As the Crow Flies by Jeffrey Archer Page A

the King’s Prize for rifle
shooting, beating all the officers and men from seven other regiments.
    “You’re
a genius,” said Charlie, after the colonel had presented his friend with the
silver cup.
    “Wonder
if there’s an ‘elf good fence to be found in Glasgow,’ was all Tommy had to say
on the subject.
    The
passing out parade was held on Saturday, 23 February 1918, which ended with
Charlie marching his section up and down the parade ground keeping step with
the regimental band, and for the first time feeling like a soldier even if
Tommy still resembled a sack of potatoes.
    When
the parade finally came to an end, Sergeant Major Philpott congratulated them
all and before dismissing the parade told the troops they could take the rest
of the day off, but they must return to barracks and be tucked up in bed before
midnight.
    The
assembled company was let loose on Edinburgh for the last time. Tommy took
charge again as the lads of Number 11 platoon lurched from pub to pub becoming
drunker and drunker, before finally ending up in their established local, the
Volunteer, on Leith Walk.
    Ten
happy soldiers stood around the piano sinking pint after pint as they sang, “Pack
up your troubles in your old kit bag” and repeating every other item in their
limited repertoire. Tommy, who was accompanying them on the mouth organ,
noticed that Charlie couldn’t take his eyes off Rose the barmaid who, although
on the wrong side of thirty, never stopped flirting with the young recruits.
Tommy broke away from the group to join his friend at the bar. “Fancy ‘er,
mate, do you?”
    “Yep,
but she’s your girl,” said Charlie as he continued to stare at the long-haired
blonde who pretended to ignore their attentions. He noticed that she had one button
of her blouse more than usual undone.
    “I
wouldn’t say that,” said Tommy. “In any case, I owe you one for that broken
nose.”
    Charlie
laughed when Tommy added, “So we’ll ‘ave to see what I can do about it.” Tommy
winked at Rose, then left Charlie to join her at the far end of the bar.
    Charlie
found that he couldn’t get himself to look at them, although he was still able
to see from their reflection in the mirror behind the bar that they were deep
in conversation. Rose on a couple of occasions turned to look in his direction.
A moment later Tommy was standing by his side.
    “It’s
all fixed, Charlie,” he said.
    “What
do you mean, ‘fixed’?”
    “Exactly
what I said. All you ‘ave to do is go out to the shed at the back of the pub
where they pile up them empty crates, and Rose should be with you in a jiffy.”
    Charlie
sat glued to the bar stool.
    “Well,
get on with it,” said Tommy, “before the bleedin’ woman changes her mind.”
    Charlie
slipped off his stool and out of a side door without looking back. He only
hoped that no one was watching him, as he almost ran down the unlit passage and
out of the back door. He stood alone in the corner of the yard feeling more
than a little stupid as he stamped up and down to keep wamm. A shiver went
through him and he began to wish he were back in the bar. A few moments later
he shivered again, sneezed and decided the time had come to return to his mates
and forget it. He was walking towards the door just as Rose came bushing out.
    “‘Ello,
I’m Rose. Sorry I took so long, but a customer came in just as you darted off.”
He stared at her in the poor light that filtered through a tiny window above
the door. Yet another button was undone, revealing the top of a black girdle.
    “Charlie
Trumper,” said Charlie, offering her his hand.
    “I
know.” She giggled. “Tommy told me all about you, said you were probably the
best lay in the platoon. “
    “I
think ‘e might ‘ave been exaggeratin’,” said Charlie turning bright red, as
Rose reached out with both her hands, taking him in her arms. She kissed him
first on his neck, then his face and finally his mouth. She then parted Charlie’s
lips