Forever the Colours (13 page)

Maurice nodded toward the floor by his bed.

Arun smiled and moved forward to pick them up. Suddenly Tommy stood and grabbed him by the shirt. ‘What's my name?'

‘Pardons, Private Sahib, I will fetch water now,' said Arun with a sudden look of fear.

‘I said, what's my fucking NAME?' Tommy thundered, spittle flying out of his mouth.

‘I, I—I,' stuttered Arun, who was now trying to walk backwards.

Tommy felt a hand on his arm, and a dead calm voice said, ‘Thomas, he is just a wallah, for heaven's sake. He makes the food, fetches water, a general help for the Major. He wouldn't know anything even if it were to slap him in the face, and he's terrified, look at him.'

Tommy's eyes cleared and he could see that the Arun was on the brink of crying.

‘Shit, Arun, I'm sorry, I, please—' He let go and the wallah ran from the tent.

‘Don't apologise to the help, Thomas, it won't do. Now then, let's have a look, shall we?' He picked up the helmet and looked inside. ‘Oh yes, I see now, I can see why you are so angry, yes indeed.'

‘Do ya see what I mean, Maurice?' said Tommy with hope in his voice.

‘Absolutely, old chap. Some bally fool has gone and written your name inside your bloody helmet.' He tossed it back to Tommy. ‘Disgraceful behaviour, deserves at least thirty strokes of the Cat!' With that he placed his own helmet on his head, turned and walked to the entrance, and without looking back said, ‘I quite fancy a little peregrination myself now. Will you juxtapose with me?' and walked out of the tent.

Tommy thought quickly; he didn't want to be left alone in the tent, so he rammed his helmet on his head and followed Maurice out into the sunshine.

The glare from the sun was powerful enough to make Tommy shield his eyes for a moment, as he stopped just outside the entrance and squinted, looking for Maurice.
God,
I
feel
like
a
helpless
child!
This
is
ridiculous;
it's
just
a
dream
after
all
. With that comforting thought, he trotted after Maurice, who was walking down the small rise on which the hospital tent was pitched. Catching up and falling into step with him, Tommy took in his surroundings. The different smells assailing his senses were incredible, let alone the scenes. Smoke, spices, meat cooking, shit!
Human
, he thought, for it didn't have that dungy overtone.

Sweat, tobacco smoke… this last smell made him crave a ciggy, an addiction he had only recently managed to kick. They walked past tents with the occupants doing all sorts of tasks, from peeling spuds to polishing buttons to cleaning rifles.
Big
bloody
rifles
as
well
, he thought.
I
wouldn't
fancy
trying
to
fight
holding
one
of
those
things
up.
Give
me
the
SA80
any
day.

Indians, there were a lot of Indians as well, with huge turbans.
This
must
be
an
Indian
regiment
, he thought.

‘Maurice,' he spoke out of the side of his mouth, ‘is this an Indian regiment?'

‘These are some of the men from the 30th Bombay Infantry, Thomas, and the Jacob's Rifles, that's those chaps over there,' he said, and indicated with a nod of his head to where a column of Indian soldiers were marching. ‘And those to our left over there are the Grenadiers. Now please stop gawking like a curious child, Thomas, and try to look dignified.'

But Thomas couldn't help but gawk. It was like stepping onto the set of a movie, only without the cameras and other paraphernalia. He did manage to close his mouth, though his head kept bobbing all around like a meercat. The Grenadiers, he noticed, were just like the modern version, all big lads, six-foot-plus, most of them. They looked a lot more relaxed than the guys from the infantry.
Typical
, he thought.

They continued walking past row after row of tents, carts, cooking fires and tepee-style stacks of weapons. Tommy's eyes had started to water with all the smoke, and he rubbed at the irritation.

Maurice looked at him. ‘I know, Thomas, I know, it brings a tear to my eye as well, every time I look upon this well-oiled machine.'

‘I'm not crying, Maurice, you fool. It's this bloody smoke. How do you put up with it?'

‘Put up with it? Why, how else are we supposed to cook food, heat water and what not?'

‘Oh, yeah.' Tommy realised he was getting a little hot and thirsty. ‘Maurice, any chance we could stop for a drink? Is there a NAAFI
or something round here? I'm dying of thirst, mate.'

‘Firstly, old chap, I have no idea what a NAAFI is, and secondly, if we need a drink of water, we use our canteens. However, as I forgot to replenish mine own, I will allow you that small erratum, what.'

Maurice looked around for a few seconds, then said, ‘You there,' to a young Indian man in modest clothes who was hunched over a large copper urn.

The man stood, trotted over and bowed. ‘Lieutenant Sahib, you are wanting a cup of most delicious tea?'

‘Not at the moment, my dear man, but would you have any clean water? If so, would you be so kind as to fill our canteens? There's a good chap, what.'

Maurice removed his canteen from his webbing belt, and, indicating for Tommy to do the same, handed them both to the chai wallah.

‘Oh yes, Sahib, one moment please.' He turned and trotted off towards a large barrel.

‘Well, Thomas, what say you to our little camp? The British Army can make a home anywhere in the world, you know.'

‘Amazing, really amazing Maurice.' Tommy was watching a couple of big Indian Grenadiers doing stretching exercises in front of their tent, and thought briefly of Arun. ‘Oh for Christ sake,' he said to himself, remembering his dream.

Maurice followed Tommy's gazing and frowned; then, after a few moments, it dawned on him why Tommy quickly looked at the ground.

‘Ah, I see,' Maurice chuckled. ‘Thomas, my dear chap, I'm sure the lovely Miss Arun will forgive you in time, and then you may resume you attempts at courtship.'

‘Piss off.'

The chai wallah
returned with their canteens and stood watching while they slaked their thirst.

‘Well done, you may go about your business,' Maurice said to the wallah, who bobbed his head a couple of times and returned to his tea urn.

Tommy drank half of his canteen in one, screwed the metal top back into place and returned it to his belt.
That's
better
, he thought, and while Maurice continued to sip his water he scanned the camp, trying to avoid the stretching Grenadiers. It was truly incredible to behold, like stepping into an old picture. The sounds of tools, of laughing, of orders being shouted filled Tommy's ears, and he noticed the Cavalry in the distance, riding at the head of a dust cloud. He noticed also, when he did a 180-degree turn, that there seemed to be outriders all around the sprawling camp.
Recon
, his soldier instincts told him,
or
scouts
in
this
age,
keeping
vigil
.
In
fact
there
was
probably
a
network
of
scouts
stretching
many
miles
in
all
directions.
His thoughts were broken by Maurice.

‘Don't look now. Here comes Major Oliver.'

Tommy turned to see where Maurice was gazing and saw three officers walking toward them.

‘Now look here, Thomas, don't speak until spoken to and do not, I repeat, do not start rambling about death, dreams and time travel. This man is an ignorant bore and has undoubtedly no sense of humour whatsoever. He will have you on a charge before you know what's happened, insane or not. And for God's sake, man, come to attention,' he hissed under his breath.

Tommy shot to attention just as the officers arrived.

‘Ah, Lieutenant Rayner. I see you are making a recovery,' boomed the officer who was obviously Major Oliver. Tommy did not look at him but stared at his helmet instead. There was an accent underneath the clipped English that Tommy couldn't put his finger on, Scottish, maybe, or Irish.

‘I am making a speedy recovery, sir, thank you, although Surgeon Major Preston insists on keeping me immured in his dungeon, which I find dreadfully bromidic by the way, and that is why, sir, I borrowed Private Evans here, who is recovering from wounds sustained in our recent skirmish at Girishk, to escort me on a little constitutional.'

Tommy could feel the Major's eyes appraising him but still did not look in his face.

‘Is that so, Lieutenant? Well then, what befell you, Private, in our tryst with the levies?'

Tommy did not look away from the helmet. ‘I had a bump on me head, Major, sir, and it was combusted, Major, sir.'

Oliver sniffed. ‘Quite.' He looked back to Maurice. ‘You know Captains Garratt and McMath, I presume, Lieutenant?'

Maurice smiled at the other officers. ‘I have had the fortunate pleasure, sir, yes,' and he nodded to both, who returned the nod with genuine smiles.

Oliver continued, ‘There is more than a fair chance we will be striking camp soon. There have been reports that Ayub Khan's army has crossed the Helmand
en masse, so we may try and intercept it. We are just on our way to inspect E battery to make sure everything is in place and ready to move, although I'm sure Blackwood has it in hand, he always does. Right, can't stand around all day nattering like old women. Some of us have jobs to do, ain't that right, Lieutenant?' And with that, he marched off between the tents. The two Captains, Garratt and McMath, smiled and nodded to both men, and Garratt even patted Tommy on the shoulder as he went past, following the Major.

They could both hear the Major shouting at the chai wallah. ‘No, I don't want any of your delicious bloody tea.'

‘What an insufferable oaf that man is,' said Maurice, and Tommy nodded his agreement.

‘Thomas, combusted, really!'

‘Sounded OK though, didn't it!'

Chapter 7

Fight

T
he
sun was climbing higher and the heat of the day was beginning to take its toll, especially on the British regiment. The Indians, by contrast, although used to a different sort of heat, were coping much better than their counterparts. The thin mist of early morning had dissipated suddenly and only the smoke from the cooking fires was left hovering over the camp like London smog. Soldiers were still going about their business though, and there was an air of anticipation as the rumour of an impending battle with Ayub Khan's forces spread quickly round the camp.

Some men, usually the younger ones, were all bravado, puffing their chests and recounting stories of past prowess in whatever battles they'd seen, including bar-room brawls. The older soldiers went about their business with quiet reflection. The ones that had already been involved in engagements were now thinking of home, children, wives or even mistresses; they knew what to expect and so resigned themselves to cleaning their kit, making sure their weapons were in perfect working order and telling the younger ones to do the same. Sergeants walked amongst them, berating here and there, giving encouragement to others, telling the men that the quicker that they get this job done, the quicker they could get back to India, and then home.

Later in the afternoon, Tommy and Maurice were sitting on stools outside the hospital tent, eating a bowl of meat broth that Arun had brought them. Although still wary of another outburst from Tommy, Arun was well schooled in the unusual ways of the British Sahibs, and dutifully carried on with his daily chores. Tommy had taken off his tunic and helmet after asking Maurice if he would draw attention to himself.

‘Not at all, old man. Remember, we are ephemera of the good Surgeon Major and, given that we are convalescing, we are not on the roll, so to speak.'

So Tommy now sat, contentedly eating his lunch –
it
must
be
lunch
, he thought, because he got it for breakfast as well – and watched the hustle and bustle of the camp. He was watching the Grenadiers. One of them stripped to the waist and was stretching, while others had gathered round, forming a rough square.

‘What's going on down there, then, Maurice?' and indicated toward the group with a nod of his head.