From A Grave Too Many...
Kruger read the headstone aloud. "Flight Lieutenant Andrew Weatherby Beauchamp-Proctor VC, DSO, MC, DFC. Killed at Upavon, June 21, 1921." Beneath the inscription was a replica of the Victoria Cross, and the motto "For Valour."
He straightened up, his voice excited. "But I know this guy. At least, I know of him. He was the local hero back in my home town, Mafeking. When we were at school we all learned about Andrew Proctor, and the way he won the VC. Why, he used to fly SE 5's, too. Perhaps that's why I got mixed up in this business.
"But...." Kruger paused, his brow furrowed. "He can't be buried here. I mean, he's buried back home in Mafeking. I know he is. I've seen the grave. I...I don't understand."
He turned to look at the old man, but he was talking to himself. Through the gates of the cemetery, fifty yards away, a small black figure was hurrying down the hill, coattails flapping, as though the devil himself were in pursuit.
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