Jack Windrush Collection - Books 5-8

Chapter 6-3

Mary opened her mouth to protest, saw the determination in Jack"s face and nodded. "Yes, sir." She took three steps and turned around. "You know, it might be better if you put some clothes on next time you gave me an order. It would be more dignified for both of us."

"What?" Jack realised that he was wearing nothing except his sword belt. "I was in bed," he said. "A real lady would not comment on such things." His retaliation was too late for Mary was ten paces away, striding for her tent. Blasted woman. Only Mary can drive me to such irritation.

Blasted woman. Only Mary can drive me to such irritation.

"Nothing, sir," Elliot reported when he returned. "We found nothing at all, not a sign of anybody."

"All right, I didn"t think you would. It might have been a stray mutineer trying his luck, or just a passing badmash causing trouble. Double the sentries."

badmash"Yes, sir." Elliot lowered his voice. "Is Mary all right, Jack? And the Pathan?"

"Mary"s in her tent," Jack said. "I"ve posted a sentry, and I want him relieved every two hours."

"Yes, sir," Elliot said.

"The Pathan is still here," Batoor"s deep voice sounded. "He did not take advantage of your confusion to escape."

Jack gave a small smile. "I didn"t think he would."

Jack didn"t try to sleep again that night. Dressing quickly, he spent the hours until midnight patrolling the camp perimeter, quietly talking to the pickets and peering into the dark. He roused the camp three hours before dawn, supervised breakfast, loaded the camels and had everybody on the march within the hour.

The men stumbled through the dark, swearing quietly, alert for any ambush, holding loaded rifles and wondering if they should have thrown back the shilling they"d accepted from a smooth-tongued recruiting sergeant.

"Sir," Sergeant Greaves saluted Jack. "One of my men reports we"re being watched."

"I"m sure most of the men think that, Greaves."

"Yes, sir. This time it"s a bit different," Greaves said. "This man is certain, sir."

Jack sighed. "Bring him up, sergeant."

The private gave a hurried salute. "I know you," Jack said. "You were the lad MacKinnon, for whom Sergeant Greaves bought beer."

"Yes, sir," Mackinnon said.

"What do you have to say then, MacKinnon?"

"There"s somebody out there in the dark, sir."

"What have you seen?"

"Nothing, sir." MacKinnon hesitated. "I can feel them, sir, out there."

"Do you know where, MacKinnon?"

"No, sir. I do know though, sir." It was evident that the man couldn"t explain further.

"Thank you, MacKinnon." Jack frowned. "Where are you from?"

"Skye, sir. It"s an island in the Hebrides, off Scotland."

"I see." Jack wondered if he had just experienced an example of Hebridean second sight. "Keep me posted, will you?"

"Yes, sir." MacKinnon seemed relieved to escape.

"Greaves, send out strong pickets on either flank and double the rear guard, at least until day-break." Jack saw Wilden watching nervously and called him over.

"Wilden," Jack spoke quietly. "How long have you held a commission in the army?"

"Nearly nine months, sir," Wilden said proudly.

"And how much of that time have you been with the men?"

"One month, sir. The rest of the time I was travelling from England."

"Well ensign, here is some free advice. These men come from bad backgrounds. Many are orphans, or their parents were drunkards, jailbirds or walked away and left them. Some are petty criminals; others are not so petty. As you see, they are a mixture of old soldiers and young lads very much like you, except without your education."

"Yes, sir." Wilden was sensible enough to realise that Jack was speaking from his own experience.

"If you treat the men decently, listen to their problems and help them, they will follow you to the gates of Hell and beyond. All they want is somewhere to belong. The regiment is their family. We, the officers, are surrogate parents. Do your duty, help them to do theirs, guide them and watch over them."

"Yes, sir," Wilden nodded eagerly. "Like us, sir, they joined for queen and country."

Jack grunted. "Patriotism is said to be the last refuge of the scoundrel, ensign. For most men, this regiment is the last refuge of the desperate." He passed over a cheroot, as if to a friend. "Belonging to the regiment is vital. Officers can transfer or buy their way into other regiments; the men cannot. The 113th is their home. The more pride they have in the regiment, the better their morale and the better they will fight."

"Yes, sir."

Jack nodded. "When it comes to action, lead from the front. It"s the only place for a British officer."

"Of course, sir!" Wilden said.

Jack smiled. "In plain speaking, Wilden, just do your duty, and you"ll be fine." He patted the boy"s shoulder. "Now off you go and look after your section. Make sure their water bottles are full of water and not gin, make sure their rifles are not rusty, make sure their bayonets slide free from the scabbard and they have ammunition in their pouches and not loot or whisky."

"Yes, sir."

"Drink is the sin of the soldier, Wilden. Drink and women. I"m sure you have experience with the latter; your duty is to ensure the men don"t cause themselves disease." Jack winked and walked away, lighting a cheroot. The column trudged on, rifles slung, boots kicking up dust.

"That was kindly," Mary said.

"I feel like a grandfather," Jack said.

"How old are you, Jack?" Mary asked.

"Twenty-five," Jack said. "I feel about fifty-five."

Mary smiled. "How long have you been a soldier?"

"Since 1851 – coming up for seven years." Jack looked back on himself. "I was like Wilden then, young, keen and stupid."

"How many battles have you been in?" Mary walked at Jack"s side, matching him stride for stride.

Jack thought of Rangoon and Pegu, Inkerman and the Redan and the battles for Cawnpore and Lucknow. "I don"t know," he said. "Too many, Mary, too many."

"Once this campaign is over the army may give you a rest."

"Maybe they will," Jack said. That won"t happen. The army will use the 113th for the dirty jobs, the unpleasant tasks without glamour or glory. My future is one of constant fighting until the grave, a soldier"s life and a soldier"s death. He realised that Mary was looking at him with her head slightly to one side and her eyes thoughtful.

That won"t happen. The army will use the 113th for the dirty jobs, the unpleasant tasks without glamour or glory. My future is one of constant fighting until the grave, a soldier"s life and a soldier"s death"You don"t believe that, do you?" Mary asked.

"No." Jack looked up as a flock of birds exploded from a tamarind tree. "Wilden, take your men and see what disturbed these birds."

Mary withdrew. "I"ll leave you to your duty."

They marched on, more wary, with men gripping their rifles and peering into the fading grey of the early morning. India could be indescribably beautiful, tragically poor or insufferably hot. There was a combination of colour and dust, obscene cruelty and nonstop kindness, loyalty beyond reason and always variety. Jack pulled aside as the men slogged past.

"Did you find anything Wilden?"

"No, sir."

"Carry on. How about you, Sergeant Greaves?"

"All well, sir. All present."

The first shot came just as dawn silvered the sky, followed by a screaming charge on the 113th"s left flank. One minute the column was marching solidly through a seemingly empty countryside, the next they were under attack by an unknown number of men. Jack had a nightmare vision of glaring eyes and gaping mouths, gleaming blades and flowing robes as the enemy rushed in. The flanking picket took the first shock and withdrew, firing and cursing, as Jack shouted for the central column to form a square around the transport camels.

"Hold your fire until ordered!" Jack glanced at his men, trying to ensure they were all in the square. "Fire!" White and acrid, powder smoke drifted across the perimeter as the yelling subsided. Men peered into the half-light, sweaty hands slippery on the stocks of their rifles.

"Where are they?" Bryce fingered the trigger of his revolver. "They"ve gone. We"ve beaten them off."

"Keep quiet!" Jack snarled. "Can anybody see anything?"

"They"re still there, sir," O"Neill said. "I can smell them."

"They"re on this side, sir!" MacKinnon gave the warning. "I know they are."

Jack nodded. "Left flank, load and cap. Right flank, aim low, fire a volley, fire!"

The Enfields crashed out with fleeting muzzle flares and spurts of smoke, a scream from the dark and then shocking silence. Powder smoke caught dry throats; a man coughed.

"Right flank, load and cap!" Jack ordered. "Keep quiet and listen."

The music began so softly that Jack thought he was hearing things, Indian music, rhythmic and subtly beautiful, with undertones that unsettled him.

"What the devil are they doing?" Bryce asked.

"Serenading us," Elliot said.

"They"re trying to unnerve us," Jack said.

"They might be trying to mask the sounds of an attack," Elliot said.

"Good thinking, Elliot. Everybody keep quiet, ignore the music and listen." Jack glanced over his shoulder. Mary was amidst the camel drivers in the centre of the square, squatting. He lifted a hand, and she acknowledged with a wave. She was as safe there as anywhere in the square.

"It"s getting lighter." Jack was used to the speed of the tropical dawn. "We can see them now if they come." He relaxed a little, confident in the ability of his fifty men to defeat an attack by many times their number. After serving with Havelock and Sir Colin Campbell, he knew the fighting prowess of the British soldier. His 113th was as good as any soldiers in the world and better than most.

"They"ve gone sir," MacKinnon said.

"The music is still playing," Bryce pointed out.

"Sir!" O"Neill gave a quick salute. "Packer"s missing."

Packer was one of the replacements, a thin, undersized youth from London.

"Has he fallen out?" It was common for Johnny Raws to collapse on long marches, from either exhaustion or heat.

"No, sir," O"Neill said. "He was with us ten minutes ago. I think the pandies grabbed him in that first rush."

"Oh, dear God almighty." Jack took a deep breath. "We"ll have a look. O"Neill, you"re with me. I want Coleman, Thorpe, Riley and Logan."

"Where are you going, sir?" Ensign Wilden asked. "Can I come?"

"Not this time, Wilden." Although officers needed to blood Griffs and Johnny Raws, there was a time and place, and this was neither.

"Elliot, take command."

"Yes, sir," Elliot said and lowered his voice. "I"ll take care of her, sir."

"Come on, O"Neill." Jack slipped through the square and into the growing light outside. They were in an area of extensive fields, small topes of trees and abandoned villages. A hanged man swung from the bough of a tree; victim of mutineer, vengeful British or local lawmaker, Jack did not know.

topes"Sir," Coleman knelt on one knee. "Over here. Blood."

A cluster of flies rose from the bloodstain as Jack examined it. "We got one of them, then, whoever they were."

"Yes, sir," Coleman agreed. "Unless that"s Packer"s blood."

"I hope it was quick." Riley said what they were all thinking.

"They"ve gone now." O"Neill scanned the open terrain. "There"s no sign of anybody."

"They"ll be there, watching us," Jack led them in a wide circle around the 113th position, searching for Packer and the enemy and finding nothing.

"We"ll stay put for a couple of hours," Jack ordered when he returned. "Greaves, Elliot, Bryce, take out patrols and look for Packer." He could only afford a couple of hours. Any more and he would be marching in the afternoon and would lose more men to the heat. In this sort of expedition, they moved from water to water, sought the shade or died.