Redemption - Leon Uris [183]
Yet, two volcanic questions burned brightly as the camp shaped up; namely, when do we get liberty into Cairo and when do we get our horses?
Serjeant Major John Tarbox stomped his boots and snapped off a beautiful salute, as befitted his new C.O.
“Sir, Serjeant Major Tarbox, at your service!”
“At ease, Tarbox,” Christopher Hubble said. Chris neither rose nor extended a hand and seemed to be looking through and past the serjeant. Another officer, First Lieutenant Jeremy Hubble, sat nearby quite relaxed and smiled a friendly smile.
“I’m Major Hubble, battalion commander. The gentleman here is Lieutenant Hubble, coincidentally my brother.”
Jeremy came to his feet, extended his hand and shook Johnny’s warmly, to Christopher’s annoyance.
“Let us get to the point,” Chris interrupted. He leaned forward in much the same menacing manner his tutor General Brodhead did when he was dead serious. “There will be no cavalry in this expeditionary force. You understand what I’m saying?”
“I suppose so, Major.”
“All horse battalions are to be reconstituted into infantry, heavy weapons, sappers, howitzer artillery, etcetera, etcetera.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Except,” Christopher continued on, “for our Seventh New Zealand Light Horse, here. I have informed my officers as of this morning. The reason will become apparent.”
Johnny found a weak smile and managed to get it on his face.
“The Seventh Light Horse is now a transportation battalion, a mule transportation battalion.”
“Beg pardon, Major Hubble, but I don’t know a fuck-mg thing about mules.”
Jeremy laughed aloud.
“Nor, may I add, does anyone else around here,” Christopher snarled. “I strongly advise you to take this news in stride and demonstrate that I have your full and unstinting cooperation.”
“Unstinting, sir.”
“Unstinting,” Chris repeated through clenched teeth It had gone down hard as hell with the officers earlier, it would be a shock right straight down the line. Chris lifted the Tarbox records and plopped them in the center of the desk and went through them with agonizing deliberateness.
“Now then, Tarbox, you are one of the battalion elders, what?”
“I suppose so, sir, I’m uh…thirty-four.”
“Thirty-six,” Rubble corrected.
“If you count various contingencies.”
“What contingencies?”
“I lied about my age when I ran off to do a hitch in the Royal Marines.”
“And you rose to the rank of lance corporal in five years.”
“I was a full corporal, sir, and except for a misunderstanding when I failed to catch the last liberty boat—”
“Because you were locked up in the Singapore jail for, shall we say, a barroom brawl, after which you received punishment in the form of thirty days of bread and water, and reduction in rank to lance corporal.”
It was not my fault, Johnny thought, the goddamn prostitute’s pimps jumped me. He was about to make his case but thought better of it.
“So, you’re not really a proper serjeant major, are you?”
Oh Jaysus, Johnny thought, here it comes! “I certainly am, sir, in a manner of speaking.”
“Oh, really? Kindly explain yourself.”
“We don’t have many standing units in New Zealand and because of my superior horsemanship and devotion, I commanded the Royal Color and Honor Guard, itself.”
“That would be a half-dozen horses for ceremonial occasions, right?”
“Well, sir…”
“So, you really weren’t a proper serjeant major?”
“If I may say so, sir, everybody in North Island and South Island knew Johnny Tarbox. Dads used to say to their kids, ‘May you only grow up to ride like Johnny Tarbox. He does the King’s colors proud.’ The instant the war broke out, knowing my fame, I was asked to travel from one end of the country to the other and, pretty much single-handed, I signed up enough lads for four entire Light Horse battalions.”
“And you consider yourself quite the horseman?”
“There may be a few men better, but you’ll have to look damned hard to find them. I’ve done everything with a horse except fuck them and eat horseshit.”
Jeremy broke up as Christopher