David approached the table bearing a William Evans banner and said to the man who greeted him, "I've a Mauser pistol I took from a German officer. I was told you might stock ammunition for it."

"Which model is it?"

"I don't know, but it has an unusually long barrel and a wooden holster that converts it to a rifle."

"That's the C-96, called the broomstick. High velocity, accurate, a fine pistol. It takes 7.63 millimetre cartridges, which we carry."

"How does the Mauser compare to our Army issue?"

"The broomstick has a much higher muzzle velocity, and it's more accurate without the firing kick that plagues the Webley. It loads from a ten-cartridge clip, rather than having to individually load six chambers in the Webley revolver, so it's much quicker. The only drawback seems to be that it's not as compact."

"The cartridges. You've a good stock of them? You can't reorder from Germany now."

"The Russians also manufacture them, so there's no concern."

David picked up a card from the stack, read it and said, "Thank you, I'll visit you when I'm in London." He looked around and saw the queue had disappeared from the front table. On his way along the line of tables, he paused to peruse at a selection of compasses and binoculars, then thought: Surely we're issued these.

He continued to the front and took a requirements list from the table, then sat to read it through. Why do we need all this? What good will mess dress serve at the Front? Or in my covert activities?

He stood and walked across to the clothiers' displays and stopped at one that had an unoccupied agent. "Good morning. Have you the patterns for the Canadian Pioneers?"

"No, Sir, but the British ones would be similar, though. All your uniforms are patterned on ours."

David pointed to the lace-work on the sleeves of the number twos. "I saw many officers at the Front with unadorned sleeves and their pips stitched on their shoulders. Is that an option?"

"No Sir. Against regulations. The rank must be clear and prominent."

"So the officers will be more easily identified and targeted by the enemy's snipers, I suppose."

The man stared blankly at him, then said. "No, Sir. You misunderstand. It's so the officer can be easily recognised by the men."

David nodded his head. "Thank you." He turned and walked past the line of tables. All the same. Fancy pale lace. Seems silly to me. He continued to Bates Hatter to look at their selection of service caps, selected a style, had his head measured and signed the order.

He stopped at a bootmaker and picked up a boot to examine the lacing up the instep. "These are fully bellowed under the lacing, Sir. The shaft is a single piece and the seams are flat felled, making the boot as waterproof as leather can be fashioned."

"These appear finely crafted. How long would it take you to make me a pair?"

"Two weeks at the moment, Sir. I can measure you if you wish."

"I could visit your shop."

"We're in London, Sir." He presented a card from the table:

Foster & Son
5 Eagle Place
London

"It's between Piccadilly and Jermyn a block west of Regent Street."

"I'll not have a chance to get there before these are required." He studied the design and the workmanship, then looked at the price. Sixty-three shillings. He pursed his lips. "Yes, measure me, please."

When the man had finished measuring and had completed writing the order for David's signature, he said, "We also have a full range of leatherwork, Sir. Sam Browne, revolver holster, compass case, binocular case, map case..." He pointed to each item in his displays as he spoke.

David looked at them, then asked, "Do the issued revolver, compass and binoculars not come with their own cases?"

"They do, Sir, but their designs and leathers are mismatched. Look at how well these are coordinated."

"That's all very fine, but will fashion help me fight the enemy?"

While the man stood in silence, David scanned his requirements list. "Appears the Sam Browne is the only required item here. I'll have you measure me for one as well."

He measured David and added the harness to the order. "Will that be all, Sir?"

"Yes, thank you." He signed the order, and continued along the line of tables, pausing at one to try on gloves and purchase a pair. At the end of the row, he turned and looked back at all the merchants. They're making a good fortune from this British stupidity. Why must we look as if we've stepped out of a fashion plate? How will this serve in the blood and muck of battle?

He looked at his list of requirements again. Seems the Brits are still stuck in the aristocratic thing. The class nonsense. Many of their pompous buffoons I saw in Belgium were dangerous to themselves and even more dangerous to follow. They'll soon weed themselves out, though, sticking out like pulsating neon signs to invite the snipers.

"You're obviously the one with the beard the Sergeant-Major told me about. You'll have that off for him before lunch, Cadet."

David looked up to see Second Lieutenant Bishop addressing him. "Sir, I'm a member of the Pioneers. Lieutenant Condon had earlier approved of it, provided I keep it well-trimmed for the duration of the course."

"I'll inform the Sergeant-Major."

"Lieutenant Condon is seeing to it, Sir. I spoke with him outside before we began this session."

"Fine, thank you. I'm sure the Sergeant-Major also reamed you out for presenting in civvies."

"He did, Sir. I had to leave my entire kit behind in Belgium as I evaded capture."

"I'm interrupting your process here, then. You've an entire kit to assemble."

"Appears I've finished here, Sir. I've ordered boots, a cap, a Sam Browne and bought gloves. I've also confirmed a supply of ammunition for my Mauser."

"Your Mauser?"

"I took it from a German officer as I evaded southward to Switzerland, Sir." He looked down at his clothes. "These are what I found in the shops as I headed through Germany."

"And your new uniforms. You've ordered them already?"

"No, Sir. I'm meeting with my tailor's agent in my quarters at noon."

"Who have you chosen?"

"Hawkes and Company, Sir."

"I'm not familiar with them."

"They're in London, Sir." He motioned to the tables. "They haven't sent an agent here, but my batman was working with them before the war. His father's a tailor there, and the company seems to be well respected, with Royal Warrants from George the Third and onward."

"Your batman? You must be the field-commissioned Lieutenant I noted on the list."

"Yes, Sir. Berry, David Berry."

"You needn't call me sir. You out-rank me."

"Your appointment, Sir."

"Yes, of course. You're correct." He looked along the line of tables. "There are others that need my assistance. I look forward to working with you through the course."