Jack Windrush Collection - Books 5-8

Chapter 3-3

"Front rank, kneel!" Jack ordered. There were no more stragglers out on the maidan, and already the charging cavalry was past the private"s decapitated body.

maidan"Second rank, cap!"

The men fitted their percussion caps, the replacements with shaking hands, the veterans with studied calmness.

"Ready!" The rifles came to the present on all sides of the square, a hundred British Enfield rifles ready to blast the approaching cavalry. It was the same formation that Wellington had used at Waterloo and not much different from the schiltrons that King Robert the First had used at Bannockburn over five centuries previously.

The cavalry increased their pace from a trot to a canter, half-seen in the dust, hundreds of fierce warriors, some of the best horsemen in the world, veterans of battle and skirmish.

The 113th faced them, the old soldiers" expressionless and the replacements white under their sunburn, wide-eyed, scared. Tongues licked dry lips; hands shook on the stocks of Enfields.

"Steady, lads," Jack said. "It"s only men sitting on horses."

"Come on you bastards." Logan gave his ubiquitous invitation. "Wee Donnie"s waiting for you!"

"Cry Havelock!" somebody shouted, prolonging the final vowel so the others could join in. "Let loose the dogs of war!"

"Ready!" Jack glanced to his right and left. His men were holding, the replacements drawing strength from the veterans. "Second rank, on my word, fire a volley… Ready… Fire!" The Enfields cracked; the bullets sped toward the advancing cavalry. Unable to see for the dust, Jack could only imagine the chaos, the fallen horses, the injured men, the blood and agony and death.

"Second rank, cap and load! First rank, present!"

The cavalry emerged from the dust, wild men from the plains wielding curved swords, professional warriors ready to savage these northern invaders from across the kala pani, the black water.

kala pani"First rank, fire! Second rank, present!"

The rifles hammered again, and this time the cavalry were so close that Jack could see the havoc. Horses fell, screaming, torn by lead bullets. The riders immediately following trying to get past them, leaping over the kicking legs and writhing bodies. Men shouted, struggling to control their mounts.

"First rank, cap and load. Second rank, fire a volley!"

The bullets hammered in, remorseless, maiming, killing, wounding. The leading horses turned away, nostrils flaring, terrified, some falling under the hooves of the cavalry immediately behind.

"Second rank, cap and load! First rank, fire a volley!"

The 113th acted like a machine, firing and loading, aiming into the mass, professional soldiers doing their job, the cutting edge of Empire, the ultimate tool in Queen Victoria"s arsenal, the little men at the sharp end who enforced the politicians" snake-tongued words.

"They"re breaking, sir!" Greaves shouted.

"First rank, cap and load. Second rank, fire a volley!"

The 113th was unsupported. Cavalry could have charged into the enemy"s flanks and completed the rout or artillery could have fired grapeshot into the retreating enemy horse. As it was, the 113th could only stand in their square and watch their enemy ride away.

"Come back and try again!" Logan roared.

Only a few yards in front of the square, thirty men and horses lay in a tangle, some dead, others writhing or groaning. The rebels had paid the price for attacking the 113th.

"Keep in formation," Jack ordered. "March back to camp." The incident was over, and it would be foolish to remain out on the maidan in case more cavalry appeared, this time backed by musket-carrying infantry or artillery to blast his small square to bloody fragments.

maidan

Only when Jack returned to camp did he realise the full implications of what had occurred.

"Jayanti called me Jack Baird Windrush. How the devil did she know that? How does she know my full name?"

BairdElliot shrugged. "I"m blessed if I know, Jack. These Indian fellows have spies everywhere. I wouldn"t be surprised if half the bearers and doolie carriers in the column were giving information to the enemy. Why, they"d cut their granny"s throat for a rupee and hand back the change."

Jack nodded and tried to shake off the feeling that something was very wrong. How would a leader of irregular Indian low-caste warriors know his full name? Why would she approach him and, if she had five rifles aimed at him, why did she not kill him where he stood? There was more to Jayanti than he knew.

What sort of pickle has Colonel Hook landed me in?

What sort of pickle has Colonel Hook landed me in?The 113th didn"t have much time to recover. That evening, 4th May 1858, Khan Bahadur Khan prepared to defend Bareilly. The British Army buckled its collective belt, checked its powder was dry and sharpened its bayonets for the test ahead.

"Here we go again." Elliot loaded his revolver, tamping each bullet down the barrel and checking his percussion caps. "Lord, I shall be very busy this day. I may forget thee, but do not forget me." He looked up. "And may God have mercy on us all."

Jack couldn"t muster a smile. "I hope He has, Arthur, I do hope He has sufficient mercy for us all."

The senior officers gathered around Sir Colin Campbell with the heat bouncing from the ground and the smell of men"s sweat potent in the air. Jack glanced around the stern, bearded faces and the uniforms that spoke of glory and triumph, and wondered what the public back home would think if they ever experienced the reality of war.

"Windrush." Campbell always muted his Glasgow growl when he explained his plans for a forthcoming battle. "I know your men are expert in skirmishes and ambushes, scouting and picket work. It"s time they made their name in a major encounter." Campbell"s dour, moustached face glared at Jack.

"My boys were at Inkerman, sir, and with General Havelock"s advance on Cawnpore and Lucknow."

"I am aware of that, Windrush." Campbell gave what he probably believed was a smile. "That"s why I"m putting your 113th on the front line."

"Thank you, sir."

"Khan Bahadur Khan means to fight," Campbell said. "He has positioned his artillery on a range of sand hills directly on our line of advance. He also has cavalry on the flanks, so we have to keep formation, or he"ll ravage our infantry."

Jack wondered if he had thanked Campbell too soon. Glory and honour were all very well for the officers and the reputation of the regiment, but all too often it came at the price of maimed and broken men.

"We will advance in two lines," Campbell informed the gathered officers. "In the front line will be the Highland Brigade, the 113th, the 4th Punjab Rifles and the Baluch battalion. I will place a heavy field battery in the centre to counter the enemy artillery, and we"ll have horse artillery and cavalry on the flanks. If Khan Bahadur Khan unleashes his horse, our guns will shatter them from a distance, and our cavalry will destroy what remains."

There was nothing original about Sir Colin"s plan. It was methodical, practical and sound.

"The second line will include everybody else," Sir Colin said. "Nobody will be left behind. The siege train, the baggage and the camp followers, the wounded and the sick will follow the fighting men."

Elliot checked that his hip flask was full, pulled his sword from his scabbard to ensure it didn"t stick and gave a weak smile. "Good luck, Jack."

"Good luck, Arthur." They shook hands, and Elliot lifted his flask in salute.

"Here"s to the next to die."

"The next to die," Jack echoed. He couldn"t think of life without Elliot. After years of bloody campaigning, they were closer than brothers. "Try to stay alive, Arthur. If you fell, I would have to tell your father what a rotten soldier you are and how little chance you ever had of becoming a captain, let alone a general."

"And I want to see Helen again and tell her she married the better brother."

During the Crimean War, Helen had left Jack for his half-brother, William, an officer in the far more prestigious Royal Malvern regiment and heir to the family house and fortune.

The men were also making their preparations for the forthcoming battle.

"If I die, Thorpie, make sure you see me buried, eh? Don"t leave me for the wild beasts to eat."

Thorpe shook his head. "I won"t Coley. I"ll see you buried decent. You do the same for me, too."

"I will." Coleman sharpened his bayonet on a stone. "Don"t leave me, Thorpey, not out here. Swear that by the Book will you?" He produced a very battered Bible. "Swear it, Thorpey."

Thorpe recoiled slightly. "I can"t read, Coley."

"That doesn"t matter. Just swear. God won"t mind that you can"t read."

Putting his hand on the Bible, Thorpe mumbled, "I swear not to leave your body for the beasts to eat."

Coleman did the same. "Thanks, Thorpey. You"re all right." He returned to sharpening his bayonet.

Jack saw Thorpe look away to hide the tears in his eyes. Men such as Thorpe, orphaned at a young age and deprived of familial affection, prized any sort of relationship.

"That"s the way, lad." Sergeant Greaves marched up to them. "Use that bayonet properly mind, Coleman, and you too, Thorpe. I don"t want you poking like an old woman with a knitting needle. When you see an angry pandy, you think of me, yell bastard, stick it right in him, twist and withdraw."

bastard"Yes, Sergeant," Thorpe said. "I always say bastard when I think of you."

"Good lad, Thorpe. I knew you weren"t as stupid as Coleman looks." Greaves marched away to spread his words of encouragement.

At seven in the morning, the advance began, a slow march across the stream-seamed plain with the sun already hammering at the men. Within a few minutes, Khan Bahadur Khan"s artillery opened up.

"Maybe if we kick up enough dust, they won"t see us," Thorpe began to shuffle his feet.

"Good idea, Thorpey," Coleman said. "The pandies will think the dust is a mist and all the noise is the monsoon starting. They"ll all go home and let us win."

"Do you think so, Coley?" Thorpe shuffled harder.

"Try and see," Coleman said as a roundshot crashed into the ground in front of them, bounced once and rolled toward the extended khaki line.

"Jump over that ball! Don"t try and block it!" Although the iron ball looked slow and cumbersome as it growled along the ground, it had tremendous momentum. In previous battles, Jack had seen raw soldiers try to stop a rolling roundshot with their feet, only to lose their entire leg. Somewhere to their right, the Highland pipes sounded, high and wild in the Eastern air.

"There are the pipes," Logan said. "Come on the tartan!"

The British advance continued, the slow, purposeful, remorseless march of professional infantry with a tradition of near-unbroken victory behind them. British, Sikhs and Baluchis marching side by side, bayonets and Enfields, turbans and the feather bonnets of the Highlanders mere specks on the dusty Indian plain.

"The pandies are moving." Elliot peered through the screen of dust and powder smoke. "I think they"re coming out to attack us!"

Jack took a deep breath. The rebel infantry liked little better than a face-to-face battle with swords and shields against the British bayonets. They were ferocious fighting men, skilled and brave. Jack drew his sword. He didn"t relish the massive, bloody melee that would occur if thousands of rebel warriors met the British in the open.

"Come on, you bastards!" Logan had his own opinion. "Wee Donnie"s waiting for you!"

"They"re not coming out," Greaves said. "They"re withdrawing."

"They"re on the run!" Thorpe said. "You were right, Coley, the pandies thought we were mist!"

"That"s what it was, Thorpey, that"s just what it was." Coleman spat a mouthful of dust and phlegm onto the ground. "Your kicking up dust won us the battle. You"ll get another Victoria Cross for that!"