But at a stalag he should be able to find a trustworthy POW, a POW he might be able to recruit as a link-man, a POW untainted by any connection with a Pugh or a Maclaren. The only problem, Lockhart thought, was finding a POW who would trust him in return. But he couldn’t let that stop him, couldn’t allow that to be a hindrance. The threat of sarin was too huge, and he needed to act, to clutch whatever straws blew toward him. With the absence of any further information about the gas, the best he could do for the present was to let London know about it.

That night, in his small room, Lockhart took two hours to write a letter that looked like any other from a British POW, complete with deliberate spelling mistakes:

Dear Hattie,

It’s a bloody big stalag this! Richard Welsh arrived here Wednesday night, really upset and tired. Also, Will Thomas, Betty’s husband! How about that? Anyway, how’s Father? Still selling Mum’s jam at market? We don’t have fresh food here except bad eggs if the guards have left some to go manky! Life is all right, even managed to find some flowers to plant and look after! They’re quite ugly little things really. I reckon daffs would grow well here—soil’s excellently rich and breaks up into fine lumps of mulch. Anyway, fat chance!

Any further grumbles from Walter’s dickey tummy? He’s not been to our favorite quack doctor or has he stayed away this time? Poor Walt! Perhaps it’s got better now I hope! Must be flipping boring sitting around with nothing to eat or drink. Please send my love when he’s around next.

I hope this war might end soon, as my flippin feet are bloody well blistered because our stupid heavy boots wore thin as wafers on our grim march over here. Would give hundred pounds to cobbler Phil! Any shoes apart from my dodgy, old, sodding, damn smelly, delapidated footwear! I must complain every day to the Huns but they couldn’t be slightly bothered. I wonder whether German POWs have found their guards equally tough nuts?

Please forgive constant complaning! Things well? And you and Ian doing well? We’re so happy married life suits both of you and your Jimmy is coming along helthily. I miss following his progress week by week! Sitting him on my knee was one happy moment!

Take care Sis! With love, your

Lockhart deliberately left out a name. That would come courtesy of whoever it was that sent the letter. The code was simple, but it was unlikely that the German censor would have either the wit or the time to uncover the eighteen-word message contained within it:

In renegade unit British Free Corps in Hildesheim have learned nerve gas sarin held in place starting Mitt