After Jamrud, the brigade column entered an area of stones. The rocks underfoot and on either side reflected the sun’s heat until the men felt as like they were walking through a furnace. Remembering the torments of the march to Maiwand, Jack loosened his revolver in its holster. He waited for the ghazis to strike while the British were reeling.
“Do you expect trouble, sir?” Bryant had noticed Jack’s movement.
“No more than usual, Bryant,” Jack said.
As a break in the monotony of rock, the men could look at the occasional grave of man or animal or look at the vultures that circled overhead.
“These damned birds know that when armies march, food follows,” Baxter said.
“We give them plenty,” Jack agreed.
An hour into the march, the path descended sharply into the bed of a river. Jack gu
