'Born in the same year,' he muttered. 'Raised as a provincial aristocrat… father died early… hmm.' He slid the two files towards each other. Bonaparte and Wesley. Two young men with considerable promise. Both of whom were precisely the kind of men that their nations so desperately needed in the epic struggle that was to come. Arbuthnot smiled. If the war dragged on for many years there was every chance that both would be dead before it was over. But if they survived, if they prospered and won the promotion they so evidently deserved, that left the fascinating prospect of what might happen should they ever meet on the battlefield.