Redemption - Leon Uris [216]
“For Christ sake, or Buddha’s sake,” Johnny snapped, “try to put three hundred pounds on any of these creatures and they will collapse.”
Yurlob said nothing.
“Damnit, which one can we use for training?” Johnny continued. “Just one…one.”
Yurlob, always ramrod straight, became straighter.
Modi threw up his hands in futility. Mordechai Pearlman was officially a non-vet, non-soldier, non-person, and if he wasn’t a person, he couldn’t object. It looked to him like a cruel prank but he knew British officers were not into playing pranks.
“I don’t see how we can accept these animals,” Johnny said.
“You’re the beach master,” said Rory protectively. “It’s out of your bailiwick. Modi can’t say anything and our bold fierce, and loyal Sikh friend here wouldn’t break the fucking code under torture. I reject these animals as unfit,” Rory said shakily.
“I’ll support your rejection,” Jeremy said.
“Stay out of it, Lieutenant. You don’t know doodly-shit about mules.”
“I said, Serjeant Landers, that I’ll support your rejection. I know a crippled mule when I see one.”
“Fuck regulations,” Modi said, “I also object to this business gone crazy!”
“And—” Chester said.
“Shut up, Chester,” Rory commanded. “You keep out of it.”
“I have my—”
“Shut up, Chester,” Rory repeated. He turned to Jeremy. “Do you want me to go in to see the Major with you, Lieutenant?”
Jeremy looked to the offices. Good, the lights were on. Christopher usually came before reveille so he could go over just who needed shaping up at roll call, and to be certain he looked shiny and bright, even at this devil’s hour.
“He’s in. You lads stand fast.”
Christopher had heard the commotion outside and opened the big wooden shutters. He could see the Jew laughing and every one else either scratching or shaking their heads. Ah there, here comes Jeremy at a trot.
“What’s going on out there?” Chris snapped as Jeremy entered.
“Colonel Sattersfield sent you twenty dead mules who don’t even have the strength to fall down. I warned you to send a couple of my gaffers to the auction.”
“I’m afraid,” Christopher answered, “all the best mules went to the Jews.”
“To the British troops as in contrast to the Anzac troops. Those mules out there are not acceptable.”
“Who says they are unacceptable?”
“I do.”
“You are not qualified to make that judgment. Who else said so? Tarbox? Corporal Goodwood? The Jew? Yurlob? Did Serjeant Yurlob say they were unacceptable?”
“No.”
“So it was Landers.”
“Instead of taking this out on your men, why don’t you climb all over Sattersfield’s ass!”
“This is the British Army. We take what we are issued. Now get the devil out of my way,” Chris said, bolting past his brother to the outside. He took a shortcut through the paddock, storming up behind the picket line of mules.
“Ten-shun!” Yurlob cracked out upon sighting the major.
The men froze at attention as he continued toward them in a rage. “Damnit! Serjeant Yurlob! Call up your trail leaders! We are loading and marching within the hour!”
“Major! Stop!” Rory shouted. “Stop, goddamnit, freeze!”
“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Landers!”
“Major, stop! Hit the dirt!”
As Christopher reached the back of the mule line, Rory leapt over the hitching rail, tackled the major, and sent him down with a thud, lay atop him till he was immobile…then dragged him back.
The others ran over and untangled them. Christopher Hubble brushed off his uniform, too livid to speak.
Rory came to his feet clutching a shoulder and reeling from a mule kick. Half a dozen of the animals were lashing out with their hind legs.
“Quickly, get back to Pig Island before anyone gets wind of this. Modi, calm these mules down. Go on, lads. I’ll take the Major back to his office.” Jeremy jerked Chris to his feet and ran him back to the headquarters building and closed them in.
“Blast! That does it! Landers will not get away with the sweatbox. He struck an officer! It is going to be the whipping post. I’ll see to it he has lashes.”
“Shut up, you asshole!”
“How dare