Training Sasquatch to Fight
January 27th, 1917
Hampstead Heath, “Camp Olympus” Training Grounds, Diary of Captain Branwell Browntrout
Umph, umph, umph!
We shall watch our foes crumple!
Umph, umph, umph!
We will bite them in their rumps!
Umph, umph, hurrah!
We will smoosh them with our paws!
Umph, umph, umph!
We fight them ‘till we triumph!
We fight, we kill, we do not flag or fade
Umph, umph, umph!
We are the bigfooted men of the Saysquack Brigades!
(Olympian Saysquack Expeditionary Force fight song, sung by human officers since Saysquacks cannot sing)
At first, I thought it was just my unit, the 18th Provisional Brigade, “Wooly Acres Fighting Sheeps” that was being transferred to where another big push was happening. We’ve lost so many I cannot keep track of the names. It turns out the Fighting Sheep have been disbanded. And of the 7th Highlanders who fought alongside us there is no one left. All the remaining men from the 18th were mustered into the 20th Provisional Exitmouth.
When I learned that Father was responsible for my transfer to the rear, I cursed him. How dare he, after all I had been through, after seeing my mates blown to smithereens. The few who were left would have to go back — all but me. Thanks to “pulled strings” (which I wished had remained unpulled) I would be unable to do my duty. I resolved to never talk to him again.
I was sent alone back to London, given orders that were to remain sealed until my feet touched British soil again. Oddly I was told to go to report to Hampstead Heath. When I arrived, I was wholly unable to process my rage for Father any longer, for I was given the greatest shock since going into my first battle: there were more Saysquacks waiting for me than I’d ever seen.
I broke the wax seal on my orders to discover that I was promoted to Captain, and I was to take charge of the training of the newly formed BESC, the British Expeditionary Saysquack Corps, consisting of three brigades, the 1st, 2nd and 3rd Olympian Saysquack. Their unit insignia (worn as a patch on their uniform jackets) consists of a picture of a Saysquack foot with two crossed rifles superimposed over it. I am told that their first campaign ribbons are already being made to order, a small pine tree representing their overland service in Europe. Their uniform consists of a brown beret featuring their unit insignia (no other headwear will sit quite right). Their uniform jackets are similar to ours, except they come down past the waist and flare at the bottom.
The soldier Saysquacks do not wear anything below the waist save a utility belt. For weaponry, many of the Saysquacks are carrying guns in the same calibers we have, but the barrels are lengthened, stocks and trigger guards enlarged — essentially giant versions of the same standard .303 Lee-Enfields. They are already deemed well-equipped, physiologically, to carry a Lewis gun and Stokes mortar, however they will not be allowed pistols as there is a prejudice that only officers should be allowed this privilege.
When I first arrived, I don’t know if I was more in shock to see so many Saysquacks dressed in the uniform of British troops, or simply to see them all in one place, amicably warming themselves by the dozens around fires lit in hollowed-out oil drums, taking up the new habits of humans. I saw several smoking cigarettes, one fumbling to put on boots that didn’t fit, another trying to comb his hair backwards, yet another with an army training manual in his hands upside down. The title of the manual was Umph! How to Fight Like the British, A Training Guide for the Newly Enlisted Saysquack. The army seems to think of everything…except the obvious. None of the recruits are able to read this manual or follow the instructions therein.
The army orders made it clear that it was entirely at my discretion — and my responsibility — to make these Saysquacks ready to fight to British standards within three months. To aid me in my task, I had only five drill sergeants — none of whom had seen a Saysquack before in their lives. For that matter, most of the Saysquacks at Hampstead had never seen a human, and now we would have to teach them friend from foe, right from wrong and train them to kill.
Men from other units have taken to calling our training grounds “Camp Olympus,” and “the Ape-Man Brigade” and it’s caused fisticuffs in a few instances. We wear the former designation like a badge of honor. When the human soldiers see just what stuff our Saysquack outfit is made of, they will quake — or quack — in their boots.
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