Chapter 9-2
1525 Words
“Easy, lads,” Jack said. “This is what we"ve trained for. This is what we do.”
The attack came within the hour. It began with long-distance sniping that made the 113th, 72nd and Gurkhas duck for cover, and continued with a more prolonged fusillade.
“Bugler,” Roberts ordered, “Send every man to his station.”
“Come on, 113th!” Jack pushed his men to their places on the rough walls. “It"s time to earn the generous pay the government gives you.” He checked that Peebles had placed ammunition boxes and water every ten yards. “Keep your heads down until you have to! You"re soldiers, not idiots!”
The firing became general as the Afghans advanced on the camp. Jack could not calculate their numbers but guessed them at about eight thousand. He saw the fringed green-and-black banners thrusting above the charging horde and heard the old familiar cries of “Allah-il-Allah” and “Allah Akbar!”
The old thrill came back, distilled by fear, sharpened by experience. The product of generations of British officers, Jack assumed command automatically.
“A Company, aim. Lower your sights, MacDonald! Raise your barrel, Wilson - you"re aiming at the ground.”
Jack watched the Afghans" rapid approach. All the tension had left him now; he was a soldier performing his duty.
“Number One Section: fire!” Jack stood behind his men, not ducking despite the bullets that whistled around him, aware that his presence reassured his young soldiers. “Number Two Section, fire! Number Three Section, fire!” He walked along the inside of the defences, momentarily unaware of the fear that gnawed at him, although he knew that the Afghans would be targeting him.
The 113th fired and reloaded, a double line of white topees and khaki jackets, a double line of Martin-Henrys.
“Ready A and B Company!” Jack took a step back, unholstered his revolver and held it by his side. “Volley fire on my word!”
After a few moments, the Afghans surged forward on the left front, right flank, and the rear, where his 113th stood. Jack watched the enemy, the usual sea of angry, screaming faces, the raised pulwars and firearms, with the fringed green banners held above.
“Allah-il-Allah! Deen! Deen! – the Faith!” The war cries sounded above the crackle of rifles as the mob of warriors charged forward, death on ten thousand feet.
“Fire!” Jack said and saw the jets of white smoke and the resulting c*****e. The Afghans" war cry sounded “Allah Akbar!”
One of Jack"s men, a millworker from Bristol, fell back, dead, with a neat bullet hole in his forehead and the back of his head blown away. Another yelled as a bullet slammed into his shoulder, and a third stepped back, desperately trying to clear a jam in his rifle.
“Independent firing, boys,” Jack ordered. “Shoot them flat.”
Jack did not dislike the Afghans, and on this occasion, he felt sympathy for their situation. British and Russian diplomats had created this war, and the ordinary Afghan people, plus the British soldiers and Indian sepoys, would pay the price in blood. If the Russians had manoeuvred the situation to divert Britain from the Czar"s war with Turkey, they had achieved their objective. Every British and Afghan casualty was a tiny victory for the Russian politicians.
Jack ducked, as an Afghan bullet whined past his head. The politics of the situation did not matter; he had accepted Queen Victoria"s commission as an officer in her army. It was his duty to fight the queen"s enemies, and at present that included the warriors and soldiers of Afghanistan.
“Don"t waste your ammunition!” Jack ordered as he noticed some of the younger soldiers firing without aiming. He tapped Morriston on the shoulder. “Remember your training!”
The Afghans surged forward, without a single man coming close to the British perimeter. Jack saw Dunlop stand on the perimeter wall, aim carefully and fire, bringing down one of the standard-bearers.
“Keep behind the wall, Dunlop,” Jack ordered. “I don"t like burial details.”
“They"re falling back!” Hancock shouted.
The 113th cheered, no doubt believing they had won a signal victory.
“Stop that damned noise!” Jack shouted. “Keep firing. The more of the enemy we kill today, the less there will be to kill us tomorrow!”
Awalmir stood in the background, watching everything, saying nothing.
The Afghans withdrew as quickly as they had advanced, leaving two British soldiers and two sepoys dead, a handful wounded, and scores of their men on the snow.
“How many 113th casualties?” Jack shouted.
“One dead, two wounded,” Sergeant Peebles replied.
“Get the wounded to the hospital tent,” Jack holstered his pistol.
“They"ve all gone,” Second-lieutenant Gifford said, staring at the suddenly empty landscape. “The Afghans have all gone.”
“Perhaps so,” Jack said. A green banner lay on the frost-hard ground, a crumpled memory of the brave man who had carried it.
“Keep the men at the wall for an hour,” Roberts said. “The Afghans might come back.”
After the hour had passed without incident, Jack stood down most of his men, retaining strong pickets in case the Afghans returned, and retired to his tent to write a letter to Mary.
Jack knew that however bad soldiering was for the men, the wives suffered more. At least the soldiers knew that they were alive, while the women endured the continual mental torment of not knowing if their men were well and when, or if, they would return. Jack resolved not to increase Mary"s worry by making her aware of the danger surrounding him.
Danger? The day"s action was only a minor skirmish in a war Jack did not think had properly started. “Wake me if anything happens, Donnelly,” Jack ordered and lay on his charpoy. He did not expect to sleep but closed his eyes.
* * *
The sound of rifle fire woke Jack, and the vibration of many feet on the hard ground, a discordant yelling punctuated by the brisk bark of British orders.
“Sir,” Donnelly had his rifle in his hand. “The Afghans are attacking.”
“Thank you, Donnelly, I had gathered that.” Jack scrabbled for his revolver and cartridges as he stumbled outside.
The night was dark, with clouds concealing the moon and stars and only the muzzle flashes of the rifles providing illumination.
“They"re inside the perimeter!” somebody shouted.
“Fix bayonets, lads!” Jack roared. “Stay in your sections and watch your backs!”
Jack heard Sergeant Peebles" voice, “Five Section, come to me!”
The firing died away, leaving only the smell of g*n smoke. Jack heard the steady drip of water from the eaves of a house. The sudden silence was eerie as men held their breaths and peered into the darkness.
“I"m behind you, sir,” Donnelly said quietly. “I can"t see the Paythans anywhere.” A burst of firing came from the left, and Donnelly dropped.
“Donnelly,” Jack turned. Donnelly was kneeling, firing, reloading faster than Jack had believed possible and firing again.
“Get your head down, sir!” Donnelly snarled. “The b****y Paythans are here!”
Jack saw the shadowy figures creeping towards him on all fours. Drawing his revolver, he fired until the hammer clicked on an empty chamber and reloaded quickly.
“Come on, you bastards!” Ahern loomed through the dark. “After me, 113th! Show them your cap badge!” He lurched forward, bayonet fixed. Jack heard an unearthly scream and grunts and roars.
“Stand in your positions, 113th!” Jack shouted.
And then it ended as if somebody had closed a door. Donnelly stood at Jack"s side, breathing heavily as he cleaned his bayonet, and a shift in the wind revealed the moon. The soft light was as unnerving as the darkness had been.
Jack saw five Afghan corpses sprawled on the ground and one British soldier. A Gurkha was muttering to himself as he held up the head of a bearded Pashtun, and the men of the 113th looked around them.
“Well done lads,” Jack said. “We"ll clean up the mess tomorrow.”
Donnelly began to sing a soldiers" song, with some of the others joining in.
"Tora cheeny, tora chah,
"Tora cheeny, tora chah,Bombay bibi, bahat achha
Bombay bibi, bahat achhaSixteen annas, ek rupee,
Sixteen annas, ek rupee,Seventeen annas ek buckshee.
Seventeen annas ek buckshee.Oh Deolali sahib, Oh Deolali Sahib
Oh Deolali sahib, Oh Deolali SahibMay the boat that you go home on,
May the boat that you go home on,Niche rakko pani, sahib."
Niche rakko pani, sahib.Jack breathed out slowly. Despite the blatant obscenity of the song, he was glad to hear singing, for that meant his men"s morale was high.
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