Free Scotch Mist by Elizabeth Darrell

usual unexcitable way, ‘In the Boss’s report of his interview with Corporal Naish, who constructed the bonfire, there’s mention of a Rifleman Carter who had to leave because he’d cut his hand on nails left in a plank, and needed to get it stitched. My attempts to track him down proved negative. Captain Boyce told me his platoon is on a cross-country exercise for three days. He tried to contact Lieutenant Fleet – Meg Fleet, sir – but the link was ruptured. He said he’d try again and give us their exact location. He hasn’t been in touch.’
    â€˜Typical!’ grunted Tom, with the usual sergeant major’s opinion of officers’ efficiency. ‘I’ll call him up and spoil his dinner.’
    â€˜I’ll do that,’ offered Max, who had entered in time to catch Beeny’s report.
    â€˜One other thing,’ said that sergeant. ‘I checked with orderlies at the Medical Centre. Carter didn’t go there to have his hand seen to.’
    â€˜So we need to speak to that bastard asap.’ Tom felt the slight frisson that accompanied the prospect of a lead. ‘Why did he leave before the event got underway, and where did he go? Good work, Beeny. Get over to your desk and download all you can get about our lad Carter.’
    Heather Johnson had obtained details from all the Quartermaster Stores of what they had sent to build the bonfire, and her report was subsequently downbeat.
    â€˜What they had listed was innocuous enough, but they all said they weren’t responsible for what the lads might have put in the bins en route.’ She sighed. ‘An easy let-out, but true enough. I’ve made a list of everyone who filled the bins and drove them to the venue. Connie and I had planned to question them tonight, but the explosives guys are now on schedule. We’ll do it in the morning.’
    â€˜Fair enough,’ judged Tom, glancing at the clock. ‘A couple of you had better get over to the NAAFI and collect some sandwiches, sausage rolls and pork pies. We’re in for a long night here.’ Seeing Piercey and Roy Jakes get eagerly to their feet, he added, ‘Nothing that’ll stink the place out like the last lot you brought in.’
    They left grinning widely. They were soon back with nothing in their hands.
    â€˜Trouble brewing, sir,’ said Piercey, addressing Tom because Max had gone to his office to telephone Captain Boyce about the whereabouts of Carter.
    â€˜What kind of trouble?’
    â€˜Big trouble! The Jocks are marching on the NAAFI. They’re a tough-looking lot, and they’re clearly out for a fight. Better contact George Maddox pronto.’
    By morning, the cells at Maddox’s RMP Post along with those at 26 Section Headquarters were full. Civilian workers were sweeping up glass and attempting to mend broken tables in the NAAFI, four overnight casualties at the Medical Centre were discharged with instructions to attend for the next three days to have dressings changed, and Major Crawford was having an uneasy meeting with Major Carnegie of the Drumdorran Fusiliers.
    The newly arrived contingent of Scottish warriors had expressed their anger over the tragic death of Mrs Eva McTavish, wife of their highly respected Pipe Major, in their traditional manner. The long-term garrison troops had responded in their traditional manner, with no holds barred. Battle had commenced and, in the absence of Colonel Trelawney, the Garrison Commander, Miles Crawford had to negotiate a peace before all-out war was declared. Inevitably, Max was summoned to detail what had so far been done to apprehend whoever had caused the appalling outcome of the annual November 5th celebration.
    Telling himself, with smug satisfaction, that he had known all along that the arrival of the Scots would mean trouble, Tom drove out to where Rifleman Carter was taking part in an exercise. Two companies of the Royal Cumberland Rifles were