Jack Windrush Collection - Books 9-12

Chapter 10

February 8th, 1879. Jack stood outside his hut outside Habibkila, the small village at the entrance to the Peiwar valley. General Roberts had sent the 113th to guard the surrounding area through the winter. After a few days, the men had settled in, mounting patrols, and enjoying the relative peace.

“This place is known as the sweetheart"s village,” Awalmir said softly.

“Why is that?” Jack asked.

“Have you not noticed?” Awalmir gave a slow smile. “The most beautiful women in the world live here.”

Jack had seen a few women in the village, but he could not tell whether they were beautiful or not as all wore the burka. “I am not looking for a woman, Awalmir.”

“No, Major,” Awalmir said. “You are not.” He smiled again.

You“Oh,” Jack understood. “Do you have a woman here?”

“I will have by tonight,” Awalmir said.

“Off you go then, Awalmir. Don"t start a blood feud by sleeping with the wrong woman, for God"s sake.”

Awalmir smiled. “I only pick the best,” he said.

“Good luck to you, Awalmir. I don"t know why you are here, but I do know it will be something devious.”

Jack watched the Afridi slip away from the ranked British tents. He also saw the man in the shaggy poshteen and woollen pakol talk to Private Ahern at the gate.

Ahern pushed at the man in the poshteen, trying to eject him from the camp. Sighing, Jack lit a cheroot and ambled across. In Afghanistan, any visitor could be dangerous, or merely a wandering beggar.

“What"s the trouble, Ahern?”

“This fellow wants to see you, sir. I told him to bugger off, but he"s not going. Shall I fetch him a clout on the jaw?”

“He wants to see me?” Jack eyed the man, a great-bearded Afghan with his pakol pulled low over his forehead. “Tell him to come over.”

Private Ahern stepped back. “Very good, sir.” He faced the Afghan. “You can go over, and no funny business, see? If you try anything, you"ll get my bayonet in your guts!”

“I think he gets the message,” Jack said. He switched to Pushto. “I believe you are looking for me.” He looked closer, noticing something familiar about the Afghan"s eyes. “Are you Bacha Khan?”

“No, Major Windrush,” the Afghan spoke in a low growl. “What I have to say is best said in privacy.”

“Come into my tent,” Jack saw Donnelly hovering, with one hand reaching for the bayonet at his hip. “I"ll send my servant away.” He eyed the Afghan up and down. “I must warn you I carry a pistol and won"t hesitate to use it. Excuse me.” Leaning forward, Jack flicked the man"s poshteen open, extracted the Khyber knife he had expected to find there and handed it to Donnelly.

“Look after that, Donnelly,” Jack said. “Come in, my Afghan friend, and tell me what you want.”

The Afghan followed Jack inside the tent. “Who is this Bacha Khan fellow?” he asked in perfect English. “And how do you know of him?”

“General Hook?” Jack tried to hide his surprise. “You"re the last person I expected to see here.”

Hook sat on one of the cane chairs. “Did you think I sat behind a desk all day shuffling papers? No, Windrush, I get out in the field from time to time.” He leaned back, unsmiling. “You"ve set me a problem, Major.”

“I have, sir? I don"t understand.”

“You sent me a pile of documents you found after the skirmish at Peiwar Kotal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you read any of them?”

“I read Sher Ali"s appeal for a Jihad,” Jack said.

“The usual fodder to encourage the masses.” Hook dismissed the call to arms with a few words. “No, it was the documents about the other fellow I am more concerned with.”

“Which other fellow, sir?”

“The fellow you already know about, this Bacha Khan. The Amir mentioned him as a potential rival for the throne. Tell me how you heard about him.”

“I"ve heard his name mentioned from time to time,” Jack lit and passed over a cheroot, which Hook inhaled gratefully.

“God, that"s good,” Hook said. “What have you heard, Jack, and who said it?”

Jack decided to tread warily until he learned more. “I heard Bacha Khan was friendly to us and had informed General Browne that the Afghans had abandoned Ali Majid.”

“I didn"t hear that,” Hook said.

“Aye, the man who passed on information to General Browne was one of Bacha Khan"s followers, sir.” Jack paused, “I"d offer you a drink if you weren"t posing as an Afghan. If anybody smells alcohol on your breath, they"ll know you"re a fraud.”

Hook smiled. “I"ll make up for it when I become British again.”

“Why do you want to know about Bacha Khan?”

“He"s an unknown entity.” Hook settled back in Jack"s chair, drawing on the cheroot. “And in Afghanistan, that usually means trouble.”

Jack poured himself a whisky. “Surely anybody who helps us can only be a good thing.”

“That depends what p*****t he wants for our services,” Hook said. “The powers-that-be have plans for Afghanistan, and Bacha Khan is not part of them.”

Jack sipped at his whisky, enjoying the bite. “If the powers-that-be had minded their own business, we would not be in this mess now, and many good men would still be alive.”

Hook smiled. “You"re getting cynical in your old age, Jack, my boy. We"re still top dog in the world, and certain people wish us to remain there.”

“We lost prestige, and thousands of men, aye, and women, last time we tried to interfere in Afghanistan,” Jack said. “Don"t the politicians ever learn?”

“British politicians don"t think they know better than everybody else how to run their countries,” Hook said with another smile. “They know they know better.”

thinkknowJack grunted. “Their arrogance leads to wars and deaths. However, you didn"t come here to hear my opinion of politicians. What do you want, sir? I hope you"re not sending me away on another intelligence-gathering mission.”

“Not this time, Major.” Hook looked up as a rifle cracked outside. “Trouble?”

Jack shook his head. “No, just the local lads having a pot-shot at the camp. We ignore single shots, generally. If we retaliate, the Pashtuns know they"ve drawn us and reckon that as a minor victory.”

“I see,” Hook settled down again. “No, I am only here to keep you in touch with the current situation. The present Amir is off to St Petersburg, as you know. His chances of gaining Russian help are nil. I doubt he"ll even survive the journey.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Jack asked.

“I think my meaning is plain, Major. The Russians don"t need to fight us. We"re tied up with a war here without them sending in a single Cossack. And now I hear that we"re entering another war in Africa, which will occupy another chunk of the British Army. The Zulus and Afghans are doing Russia"s work for them.”

“I meant about the Amir surviving the journey,” Jack said.

Hook grunted. “The Russians don"t want him, we don"t want him, and he"s proved himself too weak for the Afghans to want him. He won"t return.”

Jack poured himself more whisky. Even after years of experience dealing with military men, the callous attitude of politicians dismayed him. “I understand, sir.”

“It"s time to look to the future of this region, Windrush, and Sher Ali is the past.”

“I see, sir. I thought the purpose of this war was to establish a diplomatic mission in Kabul to counteract any Russian interference.”

“Oh, it is,” Hook said. “On the surface at least.” He leaned closer to Jack. “With the Russians advancing across Central Asia and giving the Turks a b****y nose in Eastern Europe, we need to bolster our security.”

Jack noticed that all the bonhomie had vanished from Hook"s face. The general was no longer the old colleague discussing international affairs, but a high-ranking officer concerned about Britain"s security. “Yes, sir. Has that altered the reason for our presence in Afghanistan?”

“Our intentions have moved along, Major Windrush. You may have heard that we gained Cyprus from the Berlin Congress.” Hook inhaled deeply. “That means that if the Russians ever succeed in capturing Constantinople, we have an island which we can use as a naval base. With Cyprus, we can block any Russian attempts to dominate the Eastern Mediterranean. St Petersburg is well aware of that and will retaliate. Our respective empires still face each other in Central Asia, a bone of contention for decades. Put two and two together, and we come up with trouble.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Afghanistan is an ill neighbour, Windrush, as you know.”

“I believe the raiding around here is mostly by the Pashtun tribes of the Pakhtunkhwa, sir, rather than the Afghan government. The Pashtun tribes don"t consider that Kabul has any more authority over them than Calcutta does or London.”

“A strong Afghan ruler, friendly to Britain, would ensure peace,” Hook said. “And a stable, friendly Afghanistan would be the best buffer against Russian expansion.”

“We won"t win Afghan friendship by invading her,” Jack pointed out.

“Yakub Khan will be the next Amir of Afghanistan.” Hook ignored Jack"s comments. “We don"t want any rival claimants to the throne. That includes this Bacha Khan fellow.”

“The Bacha Khan fellow who has already proved his friendship,” Jack reminded. “I have no idea who he is, sir, or how he knows me.”

“If you find out,” Hook said mildly. “Let me know. I"ll be dropping in from time to time.”

“Yes, sir. If Yakub Khan proves less than friendly, will we support Bacha Khan?”

“Certainly not,” Hook said. “He"s an unknown entity. If we need to slap Yakub Khan down, then we have other plans for Afghanistan.”

“What are they, sir?”

“Divide the country up into manageable areas,” Hook replied flatly. “And before you say anything, Windrush, no, I don"t agree.”

“Nor do I, sir,” Jack said.

“Then let"s do all we can to ensure Yakub Khan is a successful ruler,” Hook said. He paused for a moment before he continued. “There is one fly in the ointment: General Skobelev.”

Jack raised his eyebrows. “Skobelev?”

“When the Russian alliance won their Turkish war, we believed Skobelev returned to Turkestan.” Hook lit another of Jack"s cigars. “However, my intelligence people have reported seeing a Russian general on a white horse near the Afghan border. They don"t know if it"s Skobelev for sure, but given his history, it"s possible.”

“That"s bad news.”

“Very bad. Keep your ears to the ground, Windrush. I want to know anything you learn about Skobelev or Bacha Khan.”

Jack nodded. “Yes, sir. How can I contact you if I hear anything?”

Hook considered for a moment. “Hang a white shirt on your tent pole before dawn. That"s an innocuous signal. One of my men will see it.”

“Very devious,” Jack said.

“Very,” Hook agreed. “And now, I must depart.”

When Hook left the camp, Jack reached for a cheroot, contemplating the implications. If Skobelev, one of the best generals the Russians had, was on the Afghan border, this war could indeed take a perilous turn. So far, the British had things all their own way, but the introduction of even a few thousand veteran Russian troops under a skilful commander could alter the situation.

Swearing, Jack finished his whisky and walked around the village, checking the pickets, and exchanging a few words with the men as his mind raced.

He remembered the c*****e of Inkerman when tens of thousands of Russian infantry advanced on the thin British lines. The Russians had been brave men, poorly led. He remembered the s*******r of the Redan when Russian artillery and musketry shot down the British attack. At the Redan, the Russians had been brave men, well-led. The Crimea was second only to the Mutiny in Jack"s nightmares.

“Are you all right, sir?” Harcourt was doing his rounds as Orderly Officer. “I noticed an Afghan visiting your tent. Is there any trouble?”

“No, no trouble, thank you.” Jack finished his cheroot, lit another and passed one to Harcourt. “I"m smoking far too much, Harcourt. I"ll run out of supplies long before this war is over.”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Harcourt accepted the cheroot gratefully. “If you"ll excuse me, I must get on with my inspection.”

Jack nodded as Harcourt strode away. The mountains of Afghanistan frowned down on him, threatening the small British force. He sighed, talking to himself. “Well, Britain and Russia are playing a game of move and counter-move, but we"ve faced worse than a few thousand Cossacks and Afghans. I"ll start long-range patrolling tomorrow and see if I can pick up any information about Skobelev, or the elusive Bacha Khan.”