Jack knew the popular misconception that soldiers sang as they marched. He looked at the column with its accompanying cloud of dust. Maybe soldiers sang in a balmy day in Herefordshire or Kent, but not in Afghanistan. Even talking was difficult.
“Well, Windrush,” Burrows asked. “We’re meeting the Wali and his forces at Grishk. He’s on the Farah Road, I hear. By then, we’ll know Ayub Khan’s movements.”
“Yes, sir. If he stands to fight, we can smash him.” Jack said what the general would expect to hear.
Colonel St John, the political resident in Kandahar, joined them, with the Wali’s representative, Nawab Hasan Ali Khan looking proud as he rode alongside.
“Our first stop is Kokeran,” St John said.
“Will the Wali fight?” Burrows asked.
St John shrugged. “That depends on circumstances,”
