The Hill (11 page)

But he didn’t move. His eyes were riveted on the mounds of sand. Why didn’t they move, for Chrisake? Why didn’t they get out? How much longer is the screw going to keep them buried? Then, finally, the Staff gave the order to dig them out. The prisoners threw down their shovels and Bokumbo ran quickly up the hill and clawed at the sand with his bare hands and uncovered a boy’s face, and lifted him gently up. The boy’s mouth was still open and choked with sand and he was unconscious. Bokumbo held the boy upside down and sand fell out of his mouth and he groaned. Then four prisoners carried the boys away and on the order Bokumbo picked up his shovel and carried on working on the hill.

Bokumbo had seen many worse things in his time. Men dying, screaming as they held their guts in their hands. Men killed in battle. But this day had impressed itself on his mind because the prisoners had obeyed the Staff’s orders. Bokumbo had learned that day that you can make men do anything, and that day Bokumbo lost something that he highly prized: his pride and his courage. He had not buried the boys in the sand, but he hadn’t had the guts to try and stop it happening.

“For you I’d do it. For you, Roberts,” shouted McGrath.

Roberts still had a picture in his mind of the two soldiers being buried on the hill. In a sudden fury he shouted “For me? For anybody if you were ordered. You’re a real thick-nutted soldier, McGrath, you’d shoot up the kids in the next street.”

“This time I’ll — ” McGrath tried to get past Bokumbo again.

“Let him go,” shouted Roberts.

He felt stronger now. He rammed his shoulder into Bokumbo to get him out of the way and was aiming a blow at McGrath when a crashing noise from the cell gate stopped them all in their tracks. They turned and saw Williams smashing his heavy bunch of keys against the bars on the door.

Williams opened the door then gestured and Stevens tottered into the cell. He was wet with sweat and his eyes were dazed. Williams pushed him and he fell down. Roberts looked at Stevens lying on his back, his mouth open gasping for air. He poured water into a tin mug and kneeling down by Stevens, he gently lifted him and gave him a drink. Stevens drank the water greedily and looked at Roberts, his eyes pleading for another cup, but Roberts shook his head and lowered him down on to the floor again.

Williams turned to Bokumbo. “You’re a liar. You didn’t see nobody buried on the hill.”

Bokumbo shrugged and turned his back on him. “It didn’t happen to me, Staff.”

“You dreamed it.”

Bokumbo turned and looked at Williams. “More like a damn nightmare, Staff,” he said quietly.

“Nightmare, eh? Change for you to have healthy thoughts you dirty bloody postcard maniac.” Williams turned to Roberts. “You. Who knocked you about?”

“I walked into the wall, Staff.”

“Did you? Well, if you keep bumping into walls let me know who’s pushing you. I’ll not stand for any punch-up experts. Do you hear me, McGrath?”

“Aye. I heard you, Staff.”

“Right, all of you get into your kits.”

The prisoners buckled on their webbing and big packs and jumped up and down as they tried to settle the packs high up on their backs.

Williams looked at Stevens who was still lying flat on his back, breathing through his open mouth. “Get him up.”

Roberts looked at Williams. “Are you joking. He’s in no fit state for another helping.”

“Bartlett. Get him up.”

“Yes, Staff.” Bartlett pulled Stevens to his feet and tightened his straps and all the time Stevens, bent slightly forward, moaned, “No, no, please no ... ”

Williams grinned at Bokumbo. “If you find any buried soldiers on the hill, we’ll hold a wake. Outside, all of you.”

The prisoners doubled into the corridor and lined up and Williams inspected them.

“I’ve got a week to straighten you lot out. A week, left turn. Double.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

A squad of prisoners were doing maintenance work on the hill. Throwing sand on it, smoothing down the sides with their shovels around the base and making a great show of working hard on another useless task. They glanced towards B Wing when they heard Williams shouting, then all together they put their heads down and their backs into it and grunted as they pretended to work even harder.

The prisoners from Cell 8 doubled towards the hill. Stevens ran with his eyes half closed. The hill shimmered in the heat and he was dizzy and felt ill and could hardly bear to look at it and he knew that he could not run over it again but somehow he managed to keep pace with the other prisoners. Lightheaded and heavy-footed he forced himself to run. Now he was on the hill, slipping and clawing his way to the top but no longer able to keep pace with the other prisoners. The squad of prisoners moved round the base of the hill as they threw sand on to it, working hard now that Williams was watching them.

The prisoners from Cell 8 ran up the hill, along the crown and down it. Williams watched Stevens as he moved along the crown of the hill, mouth open, eyes still half closed, and he knew that Stevens wouldn’t last long. He shouted to the prisoners nearest to him.

“You, you and you. Buckets of water, double.”

The prisoners doubled away as Williams detailed another half-dozen prisoners to go with them, and they collected buckets and filled them with water from a nearby tap and jog-trotted back to the hill, slopping water on the way, and they watched expectantly.

Harris stopped to look at the prisoners trotting towards the hill with the buckets of water. He put his hands on his hips and watched Bokumbo and McGrath running neck and neck along the crown of the hill followed by Roberts then Bartlett. All four ran down the hill and a good twenty yards away from it then about turned and ran towards it and up it and along the crown and down it again. Then Stevens appeared on the crown of the hill. He was crying. He took a few faltering steps and collapsed and fell half way down the hill, then waved his arms and legs feebly and lay still.

Harris watched a prisoner climb the hill and throw a bucket of water over Stevens, and Stevens half sat up, gasped, tried to get to his feet, then rolled down the hill and lay still, his face in the sand, his arms extended.

“Jack and Jill went up the hill,” Harris heard himself saying aloud, then he swore and turned and walked away very fast.

R.S.M. Wilson looked up and frowned as the door burst open and Harris halted facing him across his desk.

“Don’t bloody well knock,” he said.

Harris leaned both hands on the desk. “Williams has got all the mob from Cell 8 on the hill.” Then he remembered and stood to attention facing the R.S.M.

Wilson leaned back in his chair. “Well?”

“Including the lad he had on it a while back.”

“Has he?”

“I don’t think the lad’s up to it, sir,” said Harris, calming down a little.

Wilson nodded and pushed back his chair and stood up, then beckoned to Harris as he opened the door leading to the Commandant’s office. He opened the filing cabinet and thumbed through it then took out a dossier and opened it and carefully read it. He said as he glanced at Harris, “Stevens is A.1. Fit for punishment and all duties.”

“He don’t look that way right now, sir.”

“It’s here in black and white.” Wilson tapped the dossier with his knuckles then replaced it in the filing cabinet and closed it. “And the M.O. passed him fit,” he added as he walked back into his office and seated himself at his desk.

“Thought it was my duty to report it, sir.”

Wilson smiled. “Think I’m losing my touch, Staff?”

“I didn’t say that, sir.”

Wilson moved to the window and looked towards the hill. “You never seen a prisoner flaked out on the hill before, Charlie?”

“I’ve seen a few,” said Harris, “but this fella — Stevens.” He shook his head.

“What about him?”

“Well, if he’s fit — ” Harris shrugged.

“Do you think I’d let anyone run a sick man over that hill?”

“No, sir. Thought I ought to check, that’s all.”

Wilson was still looking at the hill.

“The nigger and the flying Scotsman are trying to prove something.” He turned and smiled at Harris. “That hill can bring out the best in a man. It’s a great invention, Charlie, and never you forget it.”

“Are you taking credit, sir? I thought God invented the hill.”

Wilson laughed as he turned and looked at Harris.

“I’ll decide if the Staff’s giving them too much stick. That understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Right. Get back to your prisoners.”

Harris nodded and opened the door.

“And smarten them up a bit, Charlie. Getting idle, your men are. Next thing you’ll be having them in the mess for a Saturday night piss up.”

Harris’s face cracked into a grin. “Give you my word, Bert. That’s one thing I’ll never do.”

Wilson sat at his desk. “Charlie, you’ve got an easy way with you, but don’t come the old soldier with me. Now get out or I’ll have you doubling with your mates.”

Harris laughed. “Not over that hill. Even you wouldn’t get me doubling on the hill.”

Still laughing he closed the door behind him.

Wilson smiled to himself, then picked up Roberts’s case papers and read his Army history and his crimes again.

*

Bartlett lay on his back and a prisoner threw a bucket of cold water over him. Bartlett yelled and gasped and staggered to his feet and half ran up the hill, then slipped and slid down it again. Another grinning prisoner threw a bucket of water over him and Bartlett rolled over, swearing horribly, but made no attempt to stand.

Roberts reached the top of the hill, staggered a few paces and then fell on his knees as he repeated his thoughts out aloud.

“Too soon, too soon since my last run. I’m knackered. Too soon. Williams knows — knows all the tricks ... can’t keep running on this hill.”

He glanced up as Bokumbo and McGrath, still running neck and neck, still strong, passed him. He watched them run along the crown of the hill and lost sight of them as they ran down it.

“You’re next,” he said aloud. “You won’t beat it. You’re next.”

He turned his head and watched a prisoner climbing the hill carrying a bucket of water and walking towards him. He pushed himself upright and bunched his fists and glared at the prisoner and shouted, “If you try that, I’ll bloody kill you.”

The prisoner hesitated as Roberts jerked the bucket out of his hand and plunged his head into it and took a long cool drink, emptied the rest of the water over his head and threw the bucket away, and shaking the water out of his eyes he walked down the hill.

“Double,” yelled Williams. “Keep moving.”

Roberts marched towards Williams and halted a few feet away from him, then put two fingers in the air and whistled and walked back to the hill and climbed it and walked along the crown.

McGrath and Bokumbo passed him still running neck and neck.

“This — hill — won’t — beat — me,” gasped Bokumbo.

“Up — the — hill,” snarled McGrath as they both ran down it again.

Williams strolled over to Bartlett and stood with a grin on his face looking down at him.

“On your feet.”

Bartlett stubbornly shook his head.

“I said up.” Williams dug the toe of his boot into Bartlett’s ribs, but again he stubbornly shook his head.

As Williams was about to jerk Bartlett to his feet he noticed Roberts seated on the hill. He dropped Bartlett and shouted at Roberts. “On your feet, Roberts, keep doubling.”

Roberts lay back and shielded the sun from his eyes with his arm. Williams nodded to one of the prisoners and he climbed the hill with a bucket of water. Roberts heard the bucket creak and sat up, and when the prisoner halted a few yards away from him he picked up a large rock and standing up he held it above his head. The prisoner stared at Roberts then lowered the bucket.

“Chuck the bucket at him,” shouted Williams.

The prisoner looked at Roberts holding the rock above his head. “Staff, he’ll brain me,” he yelled back.

“That’s an order,” shouted Williams.

“Staff, he’s bonkers,” shouted the prisoner, and as Roberts held the rock higher in the air he ran down the hill.

The rock fell out of Roberts’s hand and just missed crushing his foot. He moved to the bucket and, swaying slightly, he knelt down and plunged his head into it and had another drink, still speaking his thought out aloud. “Don’t drink too much, not too much.” But his body was greedy for water and he had to pull his mouth away from the cool water. Then he emptied the bucket over his head and threw it in the direction of Williams and walked down the hill.

“Right. You take the hill,” shouted Williams and the prisoner who had been afraid to throw water over Roberts ran up the hill and tagged on behind Bokumbo and McGrath.

Roberts walked back up the hill, moving at a steady pace, his arms hanging at his sides, his legs jerky but still obeying him. A dazed expression in his eyes.

“Double,” shouted Williams after him. “Do you hear me, Roberts. Double.”

Roberts wandered down the hill then turned and made another trip and walked up to Williams and stopped in front of him. As though through a mist Williams’s face swayed in front of him.

“Obeying orders,” he said thickly. “Won’t beat me. You or the hill. Won’t beat me.”

Then he turned and marched back up the hill and Williams watched him and smiled.

Bokumbo and McGrath jog-trotted down the hill and ran towards Williams. A few yards away from him McGrath about-turned and ran up the hill again but Bokumbo ran straight at him and Williams crouched and bunched his fists and stood ready. Bokumbo laughed and changed direction and circled Williams twice and Williams turned with him keeping him in sight then, still laughing, Bokumbo ran up the hill and on top of the hill, marking time, was McGrath waiting for him and when Bokumbo caught up with him they both ran neck and neck together along the top of the hill and down it.

“Williams ... bastard,” grunted Bokumbo.

“Aye ... bastard ... see — him — drop.”

“Not me,” snarled Bokumbo.

“I’ll — no — ‘bloody — drop.”

“See — you — drop.”

“You’re ... joking ... darkie.”

“You’re ... joking ... Jock. See you ... drop.”

“Mack ... that’s — my — title.”

“Jacko — that’s — my — title.”

Running up and down the hill neck and neck, with Roberts walking dazed behind them and the frightened prisoner who didn’t want to be brained with a rock slowing down to a walking pace.

“See — you — drop — darkie,” snarled McGrath.

“Jacko — that’s — my — title.”

Spitting out the words as they gasped for air, boots pounding hard into the soft sand, wringing wet with sweat, muscles aching as they forced themselves on.

“O.K ... Jacko ... see ... you ... drop.”

“O.K ... Mack ... Carry ... you ... Mack ... Carry ... you ... back ... to ... your ... cell ... Mack.”

“Carry ... you ... back, Jacko.”

“Nurse — you — Mack — Fix — your — titty-bottle ... Mack — O.K. — Mack ... I’ll — carry — you ... ”

“Carry me! — you — carry — me ... darkie?”

“Carry ... you ... any time — Jock. Carry — you — any place.”

“You — carry —
me
— Jacko?”

“Mack — I’ll carry you.”

McGrath tried to laugh but he couldn’t. They ran towards Williams and a few feet away from him Bokumbo marked time. McGrath hesitated for a moment then marked time with him.

“Permission, Staff,” snarled Bokumbo. “Permission to run over hill with white man.” Then he let out a great peal of laughter and ran at the hill and on the hill and over the hill with McGrath sticking close to him.

Roberts wandered over the hill looking dazed and weary and still speaking his thought out loud. “Crazy. It’s crazy — crazy.” He plodded on and turned and plodded up the hill again. “Crazy — crazy — crazy.”

Harris was watching the prisoners on the hill again. Staff Burton stopped and turned to Harris.

“Did you speak to the R.S.M., Staff?”

“They must be crazy,” said Harris, still looking at the hill.

“Did you speak to him?”

“I told him you’re green,” said Harris as he watched Bokumbo and McGrath turn and run up the hill again. “Ever seen black and white Siamese twins before?”

“I want to get out, Harris.”

“They’re all crazy,” said Harris, still watching the prisoners on the hill.

“I want to get up front,” said Burton. “That’s where the men are.”

“You are green.”

“Only line dodgers and excused action screws inside here,” said Burton as he turned his back on the hill.

“You can find men anywhere. Anywhere.” Harris glared at Burton and walked away.