A History Maker (8 page)

“True,” said Wat abruptly, “Public eyeballs are snooping outside. D'ye mind doing with less daylight, Colonel?”

Colonel Wardlaw shrugged a shoulder.

“Frost the window, Jenny!” Wat called to the major domo behind the bar. Between the double sheets of glass a paperthin water fall slid down then froze into starry white patterns which broke the appearance of the crowd and the hills outside into jagged shadows. Wat pulled a chair up to the table and sat watching the players until the Colonel said, “Do you want a hand?”

“I want news from Geneva.”

Tam Wardlaw handed him a printed sheet. Wat held it without reading until his young brother put a whisky in the other hand.

“Wattie Dryhope is at The Macallan,” sang Davie softly.

“Not possible!” said Rab, “Dryhope never touches alcohol. It upsets his chemistry.”

“He's drinking it now,” said the Colonel, “His chemistry must be out of order.”

“Give us peace,” muttered Wat and read the printout.

The Global and Interplanetary Council for
War Regulation Sitting in Geneva has
considered General Dodds's complaint
against the recent draw between Ettrick and
Northumbria United. General Dodds
accuses Ettrick of obtaining the result by a
foul pretence of surrender which did not
take place, resulting in the murder of at
least three Northumbrians who dropped
their guard having been deceived into
thinking the battle over. As proof of this he
refers the Council to the public eye battle
archive
.

The Council has scrutinized the battle
archive closely and believes there is good
reason to condemn Ettrick but not for the
action to which General Dodds objects. That
a certain amount of deception is an
inevitable and accepted part of combat is
proved by that sword stroke known as a
feint, nor is it unusual for hard-pressed
troops to relinquish their standard to an
enemy in order to counterattack more
strongly. The Northumbrians holding the
Ettrick standard believed the momentary
pause signified surrender because they
knew Ettrick could not win, being hopelessly
outnumbered; but the Geneva Convention
expressly states NO SOLDIER IS DEEMED
TO HAVE SURRENDERED BEFORE
HE DROPS HIS WEAPON OR OFFERS
THE HILT, BUTT OR HANDLE TO THE
OPPONENT. This did not happen. In the
slaughter following the resumption of
fighting after a twelve-second pause nearly
every Ettrick warrior died sword in hand.
If any dropped them or flung them away
General Dodds's troops did not notice
.

But the Global and Interplanetary
Council for War Regulation Sitting in
Geneva is forced to condemn General
Jardine Craig Douglas for a war crime
worthy of the twentieth century. He was
wrong to lead his clan into a third day of
battle which must end in the death of nearly
all his men, many of them cadets recently
promoted from the Boys' Brigade. His own
death — however gladly embraced — is no
compensation for theirs, however gladly
they embraced it. The purpose of warfare is
not scoring points over an opponent: it is to
show human contempt of pain and
annihilation. Most armies do this without
exploiting the self-sacrificial urge of
trainees who admire their senior officers.
When such exploitation is proposed it is not
treachery for officers to defy the general who
proposes it. The Global and Interplanetary
Council for War Regulation Sitting in
Geneva regrets that Major Wat Dryhope was
the only Ettrick warrior who appeared to
recognize this fact
…

Wat chuckled and said loudly, “I've just read the bit that explains why you chaps don't like me now.”

“Aye,” said the Colonel, “You're suffering the doom of everyone too good for their kindred.”

“Wat Dryhope, humanity's darling,” sang Davie.

“Wattie! The standard!” whispered Sandy urgently, “Ask them when we can — ”

“Wheesht,” said Wat and continued reading.

For the past twenty years the Council has
noticed a tendency for small, competitive
clans to throw younger and younger cadets
into the battle line. True lovers of fighting
must deplore the harm this does to the noble
art of war. By his holocaust of young lives
General Jardine Craig Douglas has broken
the splendid line of Ettrick victories which
began with the century. At least a decade
must pass before Ettrick breeds and trains
enough adult soldiers to fight again at a
professional level.

So the Global and Interplanetary
Council for War Regulation Sitting in
Geneva proposes three additions to the
Geneva Convention.

1 - No war will extend to a third day of
battle.

2 - No cadets of less than sixteen years shall
be admitted to the battle line.

3 - When a standard leaves a field of battle
by the interposition of a natural feature or
phenomenon (cliff, crag, hill, cavern,
canyon, pot-hole, volcanic vent or other
geological formation; bog, swamp, shifting
sands, stream, pond, river, lake, lagoon, sea,
ocean or other body of water; breeze, wind,
gale, tempest, sandstorm, hurricane,
cyclone, tornado, lightning, fireball,
aerolith or other meteorological event) the
battle will be judged to have ended at that
moment of the standard's departure from
the field of battle, and victory will belong
to the side which has lost fewest men
.

The Global and Interplanetary Council
for War Regulation Sitting in Geneva
hereby declares a moratorium upon all
armed conflict until a global and
interplanetary referendum decides by a
simple majority that each of these rules is
accepted or rejected as part of the Geneva
Convention. Everyone over fifteen years of
age will be eligible to vote
.

Meanwhile the Global Council for War
Regulation Sitting in Geneva declares that
these humanitarian proposals in no way
disparage the honesty and courage of the
Ettrick soldiers who carried out General
Jardine Craig Douglas's plan, while still
condemning absolutely their recklessness in
obeying him. The Global and Interplanetary
Council for War Regulation Sitting in
Geneva agrees with the public eye and the
mass of public opinion, in declaring the
battle between Northumbria and Ettrick a
draw; but also declare it a battle fought in
circumstances degrading to the senior
officers responsible, a kind of battle which
must never be repeated
.

Wat screwed the printout into a ball, cried, “Good for Geneva!” and flung the ball lightly at Colonel Wardlaw so that it bounced off his ear. The Colonel flinched then muttered, “Hard on your dad.”

“It's right about the Dad! But we'll forgive his bloody craziness if it gets three good rules like that made law.”

“You havenae drunk your whisky,” said Rab.

“I don't need it now,” said Wat, standing and going to them. They too were drinking Macallan. He tipped a neat third of his glass into each of theirs then signed to the barman for a strong coffee. It was brought.

“I hate Dryhope, he's a smug bastard,” sang Davie softly.

“He cannae help it,” said Rab, “He wins a world-famous draw by cheatery, fails in his suicide attempt and gets praised by Geneva for standing up to his daddy, though he did exactly what the old man telt him. Do you hate him too, Colonel?”

“Aye, but I hate his wee brother worse. Cadet Dryhope!” yelled the Colonel, “Stop standing there like a replica of Michel-fucking-angelo's David! In the days before the establishment of our democratic Utopia pretty wee soldiers who stood straight and cocky in front of crippled officers were given a hundred lashes. Slouch like your brother.”

“But
the standard!
” whispered the boy trying to slouch and plead frantically at the same time. “Clear out Sandy,” said Wat. Sandy left. As he opened and shut the door they heard a burst of hubbub from below pierced by the music of pipes playing a coronach.

“Colonel Wardlaw!” said Wat sharply, “Tell me
now why grown men like the Henderlands and Foulshiels — men with no interest in warrior business — are waiting downstairs among a crowd of weans and lassies.”

“I don't know,” muttered Wardlaw.

“Will I go down and find out?” asked Wat.

“The game's a bogie, men,” said the colonel to the other players. He flung his cards on the table and turned his chair to face Wat. Davie dealt the cards again and went on playing with Rab.

In a low voice pitched for Wat's ears only Colonel Wardlaw said, “Look at my face, Dryhope.”

Wat did so with frank pleasure because it took his attention away from the surgical corset holding the Colonel's body together; then he saw that only a pale-blue left eye showed intelligence. The bloodshot right stared fixedly sideways from a pupil so big it blotted out the iris.

“Sorry, Tam,” said Wat quietly, “I thought only your lower parts were hurt.”

“No. The head has the worst damage and not where you see it. There's a sore buzzing inside
that I try to think isnae an insect. I wish you'd spent a month wandering the hills, Wattie, because I need peace. I said
Here comes trouble
when you arrived because you make us a quorum — the three officers and one colonel needed to dispatch urgent regimental business. Wattie, neither me nor Rab nor Davie could dispatch a paper aeroplane. We're as queer and gruesome as a week with nine Mondays. I'm done with soldiering, Wattie. We're all done with soldiering. The knocks we got from Northumbria are mainly why but that message from Geneva finished us. A spate of others marked
urgent
followed it. They're in this pouch — ” (Tam clapped a satchel under the armrest of his chair) “ — I darena look at them.”

“Gie's them,” said Wat, stretching out a hand,

“Jenny could have answered them but I'll do it faster. I bet half can be ignored and the rest answered with
Thanks for your friendly letter
. And forget Geneva, Tam. It said the truth, but no honest soldier or kind woman will scorn us for obeying our elected commander.”

Wat put the wad of sheets on a nearby table and quickly sorted it into two piles, one of blue sheets from public eye companies, one of pink sheets meaning warrior business. Tam watched with an expression in which weariness,
indifference and anxiety oddly blended. Two minutes later Wat lifted the blue pile and said, “These are from every big eye company there is, the nearest in the Lothians, the farthest in the satellite belt. We know they want to exploit public excitement about a battle which for us is past and done, so we answer them this way.” With a sharp wrench Wat tore that pile in two, laid the bits on a chair then sorted through the other, this time glancing at a line or two before laying each one aside. Once he paused and said, “Colonel Tam, why were our wee lads yattering about standards?”

“They want permission to fish our old pole out of the North Sea. They're feart some of Dodds's tykes will get it first and melt it intae the roots of a Northumbrian powerplant.”

Tam sipped his whisky. Wat finished reading then turned and said, “Cellini's Cosmopolitan Cloud Circus remind you that tomorrow night they will pay homage to mankind's most famous draw with a completely new spectacle called From the Big Bang to the Battle of the Ettrick Standard: a Creative Evolutionary Opera to be performed on the hills round Selkirk. The rest are congratulations from clan chiefs everywhere, some of them world champions. Many blame Geneva for what some call
a nursemaid attitude to the noble art of
war.
And here's one to cheer you — Shafto of Northumbria wishes us well and says he didn't subscribe to Dodds's protest against the draw. This other is the only one needing a careful answer. Border United — the chiefs of Eskdale, Teviotdale, Liddesdale and the Merse — regret our loss of folk fit to train the next generation of Ettrick fighters. They will lend us officers of their own, on a rotation basis, not to fight battles of course but to get our youngsters ready for them. What do you say to that?”