Well, they awarded me the CGC. Men deserved it more, really. I was only doing my duty. Good lads, all of them.

But I digress. I am ensconced in Majorca, at the Uncle's place in Puerto de Pollensa. Never thought the trip would be so rough. Tavish came with me, gave me a morphine when we hit some rough weather. Don't like it, makes you silly. Anyway, we landed at an Eyetie airfield, where they transfered me to a med flight to the Rock. Wanted to put me in hospital there, but I showed them my orders and they laid on a flight for me to Palma de Mallorca. Arranged for a car, Tavish drove, and here we are.

So, Miss Rutledge is in Paris? Are we certain of that? I can't believe that she'd be shouting, especially in a hotel; that sort of thing is so very not done. I want to soak up some sun tomorrow, get my strength back as I think I'm going to need it. Right now Tavish wants me to take my medicine and sleep.

Be a good chap and let me know what's turning up, Winston. And for the record, I can't recommend being machine gunned.