'We'll have to run for it,' Jack said. 'A hundred yards with the pandies firing at us.'
'Yes, sir.' O'Neill showed no emotion.
'Right lads!' Jack shouted. 'There's the temple and the rest of our force. It's a little bit to cover, and then we're home. On the count of three, up on your hind legs and run.' He felt the tension and waited until Batoor translated his words to the camel drivers. 'Go!'
The men reacted at once, haring toward the temple ruins, yelling 'Havelock' as if the old general's name was a talisman that would protect them from enemy fire. The defenders of the temple responded in kind, shouting and laying down suppressing fire into the surrounding forest.
'Come on, Batoor!' Jack smacked the rump of the nearest camel. The animal gave him an imperious look and ambled forward, with the driver shouting encouraging sounds and ducking from the passing shots.
'Good man!' Jack said. Two of the three remaining camels were nearly across the maidan with only the last taking its time. Jack lingered to help any casualties to safety. He saw a bullet hit the camel in the neck, saw the spurt of blood and the animal twist its head. The second shot whistled past Jack and smashed into the body of the camel. The animal staggered, spraying blood.
'Make it move!' he shouted to the driver. The man stared at him, yelled something and ran for the shelter of the ruins.
'Run!' Elliot's voice was clear above the hammer of the guns. 'Run, Jack!'
'I'm damned if I'll run before a pack of bloody rebels,' Jack said to himself. He took hold of the camel's reins. 'Come on, boy,' he said. 'Try.'
Another bullet slammed into the animal, and it collapsed, kicking on the ground. Jack looked behind him, where the jungle fringe was about sixty yards away, dotted with little orange flares where the enemy was firing, and he looked forward the forty yards to the temple, where similar orange flashes showed the British response.
Without thinking, Jack began to unfasten the panniers. The buckles were stiff, the leather iron-hard and he struggled, trying to ignore the bullets that struck the camel and raised angry fountains of dust on either side of him.
'Run, Jack!'
Elliot was shouting again, with others joining in.
'Sir! We'll cover you!'
A bullet thudded into the pannier beside Jack's hand, numbing his fingers with the impact and ringing on the metal inside.
'Jack!' That was Mary's voice. Thank God, she's still alive. 'Run, you idiot!'
Jack looked up, suddenly realising that Mary was correct. He was acting like a complete fool offering himself as a target for every pandy and rebel gun in the jungle. And all for what? A few basket-loads of treasure that the Rajah had rejected, and John Company would take for its already bloated shareholders. Is it worth dying to make other people rich?
The rebel bullet had ripped open the pannier, exposing some of the contents. Grabbing what treasures he could reach, Jack huddled them close to his body and ran toward the temple. He heard the crackle of musketry behind him and the cheer of men in front.
Elliot shouted, 'Give him covering fire for Heaven's sake,' and then bullets whistled past his head.
Something slammed into the heel of his boot, spinning him around and throwing him to the ground. He lay there, dazed as the musketry continued. He heard somebody screaming – a woman – please God, not Mary! Please, God, don't let her be hurt.
Jack looked up. He was twenty yards from the British lines. Mary stood there, hands over her mouth with somebody – MacKinnon – holding her, preventing her from coming to his aid. Scrabbling to gather the items he'd dropped, Jack dashed forward, limping as the numbness in his heel spread to his foot and lower leg. There would be a beautiful bruise there tomorrow if he lived that long.
Then he was passing gaunt-faced Private Smith who grinned at him with a pipe at the side of his mouth. Elliot was giving brisk orders, O'Neill was raising a hand in salute and Mary was running toward him, arms outstretched.
Mary embraced him, held him close and then pushed him away. 'You could have been killed!'
Jack nodded. 'We could all be killed yet.'
'Sir!' Elliot's voice dragged him away from Mary. 'Glad you're back, sir.'
Jack nodded and tried to collect his senses. 'What's happening, Elliot?'
'We're surrounded, sir. I think it's a splinter of Nana Sahib's men.'
'How many?'
'I'm not sure, sir. I estimate three or four hundred.'
Jack grunted, trying to think. 'That's plenty. Do they have artillery?'
'No, sir.' Elliot shook his head. 'So far they've tried a couple of assaults and a lot of musketry. Their sharpshooters are accurate though.'
'They've no artillery, and they can't use cavalry in this terrain,' Jack looked around. 'We can hold out as long as the water and ammunition last, or we can break out and head for the nearest British garrison.'
'That's Bareilly, as far as we know,' Elliot said. 'Did you succeed in your mission, sir?'
Jack shook his head. 'No, Elliot. We recovered the treasure, but the Rajah won't play ball, and I didn't get a chance to try and ransom the prisoners.'
'At least you tried, sir, and you got the treasure. John Company will be pleased.'
'I'm sure they will,' Jack nodded to the dead camel lying in the open. 'That beast's loaded with gold trinkets, and I don't want to hand it to the enemy.'
'Yes, sir,' Elliot said. 'Parker, Hutton, watch that camel. Shoot any pandies that come close.'
'Yes, sir.'
Jack nodded. Elliot had matured in his few days of independent command. 'I want the treasure recovered. In rebel hands, it could buy hundreds of men.'
'Shall we send out a party after dark, sir?'
'I'll lead it,' Jack said.
Elliot shook his head. 'With respect, sir, you will be in command here. It's not the commander's place to take foolhardy risks.'
Elliot certainly had changed. Jack looked at him with increased respect. 'Whose place is it to take foolhardy risks, lieutenant?'
'The second in command sir, or a junior officer,' Elliot replied at once.
'That could mean Lieutenant Bryce,' Jack said. 'He'll be glad of the chance to have his name noticed.'
'Lieutenant Bryce is dead, sir. He died of fever three days ago.'
'How many other casualties, Elliot?' I should have asked that first.
'We have three dead, sir, including Lieutenant Bryce and Sergeant Greaves. We have two wounded and three down sick with heat exhaustion.'
'What's our strength now?'
'We're down to forty effectives, sir, including your men.' Elliot knew the numbers at once.
'Ammunition?'
'We've been conserving it. We still have fifty rounds a man.' Elliot pulled Jack aside. 'Excuse me, sir, the pandies like to wait until we stand still for a few minutes and then shoot.'
'Nasty little devils.' Jack glanced upward. 'It'll be dark soon. I want the treasure unloaded from the camels and put inside the temple, with a reliable guard. With Sergeant Greaves dead, that will be Ensign Wilden.'
'Wilden is sick with fever,' Elliot said at once.
Jack cursed. 'A pity. We'll have Ensign Peake then, and two privates.' Soldiering to protect the Empire is like that. Men you knew and served with were hale and hearty one day and gone the next. India may be the jewel in Queen Victoria's crown, but she demanded a high price from the men who filled the ranks of the army and the woman and children who accompanied them. Even in a time of peace, cholera and fever, malaria and the heat can kill a little child or a strong man in a few hours.
'I want you to take a party out to that camel as soon as the sun sinks,' Jack said. 'Bring back the panniers and all they contain.'
'I'll take three men,' Elliot decided at once.
'Be careful. I'd hate to write a letter to your father, lying about how good a soldier you were.'
Elliot lifted his hip flask. 'Here's to the next to die.' He took a swallow and handed the flask over.
'May his passage b
e swift and easy.' Jack sipped in turn.
'And may Saint Michael welcome him into his band of martial angels.' Elliot closed his eyes. 'That's what we are you know, Jack, guardian angels fighting the good fight against evil and ignorance. We are the sword and armour of the Lord.'
Jack said nothing. He wondered if the Lord agreed with mass hangings and destruction. Then he remembered that sack of soldier's heads in his dungeon and wondered if any side was right in this war, or in any war. Only a soldier could know the true obscenity of warfare, the mad game kings and governments played with the lives of men. Jayanti with her chess had been only a pawn in this ultimate sport.
'Let's hope that our swords are sharp and our armour strong,' Jack said. 'May the Lord protect you, Arthur.' He had never been more sincere.
'May the Lord protect us all,' Mary spoke from behind them.
Jack looked at her, unable to admit to his feelings. 'I hope He does,' he said. Especially you. For a moment, he was back in Herefordshire, with the blackbirds singing in a bright morning and a host of butterflies rising as he walked the gentle slopes of the Malvern Hills. The grass was soft underfoot, cattle were lowing softly in the fields, and the sky above was crystalline blue. He was walking toward a smiling woman in a long dress. He was home, far from India with its heat and diseases, ever-present flies and the threat from dangerous men.
That was only a dream. Without money, Jack knew he could never return home. He was destined to live out his life fighting for Queen and country. Only promotion could realistically bring him sufficient wealth to get back to Herefordshire. Within fifty yards is a Rajah's ransom.
For the first time in years, Jack was tempted. As a young, inexperienced ensign, he had looted two golden Buddhas from a Burmese temple. He'd intended then to buy his way back to Herefordshire until Myat, a Burmese woman, had persuaded him to return his loot. Since then he'd deliberately avoided temptation. Now it sprang to life, fully formed.
Why? What has altered?
'Are you all right, Jack?' Mary placed a hand on his sleeve.
'Thank you,' Jack said. 'I'm fine.'
'I'll leave in an hour, sir.' Elliot had been busy collecting men while Jack had been thinking.
'I'll arrange covering fire,' Jack said.
Mary patted Jack's arm and stepped back. She didn't say anything.
* * *
Clouds obscured the moon as Elliot led O'Neill, Williams and Parker beyond the thin British line and into the open ground beyond. Somewhere a leopard coughed, the sound sinister, and Jack wished he were in Elliot's place. It was hard to remain behind, hard to stand and wait while men, particularly friends, risked their life. Was a load of gold worth a soldier's life, or any life? Jack took a deep breath.
He knew the answer. He would pay a hundred Rajah's ransoms to keep Elliot alive, or Mary, or any of his men. He also knew that the world did not view a soldier's life as important compared to gold or silver or jewels. We are expendable; we are Jayanti's pawns, that the nation can discard for the sake of wealth.
Lifting his binoculars, Jack tried to penetrate the darkness. He could make out the dim shapes of Elliot's party as they crept forward, and he could hear the occasional crackle of dry grass.
'I can't see them,' Logan said.
'Good.' Riley had his Enfield at his shoulder. 'If we can't see them, then neither can the pandies.'
A bat flicked past them, hunting for insects, and somewhere a jackal howled.
'Bloody India.' Mahoney lay stiffly, favouring his still-raw wound.
'Sir!' Ensign Peake saluted. 'Permission to help Lieutenant Elliot.'
'Denied!' Jack hissed. 'You were ordered to guard the treasure. Get back to your post, Peake!'
'Sir, I want to help!'
'Your duty is to guard the treasure.' Jack knew he didn't have to explain. 'You eat, sleep and live there until relieved! Now move!'
'Yes, sir,' Peake turned away.
'Bloody Griffs,' Logan grunted.
'He's keen,' Riley said. 'You were like that once.' He considered. 'Maybe not.'
'Bad cess to you, Riley,' Logan said.
Musketry came from ahead, followed by a yell and then another shot.
'Elliot's hit trouble,' Jack said. 'Reserve party!' He called to the six men he had waiting. 'Over you go!'
Newly promoted Corporal Hutton led the other five forward, bayonets blackened to avoid reflecting any moonlight, boots thudding on the hard ground. Jack watched them go, cursing the responsibilities of command, praying that Elliot was all right.
'Dear God, look after that man.'
He had never actively prayed for another soldier, but it seemed natural to do so for Elliot. Jack desperately wanted to go out into the dark himself, yet knew that he could not. If the enemy killed him and Elliot, the command would devolve to Peake, who was too inexperienced. Jack knew that a few months ago he would not have hesitated to take the risk. What had changed?
Mary, of course.
There was a shout from the dark, more musketry and then an Indian voice, chanting something. Somebody was sobbing in pain.
'Sir!' Logan had his Enfield at his shoulder as he glared into the dark. 'I cannae see anything. Can I go out there?'
'Stand fast, Logan,' Jack said.
The silence lengthened, stretching Jack's nerves. He felt himself trembling. Is it through fear or excitement? I don't know. Jesus, this is hard. Maybe Elliot and all his men are lying on the maidan, dead or wounded.
'Somebody's moving out there, sir,' Riley said. 'I hear something.'
They listened, trying to ignore the natural night sounds and focus on Elliot's party. There was a definite sound, a shuffling, with the occasional clink. Somebody is moving the treasure, but whom? Is it Elliot or the pandies?
'Sir, I can go forward,' Logan said.
'Damn it, man!' Jack could take no more. 'I'm going myself.' Unbuckling his sword belt, he handed it to Riley. 'Look after that; it's too clumsy.' Drawing his revolver, he crawled forward.
There were shadowy shapes ahead, men coming toward him.
'Cry Havelock,' he whispered. 'Cry Havelock.'
'And let loose the dogs.' The welcome words returned to him.
'Evening, sir,' Elliot said calmly. 'The pandies thought the same as us. We have the treasure.'
'Any casualties.'
'Williams is slightly wounded, nothing serious.'
The musketry began then, a fusillade from the rebel lines.
'The pandies have woken up,' Elliot said.
They returned to the temple, keeping low as the enemy shots crackled and screamed above their heads. One bullet hit the ground an inch from Jack's arm, raising a furrow of dust. He watched it dispassionately. I'm no longer scared. The defenders fired back, with Jack's party between the opposing ranks of rifles.
'Come on, sir!' O'Neill shouted. 'We've left a gap for you.'
Jack waited until his men were safe before rolling over the defences and into the welcome shelter of the temple. I'm shaking again. Is that just reaction?
'You did well,' Jack said. 'Get that treasure to the storehouse and make sure Peake looks after it.'
'Yes, sir.'
Jack couldn't control his shaking. Waiting while others put themselves in danger was more of a strain than being in the field. He reached for a cheroot, remembered he had none left and swore, softly.
'They'll come tomorrow morning,' he said. 'I know these pandy lads, and I'm beginning to know Jayanti's women. They'll come for their wealth, and they'll want a victory to hearten the others. Well, I'm not Wheeler, and this is not Cawnpore. There will be no surrender and no negotiating.'
'Yes, sir.' Elliot dabbed at a scratch on his face. The blood was black in the darkness. 'They come most mornings, sir, a frontal charge with no finesse.'
Jack nodded. 'You've done well to hold out so long.'
Elliot shrugged.
'Post O'Neill and six men on the right flank, Elliot, and when we hold them in front, he can unsettle them.
As long as they have no artillery, and our ammunition holds, we can last.'
'Aye, sir.' Elliot said. 'And we'll pray to the Lord for relief.'
'I hope He listens,' Jack said. He remembered Jayanti's executioner. 'I hope to God that He listens.'
Chapter Twenty-Two
The attack came an hour before dawn when the guards were tired and waited for their relief. There was little warning. One minute the sentries were staring into the darkness and the next the enemy was before them.
'Careful, lads!' Logan shouted. 'The bloody pandies are here!' He fired once and then backed off, bayonet busy.
'What's happening?' Jack ran toward the sudden noise, revolver in hand. A black mass of men emerged along the British front, screaming their war cry and swinging tulwars.
'Meet them!' Elliot led the counter-attack, firing his revolver as he ran, dropping it and drawing his sword. 'Cry Havelock!'
'O'Neill!' Jack shouted. 'Take them in the flank!' He slashed with his sword, feeling the blade slice through human flesh and bone, saw a screaming face before him, fired the revolver he held in his left hand and saw a man fall. He heard O'Neill's party fire a volley from his right and knew that the enemy would be taking casualties. There were more men in front, contorted faces and frantic swords, the flicker of baggy clothes and the crash of musketry.
And then silence.
As quickly as it had started, the attack ended. The enemy turned and ran, leaving their dead and dying in the maidan and the drift of white powder smoke across the temple ruins.
'As long as they don't learn new tactics,' Jack said, 'we can hold out here indefinitely.'
Privately, he wasn't so sure about the strength of their position. With a limited supply of ammunition and food, and with every day bringing casualties, the defenders were slowly weakening. Even a minor wound could put a man out of action, and the heat and strain were taking their toll. In India, every British army suffered more from disease and climate than from enemy shot and shell. The rebels wouldn't give up. They would know that this small party of the 113th was isolated, with no method of sending for help. The rebels seemed to have unlimited man and womanpower, so it was only a matter of time, of waiting and creating casualties among the defenders, before they weakened the British sufficiently to win.
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 25
