MARCH OF THE TOY SOLDIERS
CHAPTER THREE - THE FIRE
Captain Croxford and Nurse Sharpe rode on the ambulance wagon past the Aerodrome of Madame Lacombe, the French flying ace. Her coveralls stained with grease, Madame Lacombe stood on a small ladder, bent over the engine of Alphonse, her World War One bi‑plane.
"Good evening, Madame Lacombe," said Nurse Sharpe.
But Madame Lacombe was much too busy for such nonsense and only mumbled something without even raising her head.
"Do you think she'll ever get that thing off the ground?" Nurse Sharpe asked the Captain.
"Even if she did," the Captain replied, "she’s still stuck in this cabinet with the rest of us. Where would she fly to?"
"I suppose you're right," said Nurse Sharpe. "It's comfortable enough in our little world, I suppose, but sometimes I feel like a prisoner. I miss the days when little boys and girls actually played with us... even if we did spend much of the time tied into boxes."
The ambulance stopped in front of the hospital tent. The Pioneers jumped out of the back and lined up to be repaired by the Chief Surgeon. Nurse Sharpe went in to help, and Captain Croxford, feeling that he really should have thanked Nurse Sharpe for saving him from the angry Pioneers, clambered down and walked over to his balloon wagon.
He looked up at the large, puffy bag with the basket tied beneath it. Inside the basket, his observer peered through a telescope.
"Everything secure, Corporal Feather?" the Captain shouted.
"All's well up here, sir," replied the Corporal. "Although it does get a little tiresome always looking at the same scenery. Uh, oh..."
"What is it?" asked the Captain.
"Watch out!" warned Corporal Feather. "It's the General!"
The Captain groaned and quickly looked about for an escape route, but it was too late. In a cloud of dust, General Hogg‑Smythe pulled his horse to a halt in front of the balloon wagon.
"Why in the Devil's name are those men lining up in front of the hospital?" he growled through his droopy whiskers. "They ought to be out doing something useful instead of lolly‑gagging about like that. Disgraceful!"
"They've just arrived, sir," said the Captain. "The Chief Surgeon's going to fix their cracks."
"Cracks, you say!" the General bellowed. "Well, that's a job for the Chief Surgeon isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. As I was just saying... "
"Well, what in the blazes are they doing hanging about over by the hospital then?"
"Well, that is where one usually finds the Chief Surgeon, sir," said the Captain.
"Find him where?"
"In the hospital!"
"Then that's where they should be lining up," the General snorted, "… over by the hospital."
"But they are, sir."
"And it's a good thing, too," said the General. "Can't have soldiers running around with cracks all over them, can we?"
Ever since General Hogg‑Smythe had been hit in the head by a child's marble long ago, it had become a little hard to carry on a sensible conversation with him.
"Well, keep up the good work," the General said. "Tally‑ho!" And with that he lurched away on this horse.
"The man is a bloody fool," said a soldier who was leaning against the balloon wagon.
"Private Chips," Captain Croxford said, "talk like that could get you court‑martialed."
Private Chips laughed. "Court‑martialed? That's a good one, that is. You forget. I was kicked out of the army a long time ago. No one wants a soldier with hardly any paint left on him. I'm not called Private Chips for nothing, you know."
"You were never kicked out. You just chose not to get yourself fixed up, that's all."
"That's my own business, isn't it?" said Chips. "Who wants to get scraped down to bare metal and re‑painted anyway? I'm happy the way I am."
"Are you?" said the Captain. "You don't seem very happy."
"Who can be happy stuck in this cabinet all day long?" said Chips.
"Well, that wasn't too bad," Nurse Sharpe said as she joined them, "just a few cracks here and there. The Chief Surgeon's finishing up. Thanks for the help."
The Captain said nothing.
"Good evening, Nurse Sharpe," said Private Chips.
"Good evening."
"You're looking very pretty tonight," said the Private.
"You must be joking," she said, trying to arrange her hair. "I look a sight."
"Oh, by the way," said Private Chips. "Tomorrow night is the Regimental Ball. I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"
Once a week, the soldiers held a big dance, and once a week Private Chips asked Nurse Sharpe if she would go with him, and once a week she politely said no.
"I'm afraid I can't," she replied gently. "You see I'll be going with Captain Croxford."
Captain Croxford's face turned as red as his tunic. This was the first he had heard of it.
"Oh, I see," said Chips. "A common soldier with so little paint left on him is not good enough for Nurse Sharpe."
"It's not that at all," said Nurse Sharpe. "Why must you take everything so personally?"
"I suppose you would much rather go with the pretty Captain here," said Private Chips.
"Now look here..." Captain Croxford started to say.
"Oh, I know all about how you lost your arm in a great battle, and what a hero you are. You've told everyone often enough."
"I never told anyone I was a hero," said the Captain.
"Please don't start a scene now," Nurse Sharpe cut in. "I don't want to be the cause of another argument between you two."
"Don't worry, I won't embarrass you," Private Chips said as he stalked away. "You're not worth it!"
"Don't worry about him," Nurse Sharpe said to Captain Croxford. "His problem is that his worst chip is on his shoulder. I hope you didn't mind me telling him that you were taking me to the Ball. I knew that if I waited for you to ask me I should never have gone at all."
The Captain's face turned even redder, and he could think of nothing to say. He wished that the boy would come back and take him away forever.
***
Private Chips leaned on the glass door of the cabinet.
"Taken in by that officer in his fancy red coat," he grumbled to himself. "Just because I've got a few chips..."
He looked at his reflection in the glass door. He had more than just a few chips. His face was intact, but only a tiny bit remained of his uniform and even that was too faded to tell its original color. He could always get himself re‑painted of course. A fresh paint job made you look wonderful, but it could also lower your value. Many collectors would rather have a badly chipped soldier than a re‑painted one. Of course, so far no one had bought him anyway, but that was fine with him. The more people left him alone, the better.
Except, of course, Nurse Sharpe.
"So she prefers that shiny red‑coated Captain to me," he mumbled. "I'll show her what I can do that he can't!"
Making sure that no one was watching, he walked over to a line of tethered horses, untied one, and led it away.
"Let's see if her fancy Captain can do this with one arm," he said to himself as he put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up. But before Private Chips could seat himself, the horse reared up, let out a frightened snort, and bolted away.
The horse charged across the wide wooden shelf. Soldiers in the line of flight flung themselves aside to avoid being trampled by the flying hoofs. The racing animal knocked over tents and stacks of rifles, and toppled a flagpole which upended a steaming pot of soup. All Private Chips could do was hold on for dear life to the horse’s neck.
By the time Chips and the runaway horse reached the balloon wagon, the entire shelf was up in alarm. Captain Croxford barely managed to pull Nurse Sharpe out of the way as the runaway horse sped past. The frightened animal trampled through the empty hospital tent and then leaped over the horses hitched to the ambulance.
The startled team of horses broke into a gallop, pulling their wagon behind them. They traveled a short distance and then turned sharply to avoid crashing into the wall. The wheels screeched as the wagon tipped over and slid toward Sergeant Hammer and his Pioneers who were sitting around a campfire. The soldiers managed to scoot out of the way in time, but the wagon slid sideways into the fire and crashed into the wooden wall.
The runaway horse, tired from its exertions, finally slowed down and came to a halt. Badly shaken, Private Chips slid off its back onto the floor. A group of angry Pioneers began closing in on him. They were only a few steps away when a terrified cry stopped them in their tracks.
"Look!" someone screamed.
All eyes turned to the overturned ambulance. The campfire had ignited the wagon's cloth cover, and fingers of red flame licked at the wooden wall sending an ominous column of black smoke into the air.
Captain Croxford and Nurse Sharpe rode on the ambulance wagon past the Aerodrome of Madame Lacombe, the French flying ace. Her coveralls stained with grease, Madame Lacombe stood on a small ladder, bent over the engine of Alphonse, her World War One bi‑plane.
"Good evening, Madame Lacombe," said Nurse Sharpe.
But Madame Lacombe was much too busy for such nonsense and only mumbled something without even raising her head.
"Do you think she'll ever get that thing off the ground?" Nurse Sharpe asked the Captain.
"Even if she did," the Captain replied, "she’s still stuck in this cabinet with the rest of us. Where would she fly to?"
"I suppose you're right," said Nurse Sharpe. "It's comfortable enough in our little world, I suppose, but sometimes I feel like a prisoner. I miss the days when little boys and girls actually played with us... even if we did spend much of the time tied into boxes."
The ambulance stopped in front of the hospital tent. The Pioneers jumped out of the back and lined up to be repaired by the Chief Surgeon. Nurse Sharpe went in to help, and Captain Croxford, feeling that he really should have thanked Nurse Sharpe for saving him from the angry Pioneers, clambered down and walked over to his balloon wagon.
He looked up at the large, puffy bag with the basket tied beneath it. Inside the basket, his observer peered through a telescope.
"Everything secure, Corporal Feather?" the Captain shouted.
"All's well up here, sir," replied the Corporal. "Although it does get a little tiresome always looking at the same scenery. Uh, oh..."
"What is it?" asked the Captain.
"Watch out!" warned Corporal Feather. "It's the General!"
The Captain groaned and quickly looked about for an escape route, but it was too late. In a cloud of dust, General Hogg‑Smythe pulled his horse to a halt in front of the balloon wagon.
"Why in the Devil's name are those men lining up in front of the hospital?" he growled through his droopy whiskers. "They ought to be out doing something useful instead of lolly‑gagging about like that. Disgraceful!"
"They've just arrived, sir," said the Captain. "The Chief Surgeon's going to fix their cracks."
"Cracks, you say!" the General bellowed. "Well, that's a job for the Chief Surgeon isn't it?"
"Yes, sir. As I was just saying... "
"Well, what in the blazes are they doing hanging about over by the hospital then?"
"Well, that is where one usually finds the Chief Surgeon, sir," said the Captain.
"Find him where?"
"In the hospital!"
"Then that's where they should be lining up," the General snorted, "… over by the hospital."
"But they are, sir."
"And it's a good thing, too," said the General. "Can't have soldiers running around with cracks all over them, can we?"
Ever since General Hogg‑Smythe had been hit in the head by a child's marble long ago, it had become a little hard to carry on a sensible conversation with him.
"Well, keep up the good work," the General said. "Tally‑ho!" And with that he lurched away on this horse.
"The man is a bloody fool," said a soldier who was leaning against the balloon wagon.
"Private Chips," Captain Croxford said, "talk like that could get you court‑martialed."
Private Chips laughed. "Court‑martialed? That's a good one, that is. You forget. I was kicked out of the army a long time ago. No one wants a soldier with hardly any paint left on him. I'm not called Private Chips for nothing, you know."
"You were never kicked out. You just chose not to get yourself fixed up, that's all."
"That's my own business, isn't it?" said Chips. "Who wants to get scraped down to bare metal and re‑painted anyway? I'm happy the way I am."
"Are you?" said the Captain. "You don't seem very happy."
"Who can be happy stuck in this cabinet all day long?" said Chips.
"Well, that wasn't too bad," Nurse Sharpe said as she joined them, "just a few cracks here and there. The Chief Surgeon's finishing up. Thanks for the help."
The Captain said nothing.
"Good evening, Nurse Sharpe," said Private Chips.
"Good evening."
"You're looking very pretty tonight," said the Private.
"You must be joking," she said, trying to arrange her hair. "I look a sight."
"Oh, by the way," said Private Chips. "Tomorrow night is the Regimental Ball. I was wondering if you'd like to go with me?"
Once a week, the soldiers held a big dance, and once a week Private Chips asked Nurse Sharpe if she would go with him, and once a week she politely said no.
"I'm afraid I can't," she replied gently. "You see I'll be going with Captain Croxford."
Captain Croxford's face turned as red as his tunic. This was the first he had heard of it.
"Oh, I see," said Chips. "A common soldier with so little paint left on him is not good enough for Nurse Sharpe."
"It's not that at all," said Nurse Sharpe. "Why must you take everything so personally?"
"I suppose you would much rather go with the pretty Captain here," said Private Chips.
"Now look here..." Captain Croxford started to say.
"Oh, I know all about how you lost your arm in a great battle, and what a hero you are. You've told everyone often enough."
"I never told anyone I was a hero," said the Captain.
"Please don't start a scene now," Nurse Sharpe cut in. "I don't want to be the cause of another argument between you two."
"Don't worry, I won't embarrass you," Private Chips said as he stalked away. "You're not worth it!"
"Don't worry about him," Nurse Sharpe said to Captain Croxford. "His problem is that his worst chip is on his shoulder. I hope you didn't mind me telling him that you were taking me to the Ball. I knew that if I waited for you to ask me I should never have gone at all."
The Captain's face turned even redder, and he could think of nothing to say. He wished that the boy would come back and take him away forever.
***
Private Chips leaned on the glass door of the cabinet.
"Taken in by that officer in his fancy red coat," he grumbled to himself. "Just because I've got a few chips..."
He looked at his reflection in the glass door. He had more than just a few chips. His face was intact, but only a tiny bit remained of his uniform and even that was too faded to tell its original color. He could always get himself re‑painted of course. A fresh paint job made you look wonderful, but it could also lower your value. Many collectors would rather have a badly chipped soldier than a re‑painted one. Of course, so far no one had bought him anyway, but that was fine with him. The more people left him alone, the better.
Except, of course, Nurse Sharpe.
"So she prefers that shiny red‑coated Captain to me," he mumbled. "I'll show her what I can do that he can't!"
Making sure that no one was watching, he walked over to a line of tethered horses, untied one, and led it away.
"Let's see if her fancy Captain can do this with one arm," he said to himself as he put his foot in the stirrup and hoisted himself up. But before Private Chips could seat himself, the horse reared up, let out a frightened snort, and bolted away.
The horse charged across the wide wooden shelf. Soldiers in the line of flight flung themselves aside to avoid being trampled by the flying hoofs. The racing animal knocked over tents and stacks of rifles, and toppled a flagpole which upended a steaming pot of soup. All Private Chips could do was hold on for dear life to the horse’s neck.
By the time Chips and the runaway horse reached the balloon wagon, the entire shelf was up in alarm. Captain Croxford barely managed to pull Nurse Sharpe out of the way as the runaway horse sped past. The frightened animal trampled through the empty hospital tent and then leaped over the horses hitched to the ambulance.
The startled team of horses broke into a gallop, pulling their wagon behind them. They traveled a short distance and then turned sharply to avoid crashing into the wall. The wheels screeched as the wagon tipped over and slid toward Sergeant Hammer and his Pioneers who were sitting around a campfire. The soldiers managed to scoot out of the way in time, but the wagon slid sideways into the fire and crashed into the wooden wall.
The runaway horse, tired from its exertions, finally slowed down and came to a halt. Badly shaken, Private Chips slid off its back onto the floor. A group of angry Pioneers began closing in on him. They were only a few steps away when a terrified cry stopped them in their tracks.
"Look!" someone screamed.
All eyes turned to the overturned ambulance. The campfire had ignited the wagon's cloth cover, and fingers of red flame licked at the wooden wall sending an ominous column of black smoke into the air.
