Attack on the Redan

by Garry Douglas Kilworth

  ‘Oh,’ said the dismayed Peterson, swallowing hard. ‘Yes – leaking, sir. It burns a bit. I can’t go to my regiment surgeon, sir, because I’m on special duties.’

  ‘Well, I have no time to treat you myself. There’s another surgeon due in – ah, here he is. Archie, this soldier has wandered in off the street. Perhaps you could deal with him? I believe he has a dose of gonorrhoea. You’ll need to examine him further to find out. I haven’t the time. I’m wanted at headquarters.’

  A plump, elderly man with yellowy-white whiskers and red-veined nose and cheeks had entered the room. He glowered at Peterson.

  ‘Gad! What have you been up to, you naughty soldier? Didn’t your mother tell you to stay away from painted harlots? As if the cholera and dysentery ain’t enough. Two thousand deaths this month from diarrhoea and dysentery alone, and naughty cads like you have to go out and seek out something else to make you ill. It’s not responsible behaviour.’

  Peterson, who was frightened by the sound of the word the younger man had used for her complaint, asked. ‘Am I going to die from it, sir?’

  Lawson sighed and gathered his stuff together, putting it into a battered leather bag. ‘Do we need to moralize, Archie? Just treat the man and get rid of him.’

  Once Assistant-Surgeon Lawson had gone, the older man unpacked some instruments from the bag he too carried. There were a set of iron forceps, a formidable rusty saw, a long shiny spike with a hook at the end, and various other weapons of the surgeon’s trade. They were tossed on to the table top, one after another. Peterson looked at these instruments of torture in horror and involuntarily her hand went to her genitals. A hammer went down on the wooden surface with a mighty thump. Then the clatter of a long curved knife not unlike those she had seen used in a butcher’s shops.

  ‘You – you’re not going to cut me, are you, sir?’

  ‘You’re wasting my time, soldier,’ said the old man, wearily. ‘Now, describe the colour and smell of your discharge. Quickly now, I ain’t got all day . . .’

  Peterson did her best. The elderly surgeon’s face remained sour throughout. When she was halfway through her faltering description he took out a pocket watch and stared at it for a full minute, his attention having wandered. Finally he interrupted her flow. It was the first time his voice sounded reasonable.

  ‘I breed my own cultures, which I use in these cases.’ He went to a shelf at the back and took down a large brown bottle full of vile-looking liquid. ‘I’ve made an infusion of it.’ When Peterson looked helplessly at him, he simplified it. ‘A kind of tea. The symptoms should clear up in a week. If they don’t, come back for some more. And soldier,’ the old gentleman’s voice became grave once more, ‘stay away from those ladies of the night. I was young once too, y’know, but you’ve only got one hose. Y’don’t want it to rot and drop off, do you? No. Well, then, mind my words.’ He siphoned some of the potion off into a smaller bottle, corked it, and handed it to her. ‘Two or three swallows of this every day before you eat, to give it a chance to reach your vital parts before food gets in its way. Take some now, before you go.’

  He poured some out in a tin cup.

  It tasted as terrible as it looked, Peterson asked the surgeon, ‘Aren’t you going to – to inspect me?’

  A look of mild distaste crossed the medical man’s face.

  ‘You think I haven’t seen enough in my time?’ he told her. ‘You told me what it looked like and how it smelled. I know what it is. Go away now and only come back if this lot doesn’t clear itself. Any fresh condition will find me less than sympathetic. Go on, away with you.’

  Peterson trudged back to the hovel. She had not been discovered and had not been dismissed from the army. Her secret was still safe. Yet now she had to face the lieutenant. She had disobeyed orders, or at least taken it on herself to jump ahead of them. Pirce-Smith was going to be furious with her. She had almost got them all killed. If only, she thought, the other half of the peloton had not escaped the Russians. It immediately appalled her that she could even think such a thing.

  ‘Ah, Peterson,’ said Pirce-Smith as she entered the hovel, her half-hopes dashed, ‘I should like a word with you.’ His face was indeed harbouring thunder clouds.

  The others were all there, Gwilliams and Wynter included, so no one had lost his life. This was no time for heroics. She had to get out of this by devious methods, even if it meant she had to bend the truth. She did not believe she could face harsh punishment at the moment, ill as she was. However, Peterson found it difficult to lie. Her face always went red and her breath quickened. They did so now. Fortunately Pirce-Smith did not know of this quirk in her nature. He simply thought the reason for her flushed features was because she was being accused in front of the men.

  ‘Sir – sir, my rifle just went off.’

  ‘Went off? By accident?’

  ‘Yes, sir. That is, I was all ready to fire and I – I had a sharp pain – in my belly. It made me squeeze the trigger too soon. I’m sorry, sir.’

  Pirce-Smith’s eyes narrowed. ‘It was a damn good shot for an accident.’

  ‘Well, sir, I was all lined up, ready – ready for your signal sir. Once I’d fired, well, they knew it was us there, didn’t they? And everyone was firing then, so I kept on doing it. But the first one wasn’t meant. I’m very sorry. I didn’t mean to do it. It won’t happen again.’

  ‘I don’t know quite what to do about this, Peterson,’ said Pirce-Smith, frowning. ‘I was all ready to haul you out, but you say it was an accident?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I shall have to consider it. Just because it was an accident does not mean you were not negligent, Peterson. You may still have some punishment coming to you.’

  ‘I realize that, sir.’

  When Pirce-Smith had gone, Wynter swung his legs off his bed and snarled, ‘Garn,’ at Peterson.

  ‘It was an horrible accident,’ Peterson repeated, undaunted, ‘like your birth.’

  ‘You nearly got us all killed. You ought to have been flogged, like I was.’

  Crossman intervened. ‘You might still get your chance to die, Wynter. Did you not hear what the lieutenant was saying before Peterson came back? We’re going to attack the Russians, in a few days’ time. I haven’t any doubt it will be the Redan again. If we walk away from that alive, we shall be very lucky.’

  The colour drained from Wynter’s face. ‘He said he was only guessing.’

  ‘You can feel it in the air, Wynter. Look at the face of any staff officer. Look how they’re scurrying around the place like ants. Plans are afoot. General Simpson needs a victory. He needs the war to end here. The lieutenant doesn’t know any more than we do, but he can see the hive is buzzing, ready to swarm. There’s going to be a big battle.’ Crossman paused, then continued in a quieter voice. ‘In June the French failed to take the Malakoff and we failed to take the Redan. It follows that we have to assault them again and prove our worth. This time we cannot afford to fail. They will throw men at those fortifications until they fall. Those men will include you and I, Wynter. And Peterson. And any other soldier who can walk or crawl. Yorwarth may be the lucky one.’

  Wynter stared at him for a minute, then lay on his cot and turned his face to the wall.

  ‘Peterson,’ Crossman said, ‘did you visit the surgeon?’

  ‘He gave me this.’ She showed him her medicine.

  ‘Good. Was it Dr Barry?’

  ‘No. I asked for him, but he’s some grand surgeon, that just travels around the army. There was a young surgeon, who was in a hurry, and then an old one. It was the old one who gave me this. He grumbled at me for going with whores. Said I was to stay away from them.’

  Crossman joked, ‘And so you should. But – did he not . . .?’

  ‘No. He said he’d seen enough of it in his time and made me tell him what it was like.’

  ‘Then your secret is still safe?’

  ‘If I want it to be. I’m not sure I do now. But, sergeant, I’m
worried about my prize money. They might take it away from me, if they know I’m a woman. I’m tired and sick though. I just want to go home now. I’ve done my duty as a soldier. If I tell them, will I lose my money?’

  Crossman shrugged. ‘It’s a consideration. Lord knows they’ll snatch at any excuse not to pay money out. But then again, I meant what I said before. We might not survive the coming battle. Any of us. Then what use will the money be to you?’

  ‘I don’t think I’m well enough to go into a battle. I’m not a coward, sergeant, but I’m sick and very tired.’ There were tears in her eyes. Peterson had been through some terrible ordeals recently, not the least of which was her abduction and rape by the Cossacks. She looked frail and weak.

  ‘I’ll have a word with the lieutenant,’ said Crossman. ‘No one could call you a coward, Peterson. And what if they did? You are a woman who has done more than any other female I know. I have nothing but admiration for you. I’ll do what I can.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  In the event, Lieutenant Pirce-Smith also thought it politic to bend the truth, when reporting to Colonel Hawke. He told the colonel that the supply train had been larger and better guarded than they had expected, but they had attacked it anyway, killing several cavalry and disrupting the supply wagons. He put forward the impression that the intention throughout was to attack the Russians, no matter that they outnumbered his force twenty-to-one. One of his men had fired too soon, but no harm had come of it.

  ‘They’ll think twice about using that route again, sir. We gave ’em a thrashing they won’t forget in a hurry. It showed them how vulnerable they are up in the hills.’

  Hawke nodded in approval. ‘But you say one of our men let go a little too early?’

  ‘Peterson, sir. But she hit her target, and her shot was as good as my signal for starting the whole show. I have of course reprimanded her for her eagerness, but I think I shall leave it at that.’

  ‘Quite so. We have always admired Peterson’s skill with the rifle-musket. God, I wish I had it. You can hear some of the quail laughing when I pick up a sporting gun.’

  ‘I’m sure that’s not the case, sir,’ replied the lieutenant, diplomatically.

  ‘And I can assure you, it is,’ confirmed the colonel. ‘Hares have been known to stop and cock a snoot after my bullet has whizzed by their ear. Well, that’s all. You’ve heard about the coming attack?’

  ‘Yes, sir – one of my fellow officers . . .’

  ‘Quite. Well, there won’t be any time to get another fox hunt in before we go into battle, so I suggest the men go back to their regiment, to prepare for the assault. My guess is this will be the final thrust. If we don’t overrun ’em this time, we’ll never do it.’

  Pirce-Smith chanced a remark that a few months ago he would not have believed could have come from his lips.

  ‘Sir,’ he said, tentatively, ‘do you not think the men deserve a rest? They’ve been hard it for months now.’

  Hawke’s face was impassive. ‘This is war, lieutenant. They must do their duty by their regiments. Men have been hard at in the trenches too.’ His voice grew softer. ‘I appreciate your loyalty to your men, Pirce-Smith. It’s a new feeling, isn’t it? When the unit shrinks to around six or seven men, you know and are intimate with them, even though they are common soldiers. Out on a fox hunt you share your bread with them. You hear their stories and when your guard drops, as it must when you find yourself in dire circumstances every so often, they hear yours. The world is changing. Wellington called them scum, but you and I know they are men like us. Good men, and true. Perhaps not so refined, but then good breeding is not of much use out there in the hills, is it? The damn Cossacks pick their noses, eat with their fingers and fart in company, yet they’re some of the best fighters in the business.’ He paused for a moment, before adding, ‘Yorwarth’s dead, eh? That strong handsome Australian boy? Killed by bees. It strikes me as wicked, to go like that. Quite unfair. The Lord not only moves in mysterious ways, He smites His people in ironic ways too. Well, you’d better go and tell them to pack and make ready. They won’t like it. Nor would I.’

  ‘And the camel, sir? What about your zumbooruck?’

  ‘Ah, that? It was an affectionate dream, lieutenant. But dreams must be put aside when the real fighting arrives.’

  Pirce-Smith did as he was told. He returned to the hovel and spoke to the men, telling them they must return to their regiment. Gwilliams was to report to Hawke who would find use for his gentler talents, such as hair-cutting and bone-setting. Yusuf Ali was to return to the Bashi-Bazouks, those Turkish irregulars who could match the Cossacks for wild horsemanship.

  A group of them went out, to say goodbye to Betsy and Stik. The episode with the dromedary had been one of the more colourful experiences of their war. Crossman went to see Jane at her place. She was with Lavinia Durham. The pair of them looked grave as he approached. They too knew a battle was imminent. Lavinia was a warrior queen when it came to battles, often being among the first to reach a viewing point, but the last attempted assault on the Redan had cooled her ardour for that particular goal somewhat. To see men slaughtered like cattle was a sobering thing, even for an iron lady such as she.

  ‘Alex,’ said Lavinia. ‘How nice to see you.’ She pecked him on the cheek. ‘I shall leave you two to talk.’

  Lavinia left the room and went into the recesses of the house.

  ‘Jane,’ said Crossman, ‘we are being sent back to our regiment.’

  A look of pain crossed her face. ‘You will be in the coming battle?’

  ‘I fear so. I won’t pretend I’m looking forward to it this time. I’m convinced it will be an attack on the Redan – there’s no other real objective – and I saw what happened last time. Then I was standing on a safe hill alongside Major Lovelace, with a spyglass to my eye. This time, I shall be in the thick of it.’

  ‘And will your Major Lovelace be in the battle too?’ she asked bitterly, knowing the answer.

  ‘I doubt it. He is too valuable for the army to risk in such ventures.’

  She stepped forward and gripped his sleeves with both hands.

  ‘And you are too valuable to me! Priceless. Worth a thousand Major Lovelaces. I shall use all my influence to get you out of this battle, Alex. I shall.’ Her eyes welled with tears. ‘I do not want you dead. To die uselessly like that, as cannon fodder. It doesn’t make sense. I can’t bear it.’

  ‘I wish you wouldn’t, Jane. I implore you not to. I would not be able to live with myself afterwards, now would I? A woman pleads with the authorities to have them put one soldier aside, when there are thousands of others who have to fight? It won’t wash, Jane. Generals will fall in that battle, let alone privates. I can promise you no heroics. I shall not join the Forlorn Hope. I shall do my duty, but I shall not put myself in the way of cannon or musket ball without good reason. I too am weary of this war. This will be the last battle, I’m convinced of it. Next week the war will be won or lost. There will be rejoicing in one camp or the other.’

  ‘You promise to keep yourself safe?’ she said, fiercely.

  ‘I will do my duty, as I am able.’

  ‘Oh, that? Duty. You just come back to me, you hear, Alexander Kirk, or Jack Crossman, whatever your name is. I cannot travel out here for the rest of my life, putting flowers on the grave of my beloved.’

  ‘Your beloved?’ His pulse quickened. He took her in his arms and was kissing her when Lavinia entered the room again in a flurry of silks and satins, only to wheel round and exit again as swiftly as she had come in. ‘If for nothing else, I shall return for one of those,’ he said.

  She continued to clasp him until Lavinia coughed loudly from the other side of the doorway.

  ‘You can come in, dear,’ said Jane. ‘We are not making love.’

  ‘As to that,’ said Lavinia, entering again, ‘I am not convinced in the least. Here, I have some wine and some cakes. Let us enjoy ourselves for the next hour. I’ve sent for Mr Jarrar
d, too. I know he would wish to join us.’

  ‘A last supper?’ joked Crossman.

  ‘That is not humorous, Alex,’ said Lavinia. ‘Look at how downcast you have made dear Jane by that remark.’

  Jarrard duly arrived. ‘Hey, Jack? The common soldier, off to war again, eh? I don’t envy you. What’s this, the last supper?’

  The two women gave him looks that would have killed a camel at twenty yards.

  ‘And how is Monique?’ asked Crossman.

  ‘As lovely as ever,’ came the reply. ‘I’m convinced I’ve found my soulmate, Jack. And she thinks me wonderful, which is, of course, a necessary thing in these relationships, don’t you agree?’

  Crossman smiled. ‘I do indeed.’

  The four friends continued to chat, until Lavinia’s husband Bertie arrived home to find his wife hobnobbing with a mere private. Bertie however knew of Crossman’s aristocratic connections and seemed oblivious of the fact that it was quite improper of him as a captain to share a bottle of wine with a private. In fact the amiable Bertie was soon exploring the possibility of visiting Crossman’s father’s estates in the shooting season.

  ‘. . . once we all return home, of course.’

  ‘Bertie, you can’t invite yourself to Alexander’s family home.’

  ‘Can’t I?’ said Durham, looking round with a smile on his pleasant handsome features, his white teeth gleaming. He had broad shoulders, narrow hips, and looked magnificent in a uniform. His brain might not be all that his wife wished it to be, but many men would have died for his image. ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because it’s – it’s rude and unmannered of you.’

  ‘D’you think it’s rude?’ he asked Crossman.

  The common soldier shook his head. ‘A gentleman must find his shooting where he can. There’s not a lot of it about. Too many cliques, if you ask me. I’ll have a word with my older brother, James. My father and I are not exactly on speaking terms at the moment.’

  ‘No?’ queried the captain. ‘Why’s that then?’

  ‘Bertie,’ cried Lavinia, ‘that is also rude.’