“Balderdash. Rot and balderdash Godley”. How many times had I had to remonstrate with Godley about wasting my time so. Here was I on campaign and he had me signing his damnable pieces of paper. Yes, damnable paper I tell you. Paper for meat, paper for flour, paper for potatoes, even would you believe paper for underwear, oil and coal. The entire army these days seemed to me to be running on paper. What sort of campaign was this going to be if I had to waste my time thus. That day alone I’d counted– forty seven times he’d had me sign my name to one of his damnable forms. How the army had changed since my early days. Rules, regulations and forms seemed to be the basis of campaigning these days. I can categorically say that there was not a form to be seen when my division defeated the army of the Chaos Lords in ’62, and nor was there any paper involved in my fight to the death with the giant ape on the island of Coltrau.
Why, a man couldn’t even slap a common soldier in the face for impertinence any more. But forms were the reason that commanders have people like Godley on their staff. Thank goodness Godley was there to take care of this administrative nonsense. It did mean that, apart from signing his damnable pieces of paper, I could continue to focus my mind on conquest and extension of Her Majesty’s Empire.
To that end five weeks we had sailed, five weeks of rolling seas and creaking tackle, shouting seamen and seasick soldiers. But worst of all five weeks of the company of that interminable bore Admiral Mainworthy. How could Horseguards have even considered putting such a naval task force under the command of a man with no independent means other than his Naval salary and an allowance from his father? No lands, no family estate, indeed nothing. Why the man’s father was a mere Foundry owner, dirty money I say. The man could barely keep an adequately stocked pantry, and wouldn’t have known a decent Claret if it stood up and bit him. The only saving grace of the entire voyage was the company of the fine Doctor. I refer of course to Dr Eustace Jackson, inventor of what we had come to call the Zap gun, a fine piece of artillery guaranteed to fry the brains of any soldier caught in its deadly rays. I had had the opportunity to host dinner in my own cabin once a week during the voyage, and I was always sure to offer an invitation to the fine Doctor in addition to my own officers. The only awkward thing was that I was obliged to invite the unadmirable Admiral each week. The man must have had some social graces I suppose because he had the good grace and manners to decline my invitation on more than one occasion.
And so it was that I found myself on the shores of Guayabo in the Cathay Sea signing forms. The first day had been occupied with the landing of The Queen’s, 53rd and Wexfords, Usher’s Mounteds, and our splendid new fighting machine ‘Goliath’ although there was a deuce of an amount of coal having to be brought ashore to feed her hungry furnace.
Why, a man couldn’t even slap a common soldier in the face for impertinence any more. But forms were the reason that commanders have people like Godley on their staff. Thank goodness Godley was there to take care of this administrative nonsense. It did mean that, apart from signing his damnable pieces of paper, I could continue to focus my mind on conquest and extension of Her Majesty’s Empire.
To that end five weeks we had sailed, five weeks of rolling seas and creaking tackle, shouting seamen and seasick soldiers. But worst of all five weeks of the company of that interminable bore Admiral Mainworthy. How could Horseguards have even considered putting such a naval task force under the command of a man with no independent means other than his Naval salary and an allowance from his father? No lands, no family estate, indeed nothing. Why the man’s father was a mere Foundry owner, dirty money I say. The man could barely keep an adequately stocked pantry, and wouldn’t have known a decent Claret if it stood up and bit him. The only saving grace of the entire voyage was the company of the fine Doctor. I refer of course to Dr Eustace Jackson, inventor of what we had come to call the Zap gun, a fine piece of artillery guaranteed to fry the brains of any soldier caught in its deadly rays. I had had the opportunity to host dinner in my own cabin once a week during the voyage, and I was always sure to offer an invitation to the fine Doctor in addition to my own officers. The only awkward thing was that I was obliged to invite the unadmirable Admiral each week. The man must have had some social graces I suppose because he had the good grace and manners to decline my invitation on more than one occasion.
And so it was that I found myself on the shores of Guayabo in the Cathay Sea signing forms. The first day had been occupied with the landing of The Queen’s, 53rd and Wexfords, Usher’s Mounteds, and our splendid new fighting machine ‘Goliath’ although there was a deuce of an amount of coal having to be brought ashore to feed her hungry furnace.
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