The queue at the bank was far too long for any nation holding the pretense of running its' affairs with anything even remotely approaching efficiency.
Drummond had 'acquired' a rather large sum of money after introducing the regulars of a London pub to the sport of Two Up. His total wealth now stood at an impressive 200 pounds which was more money than he could have ever imagined possessing and, having recently been fortunate enough to secure a passport and visa from his introduction to the father of Lt Drummond, Percival was preparing for his enlistment.
Drummond Sr had been a funny old buffer, Percy cooked up a story about having been knocked back by the local Army recruiters in Australia due to his dalliance with the local Captain's daughter and then had claimed that he'd stowed away on the Omrah in order to join the war and, being the firebrand patriot that he was Lord Drummond had slapped him on the back and promised him any assistance he required.
"Of course you'll never be able to buy a commission in a decent regiment you know, they don;t like colonials and especially those lacking in verifiable bonafides, you might try the artillery or summink. There's also the *hrmph* Flying Corps"
Drummond thought back to the gull, its' disdainful stream of excrement and the way that it had sailed lazily, easily off into the distance while he remained seabound.
"Yes" He uttered.
"What's that m'boy" The peer of the realm inquired.
"The Flying Corps sir. It's the Flying Corps for me."
Let's pretend I got the BWOC badge to embed here.
Wenn ihr sieg im deine Kampf selbst gegen, wirst schwer wie stahl sein.