The Hill (5 page)

Now, I wasn’t looking for a punch-up, McGrath justified himself. Didn’t I get behind the bar and help myself to a few drams and let the lunatics get on with it? Then the Redcaps raided the joint so I got smartly outside, and it was outside I saw three Redcaps trying to persuade a wee fella to get into the patrol waggon, and the laddie was yelling his innocence and I know a fella-Scot when I see one. Those bloody Redcaps didn’t have to deal with him as harshly as that. Persuading a fella is one thing, but trying to break his legs with a cane because he wouldn’t let them heave him into the back of a patrol waggon is another thing altogether, and when I protested all I got for my pains was a punch in the mush. So into action I went and did three of the bloody Redcaps with my head in double quick time before the rest of them were on me. Aye. If that’s not wrongful arrest then what the hell is? And this old daftie thinks I have to be boozed up before I can go into action, does he?

“Boozed up,” said Wilson. “Next time you want to stand up for the rights of man, try it sober.”

“I don’t need a drink to get me in the mood for a punch-up,” said McGrath quietly.

The R.S.M. smiled. “Your kind always need a drink, McGrath. I’ve a dozen inside here like you, with their noses punched flat and their brains scrambled and they all came in thinking they were going to run this place. I’ve just doubled a couple of them out.”

McGrath switched on a smile but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Aye, you may be right, sir. I’ll no argue with you and blot me copy book. It’s me intention to soldier on, do me time and get out of here.”

“See you do,” said Wilson and moved on and faced Stevens. You poor little bastard, he thought, looking at the drooping miserable youth. You’re out of place here. “Went absent, Stevens?”

“Yes, sir,” whispered Stevens.

“Didn’t fancy the sound of gunfire?”

“Sir — I ... ” Stevens’s lips trembled.

“Speak up, lad.”

“It wasn’t that, sir — I ... ”

“Tried to stow away on a boat in Suez. Why?”

“Trying to get home, sir. You see ... ”

“Wasn’t very smart, Stevens, was you? The clever way is to get to the airport. Show a Yank twenty quid and he’d fly you to Hong Kong if you wanted it.”

“Sir. It was home, sir, I wanted.”

Wilson glanced at the letters in his hand. “Missing your wife, Stevens?”

Stevens’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes — yes, sir.”

“Lad,” said Wilson. “If every man who wanted a cuddle and a bit of loving kindness took off for England, we wouldn’t have any bloody army left over here, would we?”

“No ... no, sir,” muttered Stevens.

“You’re out of place here, Stevens. Obey orders and get out soon as you can.”

Stevens felt grateful to Wilson. “Thank you, sir. I will, sir. I promise.”

“All right.” Wilson was suddenly irritated by Stevens. He’s too bloody wet, he thought. What’s this pink and white kid doing in the bloody army? Gawd, he can’t even take a sun tan. Milky and pink, he ought to be in the bloody girl guides. “Get yourself straightened out, lad,” he said. “You’re in uniform so I’ll expect you to behave like a man.”

The R.S.M. moved on and stopped and faced Roberts. “You’re the mystery man, Roberts. The marvel of the age.”

Roberts looked past Wilson and concentrated on the hill.

“We’ll have a little chat,” said the R.S.M. “Just the two of us.” He walked away and Roberts followed him.

McGrath watched them walk away and narrowed his eyes. What the hell is all that in aid of? he wondered.

CHAPTER THREE

The Commandant Strolled down the main street He felt much better since he had had a shave. The hot towels and friction had worked wonders on him. The wogs were certainly damn good barbers. Tried to charge you the earth, of course. You had to watch them. Hair was going thin at the crown though. He would have to watch out for that. Massage perhaps? But nothing really worked. Only thirty-five and I’m losing my hair, he thought. It’s a damned nuisance.

Two soldiers passed him and turned, eyes right, and saluted and the Commandant casually returned the salute. Bloody lot of rubbish, he thought. Kid’s stuff. But he would check a man if he didn’t salute him. He walked on slowly and then paused to look into a shop window. Regimental cap badges, cheap cigarette cases, brass ashtrays, perfume fly whisks. Junk.

He walked on and then saw a nurse walking towards him. Nice legs, good figure, very neat in her walking-out uniform. Then he remembered that he had met her once at the Officers’ Club. Wilkins had been her escort. The old ram. What the hell was she doing with old Wilkins? He grinned to himself. She danced rather well and he had held her close to him. What had he said to her? He had been pretty tight that evening, come to think about it.

He stepped out briskly, then a few paces from her he stopped and touched his cap with his swagger cane, standing relaxed and smiling down at her. The nurse stopped and looked puzzled for a moment until the Commandant reminded her that they had met at the Officers’ Club dance and then she remembered and smiled warmly back at him. Yes. It had been fun. A lovely evening.

The Commandant leaned nearer, smiling into her eyes. He knew that he was making headway. He had her full attention now. Perhaps they could meet this evening? The nurse hesitated.

“I’m on duty. I’m sorry.”

“What a pity. Tomorrow, perhaps?”

The nurse hesitated again and glanced at her watch.

“Tomorrow afternoon?” enquired the Commandant. “If you aren’t on duty we could go for a swim.”

He was anxious to see her in a swim suit. The nurse nodded her head and smiled, and he shook hands and held her hand longer than necessary then stepped back and gallantly and casually touched his cap with his swagger cane and watched her walking away, concentrating on the easy rhythm of her buttocks. He knew that she would turn and look back and she did. Again he saluted gallantly and she smiled and waved and walked on. Walks well, damn good figure, thought the Commandant. Her voice grated though. A touch of disguised cockney in it somewhere, but a damn pretty girl. Should be rather nice in bed. The Commandant walked on looking well pleased with life.

*

The R.S.M. nodded to the line of prisoners and Roberts doubled away and joined them and stamped to attention then stared blankly into space, but after a few moments he realised that he was staring at the damned hill again. It must be fifty or sixty feet high, he thought. No more than that. A few trips over it wouldn’t be too bad but if they keep me on it.

He watched R.S.M. Wilson slowly pacing up and down in front of him. Up and down, up and down, deep in thought. What’s he dreaming up for us now? Roberts wondered. These bloody flies, they’re living on my sweat. Don’t twitch. Keep still. A pity the R.S.M. specially picked me out for a heart to heart. Pity about that. The other lads must be wondering. To hell with them. The R.S.M. didn’t get any change out of me and neither will anybody else. I’ll do my time and get out.

The wife and kids will have a thin time of it though. Well, Alice is working. She’ll just have to make the best of it. She’ll drop dead when she learns that I’m inside though. Good soldier Roberts inside. What about that? I’ll have to write to her and try and explain. Take some explaining though, won’t it? Well, she’ll just have to try and understand, that’s all. God. They certainly made a job of that hill. Well, that’s my war effort for a long time to come. The hill and humping rocks and digging holes. What a bloody joke. Good men dying up the front and I’ll be digging bloody great holes and filling them in again and doubling about like a lunatic. It’s enough to make anyone Bolshie.

The R.S.M. stopped pacing and followed Roberts’s blank stare and looked at the hill. “Taking an interest in the hill, Roberts?”

“Noticed it as I came in, sir.”

“We built it special. A few tons of sand and rock and a lot of labour and sweat. The prisoners built it.”

“That’s marvellous, sir. A great construction feat,” said Roberts cheerfully.

The R.S.M. nodded his head in agreement. “Watch out that you don’t get to know it too well.”

Roberts smiled. “I want no special privileges, sir.”

“It gets hot on the hill, Roberts. Hot.”

Roberts squinted at the hill then looked at Wilson with a pleasant smile. “It looks high from here. I fancy I can see snow on the top.”

The R.S.M. switched on his benign expression. “Plenty of lads fancies all kinds of things when they get on that hill. You’re showing great promise.” Carry on giving me lip, he thought, I’ll have the last word.

“Most of us nervous fellers are red hot when it comes to a bit of imagination,” said Roberts with his easy, cheerful smile. I know I’m pushing my luck, he thought, but to hell with you.

“Red hot is right,” agreed the R.S.M., pleasantly. “You’ll be one big red hot bloody blister after a couple of days on that hill and your imagination will tell you you’re in hell.”

Roberts squinted at the hill again. “Maybe I’ll know better after I’ve tried it, sir. For now I’m sticking for snow on the top and it leads to Never Never Land.”

Wilson moved very close to Roberts and said very quietly. “You’re dead set at having a go at it, ain’t you?”

“I can do without it, sir, but I think you’ve got plans for me.”

“I have. Every day I’m going to make you remember that you’re a soldier.” He moved on and stopped in front of Bokumbo, looked him up and down and then twitched his nose to express his disgust. “You like to drill with these men, Bokumbo?”

Bokumbo knew exactly what the R.S.M. meant. He stiffened. “Anything you order I can do, sir.”

“Something tells me these men are going over that hill. You like to go over that hill with them, Bokumbo?”

“That damn hill won’t beat me, sir.”

“Pity I won’t see it. You can’t drill with them. You’re black.”

Bokumbo tensed then suddenly laughed. “Blame my Mammy, sir. She forgot to put a sun canopy over me.”

Wilson smiled. “I don’t care what colour you are. A man’s skin’s an accident. But what’s inside ain’t.”

“That damn accident takes some living with sometimes,” said Bokumbo quietly.

“Get this,” rapped out Wilson. “I only take notice of one thing. The book, and King’s Rules and Regulations have it laid down in black and white that Hottentots, Basutos, Voodoo boys and sons of witch doctors, do their spell binding and square bashing separate, and away from white men.”

Williams grinned to himself as he shot a sidelong glance at the R.S.M. and then stared hard at Bokumbo. Very nice, he thought. Very nicely put that. I couldn’t do much better myself. That ought to get you going, you black, stinking, thieving, dirty-postcard maniac, bloody ape, you. In anticipation he moved forward until he was a pace in front of the R.S.M. and waited, with growing interest, for Bokumbo to answer back.

“I’m a British subject, sir. From the West Indies,” said Bokumbo with a gentle smile.

“You’re black,” said Wilson still trying to needle him.

Bokumbo’s smile was even more tolerant. “That makes me happy when I see some white men.”

“Answer back, would you,” snarled Williams. “Answer back, eh. You different-coloured bastard.”

Bokumbo looked at Williams and stopped smiling. “I spit man.” He cleared his throat and threw a gobble of spit at Williams’s feet.

“I’ll break you,” shouted Williams. “I’ll crack you right down the middle.”

“That’s enough out of you, Staff,” snapped the R.S.M.

Williams turned a face tight with rage. “When a nigger shoots his mouth off like that ... ”

“Over here.” The R.S.M. walked away.

Williams turned back to Bokumbo and lifted his arm and pointed a finger at him then controlled himself and walked over to the R.S.M.

R.S.M. Wilson stared hard at Williams. “Staff, the day I can’t handle men I’ll hand over to you. Meanwhile, when I take a parade, you keep your mouth shut.”

“He got under my skin, sir.”

“That’s a quick way to lose discipline. Remember what I’ve said.” The R.S.M. walked back to Bokumbo. “So you’re a British subject?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you’ve got equal privileges. You can drill with these men and dance over that hill with them.”

“Be my pleasure, sir.” Bokumbo was grinning again.

Wilson smiled and looked at McGrath. “So we’ve two iron men, have we, eh? By Christ, you’ll both get rusty on that hill. Staff, see if the M.O.’s ready to inspect these men.”

“Yes, sir,” shouted Williams and doubled to the M.O.’s room, knocked on the door and entered.

“Commandant on his way, sir,” shouted the gate Staff.

The R.S.M. spun round and shouted back, “Over here, Staff, at the double.”

The gate Staff doubled the hundred and fifty yards at full speed and slammed to attention in front of Wilson.

“You’re new here, Staff, ain’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then listen. The Commandant, the King or General Montgomery can walk in here any time they like. I’ve got nothing to hide. Is that clear?”

“Sorry, sir. I thought ... ”

“Don’t think. I run this place. Me! The Commandant signs bits of paper. He’d sign his own death warrant if I put it on his desk. I run this place. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. On the order, double back to the gate before we have a mass break out. Double!”

The Staff doubled flat out back to the gate and breathing heavily he put his cap on straight then opened the small door with a key and stood waiting.

The gate Staff slammed to attention and saluted as the Commandant strolled towards him and the Commandant casually acknowledged the salute and walked on. He stopped at the hill and squinted up at it then on a sudden impulse he took a run at it. But, about half way up, the thought occurred to him that it would be damn stupid for him, the Commandant, to be seen running on the hill, so he carefully picked his way down it again. Odd, he thought. There’s something rather fascinating about this hill. A challenge, I suppose. Then he smiled to himself. Don’t be such a bloody idiot. All anybody will ever get out of that is a muck sweat. He turned his back on the hill and walked towards the Medical Room and passed a squad of prisoners being drilled by Staff Harris.

“Eyes right. Twenty-eight prisoners all present and correct, sir. Eyes front,” barked Harris.

The Commandant returned the salute and walked on and stopped a few paces from Wilson and the prisoners, and waited.

Wilson shot a swift sidelong glance at the Commandant and pretended that he hadn’t seen him. The moment had arrived for his set speech. His jocular send off before he doubled the prisoners into the Medical Room and nothing must interfere with that. “If any of you are excused boots, pack drill, breathing, have six toes, two heads, are pigeon-chested, wall-eyed, still have to be breast fed or have a touch of the clap, speak up now?”

Bokumbo enjoyed the joke and laughed out loud. Stevens gave a weak little giggle and Bartlett decided that the best thing to do was humour the silly old sod, so he roared with laughter. But McGrath and Roberts remained deadpan and seemingly indifferent. Wilson smiled grimly to himself then swung round and gave the Commandant a splendid salute. “Five prisoners all present and correct, sir.”

The Commandant acknowledged the salute, nodded his head and walked away.

Williams doubled out of the M.O.’s room. “Ready for medical inspection, sir.”

“Right, Staff.” The R.S.M. turned to the prisoners. “Parade, parade ’shun. Let’s have that again and I want to see you move. Stand at ease. Parade, parade ’shun. Stand still. Still, I said. By God, I’ll have you all smartened up before the week’s out and in a bath. You stink! You all stink! Bokumbo, three paces forward march. Still, stand still. On the order of command you’ll double into the Medical Room and you’ll mark time. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everything’s done at the double inside here. You don’t walk. You double.”

Bokumbo grinned. “Sir. How can that medical officer examine me if I’m doubling?”

“He’s clever. He used to repair watches. Now take that grin off your face. You’ll mark time in front of him and at the word of command drop your trousers, make him jealous, and double out again. Got that?”

Bokumbo laughed again. “You never spoke truer words, sir. I’ve got my share.”

“Shut your trap. If you had less of that and more brains you wouldn’t be here. Now, let’s see you move Bokumbo. Forward double, lef right, lef’ right. Get them knees up. Get ’em up higher, higher I said.” Bokumbo and Wilson ran into the M.O.’s room.

Captain Markham seated at his table turned as the door opened and watched Bokumbo marking time.