The sound of the first musket firing was startling as it ripped through the silence. It was followed by the roar of the sentries as they spotted a red-jacketed British officer sitting as bold as brass on the base of the fallen wall.
‘Shit!’ Jack cursed. ‘Shoot the fuckers.’ He snapped the order at Smithers before he dashed forward. He did not bother to crouch. The time for circumspection was over.
‘Get back here now, you fools!’ He shouted at the two young officers, waving his arm to emphasise the command.
Lang and Medley did not need to be told twice. Shots kicked up puffs of dust all around them, the closest sentries blazing away at the fast-moving figures. Jack saw more rebels starting to appear at the top of the breach. They were running forward, sliding and careering down the rubble path as they tried to reach the British officers who had the temerity to wander so close.
‘Run! Shit!’ Jack flinched as Smithers opened fire. The rifleman had taken his time, and Jack heard the grunt of satisfaction as a single enemy sepoy crumpled to the ground, an Enfield bullet punched into his guts.
‘Go! Go!’ Jack was moving back now. He pushed Smithers away, letting him go first. He turned when he reached the top of the ladder. ‘Come on!’ He urged the two officers to hurry.
‘Drop the damn rod!’ he bellowed at Medley, who was still clutching the measuring tool. He felt the first stirrings of fear. He did not want to die. Not here. Not when the assault was close. The idea of falling at the final hurdle was nearly more than he could bear, and he had to force himself to remain still and wait for the pair of subalterns rather than turn and leap into the safety of the ditch.
The air was alive with the whip and crack of passing bullets, and Jack could not help but flinch as he sensed shot after shot whispering past. ‘Jump!’
He shouted the final order as the two lieutenants raced towards him. To their credit, they did not stop. Both threw themselves over the edge and into the ditch, and he heard the twin thumps as their bodies hit the bottom.
He took one last look at the city. He would not be this close to Aamira again until the day of the assault. A ragged volley crashed out, the rebel sepoys starting to bring some order to their chaotic reaction to the arrival of the British party. It missed, not one shot coming close enough for Jack to feel its passing. Yet it was final confirmation that it was time to go.
He turned and scrambled down the ladder. It would not be long now until he could return.
‘Gentlemen. Your attention, please.’
Nicholson looked round the tent. It was late afternoon, and the officers from the 75th Foot, the 1st Bengal Fusiliers and the 2nd Punjab Infantry were crammed into the confined space, their flushed and sweaty faces riveted on the general. It was unbearably hot, the air ripe with the smell of bodies and sun-warned canvas. Yet not one officer cared about the discomfort. Nicholson was revealing the plan for the great assault on Delhi, and none of them wanted to be anywhere else.
‘We go at dawn.’ Nicholson spoke softly. He stood at the campaign table at the centre of the tent. It was covered with hastily drawn sketches and page after page of lists and orders. He leant forward, both arms braced on the desk, and looked into every face, searching the eyes of his senior officers as if assessing their worth one final time. The men knew each other well, and they glanced at one another, the tent filled with the tense air of expectation.
‘General Wilson has placed me in overall command,’ Nicholson continued, keeping his voice low. ‘I shall divide the army into five columns: four committed to the assault on the city, one held back in reserve. I shall take the first column; as you may have already been able to conclude, your three battalions will form that column. Brigadier Jones has the second column, Colonel Campbell the third, Major Reid the fourth and Brigadier Longfield the fifth. Brigadier Grant will command the cavalry and Colonel Denis of the 52nd will take charge of the encampment. All four of the attacking columns will have a detachment from the 60th to act as skirmishers, and we shall all be joined by men from the Engineers.’
Jack stood at the back of the tent and listened to the plan of attack. He was tired, the strain of the previous night’s reconnaissance making itself felt in the ache deep in his back. The logistics of the columns and their commanders meant little to him. All he cared about was that they were finally going. The weeks of waiting were coming to an end.
‘Each of the four assault columns has its own objective. Our column will attack the breach made in the Kashmir Bastion, with the second column going for the breach made in the face of the Water Bastion. Colonel Campbell’s column will attack the Kashmir Gate itself. Two officers of engineers will accompany them with orders to blow the gate. So don’t be surprised when the there is a big bang.’ Nicholson smiled as he saw the grins on the faces of his audience. ‘The fourth column under Major Reid will do the same at the Kabul Gate. Brigadier Grant and his cavalry will remain in reserve. Once we are through the breach, we are to clear the Shah Bastion before moving on to take the remains of the Mori. When that is secure, we shall push on and take the Kabul Gate. There we shall join with Major Reid’s column and strike for the Lahore.’ Nicholson looked round the room, checking that his officers understood the plan. ‘We will go into details shortly, but we can be assured that we do God’s work. We cannot fail. The whole empire is looking to us. We shall not let them down.’
Jack held Nicholson’s glare when it rested on his face. The general was holding back his passion, yet Jack could see the wild glint in his eye as he outlined the plan he had formed.
‘The assault is to commence at three a.m.’ Nicholson resumed his briefing, his voice as deadpan as when he had started. ‘Our initial objective, gentlemen, is the breach in the face of the Kashmir Bastion. The engineers have assured me that it is practical, and my own aide went forward to make sure that is indeed the case.’
A murmur of approval went around the room. A few faces turned to glance at Jack, but he refused to catch anyone’s eye and stared resolutely at Nicholson.
‘The first obstacle we face is a ditch across the face of the bastion. It is around sixteen feet deep and twenty-five feet wide. Your men will be issued with scaling ladders to climb the far face. You must keep them moving. They will be sorely tempted to stay in the ditch but they cannot be allowed to pause. Is that clear?’
Again there was a murmur of voices. There was a strange assortment of men in the tent, considering Nicholson had assembled the commanders of his first column. The three battalions were light on men and even lighter on officers. The 75th was still commanded by its lieutenant colonel, but its second in command was a captain called Brookes, and it could barely muster three hundred soldiers fit for duty. The 1st Bengal Fusiliers under Major Jacob were in even worse condition, the battalion numbering just two hundred and fifty men, barely three companies’ worth of soldiers. The strongest battalion in the column would be the 2nd Punjab Infantry, who could boast four hundred and fifty men in its ranks, though it was led by a mere captain called Green, the rest of its senior officers sick, dead or assigned elsewhere. It was a threadbare column of men who would lead the assault on Delhi.
‘Once in the breach, we will divide.’ Nicholson’s voice was quickening as he gave more details of the plan, his passion growing. ‘The 2nd Punjab and the 75th will incline to the left and escalade the left-hand side of the bastion through the breach. The 1st Bengal Fusiliers will incline right and take the right-hand side of the breach. I shall go to the left, so Major Jacobs, you will be able to fight without my interference.’ Nicholson managed to force out a smile as the faintest chuckle went around the tent at the comment. ‘Once through the breach, we will re-form. The second column will have fought through their breach and together we will press on towards the Kabul Gate, where Major Reid’s column should be ready to meet us.’
Nicholson stood back from the table. ‘The enemy will be unable to mount much resistance. The gunners have obliterated their covering bastions and will keep up their fire until
we are in place to attack.’ The officers nodded their understanding and Nicholson offered them a thin smile. ‘We have reached the moment we have waited for. God is with us. How can we lose?’
Jack kept silent as the officers began to talk amongst themselves. He had listened carefully to the plan and he admired the general’s certainty, but he knew it meant little. Once the lead started to fly, the plan would go to hell in a basket. It would be down to the officers to lead the men, to carry the attack when every instinct would urge them to find cover.
Nicholson’s column would be forced into the funnel of the breach. The men would be packed together into one compact mass, unable to return any enemy fire. The British would be forced to swamp the breach with numbers, overwhelming the enemy with so many targets that they simply could not kill them fast enough. It was a brutal way to wage war and the casualties would be terrible.
He pushed through the crowd and left the command tent, suddenly keen for fresh air. Nicholson spoke of plans and strategy, but Jack knew they were wasted words. The assault would only succeed if the men were willing to endure the slaughter for long enough to force a passage into the city. It would be down to the poor bloody infantry to win through and give Nicholson the victory he craved.
Jack sat on a stool inside his tent. His revolver lay on the ground in front of him, each piece carefully cleaned, the five loaded chambers now sealed with their thin layer of grease. Fred Roberts sat at his side, carefully going through his own ritual to prepare him for battle. Neither spoke, each sensitive to the other’s need for peace.
‘Lark!’
The silence was shattered by the loud, braying voice that Jack had come to know so well.
‘Would you like me to tell him you are indisposed?’ Roberts made the offer softly, a wry smile on his face as he too recognised the hectoring tones of Lieutenant Hodson.
Jack sighed. ‘No. I’ll speak to him. But thank you.’
He got to his feet, his hands quickly going to the small of his back. He had sat still for too long and the pit of his spine was hurting like the very devil. He tried to massage away the worst of the pain as he walked out of the tent to see what Hodson wanted.
‘Ah! There you are, you damned blackguard.’ Hodson had been pacing back and forth outside the small tent that Jack now shared with Roberts. His large, pale face was flushed and he had a wild look about the eyes.
‘What do you want?’ Jack no longer felt the need to address Hodson as ‘sir’.
‘I have heard you are fully abandoning my command. I wish to know if this is the truth.’
‘I am to serve with General Nicholson. I have been taken on to his staff.’ Jack gasped as his probing fingers pressed against a nerve and sent a spasm of pain searing down his legs.
‘So you leave your place of duty the night before battle.’ Hodson relished the pompous phrasing.
‘I have not left the army. I have just left you.’
Hodson’s mouth worked furiously as he chewed on air. ‘You are making a mistake.’ He took a pace forward, and for a moment Jack thought he might lash out. But fighting was not Hodson’s style. ‘I promise you, Jack Lark, I shall not forget this slight. You do yourself no favours. When this is over, you will rue the day you made this decision.’
‘I doubt it.’
‘Why, you damned cur. I think you forget who you are speaking to.’
‘If I am a damned cur, then you should be glad to see me go.’ Jack did not understand Hodson’s desire for him to return to the ranks of the plungers.
Hodson pulled back sharply. He looked at the ground, then at the sky; anywhere but at Jack. ‘I need you.’ The words were said so quietly that Jack barely heard them.
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I need you, damn it.’ Hodson shouted now, specks of spittle flung from his lips with the force of the admission. ‘I want you to fight with me. There! Now do you understand?’ He looked back at the ground, his discomfort obvious. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet. ‘You are good in battle. I would have you at my side.’
Jack laughed. ‘I thought you wanted all the glory for yourself.’
‘I cannot fight like you.’ Hodson squirmed at the admission. ‘You are one of the very best I have ever seen.’
It was Jack’s turn to feel uncomfortable. He was surprised by Hodson’s confession. It felt odd to have two officers arguing over his services. He was a boy from the rookeries of London, yet now two of the most famous officers in the army were both requesting that he fight with them.
For a moment he almost felt sorry for Hodson. But then he remembered his treatment of the wounded sepoy after the affair at Badli-Ki-Serai. And he remembered Nicholson leading the men from the front as they stormed the serai at Najafgarh.
‘You do not need me and I shall not rejoin your command.’ Jack spoke firmly. He did not flinch as he delivered the statement, meeting Hodson’s pale blue eyes with calm detachment.
Hodson stared at him for a long moment, his eyes never leaving Jack’s face. ‘So be it. I shall not forget this. After the battle, you will wish you had chosen otherwise.’ He said nothing else before he walked away.
Jack turned and went back into the tent to finish preparing his revolver. He did not care what Hodson thought of him. Nothing mattered any more. For Jack there was no future to think on, no after the battle to consider. There was only the assault.
The oil lamp flickered, its thin light casting shadows on Fred Roberts’s face as he lifted the sheet of paper closer so he could read the sloping script that swirled across the page. It was a little after midnight, and the men were assembling in the four columns that would launch the assault on the great city they had watched for so many weeks and months.
The camp had been stripped bare of every man capable of fighting, the need to fill the columns taking precedence over the security of the encampment. The least sick men had been forced from the hospital tents and returned to duty so as not to leave the British lines completely unmanned. It was a risk, yet it was as nothing compared to the greater risk of the assault itself. In total, just fewer than ten thousand men had been declared fit for duty. It was more than the British generals had hoped of putting into the field, but still less than one third of the best estimate of the enemy’s strength.
Jack and Roberts were talking to each of the three battalions in Nicholson’s column in turn, addressing the final orders to the officers who had assembled to hear them. They had started with the 75th, the men who had led the assault at Badli-Ki-Serai all those months before. As Roberts began to speak, a heavy-bodied moth battered itself against the glass lantern, the sound of the impacts adding a soft staccato rhythm to his words.
‘Any officer or man who might be wounded is to be left where he falls. Men are forbidden from stepping from the ranks to offer aid or assistance. There will be dolis and litters for the wounded and they will be taken away once the assault is successful.’
Jack paid the final instructions for the assault little heed. He had heard them before. Roberts had insisted on reading them aloud to practise his delivery, an act that spoke of his attention to detail and his determination to master everything he was asked to do. Neither officer had slept in the hours that had passed since Hodson had left them. They had sat in their tent, talking little, each alone with his thoughts and his fear.
‘There will be no plundering. All prizes will be put aside into common stock for fair division at a later date. No prisoners are to be made. Care must be taken to ensure that no woman or child is injured.’
Jack smiled. He sensed Nicholson’s presence in the words and could well imagine the general sitting at his campaign table scribbling out the dull, dry phrases. He knew there was little hope of the orders being obeyed. If the assault were successful, the men would see the city as theirs. Theft would be rife, the soldiers’ quick fingers likely to pocket anything that caught their eye. Some might obey and return their plunder, but only if it was too big to carry.
‘Gentle
men. I am to request that you swear on your swords to abide by these orders.’
The officers walked forward, their stern faces grim in the flickering light of the lantern. One by one they drew their steel blades and swore to obey the orders, and to make sure their men did the same.
Jack watched the scene with detachment. The waiting was picking at his nerves. He wanted it to be over and he willed the time to pass. The final hours were dragging by so slowly that he felt like the night had already lasted for several days.
He made an oath of his own. He would survive the assault and he would discover Aamira’s fate, or he would die in the attempt.
‘Thank you, gentlemen.’ Fred Roberts folded the orders carefully before sliding them into a pocket. His face was flushed and Jack wondered what thoughts were swirling around in the young officer’s head. They had passed many hours together but they had shared little of themselves.
Roberts cleared his throat as the final officer sheathed his sword. ‘Thank you, gentlemen. Father Bertrand will speak to you now. I wish you all the best.’ He took a step to one side to usher forward the clergyman who would bless the battalion. ‘See you in the city.’ He flashed the commander of the 75th a quick smile before turning to Jack, motioning with his head for them to move on so they could repeat the process at the next battalion.
Then there would be nothing to do but wait.
The two men had finished addressing the officers of the 2nd Punjab Infantry and had begun to make their way back to Nicholson’s command tent when Roberts suddenly stopped and fixed Jack with an earnest expression.
‘I say, Jack. Would you keep this for me.’ He thrust a small envelope towards Jack, his expression betraying the awkwardness of the gesture.
‘What is it?’ Jack did not lift his hand to take it.
‘A note for my mother. You know, just in case.’
Jack scowled. ‘You can keep it yourself. I’ll just lose it.’
The Lone Warrior Page 29
