Page 152 of The Sapphire Child
Andrew found himself squatting on his haunches next to a young moustachioed risaldar who’d been helping organise some sepoys in the human chain retrieving the dropped supplies. He looked about the same age as himself.
‘I recognise your insignia, Risaldar,’ said Andrew, speaking to him in Urdu. ‘You’re with the Peshawar Rifles.’
The Indian officer nodded. ‘Yes, sahib. My family have served with the Rifles for three generations.’
Andrew smiled. ‘Mine have too.’
The risaldar’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Then I am very honoured to meet you, sahib.’
‘What’s your name and where do you come from?’ Andrew asked.
‘Mohammed Ali Khan, sahib. I’m from Gardan in the North West Frontier.’
‘I was stationed at the Frontier when I was first posted out here,’ said Andrew.
‘You did not want to join the regiment of your ancestors, sahib?’ he asked.
Andrew hesitated. ‘No, I decided to join a Scottish one.’
‘And, sahib, may I respectfully ask your name?’
‘Lomax,’ Andrew answered. ‘Lieutenant Lomax.’
The young officer’s face broke into a broad smile. ‘Lomax! That name is talked of with honour in my family.’
‘Really?’ Andrew grinned with delight.
‘Yes, sahib. My grandfather Tor Khan served with a Captain Lomax on the Frontier and in Mesopotamia. Perhaps your grandfather? He spoke most highly of him.’
Andrew’s smiled faded. ‘It can’t have been my grandfather. He was retired by then.’ He felt a familiar tension at the thought of his father’s career ending in disgrace. The young man would hardly be talking about Tom. Why had he risked a conversation with a Peshawar Rifles officer?
‘Then your father was in Mesopotamia?’ Khan persisted.
Andrew nodded. ‘But I don’t think your grandfather can mean him. I’m afraid my father let down the regiment and had to be court-martialled. He’s a good man but cracked under pressure – war affects some men like that.’
Mohammed Ali Khan looked at him, puzzled. ‘No, no. Captain Thomas Lomax was a hero. My grandfather says Lomax Sahib was a lion among men. He risked court-martial to save the life of a sepoy.’
‘Saved a sepoy?’ Andrew repeated in confusion.
The risaldar nodded. ‘One of our kin. He had fought all through the war. Very brave man. But he went mad and threw away his rifle. Lomax Sahib refused to allow a firing squad.’
Andrew stared at him. ‘Are you saying that my father was court-martialled for refusing to execute one of his own men?’
‘Yes, sahib. Thanks to Captain Lomax my kinsman was spared.’
Andrew’s chest tightened. Why had his father never spoken of this? All these years he had been led to believe that his father – when put to the test – had been weak and cowardly. But here was a Pathan warrior – one of the fabled Peshawar Riflemen – who had grown up hearing about the gallantry of Captain Lomax.
Andrew put a hand on the officer’s shoulder. ‘Thank you for telling me that, Risaldar Khan. That means a great deal to me.’
Khan put his hand to his breast. ‘I am greatly honoured to meet you, Lieutenant Lomax.’
‘And I you.’ Andrew smiled. ‘Please convey greetings from my father to your grandfather when you next see him.’
Minutes later, they were on their feet and back to their duties. Andrew was shaken by the encounter. He’d never thought to challenge the slurs on his father’s character that he had heard in his childhood. They had just sat within him, all these years, part of his thinking about who his father really was. In a large part, he had to admit, he’d been influenced by his mother’s jaundiced opinion about her former husband. But as a youth he’d been desperate to win her love and was prepared to believe whatever she told him.
Yet it seemed that the truth was that his dad had shown true courage in standing up for one of his men, even when his own nerves were shattered and he must have known the punishment would be severe. His admiration for his father soared, and Andrew vowed that if he survived this battle, he would make it up to him for all the wasted years of misunderstanding.
Further air drops came in the afternoon, which Andrew and all of the men were grateful for. Then, just as the light was beginning to wane, there was an enormous explosion in the heart of the camp by Ammunition Hill. Andrew, two hundred yards away, felt the heat of the blast and staggered back as earth and metal fragments rained down. Thick black smoke filled the air and sucked out the oxygen in his lungs. Coughing, he got up and ran to help. An ammo dump had taken a direct hit.
