Cast No Shadow, Peter Sharp [books to get back into reading txt] 📗

team. He decided to join the ranks but had positioned himself in the wrong place. Having realised his mistake, he was about to move to the right-hand end of the squad but a look from the corporal, one of pity and despair, stopped him in his tracks.

“Don’t bother sizing, Sir. We’ll manage as we are.”

Turning his attention to the whole squad the Corporal drew himself up.

“Stand at ease, stand easy!” He followed that almost immediately by a barked, “Squad!”

To a man the marines braced up, forcing their hands with thumbs locked together, as far down their backs as possible.

There was a short pause, and then a long drawn out “Squaaad!” followed immediately by “TUN!” a staccato blast that resulted in two crashes. The first as twenty plus marines simultaneously crashed their left heels into their right heels, naval fashion without bending the knee.

The second crash was a single solitary echo of the first, as Kelly complied.

The Sergeant Major’s look was all that was needed to express his feelings.

He walked slowly up and down the front rank before setting himself in the middle facing the men.

“Listen in!” It was a redundant statement as no one would have dared to do anything else.

“Welcome to Spean Bridge. My name is Sergeant Major Abrams! Abrams!” He repeated the name looking up and down the ranks as he did so. “Not Abrahams,” he said emphasising the ham. “There is no HA! In my name. I never laugh!”

He waited for the few chuckles to subside before continuing.

“Welcome also to commando training. Your training began when you climbed off the train. He paused before pointing towards two vehicles parked further down the road. “Despite those two bonny, perfectly serviceable three tonners, we will shortly be marching the five miles to Achnacarry, your new home. Why?”

He paused for a moment, then added, “Why did you get off the wrong side of the train? Why are we marching to Achnacarry?”

He smiled as a few brave souls volunteered; “It’s good for the soul Sarnt Major,” and, “It’s character building,” and simply, “Don’t know Sarnt Major.”

The Sergeant Major’s eyes alighted on Kelly, who had not ventured an opinion. He studied Kelly for a few seconds and then his arm shot out, the finger pointed directly at Kelly.

“He knows!” the Sergeant Major exclaimed. “Tell us Sir!”

“Because it’s difficult,” said Kelly with firmness and conviction.

“Absolutely correct!” cried the Sergeant Major enthusiastically. “Because it’s difficult.” He paused to allow this concept to take root before adding, “From here on, if there is an easy way and a difficult way, we will always do it the difficult way. For all the reasons you other marines gave just now, but also for one particularly important reason.

“When you leave Achnacarry, if you pass,” he paused for effect, “you will go straight into active service, the like of which most of you will have never seen. You will have to make decisions about easy and difficult. Whether to jump out of a landing craft into six feet of ice-cold water or stay on board. Whether to retreat under fire or continue the attack and, God help you,” he lowered his voice, “whether to surrender, or stand and fight and perhaps die.”

He waited, his head swivelling to take in the men’s reactions before continuing. “I want to train you to make the right decision, even if it’s the difficult decision. Any questions?”

There was a general murmur of, “No Sarnt Major.”

“Okay men! Let’s go. Kit bags on the three tonners. Keep your large packs and rifles then fall in again on the road. GO!”

There was a scrum as the marines complied. In seconds, the squad was reformed, Kelly was in his correct ‘sized’ position and in the front rank. He was determined not to be seen as the weak link. The Sergeant Major looked at him, said nothing, but there was clear approval in the slight nod.

“Stand at ease! Stand easy!” barked the Sergeant Major. “Remove headdress and tuck it into your epaulet. Sling your rifles, make sure your webbing is comfortable.”

Kelly wasn’t quite sure what ‘sling your rifles’ meant but he copied the marines as they loosened off the rifle slings and then slipped their right arm and head through the sling, positioning the rifle across their backs and leaving their hands free.

CSM Abrams waited until the shuffling stopped, then addressed the men again.

“It would have been easy to have the three tonners follow us, but then you wouldn’t have seen them, and you may have forgotten they were there! Instead, they will go off in front of us, so that they are always in view. You can at any time climb onto one of the vehicles. If you do you will be returned to Spean Bridge tomorrow morning with a ticket back to your current unit and no hard feelings. It’s that simple and it’s your choice.” His eyes glittered. “Easy or difficult!” he reiterated.

Without pausing he brought the squad to attention, turned them left and moved them off, calling the time for the first few paces.

Kelly soon settled into the rhythm of the march and was able to shut his mind to all discomforts, which included the drizzle, or ‘Scots Mist’ as it was known locally, and the constant attention of the midges.

He had been well-prepped by Marine Major Tom Foley, a friend of Archie Jenkins, who had set him a fitness regime and prepared him in many other ways including fitting him out at the QM’s store in Eastney Barracks. This had included a khaki battle dress and a brand-new pair of ‘AP’ hobnail boots.

The first time Kelly had worn the boots, Tom had taken him for a brisk five-mile march around the outskirts of Portsmouth, concluding on Southsea seafront, to break them in. They stopped near Clarence Pier and Foley pointed out to sea.

“Okay Dan, in you go!”

“What?” Kelly had exclaimed.

“You heard, Dan! Just up to your knees for about five minutes.”

Not sure whether this was some elaborate joke or initiation rite, Kelly nevertheless