Forever the Colours

by Richard Thomas

  ‘Why don’t ya pick on someone your own size, mate?’

  The Grenadier chuckled with a deep, throaty sound, and Tommy could now see his face. It was scarred; a white line stood out against his brown skin and ran from his forehead above his left eye, straight down to his bearded top lip. His left eye was unusually pale in comparison to the other bright blue one, and when this guy smiled at him, Tommy saw quite a few missing teeth.

  This fella, Tommy realised, was the stuff of nightmares.

  A few other Grenadiers had gathered round and one of them was talking in a language he later found out was Hindi. The Grenadier replied to his comrade in a voice laced with humour. His friend nodded and turned to Tommy, ‘Naik Singh wishes you to please be moving, Private of Infantry, so he can finish his business with the wallah who burnt him with tea.’

  Tommy was taken back once again to the Arsehole and the old bearded man. He looked down at the wallah, who was gazing back with the same fear in his face as the young Afghan who had been knocked about by Dinga. Tommy could feel the anger building, a buzzing sensation that started in his fingertips and made his ears ring. He looked back at the hulking man in front of him.

  ‘I don’t think so, me old mate, not today. So why don’t you piss off!’

  The interpreter jabbered again in Hindi and the smile dropped off Singh’s face. He leaned down a little, stared at Tommy with his one clear eye and started jabbering again.

  ‘The Naik is saying you will move, little Englishman, or he will be moving you.’

  A crowd had gathered at this point.

  Tommy slid his right foot back so he was more side-on, and lowered his forehead; he assumed a solid fighting stance, the one he was taught by his kick-boxing instructor for many years.

  ‘You can tell this dickhead,’ said Tommy, who’s voice was rising along with his anger, ‘that if he wants some, I’m right here.’

  Singh looked as if he was about to strike Tommy when a loud voice sounded above the now-swelling crowd of Grenadiers, 66th and some of the Gunners.

  ‘ENOUGH.’

  The crowd parted and an officer walked through, followed by a large sergeant.

  They crowd fell silent and the Grenadier, as well as Tommy, came to attention.

  ‘Would somebody like to tell me what the devil is going on here? Well?’

  A sergeant of the Grenadiers stepped forward. ‘Lieutenant Sahib, this Private of Infantry attempted to stop my Naik going about his business and was behaving aggressively.’

  The officer looked at Tommy.

  ‘Is this correct, Private?’

  Tommy didn’t speak for a moment.

  ‘I ask you again, Private, were you aggressive towards this Corporal going about his duties? Need I remind you that a strike or even an attempted one on a superior is punishable by death?’

  Tommy looked straight into the man’s eyes. ‘Sir, this Grenadier was beating a wallah for no other reason than accidently spilling hot tea on him, sir.’

  The officer looked over at Singh and did a double-take. He became thoughtful for a moment. ‘Did you beat a wallah, Corporal, for this reason?’

  ‘Yes sir, Lieutenant Sahib,’ although he answered; he did not look at the officer but stared into the distance.

  Tommy looked for the wallah but he had cleared off. The officer was silent for a moment.

  ‘So how are we supposed to remedy this situation, then, Private, eh? Do you have any suggestions?’ He stepped closer to Tommy so that only he could hear. ‘Now don’t go upsetting the native soldiers, Private. They already assume that we think they are inferior, including that brute. Do you think you could have handled him had I not intervened?’ He said this with a twinkle in his eye.

  Tommy caught on. ‘Yes sir, I propose a boxing match, sir.’

  ‘A boxing match, you say?’

  ‘Yes sir, but a match that incorporates other fighting skills as well as boxing, sir.’

  ‘Do you, by God. Well, what say you to that, Corporal? Would you accept a fight from the Private here?’

  Singh looked Tommy up and down and smiled. ‘Yes, Lieutenant Sahib,’ he said.

  The officer nodded.

  ‘Well then, I propose that we meet in, say, one hour at the Grenadiers’ camp. And I will be refereeing the match. Does that suit you both?’

  They both nodded their agreement.

  ‘Good. Dismissed.’ The Grenadiers moved off, with them all laughing and patting Singh on the back.

  Tommy made to move off but a voice called him back.

  ‘Hold,’ said the officer, and he moved in close to Tommy. ‘Are you mad, Private?’ he whispered. ‘Do you honestly think you can win against that brute?’

  ‘Well, we’ll have to wait and see, sir.’

  ‘I watched that man beat to a pulp the 66th champion, and I hear he knows that Sikh style of unarmed combat. I do believe you’ve bitten off a tad more than you can chew.’

  Tommy shrugged.

  ‘I did lose money on Davis, but you seem awfully confident. Very well, then. Dismissed.’

  Tommy turned, and as he started to make his way back to Preston’s tent, found Arun hiding behind a cart.

  ‘C’mon mate, let’s get a cup of chai, shall we?’ But Arun stopped in front of him.

  ‘Please do not be fighting Grenadier. Private Sahib, that soldier is animal, you will be being hurt, yes please,’ he pleaded with Tommy, all the way back to the tent.

  ‘You’ve done what?’ blustered Maurice. ‘Have you utterly lost your wits?’

  Tommy was sipping the tea that Arun had brought him, and he smiled back at his friend.

  ‘I don’t believe this. It’s too ridiculous to contemplate. Did you not have eyes in that thick skull of yours yesterday? Did you not observe that goliath make our champion look like… like…I don’t know, a woman! For heaven’s sake, Thomas, you’re going to get killed or badly injured at least, all for the sake of a bloody chai wallah!’

  ‘I couldn’t give a shit who it was for, Maurice, a wallah or the Queen. I hate bullies!’

  ‘Do you honestly believe you stand a chance against that man? He will tear you apart, Thomas, he is a beast, an animal, a creature of hell. Well he looks like one, anyway, but what I’m trying to elucidate to you is that, well, I don’t want you to get hurt, old chap.’

  ‘Thanks for the show of confidence.’

  ‘It’s not about confidence, my friend, it’s about intelligence. Why do you want to put yourself in harm’s way for such an asinine notion?’

  ‘What the bloody hell is this army out here for, then? Since we’re talking about being in harm’s way…and Maurice, why the hell have you attached yourself to it if you want to stay safe? I couldn’t think of a worse position or place to be in.’

  Tommy stood up and looked at his friend with a new warmth. ‘Tell you what, me old pal, how about you just wish me luck, eh?’ He turned and walked to the tent entrance.

  ‘Wait, wait, I’m coming with you.’ Maurice threw his helmet and tunic on and began to button it as he followed Tommy.

  They made their way down towards the already forming ring, and Tommy was surprised to find quite a large crowd had formed. There were different uniforms everywhere, and as he got closer, Tommy could see the amount of money changing hands. Well, well, what do you know, thought Tommy.

  ‘Maurice, have you got any cash, mate?’

  ‘A gentleman does not carry spare change, Thomas, it’s not the done thing. But if you’re thinking what I’m thinking, my word is good.’

  ‘Well, why don’t you put a few quid on me to win?’

  Maurice looked at him in surprise, ‘A few quid? You do mean shillings, don’t you?’

  ‘Eh, what you on about? Pounds, Maurice, you know, sterling.’

  ‘That’s an exceptionally large amount, old chap. If you were to fail, well, that’s a lot of money, Thomas.’

  ‘Just do it, mate.’

  Tommy took off his tunic and then his shirt. His tatt
oos drew a lot of curious glances, including the officer from earlier, who was making his way across the square toward him.

  ‘My dear Thomas, how the devil are you?’ said Maurice. ‘What brings you into the ranks of the unwashed masses?’

  ‘Hello Maurice. Well, I am here in an official capacity, actually. I am the referee for this fight between,’ he looked at Tommy, ‘this young man here and that enormous mountain of terror over there,’ he said, indicating Corporal Singh, who had just made his way into the square.

  ‘Have you been introduced? No? Well, may I present Private Thomas Evans of the 66th Foot. Thomas, may I introduce Lieutenant Thomas Henn, an Engineer with the Bombay Sappers and Miners.’

  Tommy nodded. ‘We’ve already met, Maurice,’ he said, and he put on the gloves that were supplied by a smiling Grenadier.

  Henn gave Tommy a strange look and wondered as to the familiarity between these two, but shook his head and sniffed, ‘Yes, Maurice, we have indeed. In fact, I was trying to encourage the young man not to trade punches with that monster. Did you see what he did to that poor private from your regiment? Poor chap still can’t see properly, so I’ve heard.’ He sniffed again and looked hurt. ‘I lost 10 shillings on the oaf!’

  Henn looked over to the Grenadiers’ corner. ‘Well, it looks as though the Grenadier is ready. Shall we begin?’ He walked off toward the centre of the square.

  While Henn had been talking, Tommy had been stretching his muscles and controlling his breathing, and was now ready. He took a last look at Maurice, who was sporting a horrified expression, and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, mouthing the word, ‘Money!’

  Tommy strolled up to Henn and the expressionless Grenadier. He stretched his neck muscles and jumped up and down on the spot.

  Henn gave Tommy a funny look and shrugged. ‘Right, gentlemen, seeing that this is a mixed-fighting-art thingy,’ he shrugged again, ‘all I have to say is, well, good luck.’ And with that, he moved backward, put his hand out and shouted, ‘Begin!’

  Tommy sprang backwards as a left jab snaked out from Singh and caught fresh air. Tommy smiled at him and slowly moved around the square. The Indian turned in the centre, watching him, expressionless.

  ‘What’s the matter, dickhead? A bit quicker than the last one, eh?’

  With a sudden lunge that surprised Tommy, Singh shot forward and, crouching down, attempted to grab him around the waist; Tommy shifted sideways and slapped the top of his head, surprised at how easy this was. But, as he caught him, Singh’s left hand flew out and caught Tommy’s ankle. Before he knew what was happening, he was on his back and scrambling backwards through the dust with Singh bearing down on him. He flipped over and sprang to his feet just before Singh could grab him. Tommy trotted away and sized up his opponent again. So that’s your game, he thought, get in close, wrestle me down and use that superior strength.

  Tommy carried on backing away, thinking, while Singh followed slowly, smiling now. The crowd had started to jeer, but Tommy ignored them. He knew his business and this guy was dangerous. He had changed tactics, and although he was good with his fists, he had favoured another method and that made Tommy wary. As he passed by his own corner, he noticed Maurice talking to one of the moneylenders. What a backstabber, he thought. He thinks I’m gonna lose! Singh stepped forward a few paces, and looked as if he was going to lunge again. Fuck it! thought Tommy, Bring it on. And he braced himself.

  The crowd was roaring, but it was such a noise that no particular voice could be heard. Tommy had reached a sense of calmness now and didn’t move as the Grenadier came forward another step. He positioned himself in a classic Taekwondo fighting stance. With another lightning lunge, Singh launched himself at Tommy’s midriff, but this time Tommy was expecting the low manoeuvre. When Singh was just feet away, Tommy performed a perfect roundhouse kick that took the other man in the side of the head. As the Grenadier staggered sideways, Tommy spun on the spot and landed back in the fighting stance. But he did not follow up.

  ‘That’s right, I am gonna make you suffer, you knobhead,’ he said, and smiled at the now-frowning Grenadier.

  ‘STOP.’

  The booming voice of Henn resounded around the square, and he trotted up in between the fighters.

  ‘Back to your corners. End of the round, gentlemen,’ he said, and he put his arms out, palms up, to emphasise this. Time had flown by as the two fighters had circled each other. Tommy walked backwards to his corner remembering that last punch that Singh had used on the 66th champion. Well, he thought, you’re not catching me out, me old mate. The Grenadier glared as he made his way back.

  ‘My God, Thomas, where did you learn to move like that?’ said Maurice. ‘That was incredible.’

  ‘Yeah, well, it’s not over yet, Maurice.’

  ‘Thomas, I think you should know that Burrows is here with his staff.’

  Tommy looked at his friend with a little confusion, ‘Sorry, who?’

  ‘The General of our little party, our glorious leader, El Cid!’

  ‘Oh, right, nice. But I’ve got bigger things to worry about, mucka, like that big twat over there.’

  Henn’s voice sounded again, ‘Right, gentlemen, ready?’

  Tommy shook out his arms and hopped on the spot. Right, you ugly fucker, he thought, let’s have it. He walked to the centre again and eyed up the Grenadier, who had, this time, an angry look on his face. Oh dear, thought Tommy, you look a little peeved! Let’s see what we can make of that, shall we.

  ‘Begin!’ shouted Henn. Both fighters stepped back, now wary of their opponent; they slowly started to circle each other. It was getting late in the afternoon and Tommy was starting to feel the heat. He wiped at the sweat running down his face. Singh noticed this and smiled at Tommy. Shit! he thought, If this goes on much longer I’ll faint with the heat. It needs to be finished.

  The other man knew this as well, because he was quite content to keep walking round the square, tiring Tommy and waiting for his moment.

  ‘Ok, mate, that’s it,’ said Tommy, and with that he stopped and assumed a fighting stance. The crowd were baying for blood, and it wasn’t long in coming. The Indian stopped his pacing, moved towards Tommy with raised hands and nodded. He wants to trade, Tommy thought. Alright then, mate, and beckoned Singh forward with his hand. A split second later, a flurry of blows were thrown at Tommy’s head, left jab, right cross, jab, hook, jab, cross, upper cut. It was all Tommy could do just to bob and weave and take some of the punches on his forearms. Fuck me! thought Tommy. This guy is fast.

  Just as the last punch landed, Singh feigned a lunge for Tommy’s lower body. Tommy sprang back, ready to counter a low attack, but the Indian lunged back upwards and landed a heavy blow to Tommy’s unprotected forehead. It was a stunner and he flew back with the blow, though managed to stay on his feet. Shit, he thought, that hurt, and shuffled backwards as Singh came at him with a flurry of punches, elbow strikes and backhands. It was all Tommy could do just to block or dodge. They broke apart again and Tommy backed off a little, shook his head and tried to regain some composure. The Grenadier, meanwhile, was thumping his chest and shouting something in Hindi. Tommy caught his breath, silenced his doubts and, smiling, beckoned the Grenadier on.

  He came at him again, this time trying a kick at his left knee, but Tommy just lifted his leg and took the blow, followed the motion through and countered with a twist, full circle, and landed a backhand into the other man’s cheek. Singh staggered sideways and went down on one knee. Tommy was about to follow this up, but he noticed the Indian had grabbed a handful of sand and was going to throw it at his face. He turned at the last second, managing to dodge the dirt aimed for his eyes, and landed a fast left jab to Singh’s jaw. This stunned the man enough for Tommy to follow up with a fast right cross, shattering the man’s nose, and as he tumbled backward, Tommy scissor kicked him in the chest. The big Grenadier landed on his arse. But rather than stay down, he attempted to get to his feet, so Tommy leaned back an
d at the same time lifted his bent right leg, flicking it out with force and connecting with the other man’s jaw. He was unconscious before he hit the ground.

  The crowd were in an uproar, shouting and baying at the now-sleeping giant. Tommy staggered back to a delighted and clapping Maurice. ‘Well done, well done, old chap. That was a most titillating performance.’

  ‘You’re sure about that? I saw you betting against me.’

  ‘Betting against you, whatever for? I have the utmost faith in your abilities, Thomas. Always have. Now if you will excuse me, I will go and collect my winnings.’ And with a flourish, he moved off through the still-roaring crowd.

  Arun passed him his tunic and a drink of water, which he downed in one, and thanked the wallah who was now nearly on his knees in admiration. Tommy was aching badly and motioned for Arun to follow him back to the tent. When he got there, he collapsed onto his bed, absolutely drained. Between the heat and the giant Grenadier he felt exhausted, and the pain in his head had come back. ‘What was I thinking?’ he said, remembering that punch to the forehead.

  ‘Does Private Sahib need anything else?’

  ‘No thanks, mate. I think I’m gonna have a nap. Can you wake me in a couple of hours?’ Without waiting for an answer, he closed his eyes and fell asleep. The wallah smiled for a few moments, looking down at the already-sleeping form.

  ‘Sleep well, Thomas Evans Sahib,’ he whispered, and left the tent.

  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.