Schaffhausen, Switzerland — Monday, 21 June 1915

After a six thirty departure from Sonnenhang, David and Maria stood on the platform in Schaffhausen on Monday morning in a light drizzle as the train pulled into the station. He looked at his watch. "Six minutes," he said as he let out a deep sigh and wrapped her in his arms. "You've filled my life so full these past seven weeks. Such depths of feelings. So many emotions I never knew existed. You've permeated my whole being. It's difficult now to tell where I end, and you begin."

Her voice caught in her throat, so she nodded in silence, then laid her head on his shoulder, her cheeks wet with tears.

"Here comes my car. Let's walk along with it until it stops."

They stood by the open door and kissed, then stared silently at each other for a long while before he picked up his satchel, squeezed her hand and turned to step up into the car. He moved along to his compartment, opened the window and reached out to her raised hand as the lump in his throat grew.

She walked along the platform when the train began to move, then as it gained speed, she let go his hand, stopped and waved.

He leaned out, waving back to her as she receded into the distance, then disappeared. Tears welled in his eyes as he pulled his head in and closed the window. After looking at others in the compartment, he sunk to his seat and put his face down into his hands. Oh, God! What am I doing?

His mind whirled with images and scrambled memories. I must be daft to be leaving her. Her wonderful family. The peaceful calmness of Switzerland. The... His thoughts were interrupted by the conductor asking for his ticket. He pulled the bundle from his breast pocket and leafed through it to select the ticket to Winterthur.

After it was examined, punched and returned, he sat back in his seat, staring blankly through the window as he thought about what the admin clerk had said last week: A year ago, the trip would have been a single overnight train to the Channel ferry. David looked at all the tickets in his hands. God, how the war has disrupted everything. Now change in Winterthur, in Zürich, in Basel, in Belfort, then an overnight in a Paris hotel before catching a sixth train to the coast for the ferry.

He glanced around his compartment. So few in here. Strange, last year crossing Canada. An open coach car with five or six dozen other volunteers. He laughed to himself. But that was more comfortable than being stuffed into French boxcars for the three-day trip to the Belgian trenches. He examined his punched ticket. First Class. He looked at the others in the bundle. All are. Looks like I'm already being treated as an officer. Makes sense, I guess. Status would have changed from being a private with the posting to the OTC. He looked at the name: Herr JD Meier. Must remember to use my Swiss identity until I'm in France.

David focused again on the train and recalled his meetings at the Embassy the previous week and what Skipworth had told him: The most powerful weapons each side has at the moment are their railways, enabling troops and supplies to be moved quickly to the Front. He pursed his lips and nodded to himself. That certainly makes sense. Probably why I was so eagerly received.

He pulled an envelope from his pocket, took the pages from it and began rereading the intelligence briefing: ... It appears now that the German plan was to rapidly concentrate their forces by rail along both their eastern and their western boundaries. They expected the Russian Army to be slow in mobilising, so their strategy seems to have been to first sweep across Belgium and Luxembourg and through northern France to encircle Paris. Following the expected swift French surrender, the German assault would be turned to concentrate on the Russians. He nodded as he read it. A great plan... unless there's unconventional resistance.

He continued reading: The strong Belgian resistance included widespread demolition of their own railway infrastructure, quickly disabling their entire network. David stared through the window and thought. Brilliant Belgian strategy to destroy their own railways and bridges. That, more than anything else, stopped the German advance.

The briefing paper continued: Each division of twelve thousand men requires every day the equivalent of two supply trains of forty waggons each to replenish food, water, ammunition and other necessities. Without the Belgian rails, the German advance was severely delayed. They almost immediately outran their supply lines, and in many places, they were more than fifty miles ahead of their nearest railhead. Their motorised and horse-drawn transports could not adequately bridge the gaps.

He stared out the window again and analysed the information. The bold Belgian move gave time for the French and British troops to deploy. Had the Belgians not destroyed their rail infrastructure, I wouldn't even be here. The war would have been over last September while I was still training in Quebec. God, now when will it end? We've been stuck for nine months in a bitter stalemate across four hundred and fifty miles of trenches.

He refolded the papers, slid them into their envelope and returned it to his pocket as he closed his eyes and thought. The rail lines are vital to each side in this conflict. Will my schemes be sufficient to have anything but a temporary effect? How long will it take them to reroute, restore, rebuild?

He shook his head. Only way to find out is to do it.