Timewars 06 The Khyber Connection

by Simon Hawke

  Andre shook her head. “That doesn’t work,” she said.

  Lucas frowned. “Why not?”

  “Granted,” Andre said, “the information could be missing from my subknowledge because my implant education took place fairly recently, relatively speaking. But when did you get your implant education?”

  “Why … when I enlisted, of course. But I still don’t see what that has …” His voice trailed off.

  “Uh-huh,” said Andre. “When did you take up reading history as a hobby?”

  “Not until well after I enlisted,” Lucas said. “Damn! I shouldn’t remember anything about Churchill either. But why do I?”

  “I’d say we’ve got ourselves a real problem,” Andre said.

  “To which no solution can possibly exist,” said Lucas, “because the problem can’t exist. Only it does.”

  “Maybe Finn will have an answer,” she said hopefully.

  “Which brings up another question,” Lucas said. “Will Finn remember anything about Winston Churchill?”

  “What are you getting at?” said Andre.

  “Suppose he doesn’t?” Lucas said.

  “Okay, so suppose that. What of it?”

  “If Finn doesn’t have any subknowledge of Churchill, then the whole explanation works, except in that case, I’ll be the anomaly.”

  “I still don’t see your point.”

  “Remember our hypothesis. What if something I’m about to do—or something I’ve already done—is the cause of the disruption?” He bit his lower lip. “Jesus, what if I’m the guy who’s going to kill Churchill?”

  Chapter 5

  Their arrival at the Malakand was like an entrance through the doors of Hell. The troops of the garrison were worn out from fighting. Many were wounded. Many had been killed. The broken ground was littered everywhere with bodies, far too numerous for the burial details to dispose of, even if they’d had the time. The lizards and the carrion birds were feasting.

  The fort itself was situated on a hill overlooking the depression known as The Crater. The position of the garrison had been spread out when the attack commenced on the twenty-sixth of July. Malakand Post, the fort itself, was in a virtually impregnable spot, but its surroundings were its weak point. To the north-north-east of the fort was The Crater, where the largest concentration of buildings stood. There was the bazaar, which now stood ruined and blackened from flames; the commissariat; the brigade offices and the mess, on a rise overlooking the depression; and an area known as Gretna Green, site of the quarters of the 45th Sikhs. To the north of the depression was a giant rock formation known as Gibraltar Tower, which was in the hands of the enemy tribesmen, who possessed superior firing position from its heights. West of the depression was a water-filled nullah. Across the nullah, through the rocks and to the north-north west, was North Camp. The camel and transport lines were there, as well as Camp Malakand, the site of Number 8 Mountain Battery, the 31st Punjab Infantry, and a large detachment of the 11th Bengal Lancers. Back across the nullah, to the southwest of the fort, was the 24th Punjab infantry. Communications between North Camp and the Malakand Post were by telegraph. Two roads, separated by rock formations, ran parallel cast of the fort to Dargai—the graded road, and the older Buddhist Road.

  The officers of the fort had just returned from their game of polo when the garrison at Chakdarra telegraphed that they were under attack by a large force of Pathans. A moment later the wire was cut. The officers were still in their polo kit when the attack came.

  A handful of men under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel McRae of the 45th Sikhs immediately ran to hold off the enemy’s advance down the Buddhist Road until the camp could mobilise and reinforce them. They held a position at a point where the road took a sharp curve through a narrow pass. There they re-enacted the stand of the Three Hundred Spartans. McRae’s men kept up a steady stream of fire at an even more steady and seemingly unceasing stream of Ghazis, buying the garrison valuable time in which to organise. McRae was wounded, but he held on until nightfall. The enemy pulled back.

  At the fort General Meiklejohn could see the glow of star shells from North Camp, which told him that an attack was under way there as well. More tribesmen were pressing in along the graded road, and the 24th was hotly engaged. Tribesmen commanded the heights of the Gibraltar Tower and kept up a constant sniping at the troops below while the infantry attempted to beat back the rushing advance of hundreds of fanatical swordsmen. Meiklejohn rushed from the fort, and at great peril to his life, kept moving from point to point to direct the defensive actions.

  Wild fighting took place in the bazaar, a struggle of sword against bayonet as the tribesmen poured through, driving the soldiers back and capturing a large part of the ammunition reserves. Attacks continued along the high ground of the Buddhist Road and from the rocks all around. Regular fire from the rim of the depression resulted in heavy losses.

  North Camp was evacuated at the first opportunity and a cavalry detachment sent to reinforce Chakdarra. Miraculously, they got through by criss-crossing the nullah while under heavy fire. Lack of proper transport caused the officers and men of North Camp to leave almost all of their possessions behind. That night the glow of flames from the north gave testimony to the looting and destruction that commenced as soon as they had left.

  Continued massed attacks made it impossible for the pickets to hold their lines. They were forced to pull back to the fort, there to strengthen their defences as much as possible by levelling the bazaar and many of the outlying buildings to cut down on the enemy’s opportunities for concealment. Open lines of fire were exposed and bonfires built to illuminate the enemy’s approach at night.

  There was little respite. By the time the detachment of lancers Delaney rode with had arrived, the Malakand garrison had sustained heavy casualties. Three British officers were killed, ten severely wounded. Seven native officers had died, amounting to a total of twenty senior officers killed. The total losses of officers, both British and native, as well as non-commissioned officers and enlisted men, stood at 153 killed and wounded.

  All around upon the hills, Delaney could see the white dots that were the white-robed Ghazis moving about. There were dozens upon dozens of tribal banners, as well as the black flags of the jehad. As night came, the cliffs all around them glowed with the light of several hundred campfires.

  “Hell of a sight, eh?”

  Finn turned toward the voice.

  “Surgeon-Lieutenant Hugo,” said the doctor.

  “Lieutenant Delaney,” said Finn. He held out his hand. Hugo took it in an awkward grip with his left hand. His right arm hung straight at his side, looking stiff. “You were hit?” said Finn.

  Hugo gave a slight snort. “No, fortunately. Bit of temporary paralysis. Cramped, you know.”

  “From what?”

  “Oh, Lieutenant Ford was wounded in the shoulder. Bullet cut the artery. We were under heavy fire and he was lying out in the open, so there was no opportunity to give the poor chap proper aid, don’t you know. He had fainted from loss of blood. I had no other choice but to pinch the vessel shut between my thumb and forefinger. Crouched there that way for three hours until I could move him to safety. Hell of a thing. Haven’t been able to move my arm hardly at all since. Hand’s gone numb. Nothing to worry about, it’s only a temporary cramp, but it’s rather an inconvenience.”

  Finn thought that only an Englishman could speak in such an offhand manner about holding a man’s life between his thumb and forefinger for three hours while under heavy fire.

  “Anyway, it’s nice to have you chaps,” said Hugo, putting a cigarette in his mouth and awkwardly trying to strike a light with his left hand. Finn lit it for him. “Thank’s, old boy. Didn’t quite think you were riding into such a damned mess, did you?”

  “Oh, I knew it would be bad,” said Finn, “but it’s another thing to see it. There must be thousands of them up there. It looks like the whole mountain range is on fire.”

  Hugo
nodded. “More arriving every day. Word has it the Utman Khels have joined the fray. The Mahsuds, as well. The Mad Fakir’s pulling them in. Final bloody conflict and all that. There’re lathered up right and proper.”

  “They let us ride right in,” said Finn.

  Hugo nodded again. “Why not? Why take you in the open where you can make an effort at deploying? Better position here. Nothing short of a mass suicidal assault would break into this fort—not that I think they’re not up it, mind you—but they have us trapped in here. It’s like sitting atop a sugar cube in a great big empty cup. And they’re all around the rim. I believe they’re building up to final push. Meanwhile they continue sniping at us from the cliffs. They’re damned proficient at it too. Bloody good marksmanship, at this range.”

  “Has there been any communication with Chakdarra? “ Finn said.

  “We managed to re-establish heliograph signalling with them briefly on the morning of the twenty-ninth,” said Hugo. “They’re hanging on, but they’ve sustained heavy losses. It seems they’ve had a rougher go of it than we. Food and ammunition are running short. Lieutenant-Colonel Adams took the Guides to make a try for the Amandara Pass, but they were forced to retire. He lost sixteen men and twenty-six horses. Now that you lot have arrived, we might stand a better chance. I was forced to miss the officer’s conference. Had to tend to the wounded. Couldn’t do much with this arm, you know. Stiff as bloody blazes. That new doctor was a godsend.” He chuckled. “Godsend. Missionary, godsend, that’s good, what?”

  Finn smiled.

  “So what’s the plan, then?” Hugo said.

  ‘General Blood’s ordered the relieving column to assemble on Gretna Green there,” Finn said, pointing. “The first attack will be directed toward Castle Rock, which dominates the high ground above the green. We move at half-past four this morning.”

  “Bloody hell,” said Hugo. “If Castle Rock is taken at the same time as troops begin a push from Gretna Green, it might open up the graded road, and then deployment would be possible! Who thought of that?”

  “General Blood.”

  “Now that I see it, it’s so damned obvious,” said Hugo. “But then, we hadn’t the manpower before. We may get out of this mess yet. Well, I’d better go and give the good Father a hand. “ He held up his one useful arm and chuckled. “A hand, eh? That’s a good one.” Chuckling, he went down below.

  Delaney hadn’t had a chance to speak with either Lucas or Andre since their arrival. Tending the wounded at the garrison was a full-time job, especially with Hugo being limited in what he could do until his arm recovered from the cramping effects of his heroic action of the day before. All things considered, the morale of the troops at the fort was astonishingly high. They had been engaged in almost ceaseless fighting for a week, with little opportunity for sleep, and they were all exhausted, but they were functioning superbly.

  As soon as the relief column of infantry had arrived, their officers had been ordered into conference with General Meiklejohn and General Blood to make plans to break out and rescue the Chakdarra garrison. In a few hours the column would assemble and prepare to move while the attack against the overlooking rock formation commenced. Once the objective had been taken, Blood would then take up position with his staff upon the heights of Castle Rock, which would give him a commanding view of the field of battle.

  Historically, Finn knew the tactics were to succeed and the column would break through to relieve the embattled fort at Chakdarra, but that would only be the start in a large operation that would last for months, culminating in the Tirah Expeditionary Force, a punitive action, launched against the Afridi homeland in the high mountain valley of Tirah. In between there were plenty of opportunities for things to go wrong.

  Delaney knew that they had situated themselves as best they could under the circumstances, but this mission gave them less freedom to act than any other mission he had served. There was no chance now of breaking away from the troops to reconnoitre the situation in the hills. The cliffs were crawling with Ghazis. The best they could hope for was to stay with the main body and look out for any potential disruptive actions. Blood had to be protected at all costs. Meiklejohn as well. The main problem was that they didn’t know who or where the enemy was—if, in fact, there was an enemy. Finn hoped there was. Fighting an enemy was easier than trying to compensate for an historical anomaly that might have been triggered by any number of events.

  “I see you couldn’t sleep either,” said Churchill, coming up to stand beside Delaney. He looked out at the fires on the mountains. “I think the entire garrison’s awake.”

  “Everyone’s too worked up to sleep,” said Finn. “I know our men are looking forward to some action.”

  “They’ll have plenty of it,” Churchill said. “If the Ghazis sweep down upon Gretna Green before the attack can be launched and the high ground secured. we’ll all be in for it. I’ve been preparing my dispatches. I only wish there were some way to convey the magnitude of this sight.” He gestured out at the campfires on the cliffs. “Words simply can’t do it. There must be thousands of them up there. And I had thought our strength would intimidate them. Private Mulvaney was right. My green is showing.”

  “Starting to regret having come along?” said Finn.

  “Oh, not a bit of it,” said Churchill. “It didn’t appear as though the 4th Hussars were going to get in on any of this, and like any young fool, I was looking for trouble, I suppose.” He grinned. “ I seem to have found a good deal of it. Should make for some smashing reporting.”

  “Fancy yourself a writer, do you?” Finn said.

  “More than mere fancy,” Churchill said. “I’m already beginning to make something of an income at it, but I hope to do far better. True, I’m rather young, but then there’s that fellow Kipling who’s making such a big success, and he’s not much older than I am. Still, he writes this romantic nonsense, and I have ambitions to do more serious work.”

  “Perhaps you’ll be famous someday,” Finn said, smiling inwardly at the earnestness of this serious young man. “Maybe this experience will turn into a book for you.”

  “I’ve already been giving that some thought,” said Churchill. “Give the people back home some idea of what’s happening here, more than merely dispatch writing—a detailed analysis of the Forward Policy and its effects, as well as of the military applications in carrying it out. Then perhaps the gentlemen MP’s will know whereof they speak when they rise to address the Frontier Question on the floor of Parliament.”

  “Sounds like a worthy ambition,” Finn said, thinking that if the book were ever written, this youngster would probably find a way to make even the Malakand campaign seem deadly dull. To be so serious at so young an age! If the army didn’t knock it out of him, he’d wind up a professor at a tiny college, or one of those ivory-tower historians forever buried in the stacks of some musty library. It seemed a shame. He was a nice young fellow. Here he was, in the midst of what would probably be the one great adventure of his lifetime, and all he could think of was the overall question, the grand perspective.

  “You find the idea dull, don’t you?” said Churchill, watching him intently.

  “Well, no, I didn’t say that—”

  “You didn’t have to,” Churchill said. “It was clearly written in your face. I am an excellent judge of character. And I judge that diplomacy is not quite your forte. You’re the sort of man who usually says exactly what he thinks.”

  “Well, now that you mention it, the way you put it did seem rather … well, rather dry,” said Finn lamely.

  “Dry,” echoed Churchill. “Well then, I shall endeavour not to make it dry. I will see how my dispatches are received. If the reaction to what I write for the Daily Telegraph is not favourable, then I will not attempt to write the book. Rest assured, sir, I have too high a regard for the English people to subject them to inferiority. Good night to you.”

  In the fort’s infirmary, Lucas and Andre had been working non-sto
p since the relief column arrived. The marksmanship of the Pathans had taken its toll in gaping holes and shattered bones from the lead balls fired by the jezails. The different calibers of the weapons produced a wide variety of wounds. The jezail rifles of the Ghazis were all handmade, some .45 caliber, some .50, some even larger, such as the .75 and .80 caliber “wall guns” which were either fired from bipods or from a rest position on a sangar wall.

  Many of the wounds had been inflicted by captured British weapons, such as MartiniHenry and Lee-Metford rifles. The latter, which fired the new dumdum bullet, were particularly troublesome in the hands of the enemy. When one of these rounds hit a bone, it would expand, mushrooming out and tearing through everything in its path. If the victim wasn’t killed, if the bullet struck an arm or leg, the result was usually the loss of that limb. Under the direction of Lieutenant Hugo, Lucas and Andre had performed a number of such amputations, and the infirmary was running dangerously low on morphia and chloroform. By nightfall both Lucas and Andre were exhausted. They could only imagine what it must have been like for Hugo.

  “I think the two of you could do with some rest,” the doctor said. “The most serious cases have been tended to, and the others will keep for a time. Besides, my arm’s not quite so numb anymore and I can move it about some. I should be fit as a fiddle in another hour or so. “He took a flask from his pocket. “There’ll be more of the same tomorrow, I can guarantee you. Here, for medicinal purposes.”