Jack Windrush Collection - Books 9-12

Chapter 5

Reveille was at six, so at half-past four, Jack woke the sergeants and gave them sharp orders. They stared at him through sleep-heavy eyes.

“Welcome to Gondabad,” Jack said. “Now do your duty.”

Sipping a mug of coffee, Jack toured the barracks and checked the silver watch that Mary had given him on their tenth wedding anniversary. Smiling, he returned to the sergeant"s mess. “Five o"clock. Wake the men!”

Dashing into the barracks of the three companies he commanded, Jack fired his pistol in the air, shouting.

“Wake up! Get up!”

“Come on you lazy bastards!” The sergeants relished their part in the procedure, tipping up beds, dragging the young soldiers upright and screaming a***e at the top of their voices. “The Russians are coming! Grab your rifles and get fell in! Come on! Never mind your uniforms! We haven"t got time for that!”

Bemused and thoroughly alarmed, the men of A, B and C Companies, 113th Foot scrambled onto the maidan, the parade ground outside their barracks, to see Jack and the junior officers fully dressed and armed.

“Get fell in!” the sergeants roared. “Double, you lazy bastards! Double!”

The men fought to find their places. Most were in their long white underwear, some in nightshirts and a few wore nothing at all. Only the men on picket duty were in full uniform. Good, Jack thought. Battles seldom come when you are prepared for them.

“Form up!” Jack shouted, “and follow me!”

He led the men at a smart trot around the maidan, warming them up before he circled the British cantonment. He knew that the officers" wives and British civilians would be watching, but the sight of n***d men would not kill them.

“Keep up! Double!” Jack ordered. He increased the pace to a light infantry level, making his men work as he completed the circuit of the British cantonment.

“What on earth are you doing?” Elliot appeared at the door of his bungalow in his trousers and shirt.

“Getting my lads fit, sir,” Jack replied. “I want them ready if the Russians come.”

“Carry on, Windrush.” Elliot watched, smiling faintly, then withdrew inside his bungalow.

After a further circuit that included the sepoy barracks, Jack relented and returned the men to the maidan.

“That was a reminder,” he addressed them, seeing the sweating faces, noting the resentful, the sulky and the keen. “We are soldiers of the queen, and the governor-general can call on us at any time, with or without notice.”

The men stared forward. One saturnine, hard-faced private muttered an oath that Jack chose to ignore.

“As from today, I will be ensuring you are fit to serve as soldiers. No more Aldershot drill. Now get your breakfast, get washed and dressed and return to the maidan in marching kit in an hour. Dismiss!”

For the next five days, Jack hammered A, B and C Companies, taking them for long route marches to toughen them up and get them used to Indian conditions, and spending every evening at the firing range.

“You are all familiar with your rifles,” Jack marched along the front of his men, seeing the weary, sun-reddened faces. “You have all fired it on the ranges in England. Some of you are even half-decent shots.”

Jack saw a few of the men look pleased. He selected one man he had already marked as a potential troublemaker. Thankfully, he stood in the front rank. “Hancock! Take ten steps forward.”

Hancock was a smooth-faced man in his early twenties. He stepped forward and halted, standing to attention with his rifle in his right hand.

“About turn and face your colleagues!” Jack knew there was little more daunting than facing a sea of faces. “Now, tell them about your rifle.”

As Jack had expected, Hancock stuttered and stumbled over the words. Jack gave the hapless private a few moments of embarrassment before sending him back to his place.

“Thank you, Hancock. Morriston, please step forward.”

Looking about ready to faint, Morriston obeyed.

“Give me your rifle, Morriston, and return to your place.” Jack lifted the weapon, wondering how often he had explained the usage of a rifle to young soldiers.

“This rifle is a Martini-Henry,” he said. “It weighs eight pounds and twelve ounces and is sighted up to thirteen-hundred yards. That means that a good marksman, given moderate luck and a following wind, can kill a man at that range.” He waited for a few moments. “With the Martini-Henry, we can outshoot the Afghan marksmen.”

Jack saw expressions of confusion pass over the men"s faces. “Ah,” he said. “I see you are wondering why I am mentioning Afghanistan.” He looked over the assembled companies. “I am fully aware it has been many years since the 113th was in action. Apart from some police action in Perak, we"ve been on a peacetime footing. I expect that to alter very shortly, and I aim to have you ready to fight.” He brandished the Martini.

“This rifle has a .45 calibre bullet, which gives it sufficient stopping power to knock a man over. Even at a thousand yards, a Martini bullet can kill. A good soldier can fire twelve rounds a minute. However, as some of you will know, it kicks like a drunken mule, it fouls too easily, and it overheats.”

The men listened, with the more sensible taking mental notes.

“Worse,” Jack said, “the spent cartridges can jam in the breech.” Lifting the rifle, he worked the under-lever to open the breech. “If that happens to you, step smartly out of the firing line, dig out the old cartridge, reload and return. We will practice that until you are smart and efficient. Your mates will cover you while you clear the blockage.”

Having given the advantages and faults of the Martini-Henry, Jack led his three companies to the ranges to practise firing. He spent an entire morning with each company, making them load and fire at speed until they grew accustomed to the vicious recoil of the rifle and some had suffered jams. He taught them how to free the breech without panicking and how to fire from cover.

“When I am finished with you,” Jack said, “you will know your Martini better than you know your women!”

“You"re driving my men hard,” Captain Singer said.

“I am,” Jack agreed. “Some are Johnny Raws, others have been in the Army for years and only seen garrison duty and field days. They are complacent, Singer. I don"t think we"re here as a decoration. I can see us fighting soon, either Russians or Afghans or both, and when that happens, I want our men ready.”

When he was sure the men had grasped the basics, Jack took them on long marches into the Indian countryside.

“We"re marching in war conditions,” he told them. “Expect the unexpected.”

Jack gave them the first surprise early the following morning when he had the bugler blow reveille at three in the morning and ordered the NCOs to immediately pull down the tents.

Officers and men scrambled from the canvas wreckage, to find themselves in bright moonlight. Jack marched among them, ignoring the curses, watching the NCOs sort them out and the young officers in shirts and red woollen nightcaps trying to look dignified.

“We didn"t know you would do that,” Lieutenant Trent said.

“Well, you know now,” Jack said. “A and B Company form up! C Company, clean up this mess and follow us.”

He drove them hard from before dawn until it was too hot to work, allowed them two hours to recover and pushed them even harder.

“b****y officers! Old Jack"s trying to kill us off!” Private Hancock complained.

“That"s his way,” Ahern said. “He thinks we"re not good enough for him.”

“Bugger that.” Lawrence lay on his back, watching a bird wheel overhead. “I"ll show him how good I am when I win the VC.”

Only when the wives arrived at Gondabad did Jack grant the men a day"s peace while he re-acquainted himself with Mary. Then he started again until both the officers and other ranks hated the sound of his voice.

“b****y slave driver,” Hancock said.

“You"re not making many friends,” Mary warned as she smoked her cheroot in the evening.

“I"m not here to make friends,” Jack said. “I"m here to make soldiers.” He saw the vague shape of a man watching from outside the British cantonment. “That fellow in the red turban has been here the last three days,” he said. “He wants something.”

Mary looked over her shoulder. “I dare say he"ll ask when he gathers his nerve.”

“I dare say he will,” Jack said and ordered the guard to be doubled that night. Memories of the Mutiny haunted him.

“Do you need that thing?” Mary asked when Jack hung his holstered revolver from the bedpost.

“I hope not,” Jack said, trying to sound nonchalant. “How was David?”

“He rode Tweed to Sandhurst,” Mary said, “and said he"d send for his luggage later.”

Jack nodded. “That"s David becoming a man, then. Doubtless, we"ll hear from him in a few months.”

“We"d better,” Mary said, “or I"ll visit Sandhurst in person.”

“I quite believe it,” Jack said, adjusted the mosquito net around their bed, checked the revolver and lay down. “We"d better get some sleep.”

* * *

Colonel Elliot leaned back in his cane chair, stretched out his legs and sipped at his whisky-and-water. “Well, Jack, you were right.”

“I"m glad to hear it,” Jack slumped into the chair beside Elliot, waved away the soft-footed Indian servant and lit a cheroot. “What was I right about?”

“We"ve had orders,” Elliot said. “We"re off to the Frontier.”

Jack drew on his cheroot. “That"s interesting,” he said. “At least the men are more hardened than they were a few weeks ago. Is it war?”

“Not yet,” Elliot said. “But it"s coming.”

Jack nodded. “I"ve fought the Russians in the Crimea, and the Pashtun along the North-West Frontier. Both were redoubtable. I"ve never fought the Afghans, but they gave us a torrid time in the 1839-42 War.” He exhaled a plume of tobacco smoke. “When do we leave and what"s happened?”

“Call the officers together,” Elliot said. “And I"ll tell everybody.”

* * *

“It"s quite simple,” Elliot addressed the gathered officers. “As you know, a Russian mission led by General Stolietev ignored all international protocols and marched to Kabul. As far as we know, Amir Sher Ali neither invited the Russians nor wanted them to come. The Amir was not at fault.”

The officers listened, with a mixture of scepticism and excitement.

“St Petersburg ordered Stolietev to return to Russia,” Elliot continued, “and the affair should have ended there. If our diplomats had any sense, they would have seen the Amir was not to blame. However, Lytton seems lacking in the good-sense department. He ordered Sher Ali to allow a British mission into Kabul to counterbalance the Russians. Sher Ali, stuck between two of the most powerful empires in the world, did not reply.”

“The poor fellow is out of his depth,” Jack said.

“Indeed, so Lytton ordered General Neville Chamberlain with a British mission to Kabul, via the Khyber,” Elliot said. “Stolietev is still in Kabul but packing up his things with his tail between his legs.”

“I know Chamberlain,” Jack said. “I was with him in the Bunerwal Campaign back in the sixties. He"s a good man, a fighting general.”

“He"s a more than competent soldier,” Elliot agreed. “Sher Ali will know his name and reputation. Maybe Lytton intended to intimidate the Amir.”

Jack snorted. “Intimidate an Afghan? He"s as much chance as keeping a krait as a pet.”

“My thoughts too, Jack. And the Amir"s. He said he"d closed the Khyber to the British, so if Chamberlain tried to reach Kabul, the Afridis and the regular Afghan Army would stop him.”

Jack pulled on his cigar. “The Afridis would not need any encouragement to attack a British mission, or a Russian mission.”

“Like as not,” Elliot said. “Lytton over-reacted. He said that unless the Amir allowed Chamberlain to proceed unmolested to Kabul, he would send the British Army to install the mission by force.”

“Lytton is a prime a*s,” Jack said. “Threats will drive the Afghans to retaliate even before any British soldier enters the passes.”

“Lytton acted as one would expect,” Elliot said. “He told the government in London that Sher Ali"s actions "deprived the Amir of all further claim on our forbearance." ”

“Whatever that means,” Jack said.

Elliot took a deep breath. “It"s not good, Jack, it"s not good at all.”

“It"s never good when politicians get involved in military matters,” Jack said. “They should stick to what they know, which is exchanging tittle-tattle at house parties.” He looked out of the window as Sergeant Peebles blasted a group of privates around the maidan. “When the politicians make their usual shambles, it"s down to these lads out there to put things straight.”

“Lytton sent an ultimatum,” Elliot said. “He gave Sher Ali until the 20th November to allow a British mission into Kabul.”

“That deadline has passed,” Major Burridge pointed out. “How did the Amir respond? Or don"t we know, yet?”

“We know,” Elliot said. “Our intelligence people report that the Amir is considering asking the Russians for military help.”

“Dear God,” Jack breathed. “What a b****y mess. We could be fighting Afghanistan and Russia at the same time.”

Elliot nodded. “That could happen, Jack, and the 113th will be in the thick of it. We"ve got our orders, and we"re heading into Afghanistan.”

Jack felt a mixture of excitement and unease. “Through the Khyber?”

Elliot shook his head. “Not this time, we"re going through the Kurran. The British Army is invading Afghanistan in three columns. We have a column in the south, advancing from Quetta straight to Kandahar. We have a central column from Kohat through the Kurram Valley, and we have a column from Peshawar to Jalalabad through the Khyber Pass.”

The names sent a chill through Jack as he remembered Britain"s last incursion into Afghanistan when the Afghans wiped out an entire army. He took a deep breath. “I think this is the war I"ve been dreading all my career,” he said.

“We"re in the central column,” Elliot said, “under General Roberts. Jack, your three companies march for Kohat in three days as part of the 2nd Brigade, Kurram Valley Field Force. The remainder of the regiment, including me, remains here for now.” He sipped at his whisky. “You"d better get your men ready.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. Could you ensure Mary is safe?”

“I"ll do that, Jack. We"re a long way from the Frontier in Gondabad.”

“Aye. And Mary will be a long way from me.” Jack stood up. “If you"ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

I"m going back to war. I"m going back to the Frontier.

I"m going back to war. I"m going back to the Frontier.