The Courier E-Book

alastair macleod

• Herausgeber: BookRix
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

The British have ruled India over two centuries, but as the Japanese close in through Burma, the Muslim separatist movement on the Northern Frontier is putting additional pressure on the Raj as it fights to keep its grip.

Leseprobe

Alastair Macleod

The Courier

to my fatherBookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 Munich

The Courier

Northern India 1945

Our train stopped. I jumped down with many others and walked forward. There had been a crash. Most of a train lay on its side in the gully by the railway. Only one segment remained. A mahout was urging an elephant against it, pushing the railway carriage off the tracks.

As if in slow motion the carriage leant over until it reached the tipping point then, with much cheering, it toppled, and rolled down the slope.

But we still did not proceed.

Passengers from the crashed train joined ours, thronging the corridors, climbing on the roof.

The wounded were carried on stretchers into the guard’s van.

A sergeant from the train guard moved slowly through the throng.

“What was it sergeant?”

“Insurgents Sahib, probably Pashtuns. I am checking just in case some have joined the train.”

“I would help you but,” and here I held up my hand with the handcuffs clearly visible, attached to the brief case. The sign of a courier.

I was on my way to Simla with dispatches for the high command.

It was the hot season. The high command had moved to Simla to escape the heat, as the British Raj always did in summer. There the mountain slopes were covered in pines, snow still lay on the peaks and cool streams ran down through steep gullies.

I was unescorted and, save for my Smith and Wesson revolver in its holster on my belt, I had no means of defence.

My stripes were new. I had just been promoted to this more confidential work.

My name was Sgt John Macleod of the 4th Signals unit based in New Delhi. Our group dealt with dispatches. Other units did deciphering and encryption.

My compartment, although first class, was full. Civil servants mostly, one other uniformed occupant.

From the window the plains of Haryana slowly unfolded before us; people laboured in the fields behind oxen and simple ploughs. Children waved, grinning. Villages came and went.

“Amazing power these elephants,” said the chap sitting next to me.

I agreed. I had seen elephants at work in Burma before we had been withdrawn. The Japanese had come close to capturing us.

Now India itself was directly threatened. I suspected the dispatches I was carrying were about the advance of the Japanese.

There had been some contact by the Japanese with Indian separatists, a movement pushing for India’s independence. There was concern about the loyalty of some Indian troops to the British administration.

The train made a stop. One of the passengers lowered the window and negotiated with a char wallah; several of us got tea.

The train started off again. We began to climb into the foothills. For miles the train, now with two engines, took us through the terraced tea slopes. Women worked in the fields, backs bent, while we sipped our tea.

It became dark. The hills vanished and the countryside disappeared; only occasionally did we see a tiny light in a village or house.  Gradually it got cooler as we rose higher. The train slowed as it steadily climbed the beginnings of the Himalayas.

The passengers grew quieter. The incessant chatter ceased, to be replaced by snores.

The uniformed train guard returned.

“There is one, I am concerned about” he said, “in this carriage, further up. Says he got out of the train wreck. But his clothing has no marks on it.”

I asked for a description.

“Thick set, dark hair, Asiatic. Wearing a European suit.”

“Japanese?”

“Hard to say.”

I had been briefed about train attacks. If possible, stay on the train we were told.

The next stop was Barog. I resolved to leave the train there to give my assassin the slip for I was sure that’s what he was. He would know what my standing orders were and would not suspect I would leave at such a small insignificant station.

The train slowed then stopped at the tiny halt. I rose and, pulling down the half window, climbed out onto the platform.

No one else seemed to descend; then the uniformed guard stepped down, followed by the Asiatic man. They conferred in low whispers. They seemed to be deciding something. The Asiatic man remained on the platform as the train began to slowly pull out again. I sprinted for the foot plate of the guard’s van and saw him run after me but, failing to get enough speed, he foolishly leaped for the door handle. He slipped and fell under the wheels.

That left only the uniformed guard who was obviously some sort of co- conspirator.

I entered the guards van. The goods guard was fast asleep on a pile of sacks.

I resolved to stay there until we reached Simla. That way the uniformed guard would still think I was in Barog.