Read Online Rogue Officer by Garry Douglas Kilworth - Free Book Online Page B

Get him to tell you about his emulation of Xenophon’s march of the ten thousand across Asia.’
    ‘Eh?’ growled Wynter. ‘He’s not goin’ to come the grand scholar with me again, is he?’
    Gwilliams licked his lips and prepared to deliver sermons on Ancient Roman and Greek history. He was stopped by Jack’s next statement.
    ‘Wynter came here overland,’ explained the lieutenant to his corporal. ‘A feat not unlike that of our old Greek general’s.’
    ‘This I’ve got to hear,’ said Gwilliams. ‘Come on, Wynter, let’s go and burn our bellies with some o’ that rot gut they call brandy.’
    Captain Deighnton had ordered his servant to follow the Crossman group after they had left to spy on Khan. The servant had witnessed the small skirmish in the village where the rebel was shot dead. Deighnton had told his man to gather as much detail as he could on the movements and actions of the group. So, unknown to the lieutenant, Jack and his spies were themselves being spied upon. It was not difficult for the servant to carry out his master’s wishes, being an Indian who could melt into the landscape. However, the servant’s mind was not altogether in accordance with his master’s and when he reported back he chose to include whatever material as he thought fit.
    Having nothing incriminating to add to his portfolio on Crossman, Deighnton made it his business to keep a watch on him constantly, even in camp. He knew, for instance, that Crossman and Campbell had hit it off, having served together at a momentous battle in the Crimea. That made it difficult for the captain. He decided to stay his hand until General Campbell was no longer around and some other officer was in command.
    The following day they were on the march, across that blistering flat landscape which the Ganges often lovingly covered with the folds of its floodwaters. There were many hawks in the sky, which drew the attention of the soldiers. The raptors fell on prey right before the troopers’ eyes. They took it to be a good omen. They were the hawks, the enemy, the quarry in the grasses. So they believed. The truth was that a great column like theirs, marching over the countryside, scattered game and birds alike with their heavy tread. There were trumpeting elephants trundling along with guns and supply wagons, thumping the ground with their large feet. There were oxen, horses, camels and other domestic stock, not to mention the feet of thousands of tramping men, drumming the hollow-sounding earth, shaking the world with their heavy armaments and their big boots.
    Jack Crossman and his men rode in the vanguard of the column. Wynter’s mount made him feel very important. In the infantry regiments only majors and above rode horses, so he felt he was rather superior to the lowly lieutenants and captains of foot. Every so often he was brought down to earth by the man he called ‘that bloody mapper’. Sergeant King did not like this new member of the team. Quite rightly he saw in Wynter a slacker, a waster, a conniving scoundrel, and the sergeant was not going to stand idly by while the army was abused. Once he even clipped Wynter behind the ear with the flat of his hand, when the private dropped back too far behind, which incensed his victim.
    ‘I’ve been through a war, I have,’ cried Wynter, out of earshot of the bloody mapper. ‘I’m entitled to respect. I’ve been a sergeant, oh, yes, I’ve been there. An’ I was tough and fair, but not a bloody bully, like that sod of a sergeant. I treated my men with some respect . . .’
    Sajan did not like hearing his father insulted. ‘You are a bad man, sahib,’ said the youngster, waving a finger in Wynter’s face. ‘If you were one of my soldiers, I would have you whipped.’
    ‘Oh, you would, would you? An’ who the bloody hell are you?’ said Wynter, snorting indignantly. ‘Bloody kids tellin’ me what to do now. What are you doin’ up ’ere with us, anyways? You’ll be lucky