And of course, Smith would call on me at my residence to hand over the fiscal, somewhere to the tune of four thousand four hundred shillings every day, one pound for every unsuspecting Mick who trotted off to work at the crack of every freezing cold morning, whistling Paddy tunes of yore.
Fitzgibbon Returns
My little arrangement continued for almost three months whilst I spent the time either whoring or otherwise attempting to seduce Gertrude. Out of caution, I had to spend the occasional day loitering about the barracks, offering my half-hearted assistance to Murphy, just to make sure everything was still working to spec.
But like all good things, they must at some point come to an end. However, by the time it did I was a made man, and still only eighteen years of age.
What happened? Fitzgibbon was given command is what happened. And not just command over the 8th, but over the entire new regiment. With the flick of a quill, the 8th King’s Royal Irish Hussars and their one hundred and sixty six year history were vanquished and ceased to exist when they became a part of the now enlarged 11th Hussars, otherwise known as the Cherry Pickers on account of having once been ambushed by the French in a cherry orchard. Six months it took Horse Guards to make the decision we all knew was inevitable anyway - And people wonder why they pay tax at the rate of six pence in the pound. Well not me, no sir, because my fortune was in gold and lay hidden beneath the floorboards of my Rochester residence, a six bedroom estate on the town outskirts, well away from the local riffraff and vagrants, with stables and three in house servant girls who’d succumbed to my advances at once.
But I digress somewhat though only because I wasn’t personally there to witness the conversation that took place between Murphy and Fitzgibbon, when the latter arrived at Rochester, papers in hand, to take over command, only to discover that for the past three months, his beloved men had been engaged in ‘convict labour.’
“I should have listened to you Jack and sent the men off to the tannery.” The sobbing Major Murphy confessed, packing his belongings into a box. Oh, he wasn’t going anywhere, but he’d never again make colonel, acting or otherwise, not even if he tried to purchase it. “Never in all my days have I been spoken to in such a way as the colonel spoke to me.”
I patted him on the back as we perched together on a step overlooking the parade ground. “There, there, Major. We live and learn, my friend, we live and learn.”
He swallowed and fought back a fresh wave of tears. “Is that so Jack? Do you really consider me a friend?”
I shuffled away and was thankfully saved from having to answer when the Irish lads, with shovels slapping against their horses hides, trotted back through the gates to whoops and jeers from the English boys, who’d spent the entirety of the intervening period training, you know, stabbing posts with their blades like proper cavalrymen. It was the one thing that always intrigued me about Murphy, how he’d bended so readily to manipulation rather than setting the men to train and if Britannia’s forces truly were populated by men of his calibre, then it was a miracle the French hadn’t yet found out. But it’s something I’ve since learned in life, that the nicest and most trustworthy people are always the ones to be taken advantage of, whilst those who take advantage, the rogues and knaves, such as myself, often find the universe working in their favour some way or other. All I can say on the matter is it’s a good thing Murphy didn’t turn out to be another Dolan - I probably deserved it and more.
Entering the barracks, my Irish brethren were filthy, unsurprisingly, and had tattered their uniforms beyond redemption. The replacements would have to come out of their own wages, because while they may get away with a shoddy appearance back on the Emerald Isle, even with Fitzgibbon back in charge, that kind of negligent attitude would not stick here, no sir, not with the crumpet eating, tea sipping English and certainly not whilst they were side by side, apparently amalgamated, with one of the greatest regiments of horse that ever existed.
And you could see the pity and disdain on the faces of each English trooper as they watched, mouths agape, as their new ‘equals’ entered the base that’d belonged to the 11th since their formation. The Irish for the most part could not meet their eyes and hung their filthy heads, the occasional Paddy coughing up mucus from the development of bronchitis, no doubt caused from breathing in the soot and dirt and filth and shit and dust from spending so much time and exertion underground.
Oh aye, I’d probably secured my vengeance for Ireland and some besides, and let that be a lesson to any man who even thinks about antagonising Captain Jack Strapper - It was just a pity Lynch wasn’t around to see it.
Though it wasn’t all fun and games for me. If I hadn’t already lived through it once, and much to my annoyance the first time around, as it turned out, the 11th had also taken part in the Charge of the Light Brigade on that fateful day five years before when after a botched order the six hundred and seventy charged headlong into the Russian guns at Balaclava. The two regiments were brothers in that regard, but to see them now you wouldn’t know it. And that was just the men. When the officers were finally called together, it was another matter entirely.
With my occasional loitering about the barracks, if I felt the rare need to turn in, I’d tried hard to avoid the man Fitzgibbon whenever he made his rare appearances, and had only occasionally stumbled by him in the latrines, we both limping obscenely; he from a deep shrapnel wound to the thigh, myself from theatricals and I must say, at times it was much like watching a funny walk contest. I’d even grunted and groaned whilst struggling to piss, on account of my supposedly crushed bladder, ensuring to spill over the floor - Well let me say, they weren’t getting me back on a horse, to slay the dead without a fight, of the non-physical type of course.
But no matter what I did, there was no getting away from him now, because he’d called a general meeting of all officers, of which I was, supposedly a captain, still on full pay from Her Majesty’s Government. Fitzgibbon, who, to most people’s annoyance, had been given command over Cardigan, and now took his position at the head of the table in the officer’s mess. If anything, time had only increased the length of that ridiculous tree trunk that sat over his upper lip, which you wouldn’t think could physically remain quite so rigid that far beyond its roots - Tar you see, works wonders, even if it could do nothing about the grey he’d since acquired - I liked to think I had something to do with that.
I’d made sure to limp into the room, pausing twice on the way to my seat to collect myself for the next major effort and grimacing when I sat next to Major Murphy who gave me his sympathy with a drawn out pat on the back. I spent the next few minutes glancing with interest around the table and studying the expressions of English and Paddy alike. Neither could understand the other, which would make things tricky when giving orders and it became clear how much thought the paper shufflers had put into this.
“I say old chap, but didn’t I see you at the Charge?”
“Buy yee’re own feckin’ drink, tis not my round, so it isn’t.”
“No, I did and then again afterwards in the barrack hospital. I was in the hammock two down from you.”
“Well I don’t really want to be here either, but yee’d better get used to it, cos we ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
It was one asset I had after spending many horrific months across the Irish Sea, that I was about the only man in the room who could understand both sides - Not that I was the sort to use such things to my advantage.
There were a dozen similar conversations and the room only settled after repeated shouts from the colonel, in his usual horrendously loud voice and I thought it ironic that directly behind his head, in a gold encrusted glass cabinet, were the Queen’s colours of the 11th and much to Fitzgibbon’s discontent, the room exploded into laughter when one officer made a quip about him not losing his second set.
The colonel seethed and ordered the man, a captain, away to supervise the cleaning of the latrines.
“Perhaps there are others in
this room who think the state of Britannia is not so perilous that we can waste our time with jokes? Perhaps there are those here who think the loss of Ireland does not come as a warning? And perhaps there are those who believe the loss of our old colours,” and his eyes flicked once to me, “could not happen to these also?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the cabinet to a chorus of gasps and it became immediately evident that the idiotic love the 8th had for their shoddy piece of cloth was conveyed similarly throughout the 11th. The mere suggestion that something might happen to them was enough to make one lieutenant visibly shudder. For me, there seemed no escape from the madness but thankfully, if I’d played my cards right, which I’d been very careful to ensure, then this time around they couldn’t touch me. I certainly wouldn’t be risking my life for a rag on a pole, this time, for what looked like an upturned column with three feathers perched upon it, all emblazoned in gold on a beige background. Oh, I had no doubt there wasn’t a man in the room, myself excused, who wouldn’t gladly jump into a pit of snakes to protect them - And they’d all do so with a smile fixed upon their gullible faces.
The colonel smacked a pile of papers with the back of his hand. “We’ve been ordered north so that’s where we’re going, what? Along the Great North Road…we’re to clear the bloody thing of the dead and we’ll go as far as needed, all the way to Edinburgh if we’re still seeing ‘em. Where there are zombies, that’s where we’ll be. Yes, it’s a long trek but it’s a good road…or was. Four hundred miles, what…with part of that flanked by forest and you’ll all know what that means. The dead…they’re up to their usual tricks, hiding in the planks before scurrying out at the slightest sign of a village. Well by Gad, we’re here to put a stop to that and to them.” He thumped the table, which I guessed was our cue to cheer, but nobody did. He cleared his throat. “Major Murphy? If you’d be so kind?”
The major had sat beside me, sullen as a judge and puffy faced. He hesitated before standing, evidently still in a state of gloom and apathy after his bollocking. “This, um, will be payback for Ireland. Make no mistakes, gentlemen, for those who don’t know, we’ve seen it happen…do not underestimate the dead. They can destroy nations, decimate populations and they can do it quick. We must sweep them away before they manage to gain an even larger foothold on the British mainland than they already have.” His chubby cheeks turned a ludicrous shade of red. “They’ve been wreaking havoc on every carriage, coach and wagon for months, eating everyone who passes without a fast horse, and it’s killing not just trade but also preventing essential supplies from getting north and vice versa. For example, the Scots have been unable to transport their Scotch south, which is why, in case any of you were wondering, there is none presently in the mess. Likewise, we ain’t getting oats, lamb or any of that delightful shortbread they produce. It’s the same both ways; they’re crying out for English beef and cotton and so is the rest of Europe. If the merchants can’t transport their wares then the whole country grinds to a halt. So, our operation must begin in the obvious place…the Great North Road.” With a kerchief, he wiped the sweat from his countenance and looked upon the Irish contingent who comprised half the officer staff and who’d mainly clustered, leaning together against the bar. “Now’s your chance to prove yourselves…that the Irish are just as bold as the English, that the boys of the now defunct 8th can fight just as well as those of the legendary 11th, lost colours be damned.”
There was sniggering and whispering at that, with one or two of the few sober Irish lads covering their faces.
But to his credit, Murphy knew how to rescue a dying speech and to that effect, he now looked to me, every other eye in the room doing likewise. “Yourself excluded, of course, Captain Strapper. Your bravery, heroics and deeds are unmatched, unrivalled and without parallel no matter which regiment one should care to name and we all look up to you and the high example and standard you’ve already set for the rest and it’s with an extremely heavy heart that I must order you to remain behind, at least until you’re recuperated…no…no…I know how badly you want to be at them, to slay as many dead as you did in Ireland, but it’s times like these we need our heroes alive and well, because without you, Captain Strapper, there’s no telling what might happen, not only to Britannia, but to the whole Empire.”
Well I didn’t mind this at all and I shifted in my seat, trying to look uncomfortable as the compliments were dished my way.
Rooting, you see. Planning far ahead into the future - Like a proper coward should. Because it’s no good running to your superiors, complaining of a slipped disk, when they’re just about to leave to fight the dead. No - That’s the quick road to being found out and disgraced into the bargain. You see, what I did was undergo months and months of walking like a cripple, wincing and cringing at every small exertion, shuddering with every sip of water, groaning with every squeeze of my sphincters, when in reality I felt perfectly fine. That’s the way to shirk and avoid your ‘duty.’ Finally, this was where all my hard work and effort was about to pay dividends.
And there was barely a man in the entire mess who didn’t exhibit their disappointment at my being confined to barracks - They all wanted to be with me, to see the great man in action, to witness for themselves the miracles they’d heard about the legendary Captain Jack Strapper. Well they’d have to remain disappointed and forever may it continue.
Now, they all looked at me expectantly, because for the most part I’d remained quiet since entering, like a silent enigma in the corner. Oh, I’d sure noticed them watching me, my fellow Englishmen, curious as they were and even the new Irish contingent who dared not maintain eye contact for long. What do you do when you finally meet your hero, the man you’d heard and read so much about? And to be one of the lucky few who’d get to serve alongside him - The 11th were truly lucky, or so they believed. Regardless, they’d not hear a contradiction from me and who would blame me for it?
I sighed at the news Murphy had given and with a grimace held my rib. “Aye, it’s a bad business, Major, but are you sure there’s nothing that can be done? I’ve found the pain ain’t quite so excruciating if I tourniquet my leg an inch bellow the groin. Naturally, I lose feeling in the pin after a few minutes, which causes me to fall off the horse, but I’m willing to put myself through it…for Britannia, dammit!” I thumped the table. “Of course there’s nothing that can be done about the ribs, lungs, bladder and my restricted nerve functionality, but you can trust I’m presently searching for ways around it.” I pressed my lips together and wrinkled my chin. “I think all I’m trying to say is, I was looking forward to getting to know my new comrades and I, um, I hate to be missing out on the fun…that’s all.” I looked down to the table as the captain to my side placed a comforting arm around my back.
And when I looked up, there was barely a dry eye in the mess, Fitzgibbon excluded - And these were hardened men. I half expected someone to shout “three cheers for the captain,” but they didn’t.
Murphy’s spectacles had steamed up again and the Irishman didn’t appear to know how to continue with the briefing. It was no matter to me of course, since I’d have nothing to do with it anyway and whilst they were away I had plans of my own - Perhaps I could even call in on the colonel’s wife in the meantime, just to check how she was settling into life in Kent.
Temptation, Undoing
I was there next morning to see the 11th off and wish them all a safe slaying - I had to be there to intercept Smith, after all, to ensure he didn’t make it as far as the barracks. Why risk it now the colonel was sniffing around again?
A crowd of townsfolk had collected outside the gates, ready with their offerings of bread, fruit and promises of marriage upon their return. Inside the grounds, a group of troopers had gathered within earshot of Murphy and myself as they awaited the order to head out.
From my standing position with walking stick and unsteady posture, I looked up at him where he perched on his horse. “Perhaps I could just accompany you as far as th
e Scots border? Make sure you’re all safe…I know I’d sleep better that way.” I decided it best to put up some more token resistance, but not too much, and with the border being around seventy percent of the entire journey to Edinburgh, there was never a chance Murphy would accept and a brace of troopers now leaned closer, raising a unibrow or two, the faintest glimmer of hope still ignited that they’d get to experience a campaign with old Strappy.
Murphy’s lip quivered and he looked to the nearby troopers with annoyance, like they were preventing him from saying what he wanted. “Oh, dear Jack, if only I could…” he swallowed as a stiff breeze unsettled his neat brown hair that was parted to the side and then, with a clearing of his throat his nerve seemed to return, “…no, you must remain here to recuperate. You sure are a madman when it comes to your duty, slaying the dead and protecting Britannia. If only there were more like you, there’d be no problems in the world.”
“Here, here.” Called out more than one of the troopers and then the sergeant major screamed that everybody move out and within minutes the stench of over two hundred horses and half as many soot stained men faded as they trotted through the gates to be mobbed and I was left alone to contemplate my next dilemmas - How to spend my fortune and seducing Gertrude.
We’d met on several occasions over the last few months, whenever we could fit in a rendezvous between her private tuition and my whoring and um, running the family business. At first I tried to get her to meet me in Soho but that was a non-starter, probably due to the negative connotations associated with the area which was understandable, it was after all why I was there. But she did agree to meet me in Hyde Park for a picnic or five by the Serpentine River. Though, as I found, romantic picnics soon lose their appeal when every time there’s a twenty stone fat man not one yard away, eavesdropping on your every word and ensuring you can’t even touch the girl’s tits, never mind take her back to one of your residences.
Not Dead Yet: A Zombie Apocalypse Series - Books 1 - 2 Page 22