‘The Lord is slow to anger and great in power, and will not at all acquit the wicked; the Lord hath his way in the whirlwind and in the storm and the clouds are the dust of his feet. This day you shall be his righteous whirlwind, and the storm shall be brought down on the heads of the faithless heathen.’
Jack scanned the other officers. Most listened with polite attention, their faces calm and composed as the chaplain called for them to smite the enemy in the name of their God. Jack did not understand their need for the clergyman’s approval; why they believed the opinion of one man should mean so much. But he saw the way they lapped up his words, his justification for the slaughter setting many a mind at rest.
‘Only by brave endeavour will we succeed. It is our time. We must seize the day and take the good fight against the heathen. Let no man shirk his duty. For when the time comes, we must teach the damned pandies that we are Englishmen, God’s own children. We cannot fail, for we have God on our side. It is his work that we do, this precious crusade part of his great design to rid the good clean earth of the heathen.’
Rotten paused once more. His voice had risen until he was bellowing, his whole body vibrating with religious fervour.
‘We do God’s work.’ He dropped his voice, speaking in little more than a whisper. ‘We are his weapon. Do not stay your hand. Do not show mercy. You are the storm and the whirlwind, and you shall be victorious.’
Jack crouched in the ditch. It stank. The body of a dead sepoy lay on its back no more than a dozen yards away. It was smothered in flies. They crawled on the putrid remains of the man’s staring eyes and wandered in and out of the open mouth that was still fixed in a dying scream. The stomach was swollen with noxious gases, the flesh stretched and bulbous. It was a hideous sight, but no worse than the hundreds of other bodies that carpeted the slopes leading to the ridge. The siege was only a few days old, but already the lush greenery was giving way to the foulest horrors of hell.
‘All clear.’ He turned and whispered the message. His right hand gripped the heavy handle of his revolver, ready to fire. He heard the scrabble of boots as the rest of the small party approached. He grimaced. If Hodson hoped his reconnaissance would be silent, then he was a fool.
General Barnard had ordered the scouting party to assess the feasibility of a quick assault. As Hodson was a keen proponent of the need to attack, as well as being the general’s trusted adviser, he had been tasked with leading the endeavour. He had brought with him three officers of engineers, Lieutenants Greathed, Maunsell and Chesney, and one reluctant officer from his own command.
It had been a busy day, the British lines a hive of activity as the men of Barnard’s command adapted to their new life on the ridge. It had also been a bloody one. The men of the Delhi Field Force had endured the daylight hours under constant fire, and the mutineers had displayed a high level of skill. Even Hodson, never one to praise the rebels, observed that the enemy gunners were splendid artillerymen, often beating the British gunners in accuracy of fire. In their defence, the British artillerymen were hopelessly outgunned. The lines of heavy cannon in the bastions were of a much heavier calibre, and even the siege guns that the British had at their disposal could do very little damage to the massive walls and buttresses that protected the city.
They did their best, throwing dozens of shells high over the walls and into the city itself. But despite their efforts, the officers on the ridge could still see vast numbers of spectators on the flat roofs of the nearby houses. Every viewpoint swarmed with citizens eager to watch the display of pyrotechnics, and Hodson had been convinced he had even seen members of the royal family joining the crowds.
‘Good work, Jack. Goodness gracious me. What is that foul stench?’
Jack nodded toward the corpse. ‘That poor bastard.’
Hodson sniffed, his moustache twitching with distaste as he was forced to breathe the noxious air. ‘God rot him, I say.’ He turned and scowled at the men making a noisy approach behind him. ‘Must you be so damnably noisy, Greathed. You really are the limit.’
The florid and flushed face of Lieutenant Wilberforce Greathed appeared at Hodson’s shoulder. ‘Sorry, old man. Damned hard going.’
‘This is a farce.’ The upper-class drawl of another of Hodson’s companions offered its own opinion. ‘We should turn back.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Maunsell. We have come this far. But you are right. I have had my fill of sneaking around.’
Hodson took a moment to lift his sola topee and mop his face with a sodden handkerchief before he stood, stretching his back and throwing his arms wide as he forced the kinks from his spine.
Four pale faces looked up at him from the ditch. ‘Have you gone mad, Hodson?’ The fifth man in the party, Lieutenant Chesney, stared at the officer who chose to stand up in full view of the city walls no more than four hundred yards away.
‘The pandies will be sleeping. They won’t see us. Besides, I have had enough of crawling around. I am a British officer, not a damned Frenchie.’ Hodson preened as he considered the array of faces watching his show. ‘Do stand up, Jack, there’s a good fellow.’
Jack considered the politely worded request. He knew it was tantamount to an order. Commanding officers did not make suggestions to their subalterns. But it was not one he was keen to obey. The party of five officers had left the British lines just after midnight. The moon was on the wane, but there was still enough light to see where they were going. It had not taken them long to scramble down the face of the ridge. From there they had crawled on hands and knees, using a series of drainage ditches to make their way towards the Kabul Gate.
‘Now, Jack.’ Hodson repeated the summons.
There was nothing else for it. Jack pushed himself up, grunting as the movement jarred his back. The pit of his spine was aching after so long bent double, and his free hand crept instinctively to try to ease the pain in the knotted muscles.
With a great deal of fuss and commotion, the three engineer officers joined them.
‘There. Now we can see what we are about.’ Hodson seemed pleased to have inspired his fellow officers to join him. ‘Let us proceed yonder.’ Without a backward glance, he strolled towards the nearest gatehouse, looking for all the world as if he were on a pleasant walk, and not a mere few hundred yards away from tens of thousands of mutinous sepoys who had sworn to kill every white man, woman and child they could find.
Jack followed, feeling foolish. He pushed the revolver back into its holster, the heavy weapon suddenly out of place. The sound of their footsteps seemed to echo around them, each loud enough to summon even the laziest sentry. He watched the walls, searching for the shine of a face looking in their direction, his nerves stretched tight as he waited for the inevitable call of alarm and the spurt of musket fire that would surely follow.
‘I’m glad the moon is up.’ Lieutenant Greathed voiced his opinion, careless of the noise as his boot scuffed a large rock, which skittered away to crack against a nearby boulder. ‘It allows us to see what we are about.’
Jack grimaced at the fat-headed comment. He could scarcely credit what they were doing. Yet still he walked on, despite the foolhardy nature of their leisurely stroll, unable to tear himself apart from the group.
‘Do keep up, Jack.’ Jack had started to lag behind the rest of the officers as he kept up his scrutiny of the walls. ‘We shall be there in a moment.’ Hodson paused, taking a moment to wipe his face again with his handkerchief. ‘Yes, there you have it!’ He could not hide his triumph. ‘Upon my soul, did I not say that the damn pandies wouldn’t be ready!’
‘What a stroke of luck,’ exclaimed Maunsell as he saw what had so pleased Hodson. ‘The lazy blighters have yet to brick the damn gateway. Why, we could be in there in a heartbeat.’
Jack walked past the group of officers, who now stood in a line facing the closest gateway. He could just make out the timbers of the gates themselves. The thin light of the moon glinted off the array of heavy metal studs that prote
cted them against an attack by elephants, the favoured way of forcing entrance into an enemy fortress before gunpowder had arrived to make such defences a thing of the past.
‘We could bring the powder up through these ditches.’ Lieutenant Chesney began to prowl around, pointing out the path his men could take. He was talking more loudly now, his excitement taking hold. ‘We wouldn’t need much to blow the damn gates. Why, half a dozen men could do it.’ He turned on his heel, looking back the way they had come. ‘The assault troops could get within . . .’ he paused, his eyes narrowing as he measured the distance to the heavy band of vegetation that could be used to screen any attack, ‘what, five hundred yards before they had to break cover.’
‘More like four hundred.’ Maunsell came to his fellow engineer’s side. All thought of danger was left behind as they pondered the puzzle before them.
Jack was still scanning the walls. He could see the watch fires dotted along the closest bastion, but he had yet to make out the telltale silhouette of a sentry. He could not understand why. The rebel sepoys would surely have mounted a guard. He could not believe they really were as inept without their British officers as Hodson claimed.
‘How many men to take the bastion, would you say, Maunsell?’ Lieutenant Greathed had walked to join the other two officers. ‘A full battalion?’
‘More, I’d say.’ Maunsell held his jaw in his hand as he worked on the problem. ‘I don’t see why we couldn’t send a full brigade through here once the damn doors are blown off.’ He turned and squinted towards the Lahore Gate, the next closest to the ridge. ‘Why, I do think the damn pandies have yet to brick up the Lahore as well!’
‘You know, I think you might be right.’ Greathed followed Maunsell’s gaze, peering into the gloom to see if his observation was correct. ‘We could blow them both at the same time; it’s a simple enough job to synchronise the detonations. Two assault columns, two points of entry.’ He smacked his hands together with relish as the plan formed in his head. ‘The damn pandies won’t know what’s hit them.’
‘We should go.’ Jack spoke for the first time. His attention had never left the wall. He was certain he had seen a pair of heads bob up as the garrison finally awoke to the party of British officers wandering around outside.
‘What’s that you say, Lark?’ Chesney sounded annoyed that Jack would interrupt their discussion.
‘We need to go. Now.’ Jack saw more men arriving on the wall. Torches were moving all around the bastion as the enemy began to react to the British incursion into their domain.
‘What’s the damned hurry?’ Maunsell laughed as he spoke. ‘The buggers are asleep.’
A voice shouted from the top of the bastion, followed immediately by a single musket shot. It cracked into the dirt, flinging up a column of dust no more than a dozen paces away from Lieutenant Chesney’s boots.
‘That’s the damned hurry.’ Jack snarled the words at the foolish officers he had the misfortune to accompany. ‘Now move!’
A flurry of shots rang out. Jack felt the sting in the air as one snapped past his head. It was time to beat a hasty retreat.
‘That’s not bloody cricket.’ Greathed sounded genuinely affronted at the sudden burst of fire. ‘We are only taking a damn look-see.’ His opinion did not stop him moving fast, and he flung himself back into the ditch they had used to approach the gateway.
The others soon joined him, taking cover away from the inaccurate musket fire. Without a target in sight it died away quickly, the night once again falling silent, and the party of British officers began the long and tortuous trek back to the British lines. But they had discovered what they had set out to find. A quick assault was feasible. With the gates still not bricked up, it would be a simple matter to lay a series of charges and blast a way into the city. If General Barnard could summon the courage to give the order, the Delhi Field Force could achieve what it had come so far to do.
‘I am coming with you.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Jack did his best to laugh off the suggestion. He was sitting on the ground outside their tent. He had dismantled his borrowed revolver and was going through the laborious task of cleaning every last part. A similar gun had let him down before. He would do everything he could to make sure it never happened again, although he knew no weapon could ever be fully trusted. Aamira was sitting beside him, observing his preparations with the studious calm of a vulture watching its prey.
Jack had spent the morning helping Hodson and the three officers of engineers to draft their plan. They had submitted it to Barnard shortly before the general retired to lunch. He had not been privy to the meeting that had followed, but he had seen the elation on Hodson’s face when he had returned in triumph. Barnard had finally thrown the dice. The four officers had convinced him of the chance of success if he gambled on a quick assault, and their plan had been approved. The attack was scheduled for that night.
The hastily drawn plan called for two parties of engineers to sneak to the walls, retracing the route the scouting party had taken the previous night. It would be their job to place enough black powder at the base of the Kabul and Lahore gates to blow them open. In the aftermath of the twin explosions, two columns would be launched to the assault. With surprise on their side, Hodson and his cronies had been adamant that they would be able to capture the massive bastions that guarded both gates within the opening minutes of the attack. The pandies would see the British flag flying over the walls and would desert the city in their thousands, the prospect of their former masters’ revenge too dreadful for them to wish to remain.
As evidence, the four officers had used the victories Barnard and Wilson had already delivered. In every case an outnumbered British force had been victorious over a much larger number of rebels. The assault on Delhi would be no different. The pandies would not stand. It was a persuasive argument, and Barnard had given the orders to prepare the assault.
An ebullient Hodson had given Jack his own orders. He would be amongst the first to leave the British lines. He would find his way back to the Kabul Gate, where he would wait for the party of engineers assigned to that objective. He was to get them to the wall without being spotted and ensure that the precious powder was brought to the proper place and fired at the correct time. It was an important role but it would also bear the most risk, something that did not seem to concern Aamira.
‘I’m not being daft. I will come with you. I can help you.’ She spoke with the certainty of a woman who knew she would get her own way no matter how many protests were raised.
‘Help me!’ Jack was incredulous. ‘I’ll be squatting in a foul ditch doing my best not to puke at the wretched stench of dead bodies. I am to be a guide, nothing more. I do not need your help, my love.’
‘But you can follow the assault into the city?’
‘Only if I’m feeling especially foolish.’
‘Then I shall come.’
Jack winced. He played for time, lifting his revolver so he could peer down the barrel, checking it for dirt.
‘Jack, I am coming. I am going to find my mother whether you help me or not. If you are going to help me, then all you need to decide is how we go about it.’
He sighed. ‘Is there anything I can say that will stop you?’
‘No.’
‘Then you had better find something more suitable to wear.’ He looked at Aamira, hardly able to credit that he was giving her permission to risk her life. ‘But I make no promise that we will follow the assault column. If the fighting is hard, we won’t add our names to the butcher’s bill just for the sake of it. We will come back here and wait to see what happens. Understand?’
‘I understand.’ Aamira looked at him through hooded eyes. ‘I shall borrow a uniform from the Guides. Some of the men from Nepal are as small as me.’
Jack shook his head at her folly. Working with Hodson had given him access to the latest information about the situation in Delhi, and it made for grim reading.
Civilians from
the city and refugees from the surrounding countryside were swelling the ranks of the rebel sepoys. Worse still, ragtag bands of jihadis were arriving in large groups. These religious warriors believed it was their duty to keep the precious city from the grasp of the hated firangi. Hodson was convinced it would make for a volatile mix in the city, but Jack had little faith in his commander’s prediction of tension and dispute between the Muslim jihadis and the mainly Hindu sepoys.
‘It will be dangerous.’ He made a final attempt to change her mind.
‘Dangerous, is it? Is it not dangerous here? Was it not dangerous to rescue me? Was it not dangerous when we stayed at the magazine? We cannot avoid danger, Jack. It will find us no matter no hard we may wish it would leave us in peace.’ She chuckled, the sound warm in her throat, then stood and stared down at him. When he looked up at her, the sun was behind her and he could hardly see her face in the glare.
‘Are you going to clean that thing all day?’
She ducked and entered the tent they shared. Jack heard the rustle of cloth as she made herself comfortable. He placed his revolver carefully on the ground, laying the pieces out in the order that would make its reassembly easier. Then he stood and went to join her. It was midday and the heat was at its stupefying worst. It was a sensible time to shed clothing and pass the afternoon wearing nothing more than bare skin.
‘Over here.’ Jack hissed the order. The drainage ditch he was hiding in with Aamira felt horribly exposed, his experience the previous night doing little to make him feel any more comfortable on the ground outside Delhi’s walls.
He felt Aamira’s hands press against his back, her fingers pushing hard into his flesh. He sensed her tension, recognising it well as it seared through his veins. Night had come on quickly, the rushed organisation for the assault on the city leaving little time for more than scant preparation. He and Aamira had left the British lines first, taking up a position in the dead ground of no-man’s-land as they waited to guide the small group of engineers tasked with destroying the Kabul Gate.
The Lone Warrior Page 21
