if you can beat the quarter mile world record,” grinned Harris as Burton doubled away.
Burton fixed his sights on the R.S.M. as he ran, still seething with anger. ‘The lunatic doesn’t have to make us run ourselves into the bloody ground,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Who’s doing punishment here, us or the prisoners? Out in the blinding sun all day, doubling prisoners, keeping up with them. We work damn nearly as hard as they do. Then the R.S.M. pulls tricks like this.’
He ran on doggedly, looking down at his boots as he kicked up the sand. Feeling the sun striking him across the back of the neck, ‘ought to cut down on the smokes,’ he thought, ‘and the booze. I’m getting too old for this old nonsense. How the R.S.M. keeps going? He boozes his share. Don’t smoke, though. Maybe that’s the secret, and he’s older than me by a good five years. More. But he can still shift his share of booze.’
He wondered if he could make the last hundred yards. Gritting his teeth he banged his boots harder into the soft sand. ‘Who’s too bloody old? It’s easier up front though. I don’t have to stand for his old rubbish. If I have much more from him I’m getting a posting out of here. Get back with the boys.’ He slowed down and slammed to attention facing the R.S.M. “Sir,” he gasped. The run had winded him.
The R.S.M. looked at Burton’s heaving chest and the sweat running down his face.
“Staff,” he said. “Your prisoners were smoking in their cells last night. I’ve appointed Staff Williams in your place. I’m putting you on the gate where I can keep an eye on you. Anything to say?”
It was some moments before Burton could find the breath to speak. Finally he gasped, “Might have spoken to me first, sir.”
“I’m telling you now. You supervise the cleaning of the M.O.’s room as well, don’t you? M.O.’s room wasn’t cleaned. You let me down.”
Burton was quickly getting his breath back. He said in aggrieved tones, “Had trouble with some of the prisoners and by the time I’d sorted that out, there wasn’t time.”
“Had trouble with prisoners?” The R.S.M. looked at Burton as if he was raving mad. “Double over to the gate, Staff, or you’ll have trouble with me.”
“Sir,” shouted Burton, “no prisoners were smoking while I was on duty.”
“I gave you an order,” said the R.S.M.
“Sir. Any man can slip up once. You didn’t have to appoint Staff Williams — ”
“Shut up!” The R.S.M. glared at Burton then pointed with his stick to the gate. “Double.”
Burton hesitated a moment, still boiling with rage, then he turned and doubled towards the gate and with every step he gritted his teeth and said under his breath, “Bastard, you bastard ... bastard.”
*
“All right. Sit down and eat your dinner,” said Williams.
The prisoners picked up their tins and looked at the cold unappetizing mess and put the tins down on the floor again.
Williams moved about the cell then stopped and looked at Roberts. “You were a soldier once, weren’t you?”
‘That’s a brilliant remark,’ thought Roberts, but decided to humour Williams. “That’s right, Staff.”
“How come you landed in here then?”
Roberts leaned his back against the wall. “I was a bloody fool, Staff. I joined the army in peace-time. Do you want more proof?”
“Held rank once, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know it showed, Staff.”
“It don’t inside here ... what’s your crime, Roberts?”
“It’s in the office files, Staff.”
Williams nodded. “I think I know.” He moved away and touched Bokumbo’s kit-bag with the toe of his boot. “Straighten that.”
Bokumbo knelt down and moved the kit-bag half an inch then glanced up at Williams.
“More to the left.”
Bokumbo moved his kit-bag more to the left then glanced up at Williams again. Williams pulled back his foot as if to kick the kit-bag, then smiled and turned away and walked back to Roberts.
“Think I know,” he
Burton fixed his sights on the R.S.M. as he ran, still seething with anger. ‘The lunatic doesn’t have to make us run ourselves into the bloody ground,’ he thought bitterly. ‘Who’s doing punishment here, us or the prisoners? Out in the blinding sun all day, doubling prisoners, keeping up with them. We work damn nearly as hard as they do. Then the R.S.M. pulls tricks like this.’
He ran on doggedly, looking down at his boots as he kicked up the sand. Feeling the sun striking him across the back of the neck, ‘ought to cut down on the smokes,’ he thought, ‘and the booze. I’m getting too old for this old nonsense. How the R.S.M. keeps going? He boozes his share. Don’t smoke, though. Maybe that’s the secret, and he’s older than me by a good five years. More. But he can still shift his share of booze.’
He wondered if he could make the last hundred yards. Gritting his teeth he banged his boots harder into the soft sand. ‘Who’s too bloody old? It’s easier up front though. I don’t have to stand for his old rubbish. If I have much more from him I’m getting a posting out of here. Get back with the boys.’ He slowed down and slammed to attention facing the R.S.M. “Sir,” he gasped. The run had winded him.
The R.S.M. looked at Burton’s heaving chest and the sweat running down his face.
“Staff,” he said. “Your prisoners were smoking in their cells last night. I’ve appointed Staff Williams in your place. I’m putting you on the gate where I can keep an eye on you. Anything to say?”
It was some moments before Burton could find the breath to speak. Finally he gasped, “Might have spoken to me first, sir.”
“I’m telling you now. You supervise the cleaning of the M.O.’s room as well, don’t you? M.O.’s room wasn’t cleaned. You let me down.”
Burton was quickly getting his breath back. He said in aggrieved tones, “Had trouble with some of the prisoners and by the time I’d sorted that out, there wasn’t time.”
“Had trouble with prisoners?” The R.S.M. looked at Burton as if he was raving mad. “Double over to the gate, Staff, or you’ll have trouble with me.”
“Sir,” shouted Burton, “no prisoners were smoking while I was on duty.”
“I gave you an order,” said the R.S.M.
“Sir. Any man can slip up once. You didn’t have to appoint Staff Williams — ”
“Shut up!” The R.S.M. glared at Burton then pointed with his stick to the gate. “Double.”
Burton hesitated a moment, still boiling with rage, then he turned and doubled towards the gate and with every step he gritted his teeth and said under his breath, “Bastard, you bastard ... bastard.”
*
“All right. Sit down and eat your dinner,” said Williams.
The prisoners picked up their tins and looked at the cold unappetizing mess and put the tins down on the floor again.
Williams moved about the cell then stopped and looked at Roberts. “You were a soldier once, weren’t you?”
‘That’s a brilliant remark,’ thought Roberts, but decided to humour Williams. “That’s right, Staff.”
“How come you landed in here then?”
Roberts leaned his back against the wall. “I was a bloody fool, Staff. I joined the army in peace-time. Do you want more proof?”
“Held rank once, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t know it showed, Staff.”
“It don’t inside here ... what’s your crime, Roberts?”
“It’s in the office files, Staff.”
Williams nodded. “I think I know.” He moved away and touched Bokumbo’s kit-bag with the toe of his boot. “Straighten that.”
Bokumbo knelt down and moved the kit-bag half an inch then glanced up at Williams.
“More to the left.”
Bokumbo moved his kit-bag more to the left then glanced up at Williams again. Williams pulled back his foot as if to kick the kit-bag, then smiled and turned away and walked back to Roberts.
“Think I know,” he
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