“Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!” Gifford fled to pick his men.
The Afghans withdrew, formed up, and came again, brave men charging over the frozen, blood-stained ground, leaping across the bodies of their colleagues as they advanced. The green banners flew above the raised swords as the chants screamed out.
“Allah-il-allah! Deen! Deen! Deen!”
They came in their thousands, and the Sikhs, Gurkhas, Guides and British soldiers waited, then met them with massed musketry and courage to match the Afghans. And all the time, Bobs Roberts watched, walking behind his men, muttering encouragement, giving orders to move men from the quietest section of the defences to the most vulnerable, a calm, commanding presence.
The Afghans fell back again, and the firing ceased. Men looked at each other in wonder,
