The Furies by Irving McCabe Page B

do.’
    â€˜Unless Russia gets involved: if they come to Serbia’s aid, we’ll have to divide our forces.’
    â€˜But if Russia supports Serbia, won’t Germany come to our aid—’
    â€˜â€”which would bring Britain and France into the war,’ the chief said. ‘Don’t forget; they’re also Russia’s allies. So you can see how delicate the situation is.’
    Gabriel fell quiet: a war between Austria and Serbia had always been on the cards. But the idea of Russia and Germany – perhaps even Britain and France – becoming involved, seemed almost too much to take in. Gabriel’s parents hadn’t the money to send him to medical school, so the only way he had been able to train as a surgeon was to accept a military scholarship which had stipulated he must serve a term of ten years in the army medical services. Gabriel had always been aware he might have to go to war someday and wasn’t daunted by that possibility: indeed, he felt ready to deal with whatever a war might throw at him. But a war that might involve most of Europe…
    â€˜Well,’ the chief said, interrupting Gabriel’s chain of thought, ‘it looks as though you will soon be given an opportunity to continue your wound research in men, rather than pigs.’
    For a moment Gabriel was taken aback, but then he grinned at the older man’s black humour. ‘Mind you, chief, the way some of our men behave…’
    Chief Fischer laughed. ‘How is the research going, anyway?’
    â€˜Quite well, I think. The studies on pig cadavers are almost finished and I should have the results ready for the London surgical conference this August. Herr Roth has been most generous in allowing me to use the ballistics laboratory at his factory for the tests—’
    â€˜Which brings me back to the question I asked you this morning,’ the chief interjected, ‘which you were saved from answering by the terrorists grenade: how are you and Dorothea getting on?’
    Gabriel smiled ruefully as he realised the older man has deliberately steered the conversation back to that question. He had first met Dorothea Roth a few months ago, whilst doing research on the wounding effects of different bullet shapes. The chief was a long-standing friend of Georg Roth, and after being introduced to Gabriel, Herr Roth had agreed to provide him with a supply of bullets and cartridges as well as the use of his factory’s extensive ballistic testing facility. Over the past year Gabriel had often travelled to the factory to carry out his research and had frequently met Dorothea.
    â€˜Last time I saw her she was very well. Why do you ask?’
    The chief placed the empty wine glass on the floor by his chair. ‘Well, Gabriel, Dorothea’s a lovely young woman – she’ll make a good wife. And Georg tells me he really likes you.’ He brushed a fleck of lint from his trousers and then looked up at Gabriel again. ‘I think you ought to seriously consider asking him for permission to marry her.’
    Gabriel fidgeted in his chair. Dorothea was a good-looking woman; there was no doubt of that. She had thick dark-hair and an attractive figure, and Gabriel had been surprised to learn that she was not yet married. But although he liked her well enough, there was something missing, a vital spark that seemed lacking whenever they engaged in conversation. He knew the chief would have loved nothing more than for him to propose to her, but…
    â€˜I know Dorothea is a fine young woman,’ Gabriel said. ‘I also know she’ll make a good wife for somebody. But I’m not sure that person is me. I’m so busy with my research right now—’
    â€˜You need to realise,’ the chief interjected, ‘that there’s more to life than research, Gabriel. Dorothea is an eligible young woman, who will not wait forever.’
    Gabriel sighed and turned