The Devil's Regiment

by Ben Myatt

  “Alright ladies, enough blathering on. Get those weapons secured.” Sergeant Ward said, his Welsh lilt musical amid the London accents.

  “Yes Sarge.”

  The pair started laying boxes of ammunition and supplies into the bed of the cart, stacking them neatly to prevent any unwanted accidents. Soon, sweat was pouring from their faces.

  Callum, having steadied his mount's somewhat fragile nerves, dismounted and strolled over to them.

  “Want a hand?”

  Dunwit and Cavill glanced at each other. Their instincts were crying out to say no, but before they could come to a decision, Callum had picked up a box of bullets in each hand and was walking over to them. He passed a box to each of them, and turned back to the stack by the wall.

  The two soldiers looked at each other. Each of the boxes weighed nearly thirty pounds. They heaved the boxes into the cart, then turned to watch as Callum turned back to them. Whilst the pair of them were sweating in the heat, the young man's features were dry, his face calm.

  Dunwit took the box from him, and shook his head.

  “How are you doing that?”

  “Doing what?”

  “Lifting those boxes.”

  A sly smile flashed across Callum's face.

  “I eat a lot of vegetables. They keep me healthy.”

  The two troopers stared at him for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  Chapter Three

  Twenty-four people left the city of Bombay that night, and struck out for the distant fort of Kasharim. Accompanying the three members of the Order of Britain were twenty troopers, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any hint of a threat as they marched, and one rather young lieutenant.

  From a balcony above them, a young girl watched, her dark auburn hair pulled back from pale skin, her blue eyes watching with concern.

  "Lucy, come back inside."

  She turned at her mothers call and went back inside, trying to shake a sense of foreboding from her mind.

  Lieutenant Roger Carlisle hadn't thought he would be drummed into action this quickly. He'd been assigned to the regiment in India in order to gain valuable experience – a trait firmly lacking in many of her majesties officers in these fat days of empire and peace. The young man desperately wanted to be a good officer, but to the hard bitten troops under his command, he was like a puppy – good, but rather too soft.

  Sergeant Ward rather liked the lad – he certainly didn't want him to be killed first time out by a pack of the rebels who haunted the hills and wastelands of British India.

  The veteran warrior glanced back at the three civilians. He hadn't wanted them on this trip, but his experienced eye was at least satisfied by what he saw. Wittington-Smythe was – ostensibly – in command of the trio, but treat the other two as equals. He and Miss Cartwright sat on the running board of the supply cart, their eyes as wary as any of the cavalry troopers. With an inward smile, Ward noticed that Nathaniel's hand was never far away from the service revolver he'd been given. He was surprised, however, by the professional way the girl held the Martini-Henry carbine.

  Callum, on the other hand, was a mystery. He held himself like a fighter, but the only weapons he'd taken were a revolver and – strangely – a sword. The curved blade was slung across his back, easily reached over his shoulder. His hands, however, remained firmly on the reins, guiding the horse through the patchy terrain.

  Of all the people in the small column, Callum was the only one who didn't seem to be unduly worried. If anything, that made Ward worry even more. The veteran turned back to his officer, his eyes querying.

  “When did you want to set up camp, sir?”

  Carlisle squinted at the horizon. A couple of miles in the distance, small rounded hills obscured the sky. He looked nervously at the sergeant.

  “Just before those hills? I don't want to be moving through uneven terrain in the dark.”

  “You're in command sir.” Carlisle flinched as Ward responded, the mild words striking as hard as any rebuke.

  “Lets do that, then.”

  Ward nodded, and glanced back at the platoon.

  “Stephenson, Cole, go find us somewhere to bunk down!” he called.

  The two troopers peeled off from the group, and rode ahead towards the hills, their mounts kicking up dust from the dry ground.

  “Thankyou sergeant.” Carlisle said.

  Ward shot him a piercing look, and wheeled his horse. He turned the beast to ride alongside Callum, who had passively watched the exchange.

  “Can I ask you something, sir?”

  “Only if you don't call me sir. It's Callum, sergeant.”

  “Alright then, Callum. Why are you here?”

  “You don't know?” The young man said lightly.

  Ward glared at him. Callum gave him a slight grin.

  “All I know is that you're unsettling my lads, and I won't stand for that.”

  Callum's eyes went cold. For a moment, the hairs stood up on the back of Ward's neck, but he held the young man's gaze. Eventually, Callum's face split into a wide grin.

  “We're here to deal with an unpleasant situation, Sergeant Ward. We're not inspectors, and we're not here to scare your men. But it's probably good that your men are on edge.”

  “Oh aye?”

  “Definitely.”

  “And why is that then?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn't believe me. But there's far worse where we're going than me.”

  ***

  Nathaniel stepped down from the footboard of the cart, and stretched. Around him, the process of setting up camp had already begun, the outriders having already got a campfire going, it's warm glow fading into the darkness as the sun set behind the foothills.

  Elizabeth shouldered her carbine and dropped to the ground.

  “Any chance of a cup of tea?” She asked him.

  “Do I look like the butler?” He glared.

  “A little bit, yes.” She grinned.

  He laughed, and headed for the nearest cook fire. Lieutenant Carlisle wandered over, a tin mug in his hand. The young officer gave her a smile, and handed her the mug. The delightful scent of freshly brewed tea wafted up to her nostrils. She fixed him with a ravishing smile

  “Why, thankyou kind sir.”

  He grinned slightly.

  “Well, we have been ordered to provide you with whatever cooperation we can.”

  She flinched inwardly. Evidently Nathaniel's roughshod treatment of Major Thomas had made an impression.

  “We didn't mean to cause this much fuss – and I'm sorry if we've caused you problems.” She said sincerely.

  “No more than I had already, Miss Cartwright.” He said regretfully. “I'm starting to think I'm not really suited for this sort of thing.”

  She patted his shoulder awkwardly.

  “I'm sure it'll come to you. Trust me, if you can make it through this mission, you can make it through anything.”

  “Well, Miss Cartwright, that's a rather large if, isn't it?”

  ***

  Callum dreamed dreams of fire. He knew the dreams from long ago – the time he'd spent crucified in a pocket dimension, his blood being slowly drained to empower the serpent cult's tame vampires. During all the time, kept unconscious and in agony, he'd dreamed of the fire of his father.

  The dragon Gorton had been another slave of the cult, and Callum's desperate attempt to rescue his reptilian sire has led only to his own capture and humiliation. He'd been kept insensate and powerless until being rescued by Elizabeth and the Werewolf gunslinger, Jim Ashwood.

  And now Callum had debts. He owed Jim for saving him, and he owed Nathaniel and Elizabeth for bringing him to England. He owed the guild for giving him a life and place to stay.

  He turned in his sleep, and grumbled to himself. His blanket was caught around his ankle.

  The explosion bought him to wakefulness in an instant.

  ***

  Dunwit was been standing on picket, his pipe in his mouth
, the curls of smoke slowly winding up into the darkness at the edge of the campfire's light.

  “You're not meant to be smoking on duty, corporal.”

  Dunwit flinched as Sergeant Ward stepped from the darkness. The Welshman grinned viciously.

  “I'll need to confiscate that, Dunwit.”

  The corporal rolled his eyes, and plucked the pipe from his mouth. He passed it to the welsh sergeant, who popped the stalk into his mouth and took a deep puff.

  “Where did you get this rubbish, lad?”

  “Regimental stores, same as everyone else.”

  “No wonder it tastes like shite, half that stuff's bloody sawdust.” He took another long drag anyway, and passed the pipe back to Dunwit. The two men had served together long enough to keep their vigilance even in this companionable moment.

  A noise in the darkness caught their attention, their hands leaping to their weapons. In the silence, the smoke from the pipe curled slowly upwards.

  Their instincts kicked in automatically, and the pair dropped to their knees as a rattle of rifle fire ripped the silence apart.

  “Enemies!” Dunwit yelled. He levelled his carbine at the flash of the barrels, and squeezed the trigger. A scream of pain answered his shot, and he pushed down the lever on the martini-henry. The spent brass case racketed out of the back of the rifle, and he pushed a fresh round into the breach. Next to him, Ward sighted and fired, trying to hit targets they had no way of seeing.

  Around them, their fellow soldiers ran to their aid, weapons in hand. One of the troopers screamed and fell as a bullet struck him in the torso, a red bloom of blood spurting from his back as the round travelled through his body.

  A barrel came rolling from the darkness, a fuse hissing in it's bunghole.

  “Everybody down!” Ward screamed.

  The British soldiers threw themselves flat as the barrel exploded, it's cargo of black powder spraying earth and vegetation across them.

  Ward glanced over his shoulder as Carlisle threw himself flat next to the veteran, and saw the trio of agents running for the cart.

  “Where the bloody hell are they going?”

  ***

  Nathaniel pulled the revolver from the holster next to his bedroll, and rolled to his feet, thumbing back the hammer as he rose. Across the campfire's glow, Elizabeth was already crouching, her carbine held ready.

  “Where's Callum?”

  “I'm here.” The dragon-blood said from the shadows. His gun was in his hand, his eyes were sweeping the darkness around them. Nathaniel checked the load on his gun as adrenaline surged through his system.

  “Right, let's get to work.”

  He took a step towards the firing line of soldiers, but Callum dragged his arm.

  “They're trying to flank us – they're going after the weapons cart!”

  “How do you...”

  But Callum was already running. Reaching over his shoulder, he drew the sabre he'd secured back in Bombay, freeing the blade from it's leather scabbard. He raised the revolver in his left hand as the first of the Indian rebels appeared from the darkness, and levelled an old musket at him. Callum dived to his right as the man pulled the trigger, and brought his pistol to bear. He pulled the trigger, and the Indian dropped, blood spurting from his chest. He rolled to his feet, and fired wildly into the darkness. A volley of rounds answered him, and he dropped flat, the rounds tearing over his head.

  A group of ten men charged out of the night, their weapons raised. A shot sounded from behind him as Nathaniel fired, the rebels scattering. Elizabeth helped Callum to his feet, then turned back to the fight. Callum leapt into action, his right arm flashing up to slap away the barrel of a bayoneted musket that was swinging to bear. He recovered swiftly, and thrust, the blade slashing through the throat of one of the rebels. He turned, his gun flashing up and firing at the nearest man.

  One of the rebels shouted a command, and turned to run. Elizabeth looked calmly through the sights of the carbine, and shot him in the head as he turned. The man fell to the ground, his leg twitching.

  The remaining rebels tried desperately to regroup, dropping their muskets and pulling rusted talwars from the scabbards at their sides. Callum leapt forward, parrying a clumsy swing from a sword and lashing his blade at his opponent’s eyes. He kicked the rebel in the stomach, and moved onto his next target.

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder at the battle to their rear. The soldiers were mopping up the remainder of their attackers, and had turned to see the fight at the cart. Carlisle and Ward were approaching at a sprint as the six remaining rebels closed in on Callum.

  “Do something!” She yelled at Nathaniel. The agent shot her an aggravated glance.

  “They're in too close. I can't shoot without risking hitting Callum!”

  Carlisle and Ward sprinted past them, blades drawn. The lieutenant barrelled into one of the rebels, his shoulder slamming into the man's belly, and knocking him to the floor. He spun, and deftly parried a strike from another Indian, rolling his wrist to flick the blade away, and running the man through the heart with a single deadly thrust.

  Ward hadn't trained as a swordsman, and showed no such finesse. He hacked at the rebels like a man chopping wood, cutting through arms, necks, and any other piece of bare flesh he saw.

  The rebels fell before them like wheat, their blood falling to stain the ground. When one remained, his arm hanging limp at his side, Callum waved the other two back. Carlisle and Ward stepped back, their weapons held ready. Callum took a pace forward, and plunged the tip of his sabre into the ground. He crossed his arms, and stared into the remaining rebel's eyes.

  “Do you feel like dying today?”

  The Indian man glowered at him, his talwar clutched defiantly in his one useful hand. He half raised the weapon as Callum approached him, but saw something in the tall man's gaze that caused him to drop the weapon. His eyes dropped to the floor. Callum glanced at Ward, who nodded, and stepped forward, grasping the rebel's good arm.

  “Come on boyo. We'll make you a nice warming cup of tea.”

  ***

  “He's just another lad they've convinced to fight for them, really.” Carlisle said, his arms crossed. Their prisoner sat on the far side of the first, a blanket around his shoulders. The young Indian sipped at a steaming cup, his eyes staring into the fire.

  “That doesn't really explain why they started shooting at us.”

  “Well, if you English bastards turned up in Caerwys, I'd be taking pot shots at you and all.” Sergeant Ward said cheerfully, bringing over a tray of tea.

  “You do realise Wales is part of the union, don't you Ward?” Carlisle asked.

  “No, sir, that's just what we like you buggers to think.”

  “We should interrogate him.” Nathaniel said.

  The group fell into silence. Callum sipped his tea.

  “I agree with Nathaniel. He might have information about what's ahead of us.”

  “He's just a boy!” Carlisle objected.

  “No, he's a rebel – and he may know where other rebels are. If interrogating him means we can avoid more of these little skirmishes, then interrogate him we shall.”

  “But...” The lieutenant began to object.

  “They're right sir.” Ward interjected.

  Carlisle glowered at the sergeant, who met his gaze impassively.

  “...Fine. If you must.”

  Nathaniel glanced at his fellow agents.

  “Who wants this?”

  “I'll do it.” Elizabeth said. “I'm more subtle than you boys.”

  Callum and Nathaniel shared a wry grin as Elizabeth walked over to the young Indian boy.

  “Hello.” She said brightly.

  The boy gave her a startled look.

  “Er... Hell...oh.” He said in broken English, his mouth bending around the strange syllables. She gave him a happy smile.

  “Alright, that's a good first step. Now, hold still, this won't hurt a bit.”

  She reached u
p, and gently rapped her knuckles on his forehead. The young rebel went stone still, his eyes going distant. Callum sipped his tea, and glanced at Nathaniel.

  “How long does this usually take her?”

  “Oh, a couple of minutes, depending on how deep the interdiction needs to go.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “I can't imagine it'll be much longer. I don't expect this poor lad knows all that much.”

  Carlisle looked at Ward.

  “Do you know what they're talking about?”

  “Not a clue, sir. Shall I tell the men to stand down?”

  The officer glanced at the foothills, listening for movement.

  “Change it to a four man picket, and stand everyone else down. I don't want anyone left on their own if there's a risk of further action.”

  The Welshman gave his officer an appraising look, then nodded.

  “Aye sir.”

  Over at the fire, the Indian rebel's eyes drooped, and he slumped into sleep. Elizabeth got to her feet and stretched, before walking back to the group.

  “There are two more groups between here and Kasharim. If we swing to the east, we'll be able to avoid them.”

  Carlisle glanced over at the young man peacefully slumbering by the fire.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “You don't want to know.”

  “I rather think I do, Miss Cartwright.” Carlisle said.

  “I inserted a mental string into his mind and extracted everything he knew about the movements of the rebels. I then put him to sleep so that we could get away without him following us.”

  Carlisle and Ward glanced at each other, their faces confused.

  “Gentlemen, I suggest you just accept that we have abilities that you're not quite equipped to understand.” Nathaniel said calmly. “It'll make things a damn sight easier all round.”

  The officer and the sergeant rolled their eyes, and headed for their blankets. Elizabeth gestured to her two colleagues, and they walked few yards further into the darkness.

  “What's up?” Callum asked.

  “That kid is scared of Kasharim.” She said. “Absolutely terrified.”

  Chapter four.

  Three uneventful days later, the small column rode across the final hill that barred their view of Kasharim. A long stretch of scrubland led up to the forts’ gates, it's high sandstone walls reaching round in a curve like enfolding arms up to the cliff face behind it.