Rogue Officer Read Online Free PDF Page A

can do with men like you, men he can trust, as he’s only got new coves who don’t know their arse from their elbow.” ’ Here the newcomer looked at King and seemed gratified to witness a twitch of anger. ‘“Good sir,” says I, “’cause I want to help. I’ve been trained up to do skulkin’ and blowing things to bits and that’s what I want to do.” And he says to me, “Consider it done.”’
    Wynter stood there, still wearing that sly grin, waiting for a response. When there was none, he added, ‘So here I am, sir. By the by, Fancy Jack, how’s the missus?’
    At these incredibly insubordinate words, Sergeant King, who had been sitting in his saddle transfixed by this grubby soldier, suddenly came to life with a burst of high energy. He dismounted to confront Wynter and stuck his jaw into the man’s face. Wynter lost his smile and stumbled backwards.
    ‘Private,’ barked the sergeant, making Sajan jump, ‘I don’t know who the hell you are, but when you approach an officer, the first thing I expect from you is a salute. Then you stand to attention and wait until you’re spoken to. Pick up that pack, put it on your back, straighten that forage cap, shoulder arms and stand ready for inspection!’
    ‘What?’ cried an affronted Wynter.
    ‘
YOU HEARD ME!
’
    Wynter did as he was told, muttering under his breath all the time.
    ‘I don’t know what you’re chuntering at, soldier, but let me tell you this. I am the senior NCO here. I am the man who speaks with the officer in charge of this unit. If you have anything to say, you say it to me first, and if I think it’s important enough – and only then – I shall convey your remarks to the officer in an economic way, so’s not to waste his valuable time. You may or may not have served under this same commanding officer . . .’
    ‘Sergeant then.’
    ‘What?’ growled King.
    The sullen Wynter repeated, ‘He was a sergeant then.’
    King was silent for a moment, but unfazed. ‘And he’s a lieutenant now and will be given all due deference and respect deserving of that rank. You, sir, are
nothing.
A weevil in an army loaf of bread, nothing more. A slug. A dung beetle.’ He looked Wynter up and down. ‘In all my time in the army I have never seen a more slovenly soldier . . .’
    ‘Eh?’
    Wynter looked round him. He felt justifiably aggrieved by this remark, since he was surrounded by troops who were in much the same condition and state of poor dress, having lost bits of their uniform over the past few months of bitter fighting, and having replaced official caps with turbans, and taken off coats to march in shirtsleeves. They were a motley-looking force of grubby worn-out warriors, not enhanced by the haphazard dress of the irregular forces who marched alongside them. Wynter was no more or less scruffy than the next man.
    Indignantly, he said, ‘I just marched a thousand miles or more!’
    ‘And you’ll march back again if I have anything to do with it – you would give an army of cockroaches a bad name.’
    Wynter stored this insult away to nurse in the future, when he was planning just what he would do to sergeants like King once he left the army.
    ‘Now, what have you to say to me, soldier?’ cried King.
    ‘Sergeant, Private Wynter reporting for duty with the spies and destructors as ordered,’ yelled Wynter.
    ‘Fall in, Wynter. We’re about to march,’ said King. ‘I shall speak with you again later, when there’s more time.’
    ‘I ain’t got no horse!’ Wynter pointed out.
    ‘Then you’ll have to walk until we get you one.’
    Wynter glowered at King as the sergeant remounted, then the cheery grin returned to his face as he looked up and saw Gwilliams peering down on him. He fell in beside Gwilliams, taking hold of his mount’s bridle. They began to move forward and Wynter started chatting to the man he had served with in the Crimean campaign.
    ‘Hey, Yankee, you’re a corporal now! That’s good. I was a sergeant