disassembles and reassembles his rifle with such astonishing speed that it’s really quite something to observe. Many of the men applaud him, although I add only a perfunctory clap to the embarrassing din. He turns and looks at us, delighted by his victory, and grins at Wolf with such a proud expression that it makes me realize what an infant this man really is, for all he has done is best a recruit at something that he has been doing successfully for years. There is no real victory in that. If anything, the challenge itself was shameful.
“Now, Wolf,” he says, “what do you think of that?”
“I think you handle a rifle better than I ever shall,” he replies, finishing the reassembly of his Smiler and taking his place back in line next to Will, who reaches his hand behind him and pats his back in a well-done gesture. Sergeant Clayton, however, cannot seem to decide whether Wolf’s comment was meant as a compliment or a slight, and remains alone on the ground after he dismisses us, scratching his head and no doubt wondering how soon it will be before he can punish Wolf again for some perceived infraction.
The day that our uniforms finally arrive is the same day that Will and I have been rostered for guard duty and we stand together by the gates of the barracks in the cold night air, excited by our brand-new standard issue. Every man in the troop has been given a new pair of boots, two thick grey shirts, collarless, and a pair of khaki trousers, which are pulled high on our waists and kept in place with a neat set of braces. The socks are thick and I believe that for once my feet will be kept warm throughout the night. We’ve each been given a heavy overcoat, too, and it is in this fine new set of clothing that Willand I stand side by side, patiently scouring the expanse in the unlikely event that a battalion of German soldiers might appear over a hill in the middle of Hampshire.
“My neck hurts,” says Will, pulling the shirt away from his skin. “It’s a bloody rough material, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But we’ll get used to it, I dare say.”
“After it’s left a permanent ring around our necks. We’ll have to imagine that we’re aristocrats in the French Revolution and are giving Madame la Guillotine a clue for where to slice our heads off.”
I laugh a little, seeing my breath appear before me. “Still, they’re warmer than what we had before,” I say after a moment. “I was dreading another night on guard duty in my civvies.”
“Me, too. What about poor Wolf, though? Did you ever see anything as disgusting as that in all your life?”
I think about it before replying. Earlier in the day, when Wells and Moody were distributing the uniforms, Wolf found himself with a shirt that was too large and a pair of trousers that were too tight. He looked rather like a clown and the entire troop, save Will, was reduced to tears of laughter when he put them on and displayed himself for our merriment. I only stopped myself from joining in the hysteria through my desire not to have Will think badly of me.
“He brings it on himself,” I say, frustrated by my friend’s constant need to stand up for Wolf. “I mean, really, Will, why do you always take his side?”
“I take his side because he’s in the regiment with us,” he explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, what was it that Sergeant Clayton spoke to us about the other day?
Espert
… what was it?
Espert
something?”
“Esprit de corps,”
I remind him.
“Yes, that. The notion that a regiment is a regiment, a singular object, a unit, not a collection of mismatched men allvying for different levels of attention. Wolf may be unpopular among the men but that’s no reason to treat him as if he were a monster of some sort. I mean he’s here, isn’t he? He hasn’t run off to some hideaway in, I don’t know, the Scottish Highlands or some godforsaken place. He might have run off up there and laid low till the
“Now, Wolf,” he says, “what do you think of that?”
“I think you handle a rifle better than I ever shall,” he replies, finishing the reassembly of his Smiler and taking his place back in line next to Will, who reaches his hand behind him and pats his back in a well-done gesture. Sergeant Clayton, however, cannot seem to decide whether Wolf’s comment was meant as a compliment or a slight, and remains alone on the ground after he dismisses us, scratching his head and no doubt wondering how soon it will be before he can punish Wolf again for some perceived infraction.
The day that our uniforms finally arrive is the same day that Will and I have been rostered for guard duty and we stand together by the gates of the barracks in the cold night air, excited by our brand-new standard issue. Every man in the troop has been given a new pair of boots, two thick grey shirts, collarless, and a pair of khaki trousers, which are pulled high on our waists and kept in place with a neat set of braces. The socks are thick and I believe that for once my feet will be kept warm throughout the night. We’ve each been given a heavy overcoat, too, and it is in this fine new set of clothing that Willand I stand side by side, patiently scouring the expanse in the unlikely event that a battalion of German soldiers might appear over a hill in the middle of Hampshire.
“My neck hurts,” says Will, pulling the shirt away from his skin. “It’s a bloody rough material, isn’t it?”
“Yes. But we’ll get used to it, I dare say.”
“After it’s left a permanent ring around our necks. We’ll have to imagine that we’re aristocrats in the French Revolution and are giving Madame la Guillotine a clue for where to slice our heads off.”
I laugh a little, seeing my breath appear before me. “Still, they’re warmer than what we had before,” I say after a moment. “I was dreading another night on guard duty in my civvies.”
“Me, too. What about poor Wolf, though? Did you ever see anything as disgusting as that in all your life?”
I think about it before replying. Earlier in the day, when Wells and Moody were distributing the uniforms, Wolf found himself with a shirt that was too large and a pair of trousers that were too tight. He looked rather like a clown and the entire troop, save Will, was reduced to tears of laughter when he put them on and displayed himself for our merriment. I only stopped myself from joining in the hysteria through my desire not to have Will think badly of me.
“He brings it on himself,” I say, frustrated by my friend’s constant need to stand up for Wolf. “I mean, really, Will, why do you always take his side?”
“I take his side because he’s in the regiment with us,” he explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I mean, what was it that Sergeant Clayton spoke to us about the other day?
Espert
… what was it?
Espert
something?”
“Esprit de corps,”
I remind him.
“Yes, that. The notion that a regiment is a regiment, a singular object, a unit, not a collection of mismatched men allvying for different levels of attention. Wolf may be unpopular among the men but that’s no reason to treat him as if he were a monster of some sort. I mean he’s here, isn’t he? He hasn’t run off to some hideaway in, I don’t know, the Scottish Highlands or some godforsaken place. He might have run off up there and laid low till the
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