heart had leapt out of his chest and onto the floor. His mind spun out of control as her words sunk into his brain. Attacked… assaulted.. he couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why didn't she let him know when it happened. His parents were supposed to be checking in on her, did they know…why didn't they tell him? Questions and thoughts were careening inside his brain, crashing into each other, so nothing coherent was coming out.

"John.. there's more…" she whispered.

Her words were barely registering over the thundering noise that was roaring through his head. More… what more could there be? Does she know who attacked her. Does he know him?

"Tell me who's done this to you?" John's voice shook as he asked. "Do, I know him or did you?

"No, John." Vera shook her head sadly. "I …we don't know the man who did it. But please let me finish." .


	4. Chapter 4 The First Blow

_**I'm afraid its going to get bad for John and Vera before it gets even worse. Sorry, but Bates will be put through the ringer in this. He's a strong young man, but ultimately something will happen to finally break him... This Chapter is the beginning of that fall.**_

_**Warning contains some cruel reactions to a rape. Apologize in advance if it upsets anyone. You can just read below the line if you think it might upset you**_

_**John and Vera belong to Julian Fellowes, Carnival, and ITV. **_

Vera slowly sank to her knees. This time when John tried to place his hand on her shoulder she shrank away from his touch. "I n-need to tell you, this… You…you… must listen to me, John." Vera choked the last words out, unwilling to look up at her husband.

He lowered himself to the ground so his face was at the same level as his wife's. John's voice trembled as he replied. "Go ahead Vera… I'm listening." He struggled with his control, trying to sound calm, when in truth he wanted to break something or someone.

As the silence continued to grow between them, John couldn't stop his mind from questioning what Vera had told him, wondering what she could possibly say next, imagining any number of truths or perhaps lies Vera was about to tell him. Would he have to decipher which spoken explanations were which? But why would she lie about an attack? What more could she say? Why hadn't she told his parents what happened? Again, why hadn't she told him?

"Vera, I'm listening." John repeated. He felt he had to break the silence with a reminder that he was still waiting for her to speak.

She gave a deep sigh before finally addressing her husband. "The man… the attack… It wasn't...", and with that Vera began to sob, unable to choke out anymore words.

"Wasn't what?" John heard his voice rise with an edge to it and get louder. As soon as he uttered the words, he regretted the sharpness, as he saw Vera shrink further into herself.

"Never mind," she whispered so softly that John wasn't sure he heard correctly.

"Vera, did you say 'never mind'? His voice was getting louder and louder again. "You cannot say to me 'Never mind'." His voice continued to rise in volume. "I must know... You've got to tell me everything. I don't know if I can go on with you…with us. I don't know what to think. Tell me so I'll know what to think… So I'll know what to do…?" The last sentence sounded like a plea, as Bates tried to regain his composure.

Vera heard the desperation in his voice. She took in a shuddering breath and began to speak softly…slowly…Her voice barely above a whisper.

"John, It..it wasn't only the one time. It…it didn't just happen once." John saw her bite her lip as her eyes desperately sought his, wanting to see his reaction…

As soon as she told him, Vera began to doubt it had been the right thing to do.

He's not going to understand, she panicked. No, of course he won't. He'll need and want to know more. And she knew she could not give him that final piece of information. Couldn't be honest and tell him all of the vile truth. She knew the real truth would destroy him and shatter what was left of their marriage. Maybe someday she'd tell him, but not now. He can't know now.

Upon hearing her admission, John turned his head away from Vera. He felt as if all the breath had been sucked out of his body. "…didn't just happen once." The words were indecipherable, like Vera had just spoken in some ancient foreign tongue. Had he just heard her correctly? "…More than once?" The words rattled around in his brain. How could she let it happen more than once? Wouldn't the neighbors have noticed an unknown and uninvited male figure entering or exiting the house when his wife was alone? And where were his mother and father? They had agreed to watch over her in his absence.

Slowly, like the silent, serpentine movement of a snake traveling along the high grass, a terrible thought slithered across Bates' mind.

Maybe Vera had enjoyed it. Maybe she invited the villain back…She must have fallen in love with her assailant. John's mind continued to spin a sordid tale that played to all his fears. She wants to leave him… she wanted him to divorce her…

"John…John…" Bates could hear Vera's voice calling out to him, sounding so far away even though he could see her face before him.

"What?" John spat out. He'd moved quickly on, past shock and denial to anger. His brain was on overload trying so hard to process everything his wife had just told him. Was Vera a victim, a saint or a sinner? He didn't know what to think. The question still begging an answer was why she hadn't told someone. And surely his parents would have helped her.

John tried to calm his mind down and focus on what his wife was trying to say. Maybe she's going to explain more. "Calm down, John," he thought to himself. "You've got to calm down and listen to what your wife is saying to you. You owe her that at least. "

John rose from off the floor like the weight of a thousand bricks were weighing down upon him. He offered his hand to Vera and helped her stand up so she was facing him, bringing her face just inches from his.

God he could smell her scent. She was so close. He wanted to hold her and kiss her. That had been the original plan… But now, after what he'd been told he wasn't sure what he wanted to do. He felt Vera move closer to him.

Looking into her eyes, John could see the tears start to well up again. Her pupils enlarged so there was just a thin circle of grey on the outer edges. John held her away from his body. His hands encircled around her wrists at chest level, preventing her from getting any closer.

He looked down at Vera, not sure what his feelings were, how he should react. He prayed that the next words out of his wife's mouth would make it all clear to him. And he was right, because when she spoke, he knew what he had to do.

"I'm pregnant, John. I saw the doctor last week. I'm four months along."

Before she could say anything more, John forcefully released her hands and took several quick steps backwards. Vera stumbled forward not expecting him to pull away so violently. Her eyes briefly flashed anger towards her husband at her near fall. When she regained her footing she looked up and saw the shocked and shaken look upon John's face. He looked her up and down and then focused on her belly. She instinctively placed her hands over the area he was looking at, as if she needed to shield the growing fetus from John's penetrating stare.

Time stood still for just a few moments. And then without another word John turned and headed towards the front door. His hand was on the latch when he heard Vera's plea to turn around and come back. All John could do was shake his head no and proceed out into the street.

Vera swiftly moved towards the door. "John, please… come back. Talk to me. I need you. I need your help." But her words fell on deaf ears. By the time she reached the front step, she could see John striding purposefully towards the village. She wondered if she'd ever see him again.


	5. Chapter 5 The Plan

_**So here it is, the most informative chapter on Bates backstory so far. Some dialogue from Downton Abbey has been utilized in this chapter, but not by the same persons or situations as the original source. Wonder if anyone will be able to pick them out. Hope anyone who happens to stumble across this fic will find it entertaining, if not totally implausible. **_

_**I'd like to thank again any and all of you who have turned in reviews. Guess, I never realized how important they are in keeping a writer, on in my case a poser... motivated to continue on. Again, any comments would be deeply appreciated.**_

Bates staggered through the front door of their house a few hours before dawn. "Blast!" He exclaimed as he tripped in the darkened living room over the valise he had left on the floor earlier. He was still drunk, bloodied and disheveled. It was sheer luck that he had found his way home. He didn't even know why he'd headed back to Vera other than he needed to get some sleep and forget everything that had happened after he'd arrived home yesterday. Several hours into a brannigan at the local pub had temporarily succeeded in soothing, albeit temporarily his angst.

He remembered he had walked away from his wife. The details were fuzzy, but as the effects of the alcohol lessened the story horrifically came back to him.

His mind was still a bit foggy though with just bits and pieces of the past 18 hours floating in and out of his memory. He knew he wasn't proud of his actions…not in the least. It had hardly been a noble way to act running off from his wife as he did. But Bates also knew himself, and knew if he had not walked out right when he did he might have said something insensitive and cruel, lashing out at Vera, punishing her verbally for what happened. It would have been a stupid, stupid way to react, but it was his first impulse when she told him she was pregnant. No, he admonished himself, it was a far wiser and ultimately kinder move on his part that he'd said nothing and simply walked out the door.

John sat down on the settee in the living room, closed his eyes and tried to reconstruct how he'd spent the day coping with Vera's news. His head was pounding and his body ached. His knuckles were bloodied and Bates knew he'd recently been in a fight.

Placing his head in his hands, Bates tentatively tried to put the day's events into order. He remembered walking into town, positive that he needed some hard spirits to take off the edge, and soothe the inner despair and undirected guilt he felt. Plus, he was confused where to direct those feelings…towards himself or his wife or should the guilt be shared equally?

His plan for the day went no further beyond anesthetizing himself from all the negative feelings that threatened to overwhelm his normal reserve. Vera had always been able to cut through his natural tendency to keep his thoughts to himself, to never drop that screen of stoic manliness and reveal his true feelings. She would typically tease and flirt with him…cajole and tickle him until his mask came off and the emotional masquerade would cease. She made sure that eventually John would be able to laugh at his worries and more importantly at himself.

But there was no way now he could seek Vera out for any one of her sure fire cures because she was the cause of all his pain. There would be no sweet respite from the control he felt he always had to maintain, along with the guise of being the strong and silent type. The one thing he knew for sure was that alcohol would at least temporarily relieve him of that emotional burden.

But the pubs were closed as it was only 10:00am.

The rumbling coming from his stomach reminded him that along with drink he also needed some food. So he decided he'd better at least try to eat something.

After successfully negotiating a light breakfast of toast and tea, Bates sought some peace at his favorite refuge. The Pointed Plume was the bookstore he frequented often whenever he had leave to come home. Once sheltered within he looked for something to read, to distract his mind off of Vera and her pregnancy and also to give him something to do before the pubs opened up.

He passed by a stack of penny dreadfuls and couldn't help thinking… Blimey, I should write my own book. He found it ironic that his current situation would be perfect fodder for such cheap fiction. It would be a best seller, no doubt. The male protagonist would turn out to be a coward and run out on his wife. Bates could easily cast himself as that character in such a tome and shuddered as a feeling of disgust at his behavior towards Vera quickly passed through him. And then, as he continued to outline the story in his mind… of course, some handsome young lord would swoop in and sweep the abandoned heroine off her feet. He would shower her with riches while the slime of an ex-husband rotted away in debtors' prison.

"Best to not go there," John murmured with a smirk on his face.

Bates continued to browse through the stacks. He avoided his favorite section, where the poetry books were lined up in precise rows. No point to visit his preferred poets that day. There would be no lyrical stanzas found that could heal his damaged soul and tormented mind. Certainly, his favorite poet Yeats would not be the best choice to repair his broken heart. On the contrary W.B's poetry would only feed into John's inner angst.

Eventually he came upon the history section. And it was there that he found a book on the First Boer War. His professor at Sandhurst, had been an uninspired educator at best, whose monotone drone as he lectured put the majority of the class to sleep. Bates was somewhat concerned that he may have dozed through some crucial bit of info as he had also fought drowsiness in that class. So he took finding this particular historical treatise as an opportunity to fill in some potential gaps to his knowledge of the Transvaal and its denizens.

He was very much aware that the military scheme he was to embark upon would require him to act and think like a native of the that area and the Free Orange State. Any and every bit of historical knowledge would only help to increase his odds of making it back safely from his mission. Though what he would be coming back to still was blurry in his mind. But being in favor of self-preservation for now, Bates grabbed the history book, and found a comfortable padded chair. Sitting down he stretched his long legs out and began to read.

Several hours later John awoke with a start as he felt someone's hand roughly shaking his shoulder.

"Sorry, mate but we're shutting down for the day. You best find somewhere else to continue your nap," the store clerk said gruffly.

John shook his head to try and clear the fogginess that surrounded his brain. Apparently it wasn't just the teacher, but also the subject matter that he found to be sleep inducing.

Bates wandered out into the sunlight and instinctively brought his hand up to shield his eyes, as he was temporarily blinded by the brilliant rays. Once his eyes had adjusted to the light he surveyed his surroundings. It was mid-afternoon and John knew the pubs would be open by now but he'd just spent the greater part of the day sequestered indoors and ascertained he'd benefit from a little fresh air before heading back inside to drown his sorrows.

Once again he felt his stomach rumble, reminding him that all he'd eaten that day was some toast and weak tea. Spying a bakery, John headed over there and purchased some hard rolls. Next door was a butcher where he was able to procure a few slices of ham. Armed with the ingredients for a sandwich, Bates knew there was a small park just down the road. He headed off on the short stroll there where he found a bench that was situated along the perimeter.

Settled down and hoping to enjoy his meal, his thoughts drifted again back to what had happened earlier in the day. Best laid plans of mice and men, John thought. This day had gone completely in the opposite direction from how he had envisioned it.

Instead of finding himself in bed with his wife, enjoying her body while she took enthusiastically from his, he sat on a hard park bench, alone, miserable and gnawing his way through a dry roll and tasteless bits of dried up ham.

Just as he thought his mood could not possibly get worse, his ears were assaulted by the sound of children running and shouting as they played a spirited game of tag several meters away. School was out for the day and the children freed from their disciplined and structured classroom were now enjoying a bit of play in the park before heading home.

Rather than enjoy their hijinks, John felt his emotions turn darker. Children…he and Vera had never actually spoken about having any, but he had always assumed that they would have some eventually.

He'd been somewhat concerned when Vera had not conceived the first year and a half they were together. But that concern changed to relief once he'd been assigned to go overseas as Major Grantham's batman. He would have worried if she had been with child and he had not been stationed nearby and able to give her the support he knew she would need.

While Vera was by no means a delicate lass, there was a frailty of spirit that she hid behind with manufactured bravura. John knew that inner weakness was there, and was positive she would need help, not physical but rather emotional to get her through a pregnancy.

John was truly devastated that she was going to finally be a mother, and the child would not be his. He knew he was being selfish, but honestly, he could not, would not be a father to that child. He would not be there to support her throughout her misbegotten pregnancy.

The louder the youngsters got, the nearer to where he was sitting, the blacker John's thoughts became. How was he ever going to deal with it? If he was to remain married to Vera would she be willing to put the child up for adoption? That seemed like the easiest solution to him. Surely, Vera would be reasonable and see it that way also. She couldn't possibly ask him to raise that child as his own. And under the circumstances, he couldn't imagine her wanting to keep it either.

His thoughts were interrupted by a smack against his head by a leather ball that then settled onto the bench beside him.

"Sorry sir, are you all right?" squeaked a young boy's voice. Without looking at who was talking to him, John raised his hand, palm facing the child and nodded he was okay.

"Please sir, may I have the ball then?" same little voice raised just a tad bit higher.

This time Bates looked up and saw the youngster…perhaps six or seven looking at him, alternating his gaze between the ball and John. Bates hadn't seen him with the group of children playing tag. The boy appeared to be alone. He was a sturdy little tyke with big hazel eyes and shock of dark hair peering from beneath the bill of his cap. Bates felt his heart skip a beat followed by a dull ache in his chest when the thought briefly skirted across his mind that had he had a son, he could very well have looked like this youngster. John felt the tears begin to form, blurring his vision. His eyes stung as he thought about how his dreams of a family with Vera were now jeopardized in light of the morning's revelations.

"Thank you sir" the lad said after Bates handed him the ball. "Care for a catch?"

"Sorry son, I'm just leaving" John replied, nearly choking on the word "son".

"Please, sir. Me mum is sitting just there." The boy pointed towards a lady dressed all in black sitting a few benches down.

"You see she don't know how to catch or throw or kick a ball. Papa used to play with me but he died in the war and now I don't have anyone to have fun with."

"Sorry, I can't son". John internally chastised himself. Why did he use that blasted word "son" again!

He felt a lump in his throat starting to form. John stood up, patted the young boy on his head and nodded towards the lady in black. He then wheeled around and quickly walked away from the boy and his mother…just as easily as he had walked away from Vera and her pregnancy. He needed that drink, now.

Bates knew exactly where he was going. He headed over to the Fox and Crow. In hindsight, it definitely was a bad choice on his part, for it was where he had met Vera just four short years ago. In fact, most of what passed for courtship between the two of them had occurred within the pub's four walls. Many was the time they both were too besotted to make their way home and found their way to one of the rooms upstairs to sleep it off initially, but there was always that sexual heat between them that had to be satisfied once they sobered up.

As he entered the establishment his mind was flooded with memories of those times with Vera. His reverie was quickly broken when he heard a voice calling out to him through the noisy, smoke-filled room.

"Bates! Well as I live and breathe, John Bates! How are you, mate? I thought you were in Africar fightin' for the crown. Givin' them Afrikaneers the what for."

John instantly recognized the voice… "Liam Thornton!" he answered back. "My God man, how long has it been? At least 10 years?"

"If a day." Liam responded. He rose from his chair and indicated for John come and join him.

Bates pushed past the men gathered round the bar and made it over to his friend. The two men gave each other a hearty embrace and forcefully slapped each other on the back.

"John, how are you? Heard you got married a few years ago. Where's yer blushing bride? Or, is she too delicate a creature to be found in an establishment like this? Liam winked as he teased John, having no idea how his playful jibe fed fuel into John's sour mood.

Bates and Thornton had been inseparable growing up in the rough streets around Whitechapel. They'd engaged in petty thievery as youngsters and by adolescence Bates had developed into an above average pickpocket. It wasn't a skill he was particularly proud of, but when his mam needed money to pay the rent because his father had drank away his wages at the local pub, John felt obligated to put his expert cutpurse ability to use. He always made sure to choose his marks carefully, preferring to victimize one of the poshes on the West End, justifying that they wouldn't even miss the few bob he'd take from their pockets or purses.

For the next several hours Bates and Liam took turns regaling one another with story after story of all of the capers and adventures the two of them had participated in growing up in the slums. John's glibness was due in part to the number of beers he continued to consume as they reminisced.

"Remember John, when you nicked a couple of sweets and a pack of fags from old man Wilson's store. And later that evening you met that girl, what was her name… Sarah. Ya spent most of the night with her under the bridge, enjoying the sweets and having your way with her."

John couldn't help but smile at the memory. Sarah had been his first and he had thought he had been hers. The sex was unexpected and over very quickly despite his clumsiness getting started and his lack of experience. He remembered she had big brown eyes and blond hair that framed her chubby face with a peaches and cream complexion and a low, sultry voice. Her body was voluptuous, warm, soft and round. There were no hard edges or angles on the girl. He'd never forget Sarah.

Liam continued. "And you wanted to be a gentleman and walk her home… and home turned into be the rooms above Wilson's."

"Aye, and Wilson turned out to be her Pa…Nearly took my head off with a cleaver when he saw that it was me bringing Sarah home." Bates chuckled

"And thus began the legend of "Big John" Bates…" Liam winked at John and gave him a nudge.

Apparently Sarah was not the innocent John had believed her to be, but rather was a loud and proud believer in "kiss and tell". And apparently Bates had been one of her most talked about prized and "gifted" conquests. Word spread quickly and John soon found himself to be one of the favorites of the ladies in the neighborhood.

"Ye never lacked for female companionship back then, John. If I'd had your special endowments I might never have settled down with just one woman. Ya know the old saying, 'Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?' You were living in a bloody pasture!"

John winced at Liam's rather crass recollection. Hearing his luck with the ladies described so harshly, certainly lessened the fond memories he had of those days. Especially since he always went out of the way to make sure the woman he was with left satisfied whether it be a one off or something with a little more longevity to it.

"So tell me about her, mate. Who is this woman who tamed Big John Bates and got him to pop the question?"

Realizing that there was no way Liam would let him dismiss telling the story of how he met his wife, John reluctantly began.

"Not much to tell Liam. Met her here, in this very pub nearly 4 years ago. She was an impressive lady, fiery, dark haired, beautiful and she could near drink me under the table. Gave as good as she got which was what really attracted me to her. She was proud and knew she had a right to be. And once she fixed me with that "come hither" look in her eyes I was gone."

"So where is she now John? At home minding all them baby Bateses?"

John winced at the end of the question as he took another gulp from the beer in front of him. He'd lost track of the number of rounds he and Thornton had gone through. But it hadn't been enough. If it had been enough Liam's question would not have stung so.

"Um… she's feeling poorly this evening. So, I told her not to bother with dinner and I'd find something here and leave her in peace for tonight."

"Ever the considerate gentleman yer are Bates. I see those years you spent as a footman for Lady Schiveley refined you a bit more also. Not much of the old neighborhood left in your speech."

"Working at a great house was an education, that's true, Liam. It was hard work, but a steady income and helped me see there could be more to my life than working odd jobs around Whitechapel, or servicing the ladies like some prime stud. And mum was so proud of me, straightening myself out, striving to be more than my station at birth gave me the right to be."

"Yer were one of the few that escaped, John. I was proud of you also, though I missed our times together. I have to admit I was also a mite jealous of your success. Whenever I'd run into you ma and ask how yer were doing, she'd go on and on about John's doing this, and John's doing that and John just got a promotion. And look at you now. A Master Sargent in Her Majesty's Army… a home…money to spend and married to a beautiful woman. But you didn't mention if you had any children yet… a little John Bates, Jr. perhaps? Surely you have a couple of wee ones by now?"

John felt his cheeks redden as the subject of Vera and babies came up again. The beer just isn't doing the trick. He raised his hand catching the eye of the man behind the bar.

"A bottle of whiskey here, if you please, barkeep."

He saw Thornton's eyes get wider and understood his concern. "It's on me, Liam. Not every day one gets to meet an old mate and rekindle a friendship. I've enjoyed playing catch-up and remembering the good times we had together. But really, my good man, most of our conversation has centered round me and my exploits since we last met. What about you. What finds Liam Thornton in this part of London?"

John was relieved that he had successfully managed to change the subject and that Liam hadn't continued on with his questioning concerning Vera and babies.

The whiskey bottle was brought to the table just as Thornton began to recite his story. John poured himself a generous shot. He downed it in one gulp and savored the burn as it ran down his throat. He felt his head spin a bit. This will do it, he smiled. Sharing a bottle with his mate might just do the trick and help him to forget.

"Nothing much to say Bates." Liam looked down at his scarred and work worn hands. I've spent a good many years at the workhouse in Whitechapel. Done some stone breaking, bone crushing, and wood chopping. You know me John, a jack of all trades." Liam smiled and gave John a sideways glance. As usual John remained quiet and nodded towards his mate that he understood.

Perhaps he understood more than Liam knew, for Bates was full aware that kind of work was reserved for inmates at the rural prisons. So, Thornton had spent some time in jail. John wondered if a similar fate would have been his if he'd not decided to try for the footman's job 10 years ago. He wouldn't judge his friend. There but for the grace of God….

"And to answer your question about what brings me here? Well, I had only planned to stay a couple of days on my way to London proper. But I met a nice woman. She's a looker John…more your type than mine. I can't believe my luck, and she seems to like me as much as I do her. So for now, I've settled here. Who knows we may be neighbors some day."

John looked hard at Liam and saw there was truth in his eyes. He looked quite smitten and his hard edges softened right before John when Thornton spoke of his new love.

"Nothing like the love of a good woman to set a man right," John agreed. "It sounds like you're ready to set roots here. When's the lucky day?"

"There's the rub, John. There's one teensy problem that's preventin' me from asking her to be mine eternally."

"Nothing too major, I hope?"

"It's a bit of a tangle. You see she's married."

"Married? My God, Liam! What type of folly is this? Married? Why would you take up with a married lady? What kind of courting could you possibly do under those circumstances? Knowing you, it's more about the thrill of not getting caught!"

"That's just the thing, John. There's not risk involved! Her husband ain't around."

"She's been abandoned by her spouse then?" John felt a bit hypocritical asking that question.

"Not exactly. He serves at Her Majesty's pleasure. Been stationed in South Africa going on a year now." Liam whispered that last sentence. He felt some guilt about cuckolding a man in the Service, but that turned out to be the least of his worries.

John couldn't believe his ears. Liam was sleeping with the wife of a fellow soldier! The kinship he felt with his brothers in arms was the strongest bond he had outside of family. In fact they were like a second family to him. If you harmed one of his comrades you injured John also. He immediately stood up, grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table and looked for another empty seat to settle in to.

Liam followed. "Aww...John… c'mon mate. Don't be like that. I didn't plan to fall in love with her, just meant for it to be a bit of fun."

"And in what possible universe does the fact you only wanted to bed her initially make it better?" John responded sharply. He was barely able to control his desire to throttle his now ex-best friend. He emptied his glass and this time he just picked up the bottle and drank directly from it.

Liam put his hand on John's shoulder and had it roughly brushed away.

"I'd advise you not do that again Thornton." John growled as he put the bottle of amber courage once more to his lips.

Liam tried one last time, deciding to break the male code against sharing feelings. John was a good friend, possibly his best, and he hated to see it about to dissolve.

"John, listen mate. Don't let this little thing come between us. I love her and I'm here to stay. Ain't nothing you can say or do that's going to change that fact."

Liam paused to see if Bates was reacting at all. Only response from John was to take another swig from the bottle.

Undeterred Thornton continued. "Me and you…we're going to see each other in town quite a bit. Let's not turn those moments into uncomfortable encounters. God I couldn't believe it when I saw you come through those doors this evening. I was so glad to see you after all these years, and I know you felt the same. Me and you, we've been through too much together to let this silly bit of nonsense destroy our friendship."

John snorted and took another gulp. By now he wasn't even feeling the burn of the liquid down his throat… and his head was feeling heavy. He may need to go to bed soon…but where? Bed… what bed, whose bed… his head was swimming.

Liam felt he had given it his best shot but to no avail. Same old Bates, stubborn, opinionated, and in this case, unforgiving.

Thornton stood up from the table looking down at his once best friend. He grew angry at John's lack of response. John wouldn't even look up from his drink and acknowledge Liam's plea. He'd not been so high-minded when he was bedding everything in skirts from Whitechapel to Covent Garden. Being in service, both with Lady Schiveley and in the Army had certainly changed the man, and not for the better as far as Liam was concerned. So, if this was it, he was not leaving without getting in one parting shot at John, the moralistic ass…

"Ye can't even look up from your drink to answer me, John. Why…what's the matter? Afraid it could happen to you, are you? Some fancy man or just a MAN would come by and have some fun with that wife of yours. And maybe she'd like it and divorce you and take your kids.."

Before he could finish his sentence, John was on him.

"Bastard" he screamed as his fist crushed Liam's nose. He felt a flash of pain shoot up his arm upon impact, but it felt good to John. He was able to react and punish this violator of married women. Following him down to the floor, the two began to thrash and roll around on the ground, punching, gouging and biting. Whatever it took, as their old street instincts started to come into play.

A circle of the bar's patrons quickly formed around the two combatants as tables and chairs were swiftly pushed away to give the men room to battle. John was able to get in another good knock as he straddled Thornton's chest only to have Liam form a ball with his two fists and deliver a very strategic blow onto John's groin. He screamed as the pain shot straight to his brain and fell off Liam clutching the injured area in agony and trying not to pass out.

Liam staggered to his feet, one eye was swollen shut and he could barely see out of the other as a cut above his good eye was blurring his vision. Thornton began blindly kicking at John, as blood continued to pour from his broken nose. John had curled up in the fetal position as the best defense to the kicks. He needed time to catch his breath and work through the pain. Foolish Liam was concentrating his kicks on John's broad back, and Bates could tell his opponent was starting to tire as the strength of his kicks were becoming weaker and weaker.

Sensing his opponents growing vulnerability, John timed his next move, and as soon as he felt Liam deliver his last kick and start to pull back to deliver the next, John rolled towards Thornton, caught his leg in mid swing and jerked it sideways causing the man to lose his balance and fall heavily onto the floor banging his head in the process. Bates was on the semi-conscious man immediately ready to deliver the knockout punch when he realized that Thornton was a beaten man and could offer no further resistance. He got off him and shakily rose to his feet.

Looking down on his defeated mate, John took no pleasure from his victory. All he felt at this juncture was pain, disgust and exhaustion.

The crowd parted for Bates as he staggered forward, a couple of voices from the crowd shouted.

"Good going, mate."

"You showed him who's boss"

With each shout Bates alcohol fueled mood turned blacker and blacker. He was literally seeing red when one hapless soul slapped him on the back for emphasis after praising the move that had sent Liam to the ground.

"Don't touch me!' John yelled and swung wildly in the direction of the man who had laid his hand on him. His punch landed solidly on the man's jaw and he dropped like a sack of flower. Whereupon his friends went after Bates who continued to thrash about wildly not bothering to cover up and defend himself from the pummeling he was receiving. As he continued to flail away at his attackers he apparently picked up some backers who attacked his opponents. A full blown donnybrook was now in session as the barman fled the scene to get the cops to break up the fight before the bar was destroyed.

At the sound of the coppers' whistle the fisticuffs ceased and the crowd dispersed. All the participants, save John fled the bar, leaving him bloodied but unbowed standing in the middle of shattered tables and broken chairs. Even Liam had appeared to have escaped.

"He's the one what started it," the barkeep cowered behind the policeman as he pointed towards Bates.

"So, yer the one responsible, mate?"

"Yes, officer. I am" John stared at the ground, unwilling to look the man in the face.

"Why'd you do it, sir?"

"I'd rather not say officer. It's a private matter. Do what's required." Bates set his wrists forward, preparing to be cuffed. He was ashamed and even more worried that this could by the end of his membership in the special mission team he'd trained for over the past 3 months, or possibly even his military career!

"Well… before I do…." The policeman turned to the bartender who was also the owner. "Do you want to press charges and have us arrest this man? Looks like there is a lot more damage here than just one person could cause. Is it fair to have this young man take the full responsibility for it and possibly have his life ruined by going to jail over a bar fight?"

The owner brought his hand to his chin and rubbed it thoughtfully. "No, I suppose not," he responded. "But someone has to pay for the damages. I'll not let my generosity of spirit interfere with my need to make my livelihood. If he agrees to pay for the damages, I'll not press charges."

"Are you agreeable to that, sir?" The officer turned in Bates direction.

Bates nodded in agreement. It would probably take all of his and Vera's savings to do it, and perhaps a promissory note to pay off the balance in case their savings were not enough. But it had to be done, lest he go to jail and endanger his army career.

Seeing that there would be a peaceful resolution to this event, the gendarme stood over the two men as they worked out a payment plan. Once the terms were agreed upon, he left while John and the owner put pen to paper and created a contract with a precise payment schedule. Upon the last t being crossed, John signed the document and walked out of the Fox and Crow still drunk, bloodied and a poorer man for the experience, but at least he was free.

But free to do what… go where?

And that's how and why John found himself back sitting in his front room. Everything that had passed since yesterday was finally straight in his head.

As he sat there pondering his future, Bates became acutely aware of the odiferous and filthy state his body was in. John understood the necessity to at least clean himself up a bit before even daring to think where he was going to sleep for the next couple of hours.

He rifled through his bag, hoping he'd packed a nightshirt or something to sleep in. He remembered thinking yesterday morning, before his whole world collapsed, that he probably wouldn't need one. The only thing he had planned to wear in bed was his wife. Vera's long limbs entwined with his… Damn why was he going there… John felt his face redden as he felt his shame at thinking about Vera that way again. He was still so addle minded. His confusion fueled by a combination of exhaustion and the remaining drops of alcohol still in his system.

Relieved to find a nightshirt and a couple of clean flannels packed into his valise, John took his shoes off and padded softly to the kitchen. Nightshirt and flannels in hand Bates proceeded to strip down to his shorts. He pumped some water into a basin deciding to forgo warming it up and cleaned himself up best he could using a bar of soap he'd found on the counter.

Once he felt sufficiently clean, he donned the nightshirt, picked up his discarded clothing off the floor and tossed them in the direction of the front room. Returning to the settee, John surveyed the couch and knew it was too small to comfortably accommodate his tall frame.

As he sat there pondering what he should do, he heard the sound of gentle snoring coming from the bedroom. John smiled in spite of himself, as he recalled the "remedies' that they would employ upon one another when snoring. Inevitably the offending party would be woken up and their punishment would involve a lot of lips and tongues strategically placed upon one another.

John shuddered as those thoughts played inside his mind. He still hadn't decided what he was going to do and he convinced himself that no decision could be made until he'd spent a few more hours asleep. John found himself drawn to the bedroom and as he gently pushed open the door his senses were assaulted by the scent and vision of Vera asleep, nude in their bed.

Bates arousal was almost immediate, but he refused to give into his baser needs. His objective was to get some sleep and sleep he would have. He slipped under the sheets of the bed carefully so as not to rouse Vera. Turning his back away from her as he stretched out as close to the edge of the bed as possible he closed his eyes and waited for sleep to overtake him.

John wasn't sure how long he'd actually slept when he heard a noise outside of the bedroom. It sounded like it was coming from the front room. Someone was in their home! Whoever it was did not appear to be trying to be silent with his home invasion and in fact seemed to be familiar with the layout of the house. Bates heard him walk into the kitchen, pump some water into a container, probably the tea kettle and proceed to stoke the fire in the fireplace and hang the kettle there to boil.

John stealthily got up out of bed. As he did so, Vera stirred, but did not wake up. Carefully he pressed the latch and opened their bedroom door. His heart was racing as he realized that without doubt, he was about to come face to face with the man who had been assaulting his wife on a regular basis...the father of Vera's child.

The room was brighter than when John had left it before going to bed, so he could clearly make out the image of a man standing at the sink, his back towards John. As Bates made his way towards the figure, John felt his blood begin to boil, his hands formed into fists ready to beat the man bloody and take his revenge on the villain who had damaged his wife and his lives.

Just as he was about to take a run at the man, John's feet got tangled in the clothing he'd discarded on the floor and he hit the sideboard in an effort to maintain his balance.

Hearing the sound the man chuckled, his back still turned and said, "My, my, woman. This is a first. Coming out to meet me this early morn. Eager for the fun to begin are we?" Hearing those words, John's blood froze. And after uttering that remark, the man turned just as Bates launched himself at the scoundrel.

John's arm pulled back about to deliver the first blow when he suddenly froze and gazed in horror at his opponent's face. Those eyes, that nose, the hair, the face… they were all too familiar to Bates. His arm dropped and hung loosely by his side.

He knew this man…


	6. Chapter 6 The Man

**_This is one rather "meaty" chapter. It reveals who the father of the Bates baby is, delves into Bates relationship with his Da and touches a little on his effort to protect and support his Mum. Also discovers his shock at Vera's decision regarding the pregnancy, and a presents a crucial decision of his that will traumatically change his life forever._**

**_Thank you again for the reviews, comments, follows, etc. I almost gave up on this story, thinking I wasn't the right person to write it, but a couple of new reviews have made my day and given me the impetus to carry on. Any input is truly appreciated both positive and negative. Still a rookie fanfic writer, feeling her way through the experience._**

**_John Bates, Vera Bates, Robert Crawley, and Anna Smith are all characters created by Julian Fellowes. Only the plotline is mine._**

"Da?"

Bates couldn't believe his eyes. What was his father doing here, and at this time in the morning? John shook his head in an attempt to make the picture before him clearer. He never in a million years would have expected to find his father standing in his kitchen like this.

There was silence as John surveyed his dad and came to grips with his presence in his house. Shawn Bates was a big man… Powerfully built with broad shoulders and forearms that resembled sturdy tree limbs. His once jet black hair was now interspersed with patches of grey. His nose was long and pointed but bore the telltale signs of too much alcohol consumption as tiny blue and red capillaries vined their way around his nostrils. The hazel eyes that John had inherited from his dad were now rheumy looking and lined in red. He could barely reconcile the sight of the man before him with the old picture that hung in the front room of his childhood home. A picture that his mum would often stop and stare at until the tears would start to fall. John hated the fact that he resembled his father so much in that photo. He illogically felt that it was partially his fault his mother would cry whenever she studied it.

He was brought back to reality when his father finally spoke.

"J-Johnny, son…didjn't know you were in town." Shawn sputtered. "Didja get some leave? Don't tell your Da that you're absent without leave, lad? Yer should've let us know you were commin' . Yer Mum will be trilled to see ya…I need to wet me whistle, I'm a bit parched this morning. Bates dad turned and got a glass of water, and took a sip. "Ya look like you could use some water yourself, Johnny." His voice sounded thick as he slurred some of his words. He then faced John and offered him the glass. "

John shook his head. "No thanks. I'm fine." Only John wasn't fine. He was trying to reconcile himself to the fact that he was having this conversation with his dad while standing in his nightshirt in his kitchen at 5am in the morning.

"In answer to your questions, I just arrived yesterday, Da. Didn't tell anyone because I wanted to surprise Vera. I'd planned on visiting both you and mum later this week." John lied to his father as he hadn't any intention of stopping by to see his parents, having planned to spend his entire leave in bed with his wife.

"Aye, well it's good to see ya son. I-I swear it looks like you've grown a couple of inches and you've put on at least a stone since I last saw you. What's it been now, Johnny? A year…two?"

"A year and a half." John felt it was his turn to ask the questions… something about this exchange between him and his father seemed more strained than usual. John couldn't help but notice that his dad was having a hard time looking at him. He blamed it on the obvious intoxicated state his father was in as the reason for his inability to focus.

Shawn was a habitual drunk. That was not to say that he was lazy. Lord knows he worked hard for long hours paving roads and picking up the odd construction job to support his little family of Bates' mother, Elizabeth and John, himself. It didn't happen every month, but usually every other that the man would wind up in a local pub and proceed to drink away a couple of weeks wages, leaving Elizabeth to fret and worry over how the monthly rent and groceries would be paid for. That's why John had felt it his obligation to keep up his skills as a pickpocket in order to supplement the family income with his illegally gotten gains from being an expert cutpurse.

The drinking alone was reason enough for John to dislike his dad, but Shawn Bates had one other particularly nasty character trait that made John ultimately hate his father. He couldn't quite remember when he first was aware of it, but he remembered as a child hearing his parents arguing, their voices getting louder, until his father would change the tone of the disagreement into an opportunity to make it personal towards his wife. He'd call her names, vile ones which as a youngster, John didn't know the meaning of. All he knew was that his mother would start to cry when Shawn used them against her. And then as if in a script, his dad would start screaming at her to stop crying and then he'd hear a slap, and his mom's sobbing gasp, followed by another blow, and her pleading with him to stop, followed by soft whimpering…she was sorry…she'd behave.

As John grew older and stronger, he'd try to insert himself between the elder Bates and his mum. Usually all he'd have to show for it would be a black eye or a bloody nose for daring to interfere as he would be easily and roughly pushed aside, forced to watch his mom take another beating. But once he'd been caught full on the face by a roundhouse blow and the ring his dad wore tore into his face and left a scar on his right cheek. That scar would serve as a constant reminder to John of the type of man he would never allow himself to become.

When John turned 17 he had put on enough muscle on his long frame to be able to confront his dad fairly, in a physical, man to man fight. After a particularly long shouting match between his parents John heard the drawer of the sideboard open and realized his dad was about to come after his mom with a knife. Young Bates rushed between them, grabbing the knife by the blade and pulling it out of Shawn's hand. The blade slashed a gash across four of his fingers but he didn't mind the blood. Tossing the knife aside Bates grabbed his father by the collar, slamming him into the kitchen wall and lifting him up off the floor as the man frantically tried to get his footing.

"Don't you ever touch my mother again," John snarled. "If you do, I swear to god I will kill you. Do you understand me, old man?" Shawn nodded quickly, his countenance shrouded in fear. John recalled how satisfied he felt seeing the terror in his father's eyes after that exchange. He wanted to make sure to leave a lasting impression on this poor excuse for a man. He needed to make sure that when he finally left home; his mom would be safe from Shawn's vile temper and physical abuse.

John let his mind drift back to the present, staring warily at his father. What was he doing here at this hour? He was supposed to have been helping out with any repairs to the house Vera might need done and also, along with Elizabeth watch over Vera while John was overseas. But why had he shown up now, before dawn?

"Why did you come here?" John decided to take the direct approach with the old drunk.

"Why, you asked us to come by and check-in on Vera while you were o'erseas, John. You must remember you asked us to do that?"

"Aye, I did. But mum was supposed to be with you and why are you here so early in the morning?"

"Ah, well you see Johnny… one man's early is another man's late." He chuckled at what he thought was a clever reply. "I be just coming back from the Pig's Whistle. Was on a bit of a Guinness feed last night and wound up sleeping it off in one of their rooms upstairs… Now don't be thinking anything bad 'bout me son. I was sleeping alone in that room." Shawn shook his finger at John, as if he was a school boy caught being truant. "I woke up and let meself out. And as I was passing by Vera's thought I'd stop by and see if there was anything I could help her with." Shawn's eyes had been downcast the entire time he told John his tale. He finally looked up after the story ended, but only with his eyes. His head remained down.

John listened carefully to his father's explanation. On its own the story was plausible, but something his father had said earlier... before John had let his presence be known to Shawn, deeply troubled him.

"Before you knew it was me in the room, you said something about 'coming out to meet you', and 'eager to have some fun'?" Was that supposed to be addressed towards Vera?

John watched as the coloring of Shawn's face turned ashen. He bit his lip and Bates could almost see the wheels spinning in his father's head. John could feel an uncontrollable rage start to rise up throughout his body. The tingling started at the tip of his toes and slowly roiled and boiled upwards fueled by the knowledge that his father may have committed an unspeakable act on his wife. The longer the silence between them, the angrier John became. But he held himself in check, hoping against hope that his father had some reasonable explanation for what he'd said.

While waiting for a response, John heard the bedroom door creak open. Vera emerged with her chemise on under a tattered robe which hung loosely open on her body.

"John, who are you talking too? I heard voices." Vera yawned noisily after posing her question. Her eyes were closed as she spread her arms wide open. John wasn't sure if she was trying to embrace him or merely stretching. "Johnny… please tell me you can forgive…" Vera stopped in mid-sentence as she opened her eyes and saw John's dad standing in the kitchen. Her face blanched as she held her hand to her mouth and slowly backed away, towards the bedroom. John noticed a flash of recognition in Vera's eyes as she stared in Shawn's direction.

"Da?" John said that word once again; fully aware that it might be the last time he'd ever address the man. If it turned out his father was responsible for Vera's condition, he knew he had but one choice and that was to make him pay with his life. "DA!" John said it more forcefully. "Can you explain to me why you said what you did? "

"Um… well. Ye must have misunderstood me, Johnny. I'd no reason to say that to Vera… Can't even remember saying anything before I saw 'twas you in the kitchen. Perhaps you heard me reciting some passages from me favorite author. I've taken to reading some lately. I like that fellow Dickens."

"Enough!" John barely recognized his voice. It sounded like thunder to his ears and there was something primal and unforgiving in its tone and timbre. John slowly looked from his father to his wife… The answer he was dreading shone on both their faces.

Bloodlust coursed through John's veins now. His father was a dead man, and his wife… she'd never have to worry about that animal ever touching her again. Slowly he turned away from Vera and towards his father. His hands unconsciously clenching and opening, as though he were pumping up his arms so they would be strong… strong enough to tear his father apart.

"N-n-now J-J-John. Don't be jumping to conclusions. I only come here to help out Vera when she was having difficulties. Nothing more, I…"

"Shut it!" John spat at his father… He was slowly approaching the man. Shawn shrank in terror from the predatory look in his son's eyes. The senior Bates knew John was capable of killing him with his bare hands, so he'd best arm himself or die for sure. Thinking quickly, he grabbed the glass he had been drinking from earlier and smashed it against the water basin leaving him with a dozen or so large, sharp shards of glass. He grabbed a flannel by the sink and used it as a handle as he wrapped it around the bottom of a couple of glassy spikes.

"Son, don't do it. I'm sorry." the wreck of a man pleaded for his life. But his entreaties fell on deaf ears.

All John could hear now was the rush of his blood being pumped through to his brain. He was vaguely aware of a female voice, asking him to stop… But the direction it was coming from was unclear. He couldn't even tell if it came from within the same room.

"She's pregnant… did you know that?" John sneered in Shawn's direction, his eyes unable to focus directly on the man. "Do you realize she's carrying my sibling? What kind of sick twisted bastard are you? You deserve to be wiped off the face of the earth, and I'm the one that will be pleased and happy to be responsible for your demise."

"Wha..What? N-no… I didn't know that. She said she was using protection…same as she used when you two are together," Shawn stammered.

Hearing that immediately stopped John's forward progress as his father's words sunk into his head. Wait… Vera was purposely keeping herself from getting pregnant with him? John was pretty forward thinking for his time, and had long ago accepted the concept of a woman's body being her own and no man should dictate whether she bare children or not. No, that wasn't the problem. What he had difficulty accepting is why she hadn't told him of her scheme. If she didn't want to have kids, fine. He believed he could live with that. But to not have at least discussed it with him or inform him of her decision to put off being pregnant was contrary to the basic notion of trust between two married people.

"Is this true, Vera?"

"Is what true?" her voice trembled slightly in reply.

"That you didn't want to have children with me? Why not? Why wouldn't you tell me?"

"Because, I was afraid, Johnny!" Her words tumbled out of her mouth, unedited, the honest truth, but perhaps too late. "You are in the Army and I knew you could be called away to fight in the war, and I knew I just couldn't do it…Do it alone… have a baby. Take care of it without your help. You know me Johnny, I shouldn't have had to tell you. You should have known."

"Yet, you're fine with it now?" John's head was spinning. Vera was carrying his half brother or sister and she's appeared fine, even happy with that. But she didn't want to have a child with him?

"It wasn't planned, obviously. I found out I was pregnant and I was scared and wanted to see about getting rid of it at first. But it was costly and I hadn't the money, and was too scared to try one of them back alley docs. As the time went by, I-I came to like the idea of having a baby. Someone who would be here always for me to love. You don't know how lonely it is, John. It's not like when we first started out and lived on the base. I've no one to talk to my own age here. "

"At first your da was nice. He'd come over during the day to check up on me and stay for a chat. Your mum would never come by. You know how she hated me for taking her Johnny boy away? She never thought me good enough for you."

"Your father would always make me laugh and one night, around six months ago, he appeared on his way from the pub and he had a bottle of whiskey. So we drank a few and I don't remember much more beyond that… other than the next morning wondering what the empty whiskey bottle was doing in my bed. He came by the next week with another bottle, and a sort of routine set in… I'm sorry, John. I never meant for it to continue…and when I fully realized what was going on after I'd had some drink, I told him I wanted no part of him. But he threatened me and said he'd tell you and the neighbors, not that he was responsible, but rather that I entertained men for money. My reputation and yours would have been destroyed."

"Around this time I started feeling nauseous. I prayed that the reason would be some sort of sickness…anything other than being with child. But that is what I am. And now, knowing that you'll be shipping off to South Africa and may not come back to me… I want to keep this child. With or without you, I'll raise it."

John thought he was going to get sick as a wave of nausea swept over him trying to process what Vera was telling him. He let his guard down in that instant and Shawn decided to run for it and attempted to escape out the front door of the house. As he started to sprint for the door, John caught the flash of movement coming from his father's direction and leaped to block his egress.

"No! You bloody, bloody bastard!" John launched his body through the air in an attempt to grab his father as he bolted for the front door. "You'll not get away with what you've done that easily." He roared. He was just able to catch his dad by his back collar and with one strong jerk managed to throw him across the kitchen floor. "You're going to pay and pay dearly for what you've done to Vera and to me and… to my mum."

With those final words, John let out a low, guttural roar and crossed the kitchen with one long stride to where his father laid, gasping for air.

"Stay away John.. I'm warning you." Shawn gasped as tried to catch his breath. He waved a long shard of the glass he'd broken earlier, grasping it by the flannel end. "I'll cut you if you come any closer!"

The threat made John even angrier, if that was possible… "Don't threaten me… don't ever threaten me," he growled. By now his head was pounding as he literally saw red. He hesitated before getting any closer to Shawn… Looking for a clear shot at him while avoiding being slashed by the broken glass shiv his father had created and was now waving wildly.

Hearing Vera shout, "John, please no…don't", he stopped for a moment and that's when Shawn decided to take another try at escape. He had absolutely no compunction stabbing his son, if that was what was required to save his skin. Leaping to his feet quickly, in a surprisingly agile move for a man his size and age, John's dad thrust the broken glass towards John's belly. John managed to step aside, so that the makeshift knife missed its intended mark but did nick him in the side. He felt a sharp pain and then the slow trickle of blood drip down his torso, down his right leg and onto the floor.

Shawn stopped motionless, as if mesmerized that he'd been unable to disable John enough for him to escape. The younger Bates stared at his father then swiftly grabbed his left wrist, smartly twisted it and heard the clattering of the glass shards as they hit the floor.

John grabbed his father by the throat with his left hand as his right smashed Shawn over and over again in the face. Breaking his nose and splitting his lip before he took a breather. He released his hand from around his father's throat and watched him groan and then drop like a sack of potatoes onto the ground. Still seething with hate for his dad and everything he stood for; John sank to his knees and began reining blow after blow on to his father's upper body and face. Mentally, he was counting off as each blow was struck… this is for Vera…this is for the baby…this is for mum…this is for the beatings…

Physically, John was exhausted… his arms ached and his knuckles were bloodied once again…He didn't remember when, but sometime while he was punishing his dad, he had managed to straddle his chest, and now found his hands around the man's throat. He felt them close tighter… the sight of his dad's face turning purple as he clenched them tighter and tighter seemed unreal. It was like a dream… he was almost watching himself do it… Felt his father's legs flailing and kneeing him in the back as he struggled to get free.

"I can do this." John thought out loud. "This bloody animal deserves to die." An internal dialogue then flooded John's brain as he realized that he would most certainly hang for what he intended to do. But, he took solace in that no one would ever be hurt again by this vile, wicked person. The two people he cared most about in the whole world would be safe… Vera and his Mum.

He felt someone tugging on his shoulders, trying to pull him off his now unconscious father… Just a minute more and he'd be finished, John thought. "Let go of me!" he bellowed as the hands were now in his face, fingers grasping at his mouth and nostrils… trying to get him to release the death grip he had locked around his father's throat.

"Stop.. please stop!. No, don't kill him!" a voice called out.

"I said, Get off me!" John yelled once more at his attacker and with that he released one hand from Shawn's throat and violently swiped his arm in the direction he was being pulled towards.

His arm hit something soft and then John heard a thud followed by a piercing scream, another thud and then silence. He released Shawn immediately and turned while still on his knees.

What he saw took his breath away. His body frozen in place as time stopped and the remnants of his life came crashing down around him. It was Vera, crumpled at the base of the sideboard, unconscious… a crimson stain starting to spread and seep onto the ground beneath her…


	7. Chapter 7 The Stain

_**Lucky Chapter 7? Afraid not so for John as his downward spiral continues. This chapter is short but not sweet and speaks to the immediate happenings after Vera's fall. Thank you so much for the reviews and comments. They definitely keep me going... and a special shoutout to Adamsforthought and a-lady-to-me for their encouragement and advice.**_

"Vera! Oh my God...No! Vera!" John called out to his wife with a strangled cry. "NO…no…no…this isn't happening!" John got up off his knees, his father's prostrate form lying on the kitchen floor no longer of importance.

He knelt down beside Vera…her ghostly pallor making Bates think the worse. He'd done this to her. Had he killed her or was she just unconscious? A doctor! He had to get the doctor.

John raced out the front door barefooted and clothed in nothing but a bloodied nightshirt. He remembered there was a Doc Whelan that lived not too far down the road. Bates never had run so fast in his life. He knew he looked a sight… and that when the doctor saw the carnage in his house there will be a lot of explaining to do, maybe even accusations… but he didn't care. He just needed to have Vera saved…and the baby also...so he too would be saved.

Bates reached the doctor's residence and began beating and shouting at the front door. It was still pretty early and he feared that the good doctor and his wife would not be up yet.

"Dr. Whelan…," he yelled. "Dr. Whelan…It's an emergency…open up please!" Bates fists continued to pound. If Whelan didn't answer soon, John was contemplating ripping the door off its hinges. "Doc… Doctor Whelan.. please…"

John felt a quick spot of relief as he heard Whelan cough and shuffle forward on the other side of the door.

'Yes… who is it…?" The doctor cleared his throat and before John could answer, opened the door. He squinted at the man in the bloody nightshirt and exclaimed, "Good god, sir… What happened to you? Come in… come in… How did this happen?"

"No..No… Doctor you don't understand… It's not me… It's my wife… There has been an accident… please hurry… follow me.." John yanked on the doctor's arm trying to pull him outside.

"But young man, you're bleeding!" The doctor protested. He grabbed at his medicine bag sitting on a small table near the entrance. It was impossible for him to counter the man's insistent pull.

"It's not the problem. My wife…she's the one who needs your assistance now… Come with me please, doctor…Now! At this point John was gasping for air… he was hyperventilating in frustration with his inability to get the physician moving towards the house where Vera lay unconscious.

Dr. Whelan, bag in hand, finally followed John outside and did his best to keep up with him as the younger man raced on ahead. John was frustrated at the relatively slow pace the doctor was taking, and had to remind himself that the doctor was twice his age and doing the best he could.

When John arrived at his house he was surprised to see the front door closed… He knew he hadn't bothered closing the door when he left… Once inside John was both relieved and concerned over what had apparently occurred in his absence. Vera was still on the floor, but at least she was moaning softly. She wasn't dead. But his father was gone. Apparently he'd managed to make it out of the cottage. John thought he knew where he would head, but that thought was pushed aside as his attention focused on his wife.

The doctor raced over to the sink and washed his hands quickly then returned to Vera still moaning on the floor. He inhaled quickly at the sight of the young woman. She was alive, but barely. She'd lost a lot of blood and he had to find out where it was coming from and stop the bleeding as soon as possible or she would die. He examined her carefully and then turned to John?

"Was she pregnant?" He asked, barely detecting a slight swell of her abdomen.

"Yes, doctor, she IS pregnant." John ran his hands through his hair. Why did the doctor say was? There must be something he can do… "She will be fine… Doctor Whelan? I mean both of them…Vera and the baby?" The doctor shook his head and looked up at the clearly distraught young man.

"I'm sorry son, there's nothing can be done about the baby. At this point, the mother's…that is, your wife's survival is what I must focus on. She's lost a lot of blood, more than typically accompanies a miscarriage this early in the pregnancy. My concern is that there has been some permanent damage to her reproductive system. You must prepare yourself to the possibility that she may never be able to conceive a child again."

Dr. Whelan's words nearly leveled John. Not able to have a child… He realized that was all Vera had wanted for sure in her life, especially with him leaving for the front soon. She had planned to keep the baby as someone to physically hold on to and cherish and love and be loved by. Regrettably, now that need in her would never be fulfilled, and he was responsible. It was a bitter, bitter fact for him to accept, but she had wanted, needed and loved that babe more than she did him.

The doctor moved swiftly over Vera, doing his best to stop the bleeding while taking note of her respirations and color. "I believe I've managed to stop it for now…. Help me get her up onto the bed." He addressed John. "She's going to need a transfusion. I've saline and the equipment needed in the infirmary at my home. You'll be quicker, so I need you to go tell my wife what I need and she'll be able to give you the necessary equipment. Now please hurry, time is of the essence. "

John bolted out the door at breakneck speed. As he ran he became acutely aware of the pain in his side from where he had been cut. Ignoring the pain he continued on towards the infirmary. The image of his pale wife lying in a crimson pool spurred him onward. She couldn't die. He wouldn't let her die.

Bates returned from the infirmary, equipment in hand a few minutes later. He watched in dismay as he saw the doctor fumble setting up the IV. John had seen battlefield transfusions done while in South Africa, but watching it being performed on his wife was far more upsetting. After what seemed like an eternity, Dr. Whelan stepped aside.

"There… its set up and working well now. I'll send up another bottle of saline with the nurse that will be coming to assist with her care. Two units should be enough. She's needs to stay in bed…keep her movements to a minimum. She will probably do better here at home than moving her to the hospital, less chance of infection. The nurse should be here no later than noon. Vera is young and relatively healthy. Her vital signs appear strong. She needs rest and quiet. And make sure she keeps hydrated…Soups and broths…lots of liquids… but NO alcohol! I'll also leave you an analgesic to help manage her pain when she awakens."

The doctor left Vera's side and returned to the kitchen to wash his hands again. He then turned to John next and said, "Now, let's take care of that side of yours, Mr…?

"Bates, John Bates"

"Ah, yes…Mr. Bates…Let's have a look"

John gingerly removed his nightshirt as the doctor prepared to minister to his injury. Bates winced as part of the garment stuck to the wound and tore open the scab that had started to form. He was also acutely aware of the morning chill as he stood in front of Dr. Whelan in just his undershorts.

"It isn't very deep, John. I don't believe you'll need stitches. I'm going to clean and bandage it now, and you'll need to change the dressing three times a day. Be sure to keep it clean and try not to break the scab as it heals. And keep it dry. Remember as with your wife, the greatest danger in any wound is infection. Do you want me to leave you some painkillers also for relief as it heals?"

"No, that is not necessary, I can manage." John excused himself from the doctor briefly and went to the front room to gather some clean clothes from his valise. He swiftly pulled on some trousers and a shirt and returned to Dr. Whelan. He extended his hand to the doctor. "Thank you for coming. And what do I owe you?"

"You're welcome Mr. Bates… A pound should cover it. You'll receive my bill in tomorrow's post. The cost for the visiting nurse will be separate. I'll have one sent to you by noon today and you can make arrangements directly with her."

John shook the physicians hand and then grabbed his arm as he walked him to the front door. "Vera, my wife, she's going to be fine? Do I understand you properly?

The doctor heard that concern and fright in Bates voice and tried to calm him down. "Yes, John. She should be fine. Just follow my instructions, but if she should suddenly run a high fever or start hemorrhaging please send for me."

"I will, sir." John shook the physicians hand once more and watched him as he walked slowly down the lane towards his own home.

He went back inside and sat down at the settee. Head in hands, John thought about what he should do until the nurse arrived. First on the list was to scrub the floor when Vera had collapsed. The sooner he got to that, the less chance of a stain being set into the flagstone flooring. Next he'd pick up the glass shards in the kitchen. And once the nurse arrived, John would leave his home…track down his father and finish the job. There was simply no way that man deserved to live. Not after all the pain and sorrow he had inflicted onto Vera and how he'd altered their existence as husband and wife. He was ready to die to see justice done. John's life held no meaning at this point. His wife would be barren and John had reconciled himself to the simple fact that he had played a part in her losing the one thing she cherished above everything…the baby. She would hate him for this once she found out. Of that, John was certain.


	8. Chapter 8 The Murderer

_**Well we're coming close to the end of John and Vera's storyline. But John's story is far from over. As in previous chapters there are bits and pieces of dialogue from the Downton Abbey series being utilized in this fic. Curious if you've been able to spot them.**_

_** Once again, many thanks to the reviewers. I know this isn't your typical Banna fluff,( of which I am a big proponent of). And appreciate how difficult it may be to slog through this angsty tale of woe. So thanks for hanging in there. Reviews and comments are truly, deeply appreciated and help fuel this first time writer to continue on. **_

_**As before.. Downton Abbey belongs to Fellowes, ITV and Carnival, etc. etc. etc.**_

John was on his hands and knees… sweat pouring down his face as he continued to scrub at the stain on the floor. It had faded a bit… but it was still there. He'd been working on it for nearly an hour.

"Blast… why can't I get this spot out," he said out loud with a rueful smile as the famous line from Shakespeare's Macbeth came to mind. "Out, damned spot." he uttered, but it really wasn't a laughing matter. The bloody stain remained. It wouldn't go away. He feared it would never go away. For John it would always serve as the omnipresent reminder of his guilt. And for this reason he continued to scrub, desperate to have it erased from the floor and his memory. He came to an abrupt stop when he heard a knock on the door.

John stood up and walked to the cottage entrance. Opening it, he found himself staring into the dark brown eyes of a woman, who he assumed was the nurse sent by Dr. Whelan. Dressed in black and carrying both a valise and what appeared to be a medical bag, the woman was quite thin and tall with a large hooked nose that made Bates think of a dark flamingo.

"John Bates? My name is Nancy Farrow." She put her hand forward to shake his. "Dr. Whelan asked me to be the in-home care nurse for your wife…Vera is it?"

"Yes, of course… You were expected." John shook her hand vigorously, relieved that she had finally arrived. Now he could soon leave his wife in her care and track down his father.

"I understand your wife suffered a miscarriage following a fall? Was this her first pregnancy?"

"Yes, her first," John answered. He couldn't help thinking 'and probably her last.'

"May I see her?"

"But of course…Please follow me. I just checked and she was still sleeping." He led the nurse to the bedroom and quietly pushed open the door. "I've been monitoring her temperature and she doesn't seem the least bit feverish." John added.

Nurse Farrow went straight to task checking Vera's pulse and temperature again. The IV appeared to be functioning fine. She inspected the bedding quickly to make sure that the bleeding had stopped. And then began setting up her monitoring devices and assorted bits of medical paraphernalia on the nightstand within hands reach.

John watched her for a moment, mesmerized at the speed and precision that the visiting nurse moved. Clearly she was an experienced and efficient medical assistant, the knowledge of which made John relax a little more. He was relieved that Vera appeared to be in very capable hands.

"Has she regained consciousness yet?" Nurse Farrow's voice sounded somewhat loud and clipped to John's ears.

"She has not," he replied anxiously.

"She should soon. I'll stay with her until she does. In the meantime is there somewhere I can quickly freshen up from the train ride. And after she's awakened, perhaps there would be someplace that I could take a quick nap for a bit? The doctor wired me very early this morning regarding your case, and in my haste to catch the next train I needed to forgo some additional hours of sleep." As if for emphasis, Miss Farrow yawned loudly.

"Certainly, let me show you where the bathroom is and the spare bedroom is right across from it. Feel free to use it to take your rest when needed." John then escorted the nurse to the back bedroom and bath. Afterwards, he returned to the kitchen.

He looked at the stained floor once again wondering if it was worth having another go at it. Perhaps he could find a throw rug in their storage space or purchase one in the village later. Just then he heard a voice quietly calling his name. It was Vera. She was awake. John's heart leapt, though he wasn't sure if it was in joy or trepidation.

"Johnny…John?" Vera's cried out weakly. "Where are you?"

John raced to Vera's side, standing by her bedside. "I'm here love." He answered.

Vera stared at his face blankly. It took her a few seconds to recognize him and her exact surroundings.

"John…what happened? Her voice sounded thick, her words slightly slurred. She reached out to touch his face and then realized that she had a needle in her arm and was receiving a transfusion. Panic quickly overcame her features as she instinctively reached for a belly with her free hand.

"The baby... my baby…John is it all right? Tell me its fine." John stared back at her, unable to speak. One look at her husband's sad demeanor told her exactly what she feared most. "It's gone, isn't it? My baby is gone." Vera spoke softly as she struggled to sit up as if she couldn't bear to receive the news lying down.

John nodded his assent, unable to look Vera in the eyes as he did so.

Seeing her husband's silent confirmation, there was a moment of silence and then a soft keening sound emerged from Vera's throat, building in strength and volume as it turned into a loud, heart wrenching wail.

"Noooooo…not my baby…my child…How? Why?" She began to weep loudly, clutching at herself as her sobs grew stronger. She began to rock back and forth as the tears poured down her cheeks, mourning the loss of her babe.

John felt helpless, not knowing what to do. He wanted to comfort her, but was unsure how or even if his attempt to console her would be accepted. He decided to reach out for Vera, and tentatively sat on the edge of the bed in order to take her in his arms.

Just before his arms started to wrap themselves around Vera's shoulders, she stiffened as if she were suddenly jolted out of her misery for a moment. "DON'T!" she hissed at John. "Don't you dare touch me! You… it is your entire fault. You are the cause of my loss. You and your temper. I remember you pushed me…you're the reason I fell. You murdered my baby. You, John Bates are a murderer! " Vera's face was red, tear streaked and swollen as she hurled that last accusation towards her husband.

John drew back in horror at Vera's words. 'Murderer'… No, that wasn't him. Or was it? His wife's cries still ringing through his head, John quickly got off the bed and headed towards the door literally running into Nurse Farrow as she responded to her patient's cries.

"Mrs. Bates, Mr. Bates, what's wrong? What happened?" Farrow partially blocked the doorway and put on her sternest professional demeanor. Turning to John she said, "What did you do to upset Mrs. Bates so?"

Too overwhelmed to reply, Vera's words still echoing in his head, John managed to push past the nurse. He couldn't bear hearing any more of Vera's aspersions cast his way. He didn't even look back as he heard the nurse rush over to calm his now hysterical wife.

His worse fears had been confirmed. She blamed him for her loss of the baby. He knew she would but had hoped against hope that she would have been able to see past her pain, see the truth and forgive him for the accident. But it wasn't to be. His marriage was broken. His wife no longer loved him. Seeing him, would become torture for her and would ever after remind her of her loss

John sat in the front room…eyes closed…gathering his thoughts…trying to figure out his next move. He didn't even notice Nurse Farrow come into the room until she cleared her throat to speak.

"Mr. Bates?" John startled when he heard her voice. "Mr. Bates, I must speak with you. I need to know what happened to Vera that caused her to lose the child. Whatever it is, I know she blames you, but would not tell me what happened. If I am to help with her recovery, I need to know the entire story. Can you talk with me now? I gave Vera a sedative and she's resting peacefully."

John sighed and nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, we can talk now, Nurse Farrow. I'll tell you what happened on condition this goes no further that the two of us." John was taking extra precaution, in case something slipped out while he was talking to Farrow. He had already made his mind up that he would give her an edited version of the truth…There was no need to name names precisely.

Nancy agreed and Bates proceeded to tell her the tale of Vera's multiple assaults, pregnancy and John's coming face to face with the assailant. John explained how this led to a fight and how he had accidentally pushed Vera aside and she had fallen. Throughout the story, Nurse Farrow shook her head and tsked and tutted her disdain towards the whole sordid affair.

"I understand now, why she said what she said to me," Farrow sighed deeply.

"What did she say?" John wasn't sure if he really wanted to hear it, but at this point there wasn't much that Vera could have said that would hurt him any further.

"She said that she hated you. And would never forgive you for what you've done. She blames you totally for the miscarriage. And I'm afraid I made it worse by confirming her question regarding having babies in the future."

John dropped his head to his hands and let out a soft moan. "Dear God… I had hoped to let her know myself at a later date. Hoped to get things better between us before telling her the rest."

Nurse Farrow placed her hand on John's shoulder. "I'm sorry Mr. Bates. Truly, I am. I had assumed that Dr. Whelan had told her. I forgot she had not regained consciousness until after I had arrived."

John graciously accepted her apology. In a way he was thankful that he hadn't been the one to have to tell Vera that final part of the tragedy.

Now his way was clear to finally track down the ultimate cause of all of his and Vera's misery… his Da.

He had a very good idea where he would find him. There was no hurry to go after him right this second. So before he left, before he hunted down his father and exacted his revenge, John decided he would make one last gesture towards reconciliation and forgiveness from his wife.

First, he opted to complete his initial intent of cleaning up the cottage this morning. Nurse Farrow watched in curiosity as John finished picking up the broken glass in the kitchen, sweeping away any remnants into the dust bin. He then went into the front room. He scooped up the cleaning utensils and scrub brush, along with the discarded clothing that he'd left on the floor last night, tossing the clothes in the laundry basket and the cleaning items in the lower cabinets in the kitchen.

Clean-up done, John returned to the kitchen to make some vegetable broth and tea for his wife, mindful of the fact that she hadn't had anything to eat since yesterday. John placed the bowl and glass on a tray, hoping this last gesture could rekindle a small spark of caring that might still exist within Vera towards him. He looked at the tray and decided it needed a bit of color. Spying a sprig of lavender in a small vase on the windowsill, John took it and placed it on the tray.

Nurse Farrow continued to watch John and wondered if she should stop him. He hadn't been there when Vera expressed her hatred towards him. He hadn't seen the hurt and the disdain behind her cold grey eyes as she vilified her husband as the source of all evil in her life. The nurse felt like she may be watching a lamb being led to the slaughter as John made his way towards his wife's bedroom.

She decided to step up and try and stop John just as he stood before Vera's door. "Mr. Bates, I don't think you should go in there right now. Vera is still despondent over her loss and holds you solely responsible. I mean, what do you hope to accomplish? It would be wiser to wait or even better to accept things as they lay for now. She's going to need time. Can't this wait?"

"Ah… well there's the rub, Nurse Farrow," John turned to face the woman. "I don't have time. You see, I'm going to find Vera's assailant today. And when I do, it will be the end of him, or the end of me. So, No… it cannot wait. This will be the last memory Vera will ever have of me. I hope someday, she'll be able to remember it and me with some fondness."

And with that being said, John turned and entered Vera's room.


	9. Chapter 9 - The Threat

_**This is the shortest chapter to date. Still trying to feel my way around writing chapters that are either too long or too short, so forgive me while I fumble. At any rate, this is John and Vera's final showdown. I don't plan to have them meet again, so it's Aloha on the steel guitar for Mrs. V. Bates as far as this fic is concerned. (We all know she returns later in DA with a vengeance). Look for Robert to be coming back into the picture soon, as well as some other characters that you were briefly introduced to in Chapter 2, John's brothers in arms.**_

_**_**Per the usual disclaimer, the characters of John and Vera do not belong to me.**_ **  
_

_**Thank you again for all the lovely reviews and comments. They mean so much to me as a fledgling writer and help me to stay true to the story.**_

John entered Vera's bedroom quietly. He had heard her stirring while having his conversation with Nurse Farrow. Her comments and warnings were still ringing in his ears. "Vera is despondent…holds you responsible…Can't this wait?"

Despite the nurse's admonishments he bravely pushed forward into his wife's room.

"Vera?" John's voice caught on the last syllable. "Vera…I've brought you some food."

No response was heard from his wife. John pressed on. "The doctor said it's important you eat something… start with some liquids at first…something light and nutritious to help strengthen you and quicken your recovery."

She was sitting up, with her arms wrapped around her stomach. He could see that she was rocking slightly, forwards and back. Her head was down staring at her lap. She murmured something in response to John, but it sounded like unintelligible mumblings to him.

"Vera… I've brought you something to eat," John repeated.

"Leave me alone" This time he clearly heard his wife.

"I've brought you a tray." John stood at her bedside. "Please eat something now… before I go. I've an errand to run and don't know when I'll be back…"

"Good," Vera snapped back at her husband. "Go… leave… Now…I never want to see you again."

John inched closer to her… "You don't mean that Vera. Look I've brought you a tray, some water, juice and vegetable broth that I made myself. I'd like to see you eat something before I leave."

"If I have some, then you'll leave?" She stopped her rocking and raised her eyes up to look into his. He couldn't help but notice how big her pupils were. Her eyes darting back and forth between John and the tray he was holding in his hands.

He sighed. "Yes, I promise, I'll leave. Nurse Farrow is here and she'll watch over you until I return." John was sorely tempted to add "if I return," but chose to exercise some discretion regarding where he was going and what he was about to do.

"Alright, bring it here," she snapped. John gently sat on the side of the bed, turned and placed the tray upon her lap. He took the large soup spoon in his hand and dipped it into the steaming bowl of broth. Cupping his hand beneath the bowl of the spoon, he slowly brought it to his wife's lips.

"What do you think you're doing?" Vera batted his hand away knocking the spoon across the room. "I don't need your feckin' help eating soup. You've helped me enough for a lifetime." And with that Vera grabbed the tray with both hands and flipped its contents onto John's lap, flinging the tray across the room as her final act of defiance.

John sat, stunned at Vera's outburst. He was just trying to help, to show her that despite it all hestill cared…that he sought her forgiveness and would do anything to attain the closeness that they once had, or at least he thought they had. But it was apparent that Vera wanted no part of it. Reconciliation was not in her vocabulary.

He stood up and started to pick up the scattered kitchenware and utensils. John couldn't help but notice that the little vase that held the lilacs had shattered and lay broken upon the floor.

"Leave it be!" his wife screeched. "Just don't touch anything, leave and don't return. I want you out of my life now and forever."

John slowly backed his way out of his wife's room, pausing at the doorway to murmur his parting words to his wife. "Goodbye Vera. I wish you well. I hope someday you'll be able to forgive me. I truly am sorry."

She looked at John through cold, hateful eyes. A sharp, devilish laugh emerged from her mouth. "Ha! Sorry? You think you know what it means to be sorry? As if…."

He felt a chill run down his spine as Vera uttered her final words to him.

"I'll teach you the meaning of the word 'sorry' John Bates, even if it kills me."

John left the room, Vera's threat burning a fiery trail deep into his heart.


	10. Chapter 10 The Denial

_**Now we're starting to get into the real meat of the** **story. John's left Vera for good, but he knows she will never let him go and there will be someday a price he will have to pay. **** In this chapter you'll also learn a lot more about John's relationship with his mother. And how their dynamic helped to shape John into the man he became. I apologize in advance for the chapter's length. As always, reviews and any comments are deeply and truly appreciated. **_

_**None of these character belong to me, with the exception of Liam Thornton and Nurse Farrow**_

John came face to face with Nurse Farrow as soon as he stepped outside of Vera's door. She brushed past him and entered his wife's room, closing the door behind her with a bang.

Bates sighed and proceeded to gather his things from the front room and stuff them into his valise. He already had his mind made up that he was leaving for good now. He knew that he'd given it his all to try and hold his marriage together, even as he questioned whether he believed Vera's story of how she got pregnant.

John still held on to a tremendous amount of guilt regarding the loss of the baby. Maybe that was why he had tried so hard to put it back together between the two of them. If he'd gotten Vera to forgive him, then that might have made it possible for him to forgive himself. As it was now he knew he'd carry that guilt with him for the rest of his life.

He startled when Vera's door flung open and the dark, imposing form of Nurse Farrow emerged.

"You just couldn't let it be!" The nurse scolded. "You wouldn't listen to my advice to stand down and give Vera some time to heal. You've got her hysterical you know. She's says she's done with you now. You realize that?"

"Really?" John replied sarcastically as he arched an eyebrow towards Farrow. He was finished with all the drama. He knew he needed to focus at the task at hand, so in his book his wife's theatrics no longer warranted consideration.

Again, he would always harbor a deep pang of guilt over his role in the miscarriage and how his life with her had ended. However, he knew absolutely now that she'd never forgive him and therefore there was no reason for Vera or her behavior to affect him any further.

John walked over to the kitchen table and dropped a large stack of bills on it. The notes represented a sizeable "bonus" that he had received from the Army as a result of his volunteering for the special mission. He'd planned to spend it on his wife with an expensive gift to remember him by when he went back to the front. But now, John decided under the circumstances it could be put to far better use.

"I'm leaving, Nurse Farrow," John spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "And I shan't come back to Vera. We are done. She's made her position more than clear." He pointed to the pile of notes on the table. This should cover your expenses while you're caring for her in my absence. The rent for the cottage is being paid by the Army…compensation to all the non-coms forced off base in order to accommodate all the newly commissioned officers. I'll arrange to have my pay divided in two…half will go to my mum and the rest sent to my wife on a monthly basis. I'll have no use for it where I'm headed. And finally, should I die while in the service I have indicated that any and all monies owed me by way of back pay and insurance be given to Vera."

The irony that he was worth more to his wife dead than alive was not lost on John. At least he'd make her happy in the end.

He then grabbed his bag and marched out the front door leaving Nurse Farrow frozen in place speechless, her mouth agape as he passed by her.

Farrow shook her head to clear her thoughts and dashed after John calling out to him from the front step. "But Mr. Bates, where are you going and where can we reach you? Mrs. Bates will want to know I'm sure."

John turned and regarded the nurse with a smirk. "She won't ask and she won't care," was his response as he headed down the walkway and onto the street. His fate lay before him and where he would go after his revenge was accomplished, mattered little to him.

He strode down the lane purposefully as he set off to the one place he knew his father would go to seek shelter. It was just three kilometers down the road. Each turn and bend so familiar that John was sure he could close his eyes and still wind up at his destination unscathed.

With less than a quarter kilometer to go, as he marched onward through a very familiar neighborhood something about his situation brought to mind a poem. "The Charge of the Light Brigade" by Tennyson.

_"Half a league, half a league,_  
_Half a league onward,_  
_All in the valley of Death_  
_Rode the six hundred."_

Well into the second stanza John began reciting it out loud in time with his steps.

_"…Theirs not to reason why,_  
_Theirs but to do and die:_  
_Into the valley of Death_  
_Rode the six hundred."_

"Well, I'm hardly riding into the valley of Death," John considered ruefully, "at least not my death." Yet he took some small comfort in the rhythm and the theme of the poem while he continued on his quest to find and confront his Da.

As he neared his destination along the cobbled streets, John was struck with the familiar feel of the road through his boots, the acrid smell of smoke coming from the workhouses in the area, and the stench of something rotting in the air. A chill of familiarity ran down his spine as he stood in front of a grey, dilapidated looking house. It was just as he had remembered it...

John was home.

He stood in front of it for a moment, as memories both good and bad swept up over him. The abuse from his dad and the hard and bitter life he'd endured along with his mum were certainly the strongest of those, but there were good times too. He thought of Liam and the fun they'd enjoyed together. Liam had toughened up John in the beginning of their friendship and had been his protector until John grew past him and developed into a formidable street fighter in his own right.

They'd run briefly in a small "gang" of similarly inclined youth, but their crimes were more of the mischievous variety. John's specialty being a pickpocket, but again his marks were always the "posh". If his mum didn't need the cash, he's spread the wealth amongst his youthful cronies and share some laughs as they spent their monies, on sweets and cigarettes and sometimes even beer.

Quickly the memories blackened and John took a deep breath to steady himself for what lay ahead. He walked up to the front door and listened for a moment. While wanting to hear his father's voice and confirm his presence within the house, he was equally hoping that his Da was not there. That way John could speak to his mother and explain what he needed to do and why.

That was a conversation he'd not been looking forward to, but realized in his heart that it would be far better to be honest with her concerning what had transpired between his father and Vera. His mum had been beaten and bulled by the bastard for so long, hopefully hearing this latest truth coming from her son would break the brutal hold Shawn Bates had upon his wife.

John felt the cold steel of the latch as he opened the door and stepped into the front parlor. He'd decided not to knock so as to prevent giving his father the opportunity to bolt out the back door. He entered quietly. Stealthily putting his bag down on the floor, listening for any noise that would indicate his Da was somewhere in the house.

Instead he was greeted by a soft, warm Irish brogue. "Who's..who's thar?" the voice questioned tremulously. "We've not any money here, so if its that ye be looking for, you've come to the wrong house." John immediately recognized his mother's voice. She was in the kitchen. Not hearing any other voices, he decided to call out to his mom and identify himself.

"It's me mum. Are you alone?"

"John…Johnny is that you son? Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I don't believe it. Oh… come here my boy, let me feast my eyes upon yeh!"

John strode into the kitchen doing a quick reconnoiter around the room to make sure Shawn was not hiding somewhere. He saw his mom start to rise to greet him, but he shushed her down, bent over her and gave her a warm embrace.

She felt thinner than he remembered and she clung to him like a frightened child. He felt her tremble as the hug continued and he found himself wondering what further cruelties she'd endured that had left her in such a state.

"Oh Johnny.. me boy… My prayers have been answered. You've come home to me and now everything will be fine. Come stand up straight before me and let's look at you."

John dutifully did as he was told. Something about being in this old house with his mum made him partially revert back to when he was a child.

Elizabeth Bates had been his shining star, his buffer from the cruel and unforgiving airs about Whitechapel and his salvation when he was a little boy. She read him stories and had the ability to weave oh so many fanciful tales about knights and battles royal. There were dragons and elves and good and bad fairies alike. But the common themes always revolved around the concepts of love, courage and honor above all. As a youngster he'd often wondered if it was possible that he'd grow up to be a knight and take his mum to a castle far away from their daily misery. He wanted so badly to take her somewhere safe.

Looking at the frail woman before him, her chestnut brown hair now streaked with strands of silver, he inwardly chastised himself for not checking in on her more frequently and for taking his father's word for it that his mum was "doing just fine."

He recalled back when he had secured a position in service as a footman at Lady Schiveley's estate, Elizabeth had cried tears of joy and made him promise to never come back home but to live his life forevermore away from the filth and mean streets of Whitechapel. John reluctantly agreed, but also told her that he would write her weekly and send money directly to her with the caveat she was not to let his father know about the extra cash. He hoped she had done just that. By now she would have a tidy sum that she'd be able t use to leave this place once Shawn was gone.

John knelt down in front of her, taking both of her hands and holding them. "How are you doing, mum? I mean really are you all right? You looked so pale and I felt you trembling as we hugged our hellos. He's not treating you poorly, is he?" John inwardly bristled at the thought of calling that man, "Da" or "Father."

"Oh, of course. You've no cause to worry son. Your Da has been quite respectful… quite respectful indeed. He took to heart what you told him when ye had that bit of trouble between ya. He's not laid a hand against me since. I promise you."

John wanted to believe his mum. He wanted to believe that at least in this one circumstance, Shawn had complied with his wishes and kept his hands off his mother.

Still she looked so frail and John had to choke back the tears that were starting to form as he took in how thin and drawn she appeared. Was she not eating properly…Was his good for nothing father using his wages on drink before groceries could be purchased?

John felt his hands automatically ball up into fists and his face redden the more he thought of that waste of a man.

"Mum, Do you know where Da is right now?"

Elizabeth shook her head no. "I've learned not to ask, son. He stopped here briefly this morn, lookin' a sight. Shirt was torn and face bloodied. Said he'd slept at the pub and on his way back this morning was assaulted by some ruffians that beat him and took all his money. He cleaned up a bit and then was off. He was going to the police to report his attack, and then would be gone all day looking fer any kind of work.

"Then I s'pose he'll go to the pub. The man tries real hard, John. He's always away workin' trying to put food on the table. But the pay is low though the work is backbreaking and so he needs to have some time to relax at the pub. I understand the man's need son, and I won't begrudge him his time away. And To be honest me boy, I'd not seen him so distressed ever. His being hijacked like that must've really shook him up"

John tried to harness his emotions as he heard his mother once again defend his lowlife father. His anger roiled through his body, but for the sake of Elizabeth he held it in check. She'd be so better off when his Da was dead and buried. She wouldn't know it at first, but she'd come around. He was sure of it.

Figuring there was no better time to tell his mom what had happened between her husband and Vera. John pulled up the other kitchen chair and sat opposite his mom. He looked intently into her eyes, gently took her hands in his and let out a long sigh.

"Mum, there's something you need to know about my Da. Something not nice…something despicable and abhorrent…something that's going to hurt you deeply."

John saw her back stiffen and felt the tug of her hands, trying to escape his grasp.

"I'll not have you speaking poorly on your father, son!" she bristled. "He's not an evil man and he's done nothing. Why would I have stayed with him so long if he was such a bad man?"

John carried on…"Nevertheless, I know for a fact that he's done a most vile and evil deed."

Bates swallowed knowing he was about to change his mother's world forever. The words began to pour out of him, unfiltered. There was neither time nor way to "pretty up" what he was about to tell her.

"Da assaulted Vera, mum. Not just once, but dozens of times. He got her pregnant. He came to our home last night, prepared to have his way with her again, only I caught him. He wasn't attacked by ruffians. It was I who beat him inside my home. I would have killed him had an accident with Vera not happened and her health took precedence over me punishing him for his despicable acts."

Elizabeth pulled her hands away from John and stood up quickly. "No, tis some kind of mistake. Shawn would never do that. He was just over checking on Vera to make sure she was safe. He told me he stopped by yer place earlier this morning. He was attacked after leaving yer home, I'm tellin' you son."

"Mum, I was there… You weren't. You didn't hear how he addressed her. He didn't just come by to check up on Vera. He was there to sleep with her again."

"It's all lies, John!" Bates couldn't believe what he was hearing. "It's the damnable fault of your harlot wife, Vera! She's a filthy piece of work she is. I told yer when you started going out with her that she was up to no good. She'd be more trouble than she was worth. No…no…no…I won't believe that of your father. It was she what tried to seduce him. You've no idea the reputation she's gotten for herself in your absence! She's a liar, a wanton hussy. I'll not believe that of your da."

John was appalled at the level of denial his mother possessed. It was his father that was a liar and miserable human being, but she refused to accept it. John had not been prepared to challenge his mum's irrational belief in Shawn Bates' innocence.

He saw the tears begin to form in his mother's eyes and rose to draw her nearer with a hug. He knew she was in shock, and that her initial response would be to refuse to believe the sordid tale. But she'd come around soon, know the truth in his words, of that John was sure.

He felt his mom stiffen as he attempted to draw her into his arms and then push away. "I want you to leave, John." Her voice sounded cold and off-putting. " I don't want you here when your da comes back here. 'You've said your cruel piece, now please go before I say something as cruel back at you."

"But mum, I'm not lying. Surely you know the type of man he's been. The beatings...the insults… you've borne them well, but its time now for you to accept the truth about your husband.. He's"

"I must stop ye there, son. I'll not listen to another word about it. I'll not listen to you speak such accusation towards your Da. Please gather your tings and be off with yeh." The tears were gone and in their place John saw a glazed look upon her visage.

For a few seconds, neither of them said a word. John continued to look intently at his mother's face until he saw what he was looking for.

He heard it first… a hitch in her breathing followed by the faint flash of recognition in his mother's eyes. She was beginning to believe that the words he spoke were true.

But in another second it was gone.

"I want you to leave at once, my boy," she repeated. He knew there'd be no point in trying to convince her now. She knew the truth of it, and now it was up to her to accept or deny that truth. He nodded and turned towards the front door picking his valise up as he moved towards the exit.

He opened the door and was shocked to see two of the local Bobbies standing on the front step.

"Does an Elizabeth Bates live here?" The taller of the two men asked gruffly.

"She does indeed officer. She's my mum. May I ask what business you have with her?" John inquired.

The shorter policeman addressed John, "Could you at least have her come to the door, sir. We'd prefer not to have to repeat ourselves twice."

John turned and beckoned his mom over. "There are two policemen here, mum. Says they want to speak with you. About what, I haven't the foggiest. "Elizabeth Bates came and stood by her son. Her hand instinctively reached for his arm and John felt her weight rest slightly against his side.

"Elizabeth Bates?" the taller officer asked.

"Yes, I am she. What tis this about officer?" John felt her hand clench his arm a little tighter.

"Elizabeth Batse, we've come to escort you down the street."

"W-W-Why? "her voice shook slightly.

"There's been an accident ma'am…just down a ways…not far. A body was found floating in the west basin at St. Katherine's docks. His papers were on him…but they're a bit blurry what with getting wet. But there was a suicide note left dry on the dock under a stone. We believe it came from the man we fished out of the basin. Name on the note said his name was Bates, Shawn Bates. We need you to identify the body."


	11. Chapter 11 The Note

_**Here we come to a crucial point in John and his mom's relationship. It's a bit long, but the plot I think warrants a few extra sentences to finish off the point of it. He'll be shipping off to war shortly, so next chapter will be his final one in London. **_

_**Thank you again for any and all reviews. They really help keep me focused and hopefully on the right track writing this fic. Special thanks to mama-pirate-wench for her ideas and for letting me bounce plot points off of her.( Hope they didn't sting too much.) And also to lemacd for forcing me to think about what motivates John to react in certain ways, in certain situations.**_

The walk to the docks was less than a mile and John easily would have made it there in 15 minutes or less, but having his mother alongside demanded that he slow down his normal pace. He made a mental note to look into getting a ride for her on the return trip. Either that or he should be prepared to carry her home. As it was, it took over a half hour before they finally arrived at their destination.

John couldn't help but notice that quite a large group had gathered around the scene. As he and Elizabeth approached the crowd, the two policemen who had escorted them tried to clear a path through the mob.

"Move aside please… Police business…Please moves aside and let these people pass." John heard the murmur of the crowd as they made their way through. Instinctively he put his arm around his mom to shelter her from their scrutiny.

Elizabeth's breath hitched and she leaned even more into John as they slowly moved forward and towards the body on the ground. It looked to be laying a couple of meters off the water's edge. The closer they got, the more John was convinced that it was his father. As soon as he could make out the features of the corpse, John stopped and turned to his mother.

"Mum, I can identify the body… there's no point in you going to see for yourself. Would you like me to do that for you?"

John's mother let go of a great shuddering sigh and shook her head yes. There really was no point in her going to confirm it was her husband. She knew it was him. Elizabeth felt a huge wave of relief pass through her at the sound of John's proposal. She didn't want to actually see the body, his face. No point really when she already knew it was Shawn.

John checked to make sure that the officers had no problem with him doing the identification and they agreed it would be perfectly acceptable. As he neared the corpse he noticed that the taller of his police escorts had been pulled aside by what John assumed was another officer, only this one was not in uniform. A very animated conversation was taking place, but John ignored it and steadied himself to do the ID.

He looked down and stared at the face. That face that he had feared as a child and hated as an adult. It was Shawn all right. His father was dead. John continued to look down at the man and wondered if any sense of loss or sorrow would well up inside him. But he quickly realized that no such feelings were going to be forthcoming over the likes of Shawn Bates. The closest thing to feelings that weren't negative was the relief he felt that the man was gone, and that John had not been the one to kill him. It really hadn't dawned on him before, but he suddenly realized that his mother would have never been able to survive the blow of watching her son hang for killing his father.

Bates looked at the coroner who had just arrived on the scene. But instead of coming to John for the confirmation of identity, the man was pulled over to the plainclothes policeman and the tall uniformed bobby. Bates noticed them engaged in further conversation, the plainclothes man flailing away as he spoke. Curious to hear about what they were talking about, John gradually started to stroll in the direction of the trio when someone grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him to a stop.

"One more thing, Mr. Bates, we needja to look over the suicide note. If you know your father's hand it would help for you to confirm him as the author." It was the shorter policeman addressing John.

Bates agreed and walked away from the corpse and towards the trio of officers. They abruptly stopped talking as John meandered towards them.

"Is this yer father's handwriting, sir?" The note was shoved into John's hands. He was bothered that they actually shook as he opened the note.

_**I, Shawn Bates, put pen to paper knowing that this is my last words before I leave this world. **_

_**To my wife, Elizabeth I say I'm sorry. Ye deserved better than me. Now that I'll be gone, find someone worthy.**_

_**To my son, Johnny, I was not a good Da and I know I hurt you. I know it. But you bettered yerself and made me proud. **_

_**Sorry I was such a disappointment to the two of you. Blame it on the drink. I have no other excuse.**_

_**Forgive me.**_

John stared at the note and shook his head. No tears were forthcoming…no sense of relief…no granting of forgiveness. It was just words…with no meaning, no substance, no feeling of truth behind them. In Bates mind his father had chosen a coward's way out and John felt even more anger at his Da for taking that route. So much pain… so many hurts…so many lies. His thoughts drifted back on the more horrendous events of his childhood.

"Excuse me, Mr. Bates…Is it his hand, sir?" The officer's words jarred John back to the present.

"I'm-mm s-sorry," John stammered. He hadn't even considered the handwriting on the note, so focused was he on the content. "Just give me a moment, please."

John looked at the note again, this time intent on validating the penmanship as belonging to his father. He went over the first sentence and paused. The hand was familiar, but John wasn't sure it belonged to his dad. As he continued to read, John became more and more confused… the handwriting was very, very familiar but he couldn't say outright it belonged to Shawn.

"I'm honestly not sure," he replied to the officer. "Perhaps after my mother gets a chance to see the note, she'll be able to confirm its authenticity."

The policeman nodded and they headed over to where Elizabeth stood. John couldn't help but notice how extremely small and frail she looked. Her eyes grew wider as she saw him and his escort head in her direction. She noted that John held a scrap of paper in his hand.

"What dya have their, son?" John heard a tremor in his mother's voice.

"It's the note, mum, the one that Da wrote. Would you read over it and then confirm that it's his handwriting on it?"

She grabbed the note from John's hand, gave it a perfunctory look and then nodded her head yes. "It's Shawn's writing fer sure," she responded.

John noted that she barely looked at the piece of paper in her hands, at least not long enough to have actually read the contents.

He supposed that with all she had gone through with the man she probably doubted there would be any revelation concerning the life he'd been leading. She'd personally heard all the pleas for forgiveness, the mean degrading epithets he'd heap on her while under an alcohol fueled rage and the taunts that she withstood with their accompanying blows. John understood his mother's reluctance to read the meaningless words. There was nothing his father could have said that could have served as a basis for forgiveness.

John took the note back from Elizabeth and was just about to confirm with the office her ID of the handwriting when the coroner walked over.

"Mr. Bates, could you please come with me?"

"I was just about to give confirmation of the suicide letter to the officer here," John nodded in the direction of the uniformed copper.

"I understand sir, and you can give it to him shortly. It's just, um… there seems to be an irregularity concerning your father's suicide…" The coroner uttered the last part of the sentence in hushed tones. "Please just come with me. This won't take more than a minute to show you."

Reluctantly, John followed the coroner back to his father's body. He could tell by its positioning that it had been manipulated or moved since he'd last viewed it.

"Come closer Mr. Bates…," the plainclothes detective motioned to John. We've something to show you and would value your input regarding it."

John stepped forward and peered down at his father. The jacket he'd worn was flipped open on the left side. Bates wasn't sure what he was supposed to look for. The coroner put his hand on John's back encouraging him to get closer to the body.

"What am I supposed to notice?" questioned John. As soon as the words were out of his mouth, he saw it. It was small and there was a black smudge circling it.. He couldn't believe his eyes and turned open mouthed towards the coroner.

"So you see it now?" the coroner smirked.

"Yes, but what is it?"

"It's a bullet hole Mr. Bates. Your father most likely did not commit suicide. It appears he was shot at very close range and also beaten. There are choke marks on his neck. We are assuming that after he was murdered his body was dumped off the quay into the basin."

John remained stunned at the revelation. "Not suicide…but who could've shot my father and why?"

"That's what we're hoping you'll be able to explain, Mr. Bates. Or at least point us in the right direction. Did your father have any enemies…anyone that would want to see him dead?"

Bates was still incredulous. Of course his father had run into some unsavory characters in his life. You couldn't live where they did without doing so. He may have even "borrowed" some money from them in times past, but he always paid them back including the interest. Had it been a debt gone bad? John ran his fingers through his hair as if doing so would bring some clarity to his jumbled thoughts.

Might it have been a jealous husband? Shawn was a known philanderer in their neighborhood. Had some cuckold spouse decided to kill Shawn in revenge for sleeping with his wife? But why the suicide note and in Shawn's own hand? No, this smacked of something more professional than a mere crime of passion.

"Mr. Bates, I asked if you knew of anyone who had a reason to harm your father? " The policeman's voice had an urgency to it.

John snapped out of his reverie at the sound of the detective's question. "I'm sorry... er, No, I cannot say that I knew of any one specific enemy my father had that would take such vengeance upon him. Again, I think it best to defer to my mother on this matter.

The police detective nodded and waved for the coroner and the other officers to follow him over to where Elizabeth was standing. John raced slightly ahead of the crowd in an effort to soften the impending onslaught of police and the questions that would be directed towards his mother.

Bates reached her just in time to blurt out, "The police don't believe Da's death was a suicide. He appears to have been beaten and then shot through the heart."

They both knew who the beating and choke marks had come from, but Elizabeth had seen Shawn after he'd escaped John. She recalled once again how her husband had cleaned up a bit and said he was off to look for some day work. She remembered wondering if he was telling the truth or merely spinning another tale to cover his dalliances with other women. At any rate It mattered naught to her any longer. Shawn was dead and that was all she cared or needed to know.

"Mrs. Bates, so sorry to have to question you at a time like this, but…ah…well, I'm not sure how to put this? There's been a discrepancy of sorts regarding Mr. Bates suicide." The coroner looked down at his shoes as he mumbled his apologies to Elizabeth. "It appears that he was actually murdered and did not commit suicide after all. "

John watched his mother's reaction. She stared at the coroner and blinked slowly twice, cleared her throat and spoke. " Murder, you said?... Why no, I know of no person that'd be after me husband, At least not like that.. No, I've no knowledge of Shawn being threatened any sorts of bodily harm." She shook her head adamantly as she spoke.

The man tipped his hat to Elizabeth and said, "Of course you wouldn't madam. But it's part of my job, and I've got to ask. Sorry to have upset you. It wasn't my intent"

Elizabeth appeared to bristle slightly as the man continued to speak. She really had nothing more to say on the matter. She just wanted to arrange to have the body taken to wherever it was dead bodies belonged. There'd be a simple service at which probably only she and John would attend and then he'd be put down in the ground. And that would be the end of that.

John felt slightly unnerved seeing his mum in that light. The stone cold visage, the dead appearance in her eyes. He's seen that look before, though he couldn't remember where or when or by whom at the moment. Mixed with his disquiet was also a touch of admiration for the women. She was bearing up admirably well in one sense. So perhaps this was just a public face that she put on for the outsiders. When they returned to her home, she'd be able to let her guard down.

John turned to the officers and asked, "Is there anything more you need from us? I'd like to take my mother home now. She obviously has nothing of use for you to use in your investigation."

The quartet of men looked amongst each other, their looks told John that there was something else that they needed to know. Finally the plainclothes man stepped up and asked. "We have to ask where you were Mr. Bates around 10am this morning… The coroner here has figured out that is probably the time around the murder occurred, based on the lividity of your father's body. Can you tell us where you were at that approximate time?"

John let go of a long sigh. He knew exactly where he was at 10am… he was home, waiting for the in-home care nurse Dr. Whelan was assigning to take care of Vera. John sighed again as he recalled the situation. "Yes, I can tell you exactly where I was. I was at home tending to my wife. She had had an unfortunate accident and after consulting with a Dr. Thomas Whelan, I was home waiting for a nurse that would be taking care of her medical needs in my absence during the day. Her name is Nancy Farrow and she can confirm I was at home during the time in question." The detective wrote the information down.

He tipped his hat to John when he was finished. "Thank you, Mr. Bates. If we have any further questions for you, where can we reach you?"

John pondered the question and answered best he could. "Well, I am shipping off to South Africa soon, so I'd wager the best way to get hold of me would be through the Army."

'You've my thanks for serving Queen and Country, sir. I doubt we'll need anything more from you as long as your whereabouts can be confirmed." With that the officer snapped his notebook shut and walked away.

John turned and saw his mom standing alone, her face passive but John could see the strain behind the façade. He walked towards her, his hands in his pockets, as he mindlessly kicked a stone up the road in her direction.

"We can go home now, Mum. The police have all the info they need. They'll get back to us if something comes up. The body has to go with the coroner for an autopsy, and when they're done with it, will contact us and let us take possession of the body for the funeral. Elizabeth nodded indicating she understood the procedure.

"Wait here and I'll see if I can find a ride for us." John gestured for his mom to wait in place as he scouted the area for some transportation.

"No need son, I'd prefer to walk. It's not that far…and besides, it's downhill in this direction." She gave a little wink to John. He was relieved to see her smile abit.

"Are you sure, Mum? It will just take me a few minutes to find a cart or wagon heading our way."

"Are ye questioning your mum's vitality? Shame on you John. Let's be off now. I'm feeling fine and the walk will help me clear me head."

John knew better than to argue. His mother's mind was made up, so he offered her his arm and headed down the road to their home in Whitecastle.

Elizabeth was correct in her assessment of the downward trajectory of the road back home. They were making much better time than they had in the reverse direction earlier in the day.

John noted that the further away they got from the crime scene, the more relieved his mother appeared. He thought he even saw the start of a small smile begin to form on her lips.

"So mum, I know it's probably too soon… you haven't had a chance to take it all in…but with Da gone what are you going to do? I mean going forward?"

No immediate response came from Elizabeth and John started mentally chastising himself for bringing up the subject too soon. Just when he was about to apologize for his apparent insensitivity, his mother answered.

"Ah, well I think the first thing I'd like to do is sell the house and move to a nicer part of London. My sister, your aunt Margaret, has a lovely little place up north and wanted me to move in with her for quite some time. She'd offered me the chance to buy into the house, but I couldn't do it… Not with yer father, you understand?"

John agreed, his father would never have "fit in" with a nicer part of town. And his auntie wouldn't want an alcoholic, ne'er-do-well living under her roof. He was glad that his mum had options and in fact her life might be taking a turn for the good now that Shawn was gone. A sense of relief passed over him at the thought she'd be leaving Whitechapel. And he also indulged in a smidge of self-satisfaction knowing that the extra pounds he'd been sending to his mother would help pave the way for her move.

"So, am I correct in assuming you'll be moving soon then? After the funeral?"

"I wish I could Johnny, but it may take me a while. I've got to save up some money for the buy-in. But maybe Margaret will take pity on me and let me move-in and just pay her over time."

John stopped in his tracks and turned to his mother. "I don't understand, mum… What about the money I've been sending to you?"

"What about it, son?" Elizabeth looked up at John with a quizzical look.

"Well…the money I sent you mum, what happened to it?"

"It's gone, John." She said it like it was the most logical answer in the world.

"Gone? Gone? All of it? How? Why?…Did Da find it and drink it away?"

"No son, I spent it," was Elizabeth's simple reply.

"Spent it!?" John stared incredulously at his mother. "What could you have possibly spent all that money on? It must have been close to 50 pounds I'd sent you!"

Elizabeth looked intently into John's eyes. He could tell she looked like she wanted to tell him something. But in the end she looked down at her shoes and shook her head.

"Mum?"

Elizabeth raised her head and looked her son directly in the eye. She rubbed her hand up and down his arm and then answered him with a wry smile upon her face.

"Things…Johnny...I spent it on 'things'".

She then turned her back on him and head towards the house.

John followed in silence.


	12. Chapter 12 The Return

Chapter 12 The Return

_**This is a bit of a fluff chapter... Not that there's any kind of romantic fluff. Rather a bit of a filler chapter. It touches briefly on the beginning of John's drinking problem, addresses some concerns he has about his mother, and finally returns him to the training facility at Sandhurst. In the next chapter he'll be reunited with Lord Grantham.**_

_**Thank you again for any reviews and comments. Any and all, positive or negative are deeply appreciated.**_

_**Per the usual disclaimer, Downton Abbey and it's characters are not mine.**_

John woke up questioning his surroundings. While he hadn't a clue where he was, he was all too familiar with the way he felt physically. His head pounded and his mouth tasted like the floor of her Majesty's stables.

He gagged when the bile rose up his throat as he regurgitated last night's meal…whatever it was. He didn't even remember eating anything yesterday but his stomach and his throat reminded him that he had indeed.

Bates sat up in bed and tried to piece the past six days together. He remembered he'd started his leave with such high hopes, only to have them utterly destroyed within the first two days of his R &amp; R.

In the first 48 hours he'd managed to have uncovered his wife's supposed assault, found, fought and lost one of his best friends, nearly killed his father (albeit for a good reason), caused his wife's miscarriage, which resulted in her everlasting hatred and refusal to forgive him, ID'd his father's lifeless body and wound up with serious concerns regarding his mother's actual involvement in Shawn's death.

He'd stayed at his mother's for three nights. The days were spent helping her gather her belongings in preparation for the move to her sister Margaret's house. His spinster aunt had generously allowed Elizabeth to move in and to just pay her a nominal fee as rent towards partial ownership of the house. He didn't want to think too hard about what happened to the money he had sent to his mother the past several years. Money that would have more than covered his mum's buy-in in one lump sum. Her reply that she'd spent it on "things" made his jaw clench and his stomach roil. He didn't ask her for further details, afraid that she would tell him the truth…a truth he'd rather not know.

John was also very relieved that she was moving away from Whitechapel, not only for her safety but he had to admit for his own sanity. To never have to return to the site of his childhood, where he had endured poverty of both body and soul, brought a feeling of relief to young Sergent Bates.

He did have some regret over that last evening at his mum's when she found him passed out on the kitchen floor having spent several hours at a pub. It had been a stupid attempt on his part to make the previous 72 hours fade from his memory.

Intellectually John knew alcohol was not the answer nor the cure for all that had befallen him. He had recently become aware of a pattern developing that once he took a drink, he couldn't just stop at one. Another trait he unfortunately shared with his Da, no doubt. Like father, like son as they said. John inwardly cringed at the weakness passed onto him. Apparently his mum recognized it also and counseled him to get back to the barracks and forgo the rest of his leave.

John agreed. It would be best to keep temptation away, but on his way to the train station to catch the next one to Sandhurst, John decided to stop for a beer. Just a pint for the road, he reasoned. After all he would not be drinking any libations once he returned to school. Whether he would be deployed on his mission immediately, or continued his training, alcohol consumption in general was frowned upon there, and in fact forbidden within the walls of the academy. Any soldier student who wished to imbibe would have to step outside those hallowed halls.

John was embarrassed and disappointed in himself for giving in and going to the pub. Usually he didn't have such a hard time resisting having a pint or two. He decided to both justify and dismiss this latest failing as a temporary lapse of judgment, spurred on no doubt, by the traumatic events of the past week. The fact that he'd been in various stages of drunkenness for 4 out of the 7 days of his leave failed to register with him as proof that he had developed a problem when it came to drinking. Lucky for him that the bartender had set him up with a room above the bar to sleep off the mini bender he'd taken on.

Bates sat at the edge of his bed and stretched out his long frame before standing up. Grabbing his satchel and digging around for some clean clothes. He smiled as he remembered how his mum had insisted on washing all his clothing before he went back to Sandhurst.

"No son of mine is going to be traveling with dirty underwear in his bag. What if there were an accident? Or you got delayed or stranded for some time? You'll nowt be wearing dirty clothes. Give it hear now and away wit you."

He pulled out of his valise a pair of underwear, a shirt and socks before stripping and washing up, using the basin of water, soap and flannel in his room. Once he was dressed he sauntered over to the bed again and sat at the edge. As he bent over to pull on his boots, Bates was unfortunately reminded that his hangover was far from being gone, as his head began to pound in unison with his heartbeat.

"Must remember to not do that move the rest of the day," John muttered to himself. He sat up slowly and waited for the painful throbbing to end before getting up off the bed.

Bates dug into his pocket and pulled out his pocket watch, a gift from his mum upon his promotion to Staff Sargent six months ago. Checking the time, he knew that the next train to Sandhurst would be leaving the station in 20 minutes. If he hurried he could make it.

Grabbing his belongings, John strode out of the pub and steered himself in the direction of the train station. Once he had his bearings he sprinted to his destination and was able to catch an empty seat in a 3rd class car just as the train was pulling away.

He scanned his fellow passengers quickly. A middle class couple and their two young daughters were to his right. A gentleman who looked like he was dressed for a funeral sat in front of him.

There was one very nattily dressed young man a couple of rows ahead of John. He looked both worried and irritated with the chatter and noise taking place in the row behind him. The source of his discomfort was a group of 4 young men.

They were loud and a bit rambunctious, and John couldn't help but hear part of their conversation concerning their eagerness to get to Her Majesty's Army base near Sandhurst… how once they completed their training they were going to volunteer for the front lines and quickly beat the Boers bloody into surrender.

"Fresh meat," John shook his head remembering being in a similar euphoric state when he had first volunteered for the Army. He knew what lay ahead for the lads, but thought better of addressing them and letting them know what they were about to face. Best to let them keep their boyish enthusiasm. It would disappear quickly enough once they were introduced to the reality of war.

John yawned and closed his eyes. He wasn't sure how much rest he got the night before, but he doubted it was much…maybe two or three hours at the maximum. So when the gentle sway of the train started to work its magic, Bates didn't fight it and in fact embraced the idea of catching a couple more hours of sleep.

The dreams started almost immediately. It was as though he was watching a string of scenes depicting the various events that had befallen him the past week. But there was no order to them. It started with the fight with Liam, jumped to identifying his father's body, then surprising Vera his first day home. John squirmed in his seat as the past several days of his life played out in his mind.

He was right in the middle of reliving the horror of Vera's miscarriage when voices came flooding into his dream. They were angry voices… men…shouting at one another. He thought he heard a child cry. But who were they and what did they have to do with Vera?

As the furious debate continued to press upon him, John experienced some mild confusion as the voices managed to slowly drag him out of his well needed nap.

"The atrocities are well documented! My God...where have you boys been hiding yourselves? Do you even know how to read?" The man's voice was loud and strident

"G'wan mate, you haven't a clue what yer talking about." Responded a younger sounding voice.

"Yer a coward and a traitor to your country." Another young voice piped up.

"It's an unjust war waged for immoral purpose" countered the older man.

At the mention of the word "war", John's repositioned himself so he was sitting more upright, becoming an active listener to the debate. His eyes appeared closed but he was actually watching the discussion through barely parted eyelids. He'd hoped to avoid having to defend the Boer War. It was best to look asleep so he wouldn't be brought into it.

"Will you eegits shut up, you're scaring me daughters." The family man turned to address the other men engaged in the vociferous conversation.

"Nothing you ignorant ruffians can say is going to sway me from my opinion" The well attired young man continued. "Read a newspaper or a book, maybe then you'll be able to form a well-thought out and informed opinion. Right now you're spouting off nothing more than government propaganda."

"Are you calling us stewpid? The loudest of the quartet inquired. John noticed the young man outwardly bristle at the thought and rise from his seat on the train.

"I said are ye calling me and my mates' stewpid, you coward?" He shoved the well-dressed gentleman in the back and stood rooted in place, itching for a fight.

John could see that things were about to get out of control and chose that moment to stand up and slowly approach the seething youth. His right hand was up with palm facing the angry young man.

"Now, calm down mate. There's no need for you to get violent. The man has a right to his opinion, just as you and your mates have a right to yours. " John took a slow step forward, still showing his open palm."

"And what's it to you?" sneered the young man. "You've no right to tell me how to behave. My three friends and I are headed for the army base near Sandhurst, where we're going to enlist and fight for Mother England. Save her from sniveling cowards like you and himself." The boy then spat in John's direction. It was an action that the young man was about to very much rue.

John's hand dropped to his side and his open palm formed into a fist. Drawing himself up to his full height, he took one long stride and was in the younger man's face in a split second.

Sargent Bates could barely contain his anger at being accused of cowardice by this no-nothing punk. He grabbed the young man's shirt and pulled him towards him until their faces were less than an inch apart.

"Now listen and listen well you little, little boy." John spoke softly but with a low guttural growl. "I may not agree with that other man's opinions regarding the war, but I'm not going to bully him into changing his mind. Nor call him names…not threaten him. I suggest you apologize to the man, go back to your seat and keep your mouth shut for the rest of the trip. And by the way, I am in Her Majesty's service and also headed to Sandhurst. My name is Staff Sargent John Bates, remember my name son. And you best hope you don't wind up in a platoon of mine. Do you have any questions? Have I made myself clear?"

"N-No sir… Y-Yessir." The obviously shaken youth replied. "I'll just be going back to me mates now and be quiet."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" John still held the man by his shirt as he nodded towards the well-suited young man,

"Ah, yes…well um," he turned to the man he'd had the falling out with.

"Ah… I wish to apologize for saying the things I did about you sir, and for casting any aspersions on your character. And for laying my hands on you. Please accept my apologies." He turned and looked up at John. His eyes searching for a sign that what he'd said was sufficient to have Bates release his hold.

"That's better mate." John crooned as he released his grip on the man's shirt. "Now go back with your friends and let's have some quiet. I was hoping to catch a few winks before arriving at the academy."

John headed back to his seat and as he was about to sit down glanced over towards the young family across from him. The father looked at John and touched the brim of his hat in appreciation for what the young sergeant had done. John smiled and nodded, then closed his eyes and hoped to god he'd be able to catch a bit more sleep before arriving at his destination.

He awakened just a few minutes before the scheduled arrival of the train at the Sandhurst station. He gathered his satchel and sat waiting for the engine to come to a stop.

Once outside of the station he breezily walked the short distance to the academy and stopped in front of the gated entrance to the military school.

"Well, John" his inner dialogue began. "You've arrived. I daresay a different bloke that when you left here less than a week ago." The changes hadn't been the best for him, but they'd happened and there was nothing he could do to alter what had transpired.

"My old familiar life is officially over." He said out loud. John squared his shoulders and marched up to the sentry post.

"Sargent John Bates reporting for duty."

The gate opened and with it John's new life was about to begin.


	13. Chapter 13 The Mission

Chapter 13 The Mission

_**In this chapter John finally returns to Sandhurst, and receives his orders to head to South Africa along with a little surprise. We briefly meet some of the men he's been training with and his relationship to them is fleshed out a bit. I'm afraid he and Robert's reunion will be taking place in the next chapter. Sorry about that, but this chapter was long enough as is. Can't thank you enough for the reviews. They really serve as inspiration to keep on telling John's pre-Downton story.**_

_**Also, I must apologize for the misspelling of the word Sergeant in previous chapters. I hadn't been paying attention to the autocorrect feature on MSW and just caught the error midway through this chapter.**_

_**Per the usual disclaimer…**_

John made his way through the front sentry post at Sandhurst and headed directly to the Administration office. In light of the past week's events, he needed to update his next-of-kin notifications and also to be sure to readjust the distribution of his pay equally between his mother and Vera.

Burial funds were to go to his mother as he doubted Vera gave a toss where or if he was buried should he die in combat. However, he did make sure to keep his newly estranged wife as the sole recipient of any other funds due her as his widow. John inwardly smirked at the realization that she quite possibly would appreciate him more in death than she ever did while he was alive, based on the money she would receive as the widow Bates.

Signing the last of the forms, he was just making his way to the exit, when a clerk called out his name from behind the counter.

"Excuse me, Sergeant Bates is it?"

Bates turned and nodded.

"I was ordered to give you this letter upon your return to base." He handed the envelope over to John and then went back to his filing.

Sergeant Bates looked at the outside of the envelope staring at the handwriting on it. He thought it looked vaguely familiar but he was loath to venture a guess as to who sent it, the memory of the last time he tried to identify someone's handwriting still fresh in his mind.

He stepped outside of the building and stood on the parade grounds, squinting as the sun's rays caused a glare off the paper. John opened the envelope curious as to who it was that needed to get in touch with him as soon as he had reported in at the base.

"_**Master Sergeant John Bates. This letter shall serve as an official notification to you that effective 2 February, 1902, Lieutenant Colonel Robert Crawley will be in charge of your special mission unit. The Lt. Col. will be working behind secured lines at Army Headquarters in the Transvaal and will be tasked with logistics and strategy for your team's intrusion behind enemy lines. He has requested that you be designated as squad leader for the mission and you are herewith appointed as such.**_

_**We have designated 25 February as the schemes launch date upon South African soil. You and your squad should plan to meet at Southampton Pier on 4 February at 0600 Hours where you will board the **__**Dunottar**__** Castle with your ultimate destination Cape Town, South Africa.**_

_**Final orders will be given to you upon your arrival at the Cape."**_

Bates felt a shiver run down his spine as he processed the letter's contents. It was finally going to happen. He would be shipping out in a couple of days and headed on a mission that, if all went as planned, would bring this blasted war to a victorious end for Britain.

John noticed a separate handwritten note inside the envelope. He couldn't help but smile as he realized it was from the Lieutenant Colonel.

"_**Sergeant Bates, as you recall I was less than pleased when you told me several months ago that you had volunteered for this dangerous mission. I finally concluded that "If the batman will not come to the Lieutenant Colonel, then the Lt. Col must go to the batman." Not that fighting side by side with you again was the only reason for my volunteering for the post, though it did weigh heavily in my decision; I am very keen indeed to end this war and get back to my wife and daughters. I daresay you feel the same regarding your Vera.**_

_**I look forward to being reunited with the finest batman, or rather I should say now soldier, I've ever fought alongside. Together let's win this bloody war and return victorious to Mother England and our families. **_

_**Come see me when you have arrived and we'll discuss some strategies I've been working on. I value your input and expertise. Lt. Col Robert Crawley."**_

John folded the handwritten note and placed it back in the envelope. He then placed the letter inside his valise and headed off to his assigned barrack. Lord Grantham could wait until John had a chance to get his bunk in order and belongings in place. He also needed to change out of his civilian clothing and back into uniform.

Thirty minutes later Bates gave in to his stomach's growling and headed over to the enlisted men's mess hall. He could have gone to the Non-Com's dining room for his meals, but he was hoping he might run into some of his fellow volunteers, none of whom were allowed in the NCO club.

His wish was granted when he spied Jamie Smythe and Mick Doogan eating at the end of one of the long dining tables.

"Sergeant Bates, over here," called out Smythe. "Good to see you. We was wondering if me and Doogan here were the only ones to survive the leave."

"No one has seen Culver then, I take it?" queried John

"No, he's a regular invisible man that Simon is. He's probably lying in his cot or at the library reading up more about the Boers. The man is a feckin'walking encyclopedia. Makes my head hurt just talking to him sometimes. You know what I mean, Sergeant? "

John laughed at Smythe's complaint. Personally, he rather liked chatting with Simon Culver on a variety of subjects. But, he could understand how both Smythe and Doogan might feel the Private a bit pedantic at times.

"Well, speak of the devil," Doogan spotted Simon enter the mess hall first.

"Oi! Simon, mate…Come join us and the Sergeant. We was worrying after you. Thought you might have got yourself locked up inside the library again."

Simon gave the group a tight smile and wandered over to their end of the table, tray in hand.

"Sergeant Bates…gentlemen... Looks like the gang's all hear." Culver said.

"Shall we break out then in a chorus of Auld Lang Syne, Simon?" chided John.

"Ah, I see that the leave did nothing to dull that rapier like wit of yours Sergeant."

John smiled, "Indeed it has not Culver. Nor did it lessen this ache in my belly. Now, I'm starving and I'm going to get in that lunch queue before it gets any longer. I'll be back shortly. I've some interesting news to share with you men."

As soon as Bates was outside of earshot, Doogan beckoned the remaining men into a conspiratory huddle, and whispered.

"What do you think, mates? The Sergeant looks pretty calm and well put….considering."

"Considering what?" Smythe took the bait.

"Don't you read the papers man! Considering his father was murdered 4 days ago!"

"What? That's total rubbish Doogan. Why would you make such stuff up?" huffed Smythe,

"Because it's true," Culver muttered softly. "I saw it in the papers also. Though, I think the more brotherly thing to do at this point would be to not mention it, unless the Sergeant brings it up." He glared over at Doogan.

As soon as he saw that look Mick dropped his head downward and when he picked it back up a sheepish look appeared on his face. "You're right, Simon. Let's not mention it again unless the Sergeant brings it up."

Culver nodded his head in agreement, but he knew that John would not be mentioning his father's demise to them ever. Simon had gotten to know John Bates quite well as they trained for their mission and was very much aware that within the Sergeant lay a quite complex individual, who hid much more than he revealed to most people, even those who he considered to be his "friends".

Simon admired the man to no end, especially when John revealed where he was brought up and the kind of childhood that he'd endured. It came up during a neutral conversation about what qualities a good soldier must have. The question of courage was being discussed and John just matter-of-factly commented that sometimes it was more courageous to walk away than to stand and fight. He gave the example of himself choosing to walk away from his family, especially his mother, his Da and his friends into a world where he had no guarantee of acceptance or success. It would have been far easier to have stayed in familiar Whitechapel and battled with his father, living a simple life at home… Going to the pub every day after work…smoking… finding him a wife. Sgt. Bates knew those streets well and he would've survived, perhaps even thrived within them had he chosen to stay.

Culver's thoughts were interrupted as John took a seat on the bench next to him, his tray over loaded with doubles of everything there was offered in the lunch queue

"Skipped breakfast did ya, Sarge?" queried Doogan eyeing the massive amount of food on John's tray.

"Not at all, Mick. I'm just filling my reserves up for when the time comes for me to order you to get your scrawny arse out of that hole you've dug yourself into during a battle…You know, just in case I have to toss you out of it."

Simon and Jamie both chuckled at the dig thrown Doogan's way. Mick however, was not as amused, taking umbrage at the implication that he would be hiding on any battlefield.

Bates noticed the man's discomfort and set to put things right immediately with his comrade. "You know I was just joking with you Doogan, right?" John saw the tension ease off Mick's shoulders as he grinned back at him.

"No problem, Sarge. I knew you were just pulling me leg."

John knew everyone was on edge. The others did not know of the plans that had been put in play. Not knowing added to everyone's anxiety, and he was thankful that he'd be able to relieve some of that tension with what he had to share with them.

"Right then, men." John cleared his throat and continued to speak. "When I checked in this morning, I was handed our orders. We're leaving in two days for Cape Town. Lieutenant Colonel Robert Crawley shall be our commanding officer operating behind the lines and I will be in charge of heading up the mission at the front. High command's goal is for us to have boots to the ground behind enemy lines on February 25th"

"If we're leaving on the 4th then when will we get to the Cape? Where do we leave from?" Smythe asked the question on everyone's lips.

"We'll be leaving from Southampton Yards boarding the Dunottar Castle at 0600 hours." John replied.

"I've heard of that ship. She's a speedy one I've been told." Smythe continued his questioning. "So when do you think we'll arrive?"

Before John could venture a guess, Simon entered into the conversation. "Sometime around the 21st I'd imagine. I read that she recently broke the international record for speed, making it to Cape Town from Southampton in 17 days" Culver looked down at the table before looking up at Bates. "I hope you'll pardon my interruption, Sarge?"

"No…it's fine Culver. I'd have been offering just an estimate on my part. I will always take hearing the accurate truth over a wild guess. The 21st it is then. "

"But that will only give us 3 days to prepare before we're behind the lines?" Jamie was becoming a regular chatterbox, John mused.

"We will have the Lt. Col. In charge sailing along with us on the Dunottar. I'm sure he'll have it well planned out for us by the time we reach South Africa." It suddenly came to John's mind that he was supposed to meet with the Lt. Col this afternoon. He made a mental note to go see him directly after lunch.

"Lt. Col Crawley? Never heard anything about him… probably some snooty Sandhurst grad with nothing to recommend him but a noble bloodline, lots of book learning and not a lick of common sense" proffered Doogan.

Now it was Bates turn to bristle as he slammed his fork down onto the table, making the men all jump in place.

"I'll have you know that the Lt. Col is a seasoned veteran of these wars. I had the honor of serving as his batman during my first tour to South Africa. A braver, finer officer and gentleman I've yet to see in this army and I'm personally relieved and happy to know that he will be our strategist and link between high command and we on the frontlines." Bates glared at the men daring one of them to speak another questionable word about Robert."

"Aye, Sergeant, easy there. I apologize for saying out loud my concerns about an officer I've yet to meet. But if you say he's one of the good ones, deserving of his commission and our respect, then I look forward to working with him also." Doogan noticed with relief John's countenance soften at his words. He'd no desire to come up against Sgt. Bates in a fight.

"Right then." John stood up grabbing his near empty tray. "I actually have a meeting to go to with Lt. Col Crawley. I'll share with you what I can after our conversation takes place." He dropped his tray off in the wash bucket and headed back to the Administration building. He had a vague notion of where Robert's room was, but wanted to confirm its location before heading off to the meeting.


	14. Chapter 14 The Briefing

_**Well this is it. The return of Robert. Also, a bit more information about "The Mission" Bates has volunteered for in South Africa. And you'll also learn about the other three men that will be joining John in the Transvaal. **_

_**Hate to beg…but not too proud to do it. If you have anything to say about the fic so far please, please, please send me a pm or review it. Any comments are very appreciated and helps to let me know if I'm heading in the right direction with this story. Thanks.**_

John stood in front of Robert's door. Having just knocked, he was waiting for the Lt. Col's voice to command "Enter." He felt a little awkward, aware that his heart was beating a bit faster than normal. He thought it odd he should have this kind of physical reaction in anticipation of meeting up again with his former commanding officer. But upon quick reconsideration, he knew why he was having such an emotional response.

John and Robert had managed to cross over that invisible line between master and servant, and John was truly dumbfounded at how easily they had achieved a connection that bordered on a close friendship. It really was uncommon for such a comingling of classes to occur on the outside, let alone within the strict guidelines prescribed between officers and enlisted men. Friendships such as theirs were certainly discouraged, if not internally forbidden within Her Majesty's service.

The young sergeant was surprised when the then Lieutenant Crawley asked him to be his batman. He'd been unaware that Lt. Crawley had had his eye on him for quite some time. And Robert was delighted that Bates did not disappoint in the manner he carried himself and performed his duties.

While Robert was a few years older than Bates, the sergeant had felt like the older brother when their friendship started. John reasoned that it had to do with the life experiences each man had encountered growing up.

John had to fight for everything he ever received in life. It ran in obvious contradiction to the soft life that Robert had been the recipient of by birth. Bates knew that Robert admired the way he'd managed to pull himself up out of the cesspool that was Whitechapel and turn out so well despite his upbringing. He'd observed Bates' impressive work ethic, dedication to duty and strength of character. Those were all traits that Robert Crawley wished to possess also. Though he would be loath to admit it, John Bates was his role model. Something that had been sadly lacking in Robert's life outside of the military.

Robert was born into nobility. He was Lord Grantham in his civilian life, the sheltered and overly pampered son of the late Earl of Grantham. His mama, the Countess Violet Crawley continued to dote on Robert well beyond his childhood and worked hard to instill and develop a sense of entitlement in her son. Robert was by nature a shy lad and so his mother found it easy to dominate his life and steer him in the direction she saw appropriate for his station in life.

Robert's father, David Crawley had little time for his heir, as business investments and the running of Downton Abbey took up most of his time. His interest in his son peaked only when Robert reached the proper age to consider marriage, and with it the necessity that he choose a suitable spouse, which to the Earl meant a woman who would bring a considerable monetary fortune with her.

While he did attend Cambridge, Robert's admittance there had more to do with the legacy of having his father attend there before him coupled with a generous donation the Earl had bestowed upon the school, dependent, of course, upon his son's admission into the institution.

Robert was aware of the strings that were pulled in order to get into Cambridge and to his credit worked steadfastly to maintain his grades and not suffer the indignity of being released from the school due to lack of academic achievement. While not at the top of his class, Robert did place in the respectable middle and brought honor and a bit of a shock to his family as a result of his successful acquisition of a degree in Philosophy. Not the most useful of degrees when it came to developing a career, but then again Robert didn't really have to worry about finding a career. He was the Viscount Crawley and would one day inherit the title of Earl.

Upon completing school the young Viscount Crawley was tasked with making that suitable marriage. That after all was what he was bred for. The Abbey was in desperate straits monetarily, and its salvation was dependent upon Robert finding a well moneyed wife.

He'd met her at a dinner party the following spring and while it wasn't love at first sight, it only took a few months for Robert to propose to the American heiress, Cora Levinson of the Newport Levinsons . She accepted despite not being totally in love with Robert, but he was decent looking and more importantly for Cora, it served as a way to get away from her overbearing mother, Martha. She felt badly about abandoning her younger brother Harold, but life with their mother had become intolerable, bordering on matricidal and besides being a Viscountess had a certain ring to it.

Fortunately for both parties, Robert and Cora eventually did fall in love with each other after marrying and the product of that love resulted in three beautiful and charming daughters, who were the apples of their father's eyes.

Robert often waxed poetic over his three daughters and Bates sometimes envied him his fatherhood. Thought not quite ready to have had kids when he and Vera were first married and "in love", it was something he'd hoped to achieve once the war was over. But that now wasn't even a possibility making Robert's situation even more enviable to John.

"Come in." John's memories of Robert's disclosures about his past dropped from the young Sergeant's thoughts upon hearing the Lt. Col's voice.

John entered Robert's room and snapped to attention. "Sergeant Bates reporting as ordered, sir." John fought to dissuade a smile from entering his visage. It was damned good to see Robert again. He noted that Lord Grantham was unable to mask his happiness at seeing his former batman. A grin lit up Robert's face as he returned John's salute and bid him to sit down.

"Sergeant Bates, you are looking quite hale and hardy. The food and hard training schedule must agree with you. I daresay you've bulked up a bit since I last saw you in South Africa."

John noted the ease with which Robert spoke to him and again felt that bit of awkwardness. How was he supposed to address the Earl, as a superior officer or a friend? Based on his surroundings and the uniform he was wearing, Bates opted for the stricter military decorum when addressing Robert.

"I've put on a stone or two sir. Yes, our training schedule here certainly accounts for any physical changes you noticed in my appearance. I daresay I've never felt more fit."

Robert chuckled and came out from behind his desk. "Yes, and I daresay I've put on more than just a couple of stone since we were at the front. Unfortunately, mine appears to reside mostly about my middle, which partially explains why I'm so keen to get going on this mission".

"I've been sitting around twiddling my thumbs behind a desk these past five months. This opportunity to work with you again on this latest military scheme has invigorated me. It will be good to be up there at the front. Feel the blood course through my veins. Fighting alongside you as we bring this stupid war to an end."

John was confused upon hearing Robert's words. "I beg your pardon sir, but the notice I received from HQ indicated that you would be behind the lines, working on strategy and I would be your contact at the front. There was no mention of you being behind enemy lines with the squad."

"Yes, yes, I know all about the orders… technicalities… just mere technicalities. Once we're in South Africa it won't be hard to convince the high command that you need an extra body to successfully complete the mission…You'll back me up on this, right Sergeant?"

John squirmed in his seat. He could see the eagerness in Robert's eye, an almost plea in his voice. But he was also mindful of the fact that Robert had a family back home, and Bates hated to admit it, but before this mission was over more of the volunteers will have died versus the ones who would return. And even of those survivors, many would be wounded and/or crippled.

It was not the best place for a family man to be. However, despite his reservations, John nodded agreement to Robert's request for his support. He was confident that he'd be able to talk the Lt. Col Crawley out of such folly once they were in South Africa.

With John's acknowledgement of support, Robert relaxed even more and beckoned John over to a large table in the center of his room. It was covered with maps and various documents that Bates was sure pertained to their mission.

"You've been a very busy man here, Sir. I hope somewhere in this mass of maps and paperwork you've a fool proof prescription for success on our mission?"

"Not quite there yet, Bates…but I'm close to it. I can feel it. Come over here on my side of the table and I'll show you what I mean."

John joined Robert and gazed at the maps first. He recognized the Free Orange State and noticed a large red X on the westernmost border.

"I take it that's where we'll be inserted?" John pointed at the marked portion of the map.

"That's correct Bates. We have received excellent intelligence regarding the area. Our spies are in place there now. They have been planting the seeds that will hopefully result in the destruction of this cell of commandos. If our scheme can take down this group, then we'll continue to use this method to cause unrest and eventual defeat of all the militias in the area. Rather than attacking from the outside, as you know, you will be tasked to cause foment from within and when they are busy fighting amongst themselves, that's when our side will attack. "

"Sir, you know that these militias and commando units are composed of farmers, usually a few families bound together to create a unit. The men are farmers but dead eyed sharpshooters due to the dependence of their families for meat to provide sustenance in addition to the produce grown on their farms."

"I do indeed Sergeant."

"Then how are we to infiltrate these familial groups?"

"We've already started to create a backstory for you and your comrades. Our spies have mentioned seeing a group of four commandos, seemingly unattached to any established militia roaming the countryside. They've been touting your group's skill and marksmanship and how valuable your addition to the family would be. Especially in lieu of the rumors spreading that the British Army is about to mount a major offensive. The more guns and bodies each militia can garner, the better their chances to hold off the enemy."

"Do we have any information specific to the militia we've been tasked to infiltrate?" John queried.

"Yes, it's a relatively large grouping for a guerilla unit. But they are fiercely united in their hatred of what Britain represents to them and are surprisingly mobile for such a large group."

Robert continued. "The family name is Veldhuis and the commando in charge is named Josef. He's married to Trina and has one daughter, Marta. Usually such units are composed primarily of men with the women and children left behind on the farms. However, in cases like Veldhuis' where his farm was destroyed and fields salted, he had no option but to have his family join the militia also. It was either take them with him or chance having them interred in concentration camps built primarily to use the families as bait to draw the men to surrender. So far that scheme isn't working too well, and there is a great deal of negative press regarding the practice. The war is becoming more and more unpopular here at home. It needs to end sooner rather than later. That's why your mission is so important."

"Your group will meet up with them on the 22nd and offer your services as commandos to the extended family. After your introduction the next 48 hours will be crucial; because they will of course be slightly skeptical of your offer and want to be sure you are who you say you are."

"Indeed, Sir. And how are we going to be prepared to satisfy their scrutiny?" John questioned further.

"We've got over two weeks to drill your stories into your heads. Coupled with the excellent combat and language training and lessons in Boer history and customs, you should be able to pass any test they might throw your way."

"Yours will be the first unit to be put in place. The other units will follow at one week intervals until we have all 12 of you men embedded. There is a slight change in structure that affects you directly, Sgt. Bates. Instead of you being the squad leader for all three units, we've concluded that it be best if each unit has an appointed leader, less chance of error or discovery that way. Better to have you as self-contained units rather than having you be the man in charge of everyone behind the lines.

John tried to hide his disappointment. He'd been looking forward to heading up the entire operation behind enemy lines, but he figured that the High Command knew what they were doing and had come to the change after careful consideration.

Robert saw the sign of disappointment flash across Bates face and understood immediately why his sergeant was reacting in such a way.

"Buck up there, Sergeant. There will be many more opportunities to head up missions before this war is over. Success in this plan coupled with a decided dearth of experienced officers will certainly lead to more chances to head future campaigns. I know you want to earn a battlefield commission. And you will Bates, of that I'm sure. If what I witnessed on the frontline when we fought together previously is any indication, you're skill and prowess as a soldier will be rewarded."

Bates nodded and accepted the Lt. Col's accolades graciously. "Thank you, sir. I can only hope to be worthy of your faith in me."

"Will that be all, sir? Is it acceptable for me to share the information you just gave me with the men in my unit?" Bates was eager to return to his men with an outline of how things would proceed.

"Yes, that will be all Sergeant."

John saluted and turned towards the door and was about to exit when Robert called him back.

"Um… I'm sorry… one more thing Bates. It was brought to my attention that you and your men have shown some degree of laxity when it comes behavior as soldiers in Her Majesty's Army."

"Excuse me sir? Impropriety amongst my men? I'm not sure I understand…"

"Ah, well, yes…it was brought up to me, just before you arrived here at my office. Apparently you were seen entering the enlisted men's mess and were engaged in some fairly animated conversation with the men in your unit. You know, you are a non-commissioned officer in this army, and as such you should not be seen fraternizing with your men. You are a sergeant, they are not officers. I understand there must be a strong bond amongst you men, what with all you have endured to become the top unit in this squad, but nevertheless, there are certain rules that have been developed, rules that help to maintain efficiency as well as discipline. You need to adjust your interaction with the men accordingly. It's for your and your men's benefit that I mention it. You may very well be required to make some brutal decisions out in the field. Impartiality is your greatest friend when making those decisions. They must be made with your head and not your heart. That's all I have to say on the matter, Sergeant. Please adjust your behavior to meet Army standards."

John felt his face redden as he listened to Robert's admonishment. "I will, Sir. And thank you sir for the advisement."

Once outside, John huffed out loud. He felt it was a bit like the pot calling the kettle black. Certainly he and the Lt. Col had a friendship that would be frowned upon by the Army. And it absolutely had not affected their ability to fight side by side on the field of battle.

For now, John resolved to keep Robert's warning close, but as far as adjusting his interaction with his men, Sgt. Bates could not disagree more strongly. They would just need to be a bit covert in their interactions moving forward.


	15. Chapter 15 The Roadblock

Chapter 15 The Roadblock

_**This chapter talks about the events that occur on Bates and his squads' first day at sea. Something happens that could affect the mission and Bates and Robert confer on how to handle the unplanned situation. Seeing as this is a 17 day journey, rest assured that I won't be taking a chapter per day to tell this part of the story. In fact, hopefully the next chapter at the end will find them docking at Cape Town.**_

_**Thank you so much for the reviews and PMs. I was beginning to lose my way on this story, and a PM I recently received really revitalized me and made me want to continue on. So your comments and reviews really do make a huge difference in motivating forward progress on this fic. Thanks again for any feedback you can offer.**_

_**Per the usual… none of the DA characters are mine. **_

The morning of the 4th dawned just like any other winter February morn. It was still dark as Bates approached the gangplank of the RMS Dunottar Castle, the fastest troop ship in her Majesty's fleet. They were scheduled to depart at 0600 and John sighed in exasperation as he noted that meant he'd be stuck dockside for another hour.

Sergeant Bates was eager, very eager to set sail both realistically and metaphorically speaking. Not that John believed in running away from his problems. No, it had more to do with starting afresh, problems be damned.

The mess with Vera, the monetary pressures left behind due to his brawl at the pub, his father's death not to mention his mother's possible involvement in it, were issues not to be easily forgotten no matter how many miles he'd put between them. But there was nothing could be done about them for now. John chose to just simply press on.

If there was one thing Sgt. Bates excelled at, it was his ability to focus on the task at hand. And for here and now that task was to infiltrate the Boer militia, cause dissension and disarray within the commando unit he was embedded within and then remove himself and his men to safety once the British forces were about to attack the fractured Boer unit.

The Boer militia and their guerilla tactics had successfully stifled the British Army and managed to draw out this war far past what was originally thought possible. John's was a new and unique scheme to injure and destroy the roaming bands of commandos of the Transvaal and Free Orange State. If this initial foray proved successful, then the tide would turn in favor of Britain and a speedy end to this irritant war would result.

Despite being an enlisted man, because he was a sergeant, Bates was assigned an actual room of his own aboard ship, rather than a cot in the hold of the ship along with the rest of the enlisted men.

Actually, room sounded a bit grander than the cabin actually was. It was very small with barely enough room for the bed. And speaking about the bed, it was going to be a problem for John. At 6'2" he was decidedly taller than most of his fellow countrymen and the designers of ships' cots obviously had no thought of accommodating folks taller than average. He resigned himself to sleeping with his legs hanging off the edges of the bed, and just hoped he'd still be able to walk by the time they got to Cape Town.

Once he was settled in his cabin, Bates decided to go up on deck and see if he could connect with any of the men in his unit. He took a quick peek outside above deck, but it was still so dark that he concluded it would be best to wait until the ship had departed and was on the open seas to look for his comrades. He returned to his room, sat himself upright on his bed, his back resting up against the wall and started to read.

Apparently he'd been more tired than he realized as John awoke with a start, the book propped open lying on his chest. It appeared that once the adrenalin shot through him, fueled by his excitement at heading off to sea, his lack of sleep while in London and Sandhurst caught up with him and he fell into a deep slumber.

Judging from the rocking of the boat, Bates estimated that they had left port and were on the ocean. He checked the time with his pocket watch and was shocked that it was already 9am. They had been sailing for 3 hours.

John flung his legs over the edge of the bed, stood up and tried to stretch, unfortunately his attempt was unsuccessful as his hand banged into the wardrobe door, reminding him that his cabin was really no larger than a small walk-in closet.

He gingerly stepped out into the hallway and resumed his stretch, hearing his neck and shoulders crack in relief from their cramped position in the cabin.

John yawned again, running his fingers through his hair and proceeded up onto the deck. It was overcast and the seas were a little choppy. His face quickly became wet from the ocean spray as the Dunottar sliced through the waves .

He turned his back to the railing and was just about to make it back down to his cabin when he heard something…

It sounded like a voice. He wasn't sure exactly what direction it came from.

"Sergeant Bates…" he heard his name. The voice sounded weak, but at least this time he could tell where it was coming from. John turned 90 degrees to his left and headed in the direction of the voice. Soon he saw the figure of a man about 20 meters away, standing next to one of the supporting brackets for the lifeboats. Actually, standing was not exact the right term, more like hanging on as if his life depended upon it.

John picked up his pace and then started to run as he saw the man crumple down to the deck, no longer able to remain upright even with support.

The closer John got, the more clear it became that this individual was in serious trouble. John reached the indisposed traveler and placed his arm beneath the man's back in an effort to bring him upright. He felt something wet and warm on his hand as he attempted to sit the man up… He placed his body against the injured man's back and looked at his hand. It was covered in blood.

At that moment the man's eyes fluttered open and Bates was able to see his face clearly for the first time. Bates was shocked to see the face of Jamie Smythe.

"Jamie, dear God man, what has happened…who did this to you?" John's eyes searched Jamie's face, as if he might find some clue as to what happened from the man's features?

"Jamie…Mate…Hold on, man."

Responding to the sound of his sergeant's voice, Jamie clutched at John's tunic and opened his mouth to speak… "T-t-t-tray…" was all he managed to say at first, he then struggled to pull himself up and whispered in John's ear… traitor.." Jamie then released his grip on John, lost consciousness and went limp.

John cradled Jamie's body in his arms stood up and raced towards the bridge. He needed to find the ship's doctor, but had no idea where to find him. The captain or members of his staff would know for sure he reasoned. He hurried as fast as he could, aware of Smythe's moans with every step he took.

As Bates closed the distance between himself and his destination, he saw a sailor standing at the base of the stairs. Seeing John, the seaman started running towards him.

"A Doctor… This man needs a doctor. Where can I find him?" Bates yelled out to the man.

"'E's upstairs with the Captain.. I'll gets him for you, sir."

"Never mind getting him for me." Bates rushed past the sailor and bound up the stairs two at a time.

He burst through the door and stood in front of the shocked officers. "Which one of you is the doctor?" There was an edge bordering on a demand to Bates voice. "This man has been stabbed and needs a physician now."

"I'm the ship's doctor," an officer off to the side responded. "Lay him here on the table so I can take a quick look. It looks like he's been stabbed in the back, so place him face down."

John carefully placed his fallen comrade on the table. The doctor stood over Jamie and did a quick exam of the unconscious soldier. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, folded it neatly into a square the size of the wound and applied direct pressure to the spot in order to staunch the flow of blood. After a few minutes passed, the doctor re-examined the wound and proclaimed it had finally stopped..

"He's lost a lot of blood, but it does not appear that any major organs were injured. Let me get some sailors to assist me and I'll do a more thorough exam in the ship's surgery. But, the fact that he's stopped bleeding and is still alive, would indicate that he's got better than a 50% chance of survival. Thank you for your assistance, Sergeant?"

"Bates, sir… Sergeant John Bates".

"Well Bates, this man is very lucky you happened to find him. He appeared to be minutes away from bleeding out."

Bates excused himself from the ship's Captain, explaining that he needed to report what had happened to the officer in charge, Col Crawley.

"Of course, I understand," said the Captain. "But will you please request him to inform me as to what steps need to be taken regarding this matter. Does he need to telegram London, or is this a matter he can take care of while on board this ship?"

Bates nodded to the Captain and set off to find Robert. Colonel Crawley had told Bates the night before his room location aboard ship, so Bates headed straight to his superior's cabin.

Robert was somewhat annoyed at the insistent knocking at his door but was curious who the impatient person was on the other side. He was surprised to see Bates as the perpetrator and perhaps even more disturbed at the look on his former batman's face.

"Begging your pardon sir," Bates burst into Robert's room and quickly apologized. "But there's been an incident below that you should be made aware of."

"Bates! Good God man, what is it? You look like you've seen a ghost!

"It's private Smythe, sir. Jamie Smythe, a member of my team… I found him barely alive on the main deck, near the lifeboats a few minutes ago. He'd been stabbed. I took him to the ship's doctor and he said there's a 50% chance he'll survive." The words gushed out of Bates, all in one breath.

"Sergeant, be seated please, and take a breath. Now, can you calmly report again what you just said?" Robert didn't quite believe his ears and wanted to make sure he'd heard Bates' correctly.

John retold the story to the colonel and added the fact that the last word spoken by Jamie before he lost consciousness was "traitor".

"Crikey…this is a totally unforeseen development," the colonel responded with furrowed brow. His lips pursed together as he thought what the next steps should be.

"We should probably get the men together and let them know what's happened and to be on the lookout for anyone or anything suspicious while on board." Bates suggested. "We can't keep this hidden from the men for the next 17 days, and it would be better to hear the facts from you directly sir, rather than let rumors spread amongst them."

"Quite right, sergeant. It is imperative that the men be told the facts as we know them. Give me an hour or two to sort through this… what I'm going to say. Please spread the word to them to stay on the mess deck after lunch and I'll address them all then. Oh, and Bates… no mention to your group of Smythe's condition… at least not yet. I'd rather handle any inquiries concerning the his condition directly."

John nodded in tacit agreement and left Robert's cabin. His mind was racing in a thousand directions at once as he re-capped the day's events so far.

Below the cabin decks he entered the room where the majority of the enlisted men were located. It was a large room encompassing 3/4 of that deck level. There were cots lined up in typical military precision. Bates was aware of the capacity of the Dunottar. She had recently ferried over 1,500 troops in support of Lord Kitchner. And she was carrying close to a thousand on this voyage.

Bates began wandering amongst the sea of men, hoping that the small group of soldiers on his team were quartered together and nearby.

"Sgt. Bates...Sgt. Bates" John turned in the direction of the call. "Over 'ere, sergeant"

Bates recognized ginger headed Doogan, his hand waving amongst the crowd. As he got closer he saw Culver and the rest of the special unit around him.

"We was hoping you'd come down here, Sgt. We've been a bit worried about Jamie. He went up deck a couple of hours ago, said he was going to grab some fresh air and walk up on the promenade, but it's been hours and no one has seen or heard of him. Culver, even went up on deck to see if he could find him, but to no avail. Have you seen him, sergeant? Is everything okay wit him?"

John knew that the men would be concerned for their comrade, but he was under strict orders to say nothing concerning his whereabouts. All inquiries were to be addressed to the colonel. But he wasn't going to lie to his men either.

"Yes, I've seen him. But the colonel is going to address us all after lunch and the question of Jamie's whereabouts will be answered then."

"But sarge, surely you can tell us what Jamie's condition is?" questioned Culver.

"Condition? I didn't mention anything about Smythe's condition, Simon." The wheels in Bates head started turning…wondering why Simon would use that word…"condition" when inquiring as to Jamie's whereabouts?

Thoroughly chastened, Simon put his head down and then murmured, "Of course not Sgt. Bates, it was a poor choice of words on my part," Simon then wandered off away from the group and started chatting with flailing gestures to another soldier who was part of the mission, but not in Bate's and Simon's team.

John wracked his brain trying to remember the trooper's name and then it came to him.. Thomas… Thomas Fellowes. Bates recalled he'd not had a good feeling about Fellowes. He was brash and cocky, but that wasn't what made Bates dislike the man. It was the fact that he was a bully and had an almost sadistic side to him. He enjoyed taunting his opponents, those soldiers pitted against him during arm to arm combat training.

It was never about the team or the mission for Thomas… It was always personal and always all about himself and his glory and honor.

John thought it an odd apparent friendship, Thomas and Simon. Two more differing soldiers in dedication and wits, Bates could not imagine.

He interrupted their discussion to let Thomas know about the colonel's mandatory address after lunch, and then proceeded to personally inform the other members of the squad. Because of the nature of their mission, they were also warned not to talk to anyone outside of their tight little unit about what the colonel would reveal at the meeting.

Lunch came and went and approximately 15 minutes later, the colonel entered the mess and walked over to the table where the men were gathered.

They snapped to attention as Robert approached, and he returned their salute.

"At ease men. Please be seated."

Robert looked each man in the eyes as he scanned the table, hoping he'd see something that would tip the hand of whoever the traitor was in this group.

"Men," Robert coughed to clear his throat. "I regret to inform you all that there has been an incident this morning that directly impacts not only our team, but our mission. Jamie…err... James Smythe was stabbed this morning. Sgt. Bates happened to find him, and before he lost consciousness, Smythe told him there was a traitor in our midst."

Bates noted the collective gasp and shifting of bodies as a low murmur started to rumble from the group.

"Cut the noise," John barked. "If you have questions or anything to tell the colonel regarding this incident, there will be time after Colonel Crawley is done. 

"Thank you sergeant." Robert nodded his appreciation towards John. "But there really isn't anything more to say, other than you will all need to be on the lookout for any unusual actions amongst your fellow soldiers at least until we get to Cape Town. And of course, no mention of what happened is to go beyond this unit. I trust I have made myself clear?" The men nodded or spoke in agreement.

Just as Bates was going to dismiss the men, as Robert turned to leave, John heard Culver raise a question for the colonel

"Excuse me sir, but what of Private Smythe? Is he dead?"

"No, not yet. Thanks to your sergeant finding him, the ship's doctor was able to stabilize Smythe for now. He is still in critical condition in the ship's dispensary. Next 48 hours should tell whether he'll make it or not."

"So he's still alive, then?" Thomas inquired next.

"Yes, that's what I said, Private Fellowes, he's stabilized and recuperating. Now I want to remind you once again…no mention of this to any other soldiers on board. Understand?"

"Yes sir!" the group answered in chorus.

Robert left the group standing at attention. Bates then dismissed them and watched as Simon and Thomas wandered off together again.

Bates returned to his cabin and was just about to start reading when he heard a knock on this door. What now, he thought to himself as he got off his bed and in one stride reached and opened the door.

He was amazed to see Thomas standing in front of him.

"Pardon the intrusion, Sgt. Bates. But might I have a word with you?"

Bates was for all appearances struck dumb by Thomas' request and nodded for him to enter.

"So…um… Sgt. Bates. I think I have something important to tell you that I'm sure you'll want to relay it to the Colonel when I'm done."

"Tell me then, Thomas. What have you got?" Bates doubted the man before him had anything of value to tell him, but he'd hear him out.

Thomas took a step forward so he was just inches from Bates face.

"It's private Culver, sergeant" he whispered. "I think he done it."


	16. Chapter 16 The Snitch

_**My apologies, gentle reader, on the length of time since my last update. This has been a difficult part of the story and I find myself being torn between telling a story and telling John's story. (Hope this makes sense…) At any rate I wasn't able to quite get the boys back on land at Cape Town quite yet… But it should happen very soon, like by the next chapter.**_

_**I continued to feel a bit lost in this part of the story and in particular this one chapter. I will be very grateful to any and all comments and reviews that can steer me in the right direction. **_

_**Depending on feedback, I hope to get the next chapter and dry land up for review later this week.**_

_**Thanks again for those of you who've taken the time to comment. It means so much to writers on this board, and really does help us in determining the direction the story should go.**_

_**Per the usual disclaimer. Also I used a couple of sentences from Series 1 in this chapter. See if you can find them.**_

"Culver? What do you mean, 'Culver done it?' What proof have you, Fellowes?" John shook his head in disbelief at Thomas' accusation.

"Well… I've no hard facts, tis true, sergeant. But Simon has been asking me a lot of questions about the mission and what my unit has planned. Wanted me to promise to let him know which militia group we'd be assigned to once we got to the Cape. And, once he heard that Jamie had gone above deck for fresh air, he volunteered to go find him. He was up there for quite a long time, in my opinion."

Thomas paused. "Mind if I smoke, Sergeant?" Fellowes took a cigarette from his pocket and left it hanging from his lips, waiting for John's approval.

John looked at Thomas carefully…Trying to divine if the man was telling the truth or just stirring up the pot to make Culver look like the guilty party. He knew there was no love lost between the cerebral Simon and the egocentric Fellowes. John wouldn't put it past Thomas to try and discredit Culver out of pure dislike of the man.

Bates nodded at Thomas it was okay to smoke but added, "And assuming you've nothing more to add to the subject, I'd prefer you take yourself and the cigarette outside of my cabin,"

"B-but Sergeant," he stammered.

"Enough" growled John. "I've got a lot to mull over, Fellowes. Leave me be so I can think in private."

"Aye, well, will do Sarge. But if you want me to keep me eye on Simon, I'll be happy to do it for you." Thomas looked hopefully up at Bates… The fact that Fellowes desperately wanted to get the okay to spy on Culver, was not lost on John. He felt a basic mistrust of the self-centered bastard and also because John felt he knew Simon quite well. Thomas' story just didn't ring true to Sergeant Bates.

"No, that won't be necessary Thomas." Seeing the crestfallen look on Fellowes face John added. "But thank you for your information It could prove valuable in deducing who committed this traitorous act. But, in the meantime, I'll continue to investigate on my own."

Thomas nodded and was heading out into the hallway, when John added. "Oh, and Thomas, not a word about what you've just told me to anyone… Understand? If you're wrong about your assertions, then it's important that whoever did this deed remains in the dark. Do I make myself clear?" John arched his eyebrow at Fellowes waiting for him to acknowledge what he'd said.

"Perfectly, sergeant." Thomas snapped back, his cigarette still hanging from his mouth. And with that he closed the door to John's cabin and went out for his smoke.

John's mind was still reeling from Fellowes accusation. Simon Culver… it just didn't add up. True he'd been born in South Africa, raised by his missionary parents there until they moved back to Britain 15 years ago. So he may have acquired an affinity for South Africa having spent his formative years there.

But during training, Simon had seemed to go out of his way to make sure the men were well coursed in Boer culture and community, as well as their language. He'd drilled Bates over and over again on the correct pronunciation of words; until John's thick Irish tongue was able to master the regional dialect. He felt confident that thanks to Culver he could pass for a native born Boer.

John decided to share Thomas' information with Robert immediately. He left his cabin and headed directly to Colonel Crawley's stateroom. On his way up, the sergeant made a mental note to congratulate Robert on his promotion to full colonel. He'd noticed the new rank marked on Robert's uniform when he first saw him onboard. But Bates hadn't said anything to him about it as other matters came up for discussions that were more important at the time than a move up in rank.

He rapped forcefully on Robert's cabin door and heard the shuffle of papers and then the sound of someone walking towards the entrance. Robert opened the door, and Bates snapped to attention.

"Sergeant Bates, requesting a meeting with the Colonel" he said.

"Bates of course, come in," Robert replied. He always welcomed any chance he had to connect with his former batman. "What brings you here? Is there any more news about Smythe's assailant?"

"That's why I've come, sir. Thomas Fellowes came to my cabin after your address to the squad. .He made some pretty accusatory statements towards one of the men appointed to this mission."

"And who would that be?" Robert's curiosity was piqued

"Simon Culver, sir."

"Simon Culver?" Robert repeated Bates words and then looked at him with incredulous eyes.

"Is Thomas sure? What proof does he have? I have to be honest with you Sergeant, of all the men in this squad, I would have thought of Thomas as being the perpetrator, not the informant in such a crime. I don't mean to question the man's honor, but Fellowes has always struck me as someone who does not play well with others. Someone to whom the concept of 'team player' is foreign to, which makes any comments he makes suspect. His motives never appear to be pure."

Bates smirked in agreement. "My feelings match yours in this case, Sir. Fellowes is not my idea of a selfless human being, let alone soldier. I told him to keep his accusations to himself for now. He'd requested my permission to spy on Simon, but I told him 'no', that I would handle things on my own. I really didn't want him sniffing about Culver, especially knowing that his perspective would be far from objective."

"Good call sergeant." Robert nodded in agreement towards Bates. "What do you think we should do next?

Bates raised his eyebrows at the word "we" uttered by the Colonel. He wasn't sure he wanted to have Lord Grantham involved in the investigation. Again, while John respected and yes, even dare say admired Robert, he also had intimate knowledge that on occasion the man tended to bumble his way through some situations. Not that he was an oaf or unintelligent, more like somewhat unfocused, a bit absent minded and not really into doing the research before taking action. But a braver and more honorable man, Bates had never met. He liked to think that he had a very accurate and balanced assessment of the Colonel, and outside of the restraints put upon them by rank and stations in life, he would be proud to call him "friend".

"Perhaps it would be better if I just investigated on my end, Colonel." Bates worded the next sentence carefully. "If the men saw you down walking amongst them below deck, they're going to become suspicious and probably alter their behavior, be on guard so to speak."

John was relieved to see Robert nod in agreement.

"You're right Bates, of course. Carry on with your plan on your own, just be sure to keep me updated on any developments."

"Of course sir, you'll be the first to know," John was relieved that the colonel had agreed not to become any further involved.

"Thank you for your time, Colonel." He saluted as he turned to leave and Robert returned the salute, dismissing John.

Once ensconced within his cabin, John sat wearily on his cot. It was still early afternoon yet he felt exhausted by all that had happened so far today. He ran his hands through his hair and then palmed his forehead with his elbows propped up on his knees. He drummed his fingers along the top of his head, hoping to jumpstart some thought process on how to capture Jamie's assailant. To be honest, he hadn't a clue how to reveal who the traitor was.

A couple of minutes passed by as John continued to determine the next step. He was brought out of his worries by an incessant knocking at his cabin door.

"Who is it?" John demanded.

"It's Private Culver, Sarge. I need to speak with you regarding a very important matter." Simon's voice sounded quietly strained.

"Come in, Culver," John called out wearily to the private.

Simon checked the outer hallway to make sure no one was following or would see him enter John's cabin

"Sorry for the intrusion, Sarge, but I've got something here from Jamie that I think will be of interest to you. Hopefully help you solve who Jamie's assailant is." Simon dug into his pocket and removed a couple of pieces of paper with writing in what looked to be a list.

"What do you have there Culver?" John queried.

'"A list Sergeant Bates. Jamie gave it to me when I found him up on deck this morning."

"What?" exclaimed John. " I thought you didn't find Jamie when you went looking for him?"

"Aye, that's what I told the men when I got back below deck, Jamie gave me these papers and told me to guard them with my life. That he'd found them peeking out from under someone's locker, part of it touching the floor." Simon spoke rapidly barely catching his breath.

"Whose locker, man?" Bates stood up and found himself inches away from Simon's face.

"That's the thing Sarge. He said that there was a traitor in our midst but just when he was ready to tell me who he believed it was we heard the crash of a door opening and Jamie put his finger to his lips and indicated he wanted me to return below deck. I think he was going to tell me who when he got back down, but as you know, he never made it."

"Let me see the list." John spoke gruffly to Simon.

Culver handed it over gingerly to his sergeant.

John looked at the list and shook his head in disbelief. What he was holding was a list naming every member of the special mission unit as well as a physical description of each man. It was divided into units… so there were a total of 3 units with four men in each unit.

John couldn't help but startle at seeing his name on the list, circled with a big star next to it. Apparently he'd been indicated as someone of special interest to whoever compiled the list.

"I'm keeping this for now, Culver. Thank you for bringing it to me."

"Of course, Sarge. If there's anything I can do to help, further. Just tell me."

John debated over whether or not to tell Simon about Thomas' accusation concerning him, but decided against it. "I'll let you know if anything comes up in the future, Simon."

Bates nodded towards the door, indicating to Culver that he should leave.

"Aye, Sarge. See you later this evening?"

Bates looked at Simon with a raised eyebrow. "This evening?"

"Oh, sorry Sarge. Thought one of the boys would have already invited you. We're having a card game tonight. Starts at 20:00 in the rec room below deck near the sleeping quarters. Know how you love cards and Thomas made friends with the keeper of the keys for the Mess Hall. There will be much "liquid refreshment" available also thanks to Thomas' new found alliance. Hope we see you there." Culver headed out the door and left John to ponder his next move.

Bates tossed around a few ideas in his mind, but finally decided to just put the list in a safe place in his cabin for now.

He shuddered at the thought that today might serve as a template of how the remaining 16 days at sea were going to be like. This first day had been a challenge. And John knew he was at his limit for handling anymore surprises for the day.

Perhaps a game of cards with the men and a sampling of brews might not be a bad idea after all. Bates thought about it a little more and finally concluded that yes, a little recreation with the men sounded more and more like just what he needed after a day like today.

Thankfully, the rest of the day was uneventful, which suited Sergeant Bates just fine. A few minutes before 8pm he showed up at the rec room.

He recognized 6 men there already as members of the special mission squad, and one unknown soldier who wore a white smock over his uniform. John surmised that this must be Thomas' new friend…The keeper of the storeroom keys and supplier of the beer that would be fueling the game this evening.

Culver spied John as he walked in the room and immediately headed over to greet him. "Glad you could make it Sarge'!" Simon practically gushed. "We can get started now that you're here. We arranged the table to accommodate 8 players."

John took a seat and immediately found a beer placed before him. He counted out his cash and had it transferred into playing chips and prepared himself for an evening of beer and cards, hopefully not in that order.

The game went swiftly. Within the first couple of hours over half the table had been eliminated. As it approached midnight, John regarded the pile of chips before him. To his consternation, during this past hour there had been a steady erosion in the number of his chips in direct opposition to the ever increasing number of empty bottles of brew that had taken over his section of the table.

John could hold his liquor well, and had a high tolerance for alcohol. His problem was not that he didn't know his limit, it was that he often chose to go past it and tonight was one of those nights. Perhaps it was the horrific assault on Jamie, or the realization that there was a traitor in their midst and the implications it held for the mission, or the pressure to figure out who the assailant was, but John just needed some sort of relief from all these pressing issues. And booze was a quick and readably available answer to his problems this evening.

The pot was huge and John was in a battle one on one with Thomas. Fellowes had just made a huge raise, more than all the chips John had at hand. He looked at Thomas intently hoping for some kind of tell that would let him know if Thomas was bluffing or really did hold a superior hand. He wished he hadn't drunk so much, as he couldn't quite remember the betting sequence, which may have helped him figure out the strength of Fellowes hand.

Bates head was starting to hurt and he made up his mind that this would be his last round no matter the outcome. He needed to go to bed… his head was screaming with a pounding headache and his mouth was beginning to taste like cotton.

He regarded Thomas again…noticed that insouciant smirk upon his face and decided then and there to call the bet. "No guts no hero" he thought to himself. He'd be damned if he'd allow a miserable bastard like Thomas to force him to give up.

"All in" Bates called as he pushed his entire pile of chips into the center of the table. As soon as he did, he regretted it, as he saw the slightest upturn in the corner of Fellowes' mouth.

"Three queens, King high" he muttered as he laid down his cards.

"Very nice, Sgt. Bates… very nice indeed," Fellowes sneered. "Let's just see what I've got in my hand. Been so long since I peeked at it, I think I've forgotten."

With that, Thomas fanned his cards out in his left hand and began to lay down his hand…one card at a time…

"Let's see…um.. one Jack…. Two Jacks…"

John could feel his heart beating rapidly threatening to pound right out of his chest…

"Three Jacks… wow, looks like you have me beat their Sarge." But John wasn't fooled. He could hear the lack of sincerity in Fellowes voice.

"Hmmmm but wait, what do we have here?" Thomas was about to go into full blown gloat… An Ace? And, oh look! Another Ace! Why I do believe that's a full house, Sergeant. Sorry about that, but you appear to have lost."

John's fists clenched and he could feel the blood rising to his face. It wasn't that he was a bad loser. It was the self-indulgent manner that Thomas blew up his victory at John's expense that really irked Sgt. Bates. He could accept being defeated fairly, but he did not appreciate being humiliated at the same time.

"Better luck next time, Sergeant" Fellowes called out to John as he got up from the table and was preparing to go back to his cabin. "But seriously, Sarge. What chance did you hope to have against a champion?"

The unmitigated gall of the man! John's immediate action was to turn around and punch Thomas' shiny white teeth through the back of his skull, but he controlled himself for the sake of the mission's unity. He had to set an example to the men. Much as he'd love to do some major damage to Fellowes dental work, and permanently reconstruct his smarmy smile, John held back.

"Well played, Fellowes" he replied as he walked away. Looking back, John took some small comfort in the disappointed look on Thomas' face. It almost appeared that Fellowes had wanted a physical confrontation with his sergeant and readily showed his displeasure at not being able to bait him into reacting.

It was a small victory for John and had come at quite the price. Half a month's wages… Good thing he'd be on this ship for the next two weeks. No need to spend any money while on board.

John returned to his cabin ready to call it a night. He flopped ungracefully onto his bed, his feet dangling off to the side and attempted to get comfortable, not even bothering to change. Quickly the combo of the booze and the gentle rocking of the ship resulted in him drifting into a deep sleep.

A few hours later he awoke with a start. John had always been an early riser, but he sensed that this was way too early to get up as he arose from his bed. With no porthole it was difficult to figure out whether it was day or night outside. He slowly and carefully stretched his arms out and moved his head from side to side in an effort to relieve the crick in his neck.

He soon realized that his waking up was probably more than partially due to his need to get to the head. He stood up shakily and stumbled out his door in the direction of the shared lavatories.

Once relieved he found himself wide awake at what he was sure was some ungodly hour. He'd left his watch in his room, but rather than go back and get it, he decided to do a bit of exploring. The ship was fairly quiet outside of the dull thud of the lifeboats gently bumping along the side of the ship and the sound of the waves as the Dunottar knifed its way across the Atlantic.

John had a vague idea of where he was in the ship and the location of most of the major staterooms and lounges around the different decks. His thoughts strayed to Jamie and how he was doing. Last he had heard, Smythe had yet to regain consciousness. Bates had asked to be apprised of Jamie's condition, in particular when he would be awake and coherent, so that he could be the first to speak to him concerning his attacker's identity and also out of whose locker did Jamie find the list containing all of the unit's members. John was sure it was one and the same person, but he wanted Smythe's confirmation before he took action.

He decided to make his way to the sick bay and see for himself exactly what condition private Smythe was currently in.

John hadn't bothered putting on any shoes when he'd gotten out of bed, so he made no sound as he wound his way through the walkways and stairs leading up to the medical offices of the ship. As he approached the sickbay area, Bates could see a light on in one of the private rooms designated for the sickest patients.

The closer he got the more concerned he became as he was unable to see the sentry that had been assigned to guard Smythe. John had reasoned that whoever it was that had tried to kill Jamie yesterday would probably be desperate to attempt to finish the job as soon as possible in order to keep from being discovered as the spy.

John picked up his pace as he got closer to the light and Smythe's room. He stumbled over something as he was about to open the sickbay outer doors. Righting himself before he hit the floor, Bates was shocked at the site of the guard sitting flat on his ass with his legs splayed out in front of him. John bent over the guard to check on his condition and as he got closer to the comatose soldier it became obvious that the man reeked of alcohol. Bates didn't have the time to deal with the soldier right at the moment, as his attention was focused on the sight of somebody standing in Private Smythe's room.

Bates stood up and raced inside the sickbay and directly to Jamie's room. When he entered he saw a man standing next to Jamie's bed, up towards his head. He was holding a pillow and it was obvious to John that the man planned on smothering private Smythe where he lay.

With an impassioned roar, Bates leapt across the room at the potential murderer and grasping him by the shoulders tossed him up against the wall. John leaned into the man and pinned him there by laying all his weight against him. The assailant wore a watch cap, pulled low over his face. John raised his arm to pull the cap off the man and in doing so gave his foe the opportunity to free one of his arms.

Bates yelped in pain as he felt the cold steel of a knife blade dig into his flesh along his right ribcage. He swallowed through the pain, and as the man tried to stab John again, grabbed the man's wrist and twisted it sharply until he heard a satisfying snap. The palm of Bate's hand was sliced open by the blade, but John didn't mind as he heard his opponent scream in pain, dropping the knife from his useless hand. John clenched his fist and punched the man in the solar plexus rendering him unable to put up a fight.

Breathing heavily as he held the now unconscious man up against the wall, John reached for the cap and pulled it off the attackers head. John didn't need to see his face to identify the man. His ginger hair gave him away…

XXXXX

John sat on the examining table as the ship's doctor tended to his wounds. Luckily they were both superficial, quite painful but not in the least life threatening. Once bandaged and cleaned up, Bates headed back to his cabin.

Doogan had been taken down to the brig after he had regained consciousness and placed in a separate cell apart from the other prisoners. John planned to interrogate Mick himself in the afternoon. But first he would meet Colonel Crawley in a couple of hours, fill him in on what had transpired overnight and inform him that the traitor was now safely put away. John assumed that Doogan would be handed over to the British authorities once they landed at Capetown and that the trial and the sentencing would be swift with the punishment quickly dealt.

John closed his eyes, hoping to catch an hour or more of sleep before reporting to Colonel Crawley, but sleep wouldn't come. His mind was spinning over the events of the past day and a half. Frankly, he was still a bit shocked at discovering that Mick Doogan had been the traitor all along Red haired, freckle faced Mick with the map of Ireland on his face had been the spy embedded in their special mission group. John had a hard time imagining what could have possibly happened to turn Doogan into a turncoat. He could have understood Culver even, over Doogan as a spy. But, Doogan? ...What? ...Why? John hoped that after the interrogation he'd have some answers or at least some understanding of what drove Mick to betray his country.

But for now, Bates needed some sleep. He closed his eyes again and willed himself to try and go back to sleep, having left word he wanted to be woken up by 7am, Eventually, his lids grew heavy and John fell into a fitful sleep.


	17. Chapter 17 The Overture

**A/N **_**Sorry about this chapter folks. Hope to have had the interrogation over, but looks like it will finish up next chapter. This is a bit of a filler, but hopefully one that will whet your appetite for more, shortly. Thanks again for all the reviews. Please please, I'm begging you plleeeeeeze. If you've enjoyed the story so far, any kind of comments or reviews would be deeply appreciated.**_

_**Same disclosure as before. All glory and honor to Carnival, ITV, Masterpiece PBS and Julian and Jessica Fellowes.**_

John was sitting in Robert's stateroom, his eyes still feeling a bit heavy from lack of sleep. He'd managed to get a little over an hour of shut-eye and once he'd washed up, changed his uniform, and made himself a bit more presentable marched over to see Robert and report to him what had happened overnight.

Bates wanted to get there bright and early so he would make sure to be the first to tell Robert about Doogan.

He wasn't surprised really how Robert reacted to the news.

"Doogan… why of course. Typical left footer. They can't be trusted Bates. Should never allow them in the army. Irish Micks can't be loyal to the crown. Damn Papists! They're all bred to be traitors."

Bates just sat in the chair and stared at Robert, wondering at what point in his tirade Col Crawley would recall that Bates was half Irish. He tried not to take it personally and chalked it up to Robert's tendency to speak first whatever popped into his brain with no filter between his brain and his mouth. But still he inwardly bristled at Lord Grantham's words. His tendency to stereotype groups of people, in particular the Irish and Catholics, was one trait of Robert's that John did not appreciate.

And so he sat and said nothing, while Crawley rambled on until he finally paused, a look of horror crossing his face.

_Here it comes_, John thought… _He's going to remember in 3…2…1._

"Oh dear Lord! Bates! My God man…I forgot… You know I wasn't talking about you. I just lost my head for a moment. If I caused you offense, I deeply apologize." Robert's face reddened in embarrassment. He truly regretted what he'd just said.

"No offense taken, Sir." Bates dismissed Robert's faux pas with a wave of his hand. "Shall we move on to the question of Doogan's interrogation? I'd like to conduct it alone if that's all right with you, sir? He was in my squad and I'm hoping he'll be more willing to speak to me as an individual rather than to a group. Plus, there is our shared Irish heritage…"

Bates couldn't help sending a dig Robert's way and took some pleasure in seeing the colonel's wince slightly in reaction to what he'd just said.

His face still flushed with embarrassment, Robert nodded in agreement. "Of course, you're right again Bates. I think you'd be the most logical person to question Doogan, for a number of reasons. I'd like to make up a list of questions, however that I want answered. Give me an hour and come back here and I'll have them ready for you."

"Yes sir. I'll return then at 0900 hours then?"

"Right, that will be perfect Sergeant."

John used the time before he was to report back to Robert to write down questions he would have for Mick also. He didn't want to read them off a piece of paper, planning on taking a more conversational approach initially. If that got him nowhere, then he knew he may need to be prepared to take a hardline with his former team member. He wasn't prepared to become violent with the man, but he knew he could intimidate Mick and that's the most Bates hoped would be required to get Doogan to talk.

He'd gone down to the brig straight from Robert's stateroom, to inform the guard there that he planned to interrogate the prisoner at 0930 and to have Mick ready.

The list of questions Colonel Crawley gave Bates fairly well mirrored his own, so John found it easy to focus on the few discrepancies between them and add them to his own set of questions.

As 9:30 approached, Bates felt a slight bit of apprehension at the thought of interrogating his former compatriot.

Aside from their shared heritage, John had always regarded Mick fondly. An above average scrapper, someone Bates would want to have his back. He had a hard time coming to terms with the idea that the ginger haired soldier with a ready sense of humor was in actuality a cold blooded, would-be murderer and traitor to the country he'd once swore to defend.

Those thoughts were still spinning around in his head when he found himself far below deck, in the depths of the Dunottar, where the brig was located.

John nodded to the sentry posted and indicated he was ready to talk to Mick. He was escorted to a small, dank room with a light bulb hanging from the ceiling… a wooden table and two chairs on opposite sides. The door appeared to be made of steel with a small rectangular sliding window at eye level. There was no door knob or latch on the inside of the door. Entrance and exit were totally dependent upon the outside guard.

The room smelled of sweat and urine and John was taken aback at the smudges of what appeared to be blood on the table top. He felt a bead of perspiration form on his upper lip as the enormity of what he was about to do broke clear in his mind.

Had he been a naïve fool assuming that he would get what he wanted from his former mate through something more resembling a chat over tea than an actual interrogation of a prisoner? He knew he must get the truth out from Doogan. But how far was he willing to take it to achieve that goal?

John's thoughts were interrupted at the sound of shuffling feat and the clank of metal chains. He looked up and his mouth dropped in shock as he regarded Doogan. The man was near unrecognizable. His face was bloodied with his left eye swollen shut. Dried blood trailed from his nose, and Bates could see that his lower lip had been split open. His hands were cuffed and his ankles were loosely shackled.

John felt the bile rise to his throat, sickened at the treatment Mick had endured, but before he could say anything to the guard he was cut off.

"'Ere you go Sergeant Bates. Here's your mick, Mick." The guard chuckled at his own joke as he pushed Doogan to sit down.. "We softened him up a bit in anticipation of your talk with 'im." Again, the man fairly beamed with pride over his handiwork.

"You can leave us, then." Bates growled at the guard. A frown crossed the soldier's face. He had expected some sign of appreciation or gratitude from the Sergeant, not to be dismissed so abruptly.

"Knock on the door when you're ready to come out then Sergeant Bates." He spun around quickly, not waiting for a reply, and left the room, slamming the door shut.

For a minute they said nothing. The silence hung between them, thick and unyielding. John swore he could hear his heartbeat and wondered if Mick could too. It felt like a standoff… First person to speak was the loser… John cleared his throat but remained mute.

Finally Doogan folded. "How's your side?

"I'll live," John smirked.

"Well, good on that then." the private sighed. "I expect you want to know…why, Sergeant Bates". Mick's head was down as he was unable to look John in the eyes. "I expect you also want to know who's behind it."

Bates nodded slowly. ''I do indeed, Mick. You've got to tell me the truth. Neither one of will leave this room until you do."

Doogan chuckled. "Really Sarge? What are you going to do to make me talk? Have more of them "guards" have at me again? You seen what they done to me while I've been in British custody. Are ye curious what they all will resort to once they know they've been tasked to beat the truth out of me?

"Doogan, you know I had nothing to do with what happened to you earlier at the hands of that guard!" Bates was indignant that Mick would even think that. "And I've no intention of resorting to any type of physical duress against you. Just tell me the truth. Help me understand why you did it and who's behind it?"

Doogan heard a slight pleading in John's voice. He knew that his former sergeant was a fair fellow, a decent man and a dedicated soldier. But he didn't know what Mick knew… hadn't seen what Mick had seen. If he had, perhaps they'd be on the same side right now.

"Aye, so it's the plain and simple truth you're after Sarge? Oh, I can tell you the truth, but I doubt ye'll be able to hear it as such."

"Try me," Bates responded.


	18. Chapter 18 The Reason

_**A/N Thank you all for your kind and encouraging reviews. I can't tell you how appreciated they are and how they serve to help me continue to write this story. (And to kb who left me a recent review. Thanks and I'll try and be more aware of those pesky homonyms sneaking past spell check.)**_

_**John and company are still on the ship…but I promise I'll get everyone off it in the next chapter. **_

_**As usual none of the Downton characters are mine.**_

_**Hope you enjoy.**_

"I said, try me"…Bates words echoed through the room.

Mick looked down and shook his head. He sighed audibly and then began…

"It's not what you think Sarge." Mick's voice dropped to a hoarse whisper

"What do you mean by that, Mick? Not what I think? How do you know what I think? John's voice sounded harsh…even to him. He glowered at Doogan indicating that he wasn't happy being second guessed by the private.

"I mean, I know you think it has to do with Ireland and her winning her independence from Great Britain, that I must be part of some radical group who wants Home rule. Tis true that's what I want, with all me heart, but it's not why I done what I done. I'm not part of some grand plan to break the old country away from England. My reasons are personal and my actions are moral."

"Moral?" Bates shook his head. "How can you speak of morality, when you tried to kill a fellow soldier in Smythe? Murder is hardly a moral action, Mick, nor is giving the names and descriptions of the members of your squad to the enemy. You might as well have shot each one of us in the head and have been done with it. We all would have been walking into a death trap"

"They said they'd only keep you in a prison camp, Sergeant Bates. They wouldn't just shoot you in cold blood. I had their word. They wanted you as hostages not corpses," Mick answered earnestly.

Bates looked at Doogan totally bewildered. Did the man hear himself? Did he truly believe they were fighting an altruistic enemy?

"Their word? Really Mick, how could you be so naïve? You know how the Boer militias fight. It's guerilla warfare. Do you really think they'd want to be moving around the countryside dragging a group of enemy soldiers about with them? Not exactly the most efficient way to maintain their effectiveness and mobility. And do you think they'd share their rations with their captives when food got short?"

"I guess I'd not thought that part through, I admit sergeant," Doogan paused. "But sometimes the rights and privileges of the few must be sacrificed for the greater good. That's why I did it…The greater good…the lesser of two evils. Do you understand now?"

Bates stared into Doogan's eyes. He saw them light up with an unresolved fervor. Whatever Mick's reasons and frankly, John still did not have a clue what those reasons were, Mick had in his head…he had no doubt that he had done the right thing. To private Doogan, his actions were justified and should be praised as noble and moral rather than disparaged or denigrated.

"I must admit, from what you've said so far, I do not have any idea what your motives or what strongly held beliefs you have that justified you going on the side of the enemy. I am stumped, Mick. I'm not a learned man, but I'm not stupid either. I must inform you that what you've told me so far makes no sense and frankly muddies the waters further. So I'm asking you in plain English, soldier to soldier, for Christ sake man explain yourself in a manner that will make clear exactly what your motives were and who put you up to it. It will go easier for you, if you do." Bates stated the latter as a fact, not as a threat towards the private.

Doogan took in another deep breath and exhaled slowly. He looked at his sergeant and opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out… he tried again with the same result.

John couldn't help thinking that Mick looked like a fish he'd seen in the Fish House at the London Zoo. Trapped in it's glass prison, staring out at the people who came to gawk at it... given up because there was no place or way to escape. Just staring…motionless…barely breathing.

Finally, Mick found his voice and spoke to John with a faraway look in his eyes

"You've been to the front, right Sarge?

"You know I have Mick. As Colonel Crawley's batman I was at his side at all times. And Robert was not one to run away from a fight. We were in the thick of the battle more often than not."

"And when you were relieved from your posts…when you got some time away from the front line, where did you go?"

John wasn't sure where Doogan was trying to take him, but he answered honestly.

"Well, being assigned to the Colonel, we went back to the officers' bivouac behind the lines. But not for long, as I said, the colonel wanted to be at the head of every offensive charge if they'd let him. "

"Ah..." Mick nodded his head. "Then perhaps you never saw them…never knew they existed."

"What existed?" John still didn't know what Doogan was referring to.

"The camps…" Mick's voice cracked

John finally understood what Doogan was referring to. Bates knew that the refugee camps existed. At last count there were over 40 of them scattered within the two South African states of the Transvaal and the Free Orange State. And he was very aware that they were unpopular with an ever increasing, extremely vocal group of protestors back home. But he'd never seen them and as a trained soldier he was taught to believe the fact coming from his commanding officers as the truth, in direct opposition over the propaganda of non-military citizenry and sensationalist newspapers. He was, however disturbed by the news that the M.P Lloyd George had recently attacked the British government concerning the camps. While George was a bit of a radical, John found himself agreeing more and more with the liberal's causes.

"Aye, I've heard about them, but never seen one up close," Bates responded. "But camps to hold the enemy are part of any war. At least we're not murdering them when they surrender. The Boers have their camps also. We've men kept captive by them also. Neither side is guiltless of having such camps to keep enemy combatants that have been captured or surrendered." Bates couldn't believe that the simple issue of refugee or POW camps was what drove Mick to become a traitor.

"Beggin' your pardon, Sergeant Bates, but if you'd seen them up close, you'd have changed your opinion. I was assigned guard duty at one located in the Transvaal, named Brandfort. There were over 500 so-called "refugees" assigned to the camp…80% were women and children, the families of Boer militia men. You see we'd burned down their houses, set fires to their fields, slaughtered their animals, salted the earth and poisoned the wells, all in an effort to cut the supplies to the Boer commandos. The families left behind had no choice but to take our offer of staying at the camps. They'd no place else to go. We'd been told that the militia men would surrender in order to free their wives and children from the camps. But it didn't work out that way."

"The camp was overcrowded and the health of the families became increasingly poor. Food became scarce throughout the camp and then the word came down from the high command, Lord Kitchner and his lot… to cut down to half rations any woman or child whose husband or father was a member of the Boer militia or commandos. We were purposefully using women and children's suffering and death to win this war. And, for what? To free the native Africans? To bring South Africa and the Free Orange State into the loving arms of Mother Britain? Do you truly know why this war is being fought, Sergeant?" Doogan was glaring at Bates now.

John thought he knew, but now after hearing Mick's impassioned story, he wasn't sure. He was taught it was to put down an insurrection of anti-British partisans who sought to prevent the UK from annexing the Transvaal and Free Orange State. He'd been indoctrinated that such an annexation would have benefited South Africa and Great Britain equally. Bates started to repeat what he'd been told by Colonel Crawley and other officers since the war started, but was abruptly cut off by Mick.

"Bloody Gold… we are capturing,starving and killing women and children for the love of gold. Don't it make you feel proud, sergeant?" The taunt in Mick's words was not lost on John.

"We are fighting this bloody war for profit not ideals, not for defeating evil men, but rather filling the pockets of profiteers at home. I don't know about you, Sarge, but that's not why I volunteered to fight for King and Country."

" I was serving as a guard initially, but then they started dying, you see… just a few at first, the frail, the elderly, then the children, and suddenly I was needed for burial duty as there were less and less of them to "guard". Dysentery swept through the camp on top of it all and being on only half rations they had no strength to fight the disease. A good day was when only 1 or 2 infants or children died. Typically it was between 5 and 6. "

"They'd send me to pick up the dead little ones. It became part of me daily routine. More often than not I'd have to tear the babies out of the arms of their weeping mothers and the next week, I'd be tasked to bury the mother. It weren't right, Sargeant Bates. It weren't right and I couldn't do it no more."

Bates watched as Mick's eyes filled with unshed tears. Doogan roughly rubbed his eyes to keep the tears from falling, and continued.

"One day I was approached by one of the mothers in the camp. I guess she could see how much I hated what were going on. She gave me a note and whispered to me to follow the directions to a meeting place... that if I wanted to make conditions better at the camps I'd keep the meeting.' When I arrived at the designated location, I met with some Irish blokes what had been working as miners in the Transvaal. They were sickened by the horrible conditions at the camps and sided with the Boer's efforts to stay free from Britain's control. So they formed into a commando group. They knew something big was going to happen, and it didn't take much for them to convince me to help them and their cause."

"It's why I volunteered for the mission. I was to keep them aware as to what was planned and once put into play supply them with the names and descriptions of our squad. They swore they'd just take you as hostages. Bargain for food and medical supplies for the camps and once the families were back up to full strength, they'd further bargain for the release of the families… It sounded good and fair and no one was to get hurt. That is, until Jamie saw that note fall out of me locker. I knew he wouldn't keep quiet about it. So, I had to try and silence him before our plan was exposed. I ain't proud of trying to kill Jamie, Sarge. We were good mates, but some things are worth fighting for and dying for and even killing for. I wouldn't be able to live with me self any more if I did nothing and watched the slaughter of them innocents continue."

"Sarge?" Mick looked at Bates with some concern.

John was sitting across from him his fists clenched on top of the table. He was looking down, staring at his tightly closed hands with a look suggesting he'd been moved by Doogan's story. But even then, he was obviously battling within himself. Doogan watched the muscles in his sergeant's jaw tighten and relax and tighten again. This new "truth" from the mouth of Mick versus what he'd been trained to believe throughout his military career was tearing John up inside. Bates considered himself a man of honor, who bore the responsibility seriously of serving as a role model to his fellow soldiers while on duty. But if what Mick was telling him was true… then where was the honor in starving and killing women and children?

John continued to stare at his hands on the table. They were open now, palms down on the cold table top. He blinked several times and then spoke in a low choked off voice.

"I don't expect you to tell me if there are more of your compatriots in our squad, Mick. Am I right in assuming that you wouldn't tell me if there were?"

"Aye, Sergeant, I will not. Not even if you were to set them thugs what beat me this morning. I'll not speak anymore."

Bates nodded his head and then raised it to look Doogan in the eyes. He was shocked to see his own distressed face mirrored in Mick's eyes. The truth was he felt slightly sick to his stomach, coupled with feelings of anger and shock. His beliefs in his government and the necessity of war were badly shaken and he shuddered in response as these new feelings about the War began to overwhelm him.

John knew Doogan had said all that he intended to say, and that the interrogation was over. He rose from his chair and wearily headed to the door to signal the guard to open it and return Mick to his cell.

Before the guard took him away, and despite already knowing what Doogan's answer would be, John just had to make one last offer, a chance at redemption to his former comrade. "Your court martial will be held at Cape Town, Mick. I'm sure you know the sentence for treason is death by hanging. If you're willing to cooperate, and give us information as to the location of any other spies, I promise you I'll try to get your sentence commuted to life. You don't have to die, private."

Doogan looked at John and a slightly bitter smile crossed his lips.

"Aye, I'm afraid I do, Sarge… I'm afraid I do."

John didn't know it then, but that was the last time he'd see Mick alive.


	19. Chapter 19 The Order

_**A/N A big thank you to all of you who have taken the time to give a review. We finally turned the bend in this Chapter and the action should come hot and heavy shortly. Hope you enjoy this chapter that contains a little confrontation between Bates and Robert. Is there trouble in RoBates paradise?**_

_**Same disclosure… this isn't mine because if it was, Bates and Anna would be busy doing their best imitation of "Cheaper by the Dozen" Downton Abbey style.**_

John was shaken. He knew it, but didn't want to admit it. His world had been slowly but surely crumbling around him this past month. Starting with Vera, followed in short order by his dad, Liam, his mum, and now Mick and his accusations towards the country he'd sworn to defend, Bates felt like he was living inside of a typhoon.

His beliefs, the truths that he had based his life on, all seemed false and had him questioning the choices he'd made for his life. His future, which once appeared so clear, was nowhere to be seen now. It was grey, and clouded over like London in the fog, and he felt a chill run through his body as he tried to reassess what his options might be.

He stayed in his room for a while, trying to corral his thoughts. Make some sense out of the past fortnight. But it was useless. There was no one unifying theme that would serve as a base for him as he reviewed, rearranged, and tried to create some semblance of order in his now fractured life.

The only thing he could turn to right now to give him any hope of direction was the Army. That is, providing he just didn't think too hard about what Mick had said; And if he just let his military career with it rules and regulations and requirement of blind obedience just take him over. Bates knew he would be able to function within that structure. No reflecting on the past, or even the future. All he had, and knew was the now. His life going forward would be simpler to lead if he just stuck to the rules and followed orders. He felt like two of the characters in the recently published book, "The Wizard of Oz"

_Blimey, I'm part tin man, part scarecrow _he laughed bitterly_._ Mindless and without a heart was the only way he could survive this time in his life.

Having finally decided that his military career would be his guide, John felt a great weight lifted off his shoulders, Relieved, he headed to Colonel Crawley's stateroom. He wasn't looking forward to the conversation with Robert. He knew he had done his best and got the most information possible from Mick. But feared it may not be enough for his commanding officer.

A couple of loud knocks and John heard Robert bid him come in.

"Sgt. Bates…Good…Good. I was hoping to hear from you soon. What did you find out from Doogan? Did he confess his guilt and answer all our questions?" Robert, who was seated, looked up eagerly into Bates' face

"He did indeed, sir. That is he confessed and gave up his reason for turning traitor." Bates hoped that would suffice, but Robert pressed on.

"What reason did he give? Let me guess…Irish independence? Or was it that tired old belief that we've been persecuting the Catholics around Ulster? Religious freedom, I bet. Bloody left-footers!" Robert was sure that it was either or both of those reasons for Doogan's turncoat behavior.

"It was none of that, sir. Rather, Private Doogan claimed it was a moral stand that fueled his actions. He acted in protest of the refugee camps that we've established in South Africa. He was assigned as a guard to the camp and claimed to see such horrors, such inhumanity, that he felt he must do something to ease the camp dwellers' burden. He disagrees vehemently with Lord Kitchener's tactics and sought to bring to the light the real reason that this war is being waged." Bates felt his cheek twitch as he addressed Colonel Grantham.

"And what of accomplices on board this ship…Did he name them? How many more do we need to round up before we reach the Cape? Are there additional plans to disrupt our mission? How much do they know?"

"I'm afraid he wouldn't say, Sir" Bates noted the look of obvious distress pass across the colonel's face.

"Wouldn't say? What do you mean he 'wouldn't say'? Bates, my good man…that is…Sergeant Bates…that response is simply not good enough. You make it sound as if you gave him a choice of whether or not to answer the question! The lives of all of the men on this mission, the mission itself are all hanging in the balance. You must get him to give up his accomplices and their plans. Use whatever force is necessary. I don't care how you get the information, just get it... You're dismissed!"

Robert looked down at the papers on his desk, but after a few moments looked up to see John still standing at attention.

"Sergeant Bates… You're dismissed. Did you not hear me?" The colonel's tone became more strident. He wasn't used to having his commands ignored.

"I heard you perfectly Colonel Crawley. But, I'm requesting permission to speak, Sir"

Robert eyed Bates carefully and noted the muscles twitching in his cheeks, his gaze unblinking. Something was obviously bothering the man. He decided to hear what his sergeant had to say. "Permission granted, Bates."

"Thank you, Sir. I spent several hours with prisoner Doogan this morning. He'd been roughed up before I had a chance to interview him, however. I believe the intent, according to one of the guards was to soften him up for the interrogation." Bates noted that Robert did not seem surprised, and wondered if it had been done with the colonel's blessings.

"I do not believe that there is anything more that I can do personally, sir, to "persuade" the man to talk any further. He gave us his reasons, of which he is quite proud, and his belief in his cause he feels is just. He'll not betray others who share his beliefs. There is nothing more I can do, sir to gain any more information."

Robert was sitting on the edge of his desk now, regarding Bates with a new light.

"Can do, or are willing to do, Sergeant?" "Think carefully before you answer, Sergeant, but if I ordered you to go back and use whatever means necessary to get the answers to my questions…You understand that it would be a direct order from your superior officer to do so… Would you still refuse?"

As a soldier, John knew what the answer should be. But as an honorable man, he knew there was only one answer he could give. He prayed that Robert wouldn't ask it of him.

To disobey a direct order would ruin his career. Colonel Crawley could bust him down to private or worse throw him in the brig. Bates decided that the best course of action was to say nothing. If Robert ordered him to obey his command, then and only then John would simply have to refuse. His life, his dreams for the future in the military would be over.

Robert stood now and walked directly towards Bates. He stopped a few inches in front of him and studied the man further. John was the finest soldier and batman he'd ever served with…A man of honor and integrity. He was on track to rise to the top rank that an enlisted man could achieve. Yet, here he stood willing to disobey a direct order and throw it all away. Over what? Principles? And whatever the sergeant perceived as the moral thing to do?

The Colonel was suddenly overcome with the enormity of the situation. Should he give Bates a direct order, knowing already in his heart that his sergeant would refuse to obey and destory not only his career, but quite possibly his life? It was the colonel's right as his commanding officer, certainly, to demand obedience to his orders. But did he really want to test John's mettle and risk losing him as an excellent comrade-in-arms and a friend?

The alternative seemed so much simpler. He could simply dismiss him with no further words. It would spare Bates the humiliation of being sent to the brig for insubordination and failure to carry out a direct command. Colonel Crawley knew that Bates would never acknowledge it, but he would owe Robert for sparing him.

John continued to stand at attention as Robert slowly walked around him. He stood and waited for the order that would end it all. His relationship with the colonel was borderline between being respectful of each other's abilities as soldiers to a slight familiarity apart from the military, more of a friendship. The longer John stood, the more nervous he became. Not because his response to a direct order from the Colonel would be a refusal to do so, but rather because he knew that refusal would be the end of his career and his connection with Robert.

Colonel Crawley finally stopped walking and turned his head so his lips were inches from Bates' ear.

John found himself holding his breath waiting for those three little words…"That's an order" to come from the colonel's mouth. He heard Robert inhale and then slowly hissed three words into Bates' ear.

"You're dismissed, sergeant."

John felt a wave of relief wash over his body as he spun towards the door and quickly exited his commanding officer's stateroom. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest arhythmically as he made his way back to his cabin.

Colonel Crawley had spared him. He hadn't been forced to choose between his career and what he knew to be right. Again a sigh of relief emerged from his lips as he sat on the edge of his bed. John was well aware that had it been another officer, he might very well be sitting in the brig with Doogan now. He wasn't sure what prevented Robert from pushing the order, but he was grateful that he served under such a humane commanding officer.

The rest of the day went by with no drama. John spent the remains of the day, relaxing in his cabin reading some Yeats, evoking memories of his very early childhood in Ireland. Before they moved to Whitechapel, before it all went terribly wrong.

The next morning John woke up refreshed, for the first time in a month. He hoped that the worse was behind him. The thought of getting started on the mission in a couple of weeks excited and invigorated him.

As he made his way to the mess hall, he couldn't help but notice the noisy hum that was emitting from the room. Something must be up, he mused to himself. Spying Thomas Fellowes in line for food, John somewhat reluctantly made his way towards the Private.

"Good morning Fellowes. What's the news? I can't help but notice a buzz in the air. Do you know what it's all about?"

Once he got over the surprise of Sgt. Bates cordially addressing him, Thomas cleared his throat and nodded to the Sergeant. "Aye, Sgt. Bates. Guess you haven't heard the latest then?"

"Indeed, I have not Fellowes. What is it?"

"It's Doogan sir. They found him dead in his cell this morning. The guards said he broke his neck. Must have slipped and fell and broke it."

John felt a cold chill race up his spine. Mick's prophetic words that he would indeed have to die came echoing back to Bates.

"At any rate…No big deal, right Sarge? It saves His Majesty having to waste some valuable wood and rope building a gallows to hang him. He were a villain and doomed to meet his Maker once we reached Cape Town. His clumsiness just made it happen a week or two earlier," Thomas continued to snark.

Before Bates could reply, Fellowes quickly turned on his heel and left, leaving John stunned and saddened by the news.

His appetite gone, the young sergeant began to head back towards his cabin. But he stopped himself and decided instead to go to Colonel Crawley's room. He wondered if Robert had been told of Doogan's death yet. He also hated to admit the possibility, but John wondered if the colonel's need to know everything from Mick lead to the "accident" that claimed Doogan's life.

John rapped on the Colonel's door and walked in after Robert said to enter.

"Begging your pardon, sir. But I was wondering if you had heard the news concerning Private Doogan?"

"News? What news is there regarding that traitor? Robert spat the sentence out. Has he finally decided to cooperate and tell us who his associates are and their plans? Or don't tell me you were able to get him to talk, Sergeant?"

John was relieved at Robert's line of questions. It meant two things. One that Colonel Crawley hadn't heard of Mick's demise yet. And knowing this greatly eased his concern whether Robert had been involved in the private's accidental death. Bates felt the tension leave his body. He knew Robert like a brother, knew he was good at a number of things…but acting wasn't one of them.

"No sir, it's not that. I regret to inform you sir. But, private Mick Doogan had a fatal accident overnight. He's dead."

Colonel Crawley remained behind his desk. It was obvious that the news had shocked him.

"How did it happen?"

"The guards think he slipped or tripped somehow and broke his neck. There is no coroner aboard ship. So it is the ship's doctor's best guess at this point. Am I correct in assuming that we will hold a burial at sea?"

"What..?" Robert was clearly not prepared to deal with Doogan's death. "Burial at sea? Yes. I assume that's the proper way to handle it. Will you follow up on the details, Sergeant? Let me know the date and time and I'll be at the service."

"And what of his family, Colonel? Will you write them?" Bates knew that Mick's mom and dad were both alive and that he was the oldest of 5 children.

"You knew him far better than I, Sergeant. They would probably prefer receiving a letter from someone that actually had lived and worked with the man. No need to mention his situation or where he died…Nothing to be gained by it." The colonel paused and then continued. "Thank you for the information, Sergeant Bates."

Robert then turned so his back was to John… "That is all."

Sergeant Bates returned to his cabin. Only this time he didn't seek solace in his novels or poems, but rather hunkered down in his room, alone with his thoughts, specifically the ramifications of Doogan's "accidental" death. He brooded over whether an accident was truly what Mick succumbed to. He found it very difficult to believe the guard's description of what happened. But he also realized that it really was not his role to serve as an investigator into the private's death. It would be up to the Colonel to make the decision if there should be an inquest. And based on the number of days before the ship reached land, Bates knew that due to their circumstances the decision had already been made. The case of the traitor, Mick Doogan had been decided and was closed. John sat up and leaned over the small desk in his room. Finding paper and a pen, he began to write the Doogan family.

The rest of the voyage to South Africa went smoothly...Which was a miracle as far as Bates was concerned.

When they were a day out of Cape Town, Robert summoned John to his stateroom.

"We have a slight problem sergeant. But I think I've figured out a solution. Just want to run it past you, as it does involve your team."

"I'm eager to hear what you've decided, then Sir."

Bates had an idea where Robert's concern lay. Each team consisted of 4 members. Currently John's team consisted of Culver, the recently cleared for duty Jamie Smythe and himself. But that left them a man short. There had been a lot of time and effort expended in spreading the word to the Boer guerillas in the Transvaal that a renegade 4 man commando group had been seen conducting most effective raids on small British encampments. In order to pull off the masquerade there had to be four men on the team.

"I need to add another member to your team, Sergeant. I've thought long and hard about this, and well… my choice I believe is the correct one."

"I'm sure you've come to your decision through hard and sober deliberation, sir."

"Indeed. I have. I've asked him to join us." No sooner had Robert spoken than there was knock on the door.

"Ah, excellent, that must be him now. Right on time." Robert stood up and walked over to the door, opening it. He turned to John and then proceeded with the introductions.

"I'm delighted to inform you who I've selected as your new team member.… Thomas Fellowes."


	20. Chapter 20 The Bloke

Chapter 20 – The Bloke

John couldn't believe his "luck". Thomas Fellowes was to be a member of his unit

"Fellowes…uh…Welcome" John swallowed hard trying not to show his shock and displeasure at Robert's choice.

"Aye, Sergeant. Just like a bad penny, I keep showing up. The Colonel convinced me that it was my duty to accept his choice of me to fill-in for the late, but not lamented, Private Doogan."

"Did he now?" Bates gaze shifted back and forth between Robert and Thomas. Was Colonel Crawley serious? He knew that John detested Fellowes. In his mind, the private was the antithesis of what a good soldier should be. Robert had said it himself about Fellowes …"Does not play well with others…"

Observing the immediate tension between the two men, Colonel Crawley decided to take the easiest route to lessen the friction.

"You can go now, private. I have some matters I need to discuss with the sergeant. I'm sure the two of you can get together later in the day. Bates will bring you up to speed on his unit's targets and immediate objectives

As soon as Thomas left the room, John's head swiveled sharply in Robert's direction. Reading Bate's thoughts, the colonel spoke up.

"He simply is the best candidate for the job, Sergeant. Thomas is the strongest soldier left to choose from. He's smart, an above average fighter and a marksman, and also, let's face it, an excellent sneak. And to add to all those positives, the group that he was initially assigned to would have been the last to have entered the Transvaal."

"We can easily add someone from the next class of mission recruits to Fellowes old unit. The next round of trained soldiers will be arriving here within the month. His unit had not been scheduled for deployment for another 6 weeks. So you see, Sergeant Bates, I really had no choice in the matter. Thomas is most qualified."

Inwardly, John found the thought of working side by side with Fellowes to be beyond repellent, bordering on the nauseating. But he had to admit that Robert had explained the reason for his choice of Thomas, quite logically. It made perfect sense that the private would be the one added to John's squad.

"I understand sir." Bates hoped that Robert hadn't heard the disgusted tone in his response. "Private Fellowes will be an excellent addition to our team." John paused then took a big breath. "With your permission, I'd like to leave now and have a chat with Thomas, bring him up to speed concerning the Boer militia group we will be infiltrating."

"Yes, of course, Sergeant. I was just going to recommend you do just that. Fellowes is a smart bloke, I'm sure he'll quickly commit to memory everything he needs to know about the Veldhuis militia group and family." Robert paused and then continued, "And just remember Bates, you are both professionals, and the success of this mission takes precedence over any petty misgivings you have towards any member of your unit. I expect you to put aside any personal disagreements you may have with Fellowes. Have I made myself clear?"

Bates inwardly bristled at Robert's admonishment. Of course the success of the mission was most important and of course he would not allow his personal feelings towards Thomas to compromise that success. For Colonel Crawley to bring it up did not speak very highly of his knowledge of the type of man and soldier, Bates was. It made him doubt whether Robert knew him at all.

Keeping his thoughts to himself, Bates saluted his superior officer.

"Very good, sir…And I do understand."

John left the colonel's room and set-off to find Thomas. He headed further below deck where the enlisted men were billeted in search of Fellowes. Bates had to admit that he didn't like Thomas' character, but he recognized the many valuable skills the man possessed. Skills that would help them embed themselves with the Boer family and ultimately lead to their victory over the various commando and militia groups in the area.

Entering the enlisted men's level, John's ears, eyes, and nose were assaulted by a cacophony of sounds, sights and smells. The latter especially was to be expected after over a 14 day ocean voyage, with a lot of the men not bothering to avail themselves of the showers located below deck.

Tempers were growing short and John noticed small fist fights, shoving, and swearing taking place within the periphery of the cavernous room. Land couldn't come too soon for these soldiers. They needed to save that aggression for the enemy and not take it out on their comrades in arms.

Spying a member of Thomas' old unit, John approached the solder and inquired as to Fellowes whereabouts.

"I seen him heading up to the promenade deck, sergeant. Said he wanted to get a bit of fresh air."

John thanked the private for the information and headed upstairs. Once outside he glanced up and down the deck and saw Thomas about 10 meters to his left, leaning against the railing with the ever present cigarette hanging from his lips. He was just about to call out to the man, when Fellowes flipped the cigarette into the ocean and turned towards John. A slow, slight smile crossed Thomas' lips.

"Sergeant Bates. Frankly, I'm surprised it took you this long to seek me out, what with the colonel appointing me to your squad as a permanent replacement for Doogan" He paused regarding Bates warily. "Since your appearance is neither pleasant nor is it a surprise, let's get to the point, shall we? "

John in turn, eyed Fellowes suspiciously. His dislike for Thomas while not immediate, had not taken long to develop. It happened early while undergoing training for their mission at Sandhurst. Fellowes was a standout from the beginning. Above average with a gun or rifle, and while not the biggest or strongest of the volunteers, he was more than capable of defending himself and taking down a much larger opponent if reduced to hand to hand combat.

Thomas reveled in taunting and putting down his opponents. Hidden by his tendency to speak colloquially, Fellowes was also quite intelligent, which he didn't mind lording over the rest of the soldiers. Maybe that's when/why Bates mistrusted and failed to warm up to him initially. To put it succinctly, Thomas Fellowes was a bully.. As graceless in victory as he was in defeat.

"Can't very well discuss strategies and plans out here in the open, private. Why don't you come by my room this afternoon, say 2pm and I'll get you up to speed. Does that work for you?"

"Well, that's normally when I take my nap as I needs me beauty sleep, Sergeant Bates. But seeing as its you asking… I'll forgo it." Thomas' voice dripped with sarcasm.

"That's awfully big of you, Fellowes. I'll be sure to mention your enormous sacrifice for the cause to the Colonel when I meet with him this evening," John replied. Bates took some small pleasure in showing that he could give as well as get in a battle of words. He turned and went down the stairs to the deck his room was located. He grabbed a book on military strategy entitled "On War", by the Prussian General Carl von Clausewitz. It was dry reading, but Bates was hardly in the mood to delve into the poetry of Yeats for now.

As agreed, Thomas appeared at Bates cabin at the appointed time.

"I'll try and make this as quick and painless as possible," John wanted this meeting to be as brief as he could make it. He was very disciplined when it came to the correct way to act as military personnel. But he doubted even his stoic self-control would hold up if he had to spend much time in the presence of Thomas Fellowes. The man made his skin crawl. Bates reminded himself that Thomas was Colonel Crawley's appointment, and as his superior, John was bound to accept Robert's choice.

John started brusquely. "We've had the same training, Fellowes, so I don't need to go over that part of our mission. Our objective is to infiltrate a Boer militia group. We need to ingratiate ourselves with the lead commando, and once we have gained his trust we're to draw the group into an ambush.

Colonel Crawley will be leading the attack squad. Once the Boer group arrives at the ambush point, we are to retreat to the rear and contain any commandos trying to escape the trap.

"Stop 'em by any means available, Sergeant?" Fellowes tilted his head and looked askance at John, awaiting his reply.

"Orders are to stop them. We'd prefer to capture them alive, be able to interrogate them and gain additional insight into the strength and location of other commando groups, but we don't want any to escape and warn the other Boer soldiers. So, yes, Thomas… by any means necessary."

"Good," smirked Thomas. "All's fair in love and war, right Sergeant Bates?"

Something about the self-satisfied smile that crossed Fellowes face as he spoke, caused a chill to run up John's back. He ignored Thomas question and continued on with the briefing.

"The milita group we will be joining is headed by a local farmer, Josef Veldhuis. His farm was destroyed a year ago, but he was able to escape along with his family. It's rare to have an entire family serve in a Boer unit, but apparently he did not want his wife and daughter to surrender and be interred in our refugee camps. His wife's name is Trina, and they have a daughter, Marta. She was engaged to a farmer who was killed over a year ago.

"A farmer's daughter, you say?"

Bates couldn't imagine why the presence of a young woman would be of interest to Fellowes. It was pretty well known amongst the men that Thomas was definitely not a "ladies" man. He wasn't fooling John pretending interest in Marta.

"What's it to you?" Bates inquired. His interest was slightly piqued as to why Thomas even commented.

"Nothing, Sergeant.. not one thing. I was just engaging in some idle chit chat…"

John huffed in exasperation. "Do you have any questions, Fellowes? The rest of the mission will be revealed to you on a need to know basis. As the information is passed on to me, I'll update you and the rest of the team. We have a couple of "runners" in place, who will relay messages back and forth between us and HQ."

"Don't trust us, Sergeant?"

"Hardly, Thomas. It has to do with security. Should one of us be called out and discovered as a spy… it's best for all concerned that we know very little concerning the final plans until the last minute."

Thomas nodded his understanding of the message hidden in Bates' reply. If any one of them was discovered as a spy the Boers would do their best to extract the plans from their prisoner. The forms that their "persuasion" would take could prove excruciating for the exposed British spy. , Should they be broken it would be best if they knew nothing to relay to their enemy.

"And on that cheery note, I'll leave you now, Sergeant. I feel the need for a smoke. Care to join me?"

John was surprised at Thomas' invite, but declined to join him on the promenade deck.

He sat back down on his bunk, running his hands through his hair. It suddenly hit him that tomorrow they would be landing at Cape Town and the day after, if all went according to plan, they would be embedded in the Veldhuis Militia.

That night John tossed and turned in his bed. He was waking up every couple of hours, unable to immediately fall back to sleep. His mind was racing and he could feel the adrenalin coursing through his veins. He couldn't believe that the time had arrived for his team to begin their mission.

As they approached the pier, the next morning, John found himself shaking slightly in anticipation. This was it. As soon as they docked they were to report to headquarters and receive their first set of instructions.

A couple of decks above, Colonel Robert Crawley was gazing off his balcony, His excitement mirroring the feelings of his former batman.

Tomorrow would be the start of an exciting adventure. An adventure that would deeply affect both of their lives in ways they couldn't possibly imagine…


	21. Chapter 21 The Transvaal

Chapter 21 – The Transvaal

**_To the few brave souls who have managed to hang in there and wait patiently for a update...Thank You! My apologies for the delay and hopefully this tome will come to a swift conclusion before the Holidays._**

**_It's a bit of a filler chapter... but does bring us to the crucial meeting with the commando unit they have been tasked to infiltrate, so there's that. _**

**_Hope you enjoy it and please send any reviews if you feel like it. Means a lot to us weary fanfic writers... both positive and negative ones are appreciated_.**

Bates, Fellowes, Culver and Smythe were all crowded together in the makeshift HQ, located at the outskirts of Cape Town.. Standing at attention they waited impatiently for the officers at the other side of the table to speak, if only to tell them to sit down or at least stand at ease.

Colonel Crawley's voice could be heard above the other officers. Bates could make out most of what Robert was saying. He was arguing that he should be allowed to become a part of John's team and become embedded in the Veldhuis commando unit also.

John continued to stand at attention, praying that Robert didn't try to bring him into the conversation. Colonel Crawley had confided in John months ago that he wanted to be where the action was at the front and not stuck behind some desk pushing pencils. And, he had assumed that he could count on John to champion his cause when the time came to persuade the higher-ups. But Bates knew in his heart that he really could not back a scheme involving Robert as part of the unit. The colonel had not endured the training, both physical and mental that the rest of the men had been through.

This mission was one that required complete understanding of what the Boers believed, how their militia units functioned, and in preparation for his comrades to be accepted by the Veldhuis group an elaborate back story concerning a roaming cadre of four Boer commandos acting independently of any other militia group had been spread via the British spy network. No, it wouldn't do to suddenly have 5 men in the group… especially if one of them was also mute. Because, that was what would be required if Robert was to join Bates team. His Afrikaans was horrid and he could never pass for a native born citizen of the Transvaal with an accent that smacked of Eton and the Queen's English. John chuckled inwardly at the thought of the Colonel having to pretend to be mute throughout the entire mission. For if there was anything Robert enjoyed hearing, it was the sound of his own voice. To not be able to speak would be sheer torture for the man.

"I'm sorry Colonel Crawley, but that's my decision, and it's final." The distinct voice of Major General Terrence Whelan could be heard booming over the rest of the voices. "You will not join our first team to be embedded with the enemy, and I do not want to hear another word about it from you concerning the issue. If you mention it again I will personally arrange for you to be sent back to England and stationed behind a desk at an army recruitment unit it Yorkshire!"

John heard Robert start to reply..."But…" and then stop talking. He realized that Whelan did not throw out idle threats. So, if Colonel Crawley wanted to at least stay near the front he would have to be quiet and accept his current station.

That issue being settled Whelan then cast a jaundiced eye at the four men standing at attention.

"At ease, gentlemen," the Major General uttered. "Be seated, please."

Bates and his group promptly sat down on the bench just behind them and waited anxiously for their orders.

"First, I want to convey to you men the King's immense appreciation of your volunteering for this dangerous mission. He has every confidence that you will be successful and able to infiltrate the enemies commando units and to bring about the capitulation of the Boer militia you have been assigned to."

"The information we will be able to extract from the captured commandos will prove invaluable to our cause and will lead to the eventual destruction of the majority of the commando teams in the Transvaal. The ultimate goal, is of course to end the war in victory and sooner rather than later. It's drawn out far too long for England's taste and these small guerilla units are responsible for extending the war. We've indulged them long enough"

Whelan continued to drone on and John found his focus drifting… Drifting back to the events that had preceded him sitting on this bench, sweat dripping down his face, an irritating buzz in his ear as some annoying house fly flew back and forth between himself and Culver.

"…Our time, the time for peace is now, and we will have our peace if it costs the lives of every one of our enemies. They must not be allowed to win."

John startled out of his reverie as he heard the other officers lightly applaud and compliment Whelan and his oratorical skills.

Talk… John was so sick of talk. All he wanted now was to get his boots on the ground and infiltrate the Veldhuis commandos.

"Gentlemen, we've received word from our network that the scheme is set up best as can be expected. There is a slight change of plans as you will be dispatched into the bush this afternoon and we expect you to be picked up and embedded within the targeted militia group by sunset." Robert was speaking now. John could still hear the disappointment in his voice, but again, he was relieved that Colonel Crawley would not be allowed to join them.

"You are dismissed gentlemen and we will meet up in two hours outside this tent where you will be driven to the edge of the Boer territory patrolled by Veldhuis. Starting now you will use your Afrikaan names and address each other as such. As a quick review John your name is Johann Botha, Simon, your surname is Kruger. Thomas your surname is also Botha. You and John, er. Johann are cousins. And Smythe you are Jacob Smit. And that is all for now. You are dismissed."

The soldiers smartly saluted Colonel Crawley and the other officers and turned to leave the tent. All except, John that is, as the colonel had indicated to him with a nod of his head that he wished him to stay.

Robert beckoned John to the furthest corner of the large tent. It was obvious to Bates that Robert wished to have some semblance of privacy in this meeting between the two of them.

"I'm sorry John," the colonel softly murmured to Bates with his hand upon his shoulder.

"Sorry, Sir? I've no idea what you've got to be sorry about?" John was confused. He hadn't a clue as to why Colonel Crawley was apologizing.

"For not being able to join you and your team, Bates" Robert sighed. "I know how badly you wanted me to be able to be a member of your team. But you heard General Whelan. I couldn't press the issue any further without risking being sent back to England."

John stared at Robert, trying to hide his disbelief. My God he really thinks I am disappointed in him not being able to join us, Bates thought to himself. He tried to contain the beginnings of a smile that was threatening to turn up the corner of his lips. He didn't want to hurt Colonel Crawley's feelings with the truth. The man meant well, and John managed to keep a straight face as he replied to Robert's apology.

"You tried your best, Colonel. I couldn't help but hear you plead your case to General Whelan. Thank you for your efforts sir. I'm disappointed…truly" John took a deep breath in an effort to keep his voice steady. "Hopefully you'll be able to get to go with the next group. You'll get to the front soon, sir."

"Thank you for understanding, Bates. I agree I'm going to try and get on with the next group. Eventually I will be at the front. You can count on it."

John nodded in agreement and waited for the colonel to signal he could leave.

Robert raised his head and looked straight at his former batman. "Thank you, Bates for understanding. And good luck making your connection with the Boers this afternoon." With that, Robert turned and walked away from John towards the group of officers at the opposite end of the tent. John watched him join his peers and then headed for the exit and sighed a deep breath of relief once outside.

"What did the Colonel want sarge?" questioned Thomas, the omnipresent cigarette dangling from his lips.

"None of your business, Fellowes" John snapped back. Bates knew he over reacted but something about Thomas brought out the worst in him.

"Tsk, tsk, careful their sergeant Botha… My name now is also Botha... remember cousin?" Thomas smirked at John relishing the opportunity to catch him in an error.

John sputtered acknowledgement of his slip-up. Damn it, Thomas was right. "I stand corrected." Bates flashed Thomas an insincere smile. "I'll be more careful in the future."

"I'm sure you will, Sergeant Botha." Thomas responded, making sure to draw out the surname as if to rub it in. "After all, it's both our heads that will be cut-off if either one of us slips up."

Thomas then turned heel and walked away from Bates, leaving him inwardly seething, but still managing to appear on the outside to be calm and accepting of Fellowes reprimand.

John huffed his disdain towards the private and turned back to his tent to begin packing for the afternoon drop off. He felt his pulse quicken at the realization that he was finally going to embark on the biggest adventure of his life. He made sure to pack lightly, as befitting a guerilla fighter who counted easy mobility as part of his arsenal in the battle with the slower paced British soldiers.

He made sure to keep his kit clear of any incriminating incidentals and combed over its contents carefully. Even something as small as a scrap of paper with a British watermark could be used to reveal his true identity and result in disaster for his team. John emptied his knapsack and then repacked it several times, just to make sure. Once he was convinced that the bag and its contents was clean of anything that might give his true identity away, Bates slung the bag over his shoulder and headed for the spot where he and the other team members would get their ride into the edges of the Boer held territory.

As usual John was the first to arrive. Culver showed up next, followed by Smythe. Also, according to past performance, Thomas sauntered in about 5 minutes late at the gathering spot. While he was not extremely late in arriving, John still gave Thomas a tongue lashing for being tardy. Once they got into the Boer camp, timing would play an important role in their success… and Bates wanted to make sure that "his cousin" understood that being late again would not be tolerated.

Their transportation showed up a few minutes after Thomas arrived. It was a large cart drawn by two grey horses. "Climb up in the back boys, and hang on. It's a bit of a wild ride from here to the border."

Bates easily climbed on board and stuck out a helping hand to Culver who struggled a bit because of his height. Once all the men were in the wagon bed, the driver clicked his tongue and with the words "Walk on," echoing in his head John realized that their mission had truly begun.

The wagon rattled on a trail for several miles and then went slightly off track. Once they were off the trail, John and the other occupants found themselves thrown violently about, but he was eventually able to anchor himself to one corner of the wagon and avoid knocking heads or bumping into the rest of the team.

After about 10 more minutes of off-trail travel, the wagon came to an abrupt stop and the driver jumped down from his seat and walked to the side of the lorry.

"We're here gentlemen," he spoke with hushed tones. "You've about another mile and a half to go and you'll be inside the Boer held lands. Head straight East, away from the setting sun and you'll be right in the middle of it."

Bates and the rest of his team jumped out of the wagon, hitched their bags up to their shoulders and were about to embark on their journey when Bates stopped, turned and addressed the men. "Just a reminder, men. From this point on…no more English. We'll be speaking in Afrikaans from now until our mission is accomplished. Now let's bow our heads and take a moment to think about what we're about to do, and for those of you inclined, to pray to God for his help."

The men bowed their heads and said their silent prayers. Bates waited until they had all raised their heads signaling they were done.

"Right, let's move on, now," John quickly assumed the role of point man for his team as the men formed a line behind him. The topography was rugged, but John, sure-footed and blessed with a long stride was able to move quickly towards the border at what for him was a steady pace. He couldn't help but smirk as he listened to Barrow struggle and swear behind him as he tried to keep up with John.

After about 20 minutes walking in a straight Easterly direction, John signaled for his team to stop. They had reached a small clearing that would serve as a good spot to regroup, refresh and plan out how they wanted to continue their trek. By Bates reckoning, they had crossed over into the Boer's territory several minutes ago. It was probably wise that they stopped following one man behind the other and spread out. If the plan went awry they'd be sitting ducks in a row if they continued to travel one behind the other.

"Let's spread out men," John spoke in a low yet authoritative voice. Thomas you come up front with me but stay about 20 yards to my left…Simon, Jacob you spread out behind us."

John no sooner finished his order when he heard the snap of a branch that seemed to come from a bank of trees to the right of the clearing.

"Beweeg nie" (Don't move) came the command from a voice located at the other side of the clearing…

"Wat doen ons hier ... Engels spioene ?" (What's do we have here…English spies?)

John felt his heart drop to the ground. English spies? My God how were they so easily found out? His mind was racing to come up with a reply, when Barrow spoke up.

"Nie spioene ... Broers in die oorlog teen die Engelse ." (Not spies…Brothers in the war against the English) Barrow's voice sounded confident.

John added his reply. "Ja , broers"

"Then put your guns down, my brothers. And raise your hands over your head. You've a long walk ahead of you. Our Captain Veldhuis will make the final decision as to who you truly are. Pray that he sees you as Afrikaans." John turned his head in the direction of the voice and saw a tall, rugged looking man step into the clearing, a Krag-Jorgensen Rifle pointed directly at Bate's head. "Weapons down," he barked. "I'll not ask again."

Bates nodded in compliance and ordered his men to put down their weapons and raise their hands as ordered.

Several more armed men emerged from outside of the clearing and picked up the team's rifles.

"Continue in the direction you were headed," the apparent leader of the commando group ordered.

Bates and his men complied. John didn't know how long of a walk would be required before meeting Captain Veldhuis, but he hoped it wouldn't be too long before he met the man. He preferred to know his fate sooner not later and the head commando obviously held the key to life or death for John and his team.


	22. Chapter 22 The Cooks

_**Thank you for hanging in there if there is anyone still following this story. After posting the previous two chapters with no reviews or comments I kind of lost my appetite for finishing BTWA or for continuing to write any fanfic at all. You know the old saying.. if you write a fanfic and nobody reviews it... is it a fan ic? That is how the old saying goes right? However, after getting a kindly bit of encouragement and suggestions from adamsforthought I realized that this story is definitely not your typical Banna fan's cup of tea... and that as long as I can see signs that somebody is reading it, reviews of not, I should just carry on... **_

They'd been marching a good hour when John thought he heard the sound of men's voices and the snorts and whinnies of horses coming from a clearing off to the right. Just as he had confirmed what he heard in his mind, the leader of the Boer squad barked a command for them to halt.

"Get in a single file. We're approaching camp and I don't want you bunched together as we enter."

John's team complied and as soon as the line was formed they were quick marched into the Boer compound. Bates could feel the eyes of the commandos bore into him as he headed towards their leader's tent. They weren't sure what to make of John and his men. Were they English spies or the renegade commando group they had heard about for several months now? It was obvious, however to all of them that until they received the stamp of approval from Veldhuis, the little group of four strangers would be regarded as the enemy.

"Which one of you is the leader?" questioned a man standing just outside of what appeared to be the Boer's HQ. Based on his stance and commanding presence, Bates assumed that he was looking at the leader, Josef Veldhuis.

"I am", John made sure his voice was steady and prayed his accent was acceptable as he answered in Afrikaans.

"Your name?" enquired the same man.

"Johann Botha, and these are my men. My cousin Tomas, and friends Jacob and Simon.

"And what is your business here, my brother?" John couldn't tell whether Veldhuis was using the term brother as a sign of brotherhood or quite the opposite. He felt a trickle of sweat drip down the nape of his neck.

"We've been looking for a larger group to join up with and…"

"How long have you been together? Where have you and your band been operating?" Veldhuis cut-off John before he could finish…

"We've been patrolling the north east quadrant of the Transvaal. Been together for several months. Our small group makes us very mobile and fast, but it also leaves us often lacking for supplies. As I said, we're looking to join up with a larger group. We'd heard good things about your commando team, Colonel Veldhuis." John had noted the three stars embroidered on Veldhuis tunic, indicating his rank. He also saw a slight flicker of egotistic pleasure cross the colonel's face as he realized that John knew who he was.

The colonel walked towards John until his face was just inches away. He just stood and stared at Bates for what seemed like hours but was actually just a few seconds. Slowly a smirk crossed the Boer colonel's face. He turned and walked back to his original position.

"We've heard of your group's exploits Johann Botha. You have proven to be a great thorn in the British lion's paw. But your size has limited the damage you have inflicted to just that... You only make the great beast limp. We are hunters and when we find our prey we cut off their heads and use their fur to keep us warm.

With that Veldhuis nodded to the side of the tent where John could see a sizeable pile of British uniforms, helmets and boots leaning against the exterior canvas wall. He tried not to think of his British brethren in arms and the price they had paid to fight this war for gold and cheap resources. He felt the bile start to rise in his throat. He nodded his acknowledgement to Veldhuis and forced himself to speak.

"Impressive collection Colonel. It also serves to make us want all the more to join you in your crusade." John's voice was steady as he stared directly at Veldhuis.

"So do the rest of you feel like your leader?" The colonel redirected his attention to the three remaining team members. "Do you also wish to join our unit, taking orders from me, rather than stay small and mobile and retain your autonomy?" His eyes went from Tomas to Jacob to Simon looking for some sign of doubt or indecision on their faces.

The men kept their gaze steady and all nodded their heads in agreement. "We do sir." Tomas spoke up for the other two.

A thin smile crossed the colonel's lips again. "Very good then." He approached John and stuck his hand out. John gripped it and for a few seconds felt Veldhuis' grip tighten as if to show him who the boss was. John knew this was no time to challenge the leader, so he slowly relaxed his grip in a silent acknowledgement of the colonel's authority.

Veldhuis smiled again and released John's hand. He turned and barked out orders to one of the men standing behind him. A tent was to be put up immediately for John and his men. They were to be fed and someone needed to alert the cook that there would be four more mouths to feed at supper.

"Give us some time to erect your shelter…Botha. In the meantime, feel free to walk around our camp and get acquainted with the layout and meet some of your fellow commandos. The tent at the far end of the compound houses the mess. You can introduce yourself to Mrs. Veldhuis, our head cook, and yes, she is also my wife. She can fix you something quick to eat, to tide you over until supper."

"Thank you colonel Veldhuis. My men and I are grateful for your hospitality and look forward to joining forces with you." John made sure to deliver his line holding the Colonel's gaze. He then turned and headed over to his men. They were all starving he was sure, and after a quick bite they would need to start reconnoitering the Boer stronghold.

As John walked towards the group they closed ranks around him.

"What's next sir?" Simon inquired.

"Let's go get something to eat first. We can discuss our next moves after we've some food in our bellies."

The men all started towards the mess tent, all except for Tomas who hung back.

"Aren't you coming to get something to bite, Tomas?" John called out as he noticed his "cousin" hanging back.

"You go on ahead Johann. I'm dying for a cigarette…" Thomas crossed over to John and stood a mere foot away as he continued. "Thought I'd do a bit of wandering around while I took a smoke. I'll join you all for food in a few minutes." Thomas responded with a cigarette dangling from his lips.

For a moment, John paused and thought it best to have all the men together, especially now while still in the early throes of acceptance by the commando group. He wasn't sure that Veldhuis et al would feel kindly to seeing Thomas wandering alone around the camp. But then he recalled what a strong addiction Fellowes had towards tobacco. If he deprived him now, Thomas would be surly and unresponsive until he'd had his tobacco fix. John decided it was best to let Fellowes do what he wanted in this case.

"Go ahead then… but I expect you in the mess tent in 10 minutes. Don't make me come looking for you Tomas."

"Aw cuz.. I didn't know you cared." Thomas responded sarcastically.

'I don't and I'm serious Tomas…" John hated it when Thomas tried to push his buttons like that.

"Understood, Johann," Thomas snapped off a salute... clicked his heels and turned away from Bates heading towards the opposite end of the compound.

John took a deep sigh, then headed in the direction of the mess tent. He could just see the other team members disappearing into the tent ahead of him.

The mess was empty save for John and his team. They settled themselves at one of the long tables and waited patiently for someone to appear and offer them some food.

After a few minutes had passed and no one had come and offered them sustenance, John got up and headed towards the far end of the mess where he could see an opening that appeared to open into the kitchen area.

"Hello?" John called out. "Is anybody here?"

"And who do you think you are? Wandering into the kitchen? John startled as he heard a sharp female voice coming from the far end of the kitchen. He could barely make out the form of a matronly looking woman, wearing an apron. She was short and rotund with flaming red hair peeking out from under her cook's cap.

"I beg your pardon, ma'am." John apologized. "My name is Johann Botha and me and my men have just joined this unit. Am I speaking to Mrs. Veldhuis?"

"What's it to you?" The woman's response clearly indicated she was irritated by the question.

"Colonel Veldhuis suggested we come here for some food. We've been on quite a trek today. And he also wanted me to let you know to plan for 4 more men at supper."

"That doesn't give you the right to just push in here to the kitchen," the cook responded testily.

"There's no need to be rude, Mama," John was surprised to hear another female voice younger and sweeter sounding coming from behind him.

He turned and was immediately struck dumb as he gazed upon the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Her hair was tied behind her head in a neat bun, almost hidden under a server's cap. He wasn't sure but it appeared to be blond with just the faintest hint of red highlights running through it. She was taller than average, made obvious by how the hem of her dress ended several inches above her ankles. And her figure appeared to be a perfect hourglass shape…John could tell despite the loose fitting cooking apron that she wore. Indeed, no frail and fragile woman stood before him.

But it wasn't her figure or her hair that made the biggest impression on John. It was her eyes...dark green with flecks of brown and gold… almost the color of emeralds. Bates had never seen that eye color on a person before. It took his breath away.

"Hello," she said as she gracefully brought her hand forward to shake his. My name is Marta, I'm the assistant cook. Please forgive my mama's rudeness. We've had a busy week setting up this place. We've only just been here 3 days. She gets a bit brusque when she's tired. "

"Here. There's no need to apologize for your mother, child." Mrs. Veldhuis voice had softened considerably addressing her daughter. "Why don't you gather up some food for Mr. Botha and his men… Um how many are in your group Mr. Botha?"

John stood silent and mesmerized by Marta and failed to hear her mother's question.

"Ahem, Mr. Botha… how many men?"

Upon hearing his name a second time, John snapped out of the spell he'd be in and responded to the cook's inquiry.

"We're four in number, ma'am."

"Very well," her daughter replied. Give us a few minutes Mr. Botha and we'll have food out to you and your men shortly. It won't be a lot, but enough to tide you over until supper in a few hours." Marta smiled as she spoke and walked past John,

Bates stood there for a moment nodding dumbly before turning and heading back towards the mess tent and his men.

John appeared shaken when he returned to his team, a fact that was brought to everyone's attention by Thomas who had joined the group while Bates had been meeting the cooks.

"You look as though you've seen a ghost, Johann," Fellowes stated. "What did you see back there in the kitchen that had such an effect on you? Perhaps you saw some vermin scurrying around, or perhaps rats in the cook pots? Did they scare you?." He finished the statement with an obvious smirk.

"No, Tomas… I didn't see any of your relatives back there." John replied in kind.

While the men enjoyed John's comeback and started to razz Thomas, Bates leaned back in his chair, his concentration on the mission was shattered momentarily as he pondered what had happened back in the kitchen. John shook his head slowly as he ran over the scenario in his mind

Did it really happen, or was it merely wishful thinking on his part?

Bates shook his head, trying to shake certain thoughts from his mind. But upon further reflection... he could have sworn that Marta had trailed her fingers along his wrist as she slowly walked past him.


	23. Chapter 23 The Distraction

_**Thanks again to those determined souls who've managed to hang in there as John's backstory unfolds. Things should move quicker now that they are embedded in the camp. Please assume that when John and his men are in the Boer unit they are speaking Afrikaans, but for obvious reasons I've written it in English.**_

_**Reviews, as always are deeply appreciated.**_

Having eaten the small meals prepared to tide them over until supper, John and his team left the mess tent and went their separate ways. The plan being to meet at the tent assigned to their team in an hour and share whatever information or observations they'd made as they casually walked about the Boer encampment.

The hour passed quickly and John and his men gathered together to discuss what they had found. Thomas was stationed outside of the tent, ostensibly to have a cigarette, but in actuality he was keeping watch that none of the Boers came within earshot of the team. He'd be replaced in 10 minutes or so by Simon and then could get caught up on what had been found out, and also share his observations.

The transfer of information went seamlessly and all the men were brought up to speed on the layout of the encampment, an estimation of how many men and women made up the group and the location of the ammo and weapons.

John released a sigh of relief following the debriefing. So far, so good he thought to himself. Now all he had to do was wait to be informed who and where his contact was located and start feeding him information on the Boer's and their plans.

Bates knew that even as he and his men were being marched to the Boer headquarters earlier in the day that he was also being tracked by members of a crack British team of spies. They would be contacting him some way, somehow, sometime and the flow of information would then commence between John's group and British HQ. So for now, there was nothing more to do than wait...

A game of cards began amongst the men but John decided to forgo joining in and instead opted to go for another walk around the camp... thinking there may be some important clue to what was being planned that they might have missed.

He ambled leisurely towards the Boer Commandant's tent and was just starting to make out the voices of Colonel Veldhuis and another man. Casually he continued towards the camp... kicking a stone with his boot as a ruse to get him closer to the makeshift HQ. Just as he was about to maneuver the rock a little closer to the tent, he felt a hand touch his arm, startling him. Instead of hitting the stone he toed the ground hard and stumbled but caught himself before he fell down.

"On my, I'm so sorry Sgt. Botha. I didn't mean to startle you."

John recognized the voice of Marta, the young woman from the kitchen, and turned to face her.

"Not your fault...Marta, is it? I'm afraid my football skills, or rather lack of them is what brought me up. You see I knew at an early age that my dream of being a footballer was a mission impossible. As you have just witnessed...I have two left feet"

Marta covered he mouth and laughed softly at Bates attempt to explain his near fall, and then countered quickly. 'Well, it's a pity then, really, as you have such very long, and from what I can tell from here, strong legs, Sergeant. I imagine that you would be very fast running down the pitch.

Marta looked directly into John's eyes as she spoke and then lightly bit down on her lower lip. Bates immediately felt his cheeks go red as his eyes focused on her mouth.

'_Good God man... What is wrong with you?'_ Bates was having an inner dialogue admonishing himself to get a grip. _It's not like you've not been the object of a woman's harmless flirtation before_. He had important business to attend to and while Marta was quite lovely, there was no time to continue this conversation. _Duty calls, John... don't forget_.

John bowed slightly from the waist, picked up his rock and nodded to Marta as he strode purposefully back to his team. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard a sigh come from the young lady as he walked away. He made sure not to look back.

Suppertime came and Bates, Thomas, Simon and Jamie headed towards the mess. Upon entering the tent they saw a line forming to the right and entered into the queue. John noticed Marta standing at the opposite end of the line behind one of the long tables dishing out what appeared to be some kind of stew along with a chunk of bread,

As the line moved forward, John engaged in some meaningless chatter with his men, while trying to listen carefully for any talk that might give away any type of plan for future attacks by the Boers, but it all blended into one continual stream of voices. One thing that John did notice was that whenever he looked up and over to where Marta was standing his gaze would be met by hers. Bates couldn't explain why he was so enchanted by the young woman, but he once again felt his cheeks redden as he got nearer to her and her mesmerizing green eyes.

As he reached the front of the line, she addressed him by name. "Good evening, Sergeant Botha. Did you score any goals since we last spoke?" Marta teased.

Bates wasn't expecting such familiarity from Colonel Veldhuis' daughter and the reference to their earlier meeting threw him slightly. Surprised he said nothing but gave a timid grin to the young woman, murmuring a thank you as she filled his bowl to the top with the thick rich stew and plated an extra piece of bread for John.

"Good eating, Sergeant," the young lady smiled as she looked directly into John's eyes. "If you're still not full after this serving, please come back for more. I find it quite appealing..."

Bates was confused and had to have an explanation.. "You find "it" appealing?"

Marta smiled and then replied... "A man with a hearty appetite, Sgt. Bates... You appear to me to be a man with a very impressive appetite."

John couldn't believe his ears...What did she just say? Bates mouth fell open but before he could gather his thoughts and make a reply he felt someone shove him out of line.

"Move on Sergeant... There's a line of hungry men waiting to be served...Off you go." Bates turned and saw it was Thomas pushing him forward. Through gritted teeth Thomas whispered in John's ear..."For God's sake man... Move! You're attracting way more attention than we need at the moment."

John stumbled forward as Fellowes steered him to the table where the rest of the team was seated. They were gathered away from the rest of the soldiers in the mess and out of their earshot. Bates sat on the far end of the bench. His mind was racing as he tried to put into perspective what had just happened. The stunned look on his face was not lost on his men as they murmured amongst themselves with Thomas finally addressing John directly.

"So Sarge, ummmm What exactly was that in the queue... Don't tell me that you are starting to fall for the lovely Miss Veldhuis. She is a looker, but really John... the Colonel's daughter? Sounds like something from a penny dreadful."

Jamie looked at Simon and started to laugh but stopped quickly as he saw the deadly stare emitting from Bates. "Sorry Sarge," murmured Jamie.

"It's nothing...and none of your business, Thomas," John growled, hoping that would be the end of the discussion, but Fellowes wouldn't let it go.

"On the contrary Sgt. Bates... It very much is my business... Anything that could jeopardize our mission is, in fact "our" business. Thomas nodded towards Simon and Jamie. "We're a team and there is no good that can come from fraternizing with the enemy."

"Shut up, Thomas," John spat in Fellowes direction.

"I only know what my eyes show me, sergeant," Fellowes continued. "And it was so obvious what was going on between you and Marta. I can't believe you'd jeopardize this mission just to sate your own personal desires."

Bates stood up slowly and placed his hands on the table. "You know nothing." He spoke slowly and distinctly, directing his gaze towards Thomas, Simon and Jamie. "All of you...know nothing."

John turned and exited the dining tent, and headed towards the outer perimeter of the camp. He needed to be alone...he needed to figure out what was happening and how he was going to be able to stop whatever it was that Marta saw and wanted from him.


	24. Chapter 24 The Contact

_**Thank you again for all the lovely reviews. You inspire me to continue. It's been a long, hard road, but I can see the end in sight. Hope you'll all be able to hang in there until the end. I think you'll feel it was worth it. **_

_**Bates reviews all that happened on his first day embedded with the Boers, meets his contact then finds himself having to act in a questionable manner. Does the end justify the means...**_

Bates trudged slowly towards the outer perimeter of the Boer encampment, seeking a secluded place to wrap his head around the events of the day.

Sighting a tree stump, John made his way over to it and sat down. As he stretched out his long legs, he sighed and slowly shook his head, not quite believing everything that had happened this first day.

He and his team had been captured, marched into an enemy camp, released, become accepted members of a Boer Commando unit, scouted their surroundings and were now waiting to hear today from their British contact to pass on the intelligence they had garnered. And this was only day one.

And oh yes... one other thing that apparently he alone would have to deal with... Marta...what was he going to do about Marta?

His men had noticed and commented on the special attention the young woman seemed to be displaying towards their sergeant. John had replied gruffly to their comments and the teasing stopped immediately. But still, it was out there and Bates wasn't sure how to approach the situation.

He had to admit that he found her to be quite engaging, attractive with a winning personality. She may have been a bit forward for his tastes, but not enough for him to turn away from her attentions. Yet, he knew that he must.

Bates lips slowly curved up into a smile as he thought of the colonel's daughter, the teasing, and the touch of her hand on his. She was quite pretty and seemed to really like him. But John knew it was wrong and impossible that anything could happen between them. After all he was a married man, and equally as important, she was the enemy.

He was suddenly shaken from his reverie when he noticed some movement in the bushes about 5 yards off to his left. Slowly he turned away from the sound as he reached for his revolver, a Mauser semi-automatic that could fire off 5 rounds quickly. Bates could feel and hear his heart pounding in his chest and feared that whoever or whatever it was that was out there could hear it too. He slowly stood up and turned ready to point and fire if he heard another sound emanating from the leafy cover.

The sweat started to trickle down his forehead and into his eyes, causing a slight sting, and for them to become blurry from the salty sweat. John quickly rubbed them with his left hand in order to clear his vision. He gripped the handle of his gun, his finger on the trigger.

The rustling happened again and just as Bates was about to raise and point his Mauser in the direction he heard someone softly call out his name.

"Pssst...Bates...John Bates..." John couldn't quite believe his ears... "John...Over here Bates!" That last utterance of his name sounded all too familiar. "Good God," John thought. "Not..."

"It's me, Bates... Colonel Crawley!"

"Oh God," John moaned. "Not Robert...not here...not now... Dear God, Please tell me he's not my contact," Bates murmured to himself.

John's mind raced through the hundreds of reasons why Robert Crawley should not be the man hiding behind the bushes... the man to whom he was supposed to pass on his intelligence regarding the Boers and their plans.

Colonel Crawley had a family and 3 daughters to live for and an estate with countless servants depending upon him for their livelihood. He was as brave as any man John had ever encountered and honest as the day was long, but that very openness and veracity were not traits to be admired in the veld, where cunning and deception were required if one was to live to see another day. This was a spy game they were immersed in, not "here-are-your-orders-now-charge-up-that-hill" kind of warfare. Plus Robert had a horrible Afrikaans accent. Should he be stopped there would be no way he could pass himself off as a citizen of the Transvaal.

"John... it's me, Colonel Craw -" Robert was stopped mid-sentence as Bates leaped into the bushes and instantly clasped his hand over Colonel Crawley's mouth.

"MMfmmpt... mmmhhh," Robert struggled to speak, but John just tightened his grip over his superior's mouth and then indicated with his eyes that they should move deeper into the forest.

John loosened his hold on the colonel and they moved swiftly and silently further away from the Boer camp. When they had reached what appeared to Bates to be a safe distance, John huffed and released Robert completely.

"I say Bates, was that all really necessary?" Robert bristled slightly at his former batman. "I mean really, there was no one within 500 yards of us!"

"Begging your pardon, sir," replied John. "But yes, it was necessary. There are patrols roaming all along the perimeter of this camp. We're very lucky we weren't discovered." Bates saw acceptance of his explanation in Robert's face.

"Very well, sergeant. I bow to your knowledge of the camp and its workings. Which brings me to why I'm here. I will be your contact and the conduit through which your information will be passed on to HQ. We shall be working together again, just as we were in the beginning of the war. Only of course, you won't have to be dressing me or fighting beside me as before. Pity that. We made a good team, you and I"

John rolled his eyes as Colonel Crawley reminisced about their past relationship. "Sir, that is in the past and now we must approach our mission with new intent and clarity of action. Forgive me for asking, but why were you chosen to be our contact? As I recall, General Whelan had made it quite clear that you were to stay clear of this campaign and to not ask to be included again, else he was shipping you back to London."

A smirk played across Robert's face as he recounted to John the series of events that had transpired back at HQ...a series of illnesses and accidents and re-assignment of men that ultimately left him to be the only person with enough knowledge of what the mission was about coupled with an ability to ride a horse and also be physically fit enough to endure the rigors of travel across enemy territory. Colonel Crawley was simply the last man standing that could do the job on such short notice. General Whelan had no choice but to give Robert the role of go-between.

"I tell you it was Kismet, Bates." Robert fairly chortled with glee at the thought of how their fates had been combined.

John sighed deeply and shook his head at the way fate had intervened in crossing their paths once again. He came to terms with the odds that it had happened and knew that he and his team must plow forward and do the best they could under the circumstances. Bates hoped that Robert, in his eagerness and patriotic pride hadn't volunteered for something he just wasn't capable of accomplishing.

"We need to set up a contact time and place to pass along what you and you team have found," the colonel whispered. "This area seems relatively secluded...and there is a hollowed out log over there." Robert pointed to a grove of Quiver trees, one of which had fallen over and lie rotting on the ground.

"We'd like weekly reports, so all you need do is put your team's latest written reconnaissance inside the log. Let's schedule it for every Sunday. I'll come by in the afternoon around 4pm. If you need to speak to me in person we'll meet here at that time. Otherwise, you can just leave the information that morning and go on your way. Do you have a better plan?" Colonel looked intently at John.

"No sir. It sounds like a good plan. During this upcoming week, I'll be sure to take each member of the team by here so that they'll know the drop spot. In case I can't get free, one of them should be able to come. I wasn't expecting for you to make contact with me so soon, so I've not written all the information down at this time... but it will be ready to deliver to you this coming Sunday, Colonel."

"Splendid, Bates. It will be like old times. You'll see. Together we'll help bring the Boers to their knees and end this bloody war in no time, " Robert gushed at his wary comrade.

"Very good, sir. Yes, like old times... And I must be off now to_"

Bates stopped in mid-sentence as he heard a voice in the direction they had originally come from. "Sir, you need to get out of here. Do you know where your horse is?"

Robert nodded yes.

"Then stay put for now, Colonel. I'm going to walk over to the perimeter and see if I can engage whoever is out there in some conversation. Once you hear me talking, head for your horse. Best of luck, sir." John turned and headed to where he heard the voice coming from.

As he drew nearer to the perimeter John could vaguely make out in the distance an outline of a person... but what he saw as he came closer stopped him in his tracks.

It was Marta, and she was calling for him.

As he emerged into the clearing, John's heart skipped a beat being greeted with the warmest, kindest smile he'd seen in years. He noticed relief in her eyes also and happiness akin to finding something she had feared had been lost.

"Ah, there you are Sargent Botha. I saw you head out in this direction a while ago and when you didn't return I got somewhat worried."

"Well, we can't have that," John replied softly. God she was really quite beautiful Bates thought. His eyes roamed over her lovely figure and were again caught up by her flawless skin and strawberry blond hair.

"Yes, I was afraid you'd gotten turned around and lost your bearings. I was coming to rescue you." She giggled at the last sentence. The irony that she should be rescuing such a capable, fine figure of a man like Sgt. Botha struck her as quite funny.

Mindful of Robert's need to disappear unnoticed, John boldly stepped forward and continued the conversation. "Then it's a pity that I was able to rescue myself. I think I would have very much liked being rescued by you, Marta."

At his words the young Ms. Veldhuis' face beamed with Joy and she stepped closer to John.

Just then a horse's whinny broke the momentary silence that had fallen between them. Marta froze in place, her mouth opened to speak but before she could say anything John strode towards her, wrapped his arms gently around her waist and pulled her towards him while planting a soft kiss upon her lips.

Distract her...you've got to distract her... was what rattled through John's brain as he started the kiss. But as he felt her melt into his arms... the tip of her tongue run along his bottom lip, John was momentarily lost in the feel and the taste of Marta. Their lips remained touching, teasing as Bates lost all track of time. His mind was split in two, between honor and duty and the more primal need to pull her in even closer.

Eventually the need for air caused them to pull apart briefly but as Marta encircled John's neck with her hands and pulled him closer to continue their kiss John brought his hands up to her arms and gently pulled them down to her sides.

"Marta, I'm sorry... I don't know what came over me. That was wrong, so very wrong." John could feel his cheeks redden as he proffered his apology. Part of him was ashamed for taking advantage of her to protect Colonel Crawley's exit, but the other side of him felt more happy and enlivened by their exchange than he had felt since leaving Vera.

Green eyes stared up and blinked rapidly and Bates could see them slowly start to fill. Oh God, he'd hurt her feelings. John brought his hands up to cup her face, his thumbs gently wiping aside the tears that had started to roll down her cheeks.

Pulling her towards him, her face resting on his chest, John had to ruefully admit, as he felt his shirt become moistened with the young women's tears. Whoever said that "All's fair in Love and War" certainly didn't know what they were talking about.


End file.
