A/N: This chapter is through Sam's eyes, and with this posting I should be starting 'The Funk Hole'. Enjoy!

War Games

Oh she could just throttle the man! Imagine the cheek! Promoting her to rank of 'baby-sitter'! But Sam had to admit, these little soldiers were quite adorable. Sam had always had a soft spot for children, a trait most likely acquired from watching over from playing mother hen over the children of her father's church. And these ruffians were not all that different from those fidgety youths. So it didn't bother her at all when Chief Detective Superintendent Foyle gave her a mischievous smirk and sent her on her way. In fact quite the opposite. That tongue-in-cheek attitude had lifted her spirits to a ridiculous high. Why was she affected so greatly by just a simple change in Foyle's normal distanced attitude? Obviously she was just being silly, and she had better things to worry about than her boss and the way he made her feel, that is to say...oh what is that to say?

There was just so much of it! Sam had seen how much scrap her 'busy bees' had been able to bring in, but she hadn't fully comprehended just how much paper rummage they had until she had to shift through it all with Detective Foyle and Sergeant Milner. Sam was extremely proud of her charges and of their contributions to the war effort, but of course she wouldn't admit to it now. Not when everyone seemed rather tried by the seemingly unending source of papers to sort through. Milner had chosen now to have a break of fresh air, leaving the rather musty and cramped shed quarters to Sam and Foyle. They were situated snug together, a large pile of perused papers gathered behind them, with still more to go. Sam heaved a heavy sigh, only to choke on the dust she inhaled. As she struggled to catch her breath, a comforting hand was laid against her back, trying to sooth her heaving. The coughing fit over, Sam turned to Detective Foyle, ready to thank him for the hand that was still occupying the space between her shoulder blades. Before she could get a word out, Foyle gave her a warm smile, indicating he knew what she intended to say and accepted the unspoken thanks, and it struck her as strange that they knew each other so well not to need words. Well, perhaps strange wasn't the word she would use, but instead of giving the exchange too much though she gave a winning smile to Foyle and went back to sorting through the mass of papers.

The single gunshot echoed through the air, a vacuum of silence following, where stunned police officers and others registered the noise. Soon there was noise and motion again, police officers rushing into the house, the sons shouts, and yet despite all of the commotion, Sam's eyes focused solely on Foyle as he calmly made his way to where she stood by the car. It was only her observation of him that stopped Sam from instinctively rushing in along with the officers, and what she saw scared her. He seemed completely untouched by the chaos around him, and his set features shocked her. He knew, he had gone into this house, knowing the conclusion, and had done nothing to stop nor slow it's happening. There was a part of Sam that was disgusted, but it was overwhelmed by the majority of her that was simply shocked. The Foyle of now was so wildly different from the Foyle digging through scrap, it was hard to reconcile the differences. She had heard the term 'hard' applied to his person, and had even been the receiver of a gruff or stern word a time or two, but on a whole Sam had no doubt that Foyle was a good man, but this display of stoic behavior threw her conviction into question. What else about this man did she not know?