Forever the Colours (6 page)

‘Oh, Christ,' he said, ‘I'm dead and this is a coffin.' He looked to the other side: more planks.
Shit,
shit,
they're
lowering
me
into
the
ground
, he thought.
In
the
desert!

‘NO,' he shouted. ‘I wanna go home.' He bounced again. ‘Ah, no, stop, please,' he shouted. ‘Mum and Dad won't be happy. I need to be in St Mary's Church, not in the desert.'

‘Easy there, lad.'

‘Don't bury me, please.'

‘He he, no one's burying anybody lad. Now just lay still there and the Surgeon Major will have you up and about in no time.'

Surgeon
?

‘Jesus! What's the bloody matter with me?'

‘Eh, up there now, there's no need to take the Lord's name in vain.'

Tommy tried to raise his head but failed. He felt weak, and the pain came again behind his eyes and then the sick feeling. He relaxed for a few moments with his eyes closed until it eased off.

Bloody
hell,
why
is
it
so
bumpy?
he thought. ‘Are we in one of the coffins, mate?' he said to the strange voice.

‘Have I not already told ye, yer not getting buried and yer not in a coffin.'

‘What! What the hell are you on about? Are we in one of the Rovers or what? 'Cos if we are, the rear shocks need looking at.'

‘Well dearie me,' said the voice, ‘taken a real thump to yer thought box, haven't ye, young'n. Well, like I already said, the Surgeon Major will see to yer mending.'

Oh
for
God's
sake
, thought Tommy,
this
guy
sounds
like
a
farmer.
And
who
the
bloody
hell
is
he?
An
army
medic?

‘Alright mate, listen. What's happened to me, where's my platoon, did the kid make it and what is your bloody name?'

‘Calm down, lad,' said the voice. ‘The answer to yer last question is Mark, Private Mark Watson. Pleased to make yer acquaintance. And as for yer self, well, yer were knocked for six when that cannon shell landed next to ye and that 'oss of artillery, and you've taken a wound to yer head which I might say won't heal proper if ye keep yelling like yer have been.'

The voice took a deep breath and continued, ‘And as for those other questions, well, I don't rightly know, but maybe if ye was to calm down a little, I might go and ask Hospital Sergeant Warren if he knows anything. How does that sound, now, eh?'

Tommy was fully awake now and totally confused.
What
did
he
mean,
Hospital
Sergeant?
And
what
was
that
'oss?
Horse
of
artillery?
Horse!
Was
there
a
parade
or
something?
He
did
mean
horse,
didn't
he?
' thought Tommy,
because
I
have
actually
seen
a
dead
one
out
there.
Well,
a
horse's
arse
anyway
.

He looked over to where he thought the voice might be coming from to see if he could see the man who was talking to him. He could only see the silhouette of his head and shoulders against the dark sky; he couldn't see the bottom half of him at all – but what he could make out did not compute. The man's helmet, if that's what you call it, was not the helmet he was used to, or, for that matter, the helmet used by the British Army. It looked like a big tit!

Not surprisingly, Tommy started to feel a little uncomfortable, and just a little scared.

‘Err, listen, mate, could you tell me where I am, please?'

‘My name is Mark, lad. Why do ye keep saying mate? Was yer with the navy afore ye joined the regiment?'

What
the
hell
is
this
guy
on
about?
thought Tommy.
He
is
properly
taking
the
piss
.

‘Listen, mate, I've been shot at, had an RPG lobbed at me, had my head up a horse's arse, been blown up and one of my mates might be dead. So I would appreciate it if you would stop taking the piss and tell me where the hell I am.' Tommy took a deep breath as another wave of nausea hit him. ‘Believe me when I say that, if I have to get off this Rover or flat bed or whatever the hell it is, I am seriously gonna kick your arse!'

‘Now that will be enough of them profanities. I don't care for that sort of gutter language, do ye hear? If it carries on I will have to report it, understand?'

‘Oh, whatever,' Tommy said, exasperated. ‘Just take me back to my platoon, will ya?'

‘Why are ye so angry, lad? I know yer hurting, but try and be calm or ye will do yer self ill.' Suddenly Tommy heard a sound like a match lighting and turned his head just as a flame lit up the man's face.

‘Oh my God,' he said out loud. The flame died as it was sucked into the end of a large pipe, but the image imprinted on his brain was of a face approximately thirty to forty years of age, wrinkled and tanned skin, and a very large moustache. What was also highly strange was the uniform. This guy looked like he had just stepped out of the film
Zulu
. Apart from the fact that his tunic wasn't red but a dirty beige colour, and he came complete with a pith helmet.

Ah!
The
tit
,
he thought.
OK,
I've
had
a
knock
on
the
head
and
the
rest
of
the
lads
are
having
a
laugh,
and
got
this
joker
with
the
fake
tash
to
wind
me
up.
That's
what
it
is,
panic
over.
All
right,
it's
pretty
realistic,
but
what
else
could
it
be?
Right,
I
will
play
along
and
see
where
it's
going
.

‘Very well, Mark, I apologise for the profanities. It's just that I'm feeling a little out of sorts this evening.' He had to smile at his attempt at being posh. ‘I would be terribly grateful if you could tell me where we are headed and why?'

‘Oh, well then, that's more like it, lad, much better. Well, it was like this, see, ye was found union – unconsha – asleep. Next to a dead 'oss of artillery. And lying across yer was one of them backstabbing levies who had been stuck by one of our boys straight through his backstabbing gizzard.' He took a breath. ‘Well, after that little scrap, me and some of the other lads went poking round looking to see if any of our lot was lying injured or what not, and that's when we found ye, lad.'

Tommy had to give this guy credit. He was doing a fantastic job of playing a character from that
Zulu
movie.
And
any
time
now
, he thought,
he
will
start
singing
‘Men
of
Harlech'
in
a
dodgy
Welsh
accent
.

‘Thank you for saving me, Mark.'
This
is
getting
good
. ‘Would you mind telling me our destination, please?'

‘Well, lad, according to Major Preston, we will be heading for a village. I can't recall the name of it, couldn't prun, prunon, say it! Even if I knew, anyways, well, it's about half way back towards Kandahairy.'

‘Kandahar.'

‘That's what I said.'

Tommy sighed heavily.

‘So, Mark, what did the levies do that was so terrible, then?'

‘Well, lad, seeing that ye don't remember, those backstabbers was supposed to be on our side and they ended up turning their coats, ya see. But the old General, well, he won't have any of that, will he, so he has the Cavalry pretty boys take a run at 'em, them heathen. Ghazis, most likely, and they were no match for our galloping gunners or the 66th, and we took their guns off 'em.'

This
guy
is
quite
adept
, thought Tommy.
He
knows
his
stuff
. And Tommy knew that Mark knew his stuff because he'd gotten a B+ in his A-level history exam at school. He had always had an interest in the military, right from an early age, and he recalled the army language that was used in the days of tribesmen, cavalry and levies. If memory served him, the ‘Ghazi' were religious fanatics during the Afghan wars. He thought harder as he bumped and bounced along to God knows where. Galloping gunners he was sure was an artillery unit, but the 66th he wasn't so sure about. Infantry maybe? He continued to play along with the joke.

‘Mark, me old mate, who are the 66th?'

‘Have ye lost yer memory altogether, then, lad? 'Tis yer own regiment, of course.'

‘Sorry, Mark, but will you humour me? I think that bang on the head was a lot harder than I thought.'
Let's
see
if
this
trips
him
up
, he thought.

‘The 66th Regiment of Foot, lad, ye know? The Berkshires. Ye making fun of me now?'

Ah
, thought Tommy,
now
it's
starting
to
come
together
.
The
Berkshires!
The
66th!
Of
course,
they
were
famous
for…famous
for… oh
crap,
famous
for
what?
Think,
think,
Got
it!
They
were
involved
in
a
battle
in
the
1800s
somewhere
near
Kabul.
Ah
ha!
he thought,
got
him.
We're
nowhere
near
Kabul.
So
this
this
fella
doesn't
know
his
history.
Right
then
.

‘So, when are going to get to Kabul, then Mark? Because at this rate, it's gonna be next year.'

‘I already said, lad, we're going somewhere near Kandahairy. Have yer ears stopped working as well? Do ye smoke, lad? I've some excellent shag here.' Mark continued to puff away at his pipe, looking at the stars as if without a care in the world.

Bump!

‘Ouch,' said Tommy, as his head bounced off the planking to the side of him. ‘Right, that's it,' and with that, he pushed himself up onto his elbows to look at what he was riding in. He could just see over the rim of the cart. Cart!
Why
the
hell
have
they
got
me
in
a
cart?
he thought, and,
Oh
no,
not
that
again!
He flopped down onto his back again. Another horse's arse, albeit a live one and not covered in shit!