Jack Windrush Collection

Chapter 12

There was a scattering of bodies on the scrubby ground that led up to the still-smouldering wooden stockade, victims of heat as well as Burmese resistance. Amidst the c*****e, many men of the 51st lay in whatever shade they could find with their white caps and the sun flap over the neck their only protection against the relentless sun.

"It"s hot," Coleman said.

"It"s b****y India," O"Neill added.

"It"s b****y Burma," Wells corrected. "Brave men to storm this place." He nodded to the ladders that leaned against the logs.

That should have been us; we had as much danger but no glory.

That should have been us; we had as much danger but no glory.Jack stepped through the wide-open gate of the White House Picket. Ammunition for the Burmese cannon – iron balls and stone, – was piled everywhere, but it was the strength of the stockade that impressed him. He had expected a single palisade wall of undressed teak, but instead, there were three layers of defence, with a ditch that ran along the exterior, backed by an outer wall of timber about ten feet from an inner wall of brick. The Burmese had filled the space between the walls with earth – cannon fire would be less effective. Jack inspected the reverse slope, up which the Burmese had dragged their cannon.

"These Burmese know how to fight," he said.

"The 51st did well to take this place,." Wells gave his professional opinion. "These Burmese lads know their stuff."

The white house that gave the stockade its name was sheltered well within the walls. It was a wooden building of vague white appearance with a flight of steps leading to a large doorway. "This way for the loot, lads." Thorpe, last in battle, proved to be first in theft as he led his colleagues up the stairs, musket at the trail.

The interior was dim and busy with British and Indian soldiers, all staring at a colossal statue of a sitting Buddha.

"Is that God?" Private Smith asked. He removed his hat as the vicar had probably taught him in his village church and stared, open- mouthed, at the statue. "Have we attacked a Holy place?" He sounded scared at the thought.

"It"s like a god," Wells told him. "That"s Buddha." He looked around and lowered his voice. Jack moved closer to the colossal statue. "Sometimes they have precious stones in these places, lads; rubies and diamonds and gold. That"s loot for us, once the officers have gone."

"This officer is going nowhere," Jack told them. "And being caught looting means the cat or even the noose."

"Don"t get caught then." That was Lacey, a scar-faced man in his late twenties.

"Any more of that lip and you"ll be first at the triangle, Lacey." Wells" voice was sharp.

"You lot – what regiment?" The major was short, red-faced and very erect.

"113th sir," Jack reported.

The major"s red face darkened to scarlet. "Good God! The Chillianwala wallahs! I see you"ve come after all the fighting is over. Well now you"re here, you can make yourselves useful and throw all these Burmese cannonballs and grapeshot down the well."

"We were guarding the flank, sir,." Jack"s attempt to defend his men failed as the major marched away without a further word.

"Come on lads." Wells pointed to the nearest pile of ammunition. "You heard the major."

"If I wanted to be a b****y labourer, I would have stayed in Donegal," O"Neill said, but he was first to lift a cannonball and drop it down the well.

"What a waste." Coleman shook his head. "We could sell this lot for a pretty penny in any metal dealer."

"But think of the shipping costs," Graham said. "The carters always charge by the mile." He looked upward at the azure sky. "How far is it to Carlisle, boys? About three thousand miles at a penny a mile … How much is that?"

"More than you can afford, anyway, Graham," Wells growled.

"No sergeant. I was thinking I would do the carting; get hold of one of these Burmese bullock carts and charge you all to take your cannonballs—"

The firing interrupted them.

"Stand to!" an officer of the 51st shouted, "man the walls!"

"Here we go again." O"Neill dropped a cannonball and lifted his musket. "There"s no b****y peace in Burma."

Jack raced two ensigns up to the parapet and arranged his men alongside him. "To me, the 113th!"

"These Burmese lads know their business, sir." Once more, Wells approved. "They built the stockade well. We can see everything from up here."

"It"s their country, they should know it well," Jack said.

Wells was quiet for a moment. "It"s not their country, sir if you don"t mind me saying. We"re in Pegu province; the Burmese are invaders here."

Jack frowned. It"s not a sergeant"s place to correct an officer. "I hardly think that matters just now, Wells."

It"s not a sergeant"s place to correct an officer"Yes, sir." Wells nodded toward the Golden Pagoda that dominated the whole area. "That place will not be easy to capture either, sir."

"Never mind that." Jack heard the tension in his voice. "Watch for these Burmese soldiers."

Jack concentrated on the jungle where they had held back the Burmese, but from this height, he also saw that there were more patches of forest, interspersed with scrubby plains.

"Watch the maidan, lads," Wells shouted, "that"s the open bits, for the benefit of you ignorant Johnny Raw bastards."

Moving between the forest land and crossing the maidan were bands of Burmese, some wearing black quilted tunics, others bare-chested, some sporting spiked helmets, most bare-legged and all carrying long muskets, or the ubiquitous if varied Burmese dha with its gently curving, vicious blade.

"They"re not going to attack us, are they?" Wells sounded more curious than apprehensive. "They have no chance of taking the stockade back from British infantry."

"They won"t even get close." O"Neill hefted his musket and sighted on one of the scurrying figures. "They"re far out of range, but the gunners will get them."

"There"s hundreds of them," Thorpe said.

"And they"re all after you, Thorpey." Coleman nudged him. "They told me that when we were in the jungle."

"Just keep quiet and wait for orders," Jack said.

O"Neill was correct. Every time the Burmese clustered into a sizeable group, the artillery opened up and either scattered them or sent them scurrying to the patches of jungle for shelter. The British soldiers cheered with each explosion. "Shabash the gunners!"

When the bugles sounded stand down, most of the infantry returned to seek shade, except a few who remained to watch the fun.

"They"ve captured one of our lads!" O"Neill shouted. "Over there!" he pointed to a patch of barren maidan between two areas of forest. "There"s a man in British uniform.!"

Jack focussed on the group that O"Neill indicated, just as the British guns opened up. One shell landed close-by, throwing up a fountain of dirt and stones. When the dust drifted away, the Burmese were gone and so was the man in the scarlet jacket. One body lay crumpled on the ground.

"They"ve taken him away with them," O"Neill said flatly. "God help the poor bugger. These savages will have him pulled to pieces by elephants."

We should go and rescue him; that would bring the 113th to prominence.

We should go and rescue him; that would bring the 113thto prominence."You," a voice of authority intruded, and the stocky, erect major glared at them. "What"s your name, sir? Windrush? Why are your men not doing as I ordered? Get these cannonballs down that well sir!"

By mid-afternoon, the interior of the stockade was insufferable, and the men were drooping with the heat. One by one, they staggered to find whatever shade they could as all work within the stockade eased to a stop. Even the bustling major slid into the shelter of the white house.

"It"s b****y hot," Coleman said.

"You"re always b****y hot," Knight snarled at him.

The Engineers and Sappers had been busy destroying what they could not save. As the afternoon wore on, they set the White House Picket alight, so smoke and flames added to the torment of the sun. British soldiers drank copious amounts of water and waited for the relief of darkness. O"Neill stamped hard on a scuttling scorpion. Even the sepoys searched for shade.

"Get these cannonballs shifted," Jack ordered. He swatted in vain at the insects that coiled around his face.

"Camp outside the walls!" The order came from officer to officer, so the soldiers withdrew from the stockade they had won and found rest for the night. Some slumped on the ground, while others sought makeshift beds beside the artillery or close to the ditch.

"O"Neill, you and Coleman take first watch. Smith and Armstrong relieve them at two in the morning." Jack posted pickets, haggled for water and food, had the men check their ammunition and obtained more from a harassed supply officer before he could relax. All the time the ships fired over their heads in a pyrotechnic display that kept some men awake while others slept so deeply that it seemed nothing could have woken them. Ranveer"s blue turban was unmistakable as he ghosted around the camp, finding fresh water where there was none to be found, ensuring Jack was fed and keeping a low profile.

So this is campaigning on the outer fringe of Empire? I"m not sure if I can live like this for the next forty years of my life. Or less if the fever gets me.

So this is campaigning on the outer fringe of Empire? I"m not sure if I can live like this for the next forty years of my life. Or less if the fever gets me.As the sun sunk, the walls of the white house collapsed in a welter of sparks, so only the collosal figure of Buddha was left, sitting on his mound surrounded by flames and smoke. The statue looked disapproving of this army of northern barbarians that had broken his peace, his eyes inscrutable as he sat in silent splendour.

Simultaneous with the destruction of the white house, a woman appeared. One minute Jack was lying on the ground trying to rest, and the next the woman was amongst them, watching the flames leaping around the statue.

"That will bring trouble." She spoke English in a strange, sing-song accent. "It is not wise to interfere with Buddha."

"There"s always trouble in wartime." Wells lifted a hand to acknowledge her presence. His eyes smiled.

The woman stood in the middle of the bivouac. She was slim and quiet, with the ubiquitous light jacket of Burmese women and a blue satin longyi that wrapped itself around her hips and legs with such grace that Jack had to tear his gaze back to her face. She was unsmiling and unafraid, with her hair coiled in a tight cylinder on top of her head and long earrings dangling at the side of her neck.

Jack inhaled her perfume of sandalwood oil as he struggled to sit up.

"What are you doing here, miss?" he asked as the woman looked around her.

"What are you doing here, British soldier?" The woman"s eyes were dark as they held his.

"Teaching a tyrant a lesson." Jack knew he sounded pompous, even as he spoke. "And upholding the honour of the British flag."

The woman looked pointedly to where the fire was dying down around the white house. A spiral of sparks rose above the head of the Buddha before it dissipated. "Where is the honour in destruction?"

"There is honour in bravery and courage," Jack said. Who is this woman, and what does she want? Despite himself, he inhaled again. The sandalwood was intoxicating.

Who is this woman, and what does she want?When she looked directly at him, Jack saw dark shadows in her eyes. Who are you?

Who are you?"It is better to conquer yourself than to win a thousand battles," she said.

"What the devil does that mean? Who are you, miss?" Jack looked around. There were no other women in this place of men. Soldiers of the Queen"s army mingled with those of the Company"s forces, infantry, engineers and artillerymen working, sleeping or trying to sleep as the guns of the Royal Navy and John Company kept up a desultory fire on the new town of Rangoon and the golden temple. Ranveer stood in the shadows, one of a handful of Indian servants.

The woman did not look afraid, although she was alone amidst hundreds of alien intruders. Nor did she smile as she folded herself onto the ground and sat, back straight and arms at her side, looking directly at Jack. "You are an officer here," she stated.

"I am," Jack agreed.

"And tomorrow or the next day you will lead your men into the Shwedagon – the Golden Pagoda." She said the words as if they were facts.

"I cannot see the future," Jack said. He felt vaguely uncomfortable.

"It will happen," the woman said. The flames rising from the White House Picket sent shafts of orange light through the dark, throwing dancing shadows over the woman, so she appeared to be moving although she sat still and serene amongst the supine soldiers.

Jack waited for her to speak, surprised that his men did not make ribald comments and suggestions. Instead, they watched and listened as the guns fired and the orange flames reflected from the dark pressure of the Eastern sky. Only Wells seemed aware as he cleaned his musket and kept his gaze fixed on the elegant Burmese woman.

"Will my regiment win glory and honour?" Jack asked.

The woman seemed to consider for a long time before replying. "It will be a victory soon forgotten," she said.

"But still a victory," Wells confirmed. He shrugged. "Victory is better than defeat, and all victories in the East are distorted before they reach the ears of the West."

God, that is deep from a sergeant! I will have to watch this man.

God, that is deep from a sergeant! I will have to watch this man."Are there an East and a West, or is there just a world with false divisions created by tyrants and kings?" The woman"s voice was musical, serene in that place of war and the drift of powder smoke.

"Without kings, there are no countries, and without countries, there is chaos and disorder." Wells met her words. "British victories will bring peace to more people."

"Every coin has two sides; a victory for one is a defeat for another, and always there is a loss." The woman seemed to have a private conversation with Wells, with both speaking in riddles that Jack did not understand.

"That is true," Wells agreed, "but better peace under one flag than discord under many." He relapsed into silence as the woman again focussed her attention on Jack.

"You have three battles, British officer," she said. "And you must be victorious in the one you do not acknowledge to have success in the others." She stood up. "Our paths will cross again." When she laid a hand on his arm, Jack felt as if her light touch had thrilled right through him.

"At least tell me your name," Jack asked, but the woman slid through the sleeping ranks without another word. Jack watched the shimmer and shift of the tight longyi around her hips until she merged with the darkness.

"You"ve been in India a long time, Sergeant," Jack said. "Do many women appear in the middle of our camps?"

Wells shook his head. "No, sir. That woman is different." His grin was unexpected and took years from his age. "I"ve never met a woman before who can quote Buddha in the middle of a British encampment. Burma is a most interesting place."

"It could be," Jack agreed, "but how do you know she was quoting Buddha?"

Wells closed his mouth so firmly that Jack was sure he heard the click of his teeth. "I read about it, sir," he said. The tone of his voice told Jack that the sergeant would say no more.

Wells knows far more than he"s saying. I thought that other ranks were only here to make up the numbers. This sergeant has a unique personality.

Wells knows far more than he"s saying. I thought that other ranks were only here to make up the numbers. This sergeant has a unique personality.YORLING Jack didn"t raise his voice; he knew his servant would not be far away. "How about you, Ranveer? What did you make of her?"

Ranveer shook his head. "I think she is trouble, sahib." His smile was sudden and very white. "But all women are trouble."

Wells" laugh was loud enough to wake the Burmese. "You got that right, Ranveer!"

Jack closed his eyes and tried to ignore the intermittent batter of the guns. The image of that Burmese woman filled his mind, and he was sure he could still smell sandalwood long after she was gone.

Smoke from the burning town of Rangoon rose thick enough to mask the sun as the 14th of April began.

"The Burmese will know we"re coming," Thorpe muttered as he checked the percussion lock of his musket and slid his bayonet in and out of its scabbard. "They"ll be waiting for us."

"It"s hardly a secret." Coleman adjusted the length of puggaree that protected the nape of his neck from the sun. "We spent all yesterday battering them with artillery, and we are forming up in the open to attack."

puggareeO"Neill took a swig from his water bottle. "Let them wait; let them do anything they b****y like," he said. He tapped his musket. "They can dance and sing and bang their b****y gongs from Monday until Christmas if they like, it won"t make a bit of difference when we get in among them. There"s not a Burmese alive will face British soldiers with musket and bayonet."

The mocking laughter came from a passing group of the 80th Regiment. "Not a Burmese alive by Christ! And that from one of the Baby Butchers; thank the Lord there are no Sikhs in Burma, lads or the 113th would turn tail and run!"

"They"ll do that anyway, Sikhs or Burmese or Afghans," another of the 80th said. "Just pretend Rangoon is full of babies and women boys; then you"ll be brave again!"

"You bragging blackguards!" O"Neill lunged for the men of the 80th but outnumbered twenty to one he was knocked to the ground, and the boots were going in before Jack arrived to calm the situation down.

"Can"t you control your men?" He bellowed to the nearest officer, a thin-faced youth with a sword that seemed intent on getting between his legs and tripping him. The lieutenant gave him a wave but said nothing.

O"Neill swore loudly as the 80th filed past, rank after rank of grim-faced men. He sorted out his rumpled uniform, adjusted his cap and raised his voice. "Shabash the 80th! Give them the bayonet, lads!"

Shabash"Poor buggers," Wells said, "they"re the storming party." He looked ahead where the walls and cannon of Rangoon waited, with the great golden cones of the pagoda thrusting skyward amidst the drifting smoke of the British bombardment.

The stocky, erect major pushed O"Neill aside and nudged Jack. "Windrush: here"s one of the engineers" plans of the Burmese stockade. Clear the way for the 80th. I want them to arrive at the walls in good order, so you and your blackguards ensure there are no Burmese skirmishers in their path."

"Yes, sir!" Jack felt his heart lift.

In front of the main assault: – we are leading the army! Honour and glory for the 113th!

In front of the main assault: – we are leading the army! Honour and glory for the 113th!"Come on, lads; you heard the major – at the double!" Jack led them forward. As before he knew he could not look backwards at his men. He had to trust them to keep pace with him and hope that Sergeant Wells kept them in line.

"Uriah the Hittite," Wells said quietly, "sent to the forefront of battle."

"Oh, sweet Jesus, save me!" That was Thorpe"s voice.

The 80thFoot were veterans of the First Sikh War, hard-bitten, hard-eyed and hard of tongue. They gave a rueful cheer as Jack led his handful of 113th past them.

"Here come the Baby Butchers, we"re safe now lads!"

O"Neill responded with obscene comments that Coleman and Armstrong copied, and then they were in the van of the army and moving quickly toward the walls of Rangoon.

"How far do we have to advance?" Coleman asked.

"About a mile," Wells replied, "and the Burmese will have men in every thicket and patch of jungle."

Between the British and Rangoon was an area of mixed maidan and thick outcrops of forest, with lesser areas of scrub and small trees.

"Do we have to take another stockade, sir?" Wells asked.

"More than that." Jack unfolded the plan he had been given and tried to read it even as he trotted forward. "There is a moat and then a bund, even before we get to the wall."

Wells glanced at the plan and then squinted toward Rangoon where only the magnificent Golden Pagoda was visible above the patches of jungle. "The map doesn"t show a stockade." He pressed his point.

"No," Jack agreed. "But according to this plan, there"s a mud wall sixteen feet high right around the town."

"The 80th will love that," Wells said.

"There"s more. The Burmese have cannon mounted on a rampart at the top and more artillery in pagodas through the town." Jack checked his men. They were in an extended skirmishing line, moving quickly. "And jingals as well, whatever they are."

jingals"They"re like large calibre muskets," Wells told him quietly. "They"re ugly things that outrange our muskets. If a ball from a jingal hits you, you"ll know all about it."

jingal"Mary!" O"Neill was the nearest private soldier. "The wall is sixteen feet high? How are we meant to get up that? b****y jump?"

"We"re not going up at all," Jack told him. "That"s the 80th"s job. We"re clearing the way for them." He nodded toward the Golden Pagoda. "That will be the hardest fight for the most magnificent prize. Our informants tell us that the Burmese have solidly fortified it with a double layer of cannon and" - He stopped as a cannonball whizzed past him and thudded into the ground. A fountain of mud rose six foot in the air before subsiding with a brown spatter. Jack noticed that his men had instinctively bunched together. "Spread out boys and watch your front!"

The 80th was immediately behind them, with the Madras Fusiliers and Madras Native Infantry slightly in the rear. The Bengal Native Infantry were to the left, advancing well.

"They"re moving fast," Wells said.

Of course – nobody wants to linger when the enemy is firing at them.

Of course – nobody wants to linger when the enemy is firing at them."Keep within sight of each other," Jack ordered as they crossed the maidan, "but spread out, for God"s sake." He pointed to a patch of jungle that lay in their path. "If I were the Burmese commander, I would have men stationed in there."

Jack glanced behind him. The 80th marched in a solid column behind their officers. There was the drift of regimental music – “Come lasses and lads” – as bow-shouldered men staggered under the weight of long storming ladders. The heat seemed to distort them, as if they wavered, some looked elongated, others foreshortened, but they didn"t hesitate. Despite the Burmese artillery that blasted shot at them, they were as steady as if they were on parade.

A musket shot cracked from the patch of forest, followed by a dozen more that whizzed past without hitting a single man. "Give them a volley and forward with the bayonet, lads!" Jack fired three shots from his pepper-pot toward the drifting musket smoke and then broke into a run.

Should I be scared? Why am I not scared?

Should I be scared? Why am I not scared?With his legs seeming too light for his body and his breath rasping in his chest, Jack covered the thirty yards to the forest in ten seconds that seemed like ten minutes.

"Don"t stop," he shouted as soon as his men were within the outer fringes, "use the bayonet; kill anything in your path."

He advanced slowly, one cautious step after another with the ground soft underfoot and the surroundings a hundred shades of green. There were no bird noises now, merely the pad of feet and the harsh gasp of nervous men, a single animal scream, the sudden c***k of breaking twigs and the occasional loud report of a musket, whether British or Burmese he couldn"t tell.

The green faded to grey then turned to brilliant light, and Jack was out the other side of the jungle and on to a broad area of maidan. He saw a group of agile Burmese infantry in front, running to the next deeply forested patch, fired two shots without result and rammed cartridges into his revolver as he waited for his men to catch up.

"Roll call!" he announced and listened to the list of names. "Where"s Smith? Has anybody seen Smith?"

"No, sir." There was a collective shaking of heads.

"He was my right- hand marker sir, and I thought I heard a noise," Coleman said, "I thought it was some bird or something."

"Go back and look; O"Neill, you go with him."

He watched his two men disappear back into the jungle. He saw the walls of Rangoon about half a mile ahead with spurts of smoke from the defending cannon and jingals. He heard the lively music from the advancing 80th and the fire of the British cannon and howitzers howling overhead.

"Forward lads – Coleman and O"Neill can catch up." I cannot spare the time to wait.

I cannot spare the time to wait.Then it was onward again, pacing toward the walls of Rangoon with the tension building every second. God, I wish I was leading an entire company and not a mere handful. I wish I had the colours on display. I hope the general is watching us.

God, I wish I was leading an entire company and not a mere handful. I wish I had the colours on display. I hope the general is watching us."Smithy"s dead, sir." O"Neill"s voice broke his images of glory. "We didn"t find his body, but we got this." He held up Smith"s head with the mouth wide open in a silent scream and the eyes staring. Blood dripped onto the ground.

"b****y barbarians," Coleman sounded shocked, "b****y evil barbarians!" He raised his voice. "They cut Smithy"s b****y head off!"

"Keep moving forward." Jack couldn"t help staring at Smith"s face. The eyes seemed to accuse him. "Shoot anything that is not British."

They walked on, holding their muskets ready, bayonets pointing forward and upward and each man waiting the chance to avenge Smith. There was no talking now and no laughing, merely a determination to advance on Rangoon and s*******r the enemy. Jack saw a roundshot hit a file of Bengal Native Infantry but the men closed up at once. A doolie carrier jolted up with a palankeen for the screaming wounded, ignoring the jingal ball that passed in a black blur.

dooliepalankeenjingalA group of black-jacketed Burmese appeared in front of them as though rising from the ground itself. Imbued with anger after the death of Smith, the 113th fired without orders and roared forward.

"Blood, blood, blood!"

The Burmese fled, leaving one man still on the ground and two writhing wounded. Armstrong and Graham plunged in their bayonets, and the 113th moved on, still not sated, still vengeful after the death of Smith. They are more affected by his decapitation than if the Burmese had shot him – why? He would be dead either way.

They are more affected by his decapitation than if the Burmese had shot him – why? He would be dead either way.A large calibre shot ploughed into the earth a yard from Jack"s feet, and a few minutes later another on the other side.

They"re targeting me as an officer. Well, let them; murdering bastards.

They"re targeting me as an officer. Well, let them; murdering bastards."Come on the 113th! Remember Smithy!"

Standing erect to show he wasn"t scared, Jack marched on. Twice he saw movement among small patches of scrubby bush and each time he halted his men, fired a volley and led a rapid advance. Both times the Burmese fled before the 113th reached them.

"Kill the bastards!" Coleman knelt for better balance, aimed and fired. "Missed again!"

"You"re a cross-eyed bugger Coleman," Wells jeered.

"You try it!" Coleman looked up, eyes wide. "You"re always full of words, sergeant."

"Keep moving!" Jack fired at the pagoda, knowing it was a waste of bullets, but he had to do something.

"Kill the bastards!" O"Neill loped forward, whooping high pitched.

The bulk of the Burmese fire came from a small pagoda directly in front. It stood on a low wooded hill with open maidan on either side that stretched as far as the outer defensive wall of Rangoon.

"That"s a perfect killing ground," Armstrong said.

To their right, the 40th Bengal Native Infantry seemed to agree. They took one look at the Burmese shot, landing like metal hail on the open maidan and withdrew hastily behind the hillock. The Madras Fusiliers filed up in perfect order to join them.

The advance has stalled.

The advance has stalled."Fix bayonets!" The order passed from officer to officer, and a sinister snicker ran through the ranks as each man clicked his bayonet in place. The sun glittered on hundreds of wickedly sharp blades; Queen Victoria"s final argument. The army took a deep breath and waited for the next stage. High above, vultures circled in an azure sky.

"We"ll be charging the ramparts soon," Wells said.

"How soon?" Coleman looked up at the stout mud walls where the gilt hats of the defenders bobbed above the parapet, and jingals fired round after round at the attackers.

jingals"As soon as the guns have blown a breach," Jack told him. He ducked as a jingal bullet whistled above his head. The large calibre shot disappeared somewhere to the rear.

jingalI recognise the different sounds already; the cannonball is like tearing cloth, the jingal whistles and the musket ball is silent unless it hits a rock when it rebounds with a high-pitched whine. I"m becoming a soldier.

I recognise the different sounds already; the cannonball is like tearing cloth, the jingal whistles and the musket ball is silent unless it hits a rock when it rebounds with a high-pitched whine. I"m becoming a soldier"Move on!" Jack didn"t see General Godwin give the order, but he heard it pass from officer to officer.

"Right lads," He stepped forward. "The 113th is in the van."

The entire attacking force rose behind him, Queen"s and Company regiments creating columns of scarlet on the dun maidan. They continued their advance toward the walls of Rangoon. Jack"s world concentrated into a series of disjointed images and thoughts, each one a picture of horror or bravery, each one vastly important to the man involved and each merging into a confused whole, a monstrosity of sound and agony of which Hieronymus Bosch would have been proud.

The thin notes of a bugle sounded the halt and a hoarse voice ordered "Down!" Jack motioned to his men to comply. They lay on the open maidan with the Burmese fire plunging above over the 113thas the gunners targeted the main attacking force. There were groans and cries as bullets and roundshot found their mark.

Jack watched a column of black ants march past his nose, relentless on their collective business.

"Are we to lie here all day?" Wells asked. "We should either go forward or back. Sitting here being shot like targets is only encouraging the Burmese."

"It"s only been a few moments," Jack bellowed back over the noise of the guns. He checked his watch. Good God! It"s nearly half-past eleven! We set off before seven. What happened to the time?

Good God! It"s nearly half-past eleven! We set off before seven. What happened to the time?"Sir!" Wells nodded toward the Golden Pagoda. "There"s a storming party forming."

Jack saw a mixed force gathering opposite the eastern side of the pagoda. There were around five hundred men; 80th foot, 18th Royal Irish and agile sepoys of the 40th Bengal Native Infantry.

"They have their work before them," O"Neill said softly. "Look at the ground they have to cross."

Wells sucked in his breath. "That"s bad, bad ground," he said.

Jack knew he lacked the experience these men had gathered in their campaigning in India, but even a Griffin like him could see that difficulties faced the storming party. The British rear positions, from where the artillery battered at the defences of Rangoon, were half a mile from the walls, with a shallow valley in between, scattered with patches of jungle and small clearings.

If the attackers managed to pass these obstacles, they faced a steep hill topped by the Golden Pagoda itself. That was the most heavily defended position in Rangoon, if not in all of Burma, with three terraces, each protected with a wall manned by Burmese infantry and artillery. The first wall held the lighter guns, then the medium and finally the heavy artillery on the tallest, broadest and strongest wall.

"How are they going to scale these walls?" Coleman asked. "They don"t have a single ladder."

"See that gate?" Wells pointed to a large doorway in the centre of the east wall. "The artillery will weaken that, and the boys will storm their way through. After that…" he shrugged, "after that its boot, butt, bullet and bayonet, and bugger anybody who tries to stop them."

"There they go!" Wells said.

The columns of British and Indian troops began to move across the broken ground.

The idea came to Jack, fully formed. The 113thhad been ordered to lead the 80th to the walls of Rangoon. It had achieved that. Now, this advance had stalled. The attack was going in on the eastern wall.

"Thorpe! Run to General Godwin and advise him that the 113th is joining the storming party!" Jack spoke the instant he made his decision. Colonel Murphy ordered me to raise the reputation of the 113th, and there will be no better opportunity than to take part in the storming of an important and heavily defended town.

Colonel Murphy ordered me to raise the reputation of the 113th, and there will be no better opportunity than to take part in the storming of an important and heavily defended town.What did Clausewitz say? It is even better to act quickly and err than to hesitate until the time of action is past.

What did Clausewitz say? It is even better to act quickly and err than to hesitate until the time of action is past.Time to act! "Come on, 113th! We"re going to take Rangoon!"

"Oh, Jesus Christ!" Coleman"s voice rose as Wells grabbed his arm and pushed him onward.

O"Neill gave a high-pitched laugh and ran forward.

"Come on, lads," Jack leapt in front of his men, "join the Royal Irish!"

He ran forward, aware that the faster they covered the open ground in front of the town, the less time the defenders had to shoot at them. He heard Wells raise a cheer, but only O"Neill and Graham joined in, and then they were on the flank of the 18th Foot with a red-faced colonel staring at them and a company of the 40th Bengal Native Infantry marching in impassive ranks. Jack didn"t notice how they crossed the valley or negotiated the jungle. He was leading his men on an assault, with colonels and General Godwin watching; all eyes were on the 113th; all eyes were on him.

Jack scraped out his sword. Light flashed on the curved blade. "Come on the 113th!" He ducked as a British roundshot howled past his head and crashed into the pagoda gate. His men were lagging, with Wells pushing them on and O"Neill five paces in front.

The British artillery fell silent as the infantry approached the gate.

"It"s all up to us now!" A captain of the Royal Irish drew his sword and put his shoulder to the dense teak. His men followed, cheering as their combined weight burst open what remained of the gate, and the Queen"s and Company infantry crashed through. Rangoon lay before them.

"Onward lads!" Jack thrust his sword upwards, "With me the 113th!"

Oh Jesus: where do we go now? This attack is a Royal Irish show: it"s their decision.

Oh Jesus: where do we go now? This attack is a Royal Irish show: it"s their decision.The gate opened directly onto a long series of steps that climbed the centre of the pagoda"s terraces, flight after flight of steep stone stairs with strange carved beasts placed in prominent positions.

"Sir?" Wells ducked as a musket ball smacked into the wall a foot from his face. "Do you have orders, sir?"

As men of the Royal Irish pushed through the door and mingled with the 113th, Jack looked around. Burmese soldiers defended the terraces above. Some stepped on to the stairs to aim at the intruders.

One of the Royal Irish yelled and looked at the scarlet stain that spread across his chest. He dropped his musket and slowly crumpled to the ground. A moment later another grunted and clutched at his shoulder.

"Sir…" Wells aimed at the Burmese and fired.

"That"s our way, lads!" The Royal Irish lieutenant pointed upward, then staggered as a musket ball thumped into his chest. He looked at Jack through wide eyes and slid down the wall.

I"m the only officer here just now; I must take the lead.

I"m the only officer here just now; I must take the lead."Follow me, men!" With his revolver in his right hand and sword in his left, Jack took the steps two at a time, ducking and weaving to put the Burmese musketeers off their aim. The steps were steep and seemed to go on forever, with musket balls and the larger jingals hammering and pinging from the stonework. There were more shouts behind him as the Burmese found their mark, but the British and sepoys continued up the stairs.

jingalsJack saw the gilt hats and black padded jackets of the defenders as they stood on the ramparts, firing downward, yelling, inviting the British to come on, but then he was level with them on the first terrace with his leg muscles screaming for relief. He flinched as a stalwart defender fired at him, shouted as the ball skiffed his forage cap and blasted the man away with two shots from his revolver. A group of Burmese rushed to challenge him, hesitated, fired a couple of rounds and turned to run as the Royal Irish, and the 113th poured onto the terrace.

"Come on, lads!" Wells levelled his bayonet.

O"Neill surged past, laughing.

"Blood!" Knight roared, "blood and death!" The men of the 113th followed in a phalanx of stabbing blades and swinging musket butts.

Leaving the 113thto deal with the lowest terrace, the Royal Irish poured up the steps, shooting and cheering as they fought their way toward the higher levels. Those of the defenders who turned to fight were killed out of hand while the rest turned and fled.

"Come back and fight!" O"Neill shouted.

A lone Burmese soldier turned to face Jack. He shouted something, levelled his musket and fired, with the flint striking a spark only a few feet away from Jack"s head but no succeeding spurt of smoke.

Misfire, by God

Misfire, by GodJack pointed his revolver in the man"s direction and squeezed the trigger. He cursed as the hammer clicked on an empty chamber.

Damn it! It"s empty!

Damn it! It"s empty!With no time to reload and the Burmese coming at him with his square-ended dha, Jack dropped his revolver and swung mightily with his sword. Although he had attended a few fencing classes, nothing had prepared him for the rush and fury of a fight to the death on the terraced defences of the Golden Pagoda. As Jack"s initial swing missed by a good twelve inches, the Burmese slashed sideways at his neck. Jack parried the dha with his sword, but the force of the attack sent him staggering backwards. He withdrew a step to regain his balance, saw the triumph in the Burmese soldier"s face and lunged forward. The Burmese side-stepped with ease and aimed a vicious swipe that would have gutted Jack like a rabbit had he not sucked in his middle. The dha hissed past so close that it ripped one of the brass buttons from his tunic.

For a moment, Jack was unaware of anything else. All that mattered was the sword fight between him and this doughty Burman. They clashed again, blade to blade, muscle to muscle, and eye to eye – Occident and Orient on either side of sharp steel and both combined by the desire to kill and fear of death.

Jack knew he was the taller and possibly the stronger, but the Burmese warrior was fast and muscular, skilful with his dha. Within a minute Jack was on the defensive, backing away along the terrace with the Burman following, unsmiling as he concentrated only on killing this insolent British invader.

The musket shot came from behind him. The Burmese warrior stiffened and put a hand on his stomach, just as a British soldier lunged at him and thrust a bayonet hilt deep in his chest.

"And that"s done for you, son," O"Neill said, as the warrior crumpled to the ground. He put a foot on the man"s stomach and hauled his bayonet free. "Sorry to interfere, sir, but you seemed to be getting the worst of it."

"Thank you, O"Neill." Jack felt the sweat pouring from him. "I rather think you saved my life there."

O"Neill grinned. "You can remember that next time the peelers haul me before you for being drunk and disorderly."

Jack realised that the firing and roaring of battle had altered to cheering and shouting, with occasional loud whoops and the crash and rattle of destruction.

"What"s happening?"

"The Burmese have bolted sir."

"They"ve bolted?" Jack stared as O"Neill casually cleaned his bayonet on his victim"s jacket.

We"ve won. I"ve led the 113th to our first victory.

We"ve won. I"ve led the 113thto our first victory."Yes sir, and now we"ll loot the place sideways." O"Neill grinned. "Come on, sir, or the Royal Irish and the sepoys will get all the best stuff."

"Stop that!" Jack yelled. "We"re not here to rob." But he knew that from time immemorial soldiers had looted any place they had taken by storm. It was one of the few perquisites of the job.

Jack stepped to the edge of the terrace and watched as the British and Indian soldiers ran riot. Some scattered to the many smaller pagodas, laughing as their officers temporarily lost control. Most ran straight to the Golden Pagoda. Jack heard the loud cries of joy as some found loot, and raised voices as men from rival regiments disputed ownership of useless knick-knacks or priceless statuettes from the pagoda.

"Come on, boys! There"s gold and rubies here!"

This part of Rangoon seemed dedicated to religion, with the Golden Pagoda being only the largest of a collection of Buddhist temples. Their basic design was always the same, an irregular pagoda with a very shapely top, surmounted by an umbrella within a fringe of wind-powered bells, so every movement of the air was accompanied by a delicate melody that sat ill with the sounds and sights of battle. It was hard to reconcile the essential religious message of peace when dead bodies polluted the entrance and unheeded blood pooled at the foot of guardian statues.

There were more shrines with sculptures of Gautama, the local incarnation of Buddha, sitting within open spaces, sometimes in solitary splendour, often with companion statuettes in alabaster or gilt-covered brick. After the thunder of battle, the call of birds sweetened the air, while the swaying of brilliant green trees cast flickering shadows over a place that had been beautiful before British shells wrought their destruction. Jack leaned on a huge stone crocodile to gather his thoughts. The woman watched him through thoughtful eyes.

"Are you back?" Jack asked.

"I"ve never been away." Although the woman spoke quietly, her words were audible. The raucous jesting of a mob of redcoats faltered as they saw her. A blood-stained corporal made an obscene suggestion, then dropped his eyes as she ignored him. They shuffled past and only stared when they were a dozen safe yards away.

Safe? Why did I choose that word? A woman is a rarity in their lives. Let them look. They know only cheap prostitutes and officers" wives who would scarcely acknowledge them as being of the same species. This woman is different.

Safe? Why did I choose that word? A woman is a rarity in their lives. Let them look. They know only cheap prostitutes and officers" wives who would scarcely acknowledge them as being of the same species. This woman is different."Are you not afraid?" Jack indicated the shambles of the battle"s aftermath and the narrow-eyed soldiers.

The woman didn"t blink. "They are only men," she said with such devastating calm that Jack could not respond.

"Why are you here? Are you following me?"

"This is my country; why are you here? Are you seeking me?" The woman smoothing a hand over the outside of her longyi was the most sensual gesture Jack had ever seen. He realised he was staring at her hips.

For God"s sake, man, you don"t even like women, remember?

For God"s sake, man, you don"t even like women, remember?"You are the most infuriating woman to talk to," Jack told her.

She straightened up again. "Then don"t talk."

"What is your name?" Jack asked when it became apparent that the woman wasn"t going to move away.

"What is yours?" she countered.

"I am Jack Windrush." He waited for her to respond.

"Jack Windrush." In her mouth, the name sounded as musical as the temple bells. "Jack Windrush." She nodded and walked away with her hips stirring her longyi and her slender upper body as erect and straight as any guardsman. The private soldiers of the Royal Irish stepped aside to let her pass. One touched a hand to his cap.

The woman smiled softly and drifted away.

She didn"t tell me her name. What was the meaning of that meeting? Why do I feel so differently about her?

She didn"t tell me her name. What was the meaning of that meeting? Why do I feel so differently about her?"Loot, boys! Find some gold to take home!" That was a Midlands voice, perhaps from Birmingham, and the words seemed to remain in the sultry air.

If I found something precious, I could buy my way into another regiment. After today"s action, people will know my name and might forgive my illegitimate birth.

If I found something precious, I could buy my way into another regiment. After today"s action, people will know my name and might forgive my illegitimate birth.The thought came fully formed into Jack"s mind. It overcame a lifetime of training and habit, so he nearly ran down the stairs and stopped at the entrance to the Golden Pagoda. There was a crowd of soldiers lying prone on the steps, some with their tunics open, some squeezed into whatever shade was available. Others had draped themselves over an enormous statue of Buddha, on whose head one man had carefully placed a white British cap, complete with the flapping neck guard. They looked up as Jack passed, and some scrambled to their feet.

"Rest easy men," Jack said and entered the pagoda.

The difference in temperature was immediate, with the tall conical roof keeping the interior cool and dark and pleasant. Half a dozen soldiers wandered around, staring open-mouthed at the dragon statues and the huge Buddha, with their voices muted as if they were in church, which, Jack surmised, in a way they were.

He had expected to see a single statue of Buddha with perhaps rows of pews as in a church back home. Instead, he saw a vast open space surrounded by an unknown number of icons in gold, porcelain and brass, with Buddha sitting cross-legged with a smile of peace on his face. He did not see the source of the light that gleamed from the soft sheen of gold and reflected from a hundred precious stones.

Jack stopped in awe. He hadn"t expected the magnificence or the beauty of this temple, or the sheer wealth of the adornments. Nor had he expected to experience such an atmosphere of sanctity.

These are no primitive people; this is as beautiful a building as Hereford Cathedral; and much more wealthy.

These are no primitive people; this is as beautiful a building as Hereford Cathedral; and much more wealthy.Jack felt an urge to kneel before the shrine of this serene Eastern deity if indeed it was a deity – he wasn"t sure. Is Buddha a god? A draught of wind set the temple bells ringing, softly at first and then louder until they seemed to fill the vast space below the conical roof. The melody penetrated his thoughts, so there were only the chiming bells inviting him to submit to their calming authority and forget the avarice and aggression of the world outside. Jack stood in front of the enormous golden statue and met the almond-shaped eyes, so expressionless, yet accusing him of theft and murder and invasion.

Is Buddha a god"This is a grand place, Coley!" That was O"Neill"s voice, loud and cheerful and uncaring of man, devil or eastern deity. "There"s enough gold in here to keep us in drink for the rest of our lives."

"And women," Coleman sounded strained. "We could buy a brothel, Paddy, and fill it with the best doxies that London has to offer."

The coarse, matter of fact soldier"s voices broke the spell, and Jack saw the pagoda in another light. Rather than a spiritual place of awe and wonder, it became just a fancy Eastern temple with meaningless statues and a collection of gold. With gold, Jack could buy promotion, buy his way into a better regiment, maybe even the Royals, and acquire land and property in England. Without money, he was a nobody, an undistinguished and impoverished ensign.

A pocketful of golden boys would pay for my step up; a hatful would make me Captain. But I am an English gentleman, a man of honour. No. I am the son of a servant! In the eyes of the respectable, I am illegitimate with no right to a commission in the Army. I am a fraud in a very precarious position.

A pocketful of golden boys would pay for my step up; a hatful would make me Captain. But I am an English gentleman, a man of honour. No. I am the son of a servant! In the eyes of the respectable, I am illegitimate with no right to a commission in the Army. I am a fraud in a very precarious position.The golden Buddhas sat in splendour, serene, sublime, internally untouched by the mad wastage of man around their temple. Jack glanced around, more furtive and mean than he had ever felt in his life. He slipped over to the darkest quarter of the temple and stood beside a row of sitting Buddhas. They"re only idols, false gods – they mean nothing. They were of various sizes from some small enough to slip unnoticed into his pocket to others the size of a well-grown child.

They"re only idols, false gods – they mean nothingJack took a deep breath and lifted the smallest; it was heavier than he expected, with the gold warm to the touch and smooth under his palm. For a second, he pretended to examine the artistry, checked that nobody was watching and then slid it inside the right-side pocket of his tunic. It fitted comfortably.

Now I am a thief, no longer fit to be an officer of Her Majesty or a British gentleman.

Now I am a thief, no longer fit to be an officer of Her Majesty or a British gentleman.With the code of honour cracked, it was easier to continue. The next Buddha fitted into his left pocket with only a slight bulge and a feeling of vague discomfort that he ignored. Jack lifted the third and was wondering where to store it when he heard an outburst of raucous singing as a group of men from the Royal Irish came toward him, their iron-shod boots crashing on the floor and their voices raised in disregard for the sanctity of their surroundings.

"Oh, sorry sir," a smoke-blackened corporal said, "we didn"t see you there. Attention, boys!"

The men behind him stiffened to attention, with one trying to hide the loot he had picked up.

"You men keep out of trouble,." Jack acknowledged the salute with a flick of his finger, which he hoped looked casual.

What if they saw me looting? Dear God, what if they saw me? I"ve ruined my reputation and career.

What if they saw me looting? Dear God, what if they saw me? I"ve ruined my reputation and career.We saw you, sir." The corporal"s words made Jack feel suddenly sick.

"You saw me do what, corporal?" The statuettes were heavy in his pocket; Jack was sure that the men of the Royal Irish were hiding their accusation behind the impassive stares private soldiers adopted when facing an officer.

"In the assault, sir." The corporal grinned. "We saw you charge up the stairs. You were good enough to join the Royal Irish sir if you don"t mind me saying so!”

Jack nearly sighed with relief. "Thank you, corporal, but it"s hardly your place to comment on an officer."

"Yes sir," the corporal"s smile was replaced by the same lack of expression as his men. "Beg pardon sir."

"And you," Jack prodded the man who held the statuette, "can return that to where it belongs. Looting is a flogging offence."

He walked on without another word. He hoped he had acted like a typical British officer, so there was no suspicion of his actions within the pagoda.

Gentlemen don"t steal. But I am not a gentleman.

Gentlemen don"t steal. But I am not a gentleman.The golden statuettes seemed so weighty that Jack felt as if his pockets reached to his knees. He slowed down, grateful for the swift onfall of the night to mask the guilt he knew shone from his face.

"Sir!" Well"s salute was as immaculate as always. "I"ve been searching for you everywhere, sir."

"Now you"ve found me," Jack said. He knows about my thefts. These blasted veteran sergeants know everything; I can see the accusation in his eyes. "What do you want, Sergeant?"

He knows about my thefts. These blasted veteran sergeants know everything; I can see the accusation in his eyes."The general is looking for you, sir. He requests that you join him in his tent immediately." Wells relaxed a little. "Maybe he saw you lead the attack, sir."

"And where will I find General Godwin, Sergeant?" Jack tried to hide the mixture of pleasure and apprehension.

"He"s in his tent outside the town, sir." Wells allowed himself a small smile. "Good luck, sir."