Flashman In The Great War

By david caulkins

Flashman In The Great War" is an adventure story about Willie Flashman, the grandson of General Sir Harry Flashman. Like his grandfather Willie is a charming scoundrel and coward; he first designs and then unwillingly fights in British and German tanks in WWI.

• Language: English
• Publisher: david caulkins
• Release date: Aug 29, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476352701

david caulkins

Dave Caulkins has been a student of the Great War (WWI) for more than twenty years.He's studied the major events and the people involved, and has visited several of the battlefields. He's read many books by participants and military historians. His sub-specialty is tanks; he's visited the Tank Museum, Dorset, England and read much about tanks and the WWI battles in which they were involved. He is a fan of and has read all 12 books of the Flashman series by George MacDonald Fraser (now, alas, deceased).

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Flashman In The Great War

David Caulkins

Published by David Caulkins at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 David Caulkins All Rights Reserved

Preface

George MacDonald Fraser (OBE) wrote a number of Flashman stories; see the list below. Sadly he died in 2008. I hope to continue the Flashman adventures into World War One with "Flashman In The Great War" It is the story of William Wilde Flashman, grandson of General Sir Harry Paget Flashman, the chief character in the Flashman stories. Willie helps design the first British tanks; then unwillingy fights in them, and in German tanks. I've used George Fraser as a character in one Willie's battlefield adventures.

Chapter 1

My name is William Wilde Flashman, and I served in the Great War. I wish I hadn't; much too dangerous and gory for me. I was involved in a lot more fighting and danger than I would have liked, but wearing a uniform in 1914 certainly helped with the ladies. I have a twin brother named Wade; he and I are very different. He's a few minutes older than I am, and as the 'elder brother' has always been the favorite of Mum and Dad. He's got scruples; I've never bothered with them. He went to Eton and then on to Cambridge; they put me in Rugby. My father is Reverend Doctor Harold P Flashman II; he's just as pompous as his name and nothing like me or my grandfather, General Sir Harry Paget Flashman.

I never thought my school experience at Rugby would be useful in the outside world; I couldn't have been more wrong. The German I learned in sixth form was taught by an Englishman who in many ways was a real Prussian; kept our noses to the grindstone. Later when I was captured by the Germans understanding their language became an important asset.

I was kicked out of Rugby after fooling around with a chamber maid when I was in the sixth form. I had just got her properly perched on a table with her skirts up when a Prefect burst in on us. He pretended to be horrified; I'm sure he would have changed places with me in a London minute. The Prefect took me to the Head Master's office; upon hearing the story he expelled me. My father is the vicar of Wakefield; needless to say he was also scandalized; I guess he had forgotten what it was like to be young and full of juice. He told me how disappointed he was and cut off my allowance. Luckily my Mum was able to secretly send me a bit of money while I was in London. It really wasn't enough to support me in any reasonable style, so I visited the brokerage house of Panmure Gordon & Company, and talked to Harry Gordon ¹ himself. He thought I might do as a stock salesman – what one does is call on people and persuade them to buy shares in companies that PG&C represents. The I get a commission, and if the shares rise the client is happy and can be sold more shares. If the shares fall we sell 'em and get the client to buy into something else. And there are commissions both ways, so PG&C and I can't lose.

I got a list of woman clients from Harry, and managed to talk him out of an advance on commission. I used the money to buy some stylish new clothes; being a handsome, well-dressed young gentleman was really necessary for the job. My first call was on Lady Shaftsbury; she lived in Earls Court in an imposing house. I rang the bell, and gave the butler my card. Lady S turned out to be a bit older than me, but had a very nice figure. She received me in the morning room and offered me a glass of sherry. She obviously fancied me; I sat beside her on a divan and started to talk about shares in British Petroleum. She put her hand on my knee, and I knew that other matters were more important. I put my hand on her knee and then under her skirt, and found she had no underclothes. After a few passionate kisses I pushed her back on the divan and mounted her. We had a great rattle; afterward I lit two cigarettes and handed one to her. Well, she said, You are a very persuasive salesman. Sign me up for a thousand shares of British Petroleum .

I'll be happy to. said I.

She said When you come back with the shares we can have a repeat performance.

That sounds marvelous, I said, I'll ring you when I have them.

Not all my calls were as successful as with Lady S, but a surprising number of PG&C lady clients thought me a handsome devil; I was able to sell myself and the shares with a good deal of success in both departments. But then it got to be 1914 and suddenly England was at war with Germany. The London Stock Exchange was shut down, and young men like myself were supposed to enlist, go to France, and fight the Germans. Not my cup of tea – I did not want to shoot anyone; more importantly I didn't want to be shot at. The streets were full of 'patriotic' young ladies pinning the white feather of cowardice ² on any young man not in uniform. I was certainly a coward, but didn't want it advertised in this way.

So I had a talk with my grandfather. He's retired now, but was in the Army forever; he's General Sir Harry Paget Flashman. I asked him about getting a commission and some kind of safe billet. He and I are much alike; neither of us want to get even close to being in harm's way. He's no longer young, but still very clever. Grandpa went on a bit about his own war experiences. "I remember in '79 I was a subaltern and they wanted to post me to Rorke's Drift during that ghastly Zulu business. My God, 11 VCs ³ were awarded there, sure sign of a place NOT to be. But I got onto Chelmsford's staff, even though he was a great fool and lost to the zulus at Isandlwana⁴. I was able to stay away from the fighting and was never shot at. Staff, now that's the job ! Never see any of those red-tab johnnies anywhere near the smell of powder.

Damn bollocks mess over there in France. If they'd give me a cavalry division I'd soon break the Boche lines and have him on the run. That Haig ⁵ is a bloody cautious coward, but then the pot shouldn't call the kettle black. You won't believe the tricks the War Office is up to. Winston Churchill, while he was still First Lord of the Admiralty, talked to the PM and told him we should build steam-driven armoured tractors with cannon and machine guns. Old 'Wait and See' ⁶ bought the idea, and Winston organized something called the Landships Committee ⁷; a Navy show, even though the machines would be used on land by the Army. Silliest thing I've ever heard. My friend Eustace d’Eyncourt⁸ heads it up. He's Navy, but clever and capable."

I knew this was the place for me. Working on some crazy thing that would never see the light of day seemed like the perfect war-time job; I said: "Oh please, Grandfather, get me a job on the Committee. I love mechanical things.

"Willie, you're a damned liar. You're just like me - you want a soft birth out of danger. Well, I'll try. Sounds like Landships could be a good fit for you. I think Tommy Hetherington is involved; I'll get in touch with him and see what I can do. But be careful with Winston - He's charming, smart, but a bit barmy. He's under a cloud now because of that