Free Forever the Colours by Richard Thomas

a group of virgins? He sighed again and, picking up the wooden spoon, placed a small amount of it in his mouth. With a mighty effort, he started to chew.
    It might be a potato stew , he thought after a moment. And maybe some meat as well. He stopped chewing, and swallowed quickly. Meat! he thought again. What kind of meat? He inspected the bowl, stirring the contents up and checking the bit of gristle he had managed to find. Beef , he thought, that’s got to be beef, probably the testicles or some other offal . But he was hungry, very hungry, he realised. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten; he thought it might have been a packet of crisps on the morning of the patrol. Morning! What time is it now? What day is it now? Do they have days here? Tommy thought. Am I going mad or something?
    â€˜Sod it,’ he said, and threw the rest of the stuff down his throat.
    â€˜My, who’s a hungry boy, then?’ came a voice from the tent flap. ‘Don’t forget to stop at your fingers, what.’
    Tommy looked up and saw Lieutenant Rayner standing by the tent entrance. He smiled and licked the spoon. ‘Not too bad actually when you don’t think about what’s in it.’
    â€˜Food of the gods, I’m sure.’ The Lieutenant limped over to his bed and climbed onto it. With an exaggerated sigh, he collapsed back onto the roughly stuffed pillow. ‘That, my fine fellow,’ he said ‘was an awful lot of work just to have a shit.’ He rolled onto his side and faced Tommy. ‘Feel any better, Mr Dead and Gone to Hell?’
    Tommy placed the bowl on the little stool next to his bed, swung round and sat on the edge. ‘You can take the piss all you want, Maurice, but I know what my eyes are telling me, and they’re telling me that, unless I’m dead, I’m asleep and dreaming. If I’m not dreaming, then I’m as mad as a box of frogs, and if I’m not mad, then I’ve gone back in time, for what reason I couldn’t tell ya. Personally, my money’s on the dreaming.’
    â€˜Well, I don’t care for any of those scenarios.’ Maurice leaned up on his elbow, ‘Because, Thomas, if you are dead, then I’m a ghost, if you are dreaming, then I don’t exist, if you are insane, then I am just a figment of your overactive imagination and if you have indeed gone back in time, as you say, then I have already lived this life and I am, well, already dead!’ He smiled at Tommy. ‘Saying that, though, at least I get to live again. Even in your mind will do.’
    Tommy sat thinking for a moment. What if Maurice is right? As insane as it sounded to Tommy, what if he had gone back in time? He looked over at Maurice, then looked around the tent, and thought, How could this be a dream? It’s so real! He had never had a dream like it; in fact, he couldn’t recall ever having a dream and realising it was a dream at the same time. Can you even do that?
    â€˜Why the bloody hell would I have gone back in time? What possible reason would there be for that to happen? No, no, I’m obviously dreaming or something, because, you know what, I can feel pain. How can you feel pain when you’re dead? Eh? Tell me that, then, Maurice.’
    â€˜You can feel pain, old bean, because you are indeed alive! As we sit here debating on the why’s and wherefores of heaven and hell, your heart is pumping blood to that close approximation you call a brain. You are also, I might add, breathing. You have just eaten some of that slop, for goodness sake. And believe me, if you weren’t real, I would be the first to tell you.’ With that, he leaned down from the bed, picked up a wooden bowl and threw it at Tommy, catching him in the leg.
    â€˜Ow! Why did you do that?’ exclaimed Tommy. ‘That bloody hurt!’
    â€˜Aha!’ shouted Maurice. ‘You can feel pain, you are alive and I am a genius, as I