Forever the Colours

by Richard Thomas

‘Sar’nt Rice, I need you to take two guns and support the 66th. Galbraith’s orders, you understand.’

  ‘Of course, sir. Just had orders from the General to assist you. I will bring over the nine pounders right away, sir.’

  ‘Very good. Carry on Sar’nt.’

  ‘Right you are, sir. Right, you ’orrible little shits, you heard the officer. Get these guns to the back ‘o the 66th, sharpish. Move, you bastards.’

  ‘All right, Thomas, let us return to… hold on, is that Preston over there?’ He was pointing to some dhoolie bearers placing a man on a stretcher. They hurried over.

  ‘Well goodness me it is! My dear Major, whatever has happened?’

  ‘I’m sure you’re not blind, Rayner. I have taken a bullet to my back and it’s bleeding profusely. That’s what all the red stuff is, by the way, my blood. I thought you would have learned something in my tent.’ He moaned as he repositioned himself on the stretcher. ‘I was trying to remove some of the injured from the front myself.’

  ‘My dear Major, it pains me to see you in distress, after all the noble deeds you did for myself and Evans here. Well, is there anything we can do for you, sir?’

  ‘Yes, there is, tell these dhoolie bearers to hurry up and get me back to the baggage so I can dress my own bloody wound.’ Just then they lifted him up.

  ‘Aha, divine intervention, Major. Farewell and good luck.’ Preston just gave him a dour stare.

  Maurice chuckled. ‘Nice to see he’s kept his sense of humour, Thomas, what.’

  Tommy just shook his head as they both continued toward the colour party, where Galbraith addressed Maurice.

  ‘See you those Ghazis over yonder, Mr Rayner, how they just walk into death with nothing more than antique muskets, jezails and sharp knives? They can’t even get in close to use them, yet still they come on.’

  ‘I have no idea, sir. It is something to do with their religion, I believe, not being afraid of death, or something along those lines.’

  ‘Permission to speak, sir?’

  There was a loud crash as the nine pounders opened up, and Tommy nearly jumped out of his skin.

  The two officers looked inquisitively at Tommy. ‘Granted. You have something to add, Mr Evans?’ shouted Galbraith.

  Tommy had no idea why he piped up. ‘Yes sir, well, it’s a jihad, I think, sir. And in their religion, if they offer themselves to Allah, who is their God, by the way, and die killing or attempting to kill all nonbelievers or infidels, well, they get to go to paradise and live with a load of virgins for a thousand years or something.’

  ‘Really, Thomas, virgins you say? Well now, maybe they have something. Where do I sign up?’

  ‘FIRE.’

  ‘Hume, fire that bloody rifle, boy or them Ghazis will carve you up, NOW!’

  ‘It won’t fire, Sar’nt Guntripp, it’s jammed or summat.’

  ‘Clear that bloody breech, boy.’

  ‘I’m out of ammo. Where’s the bloody wallahs?’

  The shout for ammunition was becoming more prevalent as the battle wore on, and Tommy could see soldiers of the 66th digging deep into their pouches.

  ‘I say, Colonel, I think the Jacob’s Rifles and Grenadiers are taking a bit of a bashing. I have just seen a couple of the jawans backing out of the fray.’

  ‘Well, let’s just hope that Maclaine wasn’t correct in his assumptions about the native regiments, Rayner, or, as you would say, we could be out for a duck.’

  Tommy observed the left side of the brigade, and they were indeed taking some stick. So far the cannons seemed to be aimed entirely at them and he thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t attached to the Jacob’s Rifles or Grenadiers. The number wounded being brought from the front was increasing all the time, and the lines were being depleted because the jawans who were bringing them out were not going back. Where were all the medical orderlies? He had seen some dhoolie bearers when he had spoken to the injured Preston, but that was it.

  Tommy looked past the front ranks of the Grenadiers and could see hundreds of Afghan cavalry amassing. My God, he thought, if they get in amongst them, it will be a blood bath. Oh, for a couple of heavy machine guns and mortars. He looked at the rifle in his hands and realised this was his only protection against that load of religious psychos. He observed the Cavalry still sitting in column and taking the same punishment as the Bombay infantry. Why the fuck doesn’t he get them out the way and stop using them as fodder? It was like a turkey shoot. He could feel his anger building rapidly at the stupidity he was witnessing.

  He looked back to the lines of the 66th and saw, with a sort of satisfaction, that Galbraith was using his regiment’s rifles to full, devastating effect, and the mad Ghazi attack had slowed to a stop; they were either turning back or going to ground.

  ‘Thomas, old chap, would you mind awfully going to find Chute? We are running desperately low on ammunition and water, and for some reason the wallahs are nowhere to be seen. We need to get the men replenished as soon as possible.’

  ‘Righto, Maurice, I’m on it. Where would I find him then?’

  ‘Try with the baggage nearest to our positions, Thomas, they should be the water and ammunition stores. I honestly don’t know why the Bhisti wallahs aren’t out and replenishing the men already…’ He was staring towards the rear with a frown.

  ‘I’ll go and have a butcher’s, mate, won’t be long.’ Tommy turned and jogged off toward where he thought the supplies might be, ducking and flinching every time he heard the cannon roaring or the massed ranks of rifles opening up. There was smoke everywhere, and the smell of bonfire night. Idiot! He tried to spit but he found his throat was parched and he could only imagine the discomfort the soldiers must be in.

  The wounded were everywhere now; nearly all Indian infantry, hobbling away to the rear or being treated by comrades on the floor. There was a cart toward the rear and it was here that he found Chute, observing a Corporal handing out leather waterskins to some Bhisti wallahs from the back of a cart.

  ‘Lieutenant Chute, sir, Lieutenant Rayner would like to know why the ammunition and water is not getting forward.’

  ‘Would he, by Jove. Well perhaps you could carry some for me, Private, eh? Go on, help yourself.’

  Tommy frowned at Chute. ‘Why are you being like that, me old mate? There’s no need to be a twat about it, is there? I’m only passing on some instructions.’

  ‘How dare you address me in that tone, Private. Apologise at once or I will have you on a charge.’

  Tommy walked up to Chute and stood nose to nose with him; to his credit, Chute didn’t flinch at all. Tommy remembered what Cuppage had said.

  ‘Listen, pal, the lads back there are gonna have a fucking shit time soon. They are either gonna drop from dehydration or they’re gonna run out of ammo or both, so unless you wanna tell the General why the 66th can’t fight, I suggest you get to it pronto.’

  ‘I second that,’ came a voice from behind Tommy.

  Tommy spun and found an officer standing in front of him, staring at Chute. ‘And, this is not the first request for water and the relevant ammunition for my Sniders.’ He shouldered past Tommy. ‘My chaps didn’t even break their fast or fill their canteens before we marched this morning, and with the hammering they’re taking from that bastard Afghan cannon, they’re fighting on will power and sense of duty alone. So, as the Private said, get some wallahs out to the front and restock my men, or my regiment will not last long.’

  The involvement of the Grenadier officer seemed to get through to Chute, who, Tommy was sure, was doing everything he possibly could.

  ‘I am trying to get the supplies out, but damn it, all the wallahs are refusing to go near the front, bloody cowards. But leave it with me, Whitby, I will liaise with Captain Dobbs and see what I can do.’

  The Grenadier Whitby, a Lieutenant, Tommy saw, nodded and made to walk away; he stopped a few paces away from him with a curious look on his face.

  ‘Satan’s cock! It is you, ain’t i
t? How the hell did you beat my man in that fight?’ Smiling and shaking his head, he walked back to the struggling ranks of the Grenadiers.

  Tommy watched him go for a moment, watched the shells landing amongst the Indian infantry and the Cavalry, the 66th on the right with their controlled volleys, the smoke, the noise and the steadily growing numbers of wounded and dead. A picture of hell. He watched the whole scene with a sense of detachment, of not truly belonging in this nightmarish world; not wanting to be here but now unwilling to leave without seeing all of it. And he couldn’t leave without Maurice; he had to help his friend, but didn’t know why or how. He turned to Chute, who was talking to another officer of the commissariat. He grabbed a Corporal and gave him orders for water and ammunition to be taken to the Bombay infantry lines, and after that to the 66th as soon as he could manage. The corporal saluted and ordered a group of wallahs to accompany him. Tommy walked over to Chute.

  ‘Excuse me, sir. I apologise for my comments earlier. I did not mean any disrespect, please forgive me.’

  Chute looked at him for a moment. ‘All right, well, let’s forget all about it.’ He gave a stiff smile. ‘Good luck to you.’

  Tommy smiled, saluted and turned back toward the 66th Colour party; he was halfway there when he saw Arun, running about carrying a leather water skin. ‘Arun, me old mate,’ he shouted above the noise of the cannon fire. ‘How are ya?’

  Arun stopped and bobbed his head to Tommy. ‘Getting water for soldiers, Private Sahib. You are wanting refreshment, yes please?’

  Tommy checked his canteen and found it was nearly empty, so he held it out for Arun to fill. While he did this, he asked Arun if he had seen Preston and if he was all right.

  ‘The Surgeon Major Sahib is being wounded and he is with the baggage.’ They both ducked involuntary at another scything volley from the 66th. Tommy was about to ask Arun another question when a shout went up that the enemy were in the rear. Tommy craned his neck to see. There was far too much smoke about, but he was sure he could hear the reports of rifles near the baggage. He could also see small ponies flittering through the smoke, and wondered if that was the Cavalry or the Afghans.

  ‘Arun, I have to get back. Stay safe, me old mate, OK?’ He clapped the wallah on the shoulder and turned to make his way back to the Colour party. At that moment, a figure ran through the smoke at him, swinging a curved sword aimed at his head. Tommy just manage to duck; he felt the blade pass through his hair, lost his balance and tumbled over onto his back, looking at the figure above him now attempting to bring the blade in a downward slice at his head. At the last second, he awkwardly lifted his rifle and blocked the blow with a juddering clang. As Tommy attempted to scuttle backwards, the sword came flashing again, but it dropped out of the figure’s hand. The turbaned attacker fell to his knees screaming and, as Tommy watched in shock, he fell forward onto his face, with Arun clinging onto his back, repeatedly stabbing him between the shoulder blades with a small knife. After a few moments, the figure went still; Arun stood and wiped the small knife on the Afghan’s robes.

  ‘He is not being very nice man, Private Sahib, yes please.’

  Tommy stood shakily and looked at the wallah with a sense of wonderment.

  ‘Thanks, mate. He was gonna do me for sure. I owe you one.’

  ‘It is being my pleasure, but Private Sahib should be being more careful on his journey.’ With that, he gave Tommy a knowing smile and trotted off into the smoke.

  What’s he on about? Tommy thought. What did he mean, journey? Something was niggling at the back of his mind, but the thought was interrupted as the noise level seemed to intensify all around him, and for a fleeting moment he found himself standing alone with cannon and rifle smoke billowing around him. Fuck this, he thought, and turned again for the 66th lines. He reached them a few moments later to find Galbraith in an uproar and bellowing at his subalterns. Tommy moved to Maurice’s side and plucked at his sleeve.

  ‘What’s the craic, mate?’

  Maurice turned to him with a confused look. ‘Speak English, Thomas. The Colonel is in a frightful temper. Some Ghazis have gotten into the rear and are engaging Major Ready’s baggage guard. They have also managed to infiltrate that village to our right, and the 66th are taking casualties from the buildings and walled gardens.’

  There was another explosion from the direction of the Cavalry and the Grenadiers.

  ‘Why on earth are those poor bastards just sitting there on their horses, Maurice? They’re just getting picked off. Why doesn’t the General move them?’

  ‘Yes, I can see your point, old chap, but it’s not my place to reason. Besides, we have our own problems at the moment. Yes, Colonel,’ Maurice said, turning away from Tommy.

  ‘I need to know what’s happening in that village, Mr Rayner. Get yourself over there and bring me a report, would you please. Oh, and tell Sar’nt Major Cuppage to attend me also.’

  ‘Yes sir. Thom—’

  ‘Yes, I know, “Thomas, with me”.’

  As they moved off, Tommy noticed the noise from the Jacob’s Rifles and Grenadier companies was getting louder, and he realised that they were finally engaged proper, but with whom he didn’t know. The noise from the baggage area also indicated a significant scrap was taking place. Shit! Tommy thought as he remembered the Ghazi that Arun had killed. If they have gotten round the back already, then shit was gonna hit the fan shortly.

  ‘What time have you got, Maurice?’

  ‘Why, do you have to be somewhere, old chap?’ Maurice replied as the 66th fired another massive volley. ‘It is a little after noon, Thomas.’

  Jesus! It felt as if they had been at it all day and yet it was only a couple of hours, if that. He looked over the lines of the 66th, wondering how the hell they could keep this up in this heat. Then he remembered what the Lieutenant of the Grenadiers had said about what they were going through out on the left flank. My God! They must be nearly finished. He had started to notice more and more of the Jacob’s Rifles moving to the rear, and pointed this out to Maurice.

  ‘I know, old chap, they seem to be struggling somewhat. I have just heard they haven’t many British officers left commanding them. All dead or injured, apparently.’

  Tommy thought about this as they walked. ‘You do remember what I told you, don’t you, Maurice? About how this whole thing falls apart? Perhaps you should go and inform the General that if he doesn’t do something about them soon, then they will break up completely.’

  ‘FIRE.’

  They both ducked as the smooth bore let loose. ‘And what, pray tell, do you expect he will say when he hears the tale you told me, Thomas? I would like to keep some credibility in this battle, you know.’

  ‘Then ask Galbraith to point it out to him, advise him or something, make up a fucking story if you have to, just try and get the General to see reason.’ Tommy was shouting now, and drawing curious glances from the rearmost troops of the 66th.

  Maurice wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and took a big sigh. ‘All right, damn you, I will talk with the Colonel and try and get him to talk to Burrows about the native infantry, but that is it, Thomas. I do not wish to talk about this again, do you hear.’ He looked at Tommy sternly, who knew there was nothing else he could do.

  The two friends were approaching the outer companies when Maurice stopped.

  ‘Sar’nt Major Cuppage,’ Maurice shouted, and Tommy saw the big man standing with Captain Cullen. He looked up and made his way over to them. And he still looked impeccable Tommy thought.

  ‘How can I be of service, Mr Rayner?’ Tommy noticed he was carrying a rifle.

  ‘The Colonel would like you to attend him, Sar’nt Major.’ Maurice nodded and made his way over to Captain Cullen.

  ‘Very good, sir.’ He turned to Tommy. ‘And how find you the battle, Mr Evans? Is it as you were expecting?’

  ‘Worse, Sar’nt Major.’

  ‘I gave your tale some thought, Mr Evans, and it seems to be playi
ng out as you described.’ He looked over towards the battered Cavalry and Indian infantry companies. ‘So either you are a highly intuitive young soldier and have a gift for military strategy,’ he looked at Tommy again, ‘or the end is upon us.’

  Tommy gave him a sad shrug. ‘You either believe me or you don’t, sir, but everything I told you is happening. Look around you, the Grenadiers have taken too much stick, the Jacob’s Rifles are shitting themselves and won’t last much longer, there isn’t going to be any Cavalry soon, but your General is still thinking he can win the day.’ Tommy shook his head. ‘Someone needs to talk sense to the man and get him to pull back towards the baggage and the cover of that ravine and village.’ He pointed towards where the baggage was. ‘At least you might be able to hold it and you will have your supplys to hand, you know, water and ammo and stuff.’ He looked Cuppage in the eyes. ‘I’m telling you now, sir, this brigade won’t last much longer.’

  Cuppage took a deep breath in through his nose. ‘Well, let us see what the Colonel wants with me. Mayhap I might try and give him your advice, eh.’ He smiled, nodded and walked off toward the Colour party.

  Tommy watched him go, then went to join Maurice, who, along with Cullen, was lying below a ridge in the ground and looking toward the village beyond the nullah.

  ‘How many do you gauge there are, Captain?’

  ‘I’m not sure, Rayner. Could be ten, could be a hundred, probably a bloody thousand. But either way, Quarry has had to deploy some of the baggage guard against them.’

  Tommy looked and could see little puffs of smoke from the building windows in the village and the walled garden areas. There was also some smoke from what looked like an orchard on the other side of the village, and he could see khaki-clad soldiers lying amongst the boulders and grass, returning fire. Quarry’s men, he presumed.

  ‘Very well, Captain, I will tell the Colonel that the village has been occupied by the enemy, but Quarry is attempting to have it cleared, yes.’ He tipped his hat to Cullen and backed away from the ridge.

  ‘Follow me, Thomas.’

  They hurriedly made their way back but, as they neared, Maurice stopped and stared out toward the front of the 66th lines with a horrified look on his face. Tommy stopped and followed his gaze, and although he too was horrified, he had been expecting something like this. About 500 yards in front of the 66th, thousands of Ghazis rose up as if out of the ground, many carrying banners and flags that fluttered in the wind.