The mud has been much warmer these winter days.

Musk of a thousand cigarettes folds into sweeter clouds where the snow is falling. Memories of plum pudding stay wholesome in the mouth. Photographs exchanged, including those of the seductive nymph that is Princess Mary.

The hand of the enemy is flesh and blood; the breath of the enemy echoes the world that all St. Georges men have left across the water. Voices of the enemy sing carols with words just as holy. A winter sun shines proudly as the old year fades and weariness sinks into the muddy plain. Men have found peace. Pride, not duty keeps their firing pins clean.

Second Lieutenant Lucien Farrier-Smith, hates turning a blind eye to the strangers that creep into the trench at day. They are an affront to everything right in the world. God made Englishmen to lead this rabble and sweep away the solidarity that has infected the lines. Lucien remembers the apple orchards of the family estate. Teapots on silver trays, secrets he made housemaids keep and the tangled haired promise that Miss Audrey Blanchard revealed before he left for France.

That world must return.

If men will not obey, then Lucien will lead.

He watches the interloper crawl out of the trench, a sack of cigarettes and hardening pudding slung over his shoulder. Not a man moves to stop the fellow. Lucien raises his pistol and shoots down the blight before him.

Another shot, followed by another and another until the killing starts again.

Lucien believes by next Christmas all this will have passed and the world returned to the well being of true, righteous gentlemen.