West Falls

Colonel Fitzpatrick was a busy man, so finding room in his day to speak to a reporter from a newspaper he'd never heard of was a particular nuisance. Quite why such a thing had, not only reached his desk, but actually been booked in was taking up more brain space than he'd normally like.

Here he was though, sitting opposite this nervy looking young man, who was clearly rattled by the Colonel's stripes and medals. The reporter was obviously as shocked as he was that his request had reached so high.

"We're here now, Son, what is it you need?"

The reporter fidgeted with his notepad while he composed himself enough to get an answer out."First of all, Sir, let me apologise for bothering you. I had no idea they would send this so far up the chain...I assumed I'd be speaking to an intern, or-"

The Colonel nodded, "That's great, Son, and I appreciate it, but I'm a busy man, and you're here, so how can I help you?"

The reporter wiped a line of sweat from his brow. "I'm actually here on behalf of one Elaine McPherson. Her husband was...lost, in Afghanistan and-"

"We lost many brave men and women over there. I imagine she was well compensated at the time. Is that what this is about?"

"No, Sir. Her husband is still alive, but, he's...in a vegetative state, you might say."

"I see."

"It's the circumstances surrounding it that Mrs McPherson has concerns about."

"Specifically?"

"Well, Sir, the Army told her that her husband, Private John McPherson, had sustained massive concussive injuries in an explosion, leading to severe brain damage, and there was nothing to be done to help him."

The Colonel nodded. "That's a rough one. I assume he is being made as comfortable as possible? We look after out soldiers here."

"He is, Sir. He's currently in a care home, and is well looked after."

"That's good to know. So, how can I help Mrs McPherson?"

The reporter hesitated, seemingly unsure how to broach the subject with such a high ranking officer.

"Son," the Colonel said, "I'm not unsympathetic but, as I've said, I'm a busy man."

"Mrs McPherson is a high ranking nurse, Sir. Even to her eyes, the explanation as to her husbands state seemed off. She called in a few favours to have her husband seen by...outside specialists, and they all concluded that there was no sign of physical damage to the brain, as would be seen in the circumstances described."

Colonel Fitzpatrick straightened up, took a deep breath, and adjusted some stationary on his desk. "Mrs McPherson thinks the British Army lied to her?"

"Sir, I don't think that's what she was saying, per se,-"

"Per Se?"

"The specialists seemed to think that Private McPherson's brain was, in fact, still perfectly healthy, but was stuck, like...a computer that had crashed and needed reset-"

"Per se?" the Colonel said again, the anger in his voice now less controlled.

The reporter was avoiding eye contact by rummaging in his bag.

"I have a file here, with his photo. If I could bother you to take a look."

He placed the folder gently on the table.

"It sounds to me, awfully like, Mrs McPherson, is calling the British Army 'specialists' liars, and you smelled a nice little story for your paper. To what end I wonder? Chipping away at one of the country's great institutions for your own glory? Is that it? British Army turning men into robots!That's why you're here? Poor woman loses her husband and you fill her head with stories like this?"

He slammed his hand down on the folder and dragged it over to his side of the desk, where he flipped it open and was confronted with a ghost of Christmas past.

The reporter must have noticed the slight reaction to the image, as he asked, "You know the Private in question, Sir?"

The Colonel closed the folder and took a moment to compose himself. "Sadly, no. Just a reminder that we stand on the foundations of these men and women who so often go forgotten. You must forgive my outburst. Tell me again - these other doctor's...specialists, seemed to think he was fine?"

"Yes, Sir, in as much as his brain was healthy. He just appears to be stuck. Almost like a state of hypnosis they said, but without anyone to snap him out of it."

"Curious!"

"Yes, Sir. Mrs McPherson began to wonder if her husband had been subject to some new kind of...Psychic weaponry, or-"

Colonel Fitzpatrick raised an eyebrow.

"She's just looking for answers that make sense, Sir."

"I understand. Let's perhaps keep the Psychic weaponry nonsense off the table though, yes? Do you have contact details?"

"Yes, Sir," the reporter said, and handed over a business card.

"I will pass this on to the relevant department and talk to his unit Officers, to see what we can discover. Perhaps we can get Mrs McPherson some sensible answers."

"Thank you, Sir, I'm sure she will be glad to know her request is being taken seriously."

The reporter tidied away his notepad and grabbed his jacket from the back of his chair, but hesitated before standing up, realising there was something left unasked.

The Colonel was now standing ready to escort him to the door, and saw the look on his face. "Speak freely, Son, you're a civilian."

"I'm just concerned, Sir, that the answer will be the same: Concussive damage, explosion, nothing we could do!"

"Then that will be the Army's answer."

The reporter nodded. "Thank you for your time, Sir."

Colonel Fitzpatrick saw the man out then returned to his desk. He looked at the folder lying there. He was one of only thirteen men who knew exactly what happened to Private McPherson. He picked up his phone to call the others.