“I’m a British officer!” Jack roared as the first lancer thrust at him and missed by an inch.
“What’s that he’s saying?” The second lancer lifted his lance. “He speaks English, this one.”
“A Paythan, what speaks English?” The lancers surrounded Jack, staring at him as though he were some freak from a circus sideshow. “He must be a spy!”
The first man shortened his lance and prodded Jack in the stomach. “Who are you, chum? And how come you speak English?”
Jack knew the lancers could kill him on a whim. British soldiers could be as dangerous as any Pashtun tribesmen if they took a dislike to somebody.
“I am Major Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot.”
“He sez he’s Major Windrush of the 113th,” the first lancer said.
“That won’t do, mate.” The second lancer came closer, glaring at Jack. “Ma
