Great Britain -- History -- George V, 1910-1936 -- Fiction; World War, 1914-1918 -- Fiction
The young captain leaning over the table began a long argument as to
relative seniority. He argued with himself, taking both sides in an
extraordinarily rapid gabble. He himself had been gazetted after
Gheluvelt. The other not till a year later. It was true the other was in
permanent command of that depot, and he himself attached to the unit
only for rations and discipline. But that did not include orders to sit
down. What the hell, he wanted to know, did the other mean by it? He
began to talk, faster than ever, about a circle. When its circumference
came whole by the disintegration of the atom the world would come to an
end. In the millennium there would be no giving or taking orders. Of
course he obeyed orders till then.
To the elder officer, burdened with the command of a unit of
unreasonable size, with a scratch headquarters of useless subalterns who
were continually being changed, with N.C.O.'s all unwilling to work,
with rank and file nearly all colonials and unused to doing without
things, and with a depot to draw on that, being old established, felt
that it belonged exclusively to a regular British unit and resented his
drawing anything at all, the practical difficulties of his everyday life
were already sufficient, and he had troublesome private affairs. He was
lately out of hospital; the sackcloth hut in which he lived, borrowed
from the Depot medical officer who had gone to England on leave, was
suffocatingly hot with the paraffin heater going, and intolerably cold
and damp without it; the batman whom the M.O. had left in charge of the
hut appeared to be half-witted. These German air-raids had lately become
continuous. The Base was packed with men, tighter than sardines. Down in
the town you could not move in the streets. Draft-finding units were
commanded to keep their men out of sight as much as possible. Drafts
were to be sent off only at night. But how could you send off a draft at
night when every ten minutes you had two hours of lights out for an
air-raid? Every man had nine sets of papers and tags that had to be
signed by an officer. It was quite proper that the poor devils should be
properly documented. But how was it to be done? He had two thousand nine
hundred and ninety-four men to send off that night and nine times two
thousand nine hundred and ninety-four is twenty-six thousand nine
hundred and forty-six. They would not or could not let him have a
disc-punching machine of his own, but how was the Depot armourer to be
expected to punch five thousand nine hundred and eighty-eight extra
identity discs in addition to his regular jobs?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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