Chapter Text
25th April 1915
Samuel Vimes leapt over the side of the life boat, landing knee deep in the cold salt water and immediately sinking to his ankles in the wet sand. Gun held high in front, he sprinted up the beach. Two things occurred to him as he ran: firstly, that he wasn’t getting any younger, and second, that he was a sitting duck for the duration of this exercise. If he had had the breath to spare he would have muttered, ‘Damn stupid idea.’ Instead, he jumped to avoid the poor bastard in front of him who had fallen under a rain of bullets.
7th May 1915
"Major! You are perilously close to insubordination.” The short, bespectacled man - whose superiority was endowed by the amount of gold braiding on his sleeve - spoke right over Vimes’ suggestion that it would be handy to know where the enemy fortifications were before a third attempt was made on Krithia.
Vimes bit back his immediate response which was, ‘Insubordination? Good Lord man, don’t you recognise mutiny when you see it?’ Fortunately, at the last minute he remembered that, unlike the Company of the Australian 6th battalion which he was currently in command of, as a British Officer he was eligible to face a firing squad. God damn it! How was it possible that this idiot came from the same stock as the brave lads he had the honour of trying to keep alive? Beside him, his adjutant stood as still as stone, nothing in his stance or face indicating he understood a word of the heated conversation.
Vimes knew to say more would be pointless. He also knew that he couldn’t abandon the men who were relying on him to get them through this - and so… he took a deep breath, came to his feet, staring at a spot slightly above the head of the Golden Fool and shot off the smartest salute this side of the Dardanelles. “Yes, sah! Apologies, sah! Moment of madness, sah! Not been sleeping - too excited about the impending push! Sah!” His Sergeant, he thought, would be proud of this display of grovelling enthusiasm.
One knowing glance and the Pompous One let it pass. In less than twenty four hours this consistently annoying Major was likely to be just another dead body in the sand in any event - taking this further would be more effort than he wished to expend. “Understandable, Major. Let’s say no more about it. Good luck.” He held out his hand.
Vimes forced himself to shake it, the words of his wife running through his mind… something about the value of civility, he frowned, or was that of wearing clean shorts every day? Nearly a year since he had seen her and he was starting to confuse her spoken words with her written instructions… either way he knew this is what she would counsel him to do - so it must be right.
As His Arrogance left the hastily erected canvas tent which passed for a command station, Vimes spat on his hand and wiped the taint off on his trouser leg.
“Well done, sir!” his adjutant said enthusiastically, “You certainly told him.”
Vimes stared at Carrot. Maybe he really hadn’t understood the conversation - he could never make up his mind about the man. “It made no difference, Captain. Tomorrow we will send these men out under heavy fire in broad daylight with no cover. They will die. In droves. And we will still be stuck in this God forsaken cove.”
Carrot nodded, “But they will die heroes, and a hundred years from now people will still gather to remember them.”
Vines shook his head. “And mothers will go mad with grief at the loss of their beloved sons, wives will face the future alone and unsupported, and children will grow up in villages with precious little in the way of examples of what a father should be. That is the sort of thing that will reverberate through generations. There is no romance in death, Carrot - no matter how many poems they chant a hundred years from now.”
On a ridge not very far away a very busy hooded figure holding a scythe took a moment to feel slightly aggrieved; after all, he wasn’t wearing black in this heat for fun.
“The Lieutenant Colonel has some interesting ideas,” Carrot changed the topic. He did not want his commander to sink into melancholy; better to keep him angry.
“The only thing interesting about that man is the mind blowing magnificence of his drive for personal glory. What is he in civilian life?” It was a random question but he had no doubt his adjutant would know the answer.
“He is a member of the Melbourne Constabulary, Chief Inspector I believe.”
“Ah,” Vimes nodded.
“His son-in-law is actually one of our men,” Carrot said nonchalantly.
Vines looked at him sharply, “Really? Has he arranged for him to be reassigned before tomorrow?”
“Well… the order did come through but when I mentioned it to Robinson he asked me to misplace it - said another day or so wouldn't matter..”
The first genuine smile of the morning found its way to Vimes’ face. He had liked the earnest young Private the moment he had seen him showing his mates how they could use their guns as staffs, for when they got too close to shoot or, far more likely, simply ran out of bullets. That kind of practical forethought would get the boy promoted through the ranks quickly, well, that and appallingly high casualty rates.
“Robinson is a police constable back in Melbourne.”
“Good Lord, is he?” Vimes thought for a moment, that explained the street brawling skills. It also occurred to him that Robinson was likely to be that rarest of things, a good copper. “Carrot, where are you planning to fight tomorrow?”
The Captain refused to meet his eye. “I was thinking I’d base myself along the right flank - they will have it hardest along the gully.”
Vimes nodded, “Good man.” Though he would never know it, Robinson’s chances of making it through tomorrow had just increased a hundredfold.
Carrot ignored the implied approval. “I don’t understand, sir, why they can’t see that a plan that has failed twice already is just as likely to fail the third time.”
Vimes shook his head, reaching into his shirt pocket to find a half smoked cigar. “This is what happens, Carrot - when you leave the planning of a battle to a gentleman who has learnt everything he knows from classical texts and another who thinks war should be conducted in office hours. They are sending these poor bastards straight into the dragon’s maw.” He lit the sorry excuse for tobacco and leaned back in his chair, puffing smoke rings into the air.
There was a sudden barrage of cheers from outside the tent, the sort you hear when people are bored and something occurs to amuse them, like two gladiators squaring off to the death for entertainment purposes. Carrot excused himself and by the time Vimes strolled over, he had separated the two combatants and was holding on to them by the scruff of their respective necks.
One look at the swarthy skin and blue black hair of the man on the right told Vimes all he needed to know of the origin of the fight, but he waited for Carrot to confirm.
“Simple misunderstanding, sir, due to certain physical similarities between Private Simmons and the Turks.”
Vimes stared sternly at both men and they visibly quailed. He waved his hand inland, “To be clear, the enemy is over there, you can tell because they are the ones shooting at us. In case you hadn’t noticed they are doing a damn good job of it and there are fewer of us every day. Resources are scarce, gentlemen, and not to be wasted - not on my watch. You are both qualified to die for your country and will get an equal chance to do so tomorrow. Is that understood?”
The vigorous nods, which may have been assisted by the movement of Carrot’s hands, suggested it was.
“Excellent.” Vimes glanced at Carrot, “I'll leave the detail to you then, Captain?”
“Of course, sir.”
As Vimes ducked back into the tent he could hear Carrot speaking of the brotherhood of men, with guns, fighting other men with guns who didn’t understand brotherhood and therefore were bound to lose. It was sentimental tosh but, when Carrot spoke it… he made you want to believe.
Fifteen minutes later, having created a sense of comradeship that had everyone hugging and swearing eternal friendship, Carrot discreetly retired. He wanted to polish his boots and belt before the battle. He had a feeling that his sweetheart back home would howl with laughter at his desire to present himself to the enemy as smartly as possible but, as he always liked to see her happy, he didn't mind in the least.
Incidentally Vimes was right, the next day both men did get to die for King and Country, along with 50% of the Australian 2nd Infantry Brigade - 1,056 men in all.
20th December 1915
In the eyes of the men who made it through, the evacuation was the most successful action of the entire eight month campaign. Vimes, as he watched the men clambering into the lifeboats under heavy fire, felt the bar had been set fairly low. With a sigh he began to walk past the lines of soldiers waiting patiently for their turn to be targets in the shooting gallery. The ever faithful Carrot kept pace beside him.
The Captain leaned in. “Young Robinson’s mob is next, sir. If you want to have a word?”
Vimes raised his eyebrows - what exactly was Carrot wanting to prompt him on? “I thought he had been reassigned after Krithia?”
“No, sir. On his return Robinson told the Lieutenant Colonel only someone with a death wish would agree to be moved out of your Company.” Carrot looked up at a passing cloud, intensely interested in the way it moved silently wherever the wind blew it. “I understand he has no family, sir, excepting his wife’s.”
Vimes looked across at the Private, leaning on his rifle, laughing with his friends, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. Perhaps a word to the wise would not go astray? He ambled across. “Robinson!”
The young man dropped his cigarette on the ground whilst throwing up a salute so sharp it nearly took his eye out. Vimes fought the urge to pick up the still glowing stub and place it behind his ear for later.
“At ease, man. I only want a quick word.” Vimes indicated with a nod of his head that he should walk with him.
After a quick glance at his mates, Robinson fell in beside the Major, looking nervous.
“You’re a good man, Robinson,” Vimes began.
“Thank you, sir,” replied the slightly bewildered lad.
“No, don’t thank me, that wasn’t a compliment… more of a commiseration,” Vimes corrected him.
Robinson glanced at Captain Carrot following respectfully a few steps behind them. For his pains he received a smile of encouragement that made him even more nervous.
Knowing he didn’t have the gift of words, Vimes went straight to the point he intended to make. “When you marry, Robinson, you take on many obligations. Not just in respect of the object of your affection but to her family also. And you may feel under pressure to keep everyone happy. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, sir,” came the reply but no one was fooled into believing he understood anything.
Vimes tried another angle. “What I mean to say is that there may be expectations… placed upon you… ones that you may not personally agree with.”
The boy’s bright blue eyes were completely unclouded by comprehension.
Vimes felt things were quickly heading south. He looked back at Carrot, who gave another one of his trademark smiles of encouragement. He took a deep breath. “The point I am making is that a good man sometimes has to choose between conflicting obligations, and the right choice is never the easy one. In fact, the rightness of the decision can best be measured by the level of difficulty and personal discomfort it causes you. Now do you see?”
The befuddled lad considered all the possible responses and went with, “Yes, sir!”
Vimes shook his head, presumably he would would work it out in his own time - he had done his best. He surveyed the exhausted men: they had been 60,000; on the very first day 747 of them had died. A further 8,000 had died in the months that followed. At the last tally around 18,000 were injured. It was blatantly obvious that at times your best was simply not enough. On the other hand, some of these men were still alive because of him and that meant something too. Now, however, his time with them was over - he and Carrot were heading to France. “Any idea where you're shipping to, Robinson?”
The lad gave an easy and incredibly engaging smile. “First to Egypt but then rumour is we’re off to France, sir. A place called Posey Airs. It sounds posh and anyway, nowhere could be worse than this hell hole.”
Vimes, recognising the name, wondered if he should say anything but decided it wouldn’t make it any better. “Excellent, try not to overindulge in wine and cheese while you’re there,” he said, before walking swiftly away.
The sixth battalion went from Egypt to Pozieres to Ypres and back to winter in the Somme. It is possible that the young man standing on that beach in Gallipoli had severely underestimated the number of hells there were available in the world.
1930
Detective Inspector Jack Robinson sat on the uncomfortable wooden pew of the Supreme Court of Victoria, his eyes on the short, bespectacled man in the docks. He was unaware of the clenching and unclenching of his hands until the woman beside him covered the nearest with one of hers. He looked at her in surprise and gratitude.
He had sent a telegram to Phryne as soon as the date of the trial had been known, explaining that he couldn’t come after her, that his input was pivotal for the prosecution case. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done and he had trusted she would understand - though that didn't make it any easier.
This morning, walking glumly in for the first of what would be many days of argument and counterargument - he had found her sitting at the front of the courtroom. They didn’t have a chance to speak, which was just as well, because he was not sure how to express how much it meant to him that she had come back, for him. Turning his hand over, he interlaced their fingers as he refocused on Sanderson.
Having lost his father when he was very young and his mother just before he joined the police force, he had been eager to become one of Rosie’s family and had always looked up to George. It was amazing, he thought, how clearly he could see the man for what he was now, and he was suddenly reminded of a long forgotten warning...
…from another man, a taciturn man, respected, but perhaps not liked by those who served under him. A man who had influenced him in more ways than he had ever appreciated. Jack gave one of his now rare but still incredibly engaging smiles. Major Vimes, wherever he was in the universe, was sure to be proud of the choice he had made.