by Saul David
'Where's Mehtab Singh?' asked George.
'Dead. He was shot in the head as we made our way across the roof. Sepoy,' said Hamilton, addressing the Pathan next to George, 'is Jemadar Jewand Singh still alive?'
'Yes, sahib, he's down in the courtyard with the wounded.'
'And the others who jumped across?'
'There too, sahib.'
'Good. And where is most of the firing coming from?'
'All over, sahib, but particularly from the houses beyond the mud wall,' said the Pathan, pointing, 'and the cavalry lines and stables.'
Hamilton lifted his head a few inches to get a better view of the outer compound beyond the barracks. 'There seem to be even more bodies out there than before. Did they try to rush you again?'
'Twice, sahib, but a few well-aimed volleys had them running like sheep.'
'Well done.' Hamilton turned to George. 'Come with me, Harper, and bring Ilderim Khan. This place is pretty solid, with gates at either end of a central courtyard dividing the Sikh block below us from that of the Muhammadans. But the outer gate opposite the cavalry lines is weak and needs to be strengthened. If we can do that we might even hold out till nightfall, or at least till Yakub comes to our rescue.'
'Do you still think he will?' asked George. 'It's been at least three hours since Daoud Shah was dragged from his horse. Yakub must know. So why hasn't he sent his own troops to restore order?'
'I don't know. But one thing is certain: if he leaves us to our fate, a British Army will march on Kabul, depose Yakub and take control of the country. He must know that too.'
'Yes,' said George, nodding, 'which makes me suspect he's thrown in his lot with the mutineers. Either that or he knows his own troops won't obey orders to save the Feringhees.'
'That's possible, but it's not a scenario I want to contemplate because the closest British troops are eighty miles distant in the Kurram valley. Even if they knew our predicament, they could never get here in time.'
A loud boom echoed from the far side of the compound, close to the cavalry lines, followed by an explosion at the front of the barracks block, shaking the whole building and throwing up a cloud of masonry and dust. They all ran to the parapet at the front of the Sikh quarters, from where they could clearly see, at a distance of no more than 150 yards, a team of Afghan gunners reloading an artillery piece behind a low mud wall to the left of the main gate into the compound. The handful of Guides on either side of the officers was trying to target the gunners, but the return fire from hundreds of Afghan riflemen made a carefully aimed shot practically impossible.
'Christ, they've brought up another gun,' said Hamilton. 'We'll have to knock that one out now.'
'How, in Heaven's name, will we do that?' said George. 'We'll be cut down if we try to cross the compound.'
'We did it once, and we can do it again. What time is it?'
George pulled out his pocket-watch. 'A quarter to twelve.'
'Then we'll rush the gun at midday,' said Hamilton. 'That should give us enough time to prepare.'
George was far from convinced that this charge would succeed. But then an idea formed in his head: a means of extricating both himself and Ilderim from their horrific predicament with, if all went well, a chance of saving the garrison. 'I've had an idea, Hamilton, but I think we should discuss it with the others.'
'Yes indeed,' said the lieutenant, lowering his head as another bullet whizzed by. 'Let's go below. The steps are just over there.'
They descended a single flight of dusty steps from the roof and emerged on the right side of the barracks' vaulted entrance, facing a second stairway that led to the roof of the Muhammadan block. Hamilton pointed to the flimsy outer door, made from unseasoned planks. 'I had that made when we arrived in July to mask the stairs to the roof but there doesn't seem to be much point in barricading them now. If the gun gets its range it will disintegrate like matchwood.'
Another explosion shook the barracks wall, bringing dust and plaster down on their heads. 'As I said,' he added, 'we have little time.' He hammered on the huge iron-hinged inner door.
'Who is it?' demanded a Guide on the other side.
'Lieutenant Hamilton.'
The door opened to reveal the burly figure of Naik Akbar Shah. 'Sahib, it's good to see you in one piece.'
'You too, Akbar Shah. Now, where can I find Jemadar Singh and the other sahibs?'
'In the Sikh block with the wounded.'
'Good. Shut this gate and don't let anyone through without challenging him first.'
'Sahib,' said Akbar Shah, saluting.
They hurried down the left of the two arcades - formed by stone pillars and a sloping veranda roof - that ran along both sides of the long, open courtyard and entered the Sikh block by the main door. The scene inside was grim. Most of the beds - straw mattresses on simple iron bedsteads - were occupied by wounded Guides, some silent, others moaning softly. The air was hot and fetid, the ceiling punkahs not having moved since the desertion of the Afghan servants at the start of the siege. Clouds of flies added to the torment. Dr Kelly was working on a patient on a trestle table in the centre of the room while Jenkyns and the jemadar stood at loopholes with rifles at the ready.
Kelly looked up as they strode into the room. 'I'm glad to see you all made it safely. That was very brave what you did up there.'
'Thank you,' said Hamilton, 'but we didn't all make it. Mehtab Singh was shot before he could jump.'
'What's that you say, sahib?' enquired the jemadar, a white-bearded Sikh in a long drab-coloured kurta with red facings and beige silk lace and braid. 'Is Mehtab Singh dead?'
'I'm afraid so. Which makes you the senior native rank, Jewand Singh. Tell me, how many fit men do we have left?'
'No more than twenty-five, sahib, and another dozen who could hold a rifle if they had to.'
'Give them one, and order them to man the loopholes. Then find a dozen volunteers - good men, mind - for special duty.'
'What duty, sahib?'
The building shook as yet another shell slammed into the front wall of the barracks.
'That duty,' said Hamilton, pointing towards the sound of the explosion. 'If we don't disable that gun we're finished.'
'Now, wait a minute, Hamilton,' said Jenkyns, propping his rifle against the wall. 'With Sir Louis gone I'm the head of the mission and I don't think the gain is worth the risk. We're bound to lose men, like we did the first time, and even if we succeed in spiking the gun they'll simply replace it with another.'
'Not if we don't spike it,' suggested George.
All eyes turned to him. 'Whatever do you mean?' asked Jenkyns.
'What if we recover it intact and use it against the mutineers? Then even if they do bring up another gun we'll have something to counter it with.'
Hamilton rubbed his chin. 'Do you know? That's not such a hare-brained idea. I trained for a short time as a gunner and know the firing drill. But we'll have to make sure we get our hands on powder for the vent-hole as well as cartridges and shot.'
'You're all stark raving mad,' said Jenkyns. 'The chances of us even reaching the gun, let alone dragging it back with the requisite sundries, are virtually nil and I won't allow you to try.'
'Forgive me, sir,' said George, 'but it's not your decision to make. This is a military matter and I, as a captain, have seniority. My feeling is we have to try because if we don't we're doomed. Do you agree, Hamilton?'
'I do.'
'Then I hope you'll also agree with my second suggestion: that Ilderim and I come with you as far as the gun, then escape in the confusion and try to make our way to the royal palace. If I can speak with the amir, I'm sure I can persuade him to send some troops.'
Ilderim turned to George, eyebrows raised. 'This is the first I hear of this plan, huzoor.'
'The thought only came to me a few minutes ago. Will you do it?'
Ilderim sighed. 'Yes, I'll do it. Not because I think it will succeed, but because it's better than sitting here like rats in
a trap.'
'More like rats leaving a sinking ship,' said Jenkyns, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.
George spun round to face Jenkyns, fury in his eyes. 'How dare you question my motives after all I've done today? You'd prefer to go yourself, would you?'
'Well, er, no . . . I didn't say that. I just think it would be better if we stuck together.'
'If we stick together, as you put it, we'll die together. Sooner or later. It's as simple as that. Yakub's our only hope.'
'Harper's right,' said Hamilton. 'It's worth a try. The loss of two men will hardly tip the balance in the short-term, and it might just save us. Kelly, what's your view?'
Throughout the altercation the doctor had continued working on his patient, a sepoy with a serious bullet wound in his thigh. Now he passed a bloodstained hand across his forehead. 'I don't see what all the fuss is about. Harper and his man are not on the staff here so they can come and go as they please.'
'True,' said George, 'but do you agree the attempt should be made?'
'Yes, and I'd like to volunteer for the raiding party.'
'Isn't your place with the wounded, Kelly?' asked Hamilton.
'In normal circumstances, yes, but if we don't recover the gun the wounded are dead men.'
'Jenkyns?' said Hamilton.
'What?'
'Will you come with us?'
'I don't see that I have any choice.'
'That's settled, then.' Hamilton looked at his watch. 'It's just before twelve. At five past we'll leave by the front door, pass to the left of the cavalry stables and work our way through the servants' quarters at the end of the compound. That way we only have to break cover for the last fifteen yards or so to the gun, which is in a walled enclosure beside the main gate. We'll drag the gun back the same way. Everyone who can hold a rifle, meanwhile, will give us covering fire. What's your plan, Harper?'
'While you secure the gun,' said George, 'we'll sneak into the lanes beyond and work our way back to the royal palace. A map would be useful. Does anyone have such a thing?'
'I can draw you one,' said Hamilton. 'I've ridden through every lane in the Bala Hissar and can remember most of them.'
'Excellent. Meanwhile I'll change into native garb. I'm just sorry I didn't grow a beard.'
'No matter, huzoor,' said Ilderim. 'You simply wrap part of the turban round your face.'
'And I'll get Akbar Shah to kit you out in mufti,' added Hamilton.
'Thank you,' said George. 'Best of luck, everyone. It's a mad scheme, I know, but it might just work.'
Five minutes later, George and the rest of the raiding party were crouched behind the rickety front door, waiting for Hamilton's signal. But for the lack of a beard, George looked every inch the Afghan in his turban, long kurta, baggy trousers and turned-up native shoes. And Ilderim had shown him how to leave a strip of material hanging from his white turban so that, in an emergency, he could cover his face.
George felt the familiar surge of nervous anticipation that any soldier experiences before combat, but he was more excited than afraid. It was as if he had been born to this sort of undercover work and he couldn't wait to get outside the compound where, even surrounded by enemies, he could rely on his dark skin, his linguistic ability, and Ilderim, of course, to see him through.
'Ready!' said Hamilton. 'Follow me!' He yanked open the door and headed obliquely left for the alley that passed between the cavalry stables and some rickety godowns that backed on to the fortress's outer wall. Jenkyns, Kelly, Naik Akbar Shah, Ilderim, George and eleven Guides followed, in that order, and for twenty yards or so they ran without hindrance. Then a single shot rang out, followed by more, until a storm of bullets was tearing up the ground around them and ricocheting off the wall to their left. Covering fire exploded from the barracks.
The raiders all crouched as they ran, to present smaller targets, but it did not save Akbar Shah, two ahead of George, who was hit in the right side, the bullet passing through his chest and exiting close to his left nipple. He crumpled to the ground, still clutching his Snider, and Ilderim at once went to the aid of his former comrade. But George knew it was futile. 'Leave him!' he bellowed. 'He's already dead!'
Ilderim took one look at Akbar Shah's sightless eyes and realised that George was right. Pausing only to close his eyelids, he tore after the others, his long limbs eating up the ground until he was almost level with the rearmost Guide. Hamilton and those at the front, meanwhile, had reached the relative safety of the alley beside the cavalry lines. Any Afghans who had been stationed there had long since fled, and Hamilton took the opportunity to pause while Ilderim and the stragglers caught up. 'Anyone else hit?' asked the lieutenant.
'Yes, sahib,' said a Sikh Guide, holding his right arm.
'You'd better stay here and wait for us to return. The rest of you, come with me. And don't bunch together or you'll make it easy for them.'
Hamilton burst into the open, sword in one hand, pistol in the other, determination etched on his young face. The others followed, but with slightly bigger gaps between them, and again they made a few yards before the Afghans opened fire. George felt a tug on his left arm and, looking down, realised a bullet had passed harmlessly through the baggy material. A second Guide went down, then a third and, just as they reached the edge of the row of huts that housed the Residency servants, Dr Kelly was shot in the right side of his chest and spun onto his back. George and Ilderim dragged him behind the cover of the huts. 'Go on!' gasped Kelly. 'I'm a dead man, and so will you be if you linger.'
They left him, and followed the others down a maze of dusty, refuse-choked lanes towards the main gate. At the last hut Hamilton again waited for the others to catch up. The party was now down to Hamilton, Jenkyns, George, Ilderim and seven Guides. 'Is the doctor hit?' Hamilton asked George, breathlessly.
George nodded.
'For his sake, let's not fail. One last effort and we're there.'
Boom! The gun sounded just around the corner and a shell exploded against the front wall of the barracks. Hamilton sneaked a quick look round the corner of the hut. 'They're reloading. Let's go.'
With Hamilton leading the charge, they covered the remaining twenty yards to the gun in a matter of seconds, surprising the artillerymen by their sudden appearance. Hamilton vaulted the low wall and sabred a big Afghan wielding a ramrod, while George and the others shot and bayoneted the rest of the gun crew. The supporting Afghan infantry in the walled enclosure, meanwhile, had fled up the hill and through a small gateway.
Hamilton shouted orders for two men to secure ropes to the gun so it could be dragged, while the rest provided covering fire. Already the surprised Afghans were rallying, and shots pinged off the mud wall and the metal of the gun. Hamilton ran up to George, who was scanning his hand-drawn map. 'You'd best be off, Harper. Good luck.'
'Thank you,' said George, shaking Hamilton's hand. 'We'll make our way through the gate at the top of the hill, then go east towards the palace. You should have some help within the hour. Do you think you can hold out that long?'
Hamilton grinned. 'If we can get this gun back to the barracks we can hold out indefinitely. God speed.'
George signalled to Ilderim and they set off up sloping scrubland to the top of the enclosure where a small wooden gate gave access to the lane beyond. George eased it open and poked his head through to check that all was clear. The lane appeared to be deserted. He knew from his map that the shortest route to the amir's palace was to turn right and pass in front of the flat-roofed houses that overlooked the Residency compound, but as many of the houses were still occupied by mutineers, he thought it safer to go left and double back later.
At the end of the lane they came to a crossroads where a crowd of Afghan soldiers was being harangued by its non-commissioned officers to rejoin the fray. 'Where's your courage, brothers?' shouted one. 'They are few and we are many, yet you scatter like sheep at their first charge. Let us return to the fray and prove ourselves worthy of our country
and our faith.'
With his face partially covered by his turban, and his hand on the butt of his pistol, George approached the group of arguing soldiers with his heart thumping. But in the general tumult, with people running this way and that, he and Ilderim were thought to be two more civilians fleeing the scene and no one challenged them. They turned right at the crossroads and walked north away from the Residency.
Ten minutes later, having taken two more turns that should have brought them back to the vicinity of the royal palace, George consulted his map and realised they were hopelessly lost. 'We'll have to ask someone the way.'
'Leave it to me, huzoor.' Ilderim approached a rudely built hovel of mud bricks, and knocked on the door. As he waited for an answer, the clatter of hoofs heralded the arrival of horsemen. George thought of hiding, but decided there wasn't time. He stood his ground as a squad of six Afghan cavalrymen, wearing French-grey kurtas and small silver helmets, clutching the curved sword known as the tulwar, came into view at the top of the lane. Spotting George, but not Ilderim, who was partly shielded by a mulberry tree in front of the house, they cantered up and surrounded him. 'Where are you going, brother?' asked the leader of the horsemen, a white-bearded rissaldar. 'The fight at the infidel house is the other way.'
'I have come from the fight,' said George in Pashto, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. 'I myself killed one of their hired dogs. But my cousin was shot beside me and it is my duty to tell his family so they have time to arrange his funeral.'
'Very commendable, brother, but the Feringhees are still holding out and we need every man we can muster. Climb up behind Ewuz Khan, over there, and you'll soon be avenging your cousin.'
'A generous offer, rissaldar, but let others enjoy the spilling of Angrez blood.'
The native officer raised his eyebrows. 'You recognize my mark of rank, brother. That's unusual for a civilian.'
George silently cursed his error. 'I . . . I once served in the army.'
