Chapter Seventeen
Jack felt his insides lurch. “Roberts is sick?”
“Sick as anybody can be,” Burridge confirmed. “He’s on his charpoy looking like death, sweating and shivering fit to shake the throne and with his Indian attendants flitting around in a state of near panic.”
Jack took a deep breath. He thought of the brigadiers who were with the column. He knew that MacGregor, Macpherson, and Baker were experienced fighting soldiers who would give a good account of themselves and far better than Burrows. However, neither possessed the charisma of Bobs or the aura of invincibility that accompanied the little Irishman.
“What are we doing?”
Burridge lit two cheroots and passed one to Jack. “What would you do?”
“I’d carry on,” Jack said at once. “Relieve Kandahar, smash Ayub Khan’s army to
