The General leaned back in his chair and ran his hand through his hair. A loud voice was playing from his old CD player.

‘You are a great leader.’

‘You are cool under pressure.’

‘You are decisive.’

‘I am Alexander the Great,’ he muttered.

He sighed.

He looked round the cramped office. Alexander the Great never had to deal with this.

He was wondering what to do. It was a big responsibility for him, and he had to get this just right. He’d been mulling it over for an hour now. In fact, it had taken up most of the morning, and he wasn’t too sure if he’d got it right. He looked out the window at a parade ground sitting empty.

Should he order turkey or steak pie for the officers’ Christmas lunch?

Suddenly, there was an awful commotion. The door flew open. Percy entered belly-first, and then, moments later, the rest of him followed. His face was bright red, and he was sweating heavily.

‘Just a moment, just a moment,’ gasped Percy, trying to catch his breath. ‘Sorry. Sorry, but you’ve got to see this. I can’t believe it,’ Percy exclaimed.

He stopped the CD player.

‘What is it, Percy? What is it?’ bellowed the General, his eyes wild.

‘He’s coming. He’s coming here today. Today, sir!’ stammered a breathless Percy.

‘Who’s coming? Spit it out, man!’

Percy looked the General straight in the eyes.

‘The King.’

The General’s moustache bounced with excited energy.

He walked to the CD player and switched out the CD. A techno version of the national anthem started to play. Percy looked confused.

‘It was free with the newspaper,’ muttered the General.

He was looking up at his framed picture of the King. His eyes had a far-off look, and suddenly he looked like he was going to cry.

‘It’s finally happening. He’s coming to visit,’ the General’s voice boomed. ‘You know, Percy, for generations my family served this country. My great-uncle Albert used to sell pies to the King’s half-sister. Now, finally, all those years of service are going to be rewarded. I tell you, by God, headquarters must have forgiven me.’

The moustache dropped.

He had been in the bad books with HQ since the Sunday school party. He thought it would be good to get one of his pals from the Air Force to fly over in one of their new jets, but he had flown too low and the sonic boom had caused mayhem, putting twelve of the kids and two adults in the hospital overnight.

He had been in the bad books ever since.

‘We’ve got to get ready!’ he exclaimed.

He grabbed his coat and said to Percy, ‘Come on, let’s go.’

They went out of the office and onto the parade ground. A couple of crisp wrappers blew across the ground.

‘We’ve got to get this place polished up. It’s got to be just right. If only Papa was here to see me now.’

He looked far away for a moment. ‘Oh Papa, you said I wouldn’t amount to anything but a second-rate flim-flammer, but look at me now.’

‘He’d be very proud, Sir,’ beamed Percy.

They turned the corner and bumped into Private Jackson. They saluted.

‘Jackson, you’re from Scotland, aren’t you? Listen, the King is coming today. Do you think you could do a Highland dance for him?’ encouraged the General.

‘A Highland dance, sir? Listen, I’m fae Edinburgh,’ glared Jackson.

‘Alright, Private, carry on… what’s his problem?’ muttered the General as they headed over to the firing range.

Percy huffed and puffed, trying to keep up. His face was turning red.

At the shooting range, Sergeant Smith was holding court.

‘And that’s how I won the medal.’

‘Sergeant Smith, this isn’t the time for this. The King is coming to see me. Back to work!’ demanded the General.

Smith looked confused.

‘Go on and clear up, all of you!’ commanded the General.

‘Sir, yes Sir!’ said the little group of soldiers as they fell out for their tasks, walking back across the parade ground. One of them chased after the crisp wrappers.

The General looked left and right, glancing to make sure that the area was clear.

He looked straight at Percy. ‘Listen, Percy, this barracks is a dangerous place. Lots of guns at the barracks… and a few people with some loose screws. I think you should have a gun. Extra protection for our royal visitors. What do you want? M16? Bazooka?’

Percy looked confused. He stumbled over; his phone was ringing. He answered it next to the General.

‘Oh really? Oh, okay. Thanks for letting me know,’ he muttered.

He looked at the General. ‘You might want to sit down for this, Sir.’

‘What’s going on, Percy?’ he said quietly, almost as a whisper.

Percy said, seriously and with as much dignity as he could muster, ‘He’s not coming, Sir. They’re going to an alpaca farm over the other side of town.’

The General slowly sat down at the picnic table and gave a sad, lonely toot on his party popper.

‘Bugger.’

(c) Paul Andrew Sneddon