Jack Windrush Collection - Books 5-8

Chapter 3-2

When the British cannonballs bounced around them, the rebels abandoned their cannon and fled in apparent panic.

"They didn"t stand for long," Elliot said. "What are they planning, I wonder?"

"They weren"t in sufficient force to halt us," Jack said. "I think they fell out with Nana Sahib and he ordered them here as punishment. I can"t think of any other reason." Unless they"re trying to entice us into a trap. Jack scanned the surroundings with the binoculars, searching for anything that might indicate an enemy ambush. He saw nothing except drifting dust and a heat haze.

Unless they"re trying to entice us into a trapJack lowered the binoculars. "The pandies have to make a stand at Bareilly, or they"re admitting defeat. Their little victory at Fort Ruhra will have heartened them, and they"ll think they have our measure."

"Thank God that Sir Colin"s in command again and not that fool, Walpole," Elliot said. "I hear that Khan Bahadar Khan is in charge at Bareilly."

Jack looked at his men. It didn"t matter to them who led the enemy. They were marching through the dust, staggering under the heat and cursing fluently. Good. If British soldiers ever stopped swearing, he would know something was seriously wrong. "Who is this Khan Bahadur Khan fellow, Arthur?"

Good"The descendant of a long line of Rajput rulers," Elliot said. "He"s the grandson of Hafiz Rahmat Khan if that helps."

"Not in the slightest," Jack confessed.

Elliot smiled. "Well, I only know the name. Khan Bahadur Khan took over Bareilly when the Mutiny began. He is about thirty-five, a bearded, dignified fellow. I don"t know how good he is as a soldier."

"We"ll find out soon enough," Jack said.

As they marched, Jack surveyed his surroundings. Bareilly was not as exotic as Lucknow, as evocative as Cawnpore or as politically vital as Delhi, yet it was significant in its own right as the capital of Rohilkhand. The city sat on the level, with a gentle slope toward the south, from where Campbell led the British army. Bareilly was straggling rather than compact, with groves of trees scattered over a plain intersected by gulleys and a few defensible streams. Jack lifted his binoculars again, searching for enemy cavalry.

"Bareilly"s rather beautiful," Elliot said. "Why do we have to destroy it?"

"Ask this Khan Bahadur Khan fellow." Jack continued to eye the terrain. The atmosphere was tense, as if the land was waiting for something. "Or ask Jayanti and her young warriors. All the pandies have to do is stop fighting, and we can all have peace again."

Elliot nodded. "The rebels might view it differently. They might say that all we have to do is leave India and they can live without us. They might prefer their heathen gods, their wife-burning suttee, their thugee, their castes and all the rest."

"Once we"ve defeated them, we can ask." Jack lifted his binoculars. "There go the cavalry." He watched as the Company sowars cantered forward to investigate the plain.

"The shave says Khan Bahadur has 30,000 infantry in Bareilly," Elliot said, "with 6,000 cavalry and forty guns."

"Is that what the shave says?" Jack watched the Company cavalry spread out across the plain. "Where did he get that many men? We"ve smashed the main rebel armies and broken the mutineers. Cut the figures in half, and we"d be more accurate."

Elliot grunted. "There"ll still be plenty of them."

"We won"t argue with that," Jack said. He saw the Company sowars congregate around a ford of one of the rivers. There was a jet of white smoke and sowars reined back. "It looks as if we"ve made contact with the enemy. That was cannon fire."

"Here we go again," Elliot said.

"Captain Windrush!" Jack recognised the sun-reddened cornet that approached him. "I have a message from Sir Colin for you, sir.

"Thank you, Cornet." Jack read the note the cornet handed him. "Please convey my respects to Sir Colin and inform him that I will act immediately."

Elliot watched as the cornet galloped away. "That young Griff needs his bottom kicked. What does Sir Colin say?"

"We"ve to patrol ahead of the column and see if there are any enemy in the topes."

topes"Is that not what the cavalry are meant to do?" Elliot asked.

"Aye, but we do it better," Jack said. "Right Elliot, take the right flank, Bryce, take the left. I have the centre with Ensigns Wilden and Peake." Jack gave unhurried orders. "Advance in extended order lads, loaded rifles and bayonets fixed. If in doubt, shoot."

"What if they"re civilians, sir?" Elliot asked.

"Do you think any civilians will still be here, with two armies about to do battle?" Jack paused. Elliot had made a valid point. "Don"t shoot any civilians and look out for Jayanti and her women." By now, everybody in the 113th knew the real purpose of their mission. "If you kill any of them, mark the spot. I want to see the bodies later." I want that woman who mutilated Ensign Green.

I want that woman who mutilated Ensign Green.The 113th moved forward slowly, probing every tope for signs of the enemy and stopping to drink at the streams. The heat was punishing, pounding them into the Indian soil, making every movement torture while each man moved with a circlet of flies around his head, and dust in his boots.

topeThe first tope was of bamboo, crackling in the heat, tall and serene. Logan swore as a colourful snake slithered away. "It"s bad enough with the bloody pandies, let alone the buggering wildlife." He stepped back to allow the creature to escape.

topeThe 113th moved on, checking the treetops, probing the undergrowth, wary of an ambush.

"Sir," Greaves spoke quietly. "Something is moving in front. I don"t know what."

Jack nodded. Too experienced to show any alarm, he peered to his left. "Whereabout, Sergeant?"

"There"s a dip in the ground sir, and I swear I saw a shadow move. There"s no wind."

"I"ll have a look. Be ready to support me."

"Yes, sir."

Patrolling alone was unprofessional. Leaving his men was wrong. Jack didn"t care. He could not send a man to do a job he would not do himself; no proper officer would. With the dry grass brittle under his boots, he stepped forward, one hand on the butt of his revolver. Every yard took him further from his men and closer to the enemy. The notion came that at that moment he may well be the most advanced infantry soldier in the British Army.

A single bird rose from a tope two hundred yards to his left, and then another. The second bird called, the sound harsh in the oppressive air. Jack shook away the memory of the melancholic beauty of the blackbirds calling around the Malvern Hills. The ground dipped, as Greaves had said, and Jack felt the handle of his revolver slippery with sweat.

topeOne moment Jack was walking over an empty landscape and the next the woman in the black turban was in front of him, watching. She was medium height with the bottom half of her face veiled and she had the most intense eyes Jack had ever seen.

Jack loosened his revolver in its holster. The woman wore similar clothing to the other female warriors, with green baggy clothes, black turban and the khaki veil over the lower part of her face. She also wore a studded leather glove on each hand and didn"t carry any weapons.

"Who are you?" Her voice had the musical intonation of most Indians. To Jack, raised in Herefordshire, it sounded nearly Welsh.

"I am Captain Jack Windrush of Her Majesty"s 113th Foot." The woman seemed unconcerned by either the heat that hammered down on them or the circling flies. "Who are you?" He"d already guessed the answer.

"I am Jayanti," the woman said. She held Jack"s gaze as if challenging him.

The rumours are correct, Jayanti exists. "I"ve heard of you." Jack felt the butt of his revolver slip a little in his hand. He contemplated lifting it, firing and ending this quest here and now.

The rumours are correct, Jayanti exists"I would not try." Jayanti seemed to read his mind. "At this moment I have five rifles pointed directly at you. All I have to do is raise my hand, and they will fire."

"I could still kill you," Jack pointed out. "A life for a life and your life is more important to your cause than mine is to Her Majesty."

Gauging Jayanti"s feelings was hard. Her eyes remained as intense as ever. "I am unarmed," Jayanti said. "You are a British gentleman. Your code prevents you from killing me."

"You"re a clever woman, Jayanti," Jack said. "Sufficiently clever to realise that you cannot win this war. My Queen can send out many more regiments of professional fighting men with the most modern equipment."

"You are a clever man, Captain Windrush," Jayanti echoed his words. "Sufficiently clever to realise that although you may win this campaign, you ultimately cannot win this war. India will wait until the time is right and then overwhelm you. Britain is many thousands of miles away. India is here."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you are different from the others," Jayanti said.

"I am no different from any other British officer." What does she mean?

What does she mean?Jayanti stepped back. "Think about what I said, Jack Baird Windrush. You are different. And look out for your men. There are others very close by who do not wish to merely talk."

"Come back!" Jack shouted, just as the rifle cracked and a spurt of dust rose a yard in front of him.

"Five rifles, Captain," Jayanti reminded. She took another step back and vanished as suddenly as she had appeared.

"Sir!" Sergeant Greaves shouted. "Cavalry!"

They erupted from the riverside, a horde of irregular cavalry with flowing robes and flashing swords. Jack swore. Spread out in the open, his men would be easy prey to these superb Indian horsemen.

"Form square!" He shouted as he ran back, all thought of Jayanti forgotten in his sudden concern for his men. "Form a square!"

The 113th ran toward him, with the officers and NCOs hectoring the men, pushing the few laggards and watching the fast-approaching cavalry through nervous eyes.

"By platoon!" Jack ordered. "Remember your training!"

The cavalry advanced at a canter, their hooves kicking up a curtain of dust through which only their heads, shoulders and waving swords were visible. A walnut-faced private, limping from an old Crimean wound, stumbled as he ran for the square, and sprawled in the dust. As if in slow motion, Jack saw the veteran rise and stare at his fellows, now fifty yards away. The veteran"s rear-rank-man hesitated and ran to help, arm outstretched. Three rebel cavalrymen galloped free from the press toward the lone private. With one leg injured, the veteran fell to one knee and levelled his rifle. Then the cavalry was on him, a sword flashed in the sunlight, and the private"s head rose in the air. His comrade turned and ran toward the rapidly-forming square.

One minute the injured private was alive and the next he was dead. He had been some mother"s son, reared in the hell"s kitchen of an English industrial slum, or in an Irish cabin or Scottish clachan. Some months from now the private"s family would learn of his death and would mourn him for a day or a month or perhaps dismiss his memory with a shrug. He would have been born with hope and love only to die in a pointless skirmish many thousands of miles from home.

Rule Britannia. The poorest always paid the price of Empire to ensure profit for the richest.

Jack"s men formed around him, taking their positions as automatically as they had done on a score of training exercises and field days.