Forever the Colours (18 page)

‘Begin!' shouted Henn. Both fighters stepped back, now wary of their opponent; they slowly started to circle each other. It was getting late in the afternoon and Tommy was starting to feel the heat. He wiped at the sweat running down his face. Singh noticed this and smiled at Tommy.
Shit!
he thought,
If
this
goes
on
much
longer
I'll
faint
with
the
heat.
It
needs
to
be
finished
.

The other man knew this as well, because he was quite content to keep walking round the square, tiring Tommy and waiting for his moment.

‘Ok, mate, that's it,' said Tommy, and with that he stopped and assumed a fighting stance. The crowd were baying for blood, and it wasn't long in coming. The Indian stopped his pacing, moved towards Tommy with raised hands and nodded.
He
wants
to
trade
, Tommy thought.
Alright
then,
mate
, and beckoned Singh forward with his hand. A split second later, a flurry of blows were thrown at Tommy's head, left jab, right cross, jab, hook, jab, cross, upper cut. It was all Tommy could do just to bob and weave and take some of the punches on his forearms.
Fuck
me!
thought Tommy.
This
guy
is
fast
.

Just as the last punch landed, Singh feigned a lunge for Tommy's lower body. Tommy sprang back, ready to counter a low attack, but the Indian lunged back upwards and landed a heavy blow to Tommy's unprotected forehead. It was a stunner and he flew back with the blow, though managed to stay on his feet.
Shit
, he thought,
that
hurt
, and shuffled backwards as Singh came at him with a flurry of punches, elbow strikes and backhands. It was all Tommy could do just to block or dodge. They broke apart again and Tommy backed off a little, shook his head and tried to regain some composure. The Grenadier, meanwhile, was thumping his chest and shouting something in Hindi. Tommy caught his breath, silenced his doubts and, smiling, beckoned the Grenadier on.

He came at him again, this time trying a kick at his left knee, but Tommy just lifted his leg and took the blow, followed the motion through and countered with a twist, full circle, and landed a backhand into the other man's cheek. Singh staggered sideways and went down on one knee. Tommy was about to follow this up, but he noticed the Indian had grabbed a handful of sand and was going to throw it at his face. He turned at the last second, managing to dodge the dirt aimed for his eyes, and landed a fast left jab to Singh's jaw. This stunned the man enough for Tommy to follow up with a fast right cross, shattering the man's nose, and as he tumbled backward, Tommy scissor kicked him in the chest. The big Grenadier landed on his arse. But rather than stay down, he attempted to get to his feet, so Tommy leaned back and at the same time lifted his bent right leg, flicking it out with force and connecting with the other man's jaw. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

The crowd were in an uproar, shouting and baying at the now-sleeping giant. Tommy staggered back to a delighted and clapping Maurice. ‘Well done, well done, old chap. That was a most titillating performance.'

‘You're sure about that? I saw you betting against me.'

‘Betting against you, whatever for? I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Thomas. Always have. Now if you will excuse me, I will go and collect my winnings.' And with a flourish, he moved off through the still-roaring crowd.

Arun passed him his tunic and a drink of water, which he downed in one, and thanked the wallah who was now nearly on his knees in admiration. Tommy was aching badly and motioned for Arun to follow him back to the tent. When he got there, he collapsed onto his bed, absolutely drained. Between the heat and the giant Grenadier he felt exhausted, and the pain in his head had come back. ‘What was I thinking?' he said, remembering that punch to the forehead.

‘Does Private Sahib need anything else?'

‘No thanks, mate. I think I'm gonna have a nap. Can you wake me in a couple of hours?' Without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. The wallah smiled for a few moments, looking down at the already-sleeping form.

‘Sleep well, Thomas Evans Sahib,' he whispered, and left the tent.

Chapter 8

Orders

T
ommy
yawned, a real jaw-stretching, eye-watering, head-quivering yawn. He smacked his lips and looked blurrily around the tent.
I
need
a
drink
, he thought, and sat up.
Oh
shit!
The pain in his joints was killing him; he remembered the fight with the Grenadier Corporal and groaned outwardly. After a few moments of regretting ever getting involved, he swung his aching legs over the side of the bed and stood. There was a subdued light from outside and, with no lamp in the tent, it felt quite claustrophobic.
Out
, he thought to himself. Fresh air was what he needed, so he made his way to the entrance.

It was strangely quiet as he walked out into the dusk of the day. Well, not that quiet; there were the usual noises of life in a large camp, but something was amiss, something subdued, something not quite right. He looked for Maurice but couldn't see him or Major Preston. He even checked for the wallah. No one. No one near his tent, anyway. He sat at the little table and looked into the distance.
Strange
, he thought,
it
seems
as
though
the
camp
is
holding
its
breath
. After ten minutes or so, Arun came toward the table from out of the darkness.

‘Good evenings, Private Sahib. Are you wanting any refreshment?'

‘Oh, yes please, mate, can I have a cup of chai, and if you have anything to eat, that would be great.'

‘One moment, yes please,' he said, and he skipped off.

Tommy wondered where Maurice had got to and realised that he felt quite alone without his new friend. Although he spoke like a typical upper-class university-trained politician who had swallowed a dictionary, Tommy liked him; there was a warmness to him, a friendly openness and a ready smile. It was typical of the times, though, he thought, the way they treated people who they thought were of a lower class, but he supposed that was normal and shouldn't make too much of it. After all he, thought, it's already happened, maybe?

After about ten or fifteen minutes, Arun returned with a steaming mug of tea. It was black and unsweetened, but what the hell, Tommy thought, it was wet and hot. He also placed a lamp on the table so Tommy could see with the failing light, and as the lamp wick flickered, he produced another lovely bowl of meat slop. But Tommy was far too hungry to moan and dug in immediately. After he had finished, to his surprise and delight, Arun produced an apple out of his sleeve like a magician.

‘Where the bloody hell did you get that, mate?'

‘Private Sahib, I am keeping supply secrets, yes please.' He smiled at Tommy, picked up his empty bowl and went off to whatever secret place he gets his work done. Tommy had eaten better apples but this was a godsend after the tasteless food these soldiers ate. He would never again moan about the ration packs supplied to him, and he relished every juicy bite.

About an hour later, he was considering going back to bed when he heard Maurice's voice coming out of the darkness. A moment later he appeared, once again carrying a bottle of some sort of liquor.

‘Yes please, Arun, and could you fetch a glass for Mr Evans also.'

‘Yes please, Lieutenant Sahib.'

‘Thomas, my dear chap, I have news.' He said this as he sat on the opposite chair and uncorked the bottle.

Arun returned a moment later with two glasses and handed them to the two soldiers.

‘That will be all for tonight, my good man. Why don't you take the rest of the evening off, unless of course the Major Sahib requires your attendance.'

‘Very good, Lieutenant Sahib, yes please.' Arun disappeared into the darkness.

Maurice poured two healthy measures into the glasses and re-corked the bottle; his hands, Tommy noticed, had a slight tremble. Maurice took a large gulp and turned to his friend.

‘We should have our orders by tomorrow, Thomas, and we might be moving in the next couple of days.' He became silent.

Tommy took a generous swig of the scotch and tried to understand Maurice's mood but found he was hard to gauge. He watched him for a few more moments and then decided to press him for details. ‘So what's the deal then, mate?'

Maurice was gazing over the now-dark camp, staring at the camp fires; he completely ignored Tommy. ‘Maurice, what's the score then, me old mate?' he said, louder this time, which got Maurice's attention.

‘Hmm, oh sorry, old chap,' he said absentmindedly.

‘What's the deal, then? Where are we moving to exactly?'

‘Sorry Thomas, I was miles away. Yes, well, the cavalry reports say that they have made contact with Ayub Khan's forward screen and his army has fully crossed the Helmand. And Burrows believes they will be making for, or bypassing, Kandahar and heading for Kabul, so he has decided to intercept and stop them. Shouldn't be too much of a problem, he says. The enemy have about six thousand men and around four thousand cavalry, and there are also reports of around thirty guns.' Maurice stopped and took a drink.

Tommy frowned. ‘How many men do we have, then?'

‘Well, there are around three thousand of the force that left Kandahar; a mix of infantry, us, of course, the 66th; the 130th Jacob's Rifles; the 1st Grenadiers, who you have already met, of course; two regiments of cavalry, the Bombay Light and the 3rd Sind.' He paused and took a sip of his drink. ‘We also have the guns of the Royal Horse and the smooth bore we captured, which are now attached to the 66th, plus the sappers and miners, of course. More than enough for those heathens, the Brigadier General assures us.'

Tommy was thoughtful for a moment as he sipped his drink; something was nagging him, a memory he could not quite put his finger on. Try though he might, he just couldn't remember what was niggling him.

‘You are particularly thoughtful, Thomas. Something troubles you?'

‘What? Oh, sorry, I was just thinking about what you just said. I seem to remember something…well, I don't actually remember, that is, but I feel I have to remember, if you know what I mean?'

Maurice shook his head and smiled. ‘Thomas, my dear chap, you really are a heteroclite individual.'

‘Well, whatever that means, thanks. Sorry mate, it's just, I don't know, something's not right. I have a right shitty feeling about all of this now.' He stood and walked to the edge of the lamp light and stood, thoughtful, watching the light from the fires.
What
?
What
is
it?
What
the
hell
is
bothering
me
so
much?
' he thought.
Why
is
this
information
affecting
me
so
much?
Then he remembered about his journey on the cart, what that bloke had said.
What
was
his
name
now?
Watson!
Yes,
that
was
it.
Now
what
did
he
say?
But Tommy still couldn't figure it out, so went back to the table.

When he sat, he noticed Maurice had consumed more of the liquor and was pouring himself yet another.
He
wasn't
right
, Tommy thought. He had become a little pale and he had a faraway look in his eyes. Then a thought came to him.

‘Maurice, where are we due to meet this enemy, what was his name again?'

‘Ayub Khan.'

‘Right, and where is this fella supposed to be when the brigade intercepts him?'

‘Oh, not too far. We will hopefully meet him at or somewhere near a place called Maiwand.'

Tommy went cold and placed his glass on the table with a bump. The memory came back to him with a rush, and that niggling thought he couldn't remember washed over him like a tidal wave. The history lesson in school about the battle of Maiwand
.
Now he remembered. The different regiments, the 66th, of course. Watson was right. Tommy had thought the battle had been near Kabul but it hadn't been, had it? It was bloody Kandahar!

With a sudden sense of realisation and then cold, stark dread, he picked up his glass and downed the fiery contents in one. He ran a hand through his hair.