The great general removed his hat, placed it on the head of his sergeant. The great general wrapped his famous coat, grey, from the last war, not blue like the current ones, around the shoulders of his bewildered subordinate.
“Today, you will inspect the parade. Let us see who is paying attention.”
The sergeant was accustomed to the quirks of the general, knew better than to argue. He gratefully accepted three large swigs of good brandy, to give him the swagger of a great general, stepped out to impersonate one.
The great general heard the call to attention. He heard two cracks from a sniper's rifle. He heard the scattering of the men. His intelligence had been sound.
He knew there was a spy in his camp, that the enemy knew he was there. He also knew the enemy were low on ammunition, unable to mount a serious attack, in the same circumstances he would have sent a sniper on a suicide mission to kill a figurehead general too. He knew the soldiers would have smelled the liquor on the breath of his sergeant, the episode would be written up as a drunken prank. He'd thought of everything.
Once the turmoil calmed the great general walked out onto the makeshift parade ground. He'd hoped by placing his coat over the shoulders of his dupe it might fall free, but the fool had wrapped it around himself. The coat was blood soaked and ruined.
Of course he had thought of this possibility too, and asked his wife to send a replacement a couple of days before. Grey, from the last war, not blue.
He looked down at the body of his sergeant.
“You won't brag about beating me at chess again.”
Parkstreet
No comments:
Post a Comment