“That’s unusual,” Jack said. “The Afghans usually carry away their dead.”
“Look at that!” Sarsens pointed upwards, where a dozen women had mounted the flat roofs as the 66th advanced to take possession. They began to throw missiles and fire pistols at the British.
Glancing at Jack, Crimea slid his sabre into its scabbard and drew his pistol.
“They do say the women of the species are deadlier than the male,” Sarsens said. “Bad form to shoot at a lady, though, Crimea, old boy.”
“These ladies would cut you up slowly and laugh at your screams,” Jack said grimly. “They are not your Hyde Park beauties, Second Lieutenant.”
An Afghan man scrambled up a tree and opened fire with a long jezail, narrowly missing a corporal of the 66th, who lifted his Martini and replied at once. The corporal’s s
