Forever the Colours by Richard Thomas

Author:Richard Thomas
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-78308-163-9
Publisher: Anthem Press

Chapter 8

Orders

Tommy 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.

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