Forever the Colours (22 page)

‘Can I be of assistance, Lieutenant?'

‘Ah, Sergeant Major. Yes you can. Will you please inform Sergeant Rice here that he cannot pack all the ordnance we took from the levies as there is no room for it, and I doubt very much if we would have need of it anyway.' He was red in the face and sweating profusely, even though it had started to cool in the early hours.

Cuppage turned to Rice. ‘What say you, Sergeant Rice? Do you think we will need all these shells? Do you feel the horse artillery will not have enough to deal with Mr Khan's army?'

‘Sar'nt Major Cuppage, sir, it's my belief that we can do away with cooking pots and bedding and anything of no use in this coming battle. Every shell, shot and shrapnel will be needed, or me and the lads won't be any use if we run out. And besides that, we threw away most of the ammunition when we took these guns off the levies and only have about fifty rounds each.'

Cuppage mused over this for a minute or so, whilst looking over the ammunition cart. Then he turned to Chute.

‘That seems to me to be a fair argument, Lieutenant. Might we come to some compromise and make a little more room in the baggage? For as Sergeant Rice has pointed out, if he were to run out in the coming battle, these cannons attached to the 66th would become redundant, would they not? I am sure you will agree, sir, that we could make do with a little less comfort and perhaps a little more protection.'

‘Oh, for heaven's sake, very well then. But I will not be explaining why we haven't enough pots and pans to feed the army. You may make some small room, Rice, and that is all, damn your eyes.' He stormed off into the darkness.

‘Carry on, lad, and make sure you can squeeze as much ammunition onto those carts as you can, clear?'

Rice smiled and seemed to stand a little taller. ‘Yes, Sar'nt Major Cuppage.' He turned and started to shout, ‘Allen, Corke, Drewitt, Gilbert, get the rest of that shot on the cart. Basden, Gunney, Lambert, go and find me some galloping gunners and some oss's to shift this lot, and where the bloody hell is McDermott? That
'
orrible little shit!'

Tommy watched Cuppage, who was himself watching Rice go about his duties. He had a slight smile on his face. He waited a few moments before Cuppage, not even looking at Tommy, said, ‘Do not think too badly of the Lieutenant, Mr Evans, we all have our jobs to do, and some know theirs better than others. And when in time of war and battles and death, always, but always, trust your NCOs to get the job done correctly. Understand?'

‘I do, Mr Cuppage, sir.'

He became thoughtful again, watching some of the 66th men loading ammunition onto the carts, and, Tommy thought, he looked a little sad.

‘My niece married a man like that fellow Rice, a likable rogue, I'll give you, but a rogue all the same. She is far too good for him and my sister was rather unhappy about their union, for she finds soldiering unromantic and boorish. Her husband is a chemist, you see, a rather dull one, I might add. The girl's husband is fighting for Queen and country in the Zulu lands. A Corporal he is, Sydney Jackson, a man of questionable parentage from Peckham.'

He took a deep breath and a long exhale, and looked at Tommy, who noticed for the first time the green tint to Cuppage's eyes, illuminated from the many lamps and fires. Tommy found himself remembering other eyes that looked similar.

Hang
on
a
minute
, thought Tommy.

No way!

Jackson?

‘From Peckham, Mr Cuppage?'

‘Indeed, and I know not why I divulge this information to you,' he shook his head. ‘Shall we continue and you can tell me more of that fighting technique?'

Tommy smiled.

‘I would be pleased to, sir.'

And Tommy followed the tall Sergeant Major deeper into the ranks of the 66th.

Sometime after about three in the morning, a tired Tommy walked back up to Galbraith's tent to find Maurice. There was no one about except a young soldier
packing things into a large wooden box. He was a private, Tommy noted, so he approached him without worry.

‘Hello, mate, have you seen Rayner anywhere?'

‘Ye mean Lieutenant Rayner, don't yer.'

The soldier had an insulted look on his face as he replied to Tommy.

‘Err, yeah, Lieutenant Rayner, then.'

‘Well, he's taking a small repose in that tent yonder,' he indicated this by pointing to a small tent about twenty feet away from Galbraith's. ‘But he shouldn't be disturbed, for that's what he told me.'

‘All right, mate, no worries.' Tommy then caught a whiff of tea and walked over to a small fire by Galbraith's tent. He noticed an urn hanging over the fire.

‘Eh, me old mate, any chance of a chai, then?'

‘I suppose,' came the reply from the soldier, and he picked up a cup and filled it with black, unsweetened tea and handed it to Tommy.

He drank deep even though the liquid was burning his throat, and after a few minutes he began to feel revitalised.
That
is
quality
shit
, he thought,
even
without
sugar
or
milk
.

‘So what's your name, then, mucka? My name's Tommy.'

Tommy thought he looked to be a similar age.

The soldier stopped what he was doing. ‘My name is Michael, Michael Darby.'

‘Well hello, Michael, and how are you this fine evening?'

He looked at Tommy with a doughty look.

What
a
fucking
stiff
, Tommy thought.

‘Well, I be fine.'

‘All right, Mike, so what do you do around here, then?'

‘My name is Michael. I'm a drummer with the 66th.'

Silence!

‘Right then I can see that you're a real chatty bloke, so I'll piss off and find somewhere to get my head down.'

The shock on his face was almost laughable, Tommy thought; he turned and made his way to the tent that the drummer said Maurice was in.

Tommy looked about to make sure no one was watching, especially Michael the drummer, who went ahead with his packing, and entered the tent where his friend was supposed to be resting.

Tommy stood over Maurice, who was lying in a camp bed, and not too comfortably, by the look of it. He was talking in his sleep again.

‘Victoria, my dear my fair Aphrodite, take off the corset.'

‘Victoria, Jane! Maurice, me old mate, are you some sort of gigolo?'

Maurice started, sat up and rubbed his eyes. ‘For goodness sake, Thomas,' he croaked, ‘that little filly was almost mine,' he sighed. ‘A prize I have been trying to reach since a stolen kiss and a handful of teat at a Christmas ball.' He stood, stretched and smiled at Tommy, then checked his watch. ‘My God! Is that the time? We must be away, Thomas, we wouldn't want to miss the party, what.'

‘I wouldn't mind missing it, mate.'

Tommy shrugged at Maurice's dour stare and then moved to the camp bed and sat. ‘Do you mind if I get an hour, at least? I'm knackered.'

‘Oh, very well, Thomas, but an hour and no more. I will go and find some breakfast. I shouldn't think we'll be eating again for a while.' He turned and left the tent, shouting for Michael to get some food cooking.

Some time later, Maurice returned and roused Tommy with a cup of steaming tea and a bowl of what looked like porridge. ‘I rather think this should be the other way round, old chap, don't you?'

‘Cheers, pal.' Tommy sat up and accepted the cup and placed the bowl next to him. After looking around the tent, he noticed it was getting light outside. ‘What time is it, mate?'

Maurice retrieved a revolver from a canvas bag and placed it into the holster attached to his webbing. ‘It is just after six o'clock, Thomas, so you might want to hurry with that food as we will shortly be on the march.'

‘Right then.' He picked up the bowl and started to eat, chewing slowly on the salty porridge. ‘That's a nice pistol you've got there, mate.'

‘It is a thoroughly ungainly Mark I Adams and it has the stopping power of a smelly fart. It annoys the natives rather than kills them.' He holstered the weapon. ‘I might just as well throw it at them; at least then I might hurt one. But it was all I could get my hands on at the time, so to speak.'

Tommy noticed the guarded expression and wondered if he had to supply his own kit.
That
would
explain
it
, he thought.

Maurice sighed as he placed his helmet on his head. ‘Thomas, my dear chap, just a thought. Where is your rifle? Come to think of it, I haven't seen you with a weapon since we met, and, yes, I'm sure you consider those fists of yours to be weapons, but unless you can reach a hundred yards, I suggest you acquire one, what.' He picked up a rifle leaning against the table. ‘Perhaps you should go and see Chute and see if he can supply you with one. I keep this Martini-Henry for myself, just in case things get a little silly and I have to get my hands dirty.'

Tommy stood and indicated the rifle, which Maurice passed him. He inspected it closely. It was the same as he'd seen in the 66th lines; he didn't know what the Indian regiments were using, but from what he'd seen, they were different. He was surprised at the weight. It looked heavier than what he was used to but it was actually lighter; there was also a bayonet, he noticed, that looked like a bloody spear. Single shot, he mused, with a lever action to eject the cartridge.

‘That, Thomas,
does
have stopping power greater than a fart. In fact, it will put lots of holes in Ayub Khan's fair family of fanatics.'

Maurice passed him a large bullet which Tommy placed in the breech. ‘So you just close it and it's ready?'

‘Pull the lever shut, old chap, and it's ready to drop an elephant, although shooting Ghazis is much more fun I hear. When you release the lever, the casing will be ejected. But unfortunately it does have a tendency to jam every now and then.' Tommy passed it back to him.

‘I don't think that Chute fella will give me a rifle, Maurice, not from what I saw earlier. He seems to be a little under pressure.'

Maurice thought for a moment. ‘I have a novel idea, then, Thomas. You can have this one, and I won't have to get my hands dirty at all, then, will I?'

He passed the rifle back to Tommy and handed him a wrap of cartridges. ‘Just bloody well make sure you're watching my back, old chap. If any of those bloody savages gets through, well, all I will have is my flatulence.'

Tommy smiled and shouldered the weapon. He placed his helmet on his head and nodded to Maurice.

‘Ready when you are, me old mate.'

He followed Maurice out to an already brightening day, and the heat was already climbing. Tommy could now fully appreciate just how much work had gone on over the course of the night. The camp was already moving in places; the 66th were drawn up and ready to march in column. The baggage stretched out behind into the distance, and, he was right, there were camels, loads of them, carrying all sorts of supplies. They had Indians riding them or pulling them along, and donkeys, carts and horses everywhere, as well as long lines of Indian infantry, who he thought looked extremely smart.

‘Maurice, where am I going to be? Am I going to be with you or what?' He started to feel the enormity of it all and was starting to panic a little.

His friend was walking to a group of officers on horseback, and though he was no judge of horses, these were fine looking beasts. He noted Garratt and McMath were there, as well as a few others he didn't recognise. Galbraith was there, with Oliver at his side. Sergeant Major Cuppage was standing ramrod straight and inspecting the 66th column and the endless NCOs walking up and down the lines, shouting and giving instructions.

‘Jenkins, I don't give a damn how bloody hot it is, get that button done up, you shower of shit.'

‘Jones, dinna try an' pull that, wee man. I know yer noo sick, but ya will be when a finish wi' ya.'

‘Honest, Sar'nt Walker, I feel faint.'

‘Och, away, ya wee shite.'

Maurice turned to Tommy. ‘I'm afraid, old man, that you will have to walk with the column. It can't be helped, but report to Sar'nt Major Cuppage and tell him I wish you to be at the head, as you are my batman and runner, and do try not to worry so, Thomas. All will be well.' He smiled at Tommy. ‘Galbraith has ordered me to be at the front with these men,' he said, nodding to the other men on horseback. ‘The main brigade staff will be coming on behind.' He then turned around and mounted a large chestnut coloured horse. He looked down at Tommy.

‘We are in a respectable position, Thomas. Along with the cavalry there and a couple of guns, we will lead the brigade forward, you and I, my fearless, futuristic friend.'