Triberg, Germany — Friday 5 November 1915

David eased the lorry to a stop in the market square in front of the train station in Triberg at eight thirty-five on Friday morning. Within ten minutes Franz and Fred had helped him set up their stand, and they began a brisk business.

"Going much faster than yesterday." David looked around at the other market tables. "I'm going to check prices."

He was quickly back. "They're all twenty and higher for inferior quality. I should have checked before we started." He shuffled through the plaques and took out the two 20 Pf ones and hung them on the pegs, then said to the six women at the table, "Die sechzehn Pfennig Preis wird für Sie geehrt... The sixteen Pfennig price will be honoured for you."

After the six women had been served, David took Franz aside. "We've still a good number waiting. I'm going around again for a more detailed survey of prices and quality. No sense underselling ourselves." He chuckled. "That would be aiding the enemy."

"There are none out there as good as ours." David swept his arm across the scene when he returned. "They all have theirs priced above twenty, some as high as twenty-five. There must be a big shortage here. Twenty is the highest plaque we have."

Fred patted his pocket. "I've a chinagraph pencil and we can convert the zeros to a sixes. Make the price twenty-six."

David smiled as Fred took out the pencil. "That's great initiative and creative thinking. You modify the plaques while I inform the waiting customers." He turned to the four women. "Die zwanzig Pfennig Preis wird für Sie geehrt... The twenty Pfennig price will be honoured for you."

Their sales continued at a steady pace, and they emptied the last of the twenty bins shortly past eleven. "Another five hundred kilograms. That's a tonne of potatoes now, probably close to two hundred Marks." David hefted the money pouch. "Tante Bethia will be pleased. Let's pack up, then wander through the market. See what we can learn."

As they sat a quarter hour later, sipping their beer in the gasthaus, David said, "With the steep, rocky terrain around here, there's not much land suitable for garden plots. Yesterday at Titisee, we saw ample suitable growing sites around the shores of the lake. But here, Triberg seems to have far outgrown its ability to feed itself, and it depends on importing food."

Fred nodded. "It appears it's brought in by train. That's why the market is in front of the station."

"At least here in the countryside, there's some opportunity to grow crops and raise livestock." Franz looked up from his stein. "Think of the millions living in dense cities. I bet come spring, many of the cities will have their parks dug up and converted to vegetable gardens."

Blumberg, Germany — Saturday 6 November 1915

At ten past eight on Saturday morning, David manoeuvred the lorry into a space at the edge of the market square in Blumberg. "Georg, you go check the prices and qualities while Greg and I set up."

They decided to set their price at fifteen, one Pfennig more than the highest Georg had seen. "Ours are clearly the best quality. Some look barely good enough for seed."

The final bin was emptied shortly before noon, and after they had loaded the lorry, they went across the square to the gasthaus.

"Markedly lower prices here than yesterday," David said. "But there's so much more arable land here than in the steep confines of Triberg. Good for growing, but difficult for our purposes."

"Impressive bridges." Georg looked up from his beer. "We saw every one of them on the drive up to the pass, all out in the open. Unfortunately, very open and very well guarded. Posts at both ends and underneath each of them. This will be difficult."

"Might make sense to ignore the viaducts and tunnels." David shrugged. "They've concentrated their guard there making any covert access impossible. Take a look at the rock cuts near Grimmelschofen. There must be some places they're not guarding."

It was nearly fourteen forty when David and Greg arrived back at Sonnenhang. They went down to the construction site to visit the crews. The tool shed had been completed on Thursday morning, and now all the work was concentrated on tunnelling and preparing the field. Sergeant Perrier greeted David as they arrived.

"We passed the seventy-foot mark of the drift mid-morning, Sir. We're well over a quarter of the way along now, and so far, there's only minimal water seepage. Sure would be easy if we had this chalk in Flanders."

"Rachel... Frau Meier told me the chalk cliffs of Dover dip under the Channel and come up again in the Champagne district near Reims. The best vineyards there are planted in that chalk. It's likely deep beneath the layers of Flanders clay." David looked at his watch, then at the Sergeant. "Have your crew stop now for the week. Tidy things here, then clean yourselves up. Let's all take an early tea as we relax and debrief under the oaks."

Forty minutes later, the cooks brought out platters and joined them at the tables, and once everyone had settled, David stood and called for attention. "I'm very pleased with the progress I see. The tunnel is moving more quickly than we had thought and the work on the field still appears normal to outside observers. Manny's idea to knock the top off the domes and spread the crumbled chalk has made an even better disguise for the tunnel tailings."

Bethia stood and spoke. "This will also make a much larger portion of the field suitable for planting. I'm delighted about that." She raised her glass and continued, "You can see how this wine has clarified in the fortnight since you first had it, and how it's gained complexity." A wide smile grew on her face. "Like your project has. Here's to grand success in all our endeavours."