Not any longer.
Sir Colin looked up; his dour face as grim as Jack had ever seen. 'Do not think that we are abandoning Lucknow or any part of this province of Oudh to the enemy, gentlemen. We will be back.'
There were solemn nods from battle-weary, worn-down men.
'Windrush; you seem to be expert at moving around the country. I want you to help escort the families to safety.'
'Yes, sir.' Oh God, not that! Jack tried to erase his thoughts of Mary and Jane. Despite his sudden desire to have them safe, they reminded him of his Eurasian background. He was not ready to face that, as he had no desire to meet Jane again. It was better to immerse himself in his duty and forget the searing reality of himself.
'The rest of you, continue to defeat the Mutineers.' Sir Colin said. 'You may dismiss, gentlemen.'
Evacuating civilians was not the most popular task in any army. There was no chance of glory and civilians were undisciplined, noisy and apt to stray. 'Come on, men,' Jack encouraged his harassed company. 'This is why we have fought across this blasted country!'
The Residency was in an uproar with women, children and men vying to get places on the convoy. There were carriages of all descriptions, native drivers and skeletal-thin draught animals mixed up with British soldiers who displayed their usual mixture of cheerful pragmatism and flexibility as they faced this new challenge.
'Up you get, missus!' Coleman helped an elderly lady to mount a native cart by the simple expedient of taking hold of her arm and pulling hard. 'You sit there and let the driver do the work.' He pressed a granite-hard finger against the native's chest. 'And you; if you even think of joining the pandies I'll slit your throat from ear to ear; you understand?' The driver salaamed and grinned, probably not understanding a word.
'It's all right, my man,' the lady passenger said. 'I've got this.' She produced a long hatpin. 'If he does not do as I wish I'll stick him. Like this!' She thrust it hard into the driver's backside, so he squealed.
'Good for you, missus! That's the stuff to give them!' Coleman said. 'I wouldn't trust these blackies as far as I could throw them.'
'That's the stuff,' Thorpe echoed, helping the dignified wife of a major into a gharry by shoving her into her seat. 'There you are Missus, and you stick a pin into the driver's arse anytime you like!'
'I'll do no such thing,' the woman stared at Thorpe as if he was something unpleasant on the sole of her shoe. Jack noted she still sported a full array of jewellery, each piece of which would cost more than Thorpe would earn in his lifetime of suffering.
'Well done, Thorpe,' Jack shouted. 'Keep them coming.' He stepped aside as a camel nearly trampled him. 'Who's in charge of this brute? Whoever it is, get the damned thing under control, won't you?'
'I say!' The speaker was about thirty and very blonde, with her wide blue eyes fixed on Jack. 'There are native women on a cart there. Tell them to walk.' The gharry she sat on was piled high with her possessions, while two Indians carried a large leather trunk between them.
Jack frowned. Mary and Jane had squeezed into the back of a tonga alongside a wounded Eurasian man. For a moment Jack held Mary's gaze as his heart thundered, and then he glanced at Jane. He looked away quickly.
'Why should they walk?' He asked the blonde.
'I have to get my belongings out of here,' she claimed. 'But these blacks are in the cart.'
Ignoring the blonde's wails, Jack approached Jane and Mary. He could not meet Jane's eye. 'You two sit tight and don't let anybody say otherwise. If anybody tries to move you, shout for me or any of my men.' He did not understand his anger but knew it was genuine.
'How are you, Jack?' Jane looked closely at him. 'You've been in the wars again, I hear.'
Jack touched his ribs. 'Nothing serious,' he said. 'I'll be glad to get away from this place though.' He flinched as Jane took hold of his hand. 'I'll be gladder to get you two away.'
'How are you?' Jane repeated. Her grip tightened as her gaze met his.
'I am well, thank you.' Jack was unsure what to say. 'Try and keep safe.'
'We must talk,' Jane whispered urgently. 'When you have time, please let us talk. I have so much to say to you.'
'Yes.' A wave of unaccountable panic swept over Jack. 'When I have time.' He stepped back. 'I've my duty to do.'
'I know you have,' Jane said sadly. 'Look after yourself, Jack.'
'Jack,' Mary called after him. He turned and lifted a hand in salute as the convoy began to move. He could not talk to her. Oh, God what do I do?
'See those waggons,' Riley spoke in a low tone as he nodded to a separate caravan of carts. A score of Sikh cavalry rode alongside, bearded and professional.
'Aye,' Logan said.
'That's the Nabob's treasure,' Riley's eyes darted from waggon to waggon. 'God only knows what it's worth.'
'Well God is not here, Riley,' Jack was glad to revert to his captain mode. 'But I am. So don't tempt yourself with what you can't have and do your duty as a soldier of the Queen.'
'Yes, sir,' Riley said. 'I was only showing Logan here.'
'Logan does not need to be shown that sort of thing.' Jack raised his voice. 'Come on men!'
In addition to the 113th, the women and children had an escort of a handful of lancers together with men from the Irregular Horse, wild-looking riders with a variety of headgear and weapons. Jack watched them, wondering who had placed such people in charge of civilians.
'Not the escort I would have chosen,' Elliot echoed his thoughts.
'Nor I.' Jack said. 'Keep an eye on them.'
'I will,' Elliot nodded. 'I'll watch your women as well.'
Jack nodded. He did not deny that Mary and Jane were his women. 'We've got four miles to cover to Sir Colin's army.'
He shouted above the squeal of un-greased axles, the growl of wheels on the hard ground, the clop of hooves and neighs of horses and grunts of oxen. 'Keep them moving! Riley: ignore the nabob's treasure and take care of Charlotte.'
Jack looked up the length of his charge, realised that Mary was watching and half-raised a hand in acknowledgement. While the horsemen trotted around the outside, Jack and his men provided the close escort. As well as guarding the convoy they would tend to the minor mishaps that were bound to occur when a diverse body of vehicles carried civilians along a complicated route.
Running to the front of the convoy, Jack guided the leading horse past the watchful sentries at the Bailey Guard Gate, and then dashed back to ensure the column followed correctly. 'Keep these waggons coming,' he shouted before running to the head of the convoy again.
They passed through the grounds of the Farhat Bakhsh and Chuttur Munzil palaces and on, circling the city to follow the route Sir Colin had thought safest. In places, the engineers had raised canvas screens to hide the convoy from the rebels, while in others ditches had been dug to provide cover. Jack heard Lieutenant North, in command of the Nabob's treasure, asking who the devil had misplaced a blasted waggon, gave a sympathetic smile and checked his men.
'Williams! You and Whitelam make sure Mrs Major Mackay is all right! Armstrong! You have better things to do than sweet-talking that blonde woman.' He caught Jane watching him and gave an awkward wave before quickly looking away.
Damn the woman! That's my mother! Competing thoughts crammed into his mind. What do I do? What do I say?
The tingle of apprehension came unannounced. 'Be careful men,' he shouted. 'Something's not right.'
'Where, sir?' Coleman was first to reply.
'I don't know, Coleman. I feel it, but I can't see a thing for these damned screens. Where is everybody?'
'Thorpey's over there, sir.' Coleman said. 'Parker is helping some children with their bloody dog, Williams is three waggons back with some loud-mouthed woman, but I don't know where Riley and Logie are.'
'Thank you, Coleman.' Jack hoped O'Neill recovered from his wound quickly. A good sergeant was worth his weight in diamonds. 'Could you…?'
The shots punctured Jack's final wor
ds, and he moved up to the canvas screen on the right side of the road.
'Tear open this thing, Coleman,' he said, and Coleman jumped to rip a ragged hole with his bayonet.
The escorting Irregular Horse was engaged in a running battle with what looked like their cousins, two sets of wild, bearded men slashing with tulwars and shouting in half the languages of India.
'113th!' Jack shouted at once. 'To me!'
He knew they would be there, bitter-eyed, gaunt of face, with grooves around their mouths, swearing, grumbling and dependable, always doing their best.
'Form a line,' Jack shouted. There was no time for anything fancy, no time for manoeuvres; if these devil's horsemen broke through the Irregulars, they would play merry hell with the unarmed civilians.
'Load! Rod!' The orders came automatically; he saw the Irregulars pushed back by sheer numbers. They fought with sword and pistol, hacking and slashing only two hundred yards from the vulnerable convoy of civilians. Jack thought of Mary and Jane, of Charlotte Riley and those two children with whom Parker had been playing. He shook his head.
The rebels can't get through. They're not killing Mary and Jane.
'Home! Return!' Jack knew his men were there. He did not have to look. 'Cap!'
'Bloody black pandy bastards.' Logan gave his inevitable comment, muttering under his breath as he struggled to fit the cap. He had never mastered the art of balancing the cap on the ball of his thumb before he placed it on the rifle. For one mad moment, Jack wondered what Logan would say if Jack admitted his part Indian background. The thought brought a twisted, cynical smile to his mouth.
'At two hundred yards; ready.' Without looking behind him, Jack knew his men were adjusting the range, with Coleman ensuring Thorpe did it properly. Logan was swearing softly, Ryan would be calm-faced and blinking, Parker no doubt thinking about his dog or some other animal he could help.
The Irregulars faltered, and the rebel cavalry burst through, tumbling aside two brave Sikhs who tried to stop them.
'Present!' Jack stepped aside in case Logan or Thorpe fired early. He did not want to die with a British Enfield bullet in his back.
The rebel horsemen came on at a gallop, brave men yelling loudly.
'Fire!' Jack yelled and saw the jets of smoke from the Enfields. Three of the leading horsemen tumbled with one horse falling end over end and the man immediately behind reining sharply and crashing down to the dusty ground.
'Load! Rod! Home! Return.' Jack gave the orders in a measured sequence, knowing his men were working as hard as they could. The rebel cavalrymen recovered and pushed on, swords waving, warrior faces shouting, horses with gaping mouths and raised hooves.
'Cap.' He heard Logan swearing and Riley's calm voice as he leant over to help.
'Volley at one hundred yards.' Jack waited for the men to adjust their ranges.
'Present!' The rifles slapped down, held by hard, dirty hands and aimed by the unforgiving professional eyes of soldiers who had seen all the horrors that war could bring.
'Fire!' There was another confused horror of injured horses, more men falling off their mounts, more death and then the Irregular Horse charged into the flank of the rebel cavalry, sending them into total confusion.
'They're finished,' Coleman said, just as the scream sounded behind them.
Mary! Jane!
'That's from the convoy,' Riley shouted. 'Charlotte!'
'Riley! Stay with us!' Jack shouted. 'Come on, 113th!' Jack was moving as he spoke, with his men thrusting toward the convoy ahead of him. Impatient, he pushed Williams out of the way and rushed through the gap in the screen.
'Oh, Jesus.' While the 113th and Irregular Horse had been dealing with the rebel cavalry, a score of Mutineers had attacked from the other side. Now they were spreading out the length of the column with tulwars and knives.
'Captain Windrush!' Charlotte Riley stood at the side of a cart, pointing urgently down the column. 'They're with your girl!'
Mary and Jane. Oh, God, no!
'Coleman! Go right with ten men. The rest follow me!' Breaking left, Jack ran toward Mary's cart, firing his revolver at any Mutineer he saw. These civilians were his responsibility, but it was Mary he thought of; Mary and Jane.
Dear God; that's my mother back there. I've wondered who she is for years and now I may lose her before I've even acknowledged her existence.
Jack felt a surge of dismay when he saw Sarvur Khan standing on top of Mary's tonga, hacking at the wounded man with his long Khyber knife. Two more Mutineers stood beside the cart, both with curved tulwars.
'You!' Jack fired at Sarvur Khan and missed.
'Captain Windrush.' Sarvur Khan sounded calm. 'We meet in strange places.' He was as neat and unruffled as if he was still serving in the officers' mess.
'Come and fight me, rather than murdering children and wounded civilians.' Jack could not fire again for fear of hitting the women.
Mary was looking at him, her eyes wide. 'Jack! Be careful!'
'Jack?' Sarvur Khan caught the word. 'This kaffir woman knows you.' His smile was as ugly as anything Jack had ever seen. Sliding forward, he grabbed hold of Mary's hair and pulled her head back, so her throat was exposed. She screamed and scrabbled uselessly with her hands.
'Jack!'
'Watch her die, Jack.'
'No!' Jack ran forward, but Jane was faster. Grabbing hold of Sarvur Khan's knife hand, she pushed it back, catching the Pathan by surprise. He shouted something Jack did not hear, and, still holding Mary's hair in his left hand, shook off Jane's grip on his right arm. The other two Mutineers ran around the tonga toward Jack; tulwars held high.
'Leave these two to us, sir,' Riley was calm as he hefted his bayonetted rifle. 'You get the Pathan.'
Logan did not say anything as he sidestepped the swing of a tulwar and plunged his bayonet into the Mutineer's stomach. 'The 93rd call that a Cawnpore dinner,' he said, twisting the blade and withdrawing to watch the swordsman collapse, writhing, on the ground.
'Good man, Logan.' Leaping onto the tonga, Jack tried to crack his pistol across Sarvur Khan's head. The Pathan jerked aside, so the muzzle only scraped a bloody path down his face. Tempted to squeeze the trigger, Jack knew he could not chance it with Mary and Jane so close.
Taking advantage of Jack's momentary hesitation, Sarvur Khan rammed an elbow into his throat and followed through with his entire body weight. Jack fell backwards and for a moment stared right into Sarvur Khan's eyes, seeing the hatred there, and the contempt.
'Eater of pigs,' Sarvur Khan was frothing at the mouth. 'Infidel!'
'Child murdering bastard,' Jack gasped as the Pathan altered his grip on his knife and twisted his wrist, nicking at Jack's already injured arm. Blood spurted scarlet. Weak from his wounds and months of mediocre food and terrible toil, Jack felt Khan force him further back. He heard Mary gasp, saw Jane shift forward, and with a desperate effort, he managed to bring up his knee into Sarvur Khan's groin. The contact was solid. The Pathan twisted in pain and slashed sideways with his knife, only for Jack to raise his left hand and block the blow.
The force knocked Jack back, so he nearly fell over the side of the tonga. Swearing, he felt the wound across his ribs open and warm blood flow down his side. For a fraction of a second, he had a clear field of fire, raised his pistol and squeezed the trigger. Sarvur Khan did not flinch as the bullet flicked past his left ear; his foot stabbed out and kicked the revolver out of Jack's hand.
'Jack! Be careful!' Mary screamed, high pitched.
Swearing, Jack reverted to his school-day boxing and jabbed with his left fist, landing a solid punch on Sarvur Khan's nose. There was an immediate spurt of blood. He followed with a right that bounced off the Pathan's shoulder. Sarvur Khan shifted sideways, lifted the knife and slashed at Mary.
'No!' Jane jumped up. The long Khyber knife caught her in the chest, penetrating deeply. Jane sank, mouth open as she stared at the blood that soaked into her dress.
For a single instant, S
arvur Khan was distracted, and Jack pressed the revolver against the Pathan's head. A bearded face leered at him with hate in its eyes. Jack squeezed the trigger. The sound was more of a dull thud rather than the usual high crack. As if in slow motion, Jack saw Sarvur Khan's head dissolve. The back of his skull expanded and then exploded outward, spraying a mess of brains and blood and fragments of bone outward as he fell backwards.
Jack stared at the falling body, remembering all the bloodshed and murders of Gondabad and the battles and horrors since then. Sarvur Khan's body toppled from the cart to lie on the dusty road, seeping blood.
But Sarvur Khan's death did not matter. Jane, his mother, was hurt. 'Oh, dear God! Jane!'
Jane lay across the width of the cart, blood soaking through her dress and bubbling from her mouth. Mary was holding her close, speaking rapidly.
'Mother.' Jack knelt at her side.
Mary was holding her as her life slipped away. Without thinking, Jack slid his hand under Jane's dress and pushed down on the wound, trying to stop the flow of blood. 'Hold on! We'll save you.'
'No.' When Jane shook her head, blood dribbled from her mouth. 'I'm dying, Jack Baird Windrush.'
'No,' Jack said. 'You're not. I won't let you. I've only just met you again.' He pressed harder as if his hand alone could heal the massive wound made by a Khyber knife.
'You always were a stubborn baby,' blood spurted with every word Jane said. 'But you can't help me.'
Jack pulled her closer. 'Mother; you can't go yet.'
'It's my time, Jack Baird.' Reaching up, she touched his face. 'Don't be sad. I've waited all my life to hear you say that word.' Despite the blood that covered her teeth, her smile held only love. 'I have seen my son as a man, and I leave him in good hands.'
'Mother.' Jack whispered. He leant closer to her. 'Mother.'
'She's gone, Jack,' Mary said softly.
'No.' Jack shook his head. He knew his men had gathered round. He knew Williams was beside the tonga, stretching out his hand. He knew Coleman was preventing Thorpe from jumping on the cart to help. He knew Charlotte had her arms around Riley and both were staring at him. 'She can't be dead.'
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