Briggs grinned. ‘My Guides can go anywhere in the dark, Sir Murdoch.’
‘That’s what I thought. Proceed quietly until you are flanking the enemy position, then hold until dawn. Commence firing at eight ack emma, and commence your advance. We will carry out a frontal assault at that time. Understood?’
‘Yes, sir.’ Briggs hurried off to assemble his officers.
‘While we wait,’ Peter said.
‘Have some sleep. I’m sure we all need it.’
‘Suppose she pulls out in the night?’ Ralph asked pessimistically.
‘She’s not going to do that. She has staked her reputation as a woman who can lead men on this coup. Right now she’s lost all along the line. But she can still re-establish her position if she can claim that she has defeated us, and that she has killed me.’
‘You mean you’re going to charge with us?’ Peter asked. ‘Any objections?’ Murdoch grinned. ‘It could be for the last time.’
*
But, like Ralph, he was haunted by the fear that Chand Bibi would after all run away. She had certainly lost her nerve when thirteen desperate men had dropped out of the sky into her midst, had fled from the harem when, had she immediately rallied her men, Ralph and his daring party must have been overwhelmed. He hardly slept, was up well before dawn, surveying the far side of the plateau, and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the flags still flying over the Mahsud army.
Chand Bibi had confidence in her position, and in having established that he had crossed the border with only half his force. No doubt, as Evan-Jones had estimated, there were probably two thousand warriors opposed to his four hundred odd.
But he reckoned those odds were about right.
‘It’ll be hot work,’ he reminded his officers as they mounted. And you’re staying here, Harry. You can have an overall view of the battle and write us up after.’
Harry didn’t object. He knew he lacked the experience for what was about to happen. The Mahsuds had seen the British preparations, and again opened fire, but the range was very long. The two squadrons lined up, and Murdoch walked his horse out in front, Ralph at his side, to where Colonel Ramage sat at the head of his men.
‘It’s your show, Peter,’ he said.
‘No, sir,’ Peter replied. ‘The Royal Western Dragoon Guards would take it as an honour and a privilege if you would lead them.’
Murdoch looked over the ranks, at so many familiar faces, at RSM Yeald, waiting immediately behind his colonel, then Harry Lowndes; at Captain Destry sitting his horse in front of B Squadron, and Lieutenant Ian Mackinder, immediately behind him. Further back, behind Captain Rostron and in front of C Squadron, Lieutenant Fergus Mackinder also waited, gazing at his face. He had never imagined that he would one day lead his sons into battle. And they were avenging the wrong done their mother. He could ask for nothing more.
Then the entire regiment realized he was going to lead the charge in person, and gave a cheer. He wheeled Brutus and faced the Mahsuds, looked at his watch. It was five to eight, and he looked up at the hill on the left, saw the flash of the heliograph catching the rays of the rising sun.
He drew his sword and raised it. ‘May the great God of battle,’ he shouted, ‘who has guided the fate of this famous regiment on many a hard-fought field, and never failed to lead it to distinction, grant that on this day, faced as we are with a host of enemies of our King and our Country, every man will do his duty, so that should we fail in our ordained task, it will yet be said of us, they were the Royal Western Dragoon Guards, who fought and died according to the ancient valour of their regiment and their blood.’ He pointed his sword. ‘Gentlemen, there is your enemy.’
He walked his horse forward, and listened to the so familiar jingling of harnesses behind him. Immediately the Mahsud artillery opened fire, and shells burst overhead. The shooting was for the moment wild. They would gain in accuracy long before the dragoons could reach their position, but they were not going to be allowed to do that. For the time was eight o’clock, and suddenly the hill to the left exploded in flame.
A great hubbub arose from the enemy lines, as fire was returned against this unexpected attack. It was incredible that Chand Bibi had not allowed for the possibility, but as she had said so contemptuously, she was an amateur at war; he was a professional.
In any event, the gunners were distracted as Briggs’ men poured bullets into the Mahsud battery.
‘Bugler, sound the charge,’ Murdoch commanded.
The hooves drummed as the call rang through the morning and the horses moved to the trot, then the canter. Now they could see the faces of the men in front of them, some firing at them, some at the Guides, who were advancing down the hill, returning fire as they did so — but more were moving to the rear, many throwing away their weapons.
Murdoch gazed straight ahead as he galloped at the line. Because now he could see a group of horsemen behind the position, shouting orders and gesticulating, and at least one of them was a woman.
A man appeared in front of him, levelling a rifle. Brutus brushed him aside and trampled him down as he screamed. Another man swung at Murdoch with the butt of his weapon and was thrust down. A third threw himself to the ground to attempt the old Pathan trick of hamstringing the horse with a cut from his sword as it passed. Murdoch swerved to the left and left the man lying there, to be trampled by the horses behind, then he was through and riding at the Mahsud horsemen. They scattered as he approached. Chand Bibi and her daughter rode for the rear, but Wittvinov held his ground and levelled his revolver. Murdoch ducked low over his horse’s mane, and drove on behind his levelled sword. The point took Wittvinov in the chest and hurled him from the saddle, dead before he hit the ground.
Carried on by the impetus of his charge, Murdoch was up to the woman and the girl before they could gather speed. Brutus bumped into Yasmin’s horse and she tumbled from the saddle with a wail. Chand Bibi drew rein to look down at her daughter, then up at Murdoch, her beautiful face a mask of rage and despair. Before she could make up her mind what to do she was surrounded by dragoons, and her arms pinioned.
‘What shall we do with this fellow, sir?’ RSM Yeald asked.
Murdoch gazed at Palraj, held by two of his troopers. The erstwhile chauffeur was trembling with fright.
‘Hang him,’ Murdoch said.
‘And the woman, sir? The men would like to have her, for fifteen minutes. Just for what she did to Lady Mackinder, sir.’ Yeald didn’t know what had been done to Lee...but he could guess.
‘You cannot permit that,’ Chand Bibi said in a low voice. ‘Are you begging me?’ Murdoch asked.
Chand Bibi licked her lips. ‘Imprison me. I have lost. But do not...’ she licked her lips again. After all, she was just a frightened woman.
Murdoch hesitated. He had come here to destroy a monster. Now he could only look at a lovely woman who hardly more than twelve hours ago had lain naked on his chest. He turned his head left and right, looked at Ramage and Ian and Fergus and Lowndes and felt his heart give a little skip.
‘Where is Ralph Manly-Smith?’ he asked, his voice harsh.
‘He’s dead,’ Ian said. ‘He was right behind you when that fellow shot at you. The bullet hit him in the head.’
Now Murdoch’s heart was constricting, as he looked at Harry, who had joined them when the charge was over. Harry’s face was set and hard. So were the faces of all the men around him, including his sons.
He looked back at Chand Bibi, who read her fate in his eyes. ‘You are a devil,’ she said in a low voice. ‘A devil!’ Then her shoulders sagged. ‘I would beg you to spare my child.’
Murdoch looked at the girl, who had been picked from the ground by one of the dragoons, and now twisted in his arms. ‘Let the girl go,’ he said. He pointed at Chand Bibi. ‘Hang that woman.’
Part Three: The Veteran
Chapter Eleven: England, 1929-33
‘Your action was high-handed.’ Lord Irwin was obviously choosing his words wit
h great care. ‘It was also ill-timed, General Mackinder. Here we are, trying to get Gandhi and his people to agree to a conference on the future of India, a future in which Indians will govern their country according to the precepts of English law as laid down by us over the past century — and one of our generals starts shooting up the frontier...’
‘Was I supposed to allow my wife to be tortured to death?’ Murdoch asked quietly.
‘Without reference to this office,’ Irwin finished.
‘There wasn’t time.’
‘And then, this invasion of Afghanistan, in direct contravention of orders...there could be the most serious international repercussions. And there was no necessity for it; you had already rescued your wife and the other ladies. And a drumhead court-martial, of a woman...’
‘Who had murdered my men, and who was dedicated to stirring up the frontier against us,’ Murdoch pointed out.
‘It was still a drumhead execution. And then, placing my representative under arrest...’
‘I had no choice, sir. Mr Humphrey was attempting to interfere with a military operation.’
‘An unauthorized military operation,’ the Viceroy reminded him. ‘The furore...and with a general election pending at home. Add to that these articles your brother-in-law is writing in America...you may be the last of the old-fashioned heroes who “made Britain great” to him and his readers, but American governmental opinion is as shocked as ourselves by your behaviour. And of course there is the ethical question of giving detailed information of an irregular campaign to a newspaper reporter at all, much less an American one. Really, Sir Murdoch, I don’t know what to say.’
‘I did not give any information to anyone, Lord Irwin,’ Murdoch said. ‘Mr Caspar happened to be there.’
‘I’m not sure allowing him to accompany you wasn’t actually worse.’
‘He was there because his wife was also in the hands of the Mahsuds. However, in view of the, as you say, furore this thing seems to have caused, you will have my resignation this afternoon.’
‘My dear fellow, I can’t accept your resignation. And I think it would be most unwise for you to become a private citizen at this moment. No, no. You are being recalled for consultation with the War Office. A new GOC of the North West Frontier will be installed to act in your absence, and will be confirmed in the post in due course, when you have, ah, been assigned to other duties.’
‘And my recommendations?’
‘Well, they have been forwarded, of course. I don’t know that the circumstances will permit Major Manly-Smith to be considered for a VC, however...’
‘He gave his life in action against an enemy, sir,’ Murdoch pointed out, ‘having risked it to save his commanding officer as well as three civilians. The action in which he was killed was a regular one. Five of my men were killed, and fourteen wounded.’
‘Which is another point,’ Irwin commented. ‘The fact is that Mr Manly-Smith’s action in, ah, parachuting into the Mahsud town was certainly irregular. It is not covered in any military manual I have ever heard of. As for Military Medals for all the men of his party...’
‘They all took the same risks.’
‘Yes,’ Irwin said again. ‘Well, I can only repeat that your recommendations have been forwarded. We will have to wait and see.’
‘I intend to make sure that the bravery of those men, and particularly Manly-Smith, is recognized, Lord Irwin,’ Murdoch said.
‘Well, I will wish you the best of luck in your future career, General,’ the Viceroy remarked.
*
The regiment paraded as a guard of honour to say goodbye to Murdoch and Lee. Harry and Veronica had already left, but they were being accompanied by Jennifer Manly-Smith and the two children, bewildered little souls who did not yet understand that they were fatherless.
Also accompanying them was Linda Ramage.
‘I’m really quite worried about her,’ Peter confessed to Murdoch and Lee. ‘She, well... she won’t speak, and she hardly eats. When you think how Jennie is bearing up...’
‘It was a quite horrible ordeal,’ Lee told him. ‘Especially for someone...well, as sensitive as Linda. I guess Jennie is just a shade tougher. And besides...’ she bit her lip. Murdoch knew she had nearly said, ‘Jennie wasn’t raped.’ Was that worse than losing a husband? It was something he had to find out, urgently. ‘We’ll look after her, Peter,’ Lee said. ‘Until you come home.’
‘Which won’t be very long,’ Murdoch reminded him. ‘The pundits seem to feel that like me, you and your men are too dangerous to be left loose on the frontier.’
‘I can’t say I’ll be sorry to go,’ Peter said.
‘I can’t say I’m sorry to be leaving, either,’ Murdoch agreed.
*
Ian and Fergus came up for dinner on their last night. Like everyone else, except those actually involved, the two young men had no idea what had really happened in Mahrain before it had been razed. But they had gathered that Chand Bibi had been a dangerous enemy of the British Raj, responsible for kidnapping their mother. They accepted that their father had done what had needed to be done — even if they had been taken aback by the grim figure he had displayed in the Afghanistan mountains.
‘They can’t possibly sack you for quashing a rising that rapidly and that successfully,’ Ian argued.
‘Governments can do anything they like,’ Murdoch reminded him. ‘They believe in expediency.’
‘If they sack you, we’re coming out as well,’ Fergus declared.
‘Don’t be a chump,’ Murdoch told him. ‘The army, and the country, needs men like you.’ He grinned at them. ‘I can’t tell you how thrilled I was to be riding into battle with you.’
‘Or how scared I was,’ Lee said. ‘All three of you in action at the same time.’
They had not spoken about the things that really mattered, yet. There had hardly been time, with Murdoch having to go down to Delhi and with the preparations for their departure. Besides, they had not wanted to talk about it, while still surrounded by the sights and sounds and smells associated with the frontier, and all it stood for. Then it was a matter of looking after Jennie and Linda on the train journey down to the coast — they didn’t want to talk about it either. Jennie was by no means as strong as she pretended. In fact she had been suffering from shock since she had been told of her husband’s death after he had so magnificently rescued her dearest friends. The presence of her father had helped her to appear to ride the blow, but now the shock was wearing off, and she was facing the fact that at twenty-five she was a widow with two small children and only an army pension. Murdoch had every intention of helping her, but he hadn’t yet worked out how.
Linda was the more serious problem. For a woman with her psychological repugnance for the more earthy side of human relationships, to have been stretched naked on the floor before a crowd of laughing men and women and forced to submit to several of them had driven her close to madness. Or perhaps over the edge. She gave no visible signs of it, replied when spoken to, even smiled from time to time, and then withdrew again into the hidden cellars of her mind. She never picked up a book or a newspaper, never even looked out of the window on the train journey, just stared in front of her. Remembering, Murdoch wondered? Or trying to forget?
He knew Lee was having the same nightmares. She had reacted so bravely, with such determination not to be beaten, but she was a woman just like the others, and she had been as humiliated as they, just as like them she had had to watch Reynolds murdered. And unlike them, she had had to suppose that she would also have to watch her husband mutilated while still living.
That he, they, had triumphed at the end was perhaps only just sinking in. He knew it was, for both of them, a matter of timing...but he had the experience of having survived captivity and the threat of torture and even near death before: she had not. They had not touched each other, sexually, since their return from Mahrain, and he understood that she was at least partly afraid to be alone with him. He c
ounted that mood as affected by India as well. But at last they stood together at the rail to watch Bombay drop astern. Jennifer was feeding the children, and Linda had retired to her cabin immediately. There were people around them, but it was the first time since Chand Bibi’s death that they were actually alone with each other, mentally; even in their bedroom at Bala Hissar they had always been surrounded by the sounds and smell of India.
‘I thought the frontier was going to be a huge adventure,’ Lee said, looking down at the wake. ‘I guess, when one dreams of adventure, one never understands that it needn’t all be fun.’
‘No,’ he agreed.
She glanced at him, then looked back at the sea. And gave a little shiver. ‘I keep thinking of that woman...so much beauty, so much hate.’
‘Yes,’ he said.
‘What did you think of, when you hanged her?’ She gave him another glance.
‘I’m not sure I thought of anything.’
‘But...you had known her a long time. And...’ she flushed and bit her lip and he knew she was remembering Chand Bibi masturbating him.
‘I never slept with her, willingly, if that’s what you mean. I won’t pretend she wasn’t a fascinating creature.’
‘And yet you hanged her.’
‘Some snakes are fascinating creatures,’ he pointed out.
‘To look at. But you still have to blow their heads off if they get too close.’
‘Urn.’ She hugged herself and looked at the sea. ‘There are so many parts of your life I know nothing about.’
‘Not any more,’ he said.
Another glance. ‘Tell me, about her,’ she said.
‘What about her?’
‘Well...’ she licked her lips in a quick, nervous gesture. ‘How did she die? Did it take a long time?’ She was working towards some private watershed, he knew. And he wanted her to get there.
‘No,’ he said. ‘We didn’t strangle her, you know. We tied her wrists and put a noose round her neck and then placed her horse beneath a tree and drove it away. She died instantly of a broken neck.’
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