As the Crow Flies by Jeffrey Archer Read Free Book Online Page A

last port
of call, the Volunteer, Tommy even disappeared out of the pub followed by the
barmaid, a pert, slightly plump girl called Rose. Ten minutes later he was
back.
    “What
were you coin’ out there?” asked Charlie.
    “What
do you think, idiot?”
    “But
you were only away for ten minutes.”
    “Quite
enough time,” said Tommy. “Only officers need more than ten minutes for what I
was up to.”
    During
the following week they had their first rifle lesson, bayonet practice and even
a session of map reading. While Charlie quickly mastered the art of map reading
it was Tommy who took only a day to find his way round a rifle. By their third
lesson he could strip the barrel and put the pieces back together again faster
than the instructor.
    On
Wednesday morning of the second week Captain Trentham gave them their first
lecture on the history of the Royal Fusiliers. Charlie might have quite enjoyed
the lesson if Trentham hadn’t left the impression that none of them was worthy
of being in the same regiment as himself.
    “Those
of us who selected the Royal Fusiliers because of historic links or family ties
may feel that allowing criminals to join our ranks simply because we’re at war
is hardly likely to advance the regiment’s reputation,” he said, looking
pointedly in the direction of Tommy.
    “Stuck-up
snob,” declared Tommy, just loud enough to reach every ear in the lecture
theater except the captain’s. The ripple of laughter that followed brought a
scowl to Trentham’s face.
    On
Thursday afternoon Captain Trentham returned to the gym, but this time he was
not striking the side of his leg with a swayer stick. He was killed up in a
white m singlet, dark blue shorts and a thick white sweater; the new outfit was
just as neat and tidy as his uniform. He walked around watching the instructors
putting the men through their paces and, as on his last visit, seemed to take a
particular interest in what was going on in the boxing ring. For an hour the
men were placed in pairs while they received basic instructions, first in
defense and then in attack. “Hold your guard up, laddie,” were the words barked
out again and again whenever fists reached chins.
    By
the time Charlie and Tommy climbed through the ropes, Tommy had made it clear
to his friend that he hoped to get away with three minutes’ shadowboxing.
    “Get
stuck into each other, you two,” shouted Trentham, but although Charlie started
to lab away at Tommy’s chest he made no attempt to inflict any real pain.
    “If
you don’t get on with it, I’ll take on both of you, one after the other,”
shouted Trentham.
    “I’ll
bet ‘e couldn’t knock the cream off a custard puddin’,” said Tommy, but this
time his voice did carry, and to the instructor’s dismay, Trentham immediately
leaped up into the ring and said, “We’ll see about that.” He asked the coach to
fit him up with a pair of boxing gloves.
    “I’ll
have three rounds with each of these two men,” Trentham said as a reluctant
instructor laced up the captain’s gloves. Everyone else in the gymnasium
stopped to watch what was going on.
    “You
first. What’s your name?” asked the captain, pointing to Tommy.
    “Prescott,
sir,” said Tommy, with a grin.
    “Ah
yes, the convict,” said Trentham, and removed the grin in the first minute, as
Tommy danced around him trying to stay out of trouble. In the second round
Trentham began to land the odd punch, but never hard enough to allow Tommy to
go down. He saved that humiliation for the third round, when he knocked Tommy
out with an uppercut that the lad from Poplar never saw. Tommy was carried out
of the ring as Charlie was having his gloves laced up.
    “Now
it’s your turn, Private,” said Trentham. “What’s your name?”
    “Trumper,
sir.”
    “Well.
Let’s get on with it, Trumper,” was all the captain said before advancing
towards him.
    For
the first two minutes Charlie defended himself well, using the ropes and