Jack Windrush Collection - Books 9-12

Chapter 8-1

At Roberts" quiet signal, the Gurkhas and Highlanders rushed forward the final fifty yards. Jack heard the crackle of musketry, saw the muzzle flares as the Afghans fired, and above all, the high-pitched battle cries of the Gurkhas “Ayo Gorkhali!” mingled with the more resounding roar from the Highlanders.

“Caber Feidh, you bastards! The Seaforths are here!”

“God help the Afghans when that lot get among them,” Jack said. “What a combination, Gurkhas and Highlanders together.”

Singer nodded, fumbling to light one of his foul-smelling Egyptian cigarettes. “I"ve heard the Gurkhas are good, sir.”

“The best in the business,” Jack said.

The initial assault took only minutes and then the Gurkhas and Highlanders were over the first sangar, bayonets lunging. The remaining defenders retreated to the second, leaving a litter of bodies around the stones.

“Come on, 113th,” Jack led his men in support.

It was still gloomy-dark, with the fir trees half-seen around them and the muzzle-flashes of the defenders a guide to the Afghans in front. With the Gurkhas and Highlanders leading the assault, Jack"s 113th had little to do except to consolidate the position and ensure no Afghans remained to shoot them in the back. The British captured the second sangar with another savage rush, and the Afghans scurried back again.

“Come on, boys!” Lawrence pushed in front. “We can overtake the Gurkhas!”

“Get back in line, Lawrence,” Harcourt ordered. “Keep to your place.”

In the third sangar, the Afghans made more resistance, keeping behind the stone barricade as they fired at the advancing British. The assault ground to a halt, with Gurkhas and Highlanders returning fire from behind whatever cover they could find.

This time, Jack rushed his men forward, ensured the young soldiers retained their formation.

“Find cover and volley fire, 113th,” Jack ordered as the sangar loomed ahead, decorated with the twinkling flares from the Afghan jezails and rifles. Jack scrutinised his regiment, for the first time under fire was always nerve-wracking. Harcourt behaved well, keeping his men under control, while Gifford was a little excitable, rising to fire his revolver and talking rapidly. Sergeant Peebles was a revelation, calming the men down while aiming and firing steadily.

The 113th unleashed four volleys before the Gurkhas and Highlanders stormed the third redoubt. The 113th watched the few moments of c*****e, bayonets against pulwars, before the Afghans again retreated along the ridge. A snow flurry temporarily blocked Jack"s vision as he brought his men along in support.

“Keep together, boys,” Jack said as the young soldiers stared at the twisted casualties. The reality of their chosen profession hit them on that windy Afghan ridge.

“Halt,” Roberts ordered, “signallers, contact the holding force, tell them to start their frontal assault.”

The signallers set up the heliograph and flashed the orders to the British camp, some two-and-a-half-thousand feet below. The reply came within a minute, the lights flickering through the swirling snow, hard to read except for highly trained experts.

As they waited for orders, the British soldiers helped the British and sepoy casualties back down the steep path. Once they reached more level ground, friendly hands would lift the wounded onto stretcher-panniers, known as khajwas, on the side of camels, for the uncomfortable journey to the hospital tent.

“Lucky buggers,” Hancock said. “At least they"re out of it, now.”

With his binoculars, Jack saw the camels sway away, with the Indian camel drivers huddled into their blankets. Jack knew the camel bells were tinkling, although he could not hear them. A stray bullet whirred over Jack"s head.

Even from their distance, Jack heard the crackle of musketry as the British frontal attack began up the Peiwar Kotal.

“Advance along the ridge,” Roberts ordered. “We"ll take the pass from the front and flank.”

Jack lifted his voice, “come on, 113th!”

This time the Afghans" resistance was stiffer, as they fought for every yard. The Gurkhas and Highlanders pushed ahead, but now bullets also fell among the 113th. The terrain altered, from thin forest to a rocky ridge and back to forestland, with the Afghan regulars resisting from behind every tree. Occasionally the artillery fired, with the shot crashing through the woodland, or creating a mushroom of earth and pebbles that rose abruptly from the ridge, hung in the air for a few seconds before drifting slowly away.

“Come on the 113th!” Jack shouted. “Never mind the shine! Extended order, boys. By the centre!” He pushed forward into the trees, with the Afghans waiting for them behind yet another sangar. Jack saw pakol hats and turbans bobbing behind the stones, the white puffs of powder-smoke and heard the deep thuds of jezails as well as the sharp cracks of Sniders and Martinis. He crouched behind a tree, revolver in hand, fired when he glimpsed an Afghan, swore when a jezail bullet thudded into his tree, and moved on, waving his men onward. The young soldiers were behaving well, some glancing behind them but none cowering or running.

“Cry Havelock!” Donnelly roared, using the old war cry of the 113th with which he had grown up. “Let loose the dogs of war!”

The Highlanders were to his right, cheering, with their red tartan trews twinkling amidst the boles of the trees. On the left, the Gurkhas ghosted through the trees, firing, and advancing.

“Come on, the 113th!” Jack ran in front, fired three times, and ducked behind a tree. He pushed the brass cartridges into his revolver"s empty chambers, desperate to reload before the Afghans counter-attacked. The last thing he wanted was a big-bearded Ghazi with a Khyber knife charging at him when he fumbled with his revolver.

“Allah Akbar!” A determined rush by a company of Afghans stalled the advance until the Highlanders and Gurkhas combined with bayonet and kukri. Lieutenant Harcourt stepped forward, drawing his sword, encouraging his men by word and gesture.

With Highlanders on one flank and Gurkhas on the other, very few Afghans escaped the pincer movement. Jack"s A Company waited for those who did, with Harcourt showing surprising skill with his sword.

“You"ve done that before,” Jack said as Harcourt spitted the leading Afghan clean through the heart.

“Only in practice.” Harcourt stared at the body of the Afghan, suddenly sober. “I"ve never killed a man before.”

Jack nodded. “That"s part of the soldier"s bargain,” he said, deliberately harshly. He knew the memory of his first kill would haunt Harcourt for years. “Look after your men!” He looked ahead. As far as he could see for the trees, the ridge was clear of Afghan defenders.

The Gurkhas pushed on, flitting through the thin forest until Jack heard a loud outbreak of musketry, with the ear-splitting c***k of a six-pounder field piece. A Gurkha officer lifted his hand. “Halt!” he ordered, in English and Nepali. “We"ll not get any further this way.”

Jack led his company forward, watching for possible ambushes. He stopped when he saw that a deep ravine blocked their path, dark with menace and with strong Afghan positions on the far side.

“That"s a natural fortress,” Jack said. “We"ll have to descend into the ravine and climb up, in the face of musketry and artillery.”

“That"s the only way,” a Gurkha officer agreed as Afghan bullets slammed into the trees around them.

Roberts scanned the Afghan defences with his binoculars. “We"ll flank them again,” he decided, “the 5th Gurkhas and the 72nd Highlanders will push forward here at the ravine while the 29th and 23rd Punjabis will edge towards the force attacking from the front.”

“How about the 113th, sir?” Jack asked.

“Take half a company of your 113th, find a route around the Afghan defences and take them in the rear.”

“A flanking attack of the flanking attack,” Jack said.

“Exactly so, Windrush,” Roberts agreed. “Find a track suitable for the mountain battery.”

As the Highlanders and Gurkhas slid down the ravine, hanging onto the trees for balance, Jack took half of A Company to probe into the wooded wilderness to the north and west. “Do you know this area, Awalmir?”

“I"ve been here, sahib,” Awalmir said.

“Is there a way around the Afghan defences?”

“Follow me, Major Windrush.” Awalmir had an unerring eye for country, guiding the half-company of 113th along a narrow spur and then headed north-west, with the British soldiers following behind, swearing mightily.

With an hour, Jack knew Awalmir had given the British the advantage, for his route circumvented the Afghan positions.

“Well done, Awalmir!” Jack stood on a prominent knoll, with the 113th in an extended skirmishing line around him. Lifting his binoculars, Jack concentrated on the Afghan camp and grunted in satisfaction.

“A battery of mountain guns here would cause chaos,” he said. “You"ve done well, Awalmir.”

Awalmir smiled. “Bacha Khan told me to help you, Major Windrush.”

“Who is this Bacha Khan?” Jack asked. “I cannot recall anybody of that name. Was he one of the Guides I served with during the Bunerwal Campaign?”

“Bacha Khan will make himself known to you when he is ready,” Awalmir said.

All the time they had been marching, Jack was aware of the steady crackle of gunfire from the passes. He withdrew from his position, and returned to the battle, marching at the double.

“Where the hell are we going now?” Hancock asked. “March here, march there. My feet are on b****y fire.”

“Stop grousing, Hancock,” Peebles said. “Or I"ll give you something to grouse about.”

While Jack had been absent, Roberts flanking force had linked with Cobbe"s frontal attack, and both were making steady progress in pushing back the Afghans.

“They"re retreating,” Roberts said, “but very slowly.” He examined the Afghan position through his binoculars, refusing to flinch as a battery of artillery fired on the British advance. “Very good, we hook around as planned. Lead the way, Windrush.” He gave a sudden, bleak smile that belied the brightness in his Irish eyes. “Let"s hope the Afghans don"t realise how few men we have. One determined attack would punch through our line.”

“Perhaps we should build some defences, sir,” Jack said.

Roberts considered for a moment as a cannonball passed overhead with a sound like tearing cloth. “No,” he said. “Once they realise we are outflanking them, they"ll panic. Take your 113th, Windrush, with the Gurkhas and Highlanders. I"ll come with you.”

“Christ!” Hancock said. “We"ve just arrived, and now we"re heading back again. Is this an army or a b****y circus?”

“You keep your b****y mouth shut, Hancock,” Donnelly growled.

“Double, boys,” Jack led by example, feeling his years as he kept ahead of men half his age.

With the Gurkhas and Highlanders in front and the bulk of the 113th slightly behind, Jack led his small army along Awalmir"s path. When he reached the prominent knoll, Jack stopped.

Roberts joined him and scanned the Afghan camp with his binoculars. He nodded once, twice and lowered the binoculars. “Pipers!” Roberts said, “play one of your loud tunes. Let Karim Khan know we are here.” His smile was pure evil. “Nobody can mistake the pipes.”

Within two minutes, the Highland pipes sounded above the crackle and roar of battle. As soon as the Afghans knew the British were behind them, their resolve broke, as Roberts had predicted. Men began to drift away from the Afghan defences, just as the 8th Foot and 5th Punjabis charged them head-on at the Peiwar Kotal.