Posts Tagged ‘officer of the day’

[This is a fictional tale by your humble servant, but based on a very real story.]

As Private Sean Gorman, Scots Fusilier Guards, leaned down and brushed the snow away from the mound, he saw two large eyes staring back at him from around a snowy, hairy face.  It was a tiny terrier, with a pug nose, not much bigger than a puppy, shivering in a pathetic bundle with sticks for legs popping out of the wet fur.  Now Sean recognized the cries for what they were, although he’d have sworn they were a baby.  He dropped to one knee, letting his musket fall in the snow.

“There, there, now me wee friend, who’d leave ya out here ta freeze like this?  Tak it easy wee one, you’ve a friend in me.”  He scooped up the small dog up in his arms, cradling it close for warmth. The dog seemed to know he was safe … looked up at Sean, then placed his head on the red coatee and feebly wagged his tail.

Sean was wrapped in thought, trying to figure something out.  ”That’s what I’ll call ya … ‘Sticks,’ fer yer legs are mere twigs, yer that fragile.”

“What’s all this, then!”  shouted the voice behind Sean, who turned quickly and saw with horror it was the Corporal of the Guard.  “Ye’ave left yer post Private Gorman.  Where’s yer damned weapon, Private Gorman?  Yer in deep trouble now, Private Gorman.”

Walking up to them out of the blizzard was a young officer, the Officer of the Day.

Sean was still holding the small dog, his weapon buried in the snow.  He was had, all right, well and truly.  Caught out and done in.  He turned to the corporal, stammered, “Corporal, I, I, I,” then turned toward the officer, said, “Well sir, I …”

“Have ye nothin’ ta say fer yerself, Gorman, nothin’ ta say,” bellowed the corporal.  Sean hung his head, but he refused to let go of the dog, who was just beginning to stop shivering.

“I’ll sort this out, sir,” the corporal said to the young officer.  “I’ll have this man relieved at once and on charges, quick as ya like.”

He turned back to Sean, “Now get rid of that damned mutt and pick up yer musket.”

The officer spoke for the first time.  “Yes, corporal, you do that. You have this man relieved at once, but he’ll be coming along with me.”  He said to Sean, “Pick up you’re weapon, lad, and come along.  Handle that poor dog with care as you go, he looks in need of some warmth.”

“But, sir,” the corporal said, in dismay, “this man left ‘is post!”

“Didn’t you hear the cries, corporal?  You might want to clean out those ears if you didn’t.  I heard them.  Was on my way out to investigate myself.”

“Yes, sir, but …”

“There are no but’s, corporal.  Understand me?  This could have been an attack on the castle gate.  What better time than Christmas eve.  Royal family could have been in grave danger.  The man did credit to the regiment.  I see it that it was the sentry’s duty to investigate.  You call for a relief to cover this post.  In the mean time, you cover it if you have to.”

“Aye, sir.”  The corporal was at attention now.  Sean, in amazement, retrieved his musket and hurried after the officer.

As the officer left he shouted over his shoulder, “Be thankful I don’t bring you on charges for not seeing a possible danger, corporal.”

The dog gave what sounded like a muted snuffing sound at the frustrated corporal, and snuggled closer in Sean’s arms.  The young officer was smiling.

[Part III in the continuing adventures of “Sticks” will be along tomorrow.]