The Very First Damned Thing Read Free Page A

I must ask you, in the interests of everyone’s safety, to surrender your gun to me, please.’
    He held out his hand as he spoke.
    Still Major Guthrie hesitated. ‘My priority, sir, is the safety of my employers.’
    â€˜As is mine. The people here are the potential source of my funding. I would be very distressed if anything should happen to them and I had to begin again.’
    Unseen, Mrs Green smiled faintly.
    Dr Bairstow continued. ‘Major, I understand your reluctance, but if you attempt to shoot a contemporary, then History will act to defend itself and you will be dead before such a thing can happen. And possibly your employers will be as well. And if you shoot me you will, all of you, be here for the rest of your lives because only I can operate this pod. So, again, Major – your gun, please.’
    Reluctantly, Major Guthrie removed the clip, broke open the gun, and passed it over.
    â€˜Thank you, Major. I appreciate your good faith. As you can see, I shall simply place it here in this locker for safety. You can access it at any time. I trust you not to do so. And now, with the assistance of Mr Black, shall we endeavour to make sense of what is occurring here today?’
    He indicated the left-hand seat as he spoke and after only the briefest pause, Mr Black took his place.
    â€˜You can angle the cameras, and zoom in and pan out by toggling these control keys here.’
    Mr Black visibly swallowed and then, tentatively at first, but with growing confidence, began to range the camera back and forth, making some notes on a pad of paper that Dr Bairstow found for him. Eventually, he cleared his throat and said, in an artificially high voice, ‘Napoleon Bonaparte has escaped from Elba and, in another attempt to make France the most powerful nation in Europe, he has resumed war against the European powers.’
    He stopped, cleared his throat again, and continued. ‘A coalition is formed, consisting of Britain, Prussia, the Netherlands, Hanover, Nassau, and Brunswick, under the joint command of Field Marshals Wellington and Blücher.
    He stared at the screen for a while. Dr Bairstow, who had spent some time studying this event thoroughly and who could have enlightened him, remained silent.
    â€˜I believe, yes … I believe we are witnessing … yes … there …’ he pointed at the screen. ‘That’s the 92 nd – the Gordon Highlanders. General Pack ordered them to charge, but they’d already lost nearly half their strength in a prior engagement at Quatre Bras. They’ve fielded less than three hundred men today.’
    They watched in silence as the Highlanders moved up, four lines deep, to close with the enemy some thirty yards away, advancing into a hail of French fire.
    Mr Black said quietly, ‘There’s rather a difference between reading the reports that say they were badly knocked about and actually seeing that happen in front of one’s eyes. Things are rather bloody down there, aren’t they? You can see, they’re falling apart in some disorder. Poor devils … they’re certainly taking a bashing.’
    There was silence in the pod. The Highlanders were indeed taking a bashing. On the screen, without a sound, men hurled themselves at their enemies, bayonets fixed, mouths open in silent screams, advancing without hesitation into a barrage of fire. Tiny puffs of smoke bloomed and it was as if they had run into a wall. Simultaneously, the front row flung up their arms and fell. Then the second row. All in complete silence. Everywhere the eye looked, men were dropping to the ground and not getting up again. Huge holes opened up in the lines as soldiers fell by the score. Desperately, the Highlanders struggled on but, inevitably, the moment came when they could go no further.
    Dr Bairstow, who had stepped back to make room, was watching them all very carefully; waiting for the moment when it would dawn on them, as it