A/N: The version of the chapter title song by The Pines is recommended.
Monday, August 4, 1913 on
What Good Am I
The first week of Officer Training was about what Matthew expected. Meeting his tent mates; pulling equipment and uniforms; getting prodded and poked by medicos; getting orientated; some close order drill, more for the show of it, they all knew their left from their right; some route marches. Nothing too bad.
It was a good thing the first week was so easy because thereafter the Army and Mary started putting him through hell.
The major in charge of his training company was frightful. It did not help that Maj. Harry Flashman had a patch over one eye and his left hand was made of wood covered with a brown leather glove. He carried a swagger stick in his right hand which he would beat against the artificial hand to emphasize the points he made.
"You may think you have heard of me. It's my grandfather you're probably thinking of. Old Sir Harry had quite the military career even after you discount his memoirs by the requisite eighty per cent."
"I spent my time in Africa." he waved his left hand at his eye patch. "Parts of me are still there."
"I came up through the ranks like you." Seeing the sceptical looks of his audience he held up his right hand "I may have started higher than you but I fell farther. I was expelled from Sandhurst for cheating. Old Sir Harry wasn't too happy with me – it wasn't that I cheated, it was that I got caught – and he had me shanghaied into a regiment shipping out to Africa. I worked my way up to Sergeant and had my eyes set on becoming RSM when in a fit of carelessness I saved the life of Baden Powell himself and he promoted me to lieutenant. You might say without me there wouldn't any Scouting movement springing up around you. But I digress."
"The Yankee Navy calls enlisted men who become officers 'mustangs', 'mustangs' being wild horses in the Wild West which are caught and broke to be ridden. But the key is that they always retain some of their wildness. And that is the case with you. You are enlisted men who have been chosen, caught if you will, to be officers. But you are only temporary gentlemen and will be regarded as such by our social betters. You will never be allowed to serve in the guards and cavalry regiments; if you survive what is about to come you will never rise above field grade; if there are any fancy balls and such scheduled you will find you have guard duty that night. No, you will be assigned to regiments of foot no one has ever heard of to do the dirty work while the aristos get all the credit. And by dirty work I mean killing." He certainly had everyone's attention now. "All of which is a round about way of saying that for the next five months I am going to teach you to kill Germans; there is no point in being coy about that, in the most efficient manner without getting yourself and your troops killed in the process." he paused, to let that sink in, then continued "And if you have a pressing need to learn which fork to use, or how to crook your little finger when you're taking tea with a Duchess, ask Crawley, he's the only gentleman in here."
Everyone turned and stared at Matthew.
-0-
Because Matthew had been chosen for the course straight out of basic training he became the company 'Rupert'. All the other officer candidates had real world military experience, he didn't. So he became the bad example.
"Crawley what would you do?" some instructor would give him some scenario, with no time to think "Make a decision! Your men are dying! Do something!" and then his, inevitably wrong, answer would be transected and dissected and mocked. It was not fair, all his legal training had taught him to slowly consider all possibilities and then carefully choose the best solution. And that was all for naught. Now it was "Make a decision! Your men are dying! Do something!"
There was no rest. The instructors slept in shifts so the candidates could not sleep at all. There was always noise and activity. The major did not believe in show and tell, he was strictly a do it man. And they did it. They dug trenches, lived in trenches, defended trenches, attached trenches, set ambushes and sprung ambushes. They spent a worrying amount of time learning how to conduct an orderly retreat.
At the nadir it was suggested by the Major that Matthew's presence in the course meant that some village in England was missing its idiot. But the next day a bit of misdirection orchestrated by Matthew allowed him to ambush the opposing Blue Force and earned an nod from the Major himself. Matthew's military career started its ascent.
Aphorisms became reflexes. Be alert. Watch your flanks. Know your men. Set an example. Be prepared. Stay calm. Check and recheck the equipment. Have a Plan B.
The Major and the other instructors quickly learned Matthew had a temper. But instead of beating it out of him they taught him to harness it. And over the autumn anger became for him not a hot red fog but a cold blue edge. An edge that complimented a rare talent that the instructors discerned in Matthew, a talent Matthew did not know he possessed and perhaps would be horrified to learn he did. It was clear to them he was a soldier. A real soldier. Not just a body filling an uniform; not an automaton blindly following orders; not a vainglorious warrior forgetting all discipline; not a berserker drunk on blood lust. No he was a soldier. He possessed every characteristic they were looking for: intelligence, self discipline, steadfastness, reliability and most importantly of all, they were convinced he possessed grace under pressure. If your flank was unprotected you would want Matthew out at the very end. He would hold it for you, usque ad finem if necessary.
All this was their opinion, first contact with the enemy would put it to the test. Major Flashman made a mental note to follow Matthew's career; if things went as badly pear shaped in Europe as he feared he would have use for someone with Matthew's talent.
None of them told Matthew any of this. That he maintained a little self doubt was a good thing, it would keep him on his toes; they were confident that he would not allow doubt to paralyze him.
-0-
The Army required, demanded every last bit of Matthew, body and soul. Mary would not allow it.
There were actually two Marys warring with the Army over Matthew's attention. The mad Mary who loved Matthew and the well Mary who did not, or as Matthew came to reference them, Mary and Lady Mary. Mary was warm, uninhibited, bawdy, funny, caring; Lady Mary was cold, imperious, reserved, contemptuous.
When Matthew had a good day Mary was with him. Encouraging and congratulatory; proud of him. Holding out her arms to him for a hug. When he had bad days, which at the start of his training were much more numerous than the good days, Lady Mary was there, not with him, but there. Mocking and disparaging; ashamed of him. Pointing at the door. Begone, begone, begone.
For the longest time Matthew was transfixed by the dichotomy of the two Marys. Loving the one and hating the other; but gradually losing ground to the latter. It seemed inevitable that Lady Mary would gain the whip hand and he would be gone from her life forever. Until one day...
He was placed in command of Red Force and tasked with ambushing Blue Force. He split off a small portion of his command, overriding the axiom that you never never divide your forces in the face of the enemy, and had them carry out a clamorous demonstration in the face of Blue Force. While Blue Force's attention was captured by this decoy he sprung his ambush. His success earned a nod from the Major.
That night while he was replaying his triumph in his mind he realized that there might not be two Marys at all. Maybe Mary was using Lady Mary as a decoy. Maybe the Mary that loved him was using Lady Mary as a test; he had deserted her after the wedding; would he be steadfast no matter how cruel her words were to him? She could certainly wound with words. Or would he desert her again?
Maybe...maybe. No it was too farfetched. Lady Mary was the real Mary, the sane Mary, and she hated him. She wanted to be rid of him. But...but he could not forget those late night talks with Mary about their six children... he had to smile at six, a number she had suggested...oh what to do? What to do?
He remembered his instructors yelling at him "Make a decision, your men are dying, do something". He made a decision. He would put Lady Mary / Mary to a test. Their marriage could still be annulled; it had never been consummated. He would offer her that out; if she really and truly wanted to be rid of him she would take it. If she didn't .. well then he would lay court to her and make her his wife, truly.