December 1915
"Your name?" The speaker accompanied his words with a kick in his ribs and what seemed like a bucket of warm water emptied in his face.
Selkirk opened his eyes. He was aware only of the thumping pain in his head and the flickering fire nearby.
There was another kick, hard, on the wound on his thigh. "Your name?" The voice was hard and heavily accented, but not Turkish. "What is your name?" A face peered into his, chilling blue eyes above a Roman nose disfigured by a broad scar, with cropped blonde hair turning grey. "Are you Major Selkirk of the Royal Borderers?"
I know that face. This man was at the meeting in Jerusalem. Hefferman.
Selkirk turned over on his side and spewed on the ground. The man kicked him again, grunting.
"Are you Major Selkirk?"
Selkirk tried to st
