War Story Read Online Free Page B

“Just look at this bally stuff! Grows like weeds … Now then: what’s your problem?”
    â€œOh … Several things. Let’s start with pay. Jimmy Duncan says his pay has never been adjusted since he got his second pip, and that was
weeks
ago. Also two of the ‘A’ Flight mechanics still haven’t got their proficiency supplements, or something.” Piggott was pacing up and down, carefully placing his feet so as to stay on the same narrow floorboard. “Then there’s my fitter, Corporal Lee. His wisdom tooth’s giving him absolute hell, but there’s never a travel warrant for him to go to Amiens and get it taken out. I mean, that’s bloody silly, isn’t it?” Piggott reached a wall, pivoted on his heel, and began the return journey. “And now I’m told by stores that the men’s latrines haven’t got a drop of disinfectant. Not a single drop. In this weather! I mean to say, adj, just think of—”
    Appleyard’s cough stopped him. It was a savage spasm that gripped the adjutant’s lungs and seemed to attack his throat like a chained dog. Piggott turned away. The noise was so hurtful it made him feel slightly sick. Still seized by his cough, Appleyard stumbled to an open window and eventually, painfully, managed to spit outside. The spasm ceased. He came back, mopping his face. His chest was heaving and he looked exhausted. “Better out than in,” he whispered. Threads of saliva linked his lips.
    â€œYou sound pretty dreadful, adj,” Piggott said. “You ought to see a doctor.”
    â€œJust seen one. Chap at Contay.” Appleyard slumped into his chair. “Same old story. Nasty dose of …” He paused to catch his breath. “… dose of Delhi Lung. Just got to … put up with it.” He thumped himself on the chest so hard that Piggott winced. Appleyard noticed this, and grinned. “You do your best for India,” he said, “and this is what India does for you. Never fair, is it?”
    Piggott felt acutely uncomfortable. He drifted towards the door. “I don’t suppose any of that stuff really matters all that much,” he said, but then he heard what he was saying. “Still, the disinfectant—”
    I’ve got some coming from Contay, old chap. Toot sweet. I was there oh the scrounge. Corps HQ are absolutely useless. You might as well talk to that wall. Don’t worry, I’ll chase up those other things, the pay and so on. Top priority. Do it now.” He pulled the telephone towards him and began searching through a heap of papers. Piggott left.
    It’s a damn shame
, he thought; but not for long. As he drank the tea that Corporal Lacey gave him he saw people strolling across the airfield with cricket bats and stumps. It was a perfect June afternoon: just enough breeze to soften the sunshine. Piggott gulped the last mouthfuls. He wanted to get out there and clout that ball over the skylarks.
    The afternoon was not perfect for Paxton. It took him nearly an hour to complete the first circuit and by then a ground haze was developing. There was also a lot of bumpy air from ground level up to fifteen hundred feet. If he flew any higher, the air was smooth but he couldn’t see through the haze. If he flew low enough to be able to pick out landmarks, the Quirk hit air-bumps and Paxton’s bladder didn’t like that.
    It had been a mistake, Paxton now realised, to drink quite so much tea before take-off. His bladder ached. It was a dull, steady ache, and he could almost ignore it as long as nothing made it worse, but a sudden jolt – or even worse a sudden drop – made the ache flare, and then he had to clench and contort every muscle in order to keep control. If only he had a bottle. When he banked and headed east from Amiens, he could feel the pint-and-a-half of tea sloshing to the side and then surging back as he levelled out. The pressure