Windrush: Blood Price (Jack Windrush Book 3)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'How would you break in?'

  'Through a window at the back,' Riley said at once.

  'That is what we will do, then,' Jack decided. 'You lead, Riley.' Jack knew that few officers would allow a private soldier to take charge, even when they had specialist skills. He also knew that Riley would slide back into anonymity as soon as he could.

  'Yes, sir; follow me and be quiet as you can.'

  The back of the house was less brilliantly lit, with only a dull glow from three of the six windows on the ground floor and two on the upper storey. Back here, the music was only an echo.

  'That's the servant's quarters,' Riley nodded to the illuminated windows. 'The kitchen and other offices. We'll go in through one of the unlit windows, sir, if you agree.'

  'I'm in your hands, Riley.' It was not the conventional response from an officer to a ranker, but the situation was not one that normally occurred in the course of duty.

  Staying in the shadows and circling out of the window light, they approached the furthest corner of the house.

  'This one, sir,' Riley stopped at a dark multi-paned window. 'I am guessing that it's a store room of some sort; maybe a pantry.'

  Jack tried to pull up the lower half of the window. 'It's locked.'

  'Give me a minute please, sir,' Riley said. 'Could you keep crow … keep watch for any Cossacks, sir?'

  'Just get us in,' Jack felt the tension mounting.

  'Yes, sir.' Taking his bayonet, Riley quickly scraped away the putty from one of the small window panes. Quietly removing the glass, he placed it on the ground, inserted his hand through the gap and unfastened the catch. 'Shall I go first, sir?'

  'Yes, off you go, Riley.'

  The window opened into a small room lined with shelves of linen. 'A laundry room,' Riley said. 'There might be a candle here.' Jack heard him fumbling about near the door. 'Here we go, sir. Even better, there's a lantern of some sort. And a tinder box of sorts.'

  Riley scratched a spark and soon there was a small glow lighting up the room and highlighting the line of his jaw and cheekbones. His eyes shone bright.

  'I'll go through the door first,' Jack decided.

  'I'm more experienced at this, sir,' Riley cautioned.

  'I know,' Jack said flatly. He also knew that the leading man was the position of most danger and no decent officer could allow a ranker to go in front. Passing Riley, he opened the door and looked out into a short corridor with a flight of stairs leading upward.

  Moving quietly, he negotiated the steps, with the light from Riley's lantern bouncing ahead of him, revealing stone steps worn from long use and walls of panelled wood.

  At the head of the steps the sound of music seeped through an unvarnished door. Turning the handle, Jack opened the door and stepped back as light erupted from a corridor that must have stretched the full length of the house. There was the happy sound of a woman's laughter, the tinkle of a piano and the deeper thrum of some stringed instrument.

  'Begging your pardon sir,' Riley said. 'Would Captain Windrush not be locked up somewhere?'

  Jack shook his head. 'I don't think so, Riley. I heard him give his parole.' He pondered his next words, glanced at Riley and continued. 'I believe that Anderson will treat Captain Windrush very well so he gives a good report about Russia when the war ends. Captain Windrush is a trophy prisoner, bound to be released, or exchanged for a Russian officer. If he comes back with positive tales, the British people will soon forget that a few of the disreputable 113th disappeared.' He frowned, realising that he had said more than he should have.

  'All the more reason to get him away then,' Riley lowered his voice. 'We'll find him sir, don't you worry.'

  Keeping the door slightly ajar, Jack peered along the length of the corridor. There was a large arched door at the far end, highly glazed and open to the world. He could hear musicians in the room beyond the door, and could see a number of men in smart uniforms, with brightly dressed women accompanying them. It was a gathering that would suit William perfectly.

  'There he is,' Jack said quietly.

  Either William or more likely some skilful servant had done wonders with his uniform to restore it to its full scarlet glory. William looked tall, handsome and debonair, every inch the English gentleman as he stood within a small group of smiling people. Anderson was to his left, with Valeria on his right, resting one dainty hand on his sleeve. Even closer to William was the blonde beauty that pressed her hip against his.

  Anderson laughed loudly, pulling Valeria gently away. 'Go with this young lady, William.' his American drawl was distinct. 'You need some comfort.'

  William smiled and obeyed, placing one hand around the broad hip of the girl and the other around the neck of a tall glass. He rolled into the corridor, guiding the girl with a hand cupped comfortably around her right buttock, and pushed open the door of a room near Jack.

  Jack frowned. It was the sort of behaviour he expected from William back in England. It was not how a British officer should behave when a prisoner of the enemy. He waited for a few moments. Anderson said something to Valeria; they both laughed and returned to the main room, closing the glazed doors behind them.

  'Wait here.' Jack said and slipped into the corridor. With a dozen oil-lamps pooling light from their sockets on the wall, he felt exposed as he stepped to the door of William's room. In his tattered dark clothes, unshaven and with dried blood on his face, it would be obvious to even the most casual of observers that he did not belong.

  For a moment Jack contemplated politely tapping on the door, but instead he turned the handle and pushed. The door opened silently and he stepped inside.

  A single flickering candle revealed William and the girl lying on the bed, with William busy on top and a confusion of clothing on the floor. Jack watched for a second, and then turned his back to avoid causing embarrassment.

  'William! It's me.'

  There was a distinct gasp and a curse, then a small, quickly stifled feminine squeal.

  'What the devil are you doing here? Get out, damn you!'

  Jack turned around. William was still entangled with the blonde, glaring over his shoulder. 'Withdraw your parole, William and we can get out of here. We'll get back to the British lines.'

  'Be damned to you, Jack!' William threw a pillow at him.

  'Put that woman down and we'll be away by dawn. And hurry man!'

  When the woman kicked at the bedclothes and began to say something, William clamped his hand on her mouth. 'Get out, damn you. Can't you see I'm with a woman? Get out before I call the guard! I won't withdraw my parole for you or any of your blackguard crew!'

  Jack looked around; what could he do? If he dragged William away, he would make a lot of noise and alert the guards. He and Riley would undoubtedly be captured, which would mean condemning his men to God knows what. No: William had made his bed and seemed quite satisfied with its contents. Jack gave a formal bow. 'As you wish, Captain Windrush; I will leave you to your pleasures, if not your duty.' He withdrew with as much dignity as he could muster.

  'Sir?' Riley looked up quizzically as he returned, frowning and alone.

  'Captain Windrush has decided to remain,' he said shortly. 'We'll free our men and get away from here.'

  Riley opened his mouth but closed it again, wisely deciding that silence was the best option.

  With the layout now familiar, it was easier to leave the house than it had been to enter. They moved quickly across the settlement, silent as before but with Jack's mind in confusion. Had he had gone to William at the wrong time? If he had waited until he had finished with the woman he may have received a more favourable reception. On the other hand, William was a British officer; it was his duty to take every honourable opportunity to escape. Jack wondered what else he could have done. Had he done his duty? Had he let William down?

  'Here we are, sir.' They stopped at the barn in which Jack's men were held. Two bored guards stood at the only entrance. 'Do you think you can distract the guards, si
r?'

  Jack nodded. 'I can. How long do you need, Riley?'

  Riley screwed up his face. 'Not long to get in, sir and only a few moments to get clear of this village. Maybe ten minutes at most.'

  'I shall see what I can do,' Jack said. 'I wish I had some sort of weapon.'

  Riley handed over his bayonet at once. 'It's all I have sir. I lost my rifle when I fell over the bridge.'

  Jack wondered if Riley had deliberately thrown himself off the bridge rather than be captured. He shook his head; it was a small matter. 'No: thank you for the offer but you may need it yourself. When you get the boys out, head north, away from the British lines. Johnny Russ won't expect that.'

  'How about you, sir?'

  'I'll find you, or you'll find me. The Cossacks use wolf calls to signal to each other. How are your bird calls?'

  'Not great sir.' Riley hesitated, 'but Hitch… Private Hitchins was a poacher, sir. He'll know all about that sort of thing.'

  'Of course he will. After an hour, get him to whistle like a blackbird every few minutes. If I am not with you by night fall tomorrow, give Sergeant O'Neill my compliments and ask him to get everybody back safely.'

  'Yes, sir.'

  Jack hesitated for a second. 'Riley: please also tell O'Neill to inform Colonel Maxwell that Anderson plans to assassinate Sir Colin Campbell. Make sure the message gets through. Got it?'

  'Yes sir; Anderson plans to assassinate Sir Colin Campbell.' Riley's face remained immobile.

  'Good man; make sure he is told that.'

  'Yes sir. I will, sir.'

  'And if O'Neill is killed, then you pass it on, Riley.' About to hold out his hand, Jack realised that officers did not make such gestures to private soldiers. He swore silently, hesitated and thrust it out. 'Damn it man, here's my hand. Good luck.'

  Riley's grip was tentative. 'You too, sir. Thank you, sir.'

  Jack glanced upward; dawn was not far away; the sky was growing lighter, with a band of silver- grey above the eastern horizon promising another warm day. It would be harder to escape detection in full daylight and once Anderson found that one of his prize prisoners was missing there would be a full scale search. With the immensely skilled Cossacks on his trail, Jack knew he had to move quickly.

  Taking more chances than he liked, he hurried to the far side of the settlement. He could think of only one way of creating a diversion, and that was to make a noise that would attract the Cossacks' attention. He also needed a weapon, anything that could help him. Lifting a fist-sized stone, he wrapped it in his handkerchief and held it close by him. It was probably the most simple weapon ever devised, but one that could be effective, if used properly.

  Finding a spot in the shadow of what appeared to be a stable, Jack raised his voice. 'Christos!' He tried to sound as much like a suffering Russian as possible. 'Christos!' It was the only Russian word he could say and he began to shout, adding the occasional whimper and scream as well, as if he was a man in great pain.

  Somewhere within the village, somebody shouted what might have been a question and a pair of Cossack guards hurried toward him. One yelled something and raised his hand. Jack stilled his nervousness; he had hoped for only one man at a time, yet he had the advantage of surprise and the power of desperation. As soon as the first Cossack rounded the corner of the stable, Jack whirled the stone around his head and crashed it against his temple. It was a technique he had used when a school boy and fought against the local louts, except with smaller stones. Now it was kill or be killed and no time for mercy.

  The Cossack gasped and Jack hit him again, using all the power in his arm to crash the weapon on the man's head. The Cossack slumped down, just as his companion dropped his rifle and drew his shashka. With no time to waste, Jack scrabbled to lift the rifle, aimed hurriedly and fired. The bullet slammed into the second Cossack, sending him staggering three steps backward. He slid downward, still holding his shashka and with his eyes wide open. The whole affair had taken only seconds.

  Lifting the first Cossack's rifle, Jack moved quickly away.

  'Royal Malverns!' He remembered the bugler of the 90th calling a medley of regimental calls at the Quarries, and followed suit. ''Here the 95th! To me the 79th Highlanders! Damn your eagerness, 93rd! Stand fast!'

  As he shouted, he ran, following the outskirts of the settlement so his voice would sound from a variety of places. As he hoped, there was a reaction from the Cossacks, with the harsh bark of orders and a hammer of boots on the hard ground.

  'There's your diversion, Riley,' he said quietly. 'I hope to God you get my men out safely.'

  Ducking low and keeping his rifle at the trail, Jack withdrew twenty steps to a fold in the ground. He threw himself prone, searching behind him for an avenue of escape. He had done all he could to give Riley his chance. Now he had to look after himself.

  There was quick movement within the settlement, the regular tread of men in formation, the hoarse sound of shouted orders and the sudden flare of torches.

  'Here they come,' Jack said to himself. He lifted his rifle. 'Now, do I lie low and hope they pass me, or do I make a stand?'

  They came twenty strong, moving cautiously yet covering the ground with more speed than Jack liked. Anderson was in the centre, conspicuous because of his height. Jack centred his foresight on the tall American and put some pressure on the trigger. If the rifle was accurate he could remove the threat to Sir Colin in an instant, at the cost of his own life. But if he was dead, his men had less chance of getting back safely. Was his life and that of ten soldiers worth the life of a Cossack commander? Sighing, Jack relaxed his forefinger; Anderson was reprieved.

  Snarling in Russian, Anderson gave orders that saw the Cossacks spread further out. Jack nodded; that was sound military practice. He would have done the same. He ducked down as the first rays of the sun crept across the land to his rear, sending long shadows from rocks and scrubby trees. The Cossacks moved swiftly, long striding, with bayonets fixed to their rifles and boots swishing through the long grass.

  Hugging his rifle, Jack remained static: movement attracted the eye. Cossacks walked on either side of him; they were fast and efficient, except they kept their heads down rather than looking around. Jack grunted; as he had planned, they were walking into the rising sun the glare would make it very difficult for them to see him.

  They passed quickly, with Anderson ten yards away, his one eye slitted. Jack waited until they were gone, counted to a hundred and moved carefully forward. He heard the Cossacks far behind him and relaxed slightly. For a moment he contemplated rushing into the big house to free William, realised there were still guards on the door and decided that by doing so he would be jeopardising the lives of his men. War was a matter of balancing odds and equations, a mathematical exercise with death holding the scales.

  The settlement was awake, with a handful of guards looking outwards, blinking in the sun; one man laughed, high pitched. Keeping low, Jack slipped around the side. He would have expected an uproar if Riley had been successful and the prisoners had been freed. Instead there was surprising serenity. Had the Cossacks captured Riley? He had heard no shooting so that was unlikely.

  There were no guards at the door of barn where his men had been held and nothing to indicate anything untoward had occurred. Jack moved on, stopped, sore and lifted his rifle as something moved in front of him. A familiar face appeared from a fold of ground.

  'O'Neill!' Jack hissed. 'I gave orders for you to take the men to safety.'

  'They refused to go sir, until they knew you were all right.' O'Neill looked worried. 'Riley got us out and we heard firing and shouting.'

  'That was me. Come on.' Jack saw that all his men were there, from frowning Logan, heavily bruised from the Cossack rifle-butt to Fletcher, Kelly and Thorpe.

  'We was nice and snug in that house,' Thorpe said. 'Now we've got to get all cold again.'

  'It's your job to get cold,' Coleman told him. 'The recruiting sergeant told you that when you took the Qu
een's Shilling.'

  'He never told me nothing,' Thorpe said. 'I was drinking my beer and he slipped it in my tankard. I swallowed the bloody thing and choked. It stuck in my throat and the sergeant near killed me thumping me on the back to get it out. After he saved my life I had to join the army…'

  'Tell us later, Thorpe,' Jack glanced around. The country was beautiful in daylight, with a rolling, partially wooded landscape and distant hills. 'The Cossacks are too good to chase ghosts for long. They'll soon realise there's nothing in the east and they'll double back.'

  'Sir,' Riley said, 'begging your pardon, sir, but the lads may feel better if they have their rifles back.'

  'Do you know where they are, Riley?'

  'The Russians put them in that building there, sir.' He pointed to the stone built shed. 'It must be their magazine. There's a guard, sir.'

  Jack glanced at Logan. 'Are you fit?'

  'Yes, sir.' Logan stiffened to attention, gasping in pain.

  'No you're not.' Jack said. 'Thorpe; I want you and Coleman to deal with the guard. Quietly.'

  Thorpe grinned. 'Yes sir. We're as quiet as churchyard mice, sir.'

  'Only if the mice have a military band and studs in their boots,' Coleman said. 'I'll look after him sir. Come on you!'

  'Sergeant; take care of the rest of the men. I'll take Thorpe, Coleman, Hitchins and Riley. 'If we are caught, don't wait to rescue us. Get the men back and warn Colonel Maxwell about the threat to Sir Colin.'

  'Sir,' O'Neill nodded.

  It was lucky that most of the garrison were still hunting to the east as Riley led them to the arsenal.

  'I'd like more time to scout the place out,' Jack said. The sentry looked bored as he leaned on his rifle and puffed at the pipe that was in the corner of his mouth.

  'You two men know what you're doing?' Jack asked.

  Thorpe glanced at Coleman, who nodded in complete understanding. 'We done this sort of thing before, sir,' Thorpe said. 'There was a whorehouse in Calcutta once and the doorman…' he stopped when Coleman kicked him.

  'We know, sir.'

  While Coleman stood against the side wall, Thorpe walked directly to the sentry, smiled, saluted and walked away. The sentry started and lowered his rifle. With all his attention on Thorpe, he did not notice Coleman coming behind him. A second later he was on the ground, unconscious, and Riley was picking the lock of the arsenal.