After that morning he lived in my pocket, sometimes sniffing at an empty pipe, sometimes trying to read letters from Mistress which joined him every day. We had gone North to a more gentlemanly part of the line, and his duties took but little of his time, so that anything novel, like a pair of pliers or an order from the Director of Army Signals, was always welcome. To begin with he took up rather more than his fair share of the pocket, but he rapidly thinned down. Alas! in the rigours of the campaign he also lost his voice; and his little black collar, his only kit, disappeared.
Then, just when we seemed settled for the winter, we were ordered South again. Common knew what that meant, a busy time for him. We moved down slowly, and he sampled billet after billet, but we arrived at last and sat down to wait for the day.
And then he began to get nervous. Always he was present when the operations were discussed; he had seen all the maps; he knew exactly what was expected of us. And he didn't like it.
"It's more than a fellow can do," he said; "at least to be certain of. I can blow away the shells in front and the shells from the right, but if Master's map is correct we're going to get enfiladed from the left as well, and one can't be everywhere. This wants thinking about."
So he dived head downwards into the deepest recesses of my pocket and abandoned himself to thought. A little later he came up with a smile….
Next morning I stayed in bed and the doctor came. Common looked over his shoulder as he read the thermometer.
"A hundred and four," said Common. "Golly! I hope I haven't over–done it."
He came with me to the clearing station.
"I only just blowed a germ at him," he said wistfully—"one I found in his pocket. I only just blowed it at him."
We went down to the base hospital together; we went back to England. And in the hospital in England Common suddenly saw his mistress again.
"I've brought him back, Missis," he said. "Here he is. Have I done well?"
He sits now in a little basket lined with flannel, a hero returned from the War. Round his neck he wears the regimental colours, and on his chest will be sewn whatever medal is given to those who have served faithfully on the Western Front. Seated in your comfortable club, my very dear sir, or in your delightful drawing–room, madam, you smile pityingly….
Or perhaps you don't.
George's V.C
(The Last of the War Stories)
I
The Colonel of the Nth Blankshires was seated in his office. It was not an imposing room to look at. Furnished simply but tastefully with a table, officers, for use of, one, and a chair, ditto, one, it gave little evidence of the distressing scenes which had been enacted in it, and still less evidence of the terrible scene which was to come. Within these walls the Colonel was accustomed to deal out stern justice to offenders, and many a hardened criminal had been carried out fainting upon hearing the terrible verdict, "One day's C.B."
But the Colonel was not holding the scales of justice now, for it was late afternoon. With an expression of the utmost anxiety upon his face he read and re–read the official–looking document which he held in his hand. Even the photograph of the Sergeant–Major (signed, "Yours ever, Henry"), which stood upon his desk, brought him no comfort.
The door opened and Major Murgatroyd, second in command of the famous Blankshires, came in.
"Come in," said Colonel Blowhard.
The Major saluted impressively, and the Colonel rose and returned his salute with the politeness typical of the British Army.
"You wished to see me, Colonel?"
"I did, Major." They saluted each other again. "A secret document of enormous importance," went on the Colonel, "has just reached me from the War Office. It concerns the Regiment, the dear old Regiment." Both men saluted, and the Colonel went on hoarsely, "Were the news in this document to become public property before its time, nothing could avert the defeat of England in the present world–wide cataclysm."
"Is it as important as that, Colonel?" said the Major, even more hoarsely if anything.
"It is, Major."
The Major's voice sank to a whisper.
"What would not Hindenburg give to see it," he muttered.
"Ay," said the Colonel. "I say that to myself day and night: 'What not what—what would what—' Well, I say it to myself day and night. For this reason, Major, I have decided to entrust the news to no one but yourself. Our Officers are good lads and a credit to the dear old Regiment"—they saluted as before—"but in a matter of this sort one cannot be too discreet."
"You are right, Colonel."
The Colonel looked round the room apprehensively and brought his chair a little closer to the Major.
"The secret contained in this document—Are we alone?"
"Except for each other, Colonel."
"The secret," went on the Colonel, "is this: that, on and after the 23rd of the month, men in category X3 are to be included in category X2."
"My God," gasped the Major, "if Hindenburg knew!"
"He must not know, Major," said the Colonel simply. "I can trust you not to disclose this until the time is ripe?"
"You can trust me, Colonel."
They grasped hands and saluted.
At this moment the door opened and an orderly came in.
"You're wanted by the Sergeant–Major, sir," he told the Colonel.
"Ah, excuse me a moment," said the latter to his second in command, knowing how much it annoys a sergeant–major to be kept waiting. He saluted and hurried out.
"Just a moment, orderly," said the Major.
The orderly came back. "Yes, sir," he said.
"Did you give that message to Miss Blowhard?"
"Yes, sir. She says she cannot play golf with you to–morrow because she is playing with Second–Lieutenant Lord Smith." He saluted and withdrew.
Left alone the Major gave vent to his rage. "Lord Smith!" he stormed. "Curse him! What can she see in that puppy? Thrice have I used my influence to send him away on a musketry course, and thrice has he returned. Could I but turn him out of the Regiment for good, I might win the love of the fair Miss Blowhard, the Colonel's daughter." In a sudden passion he picked up the "Manual of Military Law" and flung it to the ground.
All at once an idea struck him and a crafty look came into his eyes.
"By jove," he cried, "the secret document! The very thing."
To put the document into an envelope was the work of a moment. Taking up a pen he printed on the outside in large capitals these words:
FOR HINDENBURG, GERMANY
With a diabolical smile he sealed the envelope up, rang the bell, and ordered Second–Lieutenant Lord Smith to be brought before him.
"You wanted me, sir?" said Lord Smith on his arrival.
Of all the distinguished officers in the Nth Battalion, Lord Smith was perhaps the most brilliant. Although he had held his commission for three years he had only been arrested twice by the Provost–Marshal—the first time for wearing a soft cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he should have worn a hard one, and the second time, three months later, for wearing a hard cap when, as an officer and gentleman, he should have worn a soft one. Nobody can deny that these were serious blots on his career, but it was felt in the trenches that his skill with the rifle partially atoned for them.