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Okay, let's make history and be more epic than these people, shall we?
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He was dry.
That was the first thing Matthew noticed and later it would strike him as rather pathetic that it had been so long since he'd not been wet that came as such a surprise. The second thing he noticed was that his mouth tasted like Satan had built a privy in it. And the third was that whoever was whistling "When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again" was horribly flat. In a very familiar way.
He blinked up at the white canvas roof of the hospital tent. "...Alfie?"
The whistling stopped (mercifully) and a blur of rosy cheeks and golden hair swam into his blurry vision. "Long time no see, Mattie! Not that this was my first choice of reunion locales, but got to work with what's on hand. Hah, and that goes for this, too." Alfred held up the project he'd been bent over a moment before. Matthew could make out a flash of silver and a pair of needlenose pliers but couldn't fathom what they were for. There were bigger questions in his foggy mind. "What are you doing here?", for instance.
He could hear the roll of Alfred's eyes. "I'm IN now, remember? Been more than a week already. So I came over to get a look at the situation and arrived to find that my little brother is a Big Damn Hero."
The words hurt more than any of his scrapes or bruises. "The men who died on either side of me are the heroes. I'm just the one who lived to tell the tale."
"You wouldn't be saying that if you'd seen the look on Queen Mum's face when he brought you back." The pliers creaked. What Alfred was doing over there was rapidly moving up his list of questions worth asking. It hadn't made it to the top quite yet.
"Did he mention what the casualties were for my corps?" Not that numbers mattered, except to the recruiters back in Ottawa and the generals when they decided how many blocks of each color to put on the map.
The answer was muttered, but Matthew caught "--teen thousand" at the end and that hurt enough that it had to be close. So many gone already...and yet all who were sent were swallowed up so fast.
He hadn't realized that he'd said the last part aloud until Alfred was leaning in so close that this time he could see the cornflower blue of his eyes even without his glasses on. "So tell him you aren't going to send more. I'm here now to help anyway."
"It doesn't work like that. I'm still his colony, he can force me to send men if he wants. Hell, I'm not even sure his army can win a battle on the Western Front without my help." One hand made a vague circle in the air in a gesture of helplessness. "And I am who I am, so when he tells me that there aren't enough volunteers so start conscripting...I start thinking about how to do it, even though Quebec is going to come to the brink of outright revolt if they have to fight for England."
Alfred sighed above him. "Then Canada is going to have to decide exactly what he wants from England." Of course America would say to put his line in the sand, and would probably ask him immediately afterwards why it had taken so damned long. Hundred and fifty years late, Mattie.
No, Matthew corrected in his head. Just in my own time.
He was brought back to the present by Alfred setting down his tools. He turned Matthew's hand up and dropped something small and metal into it. Matthew blinked. "My rosary?" He'd worn it so long without sparing it a thought that he hadn't even noticed it was gone.
"It got ripped off your neck when the shell struck." Alfred guided his fingers over a irregular lump that hadn't been there before. "I couldn't find any wire that matched exactly, but at least it'll hold together."
The rosary itself seemed to twine around his hand into the familiar position for telling the beads. All he could think to say was, "I thought you didn't approve of popery."
Alfred laughed. "You're welcome, Mattie. Now, get some rest before the medics throw me out."
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This was truly, truly great and amazing. Seriously, this made my day. Thankyou for writing this so much! I hope you write more Canada-centric fanfiction in the future!
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Nice work, Anon!
This Canadanon appreciates your skill and sensitivity with her nation (who is so simple on the surface, but so complex underneath!)
(also, just so you know, you kind of un-anoned there)
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Aaaa, I don't know what I'm saying! I think what I'm trying to say is that you've really got the deeper meaning of being in Canada's position, and that's pretty impressive from someone outside the country! <333
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There were shells booming and careening overhead and shaking the boards on the floor of the trench as Lt. Williams walked up to Cpt. Kirkland's office. After four years at war, however, he rolled with the impacts like a sailor on the the deck of a ship. A few of the men under his command stopped him to exclaim over his miraculous survival. He thanked them briefly and continued on. They knew their quiet, meticulous lieutenant well enough to realize that it wasn't dismissal of their concern.
Arthur's office was little more than a shack built into one of the walls of the trench, but military discipline was military discipline, so Matthew knocked smartly before entering and stood to salute in front of the desk. "Lt. Matthew Williams reporting back for duty, sir. Medical cleared me earlier this afternoon."
The expression on Arthur's face wasn't exactly what one would expect from a man whose son had just had a close brush with death, but then, he was English. " At ease. Good to see you back, Matthew. Your sergeants can fill you in on the casualty and supply numbers for your platoon." He shuffled his paperwork a bit. "Did you get a chance to see Alfred?"
"Yes, sir. He visited me in the hospital to return my lost property." There was a faint tinkle as Matthew let the repaired rosary fall to dangle from his hand.
Arthur cleared his throat, wondering for a moment if Matthew had hit his head harder than the doctors thought. "Yes, well. Relief though it may be to see him taking an interest in things, it'll still be months before his soldiers even get here. We'll all have to keep up the good fight."
"Yes, sir." Arthur gave Matthew a nod of dismissal and returned to his never-ending supply of reports and paperwork. And now there was Alfred in the picture. Not that he minded the morale boost his visit had given his troops, those were few and far between these days, but it was a very poor idea indeed to have America running lose in an environment as cramped as a trench. And of course there was the homefront to worry about and the war fought in propaganda. And the war at sea. And the reports from the antipodean troops in the Sinai. And, and, and.
With so many things running through his mind, more than a full minute passed before he realized that Matthew was still standing in front of his desk, patient but immovable.
Thick eyebrows knitted together. "Was there something else you wished to discuss, Lt. Williams?"
The boy's voice was soft but firm. "Your vice-royalty would like a word with you, Britain."
He sighed. Well, if it meant he could get back to his work and Matthew would stop behaving so strangely... "Close the door first, Canada."
Matthew did so swiftly and obediently--at least that was still the same. "My corps is desperately in need of fresh men. Our victories have been very expensive."
"I am rather well aware of this, yes. If that's all you came to tell me..."
"The supply of volunteers has dried up. All the men of fighting age have heard stories of what happens in the trenches. They won't go willingly."
"Again, Matthew, where is the news in this?"
"You want me to start conscription. You know what will come of that, especially in Quebec. You expect me to do it anyway."
"Young man, I do not care for your tone here---"
"--And I will do as you ask of me. But only if you put my corps under one of my own. Currie, preferably, since he came up through the ranks and has a successful record."
For a moment there was silence. Then a shell exploded outside. Then there was silence again.
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Matthew buried his face in his hands. "I do occasionally have ideas of my own, you know!"
Arthur chose to ignore the fit of pique. "You say you want your men under a Canadian general. Do I take that to mean you want him in on strategy sessions as well?"
"Yes. At the minimum, he should be consulted advise on any actions the corps will be involved in. Currie called foul on the planning at the Somme. The way it turned out was a royal mess." The slight emphasis on 'royal' left no doubt as to where he thought the blame should fall.
It was Arthur's turn to put his face in his hands. He was still having a bit of trouble assimilating the idea of Matthew rebelling against his authority. It was like a house cat suddenly deciding that it was a saber-toothed tiger. Except that, in this case, the kitty had the fangs to back up his assertion. The Quebecois would not fight for Britain, but they might for Canada. Currie was due for a promotion and he would make the corps true shock troops. Nothing he was asking for was truly that radical, except for the fact that he wasn't asking, he wasdemanding. Colonies did not make demands of their fatherlands, not unless they were black sheep like Alfred.
So what did it mean that he was going to say yes?
"We'll start with 'consulted', Canada. On a trial basis, mind." There was a momentary flicker of surprise on Matthew's face. Apparently he had not been expecting such a swift capitulation. It gave Arthur a twinge of satisfaction.
He recovered quickly, though, expression returning to stoic calm. "Thank you, Britain. I would advise that you make identical offers to Australia and to New Zealand, for giving you victories in the Levant. Otherwise you might appear to be playing favorites."
And that had gone a step too far. Arthur's hands folded coldly on his desk. "You belong to me, boy." It seemed a reminder of this fact was needed.
Matthew did not immediately reply. Instead he took a moment to slip the rosary in his hand back into its accustomed place around his neck, although he did not bother to tuck it under his shirt. "24,000," he said at last.
I really should ask the doctors about a possible head injury... "Beg pardon??"
"That was the number of Canadian casualties at the Somme. I do belong to you, Father, but I belong to every one of them as well." He bowed in Arthur's direction. "If you'll excuse me. I should rejoin my platoon before nightfall."
He left without waiting for dismissal.
As he watched his son go, Arthur could swear he heard Alfred's laughter in his ears.
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But the story is indeed quite brilliant.
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