He stretched out his right leg under the desk. It always ached but this damp December weather intensified the pain, making it more and more difficult for him to control his limp or even keep his thoughts on his work. Icy rain rattled the window of his office, and he sat back, sighing. It must be hell on earth out there on the German border, he thought. Why wasn’t he there, doing what he could for the wounded? There would be plenty, he was well aware of that; the Germans wouldn’t give up easily but would fight every inch of the Allied advance to Berlin. Which was pig-headed of them and most of them knew it, the officers in particular. It would be so much better for them if the Western allies got there first, rather than the Russians. Ken sat back in his chair and gazed out of the window at the rain. He considered taking extra medication for the pain in his leg but decided against it; he couldn’t afford to dull his reactions, he had a theatre list in the afternoon. He got painfully to his feet and went to the cupboard in the corner.
