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Andrews UK - Fergus O'Connell

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129 pages

English

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The story of the Indian soldiers who fought for Britain in WWI1914. Ranveer, the eldest son of a wealthy Indian family, joins the British Indian Army and is sent to fight on the Western Front. Wounded and in hospital, he falls in love with Eve, an Englishwoman. But the conventions of the time mean they will never find a home in England. They travel to India but there it is no better and Ranveer gets drawn into the struggle for Indian independence. Now he must choose between family and his country on the one hand and the woman he loves on the other.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	23 août 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783332540
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0150€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

One Dead for Every Kilometre Home
Fergus O’Connell

First published in 2016 by
AG Books
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2016 Fergus O’Connell
The right of Fergus O’Connell to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For Linda

That the Indian Expeditionary Force arrived in the nick of time, that it helped to save the cause both of the Allies and of civilization, after the sanguinary tumult of the opening weeks of the War, has been openly acknowledged by the highest in the land, from the Sovereign downwards. I recall that it was emphatically stated to me by Lord French himself. That nature and value of that service can never be forgotten.
Earl Curzon of Kedleston, 1917

Part 1: Ishaa
October 1913 - August 1914
Fair stood the wind for France
When we our sails advance,
Nor now to prove our chance
Longer will tarry
From Agincourt by Michael Drayton (1563–1631)
Chapter 1
This is going to be a massacre.
His groom took the reins and polo mallet as Ranveer Singh dismounted from his pony. There were four open-sided canvas pavilions, all with pointed roofs, on the side of the field. The two larger ones housed the officials and general hangers on associated with each of the teams. There was one for the local Amritsar team and the other was for the team from the British Indian Army. The Army pavilion was crowded with British officers in khaki uniforms with shiny leather belts and boots. They were attended by a couple of Indian stewards in immaculate whites who passed amongst them, carrying drinks on trays and collecting glasses.
The two smaller pavilions were for the teams themselves. On a table spread with a spotless white linen table cloth were ranks of glasses turned upside down along with pitchers of water, lemonade and various juices. There were small bowls of salty snacks. Ranveer took a towel and wiped the sweat from his face, grateful for the shade of the tent. It was about the only thing to be grateful for.
It was half time in the first match of the season before a huge home crowd. Amritsar, were already three goals down. But it could have been ten, so completely were they being outclassed. It was like besieging an impregnable fortress. The Army team - all officers, all British - had an iron defence and each time they sallied forth, they scored. They had scored within the first minute which had sent Ranveer’s team reeling. In the second chukkah they had scored again - and the third. It seemed like every time they attacked they scored.
The rest of the time they defended, allowing Amritsar to break themselves like waves on a sea wall. There appeared to be no way through that defence. Worse still, Ranveer had a terrible feeling that the Army was holding back - almost toying with them like a cat with a doomed mouse. If that was true, and the Army did indeed cut loose in the second half, it would be like the opening of floodgates. This could turn out to be a humiliating trouncing the like of which Amritsar had never experienced. Ranveer knew all the statistics, all the scorers and scorelines from the great games of the past. To be beaten in front of a home crowd would be bad enough. But today there was every chance that they would be beaten by the greatest margin ever in a high grade competition. They would be talked about and laughed at for years to come, their performance a new and ghastly low point in polo scores. And all this at the hands of a white team.
Ranveer poured himself some lemonade, downed it and refilled his glass. Then he collapsed onto the canvas seat of one of the wooden folding chairs. He stabbed his long legs out in front of him in a V shape, his boots throwing up little clouds of dust from the iron-hard earth with its sparse coating of once green grass. His three team mates were already sitting down. They gazed at the ground. Nobody said anything. Ranveer was the number one, the primary scorer. He knew it, they knew it. Nobody needed to say anything. He’d have preferred to have been abused by them.
Ranveer wondered where their coach was, but then he saw him. Gurinder was standing on the sideline where he had been for all of the first half. His back was to them and his grey haired head was down. Ranveer felt terrible. Gurinder had put in so much work with them, had expected so much this season.
Apart from the officials, the adjacent, larger pavilion housed the friends and family of the Amritsar team. They had been noisy starting out, even noiser after the first goal but had become progressively more silent after that. Ranveer glanced across at them. His parents were there along with his younger brother Jagraj and sister Preeti. There were numerous uncles, aunts and cousins. He saw his best friend Harmeet - they had known each other since their first day in school. Harmeet was surrounded, as usual, by three or four girls. Normally he would be flirting outrageously with all of them but right now he was silent, as were all the occupants of the tent. They were looking across at Ranveer.
Quickly, he turned away. He imagined joining them after the game. What would they say? What would his father, himself an oustanding number one and record goal scorer who had played for Amritsar, say? His mother had arranged a party at the house tonight. All the work she had put into that. At this rate it would be more like a wake than a celebration. And his mother would try to put a brave face on it. He could hear her already, loving and well-meaning as always. ‘Never mind, Ranveer, it’s only a game. There’ll be other days.’ But even she knew better than that.
‘We’ll have to hold it at three,’ said Arjan, the number three, eventually. ‘Or try to get one back. ‘If they score again...’ He shook his head as his voice trailed off.
Ranveer felt he had to say something. But what? Apologise that he hadn’t been able to score? Criticise the others for not getting the ball to him? Deliver some kind of inspirational talk that they would all recognise for what it was - the words of a man and a team that were being truly outplayed? A loud braying laugh drifted up from the pavilion where the Army team were drinking and chatting animatedly.
At length, Gurinder turned and came towards them. He squatted down so that he was lower than them. It was an almost subservient pose and Ranveer was reminded that the four of them came from families far wealthier than that of Gurinder. But strangely, instead of appearing submissive, he seemed to be exuding some kind of power.
Softly, slowly speaking the words, he said, ‘You now have nothing to lose.’
He paused and then said, ‘I say it again. You have nothing to lose.
Just go and see if you can get a goal. Right away, right after the restart. They’re feeling cocky now. They think they’ve won. While they’re feeling like that, shock them. If we can get that first goal we can get back in the game. We have to fight.’
Gurinder clenched his fist tightly.
‘We owe it to all those people over there.’
With a movement of his head, Gurinder indicated the officials’ tent.
‘We owe it to all of these people.’ He meant the thousands of silent supporters who stood around the sides of the field.
‘We are Amritsar. You are playing for Amritsar. Don’t forget that. We have worked so hard for this. Fight for the next seven minutes. Get a goal. If we get a goal, we are back in it. If you believe you can do it, you can do it. You have to fight for it. You could still be heroes. You know that, don’t you?’
Squatting in the dust, he looked up at each of them in turn. He held their eyes and waited until each of them nodded.
‘All right,’ Gurinder said. ‘You know what you have to do.’
The Amritsar goal came from the first play of the restart. It was literally within seconds. Arjan shot the ball through to Balkar, the number two. On a fresh pony he tore down the field. The Army must surely have been expecting something like this but they seemed to hesitate for a moment before getting going. It was all that Balkar needed. With two of the opposing players in hot pursuit but clearly outpacing them, and to the delight of the crowd, he stroked the ball neatly between the posts.
Two minutes later Amritsar scored again as Ranveer got his name on the scoresheet. The crowd went wild. At least now it wasn’t going to be a drubbing. The chukkah ended 3-2.
In the fifth chukkah, the Army defence locked Amritsar down and for a while it was like it had been in the first half. Amritsar attacked repeatedly but each attack was beaten off. Eventually, Arjan shot the ball through to Ranveer and he pushed it forward, pounding towards the opposite goal. There was an Army player on Ranveer’s right and just to the rear of him. Drawing within range, Ranveer swung back his mallet to make a strike. As he did so, the Army player pulled level and tried to hook Ranveer’s mallet and block the swing. But it was a sloppily executed hook. The Army player struck Ranveer’s thigh with his mallet. Ranveer’s mallet took most of th