'Too late,' Jack tried to sound like a callous man who cared nothing for human suffering. 'I already know that much.'
'They are going to kill a British officer.'
'They? Who are they? How many men? Which officer are they going to kill?' Jack asked urgently, but the man had fainted through pain and loss of blood.
'O'Neill! Take care of this poor fellow. Get him, and his colleague to the hospital.' Jack looked around. Sir Colin and his escort had disappeared, no doubt to continue their rounds. He had to warn Colonel Maxwell that Anderson and an unknown number of Cossacks were on their way to assassinate an officer. For a moment Jack contemplated a ride on the swaying carriages that had saved the British so much effort. He shook his head: he did not know when the trains ran, or how regular they were. 'Thorpe, Coleman, Kelly; you are with me. Sergeant O'Neill, when you've finished here, bring the men to the camp at the double.'
'Sir!' O'Neill threw a smart salute.
'We have five miles to cover,' Jack told his men, 'so take it steady.' He explained what was happening.
'So this Anderson blackguard sold us again, sir,' Thorpe said. 'He had us waiting to save Sir Colin while he went after some other officer.'
'It seems that way,' Jack agreed. Once again, despite all his planning and preparing, Anderson had outmanoeuvred him. He may already be too late. The officer the Cossacks were hunting might already be dead. In that case he would have failed again; a man would have died because of his blundering.
A sudden thought came to Jack: Anderson knew that Maxwell was involved in the intelligence operation; it would follow his pattern to target the colonel of the 113th.
How would Helen react to her father being murdered because he, Jack Windrush, had failed in his duty of stopping John Anderson?
'Come on lads!' Jack increased the pace. This was no longer only his duty and his career. His whole life was involved in stopping Anderson. Once again, Anderson was the blood price for him to gain Helen.
Chapter Twenty Five
'Stay with me!' Jack trotted through the camp. A grey-whiskered colonel frowned as he passed without saluting, but at that moment there were more important matters than observing the proprieties.
The camp was busy, with some men on picket duty, a number playing cricket, more playing cards and some cleaning their rifles or sundry pieces of equipment. There were a few pack horses laden with supplies, one unfortunate private marching up and down in full kit as a flint-eyed sergeant bellowed at him, and a few wives washing and darning clothes.
'Lieutenant Windrush!' Charlotte Riley waved to him. 'Where is that man of mine?'
'Safe and well, Mrs Riley,' Jack panted without reducing the pace. 'Do you know where Colonel Maxwell is?'
'In his hut,' Charlotte jogged at his side. 'You're in a hurry.'
'I am,' Jack agreed. 'If you hear shooting, Mrs Riley, keep out of the way. I don't want Riley to be a widower.' He touched a finger to the brim of his forage cap. 'Pray excuse me.'
'Before you go, sir, I have something to tell you,' Charlotte said. 'Something's queer, here.'
'Not now Mrs Riley,' Jack said. 'I haven't the time.'
'But Lieutenant…'
'You can't go in there, sir…' the sentry tried to stop Jack entering Maxwell's hut until Coleman and Thorpe hustled him aside and Kelly removed his musket.
'You stay out of the way,' Kelly said. 'Or you visit the hospital.'
Maxwell looked up as Jack thrust inside. 'What the devil… Windrush, Good God man, what are you doing here?'
'It's Anderson, sir,' Jack said. 'He was not at the ambush site.'
'I see,' Maxwell stood up. 'So that was another wasted operation.'
'No, sir.' Jack explained what had happened.
'So you disposed of the pawns but the king walks free,' Maxwell said. 'And you think he is after me?'
'Yes, sir.'
Maxwell unhooked his holster from the back of the chair and buckled it on. 'Well; it was kind of you to warn me, Windrush. Let's walk around the camp and look for this American fellow.' He checked the chambers of his revolver and grinned, 'Although I doubt he will come here in full daylight.'
'I'm not sure about that sir. Anderson is the sort of man to dare anything.'
'Are your men fit to fight?' Maxwell slid his revolver into its holster.
'I only brought three, sir. Coleman, Thorpe and Kelly. They're as good as any soldier in the Army.'
Maxwell nodded. 'If I am to be the bait again I will ensure Johnny Russ can see me.' Slipping his best uniform jacket around his shoulders, he buckled on his sword belt, ensured his sword was loose in its scabbard and winked. 'I'll get some strange looks walking about like this.'
'Yes, sir.'
'You and your ruffians follow at a distance, Windrush, but not too far away. You will recognise Anderson better than anybody else, so keep a sharp eye out.'
'I will sir.' Jack hesitated. 'Be careful.'
'Oh don't worry,' Maxwell said. 'I have no intention of getting killed by a renegade American. I'll leave first; give me half a minute, no more.' He loosened the revolver in his holster again, obviously more nervous than he wished to appear. 'Let's get this bastard, Windrush.' Whistling Rule Britannia, he stepped outside the hut.
'Don't bunch up,' Jack whispered to his men. 'Maintain an open formation and keep an eye out for Anderson. He's tall with an eye-patch.'
'Should be easy to spot then,' Thorpe said with a grin. 'What a stupid beggar walking about like that.'
'That's just it, Thorpe; Anderson is anything but stupid. He has run rings around us more than once and he may do it again.'
'We'll get him. Sir,' Kelly said. 'Don't you fret. Then you'll have time to walk out with Miss Maxwell… 'He tailed off into silence.
'You concentrate on the task in hand.' Jack was not sure that he liked tales of his personal life being bandied around by private soldiers.
'Lieutenant Windrush,' Charlotte Riley approached him again, her arms wet with soap suds and a frown on her face. 'Are you still on duty, sir?'
'I am,' Jack was aware that at least half a dozen people were watching as a ranker's wife spoke openly to him. A be-whiskered major of the 90th was frowning, while two very young cheepers of the 34th were shaking their heads at this terrible breach of discipline.
'Well sir,' Charlotte placed her hands on her hips as she prepared to launch a tirade. 'As I said, there's something rum happening, sir.'
Too intent on searching for Anderson to pay Charlotte much attention, Jack answered without thought. 'You'll have to tell me later, Mrs Riley. I'm afraid I don't have time for gossip just now.'
'Oh it's not gossip, sir; it's just queer things that are happening.'
Jack sighed. He saw a very tall officer with a bandage across his forehead and left eye and watched him closely. It was the sort of disguise that Anderson would adopt to infiltrate the British camp. He studied the man, nearly forgetting that Charlotte was still talking.
'It was Major Snodgrass they took,' Charlotte said. 'And you know how I feel about him.'
'What was that?' Jack jerked his attention back to Charlotte. 'Who took Major Snodgrass?' Valeria had mentioned Snodgrass more than once.
'That was what I was telling you,' Charlotte said patiently. 'They bundled him into a closed wagon, one of these great lumbering araba things, and drove him away. Rum, it was.'
'Jesus!' Jack blasphemed. He had been wrong again. Anderson and Valeria had not been after Colonel Maxwell. They had sent the Cossacks to ambush Sir Colin while they continued Valeria's personal feud with Snodgrass.
Taking hold of Charlotte's upper arms, Jack faced her. 'Please tell me again, Charlotte… Mrs Riley. Tell me everything.' Charlotte Riley was an observant, shrewd woman. With her background in theatre, she could spot a fraud or an actor a mile off.
Charlotte sighed. 'I've already told you twice,' she scolded. 'Next time, Lieutenant Windrush, just you listen the first time, you hear?'
'I hear,' Jack decided it was better to ac
cept the rebuke rather than pull her up for stepping out of her place. 'Tell me again, please.'
'Well, you know that Major Snodgrass likes his tipple,' Charlotte spoke more slowly now, sure of her audience. 'I was doing my washing with some of the other wives and I seen him coming out of his tent. You know how I hate him for having my Riley flogged last year.'
'I remember,' Jack said.
'Well I was going to come closer and splash him with dirty water, maybe make him fall on his arse in the mud. Anyway he left his tent and he was unsteady like he had already had a good dose of the bottle. I watched him as he took out his flask and had another crafty swallow, and then this woman walked up to him, bold as brass and twice as shiny.'
'Which woman,' Jack asked, 'who was she? What was she like?'
'That's what I'm telling you,' Charlotte said patiently. 'I never seen her before in my life. I know all the officers' wives in our regiment and most of the other regiments by sight and it weren't none of them, I'll swear to it.'
'I believe you,' Jack felt as if a giant hand was gripping his heart. 'Maybe it was a ranker's wife?'
'No!' Charlotte shook her head in emphatic denial. 'I know all them better than my own sister, damn her.'
'I see. What was this queer woman like?'
Charlotte answered at once. 'Tall and blonde, although she wore a shawl to cover her hair. She wore a blue dress that was foreign- cut and was very confident, as if she thought she had the right to be here.'
Tall and blond and confident: Valeria. Jack felt suddenly sick.
'And then?'
'Major Snodgrass tried to pull away, but one of these two wheeled araba wagons come up, with two horses and two men on the driving seat. The woman held Snodgrass by the arm and one of the men came off the seat and they sort of carried him inside, like a peeler with a drunk.' Charlotte nodded. 'That was what it was like, a peeler with a drunk.'
'Good God! What were these men like?' Jack already guessed at least half the answer.
Charlotte smiled, enjoying having an audience again. 'One was very tall…'
'With an eye-patch?'
'That's right, with an eye patch. How did you know that?' Charlotte sounded disappointed that Jack had forestalled her revelation.
'Thank you, Mrs Riley. The other man does not matter. When was this and which way did they go?' Jack tried to hurry her, but Charlotte was not to be rushed. He waved away the circle of curious observers that had formed and ordered Coleman to inform Colonel Maxwell of this new development.
Charlotte frowned slightly as her audience diminished. 'It was a bit ago, when the men was in the trenches and the relief was marching down to take over.'
That made sense, Jack though. Snodgrass seldom did duty in the trenches; Anderson would know he would be virtually alone in the camp and off guard.
'Where did they go?'
'That way,' Charlotte pointed to the south.
Jack nodded. Again, Anderson was doing exactly what he would have done. Bold and open, come into the heart of the enemy's territory and leave by the least expected route.
'Permission to speak, sir?' Coleman was panting slightly.
'I thought I ordered you to find the colonel…' Jack began, and realised that Maxwell was approaching already.
'What are you waiting for, Windrush?' Maxwell barked. 'Get after them. I don't want Anderson to get the better of us again.'
'They went that way,' Charlotte reminded, pointing helpfully.
'I'll send the rest of your men when they arrive,' Maxwell said.
'Sir…' Kelly pointed to the ground. 'We can follow the wheel marks.'
'That's what we're doing,' Jack led the way at a fast trot.
The araba was a heavy vehicle and laden with three men and one woman it left a deep impression on ground made soft by recent rain. Jack had no trouble following the trail out of the camp and round in a wide circle to the west and then back north.
Jack nodded; once again Anderson was doing exactly as he would have done.
'How fast can these wagons travel, sir?' Coleman asked.
Jack did not stop moving as he considered. 'With two horses, maybe eight miles an hour on a metalled road. With so many passengers and on soft ground, maybe half that. Fast walking speed.'
'We'll catch up with it soon, then,' Coleman said.
'What's that ahead?' Kelly pointed with his chin, 'over by these trees.'
Even in summer the uplands were bare, with every tree standing proud. The araba stood with a small copse of stunted oaks at the head of the Middle Ravine that on this flank separated the French and British lines.
They approached carefully, well spread out in case of an ambush and their nerves jangling, but the araba was empty.
'Where now, sir?' Coleman stood in the shelter of a tree, rifle ready. Sebastopol loomed nearby, its outposts and redoubts as formidable as ever.
Jack pointed to the ravine. 'Look.'
The sprawled bodies of three French soldiers told their own story. Insects feasted on the blood from their slashed throats.
'That must have been a French picket,' Kelly said.
'Anderson is taking Major Snodgrass into Sebastopol,' Jack said. 'Once they're in there…' He did not finish his sentence. Whatever Valeria had planned for Snodgrass would not be pleasant. 'Come on, men.'
There was no thought of retiring. Having come so far, Jack was resolved to catch Anderson, even if that meant his own death. To return and report another failure was unthinkable.
The French had pickets every hundred yards or so, with patrols in between. Jack led his men between them and down to the bottom of the gulley, where ragged trees and broken rocks impeded their progress and all trace of Anderson and his prisoner was lost.
Jack halted his men. 'Listen,' he whispered. 'If they are moving, they will make some noise. Maybe Anderson will be quiet but Major Snodgrass is not built for silent crawling.'
Insects hummed around them; a lizard scurried across the ground, while a small stream at the foot of the gulley gurgled softly. There were no human sounds, nothing to give away the progress of Anderson. Jack stifled his despair and tried to think logically. Anderson was not a spontaneous person; all his actions were meticulously planned, so he must have pre-arranged this raid to capture Snodgrass. That meant he had a route back into Sebastopol.
Thorpe lifted a hand and pointed to the ground. There was a patch of disturbed earth where a stone had recently been scuffed an inch closer to Sebastopol. Jack nodded and moved on as quickly and silently as he could. MacRae's training took effect as Jack looked; he noticed a broken twig on the ground, a slight groove in the grass where somebody had slipped, the distinctive mark of a nailed boot.
Jack heard the voices first: Valeria's higher tones easily distinguished against Snodgrass's complaints. Jack nodded; Valeria was more relaxed the closer she got to Russian territory. He increased the pace, less concerned now with noise.
'Sir!' Greatly daring, Coleman took hold of his sleeve. He pointed ahead and to the left.
Jack saw Valeria first, with her blonde, now uncovered hair catching the late morning sun. Her blue dress was conspicuous as she pushed at Snodgrass, who stumbled over something and fell. Anderson lifted him roughly and shoved him onwards. The third man was Ansar.
'We've got them,' Jack said quietly. 'Come on.' He increased the pace, skirting around Anderson's party to cut them off from the Russian lines. The ground underfoot was rough, treacherous with loose stones and undergrowth, yet Jack moved quickly, desperate to win what he intended to be his last encounter with Anderson.
The sun flashed from one of Snodgrass's brass buttons as he fell again. Jack heard the distinctive sound of a slap as Valeria took instant revenge.
'Right lads.' Peering through the undergrowth, Jack judged distances. 'We've passed them. Now we'll wait here.'
Coleman and Thorpe slid into cover, with Kelly a fraction later. Jack ensured he had a good field of fire and stretched out behind a clump of rough grass. He
slid the barrel of his rifle forward, fighting the racing of his heart. His duel with Anderson had to end here in this ravine between the British and French camps and under the walls of Sebastopol. They lay in increasing heat as the sun approached its zenith and insects sought them out. The sound of the little stream, so close yet so inaccessible, reminded him of his thirst. He felt sick.
Snodgrass came first, stumbling as Valeria pushed him on. Anderson was third and Ansar the spy was last. Jack squinted along his rifle, taking the vee of Anderson's collar bone in his foresight.
'It ends here,' he breathed, and took first pressure on the trigger.
The shout broke his concentration as a body of Russian infantry rushed down the ravine.
'Devil take them,' Jack said. 'I'll not lose my victory to a bunch of Ruskis!' He squeezed the trigger, looked up and swore. In the second between aiming and firing, Anderson had moved. The echo of his shot was still sounding when Anderson drew his pistol and started shouting orders.
The Russian infantry stopped the instant Jack fired, giving Coleman, Kelly and Thorpe perfect targets. They aimed and fired, downing three men.
'How many?' Jack shouted. 'I see ten.'
'Ten,' Thorpe echoed.
Ten, plus Anderson's party. Jack reloaded quickly. The Russian infantry were not Cossacks; they lacked the skills of concealment. Jack aimed at the nearest and killed him without a qualm. 'That makes nine,' he said.
'Eight,' Kelly's shot took the top of a Russian's head clean off.
'Seven,' Coleman said quietly. 'They've gone to ground.'
The echoes of gun fire died away and a tense silence descended. Jack scanned the undergrowth for Anderson, loaded his rifle and felt sweat tickle his back. Operating so close to the Russian lines meant that time was not on his side. The Russians were bound to send out another patrol to investigate. He had to keep the pressure on Anderson.
'Kelly; you're the best shot we have. I want you to keep the Russian infantrymen pinned down.' He loaded and passed over his rifle. 'Thorpe and Coleman; you're with me. I want Anderson dead and Major Snodgrass freed.'
'What about the bint … the woman, sir?' Coleman asked.
Windrush: Blood Price (Jack Windrush Book 3) Page 26
