The Scarlet Bastards - A Company Soldier

The Scarlet Bastards - A Company Soldier Part III

Dressed and shamefaced at our filthy and clownish attire, the three of us were led out of the cantonment by a grumbling naique cursing us in Chinese with a vehemence that would have offended a Mercurian stevedore. Outside the walls lay a line of corroding snow-covered stellar cargo containers, their doors flung wide open and a repulsive odour flowing out of them with tidal strength. We gagged at the olfactory offence and saw immediately what we were to do.

"Clean fucking stables!" roared the naique. He pointed to an untidy assortment of rakes and shovels lying in the filthy slush near one of the containers, cuffed Usman and I in the back of the head (he was wise enough not to lay hands on Fawzi) and walked away. Rubbing my head and again cursing my stupidity for signing up, I removed my pakol and chapan so that I was stripped down to my kurta shirt. Already shivering, I grabbed a rake, took a deep breath, entered one of the containers and promptly threw up.

It took only a few moments for me to realize what could make such a horrific stink inside those condemned containers – tundra camels. Although we had not yet seen them, we understood their importance to the colony. Twenty light years from Earth and at least 10 weeks of travel through multiple jumpgates meant the colony needed to be as self-sufficient as possible. The lack of roads and infrastructure made it abundantly clear why the main mode of transportation was Klondikecorp's resurrected and genetically modified prehistoric camels, and to a lesser extant, horses. Tundra camels were great docile beasts that dealt with the cold better, were far more resilient to a lack of food and water and were plentiful as they were genetically designed to breed in large numbers. The downside, of course, was the horrific smell.

"Sikunder," Usman asked as he retched, "you have a weak stomach for this?" He retched again, held an impish smile as he paled, tinged green and then vomited. It was vindication for me, the best demonstration I could ask for to show that I wasn't the weakest of the bunch.

"Bah!" Fawzi said as he picked up a rake then threw it away. "Kona ka dzha, chungay!" he said while eyeing the retreating naique. "I will not defile myself with this."

I couldn't bother to pay much attention; the foetid muck up to my ankles that I was shovelling into a wheelbarrow and the vomiting kept me more than busy. We did this for an hour until Usman and I were thick with filth while Fawzi, stubborn as ever not to step inside the containers, but at least good mannered enough to assist, took over wheelbarrow duties. It was backbreaking work, something I was not used to, and I was soon in agony from pulled muscles and strained joints. After a second hour our Chinese naique returned still seething with ire. He looked at our work, cursed us roundly for laziness and then took to kicking Usman and I to provide motivation. I'm normally a docile type, more prone to laggardly leanings and unhurried meanderings, but this was too much. I guessed what the cost of standing up to a naique would be, or heaven forbid, an havildar, but I could not hold my temper any longer. As I picked myself up from being pushed into the muck of the container, bilious and ready for a fight, Fawzi stepped in.

"I think that is enough, chungay."

The naique turned on him, fists clenched and ready to swing at the sound of the ethnic slur, but one look at Fawzi's murderous countenance was enough to cool the situation. As Usman and I brushed the filth off us and pawed away the blood, the naique cast us a final furious glance then stalked away.

"Thanks," I said to Fawzi as he straightened Usman's torn kurta.

Fawzi spared me a withering glance. "Keep a cousin poor, but use him. I care not for your safety, Sikunder except that you are needed. What a curious thought that is."

As I picked up my shovel and carried on with the work, I wondered at the truth of Fawzi's indifference. He may not have held me in high regard, but he did hold a certain respect for barrack room justice, and senior NCOs beating on recruits seemed to have violated his principles.

In the end, I took what I could get and was thankful for it.