Kiwi Wars Read Online Free PDF

she
might
forgive an indiscretion, especially as they had been apart for most of their married life, things would never be the same between them if he were to stray. He wanted them to be the same. He loved being exclusively loved. Jane was his anchor, his sanity during the insane bloodlettings of several wars. Without her devotion and regard he knew he would collapse under the horror of it all.
    So, on a clear day when the New Zealand hills looked like green baize over soft mounds, Jack gathered his men together to brief them. They sat at a table outside a shack near to a parade ground where troops were being drilled. It pleased them all, but especially Wynter, that they did not have to be part of the army system. They were a unique unit, responsible only to themselves. It was a grand situation that made them special.
    ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you,’ Jack said, ‘that we are not here as spies and saboteurs.’
    ‘What?’ said Wynter. ‘We an’t goin’ to go regular, are we?’
    ‘No, we an’t,’ replied their commanding officer, mimicking his only private soldier. ‘We’re to concentrate on map-making.’
    There was a stunned silence, then Sergeant King stood up and threw his cap in the air, shouting, ‘Hurrah!’
    ‘A little dignity if you please. You will take your seat again, Sergeant, and behave in a manner more becoming of a senior NCO.’
    ‘Yes, sir,’ replied King, grinning. ‘Gladly.’
    ‘Well, then, you’ve got your wish at last, Sergeant. I can only stand by and give you advice on army matters if you require it, but for the operations themselves I shall hand over to you.’
    ‘You’ll be told the areas, sir, where we’re to work?’
    ‘Oh, yes. I have
that
much control over you still. Well, perhaps not me, but the army. You’ll have to instruct us all in the art and craft of it, Sergeant. I don’t mind getting my hands dirty. That theodolite thing you seem so proud of. Do we need to carry it everywhere? It’s a heavy creature.’
    ‘Essential I’m afraid, sir. As are the measuring chains.’
    ‘Then we shall need packhorses and perhaps even a cart, which won’t make for easy travelling in the wilderness. I would have liked us to travel as light as possible, so that we could sneak about without being noticed, but I suppose that’s not to be. Now, this is important – many of the Maori tribes are friendly, don’t forget that fact. Wynter, I don’t want you blasting away at someone just because of the colour of his skin. There will be no shooting unless we’re shot at first.’
    Gwilliams protested here. ‘That ain’t right. We’ll be on the back foot the whole time.’
    ‘Orders I’m afraid. You may challenge anyone we see, but do not fire first.’
    ‘Oh, good,’ said Wynter in a sarcastic tone, ‘I’ll just ask ’em, “Are you a friendly Maori, or one who likes to kill pakehas?” and if he says, “Well, now, soldier, I’ll just tell you the answer to that question after I’ve loaded and fired me weapon,” I’ll wait patient-like to be shot dead.’
    ‘Be sensible, Wynter . . .’
    There was a civilian passing them at that precise moment and this man suddenly stopped in his stride and swung round at the sound of Wynter’s name. He was a well-dressed individual, if rather tasteless in his choice of attire. There was a tall black stovepipe hat on his head that shone with a silky gleam in the morning sun. His boots were clean and also gleaming. A white frill-fronted shirt nestled under a black frock coat with larger buttons than were fashionable in Auckland or New Plymouth. He looked like a man who was struggling to find a compromise between dandy and businessman. The effect of the expensive clothes, however, was offset by a horrible fork-lightning scar striking down at his chin, disfiguring the wearer’s lean hard features.
    Private Harry Wynter stared back at this tall figure. For a moment the two men remained with eyes locked, then Harry Wynter shouted in