Now I Am A Soldier by Malcolm Archibald

Author:Malcolm Archibald
Format: epub

The Lothian Rifles were in barracks outside Dalkeith, with the Midlothian countryside spreading around them, interspersed with the bings and industrial architecture of the coal mines. The sentry at the gate presented arms with a flourish, and Tulloch walked in, announced himself to Major Hume and breathed a sigh of genuine relief.

Four Platoon welcomed him with shy smiles. “We thought you were deid,” Brown told him. “What happened, sir?”

“I got left behind on the Frontier,” Tulloch explained.

“We heard you were on some intelligence-gathering mission,” Lightfoot said, and Tulloch remembered it was impossible to hide things in the Lothians. “Like Gary Cooper.”

“Nothing as dramatic as that,” Tulloch said, shaking his head. He looked over his platoon with renewed affection. “You’re all looking soft and fat. We’ll go for a route march tomorrow and get you back in trim.” He grinned at the expected barrage of abuse as he left the barrack room. It was good to be back.

The officers knew little more than Four Platoon and greeted him with raised eyebrows and curious smiles.

“You were away a long time,” Muirhead said in an unspoken question.

“Too long,” Tulloch told him. He felt guilty about being more comfortable in the Officers’ Mess than at home. Although he missed his parents, he knew he had outgrown them; he had put away childish things and embraced this new life.

“You can’t tell us all that happened, can you?” Tait asked hopefully.

“No,” Tulloch sat on a chair with a whisky in his hand and the buzz of the mess around him. At the side, Major Hume played billiards with Captain Forsyth, a long-faced man with a ready laugh, and the cheerful click of the balls provided a musical background.

“I hope you can stand the boredom of routine regimental soldiering after your adventuring around the Frontier,” Muirhead said.

Tulloch laughed. “I’ll do my best.” He accepted another whisky from the mess waiter and looked around the room. Although he had been a Lothian Rifleman for three years, this was his first time in the regiment’s headquarters. He nodded to the familiar picture of the Battle of Alexandria, smiled at the collection of memorabilia from subsequent wars and campaigns, and immediately relaxed.

“This Hitler fellow needs taking down a peg,” Muirhead said. “He’s been busy in Europe while you were gallivanting with the Pathans.”

“So I hear,” Tulloch said. “But he got the trains to run on time.”

“That was Mussolini,” Muirhead corrected. “You’ll have to get your dictators sorted out, Tulloch.”

“I knew it was one of them,” Tulloch said, sipping at his whisky. “I dare say we’ll have to sort them both out before we’re done.” He thought of Colonel Clark’s warnings about Mussolini and clamped his mouth shut.

“I dare say,” Muirhead agreed. “The world usually despises us in times of peace and runs to us for help when things get sticky.” He shrugged. “We’ll see if our old allies, the French, help.”

“Time will tell,” Tulloch said.

Muirhead eyed him thoughtfully. “What happened on the Frontier, Tulloch? You’ve changed.”

Tulloch swallowed his second whisky

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