His reward for a job well done was somewhat less than Arthur had desired: a return to staff work.
In consultation with Montague and Saxton of the artillery and the ever-present engineer Colonel Gent, he worked tirelessly to ensure that an accurate estimate was made of the amount of powder and shot that would be needed to crack the walls of Seringapatam, and then arranged for the coolies and their animals to begin hauling it forward.
Before long, heavy gun batteries were entrenched on three sides of the city. After careful deliberation, it had been agreed that the best place to breach the walls was along the western aspect. But first things first; the enemy artillery must be dealt with. Tipu had ringed his walls with cannon of every possible description, and the British gunners took a veritable delight in targeting them with their own cannon. The British artillery relentlessly hammered the enemy gun embrasures repeatedly, systematically pummeling each of the Indian gun crews in turn, and then moving on to the defensive bastions that were interspersed at various points along the walls.
When the low-lying haze of smoke had finally dispersed, Harris was gratified to see that not a single functioning artillery piece remained within sight on the western face of Seringapatam. The walls had been completely scoured.
“Now the real work can begin,” the General muttered under his breath.
More cannon were brought up and manhandled into position. Wanting to keep the enemy guessing as to his true intentions, Harris ordered a heavy volume of fire to be poured onto the north, south, and western walls at irregular intervals. The pounding was distributed relatively evenly, and each time one of the defenders’ guns or rocket-men opened up on the British batteries, they replied with a volume of fire so intense that the enemy combatants were usually silenced forever.
Harris let this go on for two more days, flinging shot after shot at the three different sets of walls. Finally satisfied, he instructed the gunners to target a specific point on the western walls, and to attempt to make a breach. The Sultan’s engineers had many years before constructed a glacis, or artificial slope, at the base of the city walls in order to help deflect cannon-balls, and although the glacis protected a significant portion of the outer fortifications, Colonel Gent espied with his telescope a northerly section of the western wall where the glacis had a gap, exposing a decent amount of the structure to the tender mercies of the British cannon.
After much deliberation, Colonel Gent had requested that the largest siege guns (the enormous 24-pounders) be set up at the mill which had been taken by storm a few days earlier. The mill’s location on the Little Cauvery was almost precisely due west of what he judged to be the weakest point of the western wall, and Gent reckoned that a constant barrage of fire striking the wall almost exactly square-on might just do the trick.
The crews of the 24-pound siege guns were only too willing to oblige, and relished the challenge of repeatedly striking the city walls at just the right point. It became something of a game to them. Aim the ball too low, and it would strike the ground in front of the wall, burying itself uselessly into the ground; on the other hand, aim too high and you might hit the upper wall, but the whole point of the exercise was to crack the wall at the lowest point possible and bring the whole house of cards crashing down into a nice, climbable slope that the infantry could use to fight their way into the city.
The British gunners were good, damned good. They plied their trade for as long as the daylight held out, precision fire being considerably more difficult to achieve after dark. More often than not, their massive projectiles struck home just above the glacis, sending shockwaves reverberating through the entire height of the wall. Lacking for targets atop the city walls, the crews of the British 18-pounders joined in the fun, adding their weight of fire to the area of the attempted breach.
It could only be a matter of time.
Arthur and his fellow vampire officers were all resting in their coffins when the wall finally came down, but even buried six feet below the earth, they could hear the thunderous roar that accompanied the crumbling of the outer wall. Having been struck by one ball too many, a twenty-foot wide section of the western wall close to the northwestern bastion had simply collapsed in on itself, falling partially backwards into the city itself and forming a rough, irregular slope of rubble that led temptingly upwards into the shadows of the interior.
At sunset that same evening, Harris, Wellesley, and practically all of the British senior officers stood next to the besieging battery which had been emplaced at the mill, scrutinizing the breech through their brass telescopes. Unable to stand the tension a moment longer, the General collapsed his telescope with a resounding click and simply said, “Well?”
As was his habit in so many things, Gent would not be rushed. A full, uncomfortable minute drew itself out silently as he continued to survey the gaping wound in the outer wall. Finally, he responded with: “Practicable.”
The attack was on.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“Your Highness, the western wall is breached.”
Tipu betrayed not the slightest hint of surprise. It was the hottest part of the day, a time when he traditionally liked to sleep for an hour or two in one of the cooler rooms of his palace. Yet sleep had become more difficult for him of late, ever since an invading army had encamped outside his window, and when his dreams did come, they had been haunted by a vampire colonel named Wellesley.
“Show me,” he said. Jamelia led him to the western rampart. None of the defenders had been wounded or killed in the collapse, Allah be praised, but that was about as far as the good news went. Hundreds of his soldiers were clustered around the breach, ready to defend it from behind, and also from the fire-steps on the ramparts that overlooked it on either side.
“The British will not come while the sun is in the sky,” she said confidently. “But I have taken the liberty of ordering a doubling of the guard at this section of the wall until they finally do come.”
“Yes, yes,” Tipu said absently. “That is excellent thinking.” They will come tonight, he thought to himself. They shall be led by their vampire overseers, and they shall storm this breach tonight. Here is where we must meet them, and here is where they will be repulsed. He eyed the breach carefully, noted that its width was not sufficiently great for more than eight or perhaps nine men to enter abreast. The ramp of rubble climbed twenty-five, perhaps thirty feet into the air before reaching its summit, which was the top of the city’s inner defensive wall.
All is not lost. This breach is defensible. The redcoats will be tired, so very tired. They must cross the river, under heavy fire, and then climb this stairway of rock, also under heavy fire. We shall fire down upon them from the top of the breach, from the ramparts on either side, and those lucky few who make it inside will be met by the blades and guns of my warriors.
“Line every yard of ground and rampart with men,” he instructed Jamelia, who nodded impassively at each point that he made. “Every man is to have five…no, ten loaded muskets by his side. Those at the rear who cannot see the enemy must pass more muskets to those who can, and then reload the spent weapons for them. We shall rain such a volume of fire down upon the British that a not a man will reach the top alive.”
Jamelia turned to snap out orders. Men rushed to obey, as they usually did when Jamelia issued commands. They fear her, Tipu thought to himself as he watched her set about the organization of these new defenses. In truth, I think that I might fear her, if she had the ambition to rule. How fortunate for me that she is content to be nothing more than a hunter, because she would make a fearsome potentate.
Harris remained strangely reticent during his council of war that evening. Contrary to Tipu’s belief, his army would not attack that night. It would take time to coordinate the assault, and the general suspected that his army would get only one opportunity to take the city. If his men were repulsed in the first attack, their morale would take such a beating that he feared that it may never recover. No, they would either get it right the
first time, or they would fail utterly, and let history be their judge.
The officers’ mess was crammed near to bursting. Every man with any sort of rank who would be involved in tomorrow’s assault, whether living or dead, had a place. Along with the cooks, the men of the Shadow Company had worked flat out in order to serve up a reasonable approximation of a banquet for the human officers, while keeping a ready supply of fresh, warm blood for their vampire counterparts.
Wellesley held court at the head of the table, surrounded on all sides by onlookers of varying rank who craned their necks to see the sketch map of Seringapatam that he had laid out on the tabletop before him.
“There shall be two columns, every man in them prime troops,” he began. “Colonel Dunlop shall take the first column, and my dear Sherbrooke, I would be obliged if you should take the second. After your bravura performance in taking the old mill, I should not be surprised if the very sight of you at the head of a column of redcoats did not cause the Tipu to surrender then and there.”
There came a chorus of “hear, hears,” and a number of the officers clinked their cutlery against their wine glasses and goblets in approval. Colonel Sherbrooke, seated immediately to Wellesley’s right, flashed his fangs in a broad grin at the compliment, and raised his goblet of blood in a salute to his peer.
“All day tomorrow, the artillery shall maintain a constant barrage of fire upon the breach. If the Sultan plans any additional surprises there, he shall find it hot work indeed, gentlemen; that I can promise you.” Another round of cheers, this time slightly more slurred than the first. Arthur could not begrudge any man his drink tonight, for it would be the last evening that some of them would ever see. “Tipu almost certainly expects us to assault the breach, and then pour our soldiers directly into the city in an attempt to establish a foothold. I must tell you now that in this regard, at least, we are going to disappoint him.”
A hush fell quickly upon the mess, for that had indeed been the assumption on many of their parts. That was how it was usually done; assault the breach, flood it with soldiers, and allow sheer force of momentum to win out the day. It wasn’t pretty, and it was usually damned expensive in terms of human life, but it was at least tried and tested. What was Wellesley up to?
“Our two columns will approach the city together, fording the river side-by-side. We are all going to share the wrath of the defenders equally, gentlemen. Once across to the island, both columns shall storm the breech simultaneously.” I make it sound so simple, Arthur could not help but think, so easy, when in reality it will be anything but. “Once the summit is gained, Colonel Dunlop and his men will turn to their left and assault the ramparts on that side, while Colonel Sherbrooke does the same on the right. The objective is to seize the battlements, gentlemen, and thereby flood the city’s walls with our soldiers.
“Colonel Dunlop’s men will work their way around to the northern rampart, capturing each bastion as they encounter it, until they have finally ceased the entire northern wall. Each bastion shall then serve as a strongpoint, with a contingent of men left to defend it against counterattack. Colonel Sherbrooke will take the southern wall, and if all goes well, both of you shall meet one another again along some part of the eastern wall.
“At that point, we shall own the outer defenses of Seringapatam, in their entirety.”
There was a moment of silence, and then everyone began talking at once. It was an audacious plan, certainly, but it was still something of a gamble. Much depended on what awaited them on the other side of that breach.
Arthur began to field questions as they arose. How were the assaulting troops to reach the ramparts, when the top of the breach was not that high up? We shall make scaling ladders out of wood and bamboo, and carry them across with us. What if the breach was mined, or otherwise booby-trapped? Then the Forlorn Hopes would suffer, and suffer grievously – which is what a Forlorn Hope was meant to do; but their sacrifice would hopefully clear the way for those climbing the breach behind them.
Where would the Tipu be – and perhaps more importantly, his Tiger Guard?
“An excellent question.” Arthur looked at each man around the table, all of them senior officers who would play pivotal roles in tomorrow’s attack. “Perhaps the best answer is that while we do not know exactly where they shall be, we are very likely to find the two together. According to the scant intelligence that we have obtained, the Tiger Guard plays many diverse roles, but was formed with one singular, defining task in mind: to protect their master at all costs. Therefore, I think it is safe to say that wherever we find him, we shall also find his Tiger Guard.”
Word of the Tiger Guards’ apparent invincibility had spread like wildfire around the army after they had savaged the camp outside Mallavelly, and their savagery and ruthlessness in what the men now referred to as ‘the Battle of the Tope’ was also fast becoming legend. Soldiers are a superstitious lot at the best of times, but in this case Wellesley knew that their fears were entirely justified. There was no record of the British Army ever encountering an enemy who could change from human form into that of a tiger before, but there was no doubting the fact that they were dealing with supernatural creatures that were every bit as powerful as the vampires were, in their own unique way.
They were a very special threat, which in turn required a very special response.
It was a duty tailor-made for the Shadow Company, and what was more, every man there knew it. Wellesley’s pet project was looked upon with disdain by some, but it seemed that circumstances had now conspired to afford him a chance to prove its worth.
“I shall lead the assault myself,” Arthur said, “along with the 33rd’s Shadow Company. Once we are inside the city, our task shall be to hunt down Tipu and take him captive, if at all possible – and if not…” Nothing more need be said on that score, he knew. None envied him the task of cutting his way through a horde of were-tigers and their crazed master; most would rather have taken their chances assaulting a defended breach.
Arthur Wellesley and his men had to do both.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
“Alright you bloody shower, no talking in the ranks, or we’ll have the skin off your backs soon as look at yer. Shadow Company…Shadow Company… ‘shun!”
Eighty-nine sets of boots crashed together in perfect unison as the members of the Shadow Company braced to attention. Chests were thrust out, shoulders back, chins angled upwards proudly. Every boot had been worked dutifully with blackball, every crossbelt whitened with pipeclay, all in order to make the men presentable for their colonel. An almost imperceptible nod of approval was the only indication that CSM Daniel Nichols found their turnout to be acceptable.
It was a beautifully clear night, and the stars shone down brightly upon the regimental lines of the 33rd. A makeshift drill-square had been marked out by the adjutant, and it was here that the men of Shadow Company had assembled just before the stroke of midnight, to await the arrival of their colonel. Punctual as ever, Arthur Wellesley arrived just as the clocks struck midnight. It was a little flourish of theatricality that secretly pleased him to no end.
“Thank you, Company Sergeant-Major. Stand the men at ease, if you please.” The apparently-relaxed set of Colonel Wellesley’s elegant frame belied the tension which lay beneath the surface. It was half-past midnight, the start of a new day, and Wellesley had ordered the Shadow Company be paraded for two main reasons: to inform them of their critical duties during the coming night’s assault, and to issue them with the specialist equipment which would help them carry it out.
“Shadow Company…stand at…ease!” bellowed the CSM. Eighty-nine men obliged him, relaxing their posture and widening their stance ever so slightly. Colonel Wellesley paced out to stand in front of their assembled ranks. He seemed remarkably calm for a soldier on the eve of battle.
“Tomorrow night, we will be following the Forlorn Hopes into the breach,” Wellesley said without preamble. He registered the look of confusion on some of their f
aces. “Yes, I did indeed say hopes, for there shall be two; one shall be leading each of the two columns of attacking infantry. The Shadow Company shall be first into the breach behind them both.” The men were far too disciplined to mutter about the implications of this last statement, but every man knew the potential consequences of being among the first into a defended breach. It would be sheer bloody murder.
The colonel went on to outline his intended plan of attack, how the Shadows were to follow him onto whichever rampart of the outer walls proved to be most accessible, and then fight their way along the north or south wall of the city.
“At some point, we are going to enter the city proper, and track down the Sultan himself. Our ultimate objective is to capture him if possible, but we shall kill him if needs be.” Wellesley paused to take questions. Predictably, most were related to the Sultan’s Tigers.
“While information is limited at best, it seems reasonable to assume that Tipu’s personal guard is composed of soldiers who are some unholy union between man and tiger. We believe that he has between thirty and forty such creatures in total, and it is extremely likely that he is such a being himself.”
“How do we kill the bast…begging your pardon, Colonel, sir. How do we kill the bugger?” one of the rankers, Private James Jenkins, corrected himself mid-sentence. Colonel Wellesley did not approve of swearing among the rank-and-file, though he turned a deaf ear to it when it suited his mood.
“So very glad you asked, Private. C.S.M, if you please?” Arthur nodded towards Company Sergeant-Major Nichols, who raised the lid on the first of several wooden chests that were stacked neatly in a far corner of the drill-square. “We believe that the Sultan’s creatures are of a similar breeding to those of the wolf-men that are encountered not only at home in Great Britain, but also throughout the continent of Europe. These lycanthropes – you are perhaps more likely to know them by their more common name of ‘were-wolves’ – can only be killed with weapons made of silver.”
The Beast of Mysore (Wellington Undead Book 1) Page 21
