After Tompkins had taken David's shoes and had left to clean and polish them, David lounged back in his chair and began reading the remaining documents he had been given. He scanned the Duty Roster and saw his name as Company Orderly Officer on 26 June. Listed alphabetically. I'm up on the fourth day of the course.

He picked up the other sheet of paper: Daily Orders. 23 June 1915, and he ran his eyes down the lines of type.

0545 - Reveille
0550 - Rouse
0600 - Morning run (All except 1510, which will muster in Quadrangle).
0700 - Breakfast.
0750 - Parade.
0815 - Instruction.
1215 - Lunch.
1330 - Instruction.
1600 - Tea.
1630 - Instruction.
1830 - Mess.
2000 - Dismissed.
2130 - Cadet curfew.
2230 - Last Post.

Looks like a full day. 1510, that's likely my course number. The tenth intake this year. He took his revised orders from his pocket, unfolded them and read: Posted: OTC Oxford 1510. He looked at his watch. Long day ahead. Bedtime.

David had just finished brushing his teeth when the bugler began playing Last Post. Two very full days. So many changes. I'd sleep much better without the greasy lump in my stomach. God, their food is awful.

He woke to reveille, not having remembered anything after crawling into bed. After using the water closet, he showered and dressed into his clean trousers and shirt and a fresh pair of socks, then he opened his door to retrieve his polished shoes. A fine job, he thought as he laced them. He grabbed his jacket and hat, putting them on while he strode down the corridor, joining others emerging from their rooms.

Stepping through the entrance and into the cool morning air, he glanced at his watch and thought, Four minutes early. He looked around, and in the dim light, he saw a sergeant waving his arms in the centre of the quadrangle. He headed toward him, saying to the large group milling around the entrance, "It appears we're to assemble over there."

"At least there's one observant bloke among you," the sergeant said as David approached with the others following. Then louder, he said, "You're the right marker." He took three paces back and bellowed, "Fifteeeeen ten — Faaaaaa lin." He paced back and forth, then bellowed again, "Come on sissies. Three ranks. Dress right. Arm's distance. Surely you've not forgotten already."

The sergeant continued to pace, then he stopped and turned to face the entrance and put his hands on his hips. "Come on, come on, come on. Fifteen ten over heeeere. We're waiting for yooooo."

Two minutes later, he faced the group and bellowed, "Fifteeeeeen ten, from the riiiiiight — number."

David shouted, "One."

The sergeant stepped toward him and said, "Good, you're one." Then he took a sidestep and stood with his face a few inches from the man beside David, and shouted, "And who are you?"

"R-Rushton, Herbert Rushton, S-Sergeant."

"No, you're fucking not. You're two, and the chap to your left is three. Let's start over." He bellowed again, "Fifteeeeeen ten, from the riiiiiight — number."

As the numbering moved along the front row, the sergeant paced along with it, rolling his arms as a paddle-wheel until the count reached sixteen. He shouted, "That count to sixteen should take eight seconds, not a bloody half minute." He looked at the empty spot in the fifteenth file. "Forty-seven, two missing."

He looked over to the entrance, then started talking as he walked back and forth in front of the group. "I'm Sergeant Jenkins. I'm not always this friendly. I'm just being soft for your first day."

He stopped pacing and pointed randomly at the men. "I don't give a fuck what any of you did to get here. That's not my concern. My concern is to make sure you're worthy of leaving through the front gate at course end. Some of you won't make it that far, and I take great pleasure in discovering who you are."

He started pacing again. "There are three of you who've already fouled your nappies." He turned and pointed to the two late arrivals running across the square. "Two there, and number two over here. You'll be watched closely the next four months. All of you. You'll be assessed by what you do here, not by what you've done before you arrived here."

He continued to pace and talk, covering punctuality, deportment, obedience, grooming and dress, among other topics. After he had outlined the program for the rest of the day, he said in a loud voice, "The two late arrivals, stand fast, remainder, diiiiiis — miss."

"I really buggered that, didn't I?" Herbert said to David as they walked across toward their quarters. "I knew what I was meant to do, but I froze, and I panicked when he put his face into mine."

"That's what he wanted you to do. He knew you were tense. Hell, I could feel it — still can. You're still tense, Herbert. Relax."

"I'm so afraid of failing here."

"Remaining tense will make that easier. Uncontrolled fear is the easiest way to fail. Fear is meant as a warning, not as something to be afraid of. We're meant to heed it and take appropriate action. If we react instead of acting, we do inappropriate things... or we do nothing."

"That's me. I freeze and do nothing, fearing I'll be wrong."

"Your initial gut instincts are usually right. Learn to sense them. Learn to trust them. They add hugely to bare logic." David opened the door and held it for Herbert.

They walked along the corridor until Herbert stopped and said, "This is mine. Thank you for your words."

"Words, no matter how wise, are of no use unless we make them your own. Be them. Live them." He grabbed Herbert's shoulder and shook it. "Relax. See you at breakfast."