Jack Windrush Collection - Books 5-8

Chapter 3-4

As the British advanced, most of Khan Bahadur Khan"s forward defensive line withdrew inside the city. Always careful with his men, Campbell ordered a halt when the British reached the stream that coursed between the advance and the suburbs of Bareilly. Those units of the rebels that had not retreated stood on the far side of the river, waiting in silence with the sun glinting on the steel of swords and the long barrels of jezzails. A thin wisp of smoke drifted from the muzzle of their cannons, positioned on the British side of the bridge.

"We"ll have to get over the river." Jack eyed the single bridge and the rebels who crowded on the far side.

"That"s the Nukutte Bridge," Elliot said. "If the pandies decide to stand here they can do us damage. Their positions are a bit amateur though, with their guns at this side of the bridge and that nullah behind them."

nullah"Maybe not. The pandy artillery can fire without damaging the bridge." Jack swept his binoculars across the enemy position. "If they had decent leadership, they could have made a fine stand there. It"s like the Alma, and on their day the Indians are as doughty fighters as any Russian."

The rebel cannon opened up as soon as the British came within range, orange spurts of flame splitting the smoke.

"For what we are about to receive," Elliot murmured, "may the Lord make us truly thankful."

"Bloody pandy bastards." Logan was less philosophical.

Before the first enemy cannonball landed, Campbell sent forward the British artillery, and a gun duel began. The infantry watched in interested impotence as British and rebel artillery exchanged shots across the sun-hot maidan. After less than an hour, the rebel guns stopped firing.

maidan"They"re running," Bryce said as the enemy fired a few final shots and then pulled out, toward Bareilly.

"Not all of them." Elliot pointed towards the nearest tope. "See over there?"

topeJack focused his binoculars on the trees. Sunlight flashed on the helmets and swords of cavalry. He couldn"t tell how many. "Aye, they"re waiting for the infantry to advance. Once we break formation to cross the river, they will pounce."

"What"s happening?" Lieutenant Bryce asked.

"Khan Bahadur Khan has placed his cavalry in the topes. Sir Colin will bring up the guns to scatter them," Jack said. "Here we go! We"re moving again. Keep together, 113th!"

topesAs the wary British crossed the bridge and forded the stream, Campbell sent the artillery forward to bombard the enemy cavalry. The steady hammer of the guns and the black streaks of cannon balls arcing overhead punctuated the advance.

Elliot thrust a cheroot into his mouth. "Bahadur"s taken over the old cantonments, where the Company sepoys were stationed before they mutinied." Trust Elliot to know what is happening. "Thank God Sir Colin"s using the artillery. Old Havelock would have us rushing straight down their throat."

Trust Elliot to know what is happening.Jack surveyed the British lines, with the kilted Highlanders, the turbaned Sikhs and his 113th in faded khaki. "Sir Colin is a bit more careful of his men"s lives, thank goodness."

"There"s no glory in that," Bryce said.

Jack marshalled his men over the bridge and checked they were ready to repel any attack, but Campbell"s caution ensured the rebel cavalry didn"t have the opportunity to mass and charge. When the second British line was over the stream, Campbell"s methodical advance began again, with the artillery bombarding every tope and every building.

tope"We"re just crawling along." Bryce removed his hat to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

"We"re making progress." Jack focused his binoculars on the left. "Something"s happening over there." He watched as the 4th Punjab Rifles doubled forward to the old sepoy cantonments, turbans bobbing and rifles held ready.

"That"s our Sikhs," Elliot said.

"Beyond them," Jack pointed to a mass of white-and-green clothed men waiting in and around the outer suburbs of Bareilly. "Those men are not ours. It looks like they"re going to try and turn our left flank." He raised his voice. "Ensign Peake! Convey my compliments to Sir Colin and inform him that there is a large force of rebels about to threaten our left flank. Have you got that?"

"Yes, sir!" Peake looked eager as he began to move away. Jack grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. "Say it back to me, Peake."

"Captain Windrush sends his compliments, and there is a large force of rebels about to threaten our left flank."

"Off you go and be quick about it!" Jack watched Peake jink through the British lines to Campbell. The ensign returned a few moments later, red-faced and eyes bright with excitement.

"He sends his—"

"Who sends his? Report properly, Ensign Peake!" Jack fixed the boy with a hard glare.

"Sorry, sir! Sir Colin sends his compliments and could the 113th please support the 42nd in helping the Punjabi Rifles in repelling the enemy."

"That"s better, Peake." Jack spared the boy a few moments of his time. "Always repeat a message exactly, Ensign. You could miss out some small word that alters the meaning and causes disaster."

"Yes, sir." Peake looked crestfallen. "Sorry, sir."

"You"ll know next time, Peake. Now off you go to your men and do your duty."

Jack watched Peake for a moment, thinking that it was only a year or so ago that the youngster"s greatest worry was his headmaster"s cane. Now he was responsible for the lives of grown men.

Jack raised his voice. "Form two lines, boys! Lieutenant Bryce, take the left flank, Lieutenant Elliot, command the second line!" Jack gave them time to form up and then strode forward, revolver in hand. As always, he felt the mixed surge of elation and fear, with the excitement of knowing he was doing what generations of his forbears had been born to do, leading men into battle.

On his right, he saw the 42nd Foot marching forward with the élan and confidence for which all Highland regiments were famous. The officers walked or rode in front, kilts swinging as the men"s bayonets gleamed wickedly in the sun. In the middle, grizzled face as calm as if he was strolling through his native Glasgow, Sir Colin Campbell encouraged his men.

"Come on 113th!" Jack roared. "Don"t let the Sawnies beat us to the enemy!"

A bank of powder smoke rolled ahead, punctured by orange and yellow muzzle flashes and the rattle of musketry.

"The rebels are in those houses." Bryce pointed to a clump of single-storey buildings in the Bareilly suburbs. White smoke spurted as the enemy fired into the Punjabi Rifles, the moment they moved into the old sepoy cantonments. Taken by surprise, the Punjabis recoiled and began to retreat toward the advancing 113th and 42nd.

"Prepare to open ranks and allow the Punjabis through," Jack said. He didn"t want his men to remain in a close formation when a mob of retreating Sikhs crashed into them. Jack remembered the opening phase of the battle of the Alma in the Crimean War, when one unit had fallen back, disorganising the regiments immediately to their rear. The 113th would have to maintain their discipline as the Punjabis withdrew through them.

"Jesus!" Parker blasphemed. "The barrel of my rifle is red hot!"

Other men were having the same experience as the sun heated anything metal until it was too hot to the touch.

"India is fighting back," Elliot said. "The Russians may talk about General Winter; over here India has General Summer, Colonel Monsoon and Major Disease."

"What the devil?" Bryce drew his sabre as hundreds of sword-wielding men burst from the half-ruined houses and ran at the withdrawing Punjabis, screaming "deen, deen!"

deen, deen!"Ghazis!" These were the men Jack had seen gathering on the flank. Muslim fanatics, they wore white robes with green cummerbunds and charged with their heads down, protected by small, circular shields. As they ran, they slashed and hacked with their wickedly sharp tulwars, turning the Punjabi"s withdrawal into a rout.

"Stand, the 4th Rifles," Jack shouted, knowing the tumult of battle drowned his voice. "Don"t let them see your backs! Steady, the 113th!"

"Sir!" Bryce looked at Jack. "What are your orders, sir?"

Jack swore. If his men fired, they could as easily hit the Punjabis as the Ghazis. If they held their fire, the Ghazis would chase the Punjabis into the 113th, disorganising them so they would be in no position to face the enemy. It was the sort of quandary that no officer liked.

"Deen! Deen!" The yells of the Ghazis were clear above the screams of the wounded and the fear of the now-panicking Punjabi Rifles. "Bismillah! Allah Akbar!"

Deen! DeenBismillah! Allah Akbar!Sir Colin Campbell, vastly experienced, solved the dilemma. "Fire away, men! Shoot them down. Shoot every man jack of them!" The gruff Scottish voice gave confidence to all who heard. "Bayonet them as they come on!"

The 42nd fired at once, the kilted Highlanders trying to avoid the Punjabis and aimed for the charging Ghazis.

"Come on 113th! You heard Sir Colin! Fire!"

Jack had expected some hesitation, but he"d been mistaken. The 113th fired the second he gave the order, with some of the replacements stepping forward in their eagerness to be involved. The situation had altered now. If the 113th retained their open formation, the Ghazis would break in and cause havoc. "Close ranks!"

"Steady there, men!" Greaves" voice sounded above the crackle of musketry. "Keep in line! Close up the ranks!"

"Close up, men!" Bryce added his orders. "Don"t leave gaps for the pandies to get through!"

"First rank, cap and load. Second rank, fire a volley!" Jack used the old, familiar phrases, knowing that hours of training on the parade ground now proved their worth as the men worked by instinct, following orders as if by numbers and the whole company working together on the word of command.

The Enfield rifles crashed out, the bullets hammering into the charging Ghazis and hitting some Punjabis.

"Stupid buggers!" Logan gave his philosophical thoughts. "They should have fought, then we wouldn"t be shooting them. Stand and fight you bastards!"

"The Ghazis are getting close!" Bryce balanced his sabre against his right shoulder. "It"ll be hand to hand in a minute."

Bent almost double to make themselves as small a target as possible, the Ghazis sheltered behind the illusive protection of their shields, raised their tulwars high and circled them in the air, yelling as they raced on. For a second Jack wondered if his great-grandfather had seen something similar as he stood with the Royal Malverns at Killiecrankie, when Bonny Dundee"s Highlanders had poured down the hillside to smash the redcoats. That was the only battle where the Royal Malverns had ever broken and fled, he remembered, and vowed that his 113th would not follow that example.

As they neared the British lines, the Ghazis bent even lower, ducking under the jabbing bayonets and slashing at the legs of the 113th and 42nd.

"Aye, would you, you bastard!" Logan blocked a swinging sword with the barrel of his rifle.

"I"ve got him," Riley sidestepped and jabbed his bayonet into the neck of the Ghazi. The man tried to straighten up, and Logan finished him with a thrust through the heart.

"Close up!"

While the sustained, regular volley fire had been the result of hundreds of hours of drill on the parade ground, the clash of steel on steel as the Ghazis closed with the 113th and 42nd proved something more primeval. The British Army taught basic techniques of bayonet fighting to its men, but there was something instinctive about the way the 113th and 42nd faced the tulwars of the Ghazis. The men parried and thrust as their training dictated, while adding boots and fists, rifle butts and knees in a more primitive manner that the men had learned on the back streets of Dundee and Newcastle, Cardiff and Dublin. Gaelic slogans combated the Ghazis calls of "Din, din!" and "Allah Akbar!"