He seemed like a distant memory, now. Three others had been killed and several had been wounded. She wondered when it was going to be her turn.The Gun...Sergeant was still with them. He'd recovered from his bout of concussion and had sought out his old crew. Regretfully, he told them, the young lad, de Castries son, hadn't made it. He'd died that evening. Father and son together, this was a filthy war, Benin thought.She wondered every night about John Greenhaugh. Had he been shot down? Or maybe. ‘No, I’m fine,’ she says. She gets up onto the bed and lies gently back down on it. I watch as she leans slightly up on her elbows and watches me with a lascivious, seductive gaze before I turn back to the lurid lines of coke on the desk. Taking out a five pound note, I roll it up and take a hard, quick, spirited snort. Immediately, I feel the buzz. It goes straight to my head, and I feel the highly charged effect of the white, potent powder in all its exhilarating, death defying glory. ‘What a. More

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