Forever the Colours by Richard Thomas Page A

thirst here, you know.’
    â€˜I can hear you,’ said a deep voice. ‘I will get you some water in good time, so please keep your voice down. There are some sick individuals in here, thank you.’
    Ah! Tommy thought, I’m not alone, then . He moved his head, following the voice, but he still could not focus properly. His head felt like lead when he tried to move it. He could just make out a blurred figure sitting at a desk with what looked like a candle burning on it, and Tommy could not help but smile at this.
    â€˜Bloody typical,’ he said to the figure. ‘They can’t even be bothered to pay the electric bill, let alone supply us with decent kit.’ Tommy sighed. ‘Wankers!’
    â€˜Now listen here, Private,’ said the blurred figure. ‘Please keep your voice down and your comments to yourself, there’s a good chap. I will be with you in but a moment.’
    Well lardy fucking da .
    Tommy tried to focus on his surroundings, moving his eyes slowly around the room – tent. It was obviously a tent, he could see that now, even with the blurred vision. The thought of camping with his father came back to him and he had to swallow down an involuntary sob. He took a deep breath and continued to scan around. There were other beds in here as well, three he could count, two of them occupied. Why hadn’t they flown him out yet? And better still, why wasn’t he in a proper hospital in Kandybar? This thought confused him; in fact, everything confused him: The cart he had been on with the horses, the bogus soldier with the dodgy hat and fake moustache, some raghead with a bloody marvellous curved sword…Was that real?
    Was any of it real? What about that girl, with the long hair and kinky boots? Where was she, and was she a nurse perhaps? When he thought about it, she was a right dog, actually, with all that facial hair. Oh well, any port in a storm, especially a port with such long legs. He looked around the tent and was shocked to see how basic it was. Oh brilliant. I’m in a Red Cross camp! How fantastic! he thought. Blown up, nearly carved up and dragged around on a sodding horse and cart, and now the local witch doctor at a Red Cross camp.
    Tommy sighed loudly. ‘Any time today, Doc,’ he said.
    Suddenly the girl appeared at his bed side with a clay jug and cup. Christ! thought Tommy. Even with the blurred vision, he could see she was a moose.
    â€˜You would like a drink of water, Private Sahib?’
    What the bloody hell is wrong with her voice?
    â€˜Just a little, if you please, Arun. I would like to check our erudite young Private before he starts to guzzle too much of that.’
    Tommy followed the voice and turned to find the blurred figure standing and walking towards him. With his vision starting to clear, he could now see the doctor; he presumed the man was a doctor, about 5’10” and maybe about thirty, thirty-five years old. He stopped at the side of the bed and leaned over.
    â€˜Well, Private, how are we feeling, eh?’
    â€˜How do you think I’m bloody feeling? I feel crap, mate. And can you tell me why I’m not in a hospital, ’cause I think I should be in one. And where are the lads I was with? One of them was injured, shot in the face.’
    While he was talking, the doctor was checking him over, first his temperature with a hand on the forehead, then a lift of his eye lids, one at a time, staring into them. ‘All in good time, Private, all in good time,’ came the reply. ‘Now then, how does the head feel? Any pain, blurred vision, stars in front of your eyes?’
    Oh, for Christ’s sake , thought Tommy. Typical bloody uni grad getting his kicks in a war zone so he can bore his future bloody GP patients to death with his war stories. OK, OK, that’s OK, let’s do as he says.
    â€˜Well Doc-tor,’ said Tommy, in his best Marylyn Monroe voice, ‘my eyes are just