So that was Peter. The 16-year-old child prodigy. Standing amongst soldiers who ranked from private to general, and still able to hold himself confidently, not fazed at all by the busy bustling of the barracks.

"You should go and introduce yourself, " General Levi announced. "Rather than stand there like an awestruck puppy."

I ignored his second comment. I didn't expect kind words from him or any of the other soldiers. They'd all treated me, and the other girls in the WAC, as inferiors ever since we transferred to their unit.

"Yes sir," I replied, regardless of my disdain to submitting to such a chauvinist, but I wasn't about to give him or any other member of the unit a reason to report me as unfit. They would have revelled in the chance.

Peter was overseeing some coordinates as I made my way over him. How and why they needed the advice of a 16-year-old was still a mystery to me, but it was a mystery I was determined to unravel as I escorted him during his stay.

Yes, that was my duty, to escort and tend to a 16-year-old civilian while he stayed at our barracks. Not really a soldier-worthy duty, but what more could I expect from such a male-dominated, backwards thinking regiment. At least Peter was still somewhat of a child and I wasn't expecting any confrontation from him.

"Good afternoon," I said, extending my hand towards Peter. "My name is Marilyn."

"Good afternoon. A pleasure to meet you," he replied. His handshake was as firm as his words were gentlemanly.

"I'll be your escort for the days you are with us," I said.

"Yes, I was informed. I had told them I do not need an escort, however, if these are the rules then I must abide." Peter bowed his head in acceptance. Such a humble, yet noble gesture, which seemed to belong more to a Lord presenting his opinion before the queen than a boy speaking frankly with his designated minder.

"Well, I'll try not to feel like a babysitter," I said echoing my thoughts.

Peter flicked a stray lock of hair and looked back at me. His eyes squinted momentarily sending a chill ran down my spine, as I struggled to decipher the meaning of his look. If I hadn't already been aware of his age, I could have easily confused him with a much older person due to his aura, which felt way beyond his years.

"How old are you?" he eventually said. His tone, more of an authority figure than a curious teenager.

"Not that ... you shouldn't ask such a question, but ... I'm 19," I stammered.

"Well," he said, a soft smile spread evenly on his lips. "I would hate for you to think that I need a babysitter."

"No, of course not," I said and diverted my gaze back to the screen he had been watching before I approached him. My cheeks stung with the rush of blood that I was sure made me look like the timid girl the male soldiers had opposed joining their ranks. And if I were honest with myself, at that point I surely felt like a timid girl who had no business being in the realms of the other soldiers. Was I still really so young? How on earth could a 16-year-old boy cause me to blush?

"I hope I haven't offended you," Peter asked, leaning forward to get a better view of my face.

"No," I said, troubled by a new realisation. "I'm sure you wouldn't be here advising experienced soldiers if anybody thought you were in need of a babysitter."

And the weight of my predicament settled in. Peter was only a child, but from my brief interaction with him, I could see he was anything but childlike. He had advised on the Dambusters raids which resulted in the destruction of at least a dozen German war factories. He had also advised Allied forces prior to their invasion of Italian mainlands. He was 16, but he was certainly no child, and I realised then that I wasn't escorting him because he needed a babysitter.

"You're a pretty girl. I'm sure you can discover his sources," General Levi had said when I asked how a young boy could know so much about strategizing battles. I had resisted, greatly, the urge to hit him, but perhaps he wasn't trying to insult or belittle me. Perhaps, despite the help Peter had offered, they were still suspicious of him and had conjured up a completely bigoted method to get information from him.

"Have you been shown around the barracks yet?" I asked. Despite their dated and forthright insulting reasoning for choosing me, if I had been given the task of uncovering Peter's true loyalties then I would make it my mission to get to the root of either his brilliance or his treachery.

"I was shown my lodge and then brought straight here," he replied.

"And have you eaten?" I asked.

"Not yet."

"Fine," I said, my confidence reemerging. "Finish whatever task you have, and we can go to lunch."

"Yes ma'am," he said, with the hint of a giggle in his voice.

"I'll give you an hour," I said before leaving and making my way down to the records room. Anyone who ever stayed at this barracks had a file, and, although I hadn't been too interested in back story before, I certainly was now.

The records room was organised efficiently enough, ordered both alphabetically and chronologically. Peter's file was conveniently near my own file, as I was still fairly new to the unit, with only one file separating Peter's from my own, Marilyn Peoples. There were plenty of loose boxes under the shelving, so finding somewhere to sit wasn't hard. I pulled out Peter's file and made myself comfortable.

There wasn't much to be found, so it didn't take long to get through his file. He was the eldest of 4 children born in Finchley, London where he attended a public school and had spent the best part of 1940 in the country with a Professor. There was a little information about his parents, who were currently in America with one of his sisters, and his other two siblings who were staying with extended family in Cambridge while Peter was back in the country studying under the same professor he had stayed with earlier.

What does he study that gives him such an insight into war tactics? I wondered. But, of course, nothing in his records alluded to anything that would explain how he was awaiting an award that was an equivalent to the noble peace prize.

I packed the files away and made my way back down to headquarters to meet up with Peter. He was just concluding his brief when I arrived.

"Very punctual," he said, glancing towards the clock.

I followed his gaze towards the clock, I had returned exactly one hour after leaving him.

"Extremely," I replied with an air of pride although I'd had no idea that I was running on time. "So, are you ready?"

"Extremely," he laughed. His laugh was soft but not childlike, although it held an innocence about it.

"This way," I gestured. "The canteens are at the other ends of the ground."

"Yes," he said, shadowing me as we exited the building and entered the rare sunfilled day.

He seemed taller now that we stood side by side, at least a whole foot taller than I was, and I had always been fairly tall amongst my peers. His posture was tall and firm, and each step he took deliberate, although he was following my direction, he was clearly not being led. He held his posture like a nobleman, and I would be sure he was if I had not just read his entire record for myself.

"Have you been in England long?" he asked, breaking my thoughts as I tried to build my profile of him.

"Six months now."

"And how do you like it?"

"It's nice. Well, it's ok. I haven't exactly seen much."

"Yes, sorry. I guess that was a stupid question," he said, combing his hand through his hair.

"It's fine. Perhaps when the war is over." I had always imagined England to be filled with beautiful rose gardens and woodlands which I would have loved to see. Unfortunately, war was no time for sightseeing.

"Will you stay in England after the war?"

"For a while maybe. But I do plan to go home again." I said, grateful for the chance to direct the conversation back to him. "I heard your sister is in America."

"Yes, perhaps for as long as you have been here."

"Did you want to go?"

"No," he said. "Susan was so excited about the trip, and she deserved a holiday. Besides I was happy to go back to study with Professional Kirke."

"Oh yes. Professor Kirke. What do you study with him?"

"Science and ... other things," he said with slight hesitation.

"What other things?" I pressed.

"Is this where we were heading?" Peter nodded his head towards the canteen door with a small, smug smile on his face.

Yes. But that's ok, we can talk inside," I said with my own smug smile.

"Yes ma'am," he said pushing the canteen door open.

Hmm, I thought. That was an obvious redirection. He clearly didn't want to talk about his studies or was it the professor he didn't want to talk about, either way, if he didn't want to talk about it then it was precisely what we were going to talk about.

"Ahem," Peter cleared his throat gently and gestured towards the door.

"You can enter," I said.

"Ladies first," he said, gesturing towards the door again.

Chivalry towards women was always a hot topic back home, as much as we still fought for our independence and equality, we still loved it when a man spoilt us and treated us like a princess. The girls had always talked about the English men being in a class of their own when it came to chivalry, but I hadn't been convinced during my short stay. And here was Peter bowing as I walked through the door, another gesture more befitting of a nobleman. No one had held the door open for me since I joined the WAC, let alone bow as I walked through.

Lunchtime wasn't for another hour or two, so the canteen was fairly empty except for a few stragglers who were trying to score whatever breakfast had been left over. I gave the cook an order and took Peter to a corner table.

"So how are you liking the barracks?" I asked.

Peter shrugged his shoulders. "It's not the best place I've had to stay, but I'm glad to be able to help."

"Would you mind if I asked you a few questions?"

"About?"

"Your studies?" I asked.

"I don't see why that's interesting."

"Well, you said you didn't need a babysitter, so I just wanted to talk."

"And you choose my studies to talk about?"

"Come on. Your ideas were a major factor in two successful operations. You must know that's of high interest."

"Fine, but I don't study anything peculiar. They're just the usual studies," he answered.

"Well, what kind of professor is professor Kirke?"

"He was a science lecturer once, but I think he must know about everything?" he said, leaning forward in his chair as he spoke. He had great admiration for the professor.

"Is he who you learnt war tactics from?"

Peter shook his head.

"So where you got your ideas from?"

"I just thought of them," he answered confidently.

"You just came up with a strategy for a dam raid from the top of your head? War strategists had been working on that for months."

"I don't know what else to say."

"Where did you get the ideas from?"

Peter let out a loud sigh. "I've talked about this so many times, I'm sure it's all in my file."

"I haven't read your file," I said, unable to keep eye contact. I didn't want to be known as a snoop, and I hadn't seen that information in there anyway.

"Sure you have," he said, that soft giggle lacing his words.

"Ok fine, I had a look," I confessed. "But there wasn't anything about the dam raid or the invasion of Italy ."

Peter deliberately diverted his attention to the steward who approached the table with our trays. He thanked her and arranged his lunch on the table. It was a simple sandwich, an apple and a hot tea, which he inspected with complete concentration.

"Please," I said instinctively reaching out for his hand. "I really want to talk about this."

He didn't move for a while, his gaze remained on my hand until he looked up into my eyes. His eyes burnt deeply into mine, revealing a longing belonging to a man of many more years than Peter had.

"I've missed the touch of a lady," he finally said.

"Excuse me!" I released the word almost as a gasp, withdrawing my hand at the same time.

"I know it sounds strange. It's perfectly innocent, I assure you."

"And what lady's touch do you miss?" I asked, curiosity and my desire to uncover his secrets overshadowing the fact that it probably wasn't a conversation to hold with a 16-year-old boy.

"I had a lady once. A real lady."

Once? When? And why the emphasis on real? I thought before deciding it was some kind of joke.

"I am going to assume," I concluded. "Due to your use of the word 'real' that maybe she wasn't."

"No. She was real," he said frankly. "But I mean she was actually a lady. Lady Somiah of Galma. Everyone said I should have chosen a princess to court, but Somiah was most definitely the fairest of her land."

"Ok," I laughed. "The fairest of her land? Sounds like you and your friends had good imaginations."

"Please don't treat me like a child. I hate that."

"Well, I'm trying my best. But princesses? Please Peter, I just want to know about the raid."

"Fine. I'll tell you about the raids."

"Thank you."

He smiled a smug, cynical smile. "I've been on many battles. Led sieges on a number of castles and fortresses, as well as protect my own land from attacks."

"Peter," I said, my voice raised enough to show that my patience was wearing thin.

"You wanted to know my story, right?"

"Your real story, not the games you played."

"How do you know what I'm saying isn't real?"

"Because it doesn't make sense."

"Just because it doesn't make sense to you, doesn't mean it isn't real," he said, reaching out to take my hand into his.

"Peter," I said again, more hushed this time so as not to draw attention to us.

He pressed my hand into his, spreading my palm open and placed his other hand on top. "Please listen. I've wanted to talk about this for so long."

His eyes, again reflecting an age much senior to his age, stared deeply into mine.

"Peter, I don't have time for gobbledygook!"

"Then let me ask you a question. Do your superiors here want you to spy on me?"

Now, that was a curveball. Had he deliberately been attempting to throw me off so he could get information from me?

"I could tell they didn't trust me, and I know how they feel about the members of the WAC. Perhaps they thought I would be easily smitten and tell you all my secrets." He traced his finger along the lines of my palm as he spoke.

I hadn't been on many dates myself, but the girls always talked about their dates and their first kisses. And there was one thing I was sure of from all of the stories, the touch of a boy was very different from the touch of a man.

"How old are you?" I asked, confused enough by his words and actions to question what I thought I knew.

"What did my file say?" he asked.

"16."

"You don't think I am?"

"Who are you? Are you a spy?"

"No, of course not. I really am Peter of Finchley. Born in 1927."

"So you are 16?"

"Well, I guess I am now. But I wasn't always." He clasped hold of my hand and turned it over in his so he was now stroking the back of my hand with his other hand. "You believe me, don't you?"

I did. I wasn't sure why, but I did believe him. As if I could see it. His eyes spoke of his adventures. The stroke of his hand spoke of his experience. Peter was not merely a boy of 16. He was a man of nobility, perhaps even a king as well as a soldier.

"If I told you I did, would you tell me your story?"

He nodded.

"I do," I laughed. "I don't know why, but I do believe you."

Peter smiled and clasp his other hand around the top of mine.

"Good. And I'm not supposed to tell anyone, but I need to. And I have this feeling about you."

"Well, I hope it's a good feeling and I hope you're right."

"I usually am," he said. "So, are you ready?"

I nodded.

A soft sigh left his lips and then he spoke. "Well, It all began when Lucy went into the wardrobe in the spare room ... "