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Army officers in France had cast many bearers adrift. Reliant on their “officer” for wages, they needed to be placed to draw army rations and uniform. Anxious to avoid a second winter in France, Adjabi and Sami had left the front and made their way south as soon as they heard transports were heading east out of the port. Aware that ‘Eastward Bound’ could mean anywhere in East Africa, Egypt, Salonika, Gallipoli, or India, they hoped for warmth, if not home.
    Michael had a feeling both Indians would be disappointed when they found themselves in Mesopotamia.
    â€˜Do you know where we’re heading?’ An officer of the Black Watch greeted Tom when he set foot on the deck.
    â€˜East?’ Tom answered.
    â€˜Even I know that much.’ The lieutenant turned away in disgust.
    â€˜There’s a whole bundle of different regimental uniforms for a single transport,’ Michael observed. ‘Isn’t that the 61st Howitzer Battery?’
    â€˜It is,’ Tom agreed. ‘The Indian troops seem to be in high spirits.’
    â€˜Their Izzat is high. Welcome aboard.’ The man extended his hand. ‘Captain Boris Bell, 6th Indian Cavalry.’
    â€˜Captain Tom Mason, British Field Ambulance Medical Corps.’ Tom shook Boris’s hand.
    â€˜Michael Downe, war correspondent.’
    â€˜War correspondent to where?’ Captain Bell enquired artfully.
    â€˜East,’ Michael hedged.
    Boris laughed. ‘You’ve been trained well, but once word gets out we’ve a war correspondent on board who knows where we’re bound, you’ll be mobbed.
    â€˜Not until we’re at sea and then it won’t matter.’
    â€˜If you’ll excuse us, we’re off to hide in our cabin until we cast off.’ Tom touched his cap to Bell and followed Sami to the inside decks.
    After a route march down endless metal-walled corridors the bearer proudly opened a door. ‘I trust the sahibs will be comfortable in here.’
    Michael inspected the cramped quarters which were a quarter of the size of the preserves pantry in Clyneswood. A double bunk filled half the space, a drop-down table hung from wall to bunk beneath the porthole. Beneath it, their bearers had stowed their kit bags, Tom’s regulation sword and helmet case and his medical bag.
    Michael asked, ‘What’s Izzat, Adjabi?’
    â€˜Dignity and honour, Sahib.’
    â€˜The India troops have dignity and honour?’ Tom checked.
    â€˜They are pleased to be leaving the cold of a French winter to go east, sahib. East will be warmer than this. It will also be nearer home, and the fighting will be better.’
    â€˜How can fighting be better?’ Tom was bemused.
    â€˜In France, the sahibs who fight underground are killed in holes like my Captain Bennett was. I’ve heard the sahibs who fight in the air or on the water are also killed. In the east I’ve been told that war is carried on according to the old methods, on the ground like civilised soldiers. That has to be much better.’
    â€˜I hope you’re right, Adjabi, although I’ve yet to see any evidence of civilised behaviour in war.’ Michael dropped his attaché case on the bottom bunk.
    â€˜The Indian troops say we should reach Basra within the month, do you think they’re right, Sahib?’
    â€˜Who told them we’re going to Basra?’ Tom demanded.
    â€˜That is what they say, Sahib. That General Townshend has got himself and his troops into a pickle and a jam because he ran out of supplies and we are going there to take him and his men what they need. But first we have to fight and overcome the Turks who have built a circle around them.’
    Michael laughed.
    â€˜Even before the war, John wrote from India that the bearers always knew more about what was going on than the officers.’ Hemmed in by their bearers and Michael, Tom climbed on the top bunk and stretched