Alec

by William di Canzio

Staff Corporal Ivanhoe Blunt had mastered the art of Wearing the Uniform. His tunic, detailed in red, was meant for headquarters, not battle, and had been tailored to ensure that it glorified the fine figure it covered. He was a regular at the Chabanais, also a favorite. His allure was so good for business that the proprietress often welcomed him herself. He now guided Alec to a couple of chairs in a quiet anteroom where they could drink and talk. Van had put off enlisting for service as long as possible. “I’d the farm to run,” he said, “and my own poppet Phyllis to dandle, still toddlin’ and ploppin’ down on her sweet behind. Why should I abandon the land that my people took generations to gain? To fight the family feuds of our Johnny-come-lately overlords, the Saxe-Coburgs, and their fuckin’ German kindred?” Only when Van could see no way to dodge the impending draft did he sign on, grudgingly. “Oh, I fumed for days. Leave me alone, is all I was askin’, to guard my own house from the Hun, not to die like a rat in some Belgian ditch.” When he did volunteer, he did so with one intention paramount: to survive the war by any means and survive it intact. “I’ve a child and a home to live for. And Mabel, the best woman in the world, she’s too young to be makin’ her way in the world as a widow with a fatherless babe, or, should I be maimed, to spend her life luggin’ a useless cripple of a husband back and forth to the toilet.” In the army, he soon learned to make the most of his...