Dead in the Dog by Bernard Knight Read Free Book Online

through the rubber by the light of a pale half moon.

TWO
    â€˜T he old man wants to see you before Daily Orders,’ announced Alf Morris, as Tom Howden appeared in the dining room. ‘The colonel’s back from his leave in the Cameron Highlands, so it’s business as usual. Get to his office at eight sharp, OK?’
    It was seven fifteen on Friday morning, the new boy’s first full day at BMH. Six other officers were at the table and nodded a greeting, though this early in the day, no one was in much of a mood for conversation. They were all in newly laundered jungle greens in various stages of fading, depending on how long they had been out from home. Some wore a tailored shirt and shorts, others the longer bush jacket and trousers, but all had brass or dark red pips or crowns on their shoulders and the regulation cherry red lanyard around the left armpit. All had the green and purple ribbon of the ‘
General Service Medal with clasp Malaya
’ on their breasts, though some like Alf Morris, had a few more campaign markers alongside. Even Tom had his GSM ribbon, as they were issued within two days of arrival in FARELF. It was claimed that some chaps in Hong Kong had the Malaya Medal, because their troop plane had been delayed in Singapore by engine trouble for twenty-four hours, which qualified them for being on active service!
    Morris filled a bowl with cereal at a side table and went to sit down with the others. As Tom followed his example and spooned up some limp cornflakes, the swing door from the kitchen crashed open and a small tornado emerged, carrying two plates of fry-up which she banged on the table in front of Percy and Alec. On the way back, she planted herself in front of the pathologist and scowled at him ferociously. He looked down at the small, squat Chinese woman, who had a frizz of jet black hair above her round face.
    â€˜You wan’ egg?’ she demanded loudly.
    â€˜Please – and bacon and beans.’
    â€˜OK, I bring! Now siddown!’ She jabbed a finger at the table and marched back to the kitchen, her morning ritual accomplished.
    Tom took his bowl and sat opposite Alf Morris, who grinned.
    â€˜I see you’ve made a hit with Meng. She’s as good as gold, really.’
    â€˜What’s this about seeing the colonel? What do I have to do?’
    Morris poured more diluted Carnation on to his cornflakes.
    â€˜March smartly into his office and stand in front of his desk. Give him a salute, then stick your hat under your left armpit and stand at attention.’
    Tom stopped his spoon halfway to his mouth. ‘Bloody hell! I thought the medics were a bit more relaxed than that?’
    â€˜Dollar in the box, lad,’ said Alf automatically. ‘No, our CO is a bit of a stickler for the traditions, I’m afraid.’
    â€˜Colonel O’Neill thinks he should have been in the Household Cavalry, not the RAMC, old chap.’
    Peter Bright, the subject of last night’s gossip, spoke for the first time. Again Tom noticed his aristocratic profile and the immaculate uniform. He never seemed to sweat like the rest of them.
    â€˜Should have been in the Waffen SS, not the Household Cavalry,’ muttered the man next to him, a thin, beetle-browed Welshman. He was so dark that he always looked as if needed a shave, but David Meredith was handsome in a melancholy sort of way.
    Tom was rapidly getting the impression that their Commanding Officer was not the flavour of the month in the Mess. As the colonel had been on leave for a few days, the new arrival had not yet met him and looked forward to the event with some unease.
    â€˜What’s wrong with him, then?’
    The loyal Administrative Officer, with twenty-six years of unswerving deference to rank behind him, jumped in ahead of any other replies.
    â€˜Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s just a rather strict disciplinarian.’
    There were derisory snorts from around the table,