Follow Me to Glory by Will Hutchison

Follow Me to Glory by Will Hutchison

Author:Will Hutchison [Hutchison, Will]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7414-8297-6
Publisher: Infinity Publishing
Published: 2006-12-15T00:00:00+00:00


Although Ian jested about it with his fellow officers, he was perfectly content with his current duties. His tours of the redoubts became routine, but not unpleasant. He visited the various Royal Artillery gunners who had been sent to explain the British guns to the Turkish gun detachments at each of the four manned redoubts, the outer ring of defences of the important supply port at Balaklava.

It became his habit to rise a few hours before the sun, saddle Savage, and exercise him in the breaking dawn light. Transitioning between a fast trot and a canter, and occasionally a gallop, Ian would take Savage across the plateau on the road to Balaklava, down onto the plain of South Valley, through the camps of the Heavy and Light Cavalry Brigades, then east across the valley floor. At the far end, he’d ride to the village of Kamara, nestled among the hills not far below Number 1 Redoubt, the eastern-most defensive position. This was a several mile journey, exhilarating for both man and horse.

There was a house there, which had been an inn of sorts, about the only thing that this small village had to offer before their arrival. The owner, an old Greek, was told to clear out, but quietly refused to do so. It was his regimen for twenty years to rise before dawn each day to bake bread and pastry. He was not about to change that, come war or pestilence. With fewer and fewer customers, he was more than willing to make Ian a cup of thick strong coffee each morning, served with warm fresh-baked bread and a spicy jam, as long as Ian did not report him.

It was Ian’s time alone with his thoughts. Ian would sit in the enclosed courtyard behind the decrepit old inn at a tiny table beside the kitchen door. There, he could enjoy the smells of cooking, daydream about romantic interludes with Jasmine, glorious deeds he might yet do, or ancient battles fought in places not unlike this one.

It was the following morning, and he was sitting comfortably at the inn by four o’clock. Ian was unable to sleep. He couldn’t drag his thoughts away from Angus, Piccard, and his unseen disgrace at the riverbank. In the pre-dawn fog, the air was cool and crisp. The fresh coffee smell was coming through the open kitchen door.

Ian bit into his bread and jam. He felt so alert these brisk mornings, so alive. He sipped his coffee contentedly, stared at the slowly lightening sky.

The brew was extra strong. Ian would remember its taste for the rest of his life.



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