Jack Windrush Collection - Books 1-4

Chapter 3-2

"Our life begins here." Rands looked around at the confusion of noise and colours, the press of people, the beggars that held out hopeful hands and the thin thread of British officers who pushed through, each man an island amidst a breaking ocean of Indian humanity. "I wonder if we"ll ever get used to this place."

"You hate India for a month and then love it forever." Jack quoted a family saying. He had vague childhood memories of the noise and bustle and colour of this country and here he was experiencing it again as if the intervening fifteen years had never been.

"Where are you off to?" Rands asked.

"Calcutta," Jack said, "and wait for marching orders."

"I"m off to the Frontier," Rands said, "Peshawar and all points north." His grin was triumphant. "Where "Where is the august 113th based?"

"All over the shop,." Jack tried to keep the despondency out of his voice. "But nowhere near the Frontier. Assam, Arracan, Bengal … everywhere they are not needed."

Rands sucked in his breath. "All on the East side of India? Hard luck, old man." He lifted a hand in farewell, turned his head to the north and stalked away, with his head and shoulders rising above the mass of the crowd.

Lucky beggar.

Lucky beggar.Jack watched him go, balanced the trunk on his shoulder and then searched for transport.

Fort William was the principal military base for Calcutta, but Jack felt nothing but gloom as he mingled with hordes of soldiers, sick with identified or unidentified fevers and all clutching medical certificates to take them back home. The streets were dim and the humidity oppressive; during the day the population was ill-tempered, and at night the streets were dark, with the few oil lamps emitting as much smoke as light.

He stood outside his quarters, a tiny dark building where the air that penetrated only added malodour from the street outside to the stinks from the lack of sanitation within.

Well, this is India, my home now. I hope I don"t have to wait long for my marching orders.

Well, this is India, my home now. I hope I don"t have to wait long for my marching orders.He looked up as a massive bird hovered above, so close that it blocked the only shaft of sunlight to brighten the street. Jack looked up and waved his hand in a vain attempt to scare it away.

"I wouldn"t do that, ensign," a malarial-faced major with hollow eyes scolded him. "That"s an adjutant bird. There are standing orders that to kill or even injure one is gross misconduct, and you don"t want that as the start of your career." He peered at Jack"s uniform and demanded, "How long have you been out East?"

"I just arrived, sir."

The major grunted. "Ah, you"re a complete Griffin. Of course, we expect that sort of thing from Griffs."

Don"t argue with a superior officer. "I won"t shoot any adjutant birds, sir, despite my inexperience."

Don"t argue with a superior officerThe major frowned. "Watch your words, ensign; they"ll get you into trouble if you"re not careful." He looked upward. "There"s a storm coming in. You"d best get shelter for the night."

"Yes, sir." Jack watched as the major marched away. He couldn"t have been more than forty, but he looked like twenty years older. But he was still a British soldier, straight-backed and proud.

"Ensign Windrush?" The corporal was gaunt and worn, with a face bronzed by a decade out East.

"That"s me, corporal."

"General Beaumont sends his compliments, sir, and could you report to him at once."

"Thank you, corporal,." Jack returned the salute as formally as he could.

Beaumont is somewhere on the other side of Calcutta. How the devil am I to find my way there? There"s never a gharry-wallah when you want one, and anyway, they might not be working with the weather deteriorating as it is. I"ll have to walk.

Beaumont is somewhere on the other side of Calcutta. How the devil am I to find my way there? There"s never a gharry-wallah when you want one, and anyway, they might not be working with the weather deteriorating as it is. I"ll have to walk.Jack signalled to one of the many natives who crowded near the British quarters hoping for employment. "You, fellow, do you know where General Beaumont might be?"

The man nodded and bowed, holding his hands before him, and his palms pressed together.

"Take me there, will you?"

Jack didn"t see from where the man obtained a lantern. "This way, sahib." He set off at a smart walk, turning every few seconds to ensure Jack had not fallen behind. Jack watched the lamplight flickering on the wiry, near-n***d brown body and found he was smiling with half-forgotten memories from his childhood.

I remember you, or men very like you. You"re as tough as teak, and you never give up.

I remember you, or men very like you. You"re as tough as teak, and you never give up.The wind increased minute by minute until pieces of rubbish skipped through the streets, and people searched for shelter within the dingy houses. Within fifteen minutes tree branches flew free and white European faces peered anxiously from windows as brown-faced servants struggled to close clattering shutters. Darkness fell as swiftly as it always did in the tropics, so only the dim light from the lantern was left, flicking back and forth as the wind caught it.

The street ahead was narrow, empty of people except those who had nowhere else to go; Jack saw a Company cornet fighting to hold his hat on his head, a pair of pencil-thin sweepers searching for shelter, a beggar hiding his battered bowl within the scanty folds of a filthy loincloth. Jack saw their faces as a series of vignettes, big eyes and open mouths set against faces scared or resigned and then vanishing again as the wind flicked the lantern light away.

Then the light was blown out. The dark was sudden, frightening with the violent gusts of wind as the unseasonal cyclone battered Calcutta.

"Halloa! The light"s gone out!" Jack yelled. "Come back, fellow! Lantern wallah!"

There was no response except the rising howl of the wind, the batter of flapping shutters and the clatter as gusts blew objects around the narrow street. A large section of wood crashed against the ground a few feet from Jack, then something that shattered into a thousand shards on his other side. Palm fronds flapped in a crazed frenzy somewhere close by, heard but unseen in the dark.

There was a terrible c***k of thunder followed immediately by a flash of lightning that temporarily illuminated the street ahead, showing whirling rubbish, crashing shutters and torn branches of trees. The returning darkness seemed all the more intense after the brilliant light. Jack took a deep breath and moved on, hoping to dodge the worst of nature"s missiles and find General Beaumont"s quarters.

He walked straight ahead, trusting in luck not to fall over anything and cursing when something caught him a glancing blow on the leg. Only when the lightning flickered again did Jack realise he had taken the wrong route. Rather than walking along a relatively broad street, he was in a morass of tiny, flat-roomed houses separated by alleys so narrow he wondered how any human could negotiate them. He sensed that a score of predatory faces had turned to watch him intrude into their private world.

"You don"t belong here." The voice came from the deep dark.

"I am a British officer." Jack felt for the pepper-pot revolver at his belt.

"I know sahib, and this is no place for a British officer."

Jack peered into the night. "A British officer can go anywhere in India."

The resulting laugh was more amused than insulting.

"Show yourself, damn you! Stop hiding in the shadows and face me like a man!" Jack pulled out the revolver.

"Is this British officer so scared of a voice in the dark that he has to use a pistol?" The tone was gently mocking.

"Who are you? Damn your hide!" Jack stood still, aware he was being ridiculed but not sure what to do. Mercifully another flash of lightning showed a broad-shouldered man in a blue turban a few feet from him.

"Ranveer Singh," the man said, and added as instant darkness returned, "I was once a soldier of the Khalsa."

"You are a Sikh." Jack aimed his revolver.

"I am a Sikh," Ranveer agreed, "and I fought against the British in two wars, but we are no longer enemies, so you do not need the pistol."

"What do you want with me?" Jack asked.

"I want to stop you from getting killed." Ranveer had to stand sideways to squeeze through the narrow alley. "A pack of these dogs might murder a lone British officer on a dark night. Where are you going?"

"I am heading for General Beaumont"s headquarters." Despite Ranveer"s words, Jack didn"t holster his pistol.

"I will take you," Ranveer said "Follow me, sahib." When he left the alley, Jack saw that the tulwar in his belt had a silver handle.

This man was no ordinary soldier of the Khalsa. He is an officer and a gentleman.

This man was no ordinary soldier of the Khalsa. He is an officer and a gentleman."My name is Windrush." Jack tucked his revolver away. "Ensign Jack Windrush of the 113th Foot."

* * *

General Beaumont hardly glanced up as Jack stepped into his office. "Your servant can wait outside," Beaumont said. His servants stood in a silent row of uniformed men behind his desk. In the darkest corner of the room, the punkah-wallah wore only a loincloth as he worked at the constant task of keeping the great fan in the ceiling moving by the string attached to his big toe. Jack thought it best not to mention the typhoon that battered at the corners of the building.

punkah-wallahBeaumont looked at Jack over a tall pile of documents, all tied with ribbon and fastened with a seal. "Which one are you?" As Jack looked bemused, Beaumont snapped, "what"s your name, Ensign? Who the devil are you?"

"Windrush, sir, 113th Foot; I was ordered to report here—"

"Piece of nonsense, Windrush; your orders are being sent out together with all the other officers." Beaumont sifted through the documents in front of him. "With all this uncertainty in Ava, half the officers in India are being sent east, even griffins who are no good to man nor beast." He hauled out a document, glanced briefly at the front and tossed it casually across to Jack. "There you go, Windrush; there are your marching orders, – now get out. You"re dismissed."

That was very casual and where in creation is Ava?

That was very casual and where in creation is Ava?Jack stood outside the office, holding the document, aware that Ranveer watched, impassive. He broke the seal and unfolded the paper.

Moulmein. I have to report to Moulmein, wherever that may be.

Moulmein. I have to report to Moulmein, wherever that may be."I"m off to Moulmein." He spoke without thinking.

"You will need me," Ranveer stated.

"Why will I need you?" Jack stared at him.

Ranveer"s grin was white through his neat beard. "You got lost walking across Calcutta, sahib. What hope is there for you in Burma?"

Burma? Is that where I"m going? The disappointment was like a kick in Jack"s stomach. That"s the opposite side of India from the Frontier.

Burma? Is that where I"m going?That"s the opposite side of India from the Frontier."I will get us prepared," Ranveer said solemnly.

Jack felt too sick to argue.