The Guns of El Kebir (Simon Fonthill Series)

by John Wilcox

  ‘Very well, sir. A bargain with you?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘We’ll blow up your tower if there is no further risk of Smith-Denbigh bringing up his charge against Ahmed again.’

  Wolseley gave a theatrical sigh. ‘My word, Fonthill, you drive a hard bargain. Agreed.’ They shook hands and exchanged grins. ‘When we get back, go and see my Colonel of Sappers – I’ll give you a note – and explain to him what has to be done. I should imagine that it will have to be dynamite, but he will be the judge of that. You will have to make your own dispositions for getting into the village, through the lines, and out again. Make your plan and then come and see me, because we may be able to create a diversion to assist you. But I want the job done soon, for I plan to attack as soon as I have brought up sufficient men and guns.’

  ‘Very good, sir.’ Simon fell back to join Jenkins and Ahmed, and after a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he explained the task given to them by the General. Neither spoke for a few moments, and in the silence Simon realised how dangerous the project must appear.

  Predictably, it was Jenkins who voiced doubts. ‘It’s a bit barmy, bach sir, isn’t it? I mean, even if we do the job, ’ow do we get out and back to our own lines? Flyin’ would be nice, but I left me angel wings back in Wales.’

  ‘I agree that it’s not going to be easy, but I have the basis of an idea.’ He turned to the Egyptian. ‘Ahmed, I don’t like asking you to join us on this trip because it is going to be damned dangerous, there’s no doubt about that. But I think we will need your knowledge of the language. Will you come with us?’

  The little man grinned. ‘In for a penny again, in for half a crown . . .’

  ‘No, in for a pound.’

  ‘Very well, then, I am in for a pound again. Oh yes. It will be exciting as long as I don’t have to shoot pistol.’

  The camaraderie re-established, the three plodded on, but Simon’s mind was racing. As best he could remember, the tower was set in the heart of the village, and bringing it down by explosion could well mean destroying the huts around it, with consequent loss to the Egyptian people living in them. How to demolish the tower without causing the death of innocent civilians? How to get into the village without detection? How to get out again?

  On reaching Kassassin he hurried to find Wolseley’s Colonel of Engineers. He proved to be a huge Scotsman, some six feet four inches tall, with a red face and a fair beard speckled with grey. He read Wolseley’s note and listened with growing enthusiasm as Simon described the task.

  ‘Hey, laddie,’ he said. ‘This is a lovely job, but it’s nae work for amateurs. I’ll hae to come with yer an’ do it meself.’

  Simon smiled. ‘Sorry, Colonel, but the only way to get in is to pose as Arabs, desert Bedawi. And with respect, you look as much like an Arab as I do a Scotsman. I also know that the General would not want to risk his Colonel of Engineers on a mission like this. You see, we are expendable – just scouts pretending to be Arabs – but you must survive to fight another day. Sorry, but we have to go alone.’

  The Colonel frowned. ‘That’s a shame.’ Then a twinkle came into his eye. ‘Don’t tell anyone I said this now, but if there’s one thing I like more than buildin’ somethin’ up, it’s blowin’ it doon. How tall is yon tower, and what’s it made of?’

  ‘Brick and stone, I think, and about a hundred and twenty feet high. Oh, and can we destroy it without harming the huts surrounding it?’

  ‘Phew! Yer not askin’ for much now, are yer? Right noo. Concentrate.’

  It didn’t take Simon long to realise that he was listening to not only an expert but also an enthusiast on the subject of explosives and their uses. The destruction would be done, the Colonel explained, by using dynamite, which he insisted on calling ‘Nobel’s Blasting Powder’, its original name. The substance consisted of three parts nitroglycerin, one part diatomaceous earth (‘that’s fossilised microscopic algae to you, sonny’), with a small addition of sodium carbonate. The mixture was formed into small sticks roughly eight inches long and one inch in diameter and wrapped in paper. Although the purpose of the earth was to make the nitroglycerin less shock-sensitive, it was still volatile and had to be handled with great care. About ten sticks should do the job, the Colonel estimated, and they would be detonated by the use of two blasting caps, fired by two long fuses, creating small explosions that would trigger the larger ones.

  ‘Where do I put ’em?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Ah, laddie, that’s the trick. Yer want the tower to fall into its own imprint, so to speak? To collapse into itself?’

  ‘Something like that, yes.’

  ‘Aye, right. Ideally yer would want to plant the dynamite in bits, at the base and, say, halfway up, an’ then fire them sequentially. But that’s tricky to fuse and I’m thinkin’ yer won’t have much time to fart about. So the thing to do is to divide the sticks into two lots of five an’ attach them at the base, say about five feet up, on either side. That should do the trick. Now, remember what they say on the fireworks packet, laddie: light the fuse and retire quickly.’

  Simon grinned weakly. He didn’t like the sound of any of this, but there was no way out. ‘Are you sure the dynamite can be carried safely?’

  ‘Noo, I’m not. You hae to be very careful. Don’t jolt the stuff and don’t get it wet and you should be all right. And for lord’s sake, sonny – don’t forget the matches.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. I’m beginning to wish you could come with us. Can I collect the stuff tomorrow?’

  ‘Aye, yer can.’

  That evening Simon discussed the mission with Jenkins and Ahmed. ‘Getting into the village should not be all that difficult,’ he explained. ‘It’s about a mile behind the Egyptian lines, so we loop out really wide into the desert in the north and then come in from behind the lines, virtually from the west. The trouble is that the village itself is on the south side of the railway and the canal and we shall have to cross both to get to it. But the Egyptian line of trenches doesn’t cross the canal – its southern tip rests on it – and the only bridge is well behind the defences, so it should be unguarded. I think we should go in at dusk, because I want to do the job and get away in the dark if we can. If we are challenged, Ahmed will explain again that we are Bedawi from the south, on our way to Cairo to trade in the markets there, and that we have come into Tel el Kebir to refill our water bottles. Does that sound reasonable to you, Ahmed?’

  ‘Oh yes. Very reasonable.’

  ‘Good,’ said Jenkins. ‘Everythin’s tickety-boo, then. I’m so relieved.’

  Simon ignored the sarcasm. It was always Jenkins’s response to a difficult problem. ‘Then, as soon as it is dark, we blow up the tower and get away.’

  ‘An’ ’ow in the name of Colonel Covington do we do that, with the whole village aroused an’ the Egyptian army dashin’ about all over the place, look you?’

  ‘It’s simple. I will arrange with the General that, under cover of dusk, he will advance say five cannon of the Royal Horse Artillery out into the desert towards the enemy lines and then, when he sees the explosion, the guns will open fire on a section of the line three hundred yards or so north of the canal.’

  ‘What about us, then?’

  ‘Wait a minute. The Egyptians will then believe that that section of the line is under attack and reinforce the area, hopefully drawing troops away from the canal and certainly making everyone there keep their heads down. Then we will escape – by water, on the canal.’

  ‘Blimey!’ Jenkins sniffed. ‘But we can’t swim all the bloody way – and anyway that water’s foul. Ugh!’

  ‘Nonsense. We don’t swim. We get out by boat – a collapsible boat that we take in on a fourth camel, loaded in sections. We assemble it and paddle out under cover of the bombardment till we reach the dam, which is at the bottom of the enemy lines about half a mile from the village. No one will look for us on the canal behind the dam; they will all be waiting for a frontal attack. If we are sto
pped, Ahmed will explain that we are taking supplies down the canal to the trenches. Well before we reach the dam, we will disembark, creep on to the southern bank and slip away into the desert on that side. We may be able to take the boat out, carry it around the dam for, say, two hundred yards or so and then put it back into the water and paddle back to our lines. Otherwise we will just walk. It’ll be easy in the dark, under cover of the artillery attack.’

  Simon’s ridiculous optimism was infectious and the three exchanged wide grins. ‘I think we shall be shot,’ said Ahmed, his black eyes sparkling, ‘but it will be fun. Exciting.’

  Jenkins blew out his cheeks. ‘But, bach sir, it will mean leavin’ your camel be’ind, an’ you were gettin’ very fond of’er. As for me, I ain’t goin’ until I am guaranteed at least five Victoria Crosses an’ the promise of Colonel Covington bringin’ me tea in bed every mornin’ till this postin’s finished.’

  ‘Very well,’ said Simon. ‘That’s easily arranged. But the boat might be difficult. I need to enlist Wolseley’s help in the morning.’

  The next day, the plan was presented to the General. He listened carefully and then nodded. ‘Feasible,’ he said. ‘Getting out will be the difficult bit, but we can certainly use the guns to create a diversion. When can you go?’

  ‘As soon as the boat is ready, sir.’

  ‘Good. Go back and see your friend Fraser of the Engineers. He can build anything.’

  Once again, the Colonel was full of enthusiasm. ‘It’ll hae to be a wooden framework which yer can assemble quickly,’ he mused, ‘and then a waterproof canvas cover that yer tak’ separately and slip on to the frame. Not easy, because it’s got to carry three of yer. But we can do it. Oh aye. Leave it to me.’

  Chapter 18

  Two days later, Wolseley saw them off from the north of the Kassassin lines. He shook hands with each of them and waved as they trudged off into the desert, the three sitting hunched on their camels and leading two additional pack animals, for the boat could not be loaded on to one beast alone. The extra camels, in fact, added credence to their story of being desert traders, for they had strung a few earthenware pots and other ethnic artefacts to the packs to give verisimilitude to their general appearance. In fact, draped in their black robes, faces and hands burned by the sun, their modern rifles tucked away in their canvas covers, they looked for all the world like Bedawi from the Sudan border, bent on selling what they could in the teeming bazaars of Cairo. But Simon was under no illusions about the difficulties of the task that lay ahead.

  Along the straight railway line, the distance between Kassassin and Tel el Kebir was fourteen miles. But Simon and his companions were no crows, and their route out into the desert to get behind the Egyptian lines more than doubled that distance. Their progress was slow, for the pack camels were heavily laden, and the further north they travelled the deeper the surface sand became. Their strange course, however, proved to be worthwhile, for they saw no other living thing, except vultures wheeling high overhead, until, nearing dusk on the third day, they glimpsed bright pinpricks to the south-east that could only be the lights of Tel el Kebir.

  ‘Right,’ said Simon, ‘we’ll loop round and come in from the west.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Unless we meet trouble, we shall probably be in the village at about midnight. At that time, the General will be sending out his guns and we will need to give them a good two hours. We will make straight for the tower. If I remember rightly, there is a bit of open space near the thing where we can erect our tents, tie up the camels and seemingly settle down for the night. Then, at about two, I will slip away and find the best place to launch the boat, while you two unpack and start to assemble it. Then . . . we play it by ear.’ He grinned.

  Ahmed blinked in the failing light. ‘What do we play with our ear?’

  ‘We, er, see how things develop and act accordingly.’

  ‘Ah yes. By ear. We listen, eh?’

  ‘Well, yes. We look as well, though.’

  ‘We play by ear and eye, then?’

  ‘Smellin’ is important too, bach,’ said Jenkins. ‘You can’t beat a good sniff, see, for sensin’ trouble.’

  ‘Yes. So we play by ear, eye and nose. I remember.’

  ‘I think we should get on,’ said Simon. ‘Stay alert, Ahmed, because from now on we could be challenged.’

  In fact, they were challenged twice before they reached the outskirts of the village: once by a patrol of Egyptian cavalry, led by a bored officer, whose boots gleamed in the half-light; and once, on the edge of the desert, by a group of Arabs walking back into the village. Simon was leading when the Egyptian patrol approached, and he was forced to give a growled ‘As salaam alaykum’ before Ahmed could ride up and engage the officer in conversation. They were allowed to ride on after a few moments, but not before the officer had prodded the loads on their camels and sent Simon’s heart fluttering. An unlucky thrust could send them all to kingdom come.

  ‘What did he want?’ he asked Ahmed.

  ‘He ask where we going and what we carried and why we out so late.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘As you say, that you are from south with me as guide and going to Cairo. Late because we had made big loop to avoid British, et cetera, et cetera. I play it by tongue, see.’ He grinned.

  ‘Amen,’ growled Jenkins, ‘you’re bloody marvellous, that’s what you are.’

  The second encounter was less fraught, according to Ahmed, and merely involved an exchange of greetings and a jocular conversation about the size of the overloaded pack camels. But he was able to elicit that it was possible to pitch their tents and feed their camels on a bare patch of earth by the tower.

  They passed the railway station, black in the half-light, and crossed the little bridge over the canal, which was, indeed, unguarded. The village was a miserable enough collection of mud huts and unpaved, narrow lanes, now seemingly deserted, and it wasn’t difficult to make for the tower looming before them. As Simon had predicted, they reached the spot just after midnight on a night when, thankfully, the moon shone only fitfully between slowmoving clouds. Tel el Kebir seemed to be sound asleep. The tower was, as expected, set in a small clearing of beaten earth and surrounded by poor huts and chicken coops. Up close, it looked much higher than when seen from a distance, and at first sight it appeared to be completely unoccupied and probably in disuse. Its wooden double doors were padlocked, but on examination, the lock was well oiled and the chain showing signs of use. Simon breathed a sigh of relief, for the fact that the door was locked would seem to indicate that it was not occupied tonight. The surrounding huts showed no sign of life or light and, he fervently hoped, were far enough away to be unscathed when the tower collapsed – if they could only place their explosives so that it fell in on itself. Even so, the risk was great and Simon felt uneasy.

  They tied their camels to a stunted tree, watered and fed them, and then erected their cramped tent, into which they crawled and lay waiting for the night to deepen as they nibbled hard army biscuits. Only a belch from one of the camels and the barking of a distant dog broke the silence. Jenkins soon fell asleep, but Simon could not relax, and the stirring of Ahmed showed that he too was awake. Eventually, at one thirty, Simon could lie still no longer, and nodding to Ahmed, he crept out of the tent. Ahmed and then Jenkins followed him.

  ‘It seems quiet,’ Simon said. ‘Three five two, can you open that padlock? As quietly as you can, because it is just possible that there is someone inside. Ahmed, you keep watch and warn Jenkins if anyone approaches. Then start to unpack the boat. Keep the framework covered with the canvas as long as possible. If anyone comes, explain that you are setting up a stall to trade in the morning to make a little money before moving on to Cairo. I am going back to the canal to find the best launching site. Right? Off you go.’

  Simon walked back the way they had come and then branched off to the right to avoid the bridge. The canal looked terribly narrow and exposed. It was only some twenty-f
ive feet across, and the water had advanced high up the sloping banks of jumbled rock as a result of the erection of the dam. There was precious little cover. There still remained a drop of some five feet to the water, however, and after scrambling for some way over the rocks, he found a clump of willow that would allow them to hide the boat and launch it from there on to the canal.

  Back at the tower, he found that Jenkins had had to force the padlock with his knife by splintering the wood around it. ‘No one inside,’ he hissed, ‘though it is in use. Platform at the top an’ used cups an’ plates an’ a glass heliograph thing there.’

  ‘Good. Help Ahmed with the boat and I’ll get the dynamite.’ Simon looked at his timepiece. Two fifteen. The RHA’s guns should be in position now. Dawn came at about four forty-five at this time of the year. They had just two and a half hours to assemble the boat, carry it to the canal, return to the tower and place the dynamite, explode the charges, return to the boat, paddle to the dam, get round the obstacle and be off either down the waterway or out into the desert before daylight came. Could it be done without them being discovered? The odds against were ridiculously high. He shrugged his shoulders. What was it Ahmed had said about being in for half a crown . . .?

  Simon decided that it would be too dangerous to fix the dynamite before they had planned their escape route – he knew too much about its volatility and the danger of selfcombustion – so he carefully placed the sticks inside the tower door and closed it so that it appeared to be locked. He then helped Jenkins to assemble the boat while Ahmed stood guard.

  There had only been time to carry out this exercise once in Kassassin, but at least they knew how to approach the task. The wooden framework had been constructed to fit together and then be bound tightly with cord that was well dampened from their canteens to make it shrink and tighten the knots. After some forty minutes the frame was complete, showing the semblance of a coracle – not easy, thought Simon gloomily, to paddle or steer. The real problem lay in stretching the canvas over the frame and slipping the projecting frame ends through the holes provided. After much pulling and grunting, the job was done – but another forty-five minutes had slipped by. Just over an hour to go before the sun came up!