Forever the Colours (19 page)

‘Fucking hell,' he said, with a slightly lighter voice.

‘I say, you look rather pale, old chap,' smiled Maurice. He looked at the drawn look on Tommy's face and the smile faded. ‘What is the matter, Thomas?'

Tommy just reached for the bottle and poured himself another, and downed that in one. He was mumbling to himself, which was starting to unsettle Maurice.

‘Thomas, I don't care for the theatrics. If you have something to say, then bloody well say it, and stop drinking all the scotch!'

‘Maurice, what is the date today?'

‘Oh for heaven's sake, Tho—'

‘What's the date, you arsehole?' he butted in.

Maurice went quiet, mouth agape. ‘How dare you speak to me that way,' he said quietly. ‘Try to remember, Thomas, even though we are friends I am still your superior officer.'

‘All right, I'm sorry, but could you please tell me the date?' Tommy was now becoming extremely agitated.

‘It is the twenty-sixth day of July,' Maurice pouted.

‘The year?'

Maurice sighed heavily. ‘Well, if you must keep up this charade, it is 1880. Now, could you please explain why you are doing a rather good, and frightening, I might say, impression of an absolute lunatic?'

Tommy was feeling the most helpless he had ever felt in his life. Even if he was asleep or in a coma, the bombshell that Maurice had just dropped on him took his breath away. Is this it? Is this the reason why he was here? But why? To do what?

‘Maurice,' Tommy looked squarely at his friend, ‘if this brigade meets those Afghans tomorrow, it will be destroyed.'

Maurice sat nursing his drink with a bemused look on his face. After a few moments, he said, ‘Thomas, honestly, you worry too much. This is the British Army, for goodness sake. Disciplined troops, well-armed, professional soldiers against a few thousand heathen tribesmen. What an unbelievably silly notion.'

‘Maurice, it's true. I know you think I've lost the plot, but I remember this from school. They were a few thousand troops when they started out, but they were joined by thousands of Ghazis,
thousands
, Maurice. They joined Ayub Khan on his march. And their guns, yes, I remember now! Their guns, Maurice, they were modern pieces, breech loaders I think, and it was said they were manned by some Russian gunners. Shit! It's all coming back to me now.'

Maurice sighed and tried to look sceptical, but the colour had drained from his face as he poured himself another drink. After all, this common soldier sitting in front of him had proved on more than one occasion that there was nothing common about him at all. He was starting to feel the effects of the scotch now and a host of nasty thoughts were going through his head.
What
if?
No!
That's
a
preposterous
thought,
ridiculous,
very
Jules
Verne,
in
fact.

He smiled at Tommy. ‘Come, Thomas, have another drink and forget these silly ideas.'

‘Their cannons will out-gun ours and will create havoc. Our own will run out of ammo and withdraw. I can't remember at what point that was, but it's a turning point in the battle. The Jacob's Rifles will fold under the pressure; they were untested, apparently, and they will bend and fall into the Grenadiers' rear, which will have already lost something like a third, or even half, I don't recall the numbers.' Tommy was recounting the history books now, and he was saying all this whilst looking straight through Maurice with a clouded expression.

Maurice had assumed a horrified look and was visibly shaking. The things Tommy was saying were terrifying, and for a moment he thought he was actually listening to the Devil himself.

‘The Grenadiers will collapse onto the rear of the 66th, then all will be lost. It will be every man for himself. The ones who stay with the colours will die to the last man.'

‘
Enough
.' Maurice stood, indignant. ‘How dare you say such things, even in jest. We are on the eve of battle.' He took a deep breath and looked around to make sure no one was listening. ‘I tell you this, Thomas, if I were someone else, you would be whipped for saying such cowardly things.'

Tommy stood with hands outstretched towards his friend. ‘I'm so sorry, Maurice, but that's what's going to happen. Our army's finished, and by tomorrow night, what's left of it will be in a full, horrific and desperate retreat back to Kandahar.'

Maurice sat and poured some more of his scotch. ‘Even though you tell a vivid tale, Thomas, and make it sound so true, in the end a tale it is.' He paused. ‘But tell me, are you thinking of stealing off in the night?'

‘Where would I go, Maurice? No, I'm hoping I will wake up out of this nightmare. If you have any family, you might want to write them a letter and leave it with certain higher ranking officers. I'll try and remember the ones who survive and you can ask them to post it back home to whatever country estate it is you live on.'

Tommy sat. He didn't have to worry about it, did he, as he was already dead, or asleep or something, so this didn't affect him one bit. He looked over at Maurice, who had now fallen silent, a glum look on his face. Tommy felt for his friend.

A notion came to mind, then, a brilliant notion.
What
, he thought,
if
I'm
here
to
save
Maurice?
What
, he thought,
if
I'm
here
to
save
the
Army?

‘I don't live on a country estate.'

‘Sorry mate, you don't what?'

‘I don't live on a country estate, Thomas,' Maurice replied in a sad voice.

‘Oh, I thought you might have been the son of a lord or something. You sound like one, anyway, with all the fancy words.'

Maurice looked at Tommy with a sad smile. ‘My father was a Liverpool merchant, a successful one, I grant you, but a merchant all the same. I was sent away and educated at Temple Grove School under Master Waterfield, alias The Cow. Brilliant at teaching, even better at a good beating.' He took another sip of his drink and Tommy realised Maurice badly wanted to talk about this.

‘I then went to Harrow for a time, until I left to take my army examination. I passed sixty-fifth out of three hundred odd candidates to get my army appointment, which I got with the 66th. I was not given everything on a platter, Thomas, as you presume. I took steady beatings from The Cow, I read, I threw myself into sports – cricket mainly – I read some more and decided, a merchant's second son or no, nobody will look down on me.' He paused and looked Tommy straight in the eyes. ‘So now you know why I prefer to use gargantuan, beclouding confabulation. It confuses the officers who are boors and have gained entry into the army not on merit, but by status.'

They both sat quietly for a time, sipping drinks and watching the camp. After a while, Maurice piped up. ‘Besides, Thomas, we might not get any orders at all within the next couple of days, so that will put pay to your turn of events, will it not?'

‘Maurice, if the date today is 26 July 1880, the orders will be given about half ten tonight. What time is it now, by the way?'

Maurice looked at his pocket watch. ‘It is fifteen minutes past the hour of nine.' He looked at Tommy with uncertainty. ‘Well, I suppose we won't have to wait very long.'

He poured some more of the scotch into both their glasses, and for the next hour they talked about Maurice's background and more about his school days, which he compared with Tommy's. He was shocked to learn of the education Tommy had received, how there were just as many women teachers as masters, though they weren't called that anymore, and he was particularly shocked at the now redundant use of the cane.

‘Well, how do you punish your youngsters?' he had asked.

‘We keep them behind after school doing extra work, or we take their mobiles or iPods or whatever else they have sneaked into school.'

Maurice fell silent again, staring into his glass. Tommy watched him with pity, knowing that quite a few officers of the 66th died at the battle. And he was hoping that Maurice wasn't one of them.

After some time sitting in silence, an officer walked up out of the darkness and approached Maurice.

‘Chute, old chap, what brings you here on this wonderful evening? Would you like a drink?' Maurice greeted.

‘Hello Rayner. Well, I'm here in an official capacity, actually. Galbraith sends his compliments and asks if you are quite recovered, as he has need of you and wonders if you would attend him as soon as you may. And I will accept that drink, thank you.'

After Maurice had given up his chair and supplied him with his own glass, the man Chute sat, raised the glass in a quick salute and downed it in one. After a moment he seemed to notice Tommy, who was idly staring at him with interest, and nodded, frowning at the petulance of the look.

‘Oh, I haven't introduced you. Thomas, this is Lieutenant Richard Chute, acting Quartermaster of the 66th. Chute, this is Private Thomas Evans, my secretary, of a sort.'

Tommy glanced at his friend with an amused look.

Chute gave them both an inquisitive look but put it down to the drinking.

‘So, Richard, why does the Lieutenant Colonel wish my return so promptly?'

‘Have you not heard, then? I don't suppose you would have, really, sitting in the Surgeon Major's tent. The General has ordered us to strike camp and make ready for a march to intercept Khan. He plans to bring him to battle on the morrow.'

Maurice looked as if would fall, so Tommy jumped up and steadied him. Maurice looked at Thomas and then pulled his watch out of his pocket. It was showing 10.45. He looked at Chute. ‘When were these orders given, Chute?' he asked in a tremulous voice.

‘The orders were officially given at thirty minutes past the hour of ten this evening. I say, Rayner, are you quite recovered, old boy? You look terribly sick.'

‘You will have to excuse me, Richard, I am not feeling myself. But rest assured, you can tell Galbraith that I will attend to him shortly. Just a quick rest is in order first.' He turned to Tommy. ‘Would you mind escorting me back to my bed for a moment's rest, please, Private.'

Tommy helped Maurice back into the tent and, grabbing the lamp on the way, deposited him on one of the stools and set the lamp on the table. He sat in the Major's chair and waited for Maurice to compose himself.

‘How did you know, Thomas? How did you know those orders would be given at 10.30?'

‘I've already told you, Maurice, it's in the history books.'

‘So that's it, then, is that what you're saying? Tomorrow we're all going to die?'

‘I don't know, mate, this is all new to me as well. But as I've said, whether you believe me or not, I don't belong in this time and I have read about this battle. All right, it was years ago, but I read it all the same.' He sighed. ‘I don't know all of the facts, I only just managed to get through my A level. But what I've told you already is pretty much right.'

Maurice looked thoughtfully at Tommy. ‘Supposing for a moment you are, in fact, some reluctant time traveller, why are you here?'

‘Like I've already said before, the last thing I remember is getting hit by an RPG and then waking up here. But I was thinking that maybe I was sent here to stop it, or I dunno, save you maybe?'

‘Save me? How preposterous. And how, pray, would you go about doing that running away?

Tommy just stared back and shrugged his shoulders.

‘Pah! Well, I can tell you now, Thomas, I will do my duty. And whatever befalls us tomorrow, I shall not be labelled a coward.' He stood in anger and began to pace around the tent. After a moment he stopped and turned on Tommy. ‘Is this your way of staying safe, Thomas? Is this some sort of plan to befriend an officer and hope that will keep you clear of the ranks, mmm? Well, I can tell you this,
Private
,
I will be at the forefront, standing at the side of Colonel Galbraith, doing my duty. So be warned, if you were hoping to stay clear of any battle, I am one of the worst officers to choose from.' He had buttoned his tunic while he had been talking, and he now placed his helmet on his head, turned smartly and stormed out of the tent.

Tommy sat stunned for a moment, surprised at Maurice's sudden anger. Why had he reacted like that? He wasn't calling him a coward or anything. Then his shock turned to anger. What an inconsiderate shithead! He had just offered the idea that he might be there to save his life, and Maurice throws it in his face, accusing him of being a coward. Tommy went and lay down on his bed.

‘I wonder how long it takes to clear a camp this size, anyway, and what the hell am I going to do? Go with them? If I do I'll be killed along with all the rest.' Tommy pondered hard and long into the night, listening to the sounds of soldiers on the brink of a large battle. If he was honest with himself, he was starting to feel a little scared, and dark thoughts were popping in and out of his mind.
What
if
I
die
here?
Will
I
truly
be
dead?
If
I
don't
save
Maurice,
will
I
have
to
stay?
Am
I
supposed
to
change
the
past?
Won't
that
have
an
adverse
effect
on
the
future
or
something?