Jack Windrush Collection - Books 9-12

Chapter 7

As flurries of snow heralded the beginning of winter, Roberts halted his force a mile from the Peiwar Kotal and sent out scouting parties towards the Afghan position.

“Now"s your chance, Windrush,” Roberts said. “You know this kind of territory, and you"re one of my most experienced officers. Take a patrol forward and see what"s happening.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jack pointed to Harcourt. “You"re with me, Harcourt. You too, Awalmir, and I"ll take some Sikh cavalry. We know how much they love the Afghans.”

The Sikhs and Afghans were traditional enemies, so Jack knew the Sikhs would watch Awalmir without any orders from him. He trotted forward with his men at his back and the old, familiar feelings rising within him. Despite his intense knowledge of the horrors of war, there was a vivacious thrill in leading good men to survey an enemy position.

“Don"t stay too close, Harcourt,” Jack ordered. “There"s nothing the Afghans gunners would like better than a group of British officers.” The Sikhs, natural soldiers, needed no instructions to keep apart.

As he approached the mountains, Jack saw that the Afghans had fortified the pass with sangars and g*n emplacements. The path was steep even for a lightly armed man and attacking uphill against entrenched Afghan infantry supported by artillery would bring massive casualties that Roberts" small force could not afford.

“Come on, lads,” Jack said. “Let"s see how alert these Afghan fellows are.” He advanced up the path with the Sikhs striving to keep abreast of him, each man determined to prove his bravery.

As soon as they were within long cannon range, one of the Afghan guns opened up. Jack saw the white puff of smoke a second before the ball thudded on the ground fifty yards in front, and then he heard the dull thud of the shot.

“That"s close enough,” Jack saw that Harcourt was looking around him, while Awalmir found a handy tree for shelter. The Sikhs stood proud, making themselves targets to protect the officer.

Using his binoculars, Jack saw that Karim Khan"s men occupied a ridge overlooking the pass, with artillery and infantry positioned on the hills that flanked the kotal. Flags and banners hung above the men, some fluttering as the breeze caught them, green and gold against the grey sky. Robert"s army would advance into a horseshoe of hostility.

Jack inspected the surrounding hills, searching for an alternative route that might outflank the Afghan defences.

“Over there, Windrush,” Awalmir guessed Jack"s intentions. “Look at the Spingawari Kotal.”

Jack swung his binoculars to his right. “I see it,” he said. Awalmir indicated the ridge on the left flank of the Peiwar Kotal, steep and uninviting, dark with fir trees, but a weak point in the Afghan position, if men could reach it unseen.

The Afghan guns fired again, the shots falling uncomfortably close.

“Ukeye, boys,” Jack said. “That"s enough. Back we go.”

Roberts nodded as Jack passed on his observations. “Very good, Windrush. I"ll have a look myself. Who did you say your Pashtun worked for?”

“Bacha Khan, sir,” Jack said.

“Bacha Khan,” Roberts repeated the name. “I can"t say I"ve ever heard of him.” He smiled. “Your man Awalmir, or maybe Bacha Khan, has probably got a blood feud with Karim Khan, so he"s on our side today. If the Afghans ever learn to combine and stop their feuding, they could be a most formidable foe. As it is, they hate each other more, than they hate us.” The general paused for a significant moment. “Thank the Lord.”

For the next couple of days, Roberts remained static, while sending patrols out to probe the Afghan positions on the Peiwar Kotal. As the Afghans watched, Roberts strengthened his camp at the foot of the pass. He dug in his artillery and formed up the infantry as if preparing to advance up the kotal.

“Keep them busy,” Roberts ordered the artillery, “fire a few rounds and hold their attention.”

On the night of the 1st December 1878, Jack looked over A and B Companies of the 113th, ensuring each man carried his eighty rounds and the regulation two blankets against the Afghan snow. He grunted as the men struggled to wrap the new regulation puttees around their legs.

“Why do we have to wear these things, sir?” Private Ahern asked.

“It"s standing orders, my boy,” Jack explained, trying to appear cheerful. “And, more importantly, they will help keep you warm.”

Lieutenant Harcourt was smiling, trying to control his excitement, exchanging jibes with the men as young Gifford lit a cheroot in an attempt to appear mature.

Jack allowed the second lieutenant a minute to calm his nerves before addressing the company. “Ready, boys? We"re going up the Spingawari Kotal, on the left flank of the Afghan position. General Roberts is leading us in person, while General Cobbe is making a frontal attack to divert the Afghans.”

Jack knew what it was like to move into battle while knowing nothing of the situation, so he always tried to keep his men informed of the general picture. The white faces stared at him, some huge-eyed and fearful, others smiling, or tense.

“For most of you, it"s your first action, so follow orders, do as your officers and NCOs say, and you"ll be all right.”

It was hardly an inspiring speech, but the best Jack could do.

“Now I"ll win my VC,” Lawrence said. “This is my chance.”

“So it is, Lawrence,” Hancock said. “You"ll be the first Johnny Raw to win anything.”

“You"ll win the toe of my boot if you put the section at risk,” Paddy Dunlop said. “Don"t be a b****y fool.”

“But Sergeant Peebles said I was to win a Victoria Cross,” Lawrence protested.

“He was pulling your leg.” Dunlop checked Lawrence"s rifle. “Just keep your head down.”

With the 23rd Pioneers, 2nd Punjabis and 29th Bengal Native infantry, the 72nd Highlanders, the 5th Gurkhas in dark green and black pillbox hats, and a mountain battery of four guns, it was a small but powerful force that began the flanking attack. Jack"s two companies of the 113th were in the middle of the column.

“We have a twelve-mile march ahead of us,” Jack said, “so save your breath for marching, keep together and keep your spirits up.”

Snow drifted from the dark sky, becoming heavier as the force ascended the rough ground towards the Spingawari Kotal. The ground underfoot was uneven, with slippery stones and a riverbed to negotiate.

“Keep up, lads,” Jack encouraged his men, glad of the extra training he had given them. They stumbled through the Afghan dark in the wake of the sepoys, Gurkhas, and Highlanders, swearing in low monotones. “Don"t talk. Save your energy.”

Roberts led from the front, diminutive, expressionless, untiring, as the path steepened by the mile. Cedar trees stretched on either side, half-seen in the dark, rustling like ghostly voices as if mocking the toiling British soldiers. Even the baggage mules slipped on the path, kicking the loose shale into the unseen darkness below.

“I can"t see a thing in this muck,” a voice came from ahead.

“Keep your b****y voice down!” Sergeant Peebles snarled, and the column continued, step after laboured step, mile after mile, with Jack hoping the Afghans were not preparing to ambush them at the first grey streaks of dawn. He imagined their fierce, predatory faces behind the long jezails and modern British rifles, waiting with infinite patience as the British approached.

“Major Windrush, sir,” a fresh-faced Highland lieutenant reined up beside Jack. “The general sends his compliments, sir, and would you be good enough to locate the 2nd Punjab Infantry and one of the mountain batteries of the Royal Artillery.”

“Locate them?” Jack asked.

“Yes, sir.” The lieutenant"s grin was apparent through the dark. “They seem to have gone missing.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. My compliments to the general and I will do what I can.” Jack sighed as the lieutenant rode away. “Take over, Captain Singer,” Jack said. As both missing units were behind the 113th, he had to ride past the marching column, ignoring the grumbles of the men.

“Old Jack"s had enough,” an anonymous voice grunted. “He"s away home.”

Awalmir rode at his side, silent as any ghost. Jack was not sure if he was reassured or concerned at the Pashtun"s presence.

“Officer coming through!” Jack shouted said. “Make way, there!”

Jack remembered a fork in the track some three miles down the hill and followed the trail.

“I can smell them, sahib,” Awalmir said.

“So can I.” The distinctive smell of g*n mules and human sweat polluted the clear mountain air. “Come on, Awalmir.”

Jack pushed ahead of the stragglers in the wandering column, halting before the officers in command. “You"re marching in the wrong direction, gentlemen,” Jack told them, shortly. “General Roberts is heading that way,” he pointed them in the right direction, before returning to the plodding 113th.

“I"m a major,” he told himself, “not a blasted errand boy.”

“Old Jack"s back,” the anonymous voice said as Jack returned to the 113th. “He couldn"t find his way in the dark.”

The single rifle shot echoed through the night, quickly followed by another. “That was a Snider,” Jack recognised the sound. “The Afghans have seen us. Quicken the pace, lads!”

Awalmir shook his head. “That was no Afghan rifle, Major. That shot came from the leading regiment. It was a Pashtun sepoy warning the Afghans.”

Jack cursed and nodded. Inter-tribal and religious loyalty always complicated warfare in this part of the world, where a man could be a good friend one day and shoot you in the back the next. With many Muslim sepoys wary of fighting their co-religionists, they would discard their oath of loyalty without a shred of conscience.

Roberts agreed with Awalmir"s conclusion and halted the column. Calling back the leading battalion with its quota of untrustworthy sepoys, the general ordered the Gurkhas to take the lead, backed by the 72nd Highlanders.

“I"ll put your 113th immediately behind the 72nd, Windrush,” Roberts said calmly.

“Karim Khan has not heeded the warning shots,” Jack said. “There is no movement among the Afghans.”

“So it appears,” Roberts said. “Lead on, Gurkhas!”

As the dawn lightened the sky, Jack looked up through the dense fir woods and scattered boulders. He saw that the Afghans had built sangars, basic, dry-stone defences, to protect the Spingawari Kotal. He heard the faint rumble of voices through the dark and knew the Afghans were only a few hundred yards away.

“Halt.” Roberts checked his watch. The British column stopped, obeying orders not to talk as the trees around them whispered in the wind. The men waited, with the tension building. Some fiddled with their rifles or slid their bayonets from their scabbards.

“Gurkhas, move forward. Don"t attack until I give the word.”

Masters of silent warfare, the Gurkhas crept closer to the Afghan positions, green ghosts in the dark as the world waited for chaos.

At five in the morning, British artillery opened up on the Afghan positions on Peiwar Kotal. Even from up here on the ridge, the grumble of guns was unmistakable, with shells bursting on the Afghans on Peiwar Kotal.

“That will keep the Afghans busy and disguise any noise we make,” Jack explained to Harcourt and Gifford.

“Gurkhas,” Roberts ordered and nodded forward. “72nd!”

Dawn greyed the sky as the 5th Gurkhas advanced to the attack. They carried the outmoded Snider rifles, with long, slightly curved, Yataghan bayonets. Small, stocky men, Jack had fought beside them in previous campaigns and knew them to be excellent soldiers. With the British barrage covering any noise they made, the Gurkhas and Highlanders crept to within fifty yards of the Afghan positions.

“Ready, boys,” Jack said softly. “The battle is about to begin.”