The Devil's Assassin (Jack Lark)

by Paul Fraser Collard

  Each man’s belly squirmed with terror, the clammy hand of death suddenly present at every shoulder. Faces flushed with the exertion of the march paled as they contemplated what was to come, the thought that these might be their last minutes on earth sending icy flushes through their veins.

  The battalion colours were unfurled. The gaudy silk caught the morning light, the bright reds, blues and golds adding grandeur to the display. To the beat of the drum the lines marched forward. The sight was like a grand painting, the long, steady rows of grim-faced soldiers marching into battle with stoic grace.

  The rifle fire died out.

  The men sucked in their breath and stiffened their sinews as they braced themselves for battle.

  A flurry of staff officers galloped past the marching redcoats, the sudden activity sending a spurt of excitement flashing through the tight ranks. Sergeants and corporals bellowed at their charges as heads turned to watch the fast-moving gallopers. Yet the whispers flowing through the battalions were impossible to stop.

  ‘What the devil is going on?’ Ballard twisted and turned in the saddle as he tried to watch all of the sudden comings and goings around him.

  A cornet from the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry galloped into the gaggle of officers clustered around Outram. His light blue tunic was covered in a fine layer of dust and streaks of sweat had carved thin channels in the layer of grime coating his face. The young officer handed a scrap of paper to the general, his horse skittish as it was forced to an abrupt halt.

  Jack leant forward in the saddle as he tried to listen to what was being said. He and Ballard sat close to Outram’s staff, on the periphery of the officers charged with running the day’s affair. Without any direct involvement, they had no more idea what was going on than the humblest redcoat marching in the centre of his battalion.

  ‘I cannot hear.’ Jack’s face twisted in vexation.

  The cornet was on the move once more. He had snatched an order from the hand of Captain Hunter before forcing his mount into a tight turn and beginning the long, fast ride back to the vanguard. Another half-dozen staff officers left in the moments that followed, each bearing a fresh message for the brigade commanders.

  ‘Something’s up.’ Jack slapped his thigh in frustration.

  ‘Your powers of deduction are a wonder, Jack.’ Ballard scowled as his irritation threatened to boil over. He hated not knowing what was happening.

  Jack had opened his mouth to reply when a new series of orders were bellowed out in the nearest battalion.

  They were orders to halt.

  The attack was being reined in. The redcoats’ fears had been unfounded. There would be no fighting. No great battle to mark the start of the campaign.

  The enemy had fled.

  The enemy encampment was enormous. It covered the ground outside the town of Borãzjoon, its half-dozen acres liberally smothered with abandoned supplies. The engineer officers who had travelled with the column made a quick tally and estimated there was nigh on forty thousand tons of black powder. There was food enough to feed a dozen armies the size of the expeditionary force, with sacks of flour, rice and grain stacked in vast heaps like some bizarre offerings to a pagan god.

  ‘Damnation!’ Ballard kicked an abandoned stand of muskets, stepping back quickly as they tumbled to the ground, the sudden clatter causing a dozen faces to turn in their direction.

  Jack looked around at the encampment. The mud wall that surrounded it was not much more than two feet high. It was barely substantial enough to slow a man on foot, let alone deter a force of charging cavalry. It was a place of shoddy workmanship constructed with little thought and even less care. Now that it was abandoned, it looked pitiful.

  ‘It makes no sense.’ Jack glanced at his commander, his bewilderment clear. ‘Why not use that damned town?’ He pointed towards Borãzjoon. With little or no effort it could have been turned into a stronghold for the Shah’s army. Even the most basic preparations would have made it a horrendous place to attack. Regularly spaced tower bastions protected the high walls, with a wide ditch that was at least fifteen feet deep surrounding the whole village. Beyond this were wide fences made from thorns and cactus bushes, obstacles that would have slowed any attacker. The town could have been readily converted into a nearly impenetrable fortress, yet it had been ignored.

  Ballard sighed. ‘Perhaps they never expected us to attack them.’

  ‘Then they are fools.’ Jack scowled.

  ‘Perhaps. But they knew we were coming. That means they are not totally without merit.’ Ballard’s voice was bitter.

  ‘That’s madness. No one knew we were coming. And they left all this shit.’ Jack waved his arm to encompass the supplies scattered across the encampment. ‘Why not take it with them if they were warned? They cannot have known.’ He poured scorn on his commander’s opinion. He did not want to think what it meant if the enemy had been warned. He had captured the spy himself and paid a bloody price for doing so. He did not want to believe that his efforts had been for naught.

  ‘Of course they bloody knew.’ Ballard was struggling to contain his anger. ‘If we had caught them by surprise, they would still be here! They would have been forced to fight or else they would now be running like a bunch of frightened schoolchildren.’

  ‘How can you be so sure that’s not what happened? It certainly looks to me like they left in a damn hurry.’

  ‘Because it’s so bloody obvious a child could see it!’

  ‘Perhaps you’d care to enlighten me, since I am too bottle-head stupid to see it for myself.’

  Ballard placed his hand to his forehead. ‘Where are their guns, Jack? Where is their bloody artillery?’ He swept his hand around the encampment. At regular intervals along the low wall were prepared artillery positions. The Persians might not have chosen the wisest place for their camp, but they had taken the time to site their guns with care, building a number of protective enclosures for their precious cannon. It would have taken time and effort to extricate the heavy guns, something they could only have done if they had been given warning of the British approach.

  ‘There is no way they could have dragged all the guns away in time.’ Ballard looked distraught. ‘It would have taken them hours. This,’ he kicked at a sack of powder to emphasis his point, ‘is almost worthless. They have food and powder to spare. They can rebuild another supply dump like this in a few days. They must have been warned.’

  Jack finally understood. The British advance had been swift. Even a rider on a fast horse would have struggled to keep pace with the column, let alone beat it to the enemy camp. By rights they should have caught the Shah’s army with its drawers around its ankles. Instead they had seen nothing but the enemy’s rearguard. They had captured the camp, and with it supplies that the Shah’s army would need to begin its campaign to drive the invaders back into the sea. But the enemy had been given enough warning to escape to the hills. Ballard was correct. Rice, grain and even powder could be replaced. Artillery could not.

  Shooja-ool-Moolk had been given a vital warning. He had pulled his army back to the formidable heights, where it was impossible for the British force to attack him.

  Jack had thought that the capture of the Persian munshi had ended that particular threat to the success of the campaign. He had been wrong, and now Ballard’s suspicions were proved to be correct. The enemy had more than one spy at the heart of the British expeditionary force.

  ‘This is an intolerable situation, gentlemen. Completely and utterly intolerable!’ Major General Stalker delivered the damning indictment. He had summoned the two officers from the intelligence department to attend on him the moment his command tent had been erected and had launched straight into a tirade as soon as they had taken their seats.

  ‘Sir. We are doing all we can.’ Ballard scowled as he defended his department. ‘We believed that by f
inding the spy we had put a dent in the enemy’s supply of information, either ending it completely or at least damaging their efforts sufficiently to give us time to work on discovering the rest of the network.’

  ‘Well, you clearly failed. That much is damn clear.’

  Jack watched Stalker’s face turn purple as he berated the two officers. He felt the shame of the failure keenly. He had been so proud of his efforts, happily accepting the plaudits for having denied the enemy their spy. To have been so mistaken hurt his pride. Enduring Stalker’s invective was humiliating enough. Yet their disgrace was not to be delivered behind closed doors. The general had invited an audience.

  ‘Fetherstone, you are uncommonly quiet.’ Stalker turned his attention to the naval commodore. ‘General Outram asked your department to join this campaign so that you can share what information you have at your disposal and assist with the analysis of the facts gathered by our patrols. Thus far you seem to have added precious little. May I enquire quite what you are doing to resolve our predicament?’

  ‘We believed it to be an army matter, sir. Thus far I have left it in Major Ballard’s most capable hands. He seemed quite content with the arrangement. Indeed, I would go so far as to say it was by his design. We offered to assist yet we were quite forcefully rebuffed.’

  Ballard snorted in derision. ‘I did not seek your assistance as you had nothing to offer. Every man jack in this damned army was brought here on your ships, yet you claim to have no damn idea who anyone is.’

  ‘I fail to see how that has any bearing on the matter.’ Fetherstone’s reply was icy.

  ‘There is no need for the navy to be here, sir.’ Ballard turned away from the commodore and faced Stalker. ‘They clearly have nothing of relevance to pass on.’

  ‘The general has asked for their assistance.’

  Ballard looked like he had been slapped in the face. ‘I hardly think that is necessary, sir.’

  ‘Well, the general does.’ Stalker was curt. ‘You are in no position to argue.’

  ‘I believe it to be an eminently sensible course of action.’ Fetherstone preened with self-importance. ‘Thus far the army has failed. It is time to let the navy sort this mess out.’

  ‘You would say that.’ Ballard scowled.

  Jack sat forward in his chair. He could not stay silent any longer. ‘Did the navy not come to the same conclusion? That the information we discovered pointed to the man they themselves had identified?’ He stared at Fetherstone sharply as he spoke. The commodore had been the source of Jack’s intelligence, yet he was giving no sign of accepting an iota of responsibility.

  Fetherstone simply smiled. ‘I cannot think why you would say that. Would you care to explain?’

  ‘You know damn well what I mean.’ Jack felt the futility of the argument, but he could not let Ballard fight alone.

  Stalker slammed his fist on to his makeshift desk. ‘Enough of this damn bickering.’

  ‘Sir,’ Jack ignored the warning, ‘I believe Commodore Fetherstone knows exactly what I mean. His own intelligence pointed to the same suspect.’

  Fetherstone remained calm. ‘The plans that are being leaked pertain to the army and its operations. To date these have not been the direct concern of naval intelligence. Captain Fenris is merely trying to palm off some of the blame.’

  ‘How very convenient,’ Ballard sneered.

  ‘I do not think you are in any position to be so damn high and mighty, Ballard,’ Stalker intervened. ‘Fetherstone is quite correct. It was an army matter. But I promise you this. That is not the case any longer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Ballard’s face flushed as his own temper rose.

  ‘What I mean, Major Ballard, is that I am handing the matter over to naval intelligence.’

  ‘Sir!’ Ballard rose to his feet. ‘You cannot do that. It is not in their remit to—’

  Stalker cut him off in mid sentence. ‘I can do what I bloody want. You and your chum here fucked up. You told the general you had rid him of the enemy spies, and he believed you. We would never have embarked on this expedition if we had known the truth.’

  Ballard slumped back into his chair. He had nothing more to say.

  ‘I will require the army’s files.’ Fetherstone was not slow to twist the knife. ‘All of them.’

  Ballard could not bring himself to speak. He nodded, his mouth clenched tight shut.

  ‘You had better get this sorted, Fetherstone.’ Stalker had not completely forgotten which branch of the Queen’s forces he belonged to. ‘The navy must find this canker and rip it out.’

  Fetherstone smiled. ‘I think you can leave us to handle the affair, sir. I trust you will order Major Ballard to offer me every assistance?’

  ‘Of course.’ Stalker’s reply was clipped.

  ‘Then I see no reason why we cannot resolve this deplorable situation.’

  ‘You had better. This has been one colossal waste of time.’ Stalker prowled around the operations tent, which had been emptied of his staff officers whilst he dealt with the thorny problem that Outram had thrust into his lap. ‘We are going to march back to Bushire taking as much of this damn junk as we can. Then at least we can claim this bloody march as some sort of victory.’

  ‘I am certain the army will find something satisfactory to write into the dispatches.’ Fetherstone’s sarcasm was biting. ‘You usually do.’ He stood up, signalling the end of the meeting, and nodded to Stalker before sweeping out of the tent. His own victory was complete.

  Ballard made to rise to his feet too, but Stalker waved him back into his place. The three officers watched Fetherstone leave in silence. Only when he was gone did Stalker speak again.

  ‘Well, gentlemen, I must offer you my sincerest bloody thanks. I assure you I like nothing better than letting that fucking webfoot think he has got one over on us.’ The general’s sarcasm was biting.

  Ballard opened his mouth to protest, only to shut it again as Stalker fixed him with a thunderous stare.

  ‘From now on, counterintelligence is the navy’s business. You are not to be involved at all. Is that clear?’

  Ballard looked like he was sucking on a lemon. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Your role will be to analyse the incoming intelligence regarding the enemy’s activities. Nothing more.’

  ‘Sir.’ Ballard simply nodded, barely able to speak.

  Stalker turned his baleful glare upon Jack. ‘Captain Fenris, do not think I overlook your role in all this. You are to report to Captain Hunter immediately.’ He turned away before he had finished, as if speaking to Jack was distasteful. ‘You are to be reassigned.’

  Ballard was back on his feet in a heartbeat. ‘Sir, Captain Fenris is on my staff. He should not be reassigned without my permission.’

  ‘You lost that right when you fucked this up.’ Stalker was cruel in his denial. ‘Fenris will be posted to the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry. Poor Malet was killed at Reshire. That leaves them short of senior officers and I am damned if I will allow a captain of hussars to sit around on his fucking arse when there is proper soldiering to be done.’

  Ballard looked at Jack. There was nothing further to be said.

  ‘Captain Fenris to see you, sir.’ The young cornet announced the arrival of the regiment’s newest officer with the calm assurance of a junior officer familiar with his superior.

  ‘Thank you, Combe.’ The razor-thin officer who had been seated behind a camp desk leapt to his feet. Both men wore the smart uniform of the 3rd Bombay Light Cavalry. Even after days on campaign, their light blue tunics were immaculate and the dark blue overalls with the thick yellow stripe down the seam looked freshly pressed. Jack took in the detail as he waited for his new commanding officer’s own rapid scrutiny to be completed, pleased to see that his adopted regiment was maintaining its standards, even on campa
ign.

  The cavalry commander smiled thinly at Jack. ‘Welcome. I’m Forbes. I’m running the show here.’

  Jack shook the hand offered towards him and felt the discomfort of joining a new body of men. The last time he had done so he had been revealed as a charlatan within days. He just hoped his assumed identity would last a little longer this time.

  ‘I’m glad you could join us.’ Forbes was trying to sound genial. ‘After Colonel Malet fell, we have been a little short. We have all been stepping up but I must say I was glad when I heard you were coming our way. Perhaps our luck has changed.’

  Jack did his best to hide his uneasiness. The commander of the Bombay Lights was being welcoming enough, but there was a terse tone underlying his greeting. Forbes would be unlikely to relish the arrival of a newcomer into his regiment, especially as he had only just taken command following the death of Lieutenant Colonel Malet during the attack on Reshire. New men were always an unknown quantity, and any threat to the stability of the regiment was to be avoided if at all possible.

  ‘I am sorry not to have joined you at a better time.’ Jack was uncomfortable. He had never served with light cavalry before. He had been taught how to ride by the son of a maharajah, and had even ostensibly commanded a regiment of lancers in the father’s service. But that did not qualify him to lead British irregulars. He was out of his depth and he knew it.

  ‘Now then, there is no sense in shilly-shallying.’ Forbes did his best to force his face into some semblance of a smile. He cast a final, somewhat longing, glance at the pile of papers he had been working on before giving Jack his full attention. ‘As you probably know, we have two squadrons, both made up of four troops. As of today, our strength is two hundred and forty-three sabres. We are down on numbers but on the whole we are in good shape. The men are in fine fettle and I am lucky that the officers know what they are about. We have been fortunate to avoid many changes in recent months, so we all know each other and rub along nicely.’