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Much to Josiah’s surprise, she let out a loud whoop and turned to face the rest of the unit.

“Finally! Pay up,” she yelled, pointing at the ring on Peter’s finger.

“What took you so long, Sarge?” she asked cheekily, spinning back around to face him.

“We opened a book on you making an honest man of the captain months ago.”

Josiah stood there, his mouth open, dumbfounded.

Peter let out a howl of laughter that went on for so long he almost choked. “We’re not actually married,” he spluttered eventually.

“We’re engaged,” Josiah corrected stonily, uncomfortable with the fact that their relationship had been the subject of gossip.

“Your secret is safe with us, sir,” Big Jen said, tapping the side of her nose.

“No,” Josiah said sharply. “We won’t ask you to keep our secret or to lie for us. If you want to report us, we understand.”

“As if,” Big Jen laughed. “We look after our own.”

And that was that .

The convoy resumed its slow journey across the war-torn countryside, but this time it was different: conditions were far more dangerous since the scavs were more numerous.

It took them much longer to make progress as they were forced into pitched battles every few days, and the need to remain ever vigilant took its toll.

They were, therefore, exhausted a couple of months later when they stopped at the base camp to resupply – and surprised to find a lumpy package waiting for them.

“What is it?” Josiah asked, feeling the weight of it.

“No idea, but it’s addressed to us both.” Peter ripped open the box to discover a small, misshapen pot inside, carefully wrapped and accompanied by a handwritten note:

Don’t laugh! It’s a first attempt. Uncle Simon is teaching me the family business. Hope you’re both well. Lots of love, Liz.

“Yes, but what actually is it?” Josiah held it up and studied it.

“A jug? Maybe?” Peter grinned. “Good for Liz.”

“How did she know where we’d be?”

“I keep in touch.” Peter shrugged.

“Isn’t that risky?”

“It’s all risky.” Peter shrugged again, a gleam in his eye.

“Hang on. I know that look.” Josiah took him by the arm and dragged him out of earshot. “Is there anything you should tell me, Peter Hunt?”

“I was going to – just as soon as I was sure.” Peter handed him his nanopad. “It’s a message from Elsie. She can get a new shipment out of England by the end of next week if we can get the convoy to Normandy in time.”

“It’ll be tight,” Josiah said slowly. “But we can do it if we drive a hard pace. I reckon we can clip a day off the time if we take that new route I told you about yesterday. ”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “No lectures?”

“No. This is who you are; I knew that going in. I’m not going to try and change you – my job is to keep you safe while you fulfil that saviour complex of yours.”

“My hero.” Peter pressed a grateful kiss to his cheek. “You know, Joe, this is going to be a lot more fun with you on board.”

“You and I have completely different ideas of fun.” Josiah rolled his eyes, although he couldn’t deny he felt a thrill all the same.

When they arrived at the supply camp in Normandy, another misshapen package was waiting for them.

“What do you think? A cup?” Peter held it up.

“Hmm… I think so. It’s better than her last attempt; it doesn’t topple over when you set it down.” Josiah demonstrated, placing the ceramic object on a chair. “Anything from Elsie?” he asked in a softer voice.

“Yes. Our guests will be waiting for us in a warehouse an hour away from here. We’ll take one of the trucks out this evening and pick them up.”

After it had grown dark, they slipped out of camp.

“Why do they need our help once they’ve arrived?” Josiah queried as they drove. “They’re out of the UK; surely that’s the hard bit?”

“It is, but all the port towns over here are teeming with bounty hunters. It’s big business tracking down escaped indentured servants.

We can’t just dump them here and wash our hands of them.

If they get picked up, they might betray us.

So, we take them on to safer areas, and hand them over to people we can trust to look after them until they find their feet. ”

“Who organises the other side of it?” Josiah asked. “The getting out of the UK bit? Is that Elsie?”

“Elsie’s a little too old for that. She’s our liaison – she takes calls from escaped indies and arranges collection.

We have a network of volunteers in the UK that Elsie runs.

They pick up the indies and care for them until we can arrange shipment out.

We have a number of routes for that. I’m just a small part of a much bigger operation, Joe. ”

“Yeah, but it’s your operation, isn’t it? You set it up. You know where all the bodies are buried – metaphorically speaking.”

Peter grimaced. “We all do our bit. I work the convoys most of the year, so I have people I rely on back home.”

“It’s a miracle you haven’t been caught.”

“Planning and logistics.” Peter grinned. “The army taught me well.”

The warehouse held around twenty indies, and the volunteer who’d spirited them out of Britain.

Peter exchanged a few words with her, introduced her to Josiah, and then they loaded the escapees into the back of the truck, where supplies of food, water, and medication were waiting.

They were a poor, huddled mass of humanity, visibly scared, some in poor shape physically, while others were clearly struggling with the stress of their escape. All of them were pathetically grateful.

“I can see why you do this,” Josiah said quietly as they drove back to camp with their human cargo.

“Yeah, I knew you would.” Peter squeezed his hand.

Josiah was on tenterhooks for the duration of their mission, worrying constantly about the indies being discovered in the back of the truck.

“Relax. I’ve done this before,” Peter laughed.

“It’s nerve-wracking.”

“You get used to it.”

Josiah brought supplies to the indies every other evening, taking it in turns with Peter.

He waited until the camp was quiet before slipping into the truck.

Some talked to him, while others were just silent, pinched faces in the dark.

Nonetheless, each of them had a story, and Josiah was almost sorry to say goodbye when they reached LKG.

He breathed a sigh of relief when the indies had been safely dispatched to their contact in the sprawling barge city. He hadn’t slept properly since picking them up, unlike Peter, who snored the nights away peacefully .

That night, Josiah fell into a deep, relieved slumber the minute his head hit the pillow, only to be woken in the early hours by the sound of gunfire. Peter was already jumping out of bed, reaching for his gun; Josiah wasn’t far behind.

The camp was awash with what at first he took to be scavs – except that these attackers were well organised and had guns.

“Militia,” Peter snapped grimly as the unit fell into a line of defence around the trucks. “Run by the warlords.”

“So close to the Barkhausen camp?” Josiah hissed, hunkering down beside him.

“The warlords are winning at the moment; we might not have the camp for much longer. I’ve called for backup, but we’ll have to hold them off until it comes. Think we can do that?”

“I was at Rosengarten, remember?” Josiah shot him a grin and turned to instruct the unit.

The fighting was fast and intense, but there was no sign of the promised backup. Finally, Peter had no choice but to order a retreat. The convoy was lost, all the trucks and medical supplies surrendered to the militia. Josiah was just glad they’d got all the indies out in time.

Their opponents fired at them furiously as they fell back, and it was chaos.

The unit scattered, running in the dark with gunfire flashing all around.

Keeping his head down, Josiah sprinted as fast as he could towards a patch of woodland in the distance, Peter always in sight beside him.

He saw Little Jen go down in a hail of bullets, then heard a sharp crack and saw Peter stumble, his leg suddenly covered in blood.

Picking Peter up, he slung his arm over his shoulder and dragged him towards the cover of nearby trees.

“I can’t walk. You should leave me,” Peter protested, panting heavily as Josiah propped him up against a trunk and fastened a makeshift tourniquet above his wound. “There’s no chance we’ll both get out of this alive.”

“Then we’ll both die, because I’m not leaving you.” Looking back through the trees to see if they were being followed, he caught sight of a group of militia in the distance and took hold of Peter again.

“Leave me!” Peter growled. That’s an order. ”

“You’re not the only one who can disobey orders, you know,” he retorted. Heaving Peter onto his back, he set off again.

He wasn’t sure how far he ran, or for how long, dodging bullets along the way.

One of them must have hit home, because his shoulder suddenly started to hurt, but he paid it no attention.

He was still running when another bullet hit his leg, and he went flying down the side of a hill, coming to rest at the bottom with a thud.

Confused, he looked through a curtain of blood to see Peter crawling towards him.

“Joe… Joe!” Peter’s face appeared above him, framed by the light of the moon… no, that wasn’t the moon… that was…

“Helicopters,” he croaked, pointing up into the air.

“Oh, thank God for that,” Peter gasped, looking up. “Joe!” He turned back. “Stay with me, Joe.”

“I’m fine,” he lied, his tongue feeling thick and lazy in his mouth. He must have lost consciousness for a moment, because when he came to, he could hear himself groaning, and Peter was leaning over him.

“Just rest easy. I’ve radioed our position. They’ll find us soon. Look – I can see them coming.” The bright lights in the distance grew closer and closer, the wind from the helicopter blades making the trees rustle violently.

“About fucking time,” Josiah said, and then he passed out.