‘Please, sahib, nothing, sahib. Please.’

But I’m having none of it. Not fooled by their craven act. Probably part of some dacoit gang. Murdering thugs would strangle their own mother for money. Shoot us, run us through, and not the first to go up in smoke. Worse than the Japs. All us chaps knew it. Bloody coolies. Wanting us out of India dead or alive. This wretched, simpering little wog was cowering like a girl. But someone held me back. Grabbed my fist with both his hands. Silly coolie is on his knees in front of me, weeping. But I’m pulled off him. Dragged away by three chaps. Bloody fools, I tell them, what were they doing? Stopped me just when the cunning little bugger was about to talk.

Forty-two

Bernard

‘You’re in trouble, Bligh,’ the sergeant told me. I thought he meant for striking a coolie. ‘No. You were meant to be on guard duty.’

Asked his permission to explain. Thought it would be best. ‘Just ran to help, Sergeant. My basha, you see. Knew the men in it.’

Nothing for it, I was ready to take my punishment. Deserting my post. Should never have left it, no matter what the circumstance. The CO would need to be told. But it was worse than that.

The sergeant asked me, ‘Where’s your rifle?’

My gun. The rifle. I’d fixed the bayonet, I remember, when I heard running. I’d pointed it thinking, Last time I shot one of these off was at basic training. Five rounds that had left my ears ringing. Hoped I wouldn’t need a bullet this time because I wasn’t sure if it had any. Rested it down when I realised it was Frenchie and Fido. Then what? Then I ran. I remember the buckets, the hose. Their urgency still itched my fingers. But the rifle?

‘My rifle, Sergeant?’

‘Yes, Bligh. Your rifle. Don’t tell me you’ve lost your weapon too?’

I was brought straight before Flight Lieutenant Moon on the charge. Stood to attention in front of him. Sergeant on one side and a guard at my other. Arun and Ashok were marched in. No, they said. My gun had not been left behind when I deserted my post. They had not seen my rifle except when it was in my hands. In fact, Ashok remembered helpfully, I took the gun with me. Eyes to the front, head erect, he told the CO about the bayonet. He worried, he said, that in my agitation to help my friends I might hurt someone accidentally with it. Impertinent blighter added that tradesmen are not very good with guns. The CO seemed to agree. Didn’t question him. Didn’t ask him what he knew. Whether he was in league with them. Had hidden the gun to sell it later for a good price to some scruffy countryman who’d end up piercing the belly of a Muslim with it. Just nodded. He was too young, this CO. Fresh out from Blighty. He’d missed the war altogether. A boy when it started. And still unable to thicken his blond moustache by the time it had finished. Hadn’t been out east long enough to get used to the heat. Knees chalk white and skin rashed as pink as bully beef. He dismissed Arun and Ashok without a hint of misgiving. They marched out swinging their arms. Smartly. Their backs as straight as tin soldiers. Their legs rigid as wood. Too smartly. Only the experienced would realise these two scoundrels were poking fun at His Majesty’s Services.

‘Losing your gun and deserting your guard post. What have you got to say, Airman?’

The sergeant spoke up for me. ‘Sir, it was Bligh’s basha that got burnt down.’

‘Are you saying there are extenuating circ-circ-circ—’ Took me by surprise – he was stammering. Eyes batting as if adjusting to bright light. Put his hand up to cover his mouth. Then looked down at his desk twisting a pen through his fingers, still trying to cough up the word. I looked at the sergeant, who flicked his head for me to eyes-forward again. ‘Reasons,’ the CO finally said. ‘Are you saying there are extenuating reasons for this neglect of duty?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Not you, Sergeant, I want to hear it from Bligh.’

‘Knew the chaps in the basha, sir. But should have stayed at my post, sir.’

‘And the gu– the gu– the rifle?’

‘Should have kept it with me at all times, sir. My responsibility.’

‘Losing a weapon is a court-martial offence. You do know that, don’t you, Bligh?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Were you in your basha just before you went on guard duty?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘With other chaps. Men you’d chummed up with?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Bad business. But you left not long before the fire started?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What were you in Civvy Street, Bligh, before the war?’

‘Before the war, sir? Bank clerk.’

‘Bank clerk. Responsible position.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Have you got plans to go back to it? Being a bank – bank – bank clerk?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘You’ll need a good service record, then, I would think? You won’t want to . . . blot your copybook.’The CO grinned to himself, as if this was a joke that pleased him. He looked at the sergeant, who obliged him with a whiff of a smile. ‘Well, Bligh?’

‘Sir?’

Seemed to have lost his train of thought. Fiddled with his pen while he pulled his face straight. ‘The RAF can’t have you erks losing weapons. Very delicate time. Could end up in anyone’s hands.’ He barely paused before asking, ‘What can you tell me about the men in the basha last night?’

‘George Maximillian was in there, sir. He was killed along with seven . . .’ my turn to stammer now ‘. . . along with seven others.’

‘What was he doing?’

‘Who, sir?’

‘This Max . . . this airman.’ He didn’t stutter over Maxi’s name, just couldn’t be bothered to remember it.

‘He had a wife and two sons. Probably writing a letter home, sir.’

‘A letter home. So you men weren’t having a . . .’ He hadn’t started a word. Just the blinking and quick breaths. Knew he was searching. ‘. . . meeting?’

The word had me startled (I admit). Wasn’t expecting that.

‘Meeting, sir?’

‘Come on, there was a meeting, wasn’t there, going on in that basha?’

‘I don’t know about a meeting, sir.’ Any one of the chaps would have said the same. Part of a team, you see.

‘You’re in very serious . . . tr-tr-tr-trouble, Bligh. You do know that?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Are you taking me for a fool? Eight men die in a fire in a basha. How do you explain that?’

Wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer but for Maxi’s sake it was time to give it. ‘Sabotage, sir. The dacoits, the coolies.’

‘Are you saying that someone deliberately started that fire?’

‘Indians, sir. They want us out of their country. Fire started at the door. No chance of escape. Sir.’

‘No, Bligh. Things are delicate enough. No one here says the fire was started on purpose. Do you understand me? It was an unfortunate accident. Everyone here agrees. What was it, Bligh?’

‘Sir?’

‘The fire, what was it?’

‘An accident, sir.’

‘An unfortunate accident, Bligh.’

‘Unfortunate. Yes, sir.’

‘Good, that’s cleared that up. However, what does interest me is the meeting that was going on in that basha at the time.’

An unfortunate accident – they were burned alive! ‘I know nothing about a meeting, sir.’

‘You’ll lose your Burma star if you’re court-martialled, Bligh.’

‘Sir?’

‘Come on, Bligh, what was going on?’ He was agitated. Threw down the pen. Thumped his fist on the desk. Eyes swivelled in his head as he searched for something large to throw at me. ‘You lost a rifle after deserting your guard post. It’s a court-martial. Almost certainly prison, man. Unless you can help me out. Top brass don’t want a repeat of last time. We can’t have strikes. I won’t have a strike. Discipline must be maintained.’

‘Know nothing about it, sir.’

‘I bet you were in it last time, eh? That mutiny. A bloody bank clerk, you’d have been in it up to your neck.’ His stammer had gone with his anger.