Jack Windrush Collection

Chapter 10

The mosquitoes were waiting as soon as they reached the deck. They did not attack in sections or companies, but in entire regiments and brigades. They swarmed everywhere, like a biting black swarm that attached proboscis to every square inch of exposed flesh in their search for blood. Jack swore and scraped a hand across his face. With the insects came sweat that broke out immediately and soaked through the thick serge of his uniform within minutes.

"If this is the Kingdom of Ava, they can keep it," an anonymous Hereford voice murmured, and somebody else barked a short laugh.

"They can keep the whole b****y East," Coleman grumbled until Sergeant Wells roared them all to silence.

"Just get on deck," Jack ordered, "and prepare to support the Navy." He said no more, for Sergeant Wells would take care of the details.

They clambered up, one by one, with their once scarlet tunics faded to a dozen shades of red from ochre to ominous blood, and lined up against the rail of Rattler. The wash of the corvette broke on the banks on either side of the river and set small fishing boats rocking in the current.

Rattler"b****y mud, b****y forest and b****y mosquitoes." Coleman hawked and spat over the side into the Rangoon River.

"Keep your mouth shut, Coleman, and watch for the Burmese," Wells" ordered.

Rattler chugged on with her screw churning the brown river to a creamy foam and unseen birds calling in the background. Jack looked over his dozen private soldiers; there was no need to inspect Wells. There were other infantrymen on board, but only Wells and these twelve were his. They lined the rail, held their muskets and stared at the slowly unfolding landscape.

RattlerBurma stretched on either side of the river, an unknown, alien land of jungles and rice fields, mudflats and mosquitoes, small villages of thatched huts and the strange calls of unseen animals. A flock of parrots exploded from the branch of an overhanging tree, their plumage bright against dark leaves.

"Do you think they"ll attack us, sir?" Wells asked.

Jack shook his head. "I don"t know sergeant." He remembered what he had read about this land. "They are an aggressive people, well used to warfare. They won"t like us invading their territory like this." He glanced along the spar deck, where the thin line of British soldiers faced outward. "The King of Ava has mustered twenty thousand men, I heard, so he must be confident of facing us."

Wells glanced around. Representatives of different regiments lined the rail, all sweating under the punishing sun and waiting for something to happen. "We"re a long way from England, sir."

That was stating the obvious. Jack nodded. "Indeed, we are." He indicated the guns of the corvette and the other ships of the flotilla, steam and sail-powered, that accompanied them. "But we have firepower, backed with infantry." Every turn of the corvette"s screw carried them further up the river and further away from Moulmein and the main British base. He watched their wash set small ripples easing across the boggy rice-fields that lined either bank. Men and women stopped working in the fields to watch them pass; a child gave a hesitant wave until his mother hurried him away from these strange intruders in their land. A family clustered around a huge water-buffalo, the man in a broad hat, the woman in a brilliant blue longyi with a baby at her breast. High above, vultures circled in an azure sky.

Jack watched as a single ship chugged from upstream and passed with a flurry of signals. Two officers stood on the raised poop-deck behind a tall funnel, while an ominous row of bodies lay wrapped in sailcloth on her spar-deck.

"That"s Serangipatam," one of the ship"s officers said quietly, "John Company"s black ship."

SerangipatamJack watched her pass. "Where has she been?" He could smell the jungle from her.

"Only God and the commander know." The officer nodded to a tall man in an immaculate uniform who stood on the poop. "And you"ve got more chance of hearing from God than getting information from the commander. Best tend to your own business, Ensign."

"We"re slowing down," Private Easterhouse said softly, and Jack realised that the beat of the engine had altered, the creamy lines of their wake lessened, so they vanished into almost nothingness before reaching the rice-fields.

"What"s that?" Coleman pointed ahead. Even through the slight mist that had risen to obscure one bank of the river, Jack could see the glinting light.

"What the devil is that?" Smith repeated the words as every eye on that side of the corvette peered into the mist.

"It"s the Golden Pagoda of Rangoon," Jack guessed quietly. "That is Burma"s chief religious site and one which they will fight to defend."

"We"re in the province of Pegu; the locals don"t consider themselves as Burmese,." Wells spoke so quietly that only Jack heard him. How the devil does a ranker know that?

How the devil does a ranker know that?Mention of the word gold had an instant effect. Heads turned, and fingers pointed over the side of the boat. The pagoda"s tall cone thrust upward from misted trees to soar toward the clouds. Set a good mile back from the bank of the river; it still dominated the area.

"Get back to attention!" Wells roared.

"Don"t concentrate on the pagoda," Jack said quietly, "but be prepared for hard fighting. The Burmese have built stockades and are masters of defending them."

I"m approaching my first action; I should be scared and excited, but this doesn"t feel real. I am somebody else looking down on me.

I"m approaching my first action; I should be scared and excited, but this doesn"t feel real. I am somebody else looking down on me."We"re anchoring," Wells said as Rattler eased to a halt on the pagoda side of the river. The other ships of the flotilla followed suit until there was a long line of British vessels anchored bow to stern, sails furled, smoke oozing from tall funnels and the multi-crossed flag of the Union hanging limply in the sulky heat. It was an array of British military power blatantly displayed far up a river in this southeastern corner of Asia. Shafts of sunlight escaped from the fraying fingers of mist to seep between the banyan trees and create sparkling ribbons on the brown water.

Rattler"Impressive, isn"t it, Wells?" Jack nodded to the ships.

Wells glanced and shrugged. "Yes, sir." He didn"t look impressed. "The mist is clearing."

As a boy, Jack had often stood on the ridge of the Malvern Hills and watched the ground mist smeared across the Worcestershire plains. He had seen the spires of the churches protruding from the silver-grey blanket, and the tops of the tallest trees, and then the mist had gradually cleared to reveal the countryside. This Oriental mist was different, denser, sinister even, lacking the cosy friendliness of his native land. It seemed to cling to the tall pagoda that swept upward from the huddled buildings of Rangoon as if reluctant to reveal the intricate details to the British invader.

"That"s impressive, sir,." Wells indicated the pagoda. It was easily the largest building in Rangoon with the apex of its cone glinting gold under the kiss of the sun and the sliding mist below. It soared above the squat domestic buildings and lesser pagodas that huddled together to make up the new town of Rangoon. Wells nodded toward the guns of the long line of British ships floating on the muddy water of this Irrawaddy tributary. "It"s a sin that we have to blow it to bits."

Now that"s another unusual sentiment for a ranker.

Now that"s another unusual sentiment for a ranker.Jack inspected the ground between the banks of the river and the temple where the old town of Rangoon had recently stood. Now that settlement was gone, destroyed by orders from the King of the Golden Foot with the materials used to build a series of stout stockades.

"The Burmese agree with you," he said quietly. "We have to get past that lot first."

From their position in the centre of the river, Jack could see the ugly snouts of cannon protruding above the log ramparts and the heads of curious defenders bobbing around as they watched the creeping British advance.

The enemy is there; even now, some Burmese soldier might be pointing me out and planning to shoot me.

The enemy is there; even now, some Burmese soldier might be pointing me out and planning to shoot me.Jack watched as the British ships lifted anchor again and manoeuvred for the best position for the attack. The officers on Rattler shouted orders that saw the corvette throw great hawsers astern to the forty- four-g*n frigate Fox. The pennant of Commodore Lambert hung in the humid air. Somewhere an animal emitted a high-pitched scream; a monkey perhaps.

RattlerFox"That"s the man in charge then." Wells indicated Lambert"s flag.

Jack said nothing. It was not an officer"s place to reply to a sergeant. He watched the scurry of activity on the frigate and wondered how these seamen, used to life on the broad reaches of the world"s oceans, felt being confined in such a small space as the Rangoon River.

"Take the strain!" A lean lieutenant roared as Rattler"s engines increased their revolutions until the noise rose to a whine. The tow rope tautened and vibrated. The water under Rattler"s counter churned to a creamy brown.

RattlerRattler"Slow ahead!" the officer shouted, and the corvette inched forward with the sailing ship fifty feet behind and a handful of seamen watching over the towing cable. Over on the far bank, a man slowly guided a pair of water buffalo through a rice field, ignoring the spectacle that Britain had provided for his enlightenment.

Rattler moved on, slowly, towing the frigate astern as they eased closer to Rangoon with its impressive pointed pagoda and the outlying stockades that sat, squat and menacing, as guardians of the Burmese Empire. The atmosphere was heavy, humid; the air so dense it was hard to breathe while every movement brought the exasperating prickle of perspiration.

Rattler"Shoal water, sir!" a seaman in the bow shouted.

Jack had hardly seen the captain on their voyage from Rangoon, but now he took control.

"Cast off the tow," the captain ordered. "Fox has deeper draught than us; she will run aground here. Slow ahead; stand by the guns!"

FoxA seaman threw the tow rope into the muddy water and Rattler moved on alone. The seamen hurried to the guns as she eased yard by yard closer to the teak stockades that barred any landing. Jack could see the heads and shoulders of the captain and the first lieutenant on the bridge as they scanned Rangoon with their telescopes. Below them, the spar deck of Rattler was busy with white-clothed, tight-trousered seamen readying the five huge 32- pounder broadside cannon or the even more massive pivot 68-pounder that occupied the bow. The officers gave sharp orders as the powder monkeys, the young boys who carried cartridges to the guns, scurried around, laughing and joking despite the stern words and occasional blows.

RattlerRattler"So here we are," Jack said to himself, "thirty miles up a tributary of the Irrawaddy River in a flotilla of ships, facing an unknown and savage enemy." For the first time, he felt a prickle of excitement. He was about to earn his pay. He had chosen this career; fighting was his only way back up to where he belonged.

"There"s movement there." Wells pointed to the nearest of the defending stockades. The defenders were clustering around cannon; the ugly black snouts protruded through embrasures on the parapet.

They"re going to fire first. I"m going to be under fire. Jack felt something cold run down his back, and his buttocks involuntarily contracted. Why that particular part of me? He fought the desire to laugh. Nerves! It"s the same feeling as I had when summoned to the Rector"s study.

They"re going to fire first. I"m going to be under fireThe captain leaned over from the bridge to give explicit orders to his crew.

"Get ready men, but don"t fire unless they do." His voice carried across the corvette. "Let them open the ball, but we"ll close the final curtain. Do your duty, Rattlers and look out for one another."

RattlerThe sun had burned away the mist, so the Golden Pagoda was like a blinding blaze of splendour. A sough of furnace-hot wind stirred the palms and set a hundred bells ringing, with the faint tinkling a macabre musical backdrop to the impending scenes of s*******r. Without the mist, the defending stockades were clear, their tall teak walls formidable and the muzzles of cannons bared in dark defiance. Smoke rose from the interior.

Jack saw the heads of the Burmese scurrying behind the stockade walls. He saw the puff of white smoke a second before he heard the sound of the cannon, and for a fraction of a second, he saw the black streak of the shot coming toward him.

"Happy Easter," Coleman muttered.

Jack nodded. He tried to ignore his suddenly dry throat. He was under fire; the war with the Burmese Empire had begun, and he was right in the front line. Father would be proud of his illegitimate son. He saw one of his men duck – that was Thorpe, a heavyset man with a pock-marked face.

Father would be proud of his illegitimate son."No bobbing!" Wells" voice was hard. "You"re British soldiers, so b****y act like it."

The Burmese gunners fired in a rolling barrage that concealed the delicate tinkle of the temple bells. Jack counted fifteen British steamers plus the frigate Fox and a sailing brig. Have more come up when I was not looking? Or did I miscount? He saw the orange flares from the muzzles of the cannon, he saw the long jets of smoke, and he heard the sharp c***k of Burmese artillery as they targeted the British vessels in the narrow river.

FoxHave more come up when I was not looking? Or did I miscount?So this is war. Jack fought the impulse to duck.

So this is war"They"re firing at us," Coleman murmured.

"And we"ll fire back," Sergeant Wells replied. "Now keep your tongue behind your teeth and act like a British soldier Coleman, you useless bastard."

Jack saw a long column of water where a Burmese cannonball landed only a hundred feet from the ship. Thorpe swore and began to tremble slightly. Wells stepped behind him.

"Easy lads." Jack controlled his fear. He hadn"t known what to expect when he was under fire, but it was the strangest feeling, a mixture of intense excitement, wonder and fear. "Keep calm and face your front." He glanced at the men of the other regiments; they would know the reputation of the 113th and would be waiting to jeer the first sign of wavering.

"Fire!" the captain ordered. He removed his cap and gestured toward the nearest stockade. "Rattle them, Rattlers!"

RattlerRattler retaliated, with the five thirty- two pounders of her broadside firing simultaneously. The shock heeled the corvette to one side and unbalanced the unprepared infantry who lined her spar deck. Most staggered, and some fell.

Rattler"Get back to the rail!" Wells sounded almost apoplectic as his men clattered to the deck. He landed a full-blooded kick on Thorpe"s backside. "Stand up, you idle blaggard! Get up there you black-hearted buggers!"

"Careful, redcoats!" A grinning seaman called. "We"re firing now." He gestured to the cutlass he wore at his waist. "Soon be time for cutlasses, sojer-boys. You can watch that too and learn what to do."

"b****y tar-backs!" Coleman picked himself off the deck, grabbed his musket and glared at the sailor. "Away and trim the webs from your toes, you tarry-arsed bastard."

Jack stepped forward before Coleman attacked the offending sailor. "Get back to your station, Coleman! Show these sailors how the 113th behave."

The Burmese were firing hard, with cannonballs howling overhead or raising tall fountains of water. White smoke hazed the stockade and smothered the surface of the river.

"They"ve got bottom!" Wells had to shout above the noise of battle. He blinked as Rattler fired another broadside. Soldiers and sailors alike coughed in the acrid smoke, wiped the sweat from foreheads and endured the rivulets that ran down their bodies. Jack watched with envy as the seamen stripped off their jumpers and worked bare-chested.

Rattler"Permission to take off my tunic, sir," a thin-faced soldier named Leigh asked.

"Denied; look to your front," Jack barked. Soldiers of the Queen did not act in such a casual manner as seamen; he must maintain discipline.

A Burmese roundshot skipped off the surface of the river and bounced right across the deck without doing any damage. Jack gasped as the wind of its passage temporarily sucked the wind from his lungs.

"Are you all right, sir?" Wells looked concerned.

Jack nodded, unable to speak.

A few cable" lengths astern, Fox fired her complete broadside. The massive discharge filled the hot air with noise so loud that men clapped hands to their ears. Nobody said that battle was this noisy! Jack watched the closest of the Burmese stockades as the volley smashed home. The stout logs shuddered under the impact; one entire length of teak flew high in the air, spun and arrowed back down. Rattler fired again, and everybody in the ship flinched as there was a massive explosion within the stockade. An orange fireball ripped the logs apart, with yellow flames on the side, slowly subsiding as fragments of timber and people rose and fell, to patter onto the mud and splash on the river, burning dangerously close to the wooden British ships.

FoxNobody said that battle was this noisy!RattlerThere was an instant"s silence as men watched the terrible sight.

Wells was first to recover. He spoke to Jack and pointed toward the stockade.

Jack nodded – he could see Well"s mouth move, but the tremendous noise had robbed him of his hearing. Splintered remnants of great logs lay scattered over a wide area, some burning, others mere shreds of wood and all mingled with the remains of the Burmese defenders. Hearing returned slowly, gradually as partial sounds penetrated the enforced hush.

"Burn in hell, you bastards," Leigh croaked until Wells jabbed a hard hand under his ribs.

"Keep your mouth shut, you useless bugger!"

A lone cannon fired from a second stockade, with the shot falling short.

"They"re game, these Burmese." There was respect in Coleman"s voice.

Half a dozen stockades defended Rangoon, each one with its quota of cannon and men. Rattler"s captain stood on the bridge, nodding as his ship fired broadside after broadside at the Burmese. Occasionally he gave a brisk command to the other officers on deck. In turn, they ran to the g*n captains and pointed out the next target.

RattlerLeigh tugged at the leather stock at his neck. "I feel a bit queer, Sergeant." He stepped back from the rail. "It"s the heat."

"Face your front!" Wells pushed him back to his position. "You"re a soldier; act like one!"

The Burmese shot was still coming and mostly still missing, falling short of the line of British ships. The occasional ball skipped over the water nearby as Rattler concentrated on the next stockade. The crewmen altered the angle of their guns, laughing, joking and sweating in the punishing heat of the mid-morning sun.

RattlerGreasy white smoke coiled around the cannon swirled up the masts and lay waist-deep along the spar deck as Rattler continued to fire. The sun hammered the deck, setting the tar bubbling between the planking and making every move a torment. Jack wiped sweat from his forehead and glanced at a lieutenant of the Madras European Infantry, one of the Company regiments that had a contingent of men on board. Where the Queen"s officers wore nearly the same uniform in the East as they did back in Britain, the Company officers wore a much looser helmet, adorned with yards of cloth to make a sensible turban and baggy jackets of cotton drill rather than tight shell jackets.

RattlerJack was unsure whether to sneer at their lack of manliness or be jealous of their cooler appearance. He looked away, feeling the sweat prickle inside his white buckskin gloves and thought he was baking within the stifling confines of his uniform.

Leigh tugged once more at his stock, looked appealingly at Sergeant Wells and then slid to the deck. His musket clattered into the scuppers.

"Get up, you idle bastard,!" Wells stirred him with his boot. When Leigh didn"t respond, he kicked him sharply in the ribs. "I said get up, damn you!" He knelt beside him, unscrewed the cap of his water bottle and poured some of the contents on the man"s face and neck. "Come on Leigh." The tone of his voice had changed from a brusque bark to concern. "Come on, son…" He forced Leigh"s mouth open and upended the bottle. Water dribbled down the side of Leigh"s face to form a small pool on the deck.

"Is he all right?" Jack knelt at Well"s side.

"No, sir." Wells looked up. "I think he"s dead."

"It"s the heat." Knight pulled at his stock. "He was always grousing about the heat."

Jack shuddered. That"s the first death under my command; the first of my men dead. He knew there would be more, but he would always remember Leigh. He fought his shock; he was a Queen"s officer; he could not submit to emotion. "Unfasten your stocks boys and undo the top buttons of your tunic."

That"s the first death under my command; the first of my men dead"That"s against Queen"s Regulations, sir,." Wells shook his head.

Jack pointed to Leigh. "I want no more deaths from the heat." He knew he was asking the impossible. Soldiers died of heat or disease; they always had, and they always would. That was a soldier"s lot.

"But it"s against Queen"s Regulations, sir." Wells repeated. "The stocks protect our necks from the sun."

"Do as I order.," Jack injected authority into his voice, and Wells reluctantly removed the leather stock from his neck. The privates were gleeful as they followed his example, with Coleman rubbing two fingers around his sweating throat.

"It"s worth losing Leigh to get that b****y thing off," Graham said.

"Coleman, you and O"Neill take Leigh below decks,." Jack watched as the two men dragged their comrade away. O"Neill was surprisingly gentle.

I wonder how many more of my men will die before we win this war. How do I feel? Numb; the reality has not hit me yet. I have chosen this life, and the Burmese have to be defeated.

I wonder how many more of my men will die before we win this war. How do I feel? Numb; the reality has not hit me yet. I have chosen this life, and the Burmese have to be defeated.Rattler fired another broadside, with the vessel heeling over and the roundshot howling towards Rangoon. Within minutes a second stockade was destroyed as its powder magazine exploded and tall flames leapt skyward. The second explosion did not have the same power to shock as the first had done.

Rattler"Burn, you bastards," Coleman jeered. He looked toward Wells and patted the lock of his musket. "Can we fire at them as well, Sergeant?"

"Any more talking from you and you"ll feel the cat." Wells took out his resentment at breaking Queen"s Regulations on his men. "Now keep quiet until you are ordered to talk, damn you."

The captain gave another order, and the gunners raised their sights. "Go for the Golden Pagoda, boys!"

With two of the outlying stockades in flames, the Burmese fire had slackened, but most of their heavy artillery sat around the Golden Pagoda. Rattler fired broadside after broadside at this tall target, with her 68-pounder swivel g*n adding its fire to those of the spar deck 32-pounders. The smoke became so dense that Jack could not see Fox, let alone the full line of British ships, but the constant noise and glare of orange muzzle flashes assured him they were still there.

RattlerFox"We"re giving them a hell of a l*****g," a grinning powder monkey screeched, his voice high pitched with excitement. He immersed his head in a bucket of water on the deck and came up dripping wet and still smiling. "There"s no need for you redcoats to be here; the Navy will do all the work!"

Jack said nothing. Rangoon is on fire, we"ve destroyed their outer defences, and only the Golden Pagoda is standing. This war may be over in one day.

Rangoon is on fire, we"ve destroyed their outer defences, and only the Golden Pagoda is standing. This war may be over in one day."Can we at least fire at them, Sergeant?" Coleman asked again. He tapped the butt of his musket. "We are meant to be soldiers."

"Stand firm," Jack ordered. "And do the 113th proud. We"ll get our chance, never fear!"

We"ll get our chance if the Navy leaves us anything. How can I better the regiment"s reputation by merely watching? More importantly, how can I distinguish myself and get into the Royals, where I belong?

We"ll get our chance if the Navy leaves us anything. How can I better the regiment"s reputation by merely watching? More importantly, how can I distinguish myself and get into the Royals, where I belong?Around two in the afternoon an order from Commodore Lambert stopped the cannonade. A slight breeze shifted the smoke, pushing it away as if it was a sliding door. Visibility increased. Sunlight reflected from the pagoda and, faint on the wind, the musical tinkle of temple bells mocked the British fleet.

"They only have twelve-pounders," a naval lieutenant"s voice sounded through a lull in the firing. "They can see us, but they don"t have the range." He slapped a hand on the barrel of his cannon. "But neither have we. That temple will stand there until doomsday."

"Over there, sir." Wells nodded to the banks of the river. "There"s a group of men."

Jack nodded. "So I see." At this point, the river was no wider than the Thames, muddy and green and turgid, with dismal rice fields or ugly green jungle on either side of Rangoon. There were a few dozen small Burmese boats along the bank, with a larger war-boat peeping out of a sheltered bend. Jack saw warriors in light clothes and carrying long muskets and the ubiquitous Burmese dha – the long, viciously sharp knife - – clustered around the boats, gesturing towards the British ships and firing the occasional shot.

dha"Load your muskets, men." That was the first time Jack had ever given that order in the face of the enemy. He felt a thrill of mingled excitement and apprehension. Are these Burmese going to try and board us? Will this end up hand-to to-hand, bayonet against these terrible dhas?

Are these Burmese going to try and board us? Will this end up hand-to to-hand, bayonet against these terrible dhas?This is it. I"m a real soldier now; we are under fire and preparing to fight back.

This is it. I"m a real soldier now; we are under fire and preparing to fight back."Get ready to defend the ship if the Burmese attack."

Somebody swore softly as the eleven remaining men loaded their long Brown Bess muskets much as their forefathers had done at Waterloo and Albuera, Long Island and Quebec. The weapon was the same and the uniforms very similar. Jack realised he was witnessing the same scene as his father and grandfather had seen.

He watched the Burmese moving around the boats, some waving their dhas in anger, or defiance, or both. The sound of gongs joined the sweet tinkle of the bells. There were drums as well, insistent, martial, strangely unsettling. "If the Burmese board," Jack said, "fix bayonets." He nearly felt the shiver which ran through them, but whether of fear or anticipation, he could not tell.

"Message from the Commodore," a lieutenant called. "Recommence firing at the pagoda."

The next broadside sent the Burmese scurrying back to find whatever cover they could.

By late afternoon orange flames licked through the dense smoke that rolled across Rangoon. Rattler continued to fire until the liquid notes of a bugle sounded, and the guns fell silent. Men looked across at the wreckage which had been a bustling, vibrant town only that morning, grinned at the relief that they were unharmed and wondered what the future would bring. A seaman commented on their smoke-blackened appearance, and others laughed nervously.

Rattler"That was easy enough," Wells said. "The Burmese hardly put up any resistance."

Jack glanced along the spar deck of the ship. He could see no casualties on Rattler; for all the fire and fury of the Burmese defence, not a single shot had hit the ship.

RattlerLeigh is dead. He is lying below.

Leigh is dead. He is lying below."At least the b****y smoke keeps the mosquitoes away," Coleman said.

"Mr. Windrush!" A midshipman ran up. He was about sixteen and looked like a mischievous schoolboy with black powder smoke around his eyes and dirtying his white uniform. "The Captain sends his compliments, and would you care to support our boats with your men?”

It was not the Navy"s way to stand idly by while there was work to be done. Rattler"s officers were already organising a landing party. A burly petty officer was handing out muskets to sailors who handled them with casual familiarity. Other seamen were sharpening their cutlasses on a circular whetstone while still more lowered three boats over the side into the river.

Rattler"Please inform the captain that I will be delighted," Jack said. He raised his voice. "Come on the 113th! It"s time to show these sailor men how to fight."

A seaman stood in the bow of the small boat, holding a boathook to attach it to Rattler. "Down you come lads," he invited. "Don"t mind the rocking!" His grin was more amused than mocking as the soldiers dropped clumsily into the boat, tripping over the thwarts as they jostled for seats.

Rattler"Sit still," Jack ordered. "Keep your rifles upright between your knees and for God"s sake, keep your bayonets in the scabbard. I don"t want anybody spitted."

They look nervous. Thorpe is white-faced, and Coleman seems sick. There is no bluster now.

They look nervous. Thorpe is white-faced, and Coleman seems sick. There is no bluster now.Jack glanced at the river bank. The Burmese were waiting, waving their wicked-looking dhas and loading their muskets in readiness for the landing. Despite the severe cannonade they had endured, they did not appear cowed. With small turbans on their heads, dark quilted jackets and mostly bare legs they looked alien and somehow all the more dangerous for that.

Four more seamen boarded the boat, their nimbleness a contrast to the lumbering soldiers. They grabbed oars and even as the soldiers settled, began to pull toward the shore. The young midshipman sat in the stern, giving crisp orders.

"These Burmese lads look right handy," Thorpe sounded nervous. "I don"t like the look of their swords."

"They"re called dhas," Wells said, "and they don"t like the look of our muskets either. Now stop grousing and earn your pay."

"We don"t like the look of you, Thorpey," Coleman added and looked over his shoulder at the rapidly approaching land. "Oh, Thorpey, there"s thousands of them all waiting to cut your goolies off. Can you hear them? They"re chanting, “give us Thorpey; we want Thorpey”." Some of the other soldiers echoed his laugh, but most fidgeted uncomfortably on the wooden seats. Smoke drifted from the burning stockades, and the sounds of drums reached them, loud now, mingled with the wailing of women and the hoarse shouts of men. A gong clattered brassily from the wreckage of the nearest stockade.

"Jesus," Thorpe said. "They"re going to m******e us." He glanced back toward Rattler. "Get back to the ship, boys, for God"s sake."

Rattler"Sit tight!" Jack yelled as Coleman began to rise. "We have a job to do!"

Others of the 113th were looking nervous and following Thorpe"s lead in staring at the Burmese soldiers who waited for them. The sound of drums increased, filling the air and making speech difficult.

It"s going to be Chillianwala all over again; that"s another disgrace for the regiment.

It"s going to be Chillianwala all over again; that"s another disgrace for the regiment."Sit back down!" Jack reached forward and pushed at the shoulders of Coleman, shoving him hard back onto his seat. "You took the Queen"s Shilling to be a soldier, and by God, you will act like one or I"ll shoot you dead here and now!"

To their right, the second of Rattler"s boats surged past with the seamen on board cheering as they neared the shore. Men from the Madras Fusiliers looked curiously at the upheaval among the 113th.

Rattler"Right lads!" Jack shouted above the noise of drums. "Now is our chance to show the bluejackets what the 113th can do! Let"s make our children proud of us!"

There was a scattering of musketry, and a ball thumped into the boat, raising chips of timber and leaving a raw scar on the wood. Thorpe screamed, and Coleman ducked, cowering beside the men around him for shelter.

"Sit to attention!" Jack ordered. "Don"t bob!" He looked astern. The young midshipman was standing by the tiller as he concentrated on steering the boat. Jack took a deep breath and stood up, balancing against the movement and hoping the Burmese did not use him as a target. They were within twenty yards of the river banks, and he could make out the facial features of the waiting enemy. He shivered; they were watching him out of expressionless eyes in flat faces, waiting.

"Ready lads!" Jack reached for the pistol at his belt. He had bought an Adams pepper-pot revolver because of the firepower, and now he was glad of the six chambers. He touched his sword hilt; it was the 1845 pattern Wilkinson sword, designed by John Latham, with a thirty-two and a half inches long, slightly curved blade and a sharkskin grip, yet it seemed insufficient and fragile compared to the lethal dhas of the Burmese. Suddenly Jack"s force of one sergeant and eleven British private soldiers seemed very inadequate compared to the number of Burmese that was waiting for them. He heard the harsh breathing of his men, and then the bow of the boat slithered onto soft mud, and the bluejackets were leaping over the side, drawing their cutlasses and yelling at the enemy.

There is no fear in these seamen.

There is no fear in these seamen."Fire a volley!" Jack ordered, "then charge!"

His doubts had all vanished. Instead, he felt a wild elation as he gave the order, fired his revolver at the gesticulating Burmese, rode the kick that jolted his forearm, and ran forward hoping his men were at his back. He remembered one of the few occasions that his father had spent time with him.

"There are two types of officers," his father had said. "Those that say: “go on” and those that say: “come - on”. In the Royals, we only have room for the come-ons."

Now Jack was a come-on officer, leading his men from the front. This was not how he imagined his first action, jumping into muddy water against a bunch of turbaned men in some obscure eastern town; he"d thought of leading the Royals against the French in some glorious European battle with a cast of tens of thousands.

Jack fired again, but the Burmese didn"t rush to meet him, as he thought all soldiers would do. Instead, they turned and fled before the two sides came within bayonet distance.

"They"re running!" Wells didn"t sound surprised. "We"ve sent them running!" He knelt and fired his musket at the retreating Burmese. "Come back and fight, you bastards!"

Belatedly, Jack checked his men. They were all with him, panting in the heat, white of face and more scared than war-like, but they had followed him. His twelve men of the 113th had proven they were not cowards. To that extent, they had lightened the shadow of Chillianwala. Even Coleman had kept up and now shouted a***e as the Burmese disappeared into the thick scrub that reached nearly to the walls of Rangoon.

Was that it? Was that my first battle? It was over in seconds.

Was that it? Was that my first battle? It was over in seconds."Follow them!" O"Neill lifted his voice in some Gaelic slogan that raised the hairs on Jack"s scalp. He grabbed hold of O"Neill"s arm.

"No! They know the jungle. They will cut us to pieces in there." He dragged O"Neill back. "Stop here!"

"Cowards!" Coleman pushed to the front of the redcoats and waved a closed fist. "Come back and fight!"

"You"re very brave now they"re running,." Wells was not smiling.

"More to the point, Sergeant Wells, is that none of our men ran." Jack raised his voice. "Well done, men. We chased the enemy away."

"Sir," Wells nodded to the jungle. "The Burmese haven"t run far."

Jack was aware of the Burmese warriors gathering at the edge of the bush but more mindful of the circle of bluejackets who listened to every word he said. I"ve led my men to a minor victory. We haven"t spilt any enemy blood, but we faced them, and nobody ran away. That is an excellent way to end the day.

I"ve led my men to a minor victory. We haven"t spilt any enemy blood, but we faced them, and nobody ran away. That is an excellent way to end the day.