by Ray Rigby
McGrath gave Roberts a slow smile. “The secret, Roberts, is to make them march you in,” he said as though he were lecturing a small boy in the noble art of self-defence. “One on each side of you and the other fella’s sure to march behind you then, nearing the door, you link arms with the two fellas and run and they have to go with you and they bash their brains out against the wall on each side of the door. Are you with me so far?”
Roberts nodded his head. He couldn’t help smiling.
“Right,” grinned McGrath, “so you run in the cell alone but only a step or so, then you turn and greet the third screw who’s a bit confused with all the excitement and you nod your head in his mush and that should be enough for him.”
McGrath peeled off the sock and looked at Roberts’s swollen and badly bruised ankle. “You’ll be excused ballet lessons for a while. You can take my word for it.”
Bokumbo pointed to Roberts. “He’s on Commandant’s parade. How’s Williams going to explain this?”
“Dead easy,” said Bartlett. “He’ll say Roberts was hit by the propellor of a low flying aircraft, or some other bleeding fantasy.”
Roberts nodded. “If the Commandant doesn’t do anything I’ll create hell.”
“Keep your lips buttoned up and say nothing,” McGrath said.
“Would you stand for this?” Roberts said.
“I’d never give them the chance.”
“I’m going to keep shouting until someone listens,” said Roberts.
In a fury McGrath kicked Roberts’s boot across the cell. “You’re enough to drive a fella up the wall,” he said as he walked away.
“Somebody’s got to do something about this place, Mack. What are we supposed to do? Wait until he cripples all of us?”
In a rage McGrath turned on Roberts. “We’re inside, Sergeant-Major. Inside! And the bloody world outside dinna care a damn about us. We’re the horrible one per cent. The dodgy boys, the spivs, the cowards, the thieves. We’re the weak link in the chain. The liabilities, the undisciplined layabouts. They know they canna fight wars with fellas like us because we don’t conform to Rules and bloody Regulations. Bloody prima donnas in khaki we are for, God help us, we’ve all got a scrap of original thought in our poor wee heads.” McGrath stopped talking as suddenly as he had started. “Och, to hell with you,” he said and walked away and sat down in a corner of the cell.
“Blimey,” said Bartlett, after a long pause. “If that’s what we are then I want a parliamentary ruling on it and I want me ticket.”
“Unwanted, unloved, unpaid acting soldiers are we,” said Roberts grimly, “and nobody outside wants to know about us.” He stopped talking and watched Williams unlock the cell door and walk in.
Williams looked at the prisoners and smiled. “Got your packs on, eh? Taking notice of orders, eh? Right. Take them off again. Bokumbo, help Roberts on with his pack.”
“I’m not wearing my pack, Williams,” Roberts said.
“Have to get volunteers to drag you over the hill then, won’t I. You, Bartlett, you McGrath.”
“Yes, Staff,” Bartlett said, moving towards Roberts.
“Och, to hell with this.” McGrath moved to the far end of the cell.
Bartlett stood beside Roberts and looked at McGrath and waited.
“That’s an order, McGrath,” said Williams.
“You didna buy me in a slave market,” McGrath shouted. “I’ll double over the hill but I’ll no drag another man over it.”
“You’ll do as you’re told,” Williams said.
McGrath pointed to Roberts and shouted, “Take a look at him, will you. Take a look at what you’ve done, you daft bastard. He couldna go over the hill even if you put bloody wings on him.”
“We’ll see.” Williams’s face was white with rage and the bruise on his cheekbone had spread and almost closed his left eye and he had to turn his head sideways to see McGrath clearly. He felt the sweat running down his face and hanging in clusters about his lips and chin. He shook his head and focused his one good eye on McGrath and wiped his face with a bloodstained handkerchief. “I’ll get all the volunteers I need and I’ll have the lot of you out.” He closed the gate and walked away.
Bartlett walked to the gate and looked through the bars with a stricken look on his face. “He’s barmy. I’ve gotta get out of here.”
“Och, shut up,” said McGrath.
“What’s the matter with you lot?” Bartlett swung round from the gate and looked at the prisoners in amazement, then walked over to Roberts and pleaded with him. “Joe, you tell them I’ll obey orders but I ain’t looking for trouble.” He stopped talking when he heard footsteps in the corridor and as Harris walked by he shouted, “Staff. Staff. You can fix it. I’ve gotta get out of here.” He ran to the cell gate and held on to the bars.
Harris peered at him then unlocked the cell and walked in.
“Staff,” said Bartlett, “this lot ’ere are crucifying me.”
Harris stared at Roberts and impatiently pushed Bartlett out of his way.
“Staff — ” pleaded Bartlett.
“Shut up!” roared Harris. “You’re supposed to be the smartest lad in the crime business, so stop moaning. What happened to you, Roberts?”
“Can’t you guess, Staff?”
Harris nodded. “The miracle worker, eh? Looks as if he’s failed with you.”
“Perhaps he tried too hard, Staff.”
Harris smiled. “He’s a great enthusiast when it comes to the laying on of hands and other good works. Put too much pressure on you, did he?”
“He did,” Roberts agreed.
Harris still kept a friendly smile on his face but he was badly shaken up. ‘As if Stevens isn’t enough to have on our plate,’ he thought, ‘now we’ve got this. Wait until you see this, R.S.M. Wilson, and you’ll have something else to puzzle over. Stevens could have been an accident. The doctors who examined him and passed him A.1 could have been wrong. It takes some believing, but they may have been. Anyway, right or wrong, they passed him fit. Fit to soldier, to fight, to take punishment. So you’ve got a get-out there. The lads who trod the hill with him are still alive and kicking so you’ve proved the Quack’s wrong. Stevens is in his coffin but that’s not your responsibility, R.S.M. Wilson. You wouldn’t punish an unfit man, would you? A lad who’s C.3 you’d put on cookhouse fatigues or sweeping the billets. You’re too bloody clever to run him over the hill. But now you’ve got Roberts, who came in bursting fit and look at him now, and he’s on Commandant’s orders and he’ll start screaming that Williams murdered Stevens and I bet he’ll remember to state that Williams tried to murder him. Well, it looks that way to me. What will the Commandant think, of course? You can puzzle over that too. He might think that somebody’s been trying to persuade Roberts not to give evidence. He might. Wonder how you’ll get out of that one? Your star screw, R.S.M., is more dangerous than a mad dog. He’s going through your prisoners like the reaper of death. What the hell are you going to do about him, I wonder?’
The pleasant smile stayed on Harris’s face as he said, “Roberts, get your small kit and report to the M.O.”
“I’ve got a date with the Commandant, Staff, and I can’t let that lapse.”
“So you have, and it looks as if you’ve got a date with the hospital. Let’s take a look at your ankle.” Harris knelt down and examined Roberts’s foot then stood up.
“Bokumbo, McGrath, carry him over to the M.O.”
They helped Roberts up and half carried, half supported him out of the cell, and as Harris moved to follow them Bartlett started pleading again, “Staff, will you put me in another cell. Staff, I’ve ’ad a bellyful of this lot. Honest, Staff, I can’t take no more. They’re all bleeding bonkers. Staff, you can fix it.”
As Bartlett walked towards the cell door Harris slammed it shut in his face and walked away and Bartlett yelled after him. “Staff — I’m only trying to look after number one, ain’t I? What the hell’s the matter with everybody �
��ere?”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Williams marched a squad of prisoners down the corridor and halted them outside Cell 8. The prisoners knew exactly what was expected of them and none of them would lose any sleep over it. They knew that the mob in Cell 8 were giving trouble and anyone who gave trouble made it bad for everybody else. So, if the Cell 8 mob needed calming down, then they were the boys to do it and if it kept Williams off their backs then it wouldn’t be a bad day’s work.
Williams smiled as he looked at his hand-picked men. ‘I’ve got some good ’uns here,’ he thought. ‘They’ll do any damn thing I tell them.’ He moved to the cell door and Bartlett’s scared face peered at him through the bars. Williams jerked the cell door open and sent Bartlett staggering backwards with a blow.
“Staff,” Bartlett yelled. “They ain’t ’ere. Staff, they’ve gorn. Staff ’Arris took them over to the M.O. The other two carried Roberts over, Staff.”
Williams walked into the corridor and marched the disappointed prisoners back to their cells.
*
Roberts lay back on the couch and put his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. A knife-sharp pain shot through his foot and he drew in his breath and shut his eyes tight.
Harris standing by the couch said “You’ll be excused doubling anyway for a spell.”
Roberts squinted up at him and nodded his head as the pain floated away and the dull throbbing pain returned. He turned his head as the door opened and saw Williams.
“What’s this, Staff?” Williams enquired as he looked at Roberts.
“He’s got a busted foot apart from other injuries,” said Harris.
“I had to restrain him.” Williams showed his bruised face to Harris. “See this, he put one on me.”
“You made a good job of it,” Harris said pleasantly.
Williams was about to reply when he heard the R.S.M. shouting. “What the hell are you two doing here?” He listened to McGrath’s reply. “Brought Roberts over, sir. He’s reporting sick.”
The R.S.M pushed open the door and glanced at Williams and Harris, then stopped dead when he saw Roberts lying on the couch staring at him.
“On your feet,” he barked and had to restrain an impulse to drag Roberts off the couch.
Roberts slowly sat up and put one foot gingerly on the floor and stood, holding on to the couch and kept his injured foot in the air.
The R.S.M. stared at Roberts. ‘He’s taken a beating,’ he thought. ‘Williams, of course.’ He glanced at Williams and noticed his bruised face. But who started it? An inner rage gripped him and he had to use all his self-control to appear to be calm. ‘And he’s up before the Commandant, the crafty article, and the state he’s in will take a bit of explaining, as if he doesn’t know. Made a mistake, though, when he struck one of my Staff. The Commandant knows we can’t let prisoners get away with that. Now, what’s the next move? Get Harris out of here. The less who know what’s said these next few minutes, the better.’ He nodded curtly to Harris. “Staff, you’d better get about your duties.”
‘Getting worried at last, are you,’ thought Harris. ‘You’ve every right to be.’
“Like me to get the M.O., sir?” he enquired politely.
“When I tell you,” said the R.S.M., still holding on to his temper. He turned his back on Harris and looked at Williams.
Harris, smiling to himself, walked to the door and closed it quietly behind him.
“He’s had one fight with McGrath, sir,” said Williams, nodding to Roberts.
“Has he?” The R.S.M. stared bleakly at Williams.
“He refused an order then struck me, sir.”
“So you’d strike one of my officers, would you, Roberts.” The R.S.M. gripped the cane tightly in his fist.
Roberts looked from the R.S.M. to Williams and laughed and couldn’t stop laughing for a few moments. He knew exactly what was in the R.S.M.’s mind.
The R.S.M. lifted his cane in the air as though to strike Roberts with it, then lowered it again and threw it on the couch as he turned to look at Williams.
“We had to restrain him, sir,” said Williams.
“Did you?” The R.S.M. glanced quickly at Roberts’s battered face. “Any witnesses?”
“Henshaw and Culbey, sir. They had to assist me and a prisoner who sweeps up the corridor. He saw Roberts strike me.”
The R.S.M. nodded. “That’s fortunate for the fair name of justice, Staff.”
Williams smiled faintly. “Yes, sir.”
“It’s clear that Roberts is a dangerous fella, Staff. But if you ever have to restrain him again I don’t want him looking like a battle casualty.”
“He came at me and went smack into the wall.”
“He must have,” the R.S.M. agreed. “There’s no other logical explanation.” He paced up and down for a moment, deep in thought, then stopped. “Had a fight with McGrath, you say?”
“Yes, sir,” said Williams.
“McGrath didn’t do this to me,” Roberts said.
The R.S.M. ignored Roberts. “Anybody witness the fight with McGrath, Staff?”
“The prisoners in Cell 8, sir.”
The R.S.M. nodded his head and turned and smiled at Roberts. “So you knocked McGrath about and then attacked one of my officers, eh?”
Roberts was about to answer then decided not to waste his time. “I’d like to sit down,” he said.
The R.S.M. switched on his benign smile and gestured to the couch. “Sit down, Roberts, and, as I like to be fair, I’ll have a word with the prisoners in your cell. They’re your mates so they’ll do the right thing by you, won’t they?”
Roberts sat on the couch and stared out of the window.
“Well, won’t they, Roberts, won’t they do the honourable thing?”
Roberts watched a line of prisoners carrying rocks. They were building a small hill and he knew that when it reached a certain height the Staff would give an order and the prisoners would remove the rocks and build another hill a hundred yards away, and he knew that every one of the prisoners would obey any order thrown at them without questioning whether it was right or not. ‘Do the honourable thing, will they,’ thought Roberts and couldn’t help smiling to himself.
The R.S.M. walked to the window and watched the prisoners working then he turned and looked at Roberts and knew that they were both thinking the same thing. He threw back his head and laughed. “They’d see you drop dead, Roberts. They’d bury you. They’d do any damn thing I told them sooner than get on the wrong side of me. All this comrades stuff. When it comes to it, it don’t mean a thing. Men, you know what men are? When it comes to it they’re as gutless as bloody sheep. They do anything they’re told. Well, am I right or wrong?”
Roberts stared at him for a long moment. “You could be right,” he said quietly.
“Then what are you playing at?”
“I’m sticking for a square deal,” said Roberts. “I’ll do my drills and punishment, but when a dirty, bloody-minded screw like Williams can — ”
“That’s enough out of you. Enough.”
The R.S.M.’s face turned brick red and his eyes seemed to start out of his head.
“I’ll tell you here and now and you’d better listen to me. I’m going to teach you. Yes, me. I’ll teach you.” He looked half crazy as he glared at Roberts. “Teach you from the beginning. I’ll teach you how to wash, how to stand to attention, how to pray, how and when to answer back. I’ll make you into something the army can be proud of. You’ll double, drill and stand on your head if I order it. By the time I’ve finished with you, Roberts, you’ll be lost, lost unless someone’s shouting orders at you. Staff!”
“Sir,” said Williams.
“He’s mine. We’ll have him in a cell on his own. From now on I’m looking after him.”
“Sir. I can manage him.”
“I know you can, Staff.” The R.S.M.’s voice was under control again. “You’re a blinding revelation, but the way you’re going t
hrough my prisoners this place will soon look like a bloody cemetery — you’ll have the padre worked to death.”
Williams’s voice choked with rage. “You want to be more careful what you say in front of a prisoner.”
“Answer me back? Watch your tongue, Staff, watch it.” He pointed to Roberts. “Lay another finger on him or any other prisoner and I’ll break you.”
Williams completely under control again, said, “Sir, all I did was — ”
The R.S.M. cut him short. “Do you understand me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Right. Let’s have McGrath and Bokumbo.”
Williams opened the door and shouted “Double in,” and slammed the door shut behind them.
The R.S.M. watched them marking time then gestured to them to halt. “McGrath, did you have a fight with Roberts?”
“Aye, sir. We had a slight difference.”
The R.S.M. snatched up his cane from the couch and pointed it at Bokumbo. “And he witnessed it?”
“He did.”
“Let him speak for himself.”
“They had a scrap,” said Bokumbo.
“You made a real job of it, didn’t you, McGrath,” said the R.S.M.
McGrath glanced at Roberts then stared hard at the R.S.M. “I’m no responsible for the state he’s in.”
“Who said you were? When you see the Commandant, you’ll tell him that you had a fight with Roberts. It’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“That’s true, but I didna — ”
“That’s all I want from you. The truth.”
“Staff Williams did that to Roberts,” Bokumbo said.
The R.S.M. looked at Bokumbo. “You saw it happen then, did you?”
“No, sir. But he took Joe out and when he came back — ”
“So you didn’t see anything?”
“I know Williams and two Staffs beat up Joe.”
The R.S.M. moved and stood a pace away from Bokumbo and stared him straight between the eyes. “I want facts and the facts are that McGrath and Roberts had a fight and then Roberts attacked Staff Williams and had to be restrained.”
“And the Commandant will accept that and won’t ask questions.”
