“Why, from reinvasion of the Argentinians, of course. You’ll remember how hard it was dislodging them after they took the islands back from us the last time. We don’t want that happening again, do we?”

“And the Admiralty believes it could prevent a reinvasion with eighty-two men?”

“Oh, we’re much better armed and more responsive these days than back then,” Sir Tim replied. “We could reinforce your contingent in days, not weeks.”

“And how long is the posting, sir? It’s temporary, I assume.”

“No, it’s a normal two-year rotation, possibly three, should difficulties arise.” Sir Tim looked at him, frowning. “Is something wrong, Brigadier?”

“Not quite what I hoped for, sir,” Fife-Simpson replied.

“Well, in these days of peacetime, our numbers have shrunk, and so have the number of postings available. I might be able to find you something in West Africa, but the climate there is, shall we say, inhospitable, and the risk of tropical infections formidable.”

“Thank you, sir, I don’t think so. May I ask: Do I have another alternative?”

“Well, there’s always retirement, I suppose.” He looked at the file before him. “You’ve another year before being eligible for a full pension, though. Perhaps I could fudge that a bit, if you wish me to.”

“May I have a few days to consider my options, sir?”

“Of course, Roger. Ring me as soon as you can and let me know your wishes in the matter. In the meantime, I’ll see what might be done about the pension.” He stood, signaling that the meeting was at an end. “I might be able to do something without board approval.” As he spoke he tilted the file in his hand, and an index card fell out onto the coffee table. Sir Tim picked it up and looked at it. “Oh, yes, I was given this to hand to you by the First Lord. It appears to be a website. Something to do with the Falklands, I imagine.” He handed it to the brigadier, who tucked it into a pocket, then saluted and left the room.

—

It had begun to rain. It took the yeoman at the front door a few minutes to find him a cab. By then it was coming down so hard that he got quite wet while getting into the taxi, which did not help to lift the depression that had befallen him on hearing of his new posting. The Falklands, for God’s sake! It was the other end of the earth! Bleak and with no women. And two years of it, perhaps three!

—