EIGHT-Jhansi
‘Scuse me, sir, orderly from the commanding officer for you,’ Private Beeston spoke as softly and respectfully as he could, trying not to stamp on Morgan’s sorrow.
The drums had rattled and the fifes had squealed as the companies had dispersed back to their duties once Bainbrigge and Bazalgette’s grave had been shovelled full of soil and two wooden crosses knocked into the earth at its head. In the deepest reaches of despondency, Morgan had marched the men back to the pickets around Kinaree, knowing that he’d lost not just a friend, but the only person who knew all the details of his tangled circumstances. Now, whilst both the Grenadiers and Number Two Company continued the tedious business of clearing the village, he slumped onto his bedroll in the improvised mess, took his
