James lay on his back staring at the shadows on the ceiling. In the morning they would be shipping off to the countryside to train the Calvary. His Calvary. Well, it was more like the Major's, but most of it was under his command.
Nervous, that was the feeling he had in the pit of his stomach. He had never commanded troops before. He was only twenty-six. But because his father was a high and mighty lord, he had been given the title of Captain and shipped off here. He could see the pride in his father's eyes, the tears in his mother's, as he followed the Major towards the car. He hesitated, looking back at his parents for what he felt would be the last time. He wanted that image burned into the back of his mind, which would be better than any photograph.
"Come along, Captain Nicholls," The Major had gruffly ordered, waiting impatiently by the door. "Stiff upper lip. We have a war to win here." James got into the car like he was ordered, watching his parents disappear in a cloud of dust as the car rumbled away. The only child of a lord going off to war.
James turned his head, watching as Sergeant Samuel Perkins stumbled into the room, reeking of drink as he collapsed onto the bed next to his. He tugged off his boots, letting them fall onto the floor with twin thuds.
"You missed, a great party," Samuel said a little too loudly. "We all missed you in the officer's mess, Jim-boy. Where were you?" James frowned at him.
"You snuck into the officer's mess?" he raised his eyebrows.
"Major Stewart invited me," Samuel swayed on the bed.
"Wonderful," James muttered. His friend bounced over to his bed, bringing the strong smell of drink along with him.
"Come on!" Samuel shook his shoulder. "It is our last night free before we go join the war! You should be out celebrating!"
"Celebrating what?" James snarled, sitting up so he could face his intoxicated friend. "The fact that out there, somewhere is a bullet with our name on it? There are people dying out there, and all you can think of is the drink."
"Don't forget about the girls," Samuel slurred. "You forgot about the girls." James growled to himself, getting up to tower over his friend.
"You are a bloody ranking official in the bloody King's Army," James scolded heavily. "The least you could do is show some respect! Just because you're the second son of an earl doesn't mean you get to bloody bugger off!"
"What has gotten into you?" his friend narrowed his eyes. "You were fine earlier this evening." James turned to lean on the windowsill, watching infantry run drills in the limited light of the training yard.
"Did you read the reports this evening?" James asked bluntly.
"Yeah, so?"
James hung his head.
"They charged into a German camp. Three hundred men and horses. Two hundred six men dead, the rest captured. Who knows how many horses were maimed or killed. Mowed down by machine gun fire that was hidden nearby. The age of the Calvary is over, don't they get that? Then here we are, preparing to send another blind Calvary into training." James hadn't realized that his voice had reached the point of breaking. He remained turned away, trying to avoid showing weakness in front of another person.
His friend sat on the bed, silently listening. All of the laughter had gone from his eyes, his mouth somber.
"Blimey, I didn't realize…"
James glared at his friend.
"Of course you don't." James slid down to the floor, resting his head against the cold masonry. "You think that this is a game."
"The Major said that war is like chess."
"The Major is an idiot."
"Don't let him catch you saying that."
"I don't really care."
Samuel lay on his stomach to look at James.
"What do you think happens to us, if we are killed?" he asked.
"You mean, to us or back home?" James asked without moving his head.
"Back home."
James thought about it. He knew that his mother would be inconsolable. His father, he wasn't sure what his father would do. Probably sit in front of the fire, staring endlessly into it. His father had delayed finding a suitable girl for James, though he tried to find one on his own. Most girls were only interested in the money, or the fact that she would be married to a lord. James wanted a girl who was smart, his equal, one who would help him run the estate. There was one girl he had his eye on, but she was interested in Lord Devonshire's cousin.
"I don't know about your family," James finally spoke. "But mine would be searching for a suitable replacement for me."
"That's right, you're the only child," his friend nodded solemnly. "Why did the army even take you?"
"They needed officers," James replied softly. "The look of pride in my father's eyes, it was almost like I was being sent to some bloody prestigious school or something. As if I were receiving knighthood from the king himself."
"In a way we are."
James narrowed his eyes, "How is being sent to war like receiving a knighthood?"
"Think of the old stories!" Samuel's eyes lit up. "The knights of the roundtable being sent on quests for king and country!"
"Get your head out of the clouds," James scolded, growing weary of bantering, his body craving sleep. "And for bloody sake go to sleep."
"Nah!" his friend grinned. "Too excited for that." James drug himself upright, deciding if he was going to throw his friend to the floor or just fall asleep in his bed. His friend's cocky smile settled that matter. Using his limited wrestling knowledge and the advantage of his friend's drunken state, James flung him to the floor. Samuel gave a cry of alarm, before pulling on James.
James flipped over Samuel, before they began wrestling for real. Samuel was laughing, while James was just trying to pin Samuel so he could knock so sense into him.
Lights turned on, a booming voice and rough hands forced the pair apart.
"What do you think that you are doing?" the voice rolled through the room. James quickly scrambled to his feet, standing to attention. Samuel was a little slower, but his eyes went wide as he sloppily went to attention.
Major Stewart looked between the two, his hard eyes narrowed to slits. His hands were clasped behind his back, his mustache bristling. James didn't know Major Stewart well enough, but enough to know that he followed the rules to the letter and demanded respect from those under him. Woe to those who dared go over the line.
"Sergeant," he rounded on Samuel, "I invited you to the mess and you make an ass of yourself." He spun around to face James. "And you are an officer. I expect you to set an example for the enlisted, not join in their tom-foolery."
"Yes sir," James replied in a small voice. Major Stewart stared into James's face, before stepping back to look between the two men.
"We are at war, gentlemen. The time for childish behavior has past. I expect you both to lead the men under your command as soldiers of the British Army. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir!"
Major Stewart nodded his head curtly.
"For your little act of immaturity," Major Stewart doled out of the punishment, "you will both be in charge of leading the supply wagons when we head for camp tomorrow. I trust that you both won't screw that up." James winced. His men weren't going to let him hear the end of this.
"No sir."
Major Stewart gave a grunt before heading out the door. He paused in the doorway.
"Get some sleep gentlemen," his voice softened. "We have a long war ahead of us."
"Yes sir."
"Goodnight."
Major Stewart turned the lights off, leaving the pair in the dark. James relaxed his stance, crawling back into bed. He heard Samuel flounce onto his own bed, chuckling to himself.
"That could have gone worse."
"Yeah, leading the supply wagons is just a slap on the wrist," James replied dryly.
"Goodnight James."
James heard Samuel fall asleep, lightly snoring in his drunken stupor. James returned to his original state, staring up at the ceiling. He could faintly hear commands being shouted in the distance at those still training. Even fainter were the whinnies of horses.
James couldn't sleep. How could he, knowing that with the sunrise came a new chapter in his life. Or, a last chapter.
James rolled onto his side, his hand slipping under his pillow. The leather of his sketchbook met his fingers. His hand grasped the leather, the familiarity comforting him. His eyes closed, hoping that he would be allowed to open them again when the morning came.