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2.7 Sarah O'Malley, Publican of the Foxes Covert Inn, Skibbereen

Peadar MacGillicuddy and his son Kienan had lost their transit truck to an Irish M.U, the L.P.A that "needed it for the cause" fighting the Finns. The whole countryside had become numb to this. Sure even the old grey farmers had a system among themselves. They'd the timing of the pitched battles through a mix of their own children's or grandchildren's reports and the foreign soldier-tourists fighting in them. They knew when they were going to happen and who'd win and talked about it as casually as a weather forecast. So many young people were either dead or had fled from service that funerals were seen as gaudy and self indulgent.

Everyone knew what Rasa Blank had done in Dublin but it seemed like a far off fever dream. No one expected it to last. On the map Dublin may have been relatively close but getting there unscathed was another thing altogether. I was at the grocers when I saw my delivery coming. MacGillicuddy & Son Brewery was painted carefully on the side of a horse float and carried along by two soon to be knackered aul racehorses struggling into town with MacGillicuddy sat on a makeshift bench guiding the load and his son a couple of paces behind, armed with a fairly heavy looking machine gun.

"That's sixteen casks you owe me for Sarah. I can't keep this up." MacGillicuddy huffed, dropping down from his bench. His son had managed to dodge being drafted, he'd been kicked in the head by a mule as a child. I was nervous looking at him with that big machine gun he was hugging. "I owe you nothing you lecher! I've paid you a month in advance and you're late again!" MacGillicuddy stroked his beard. "Is that so?" he said, taking a small notebook from inside his long scruffy tweed jacket." He thumbed through it ceremoniously. Kienan, his son scowled at me. I was used to this pageantry but my husband wasn't.

Even though Mick couldn't talk anymore he was quite eloquent in his body language. He stepped from the other side of the trailer as if from nowhere and calmed both horses. "Commander, Sergeant.. Mr. O'Malley! So good to see you safe and home. I hope the roads were kind to you.. Back from Dublin so soon. Any news of-" Mick shot him a withering look. I wanted to stop him but MacGillicuddy had been wrecking my head since he'd left so I must admit it was satisfying to watch. Mick approached MacGillicuddy's son Kienan, brushing past a pale looking aul Peader. Kienan aimed his heavy gun at Mick, looking to his Father for guidance, but in looking away he'd been swept off his feet with Mick catching the gun as it left his hands.

"I'm so so sorry sir! Please don't hurt him, he's not right in the head and-" Mick gave him a weary look as he dismantled the machine gun. He gave me the dismantled pieces with a wink and helped the idiot boy, Kienan up to his feet. With his hands on his hips he loomed over MacGillicuddy and nodded at the trailer and then towards our bar. "Right! Right away sir! Sorry again I'm so sorry, he's simple you see and-" Mick placed a finger over his lips and nodded towards our bar again. More apologies spewed from MacGillicuddy's crooked craw as himself and his son got to work unloading.

2.8 Ceannasaí Jack Moore, Dublin Brigade, Rasa Blank

I thought the Dublin Brigade was finished after that horrible Goshawk attack at Liberty Hall. I felt so powerless hearing about it over the Comms, stuck way out here on the Atlantic coast tending bar and playing sets to drunken culchies and "visiting" Finns. When I'd heard it was all over, I felt a wee bit relieved but the town gossip was rife with blame and shame towards our Brigade. None of them had soured towards me, at least not face to face. It was all condemnation and disgrace soon as they thought they were out of earshot.

I'd Graham with me, thank G*d and the O'Malleys had been so kind to us, giving us a room above the bar and steady work. In truth we were way out here as counter intelligence but the true truth and banal reality of it was we were bar staff and musicians. I'd a gaggle of unwed girls and women flocking to the bar to hear me play the fiddle every other night. Sounds great and it was for Graham but I wasn't interested. The local priest, one Father Kilcoy was preaching fire and brimstone against me, even dubbing me the "Queer Jackeen". The locals who weren't so keen on my staying in Skibbereen would mumble insults as Gaeilge. I pretended I couldn't understand.

It'd been a quiet morning. Only the sad eyed Lady Kana was at the bar, scribbling away in her notebook in what she told me was "Hiragana", an odd Japanese way of writing. She was a beautiful, buxom escort. She boarded in the room across from us, under the Matron's protection. She told me she was expecting business later. She didn't look pleased about it but her Type 4 addiction was incredibly expensive. All morning she'd been sipping the same Whiskey Sour. I tuned into the Comms to hear of any updates. The Irish had taken back Dundalk from the Finns. Whoop Dee F*cking Doo. A song came on after the report, by the Swedish Singer/Model Elsy Edling, a charming tune called "Waiting for you". I switched it off. Lady Kana looked annoyed but I just shrugged. My Mother and Sister had loved her sugary, kitsch music, G*d rest them.

The Matron Sarah O'Malley was showing that aul swindler MacGillicuddy and his poor son Kienan down to the cellar, the pair of them struggling with a big wooden cask of Porter. The Silent Fox, Mick O'Malley soon followed and I immediately stood to attention. He shook his head with a smile. He pointed to his eyes and then down towards the MacGillicuddys. "Sir, yes sir." I said, smiling back. It was good to see him. He nodded his head to Lady Kana. She raised the Whiskey Sour she'd be nursing all morning with a smile. He was gone as soon as he'd appeared. He ran Skibbereen de jure so only G*d knows what he was up too. My best guess was the Silver Birches. It'd been kept quiet but someone had left the corpse of a skinned fox in the centre of that ancient, sacred site.

The new casks were all set up by late afternoon with the help of Graham. He'd arrived back from Cork with a small crate of spirits strapped to the front of his bicycle. Even though he was exhausted after the trip he insisted on setting up the lines and eh... well he was better at the technical side of bar-tending. The regular locals and a few Finnish officers arrived. Lady Kana was bringing them pints of porter, subtly plying her trade. The Matron would be furious if she knew but I wasn't going to rat her out. A handsome young officer asked in broken English when the music would start. I was about to respond when a man who'd just entered replied in what sounded like broken Finnish. He was in army fatigues and draped in a long worn out looking brown leather jacket. The young officer looked a bit irked but soon returned to his conversation with his pals. The stranger took a seat by the window, sitting bolt upright and staring into space.

The O'Malley children burst through the door, finally free from Father Kilcoy's tedious and strictly boring Gaelscoil about two miles out of town. Thomás, Erin and Ciarán were bustling with energy. The Matron was out, as was the Commander so myself, Graham and Lady Kana where on babysitting duty. Erin and Thomás were off bothering the Finnish officers and Ciarán was straight over to the weirdo in the trench-coat. "Kids! Upstairs, stop bothering the customers." I said halfheartedly. They'd only listen to the Matron or their Father. The Finnish officers laughed as Thomás shadow boxed and boasted about Ireland's victory in Dundalk. That moron priest must have told them. Erin was asking how to say hello and goodbye in Finnish. I nodded to Graham to mind the bar as I went to stand near Ciarán. I didn't trust the man he was talking to so I took my time setting up the pool table nearby.

I tried my best to seem innocuous. The bar was loud with Finnish laughter so I leaned in closer. "No no no, I don't want to win meine Kinder, that's not the point of the game" Ciarán looked puzzled. "Well who wins then Herr Menschenfresser?" "No one. It's over when I'm fed up." he replied with a haunting smile. "Can I get you anything Herr Menshenfra.." I had to step in. I gave Ciarán a stern look. "Have you any lamb?" he said without looking away from Ciarán. "You're in a bar chap. Do you want a pint, a glass of whiskey?" I said stiffly. "Water and ice, barkeep and a wedge of orange." What a ponce. "Fine. Come on Ciarán, you have homework." As I marched off to the bar I spotted the stranger whispering something to Ciarán. He looked shocked. "Right, move it Ciarán! Stop bothering the customers. Thomás, Erin, you's too. Upstairs. Now!" I ordered. Thomás and Erin moaned but Ciarán just followed them upstairs without a complaint. The Herr leered at me. I felt sick.

"What's up with yer man?" asked Graham. "I'm not sure yet. He asked for a glass of ice water and a slice of orange." Graham laughed aloud. "Does he know he's in a bar?" I couldn't share in the humour. "Bring him the water, say we don't have any oranges." I said trying to remain calm. "What's up Jackie?" asked Graham, punching me on the shoulder. "You look like you've seen a ghost." The stranger was back to staring ahead at nothing. "Keep an eye on him. Tell Lady Kana too. I'll try get Sarah or Mick on the Comms." Graham gave me a funny look. I was probably being paranoid but everything seemed off about this Herr Menshafrada-whatever. I checked for my pistol under the bar and wedged it behind my back. Graham brought him the icy water and soon they were talking and laughing with each other like long lost brothers. No one could see him for what he was. I called Lady Kana over. She swung her hips for the Finnish officers to gawk at. They seen me noticing and all turned back to their drinks. "Watch out for that guy Graham is talking to. I think he's Goshawk."

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Thank you for reading! So this is the last season...
Started back in Day 4,083
Thanks to everyone who has followed our tale this far.

Go raibh maith agat!

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Previous Episode : Despatche #006
The Whole Series: Seasons 1 - 4