Forever the Colours (20 page)

He recalled the science fiction films that mess around with time travel, and they always said that any changes in the past, however slight, would have enormous consequences in the future.
What
was
it
called?
he thought.
Oh
yes,
cause
and
effect
.

‘SHIT!' he shouted, ‘Why doesn't someone fucking wake me UP?'

‘Well, you sound awake already, Private, unless of course you are having another attack of delusions?' Preston strolled in through the tent flap and went straight to his desk. ‘I may be convinced shortly, Mr Evans, that you will need to return to Kandahar, and then India, for it sounds like you may be suffering from slight damage to the brain and will need proper care in a hospital. For further tests, of course. What say you to that?'

‘I don't need to go to India, sir. I was just thinking out loud, that's all. I am much better now, thanks.' As he finished speaking, Maurice came through the flap with a flourish, followed by Arun. He went straight to his bed and began collecting his personal items, placing them in a trunk at the foot. He studiously ignored Tommy as he packed.

‘I say, Major Preston, sir, would you mind terribly if I borrow Arun here to collect my things together and get them stored on the baggage? This trunk is particularly burdensome.'

‘Not at all, Lieutenant, please instruct Arun as you will. My orderlies will be here presently to strike the tent and move everything to the baggage train. Mr Evans, you may want to pack whatever belongings you have. I'm sure Arun will also help you.' Preston left the tent shouting for Watson and Holmes.

Tommy chuckled at that.
Very
clever
, he thought to himself.
Very
good,
Watson
and
Holmes,
very
good.
Dead
funny,
that.

‘Is something funny, Thomas? Why are you laughing? Have I said something humorous?' Maurice frowned and stared at Tommy.

‘No, Maurice, it's not you, it's something the Major said.' He shook his head, smiling, then looked at Maurice thoughtfully. ‘Can I come with you, Maurice? I don't know where I'm supposed to be anyway, and it's not because I don't want to be in the ranks. I can handle myself all right, it's just you're my only friend, and, well, we can watch each other's backs if it gets a little rough, you know.'

Maurice became thoughtful, and after a few moments he smiled at Tommy. ‘Certainly, old chap, that would be a splendid idea, and I know you can more than handle yourself. It's just that it doesn't befit an officer being seen to mix with the rank and file, no offence. So we will have to come up with a new role for yourself and hope nobody realises that I have stolen you from the lower echelons, what.'

Tommy mused over this for a few moments. ‘What about a secretary? You know, what you told that Chute fella. You can have a male secretary in this time, can't you?'

‘As opposed to a female? What a ridiculous notion, Thomas, I would not have a female secretary. They are want to gossip, you know. No, that won't do, my dear chap, if anybody would have a secretary it would be Galbraith. But you could be my runner. Yes, that's it, you will be my runner, Thomas, my batman
.
' He put out his hand for Tommy to shake. ‘Do we have a congruence, my dear?'

Tommy shook his hand. ‘Yeah, that sounds terrific, me old mate, whatever that is.'

Just then the tent opened and in bustled two soldiers, one of whom Tommy recognised as being Private Watson. They both tipped their hats to Maurice and started about collapsing beds and moving the Major's desk and his various personal items. As Tommy owned nothing but the uniform he was wearing, and was therefore not packing, he approached Watson, who was collecting the Major's case.

‘Hello, mate. Remember me?'

‘Well, now, that I do, lad. Ye still thinking yer in the navy, then?' he said with a smile.

Tommy smiled back. ‘Listen, mate, you know when you found me? Can you tell me what I was doing? You know, was there anything strange about it?'

‘Din' I already tell yer this, lad?'

‘Yeah, I know, but I had a knock on the head, didn't I, so it's all a bit fuzzy like. About what you said – I know most of it, but did you see anything or anybody, I don't know, strange?'

Watson stood still for a moment, looking thoughtful and rubbing his chin. After about a minute, he said, ‘Well, there was that old Bhisti wallah.'

‘Bhisti wallah?'

‘Yes, lad, an old Bhisti wallah was leaning over yer, chatting away in that heathen tongue o' theirs and trying to rob ye, by look's o' things. But I saw him off. I did, offered him a bit o' steel.'

‘And that's all, just a Bhisti wallah?'

‘Aye, that's all, lad.'

‘Would you be able to recognise him again if you saw him?'

‘Ha, they all look same to me, bloody heathens. Now, as enjoyable as this chat is, I
'
ave a lot to do, so if you'd be so kind as to
'
elp me take this desk out yonder, seein' it's so bloody heavy.'

Tommy nodded and lifted one end and, with Watson on the other, they shuffled outside. Tommy was amazed at the scene and he stood gaping as thousands of soldiers were going about, pulling down tents, bivvies and shifting all sorts of cargo – boxes, stools, chairs, tables, all manner of things. Tommy lifted the desk onto the back of a cart which was already loaded with a wealth of objects, from beds to stools, bedding, boxes and crates. Tommy looked further on from the cart and, in the light from hundreds of lamps and fires, he could see a long column of carts and horses.
A
baggage
train
, he thought, and he swore he even saw a camel at one point.

‘That's a hell of a lot of stores for such a small army, mate. Not exactly travelling light, are we.'

‘Aye, lad, it's that bloody commissariat and the extra stuff fer officers. We got too much baggage and we're moving at a snail's pace, and ye don't need to be a General to know that little truth. Jesus and his saints, I can't keep nattering all night, boy, I'll never be done. Good luck and be safe, lad.' With that, he nodded to Tommy and continued to load supplies.

Just then Maurice came out of the tent followed by a heavy-breathing Arun carrying his trunk. ‘Please be kind enough to load it with the medical stores, my good man, and make sure my name tag is facing outwards. I don't want any light fingers in there.'

‘Yes please, Lieutenant Sahib.' And Arun struggled off to load the trunk.

‘Ah, gentlemen, rejoining the regiment, are we?' said Major Preston as he approached the two friends. ‘Well, I wish you both the very best of luck in the coming confrontation, God knows we will all need it. Do you know that my request for extra water rations for the men has been totally ignored? I tell you this, these men will struggle to last a day without plenty of water in this infernal heat, and after a long march. Madness, I tell you.'

‘My dear Major, I am sure the Brigadier General has thought of all these problems and made arrangements. Not even he would be silly enough to march us off into a hostile landscape without enough water. Now you must excuse me, sir, I have to report to Colonel Galbraith. My thanks for all your care and attention.' He shook Preston's hand and moved off.

Tommy held out his hand and Preston took it. ‘Good luck tomorrow, Mr Evans. I wish you well, young man.'

‘Thank you for looking after me, sir, and I hope you survive the battle.'

Tommy moved off to join Maurice and was watched all the way by a bemused Major, who couldn't for the life of him understand why the young man's parting words made him shiver. Shaking his head at his own foolishness, he turned to oversee the loading of the medical supplies.

Chapter 9

Battle -
The Beginning

T
ommy
and Maurice made their way across a sea of activity, a maelstrom of ordered chaos. Horses whinnying, dogs barking, men shouting orders or telling each other to ‘Fuck off', some playful, some serious, but the activity did not stop; it was like a machine.
At
a
quick
glance
, Tommy thought,
you
would
think
that
it
was
a
ragtag
rabble
rather
than
the
cream
of
a
Victorian
British
fighting
force
. But looking closer, he could see the discipline of the ranks, orders being given and followed without question, officers moving in and out of the troops, giving orders here and there, cajoling some, berating others, NCOs shouting at the ones who weren't working quickly enough. Most of the noise and banter was coming from the lines of the 66th, and Tommy could hear a plethora of accents, from Irish to London to West Country.

‘Oi, Paddy, move your fuckin arse and get those boxes loaded or I will stick my fuckin' boot up it.'

‘Am right on it, Sar'nt, to be sure.'

‘Fuckin' bog hoppin' mick.'

‘Private BECK! If I wanted you to sit on your arse and watch everyone else working, I would have instructed you to do so. Now stand up and help Private Drew there lift those bloody tents onto that cart, and if I see you sitting down again, you
'
orrible little man, you will be cleaning out the khasi with your tash brush.'

‘Right away, Colour Sar'nt Gover.'

‘Hey Sammy, d'ya reckons Mrs Ashton is keepin busy back home?'

‘Feck off, Bolton, least I got a woman, you sheep shagger.'

Tommy was enthralled. Apart from a couple of walks around the camp and the fight with the Grenadier, this was the closest he had come to the lower ranks. And strangely, he felt quite at home. Maurice, on the other hand, was keeping up appearances and looking down his nose under his impeccably aligned helmet. Every soldier they passed tipped his hat in deference, the Sergeants coming smartly to attention. Tommy was aware they were making their way towards a largish tent that had not yet been taken down.

‘Thomas, when we arrive at the Lieutenant Colonel's tent, please remain silent unless a question is addressed to you directly. The old man is a stickler for the rules.'

‘Right, Maurice.'

As they approached the tent, Tommy could see a group of officers standing around a table. Two he knew, Garratt and McMath, the others he did not recognise. They came to the table and stopped; Tommy, at the rear of Maurice, came to attention while the other saluted.

The older officer, who Tommy took for being in charge, turned to Maurice with a smile and put out his hand to shake.

‘Well, it's very pleasant to have you back. Mr Rayner. I have been struggling without my favourite adjutant. You are quite recovered, I hope?'

‘I am, sir, thank you. I have been quite impatient to return, but the good Surgeon Major Preston did not agree with the self-diagnosis of my robust, anatomical manifestation.'

The older officer chuckled and swept his hand around the table. ‘The officers of the 66th you know, of course.'

Maurice smiled and nodded to most of the assembled officers.

‘This is Lieutenant Hector Maclaine of the Royal Horse.' Galbraith indicated to a rather surly looking young officer.

Maurice nodded to him and was rewarded with the briefest of nods in return. In fact, Tommy thought, the artillery Lieutenant's face was in a permanent lofty sneer. It looked as though he was smelling shit or something.

‘Who do you have there behind you, Rayner?' And as everyone's eyes turned to Tommy, he straightened up, even more if that was possible.

‘Oh, this is my runner and batman
Private Evans. The good Surgeon Major had him attached to me until I am fully fit, as it were. He will be my eyes, ears and legs, so to speak.'

‘A pleasant evening to you, Private,' said Galbraith.

Another
Irishman
, thought Tommy.
Why
the
hell
are
they
called
the
Berkshires?

‘A very good evening to you, sir,' Tommy barked, parade-ground fashion.

‘Eyes and ears you say, Rayner,' snapped Maclaine. ‘Is he literate enough?'

‘My dear Lieutenant, Evans has a sharp intellect and an enquiring mind. He is more than literate enough, I assure you, but please feel free to question him if you won't take my word for it. Why don't you try to confound him on English, mathematics, geography, languages even. That is if you have any viable, non-horsey or cannon related questions, what.'