This story is set during the War of Irish Independence which started in 1919, three years after the Easter Uprising of 1916. Ireland was in chaos with the Irish Republican Brotherhood waging guerrilla war under the command of Michael Collins. This was a particularly bloody time in Ireland's history and brought out both greatness and terror.

Dark clouds slid over the full moon, temporarily plunging Dingle town into darkness. Taking advantage of the momentary cover, a man slid carefully along the road, glancing about him and clutching a sacking wrapped package to his chest. Reaching an alley, he slunk along the rough stone wall, groping in the darkness for the door he had entered a thousand times. The small wooden gate swung noiselessly on carefully oiled hinges and the man edges his way across the garden. Tapping cautiously on a darkened window, he made his way to the porch. Another door opened and the man sidled in, pulling it closed behind him. Immediately a bright light shone in his face, causing him to bite back an involuntary gasp. Blinking, his focus was drawn towards a tall figure seated at the end of a long wooden table. Dressed in a dark suit, the figure would have been at home in a bank or an office, not sitting at a kitchen table in a country house in the West of Ireland. Recognition dawned and the man snapped to attention, saluting smartly.

'Sir!"

"Ah Michael, stop with the name calling" said the seated man," haven't you known me all my life?"

"I have indeed and it is my honour to admit it. It was a great day when you came back, Edward Cullen."

"Sure and how could I have stayed in London and missed all the fun?"

Michael laid his package carefully on the table, noticing for the first time as he did so that the room was full of darkly clad men. One in particular leaned against the mantelpiece, his focus betrayed by the tense coil of his body. Edward stood up and, pulling the bundle gingerly towards him, opened it up. The candlelight shone on five Mauser rifles, deadly and sleek against the rough sacking.

"Ah..." He said in satisfaction. "Good work Mikleen. And with these lads, we'll cause some merry havoc. The lads at the barracks in Tralee won't know what hit them.'

Edward Cullen, twenty five, respected recently qualified doctor and son of Dingle's famously talented medic, Dr Carlisle. By day Edward was a stalwart ornament of Kerry society, member of the local hunt and devoted son. By night, he dropped the mask of respectability and transformed into the local leader of the Irish Republican Brotherhood, terror of the Royal Irish Constabulary and a courageous fighter for Ireland's freedom.

Edward beckoned to the man lounging by the fire.

"Come over here, Jasp, see what Emmett's sent us for Christmas."

Jasper strolled over to the guns, a look of sheer glee lit up his face. Stretching out his hand, he stroked the wooden stock of the Mausers. Picking up one, he raised it to his shoulder and closed an eye, sighting as he swung the muzzle towards the window.

"Not bad", he said laconically, "At least bloody Emmett isn't spending all his time in New York fooling around this time."

Edward grinned at his brother. "Don't say that too loudly son, if Rosalie hears a whisper of any playing, we'll be searching the bogs for the remains of his body."

Jasper nodded, lowering the rifle and placing it reverently back on the pile. A sharp crack at the window made all the men freeze. Jasper immediately snuffed out the light and the room was filled with darkness, relieved only by the glowing embers of the turf fire. The door opened slowly and a figure swathed in a dark coat was silhouetted against the moonlight. The men tensed and Jasper slowly raised a hand gun.

"Well now, is that any way to greet a guest?" a female voice demanded.

"Mother of God, Alice, I nearly shot you. What the hell are you doing here?" Jasper managed.

Light was restored and the men gazed at the disguised figure of Alice Cullen, Jasper's wife. She was almost drowning in a huge greatcoat which Jasper recognised as being one his father had long since discarded.

"I got a note pushed under the door. Sergeant Riley says that there's someone coming up from Tralee this night. Be careful, he says. I thought I'd come and warn you."

"You did right, girl" said Jasper, looking at his wife with total adoration. Married for a year, they were like two halves of one heart and never bothered hiding their love. Dingle wasn't used to outward displays of affection and Alice had been taken aside more than once by local busybodies and advised to "control her husband and stop making a show of herself." Each comment was met with a polite nod and utterly ignored.

Edward covered the guns and carried them upstairs where they joined a growing cache under the floorboards. As silently as they had come, the men dispersed. Jasper and Alice left last. Hand in hand, they strolled up the road, for all the world looking like two innocent lovers out for a romantic wander. Jasper whistled softly under his breath, one hand warm in Alice's and the other on the reassuring metal of his gun.

Alone in the house, Edward banked up the turf, yawned and thought briefly and with a sharp pang of envy that it would be nice to have someone to share his life with. He didn't want Emmett and Rosalie's drama and, if he was going to be truthful, Alice's petulance could drive him mad, but they were content in their relationships. He shook himself, this was not the time to be thinking of love. There was a war on and he, Edward Cullen, was going to play his part. When it was over, maybe then he could look for a life partner. Until that time, his focus would be on the fight.