Redemption - Leon Uris [205]
“This is a cavalry battalion, sir, and not a very refined one. They are roughnecks. They were furious to be turned into muleteers. There has not been a single morning that I haven’t had to go to the stockade and collect dozens of them from their punch-ups in Cairo.”
“Maybe you’re caught in a vicious cycle. After a night march to Wadi Muzzam, aren’t they going to try to dismantle Cairo? Chris, before you answer, I was going to speak to you on this matter. You have invoked twice as many punishments as any other battalion commander in the Corps.”
“I daresay, sir, my battalion is twice as good as any in the Anzacs.”
“Chris, one of the reasons we held the staff seminar was to clarify our traditional role with the colonials. God knows there isn’t a more imperial man than myself, but we have to realize that each Commonwealth has its own system of social order. Indeed, we cannot go strictly by the book as we do with our British soldiers. Isn’t that your understanding?”
“I’d rather not say, sir.”
“I’d rather you do.”
Llewelyn Brodhead watched Chris turn into Roger Hubble right before his eyes. The words were the same, the look was even the same.
“My grandfather, Sir Frederick, was a Victorian entrepreneur…always proud of his humble beginnings…playing the game with the Orange lodges, marching alongside the lads on the Twelfth of August…made an art of knowing his workers by first name, pretended to share their sorrows. Well, he’s ended up with a public company and unions in his yards.”
“I think probably a new era has overtaken him, Chris. No one in his right mind would consider Sir Frederick Weed a soft man.”
“Perhaps,” Chris agreed reluctantly.
“Do go on.”
“I rather liken the Army to my father’s earldom. The people tilling his fields and operating his factories are his soldiers, in a manner of speaking. They are there to fulfill the mission of the earldom, to continue our way of life. We cannot get involved with sentimentality over the hard luck of this worker or that farmer and his family. If we were to cave in to sentimentality, we would have lost the earldom during the great famine. If we here now in the Anzac Corps cave in to sentimentality, we will lose the empire.”
Brodhead had always thought he had a hard man in Christopher Hubble. Now he knew exactly how hard. He was one of those few officers who seem to thrive on the hatred of his men and in return builds an awesome battalion. Yet, almost all these officers go one step too far.
“I agree we must have their utmost respect,” Brodhead said, “but we must also respect them. I’m setting aside this night march. We don’t want these boys to get a feeling they are out there fighting for nothing. I am instructing you to get on with your mule transport.”
“It would be simpler if we had mules to work with. The Zion Mule Corps has already received a hundred animals.”
“You’ll learn that we colonials get the leftovers.”
“I daresay, the Jews are not exactly British.”
“But they are serving British divisions. Speaking of Jews, one of my brigade commanders is a Jew. Quite competent.”
“Really, sir? A Jewish brigade commander? Which one?”
“Colonel Monash, the Aussie.”
“Well, that’s empire.”
Brodhead gave the nod for Chris to leave.
“Oh Chris, who did the actual writing of your instruction manual? I mean, the chap who put the words down. Very clever.”
“Private Chester Goodwood. He’s a member of the gaffer squad.”
“Put a couple of chevrons on him. Corporal, for now.”
“Yes, sir. He is equally good with numbers. He’s the son of Sir Stanford Goodwood, a banker in Hong Kong.”
“Sir Stanford Goodwood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lord, I knew him years ago. I thought he was rather nelly queer, you know. At that time it was rumored he had a penchant for young boys. So he has a son? Well, probably has something to do with continuity and all that.”
67
Cairo, February 1915
Despite the flood of warriors into Cairo, Sonya Kulkarian’s preferred, classical, elite, and lavish entertainments were not much in demand. No longer