In Rawalpindi, we have hornets the length of a man’s middle finger. They are yellow and green, and orange and black, and should they swarm, you would not escape with your life. That is what the German aircraft, the Stukas, came to remind me of, and they were even deadlier.
I heard its engine first, a distant droning sound. But as it drew near, another sound made my legs shake. It was an incessant whining, like Death warning us to take refuge.
“ENEMY PLANE!” I heard Sergeant Buckingham holler. “GET TO COVER!”
I grabbed hold of my animals’ reins and led them deeper into the trees. Mules are perfect creatures for war. They are resilient and agile and can go where vehicles cannot. But as they stepped over fallen logs and trudged through thick, brown mud, they seemed to sense the alarm. My lead mule suddenly stopped, causing the others to follow suit.
“Come on, Baba!” I urged, pulling on the rope, but he refused to budge.
“If you do not hide, Baba, we will die,” I warned.
The fighter was closing in and its machine guns began to clatter. All around us, the bullets stripped away chunks of bark. My comrades yelled and screamed in panic and hid in the bushes and undergrowth. The mules panicked too, and some of the men tried to calm them. I could not leave my animals alone, so I hid behind them, and awaited my fate.
But the Stuka dropped its bombs closer to the road, and the explosions merely shook the ground beneath me. I heard more screaming, and shouting, and then it was gone, leaving us shocked and deafened, and frightened to our cores. As we gathered ourselves, I saw Captain Ashdown rushing towards us.
“Khan!” he yelled when he spotted me. “Civilian casualties on the road. We need to help them. Now!”
Two of the medics came with me, and when we reached the road, we saw absolute carnage. The bombs had hit a cart and blown a hollow into the road. On either side lay destroyed trucks and jeeps, and human bodies, too. There was nothing to be done for the dead, but many of the wounded were beyond help too. It was more than I could bear, and I threw up. Mush appeared at my side, his arm on my back.
“We must help,” he told me. “Even those who are dying.”
I retched and retched, until the heaving subsided, and then I tried to control my breathing.
“COME ON!” I heard Sergeant Buckingham yell. “MOVE YOURSELVES!”
We spent an age trying to help the survivors, and longer still removing the dead. A company of white soldiers joined us, and I was left with a Private Sid Smith.
“We’re in some trouble, here,” he told me.
His hair was curly and ginger, and his pale skin freckled.
“Why must we run?” I asked. “Why don’t we turn and fight?”
Private Smith shook his head.
“The Germans outnumber us,” he replied. “I’ve heard perhaps two to one. And they’ve got more vehicles and weapons. I don’t know who planned this expedition, but they want shooting.”
I nodded and continued with my awful task. By nightfall, we were exhausted and demoralised, and I went to find Mush. He was camping with some others, close to the road. Behind, the mules were calm now, and their eyes shone in the darkness like ebony glass beads. The only light came from lit cigarettes and the occasional torch, and a stiff breeze that made the leaves rustle.
“These Germans are cowards,” I said, my shock turning to rage. “Darn them and their planes. They should face us like men!”
“They are only doing their duty,” Mush replied. “The same as us, brother.”
I disagreed.
“No,” I told him. “They are cowards who drop bombs on civilians. We do not do such things, Mush. We have honour!”
“We follow orders,” he replied. “Just like them. It is the leaders who make the commands. We are merely the spokes on a wheel, brother. It is they who turn it.”
I could not sleep. My mind was filled with blood and screams, and the incessant wailing of Stukas. I rose before dawn and washed my face in a nearby stream. As the cool water refreshed me, I sensed someone nearby. I turned to find Sid Smith, smiling.
“You’re one of the muleteers,” he said. I nodded and told him my name.
“A long way from home, then?”
“Yes,” I replied.
“India?”
“The north,” I told him. “A village, close to Rawalpindi.”
“I’m from London,” he said. “Tooting. Home’s a bit closer for me.”
I splashed more water onto my face and then through my hair. My feet were sore, and my legs seemingly filled with lead, and my head thumped.
“I’ve never been to London,” I told Sid. “I have always wanted to go.”
Sid grinned and the pale skin around his eyes creased.
“Ain’t many like you round my way,” he replied. “Although, I’m not one to hate a man because of his skin. My old man fought at Cable Street.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oswald Mosely,” said Sid. “He’s a fascist and Nazi-sympathiser. He wanted to march through the East End of London, and the people stopped him at Cable Street. It was a right good punch-up, according to my old man.”
I was shocked. Was Sid saying that a fascist party existed in England?
“But I thought we were fighting against fascists?” I said. “How can there be some in England?”
“Who knows?” Sid replied. “Misguided, wrong-headed? Don’t matter to me. I hate ’em, and I’m happy to fight ’em all, Khan.”
“Me too,” I said. “In India we have people who want to side with the Germans. They want to remove the British.”
“Stands to reason you’d want us gone,” said Sid. “We took your country from you.”
My shock increased. Who was this white man, with his insubordinate views? I had never dreamt that such men could exist in Britain.
“I see your confusion,” said Sid. “I’m a communist, Khan. But this war is about more than politics. It’s about stopping the Germans before they conquer Europe.”
“And communism?” I asked. “I have read much about Russia and Stalin.”
“That’s not my version of communism,” Sid told me. “I just want a fairer country to go back to. We’re cannon fodder, you and I. Told what to do by rich men who have never seen a battle themselves. It was the same last time, too.”
“The Great War,” I said, nodding.
“Stupid name for a war,” said Sid. “Nothing great about it. It was slaughter, Khan.”
“My grandfather fought here,” I revealed. “Le Bassée, Neuve Chapelle and then the Somme.”
“And he survived?”
I nodded.
“He was lucky,” I replied. “Most of his friends died here. Many have never even been found. It was why I enlisted. After my grandfather passed away…”
“To serve the King?” Sid smirked. “I fight for my people, mate, not some toff in a crown.”
“To help,” I told him. “The Raj is all I have ever known. It is my duty to serve it.”
Sid knelt beside me and began to wash his face.
“Better get moving,” he eventually said. “The Jerries will be back at first light, and no mistake.”
“Jerries?” I asked. Sergeant Buckingham had used the phrase too.
“Nickname for the Germans,” Sid replied. “Although I can think of some other choice words for them!”
We walked back to camp together, to find everyone readying to march on.
“I’ll see you down the road, then,” said Sid.
“It would be a pleasure,” I replied.
“Stay safe, Private Khan.”