Redemption - Leon Uris [184]
“I appreciate the differences between our cultures, but in the future, I shall consider obscene language before an officer as a punishable offense.”
Johnny reddened and his mouth went dry.
“Have you ever been in charge of men?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes, sir, half my life, Lieutenant. I ran the big droving crews for the sheep and cattle stations all over the country. I’ve handled up to twenty men on some jobs.”
Christopher shrugged. “Do you want this chap, Lieutenant?” he asked his brother.
“I do. Serjeant Tarbox is just what the doctor ordered for me.”
Christopher rubbed his chin with his hand, as though Johnny were a head of cattle to be judged. Then he flipped through the report again.
“Well, you’re not a proper serjeant major,” Christopher repeated. “I’ll have to find a proper serjeant major elsewhere. I’m certain I can requisition one from a British unit. Well, your Kiwi countrymen saw fit to swear you in as a serjeant major and I am going to allow you to retain the rank if YOU do your job flawlessly and unstintingly. Am I clear?”
“Exactly what is my job, sir?”
“The men in this battalion are all creditable horsemen are they not?”
“They’re the greatest, sir.”
“Well, then, you convert them into the greatest mule hustlers, packers, and trail men.”
“I am forming a gaffer squad,” Jeremy said.
“A gaffer squad?”
“A small unit of mule specialists. It will be up to us to write a simplified manual, obtain the proper gear, work out miles of logistics and training, and be central to the task of indoctrinating the men and building this battalion from the hooves up,” Jeremy said.
“I don’t know how many mule men we’re apt to find here, Lieutenant.”
“We’ll probably get some from other units as they arrive in Egypt. Meanwhile, your lads filled out questionnaires en route, aboard ship. Go through these and find me the most likely prospects.”
As Jeremy handed Johnny two boxes of questionnaires, he nodded and smiled. “Look forward to working with you,” he said.
“This is absolutely hush-hush,” Chris interrupted. “Not a living, breathing soul, until we are ready.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Captain Ellsworth, the chief veterinarian with the British Corps, will come to Mena in three days—on Wednesday—to question any men who have mule knowledge,” Jeremy said, patting the man on the shoulder.
“You are dismissed. Now remember, hush-hush,” Chris said.
As the serjeant closed the door, Jeremy thought, oh Christ. Christopher spent a good part of his life irritated with him, and he wore that irritated expression now.
“We’ve got a good man there,” Jeremy said, hoping to divert Chris’s course. “All right, you’re about to piss petrol.”
Chris snorted until he was contained. “I believe you and I had better clear a few things up before we are involved with another enlisted man. I am saddled with a rather difficult situation of being your brother, and if you indeed take this gaffer squad, we will be working extremely closely.”
“I don’t see why you went out of your way to humiliate Serjeant Tarbox, and I seriously wonder if intimidation is the way to build a battalion,” Jeremy answered.
“Oh, dear old Jeremy must be Mister Good Chap, one of the lads.”
“What the hell did I do so horrible, shake his hand?”
“First a handshake, then, do sit down for tea…or let’s make that gin and tonic. Jeremy, we are not dealing with proper manners, and the first job is to teach them discipline. We must never loosen the leash on them. I intend to turn this battalion into a proper British battalion, like the Coleraines.”
“They aren’t the Coleraines, Christopher. They don’t shed the old tear when they hear ‘God Save the King,’ nor would they gladly die in battle for the Earl of Foyle. Look at these men. They’re half again as big as your scrawny Englishmen. They live in the open and they eat beef and they don’t know from blue blood. What the hell is this all about? We are three men in a peeling room halfway around the world barfing about mules and mule shit and you act like