'Move lads!'
The temple's outer defences were a few yards ahead, the earth banking dotted with men and Elliot standing tall, waving in the raiding party.
Corporal Hutton was lagging, limping and clutching his burned leg. 'Come on, Hutton,' Jack pushed him onward, 'get into the temple.'
Hutton stopped and put a hand to his ear. He mouthed something Jack couldn't hear.
'Come on!' Jack grabbed him at the same instant as the enemy fired. The bullet hit Hutton squarely in the back of the head, distorting it and exiting from the right temple. Hutton died immediately.
Elliot pulled Jack over the barrier. 'Are you all right, sir?'
Jack guessed at Elliot's words.
'We destroyed their powder store,' he began to shake with reaction, 'and we lost three men.'
'That's a success.' Jack's hearing eased. He could hear Elliot's voice as though through water, distorted and unclear.
'Jayanti has arrived,' Jack said. 'With scores of her women.'
Elliot lit one of his foul-smelling cheroots. 'Things are coming to a head.' His smile lacked any humour. 'With luck, we'll send Jayanti to Gehenna, where she belongs.'
Jack stared toward the jungle where the smoke was dissipating although orange flames still illuminated the sky. 'It looks as if she is already there.'
'If you wish, I'll take out a patrol and make sure.' Elliot sucked on his cheroot. 'Well, this is vile.' He walked away, leaving Jack to wonder if he meant that the war was vile or the cigar. Probably both, he decided.
I'll check on Mary and get back to duty. God, I'm tired.
The firing increased minutes later. Are the pandies attacking again? Jack raised his voice. 'Stand to!'
The 113th hurried to their positions, tired men with ragged uniforms and limited ammunition. They faced outward, bayonets loose in their scabbards.
'They'll come again,' Smith said, 'and again and again.'
'And we'll send them back, again and again,' Whitelam said.
'Each time they come we're a bit weaker,' Smith pointed out.
'And each time we repel them, we get their guns and powder to make us stronger,' Whitelam countered. 'Come on, lads, we've been in worse spots. Captain Windrush will see us through.'
As his hearing slowly returned, Jack heard the words and wondered. Captain Windrush is nearing the end of his tether, he said to himself. He is running out of ideas.
'Take positions,' Jack shouted. 'Peake, take the right flank, Elliot, the left, Wilden, I know you're just off your sick bed, but take charge of the rear.' He didn't wait for their response. 'Everyone get where he belongs!'
The men obeyed, sliding into rifle-pits or behind barriers, peering into the darkness for a sight of the enemy. Most of the defenders were in the front-line positions around the perimeter of the temple, with six waiting as a reserve. If the enemy broke through at any point, those six men were all Jack had to counter-attack.
'Ready, lads!' Jack roared. 'Here they come,' Jack saw the mass rushing across the maidan. 'Cap, lads, wait for my command… steady.'
He waited until the enemy was close, knowing the psychological effect of the first volley.
'Steady…'
The enemy was close now. The timing had to be right, wiping out the foremost men, disheartening the others yet still leaving sufficient time for his men to reload. Jack could make out the features on each attacker's face; he could see every detail of their clothing and weapons. That is close enough, damn it.
'Fire! Cap, ready, present, Fire!'
The front rank of the attacks disappeared as if swept by a scythe. The second rank wavered, until the men behind pushed them on, where the British Enfields felled them in turn.
'Keep coming and we'll keep shooting you,' Logan loaded and shouted at the same time.
'They never learn,' Riley said.
'Sir!' Peake called. 'They're over here, sir.'
'They've broken in, sir!' Elliot yelled. 'Jayanti's women!'
'Reserves! Bayonet men, throw them out!' Concentrating on the mob in front, Jack could only spare a second to glance behind him. He saw the six bayonet men rise from their position and charge Jayanti's women.
'Keep firing,' Jack ordered. 'I'll be back in a minute.'
The bayonet men were struggling. Already one was down, with a warrior woman hacking at his body. Swearing, Jack ran into the melee. He fired his revolver, hitting the closest woman, fired again to ensure she remained down and ran on. The fighting was desperate, with gasps and grunts, and the clatter of steel on steel as tulwar met bayonet. Jack saw another soldier fall as a woman sliced underhand into his belly, heard the man's despairing scream and fired at the woman, missing her.
The perimeter firing grew intense, and Jack knew that the enemy had launched another attack. They were pressing hard, slashing and thrusting with sword, bayonet and spear. The woman he had missed turned on him, her eyes gleaming above the veil, her tulwar slicked with soldier's blood.
For a second they faced each other, the British officer and the Indian warrior, a clash of cultures and beliefs in the midst of a ruined Hindu temple, and then Jack saw the ring on her left hand. 'You!' he said and fired his revolver at her. The hammer clicked uselessly.
'Misfire by God!' Jack threw the pistol, catching the woman on the side of her head and making her flinch. That half-second was all Jack needed to draw his sword. He parried as the woman slashed at his legs, swore at the force of the blow and hacked back, missing.
'You murdering witch.'
The woman said nothing, recovered her blade and aimed for his groin. Jack met her swing, followed through with a thrust at her throat and saw her block with almost casual skill. This woman was no ordinary cut-and-thrust soldier but a skilled warrior. For a minute, all Jack's world concentrated on the duel with this warrior woman. He could not think of the attack on the perimeter or the progress of the siege. The only thing that mattered was survival. If he relaxed for a fraction of a second, she would kill him. He feinted left, thrust to her face, felt her parry, and knew her retaliation would be swift and deadly. He saw her eyes, dark, unyielding and very familiar.
I know you!
'They've broken through!' Peake's voice was full of despair. 'Fight them, men! Push them out!'
Jack saw the flash of triumph in the woman's eyes. She shouted something in a voice that was high and clear despite her veil, and her warriors pushed on. Another of Jack's bayonet men fell, with two women chopping at him in a frenzy of blood and fury.
'To me!' Jack shouted. He could see seven of the warrior-women remaining, with others lying prone or thrashing on the ground. 'Cry Havelock!'
There was no answering roar from his men. The perimeter had collapsed, with soldiers in tattered khaki withdrawing, firing, fighting with bayonet and rifle butt against the attackers.
'Get to the inner defences!' Jack shouted. 'Withdraw, boys!'
The black-turbaned women had gone, leaving his surviving bayonet men gasping and bloodied, too exhausted even to swear. 'We'll hold them at the inner defences, lads,' Jack said.
Elliot was down, crawling through the temple with blood on his head and one hand clutching his left leg. Jack saw O'Neill lift a wiry attacker with his bare hands and throw him into a crowd of others. Logan was roaring, holding his rifle like a club as he fought. His bayonet lay at his side with the blade broken. Whitelam was writhing on the ground as a pandy thrust a bayonet into his belly, again and again, laughing with each blow.
'On me, the 113th!' Jack shouted. Grabbing Elliot by the collar of his tunic and ignoring his yells, he hauled him behind the second line of defence. '113th!'
The survivors were reeling back, wild-eyed or cursing, firing or stabbing at the mass of white-clad, scarlet-uniformed or bare-chested rebels that pursued them.
Jack thrust forward to where the mutineer continued to hack at the now-dead Whitelam. 'He's one of my men, you bastard!' Jack purposefully slid his sabre into the mutineer's belly, twisting the blade so there
could be no hope of survival.
'113th!' That was Wilden's young voice.
'Good man, ensign,' Jack slashed at the back of a passing rebel, cutting the man wide open. 'Fight the bastards. Form a line, lads!'
Shocked, exhausted, reeling from the heat – the surviving men of the 113th took positions in the rifle pits and behind the shattered masonry.
'Cap!' Jack gave the familiar orders, relying on the discipline learned on the parade ground to bring his men back. They obeyed automatically, with hundreds of hours of drill having imprinted the words and movements into their minds.
'Aim!'
The rifles levelled. The sight of the menacing black muzzles gave pause to the attackers.
'Fire!'
The volley crashed out, felling half a dozen of the attackers.
'Number your ranks,' Jack ordered. 'One, two three!'
The men looked to left and right, shouting out numbers.
'Every odd number is the front rank, every even number is the rear rank,' Jack roared. 'Load!'
The attackers were recovering, rallying for another assault with Jayanti's warrior women adding steel in their midst. Jack saw Jayanti among them, talking to the woman with the ring. He frowned for a second; it seemed as if the ring-woman was giving Jayanti orders, rather than the other way around. What's to do?
'Both ranks cap and present!' Jack shouted. He could worry about the details of command among the enemy later, if he survived. I wish I had kept my revolver and not thrown it away. 'First rank, fire!'
The diminished volley crashed out. 'First rank load and cap. Second rank fire!'
The rifles crashed, the enemy reeled and withdrew a step, leaving casualties on the ground.
'Come on you bastards!' Logan yelled.
'First rank fire! Second rank, load and cap!'
Jack kept them firing. With a much smaller perimeter to defend, there were no gaps. The enemy couldn't approach without facing the muzzle of at least one rifle.
'Keep it up, boys!' That was Elliot's voice.
Jack glanced backwards. Elliot was leaning against a pillar with blood streaming down his face, using a branch for support and looking every inch a hero. His father would be proud of him.
'Second rank fire! First rank load and cap.'
They were using ammunition at a prodigious rate, with men scrabbling for caps and bullets.
'Second rank, load and cap. First rank fire!'
Some of the men had rags around their hands to protect them from the insufferable heat of the rifle barrels. Others held the weapons by the wooden stocks. What with the heat of the sun and the constant firing, the Enfields were becoming too hot to hold, the bores were foul and the accuracy impaired. How many rounds had the men fired? How long had they been fighting? Jack didn't know. It seemed his life consisted only of the crash of rifles and the screams of agonised men, the sight of yelling, distorted faces and the gleam of tulwars and bayonets, the acrid sting of powder smoke and the sick raw stench of human blood.
'First rank cap and load! Second rank fire!'
The volleys were less regular now as the some of the more fouled rifles fired before the men were ready. It would be bayonets and rifle butts soon, and then the end as the pandies swarmed over their dead bodies.
And what about Mary? Jack remembered his pledge to leave two cartridges to save her from the hellish fate of capture by the rebels. Unless he could recover his revolver, he had broken that promise. He could see his pistol lying on the ground between the bodies of a warrior woman and Private Gallacher.
'Second rank, cap and load! First rank, fire!'
'They're breaking, sir!' O'Neill said.
The sergeant was correct. The rebels were not pressing forward with anything like the same vigour. As long as the 113th had ammunition, the enemy could not penetrate their defences without taking unacceptable casualties. The enemy line was further back, beyond what had been the original British perimeter.
'Cover me, lads,' Jack said. Taking a deep breath, he stepped clear of the inner defences and walked forward. He didn't run, hoping to maintain his dignity as an officer. Ignoring the crack of musketry, Jack stooped to lift his revolver, turned and marched back to the 113th position.
'What were you thinking of, sir?' Pale-faced with pain and loss of blood, Elliot stared at him.
'Fetching my gun.'
'You could have been killed!'
Jack felt a mad desire to laugh. He indicated the surrounding carnage. 'We're in the middle of a battle, Elliot; the enemy could kill any of us at any time. Have you had Mary see to your leg?'
'Not yet,' Elliot admitted.
'Then do so,' Jack ordered. 'I'll need you when the pandies come again, and you're no good to me if you collapse. Sergeant O'Neill!'
'Sir!' O'Neill arrived at Jack's side.
'What are our casualties?'
'Five dead sir, six wounded, two seriously.' O'Neill listed the names. 'The less seriously wounded are fit to fight.'
Jack did a quick calculation. 'We're down to twenty-nine fit men then, plus four walking wounded. How about ammunition?'
O'Neill frowned. 'Not so good, sir. We've about fifteen rounds a man.'
'That will see off one major attack,' Jack said. With the reduced perimeter, he didn't have to raise his voice. 'Remember, men, no firing unless an officer or NCO orders it, and take the ammunition from the casualties.'
The men nodded silently, faces tired and lined. They knew the end was near.
'We have a smaller area to defend now,' Jack tried to encourage them. 'They can't get in.'
'Is there a relief column coming for us, sir?' Coleman asked.
'I don't think so, Coleman.' Jack had resolved not to lie to his men. 'We're on our own here. We stand here, and we may die here.'
The 113th nodded; they understood. Even the replacements were veterans now. They tried their best to emulate the old soldiers' nonchalance.
'I wish we had the Colours, sir,' Coleman said.
Jack agreed. It would be good to make a last stand under the yellow-buff regimental Colours, the same flag that had fluttered above them at Inkerman. However, the Colours remained with the regimental headquarters wherever that may be. 'We're still the 113th, Coleman, with or without the Colours. There is no surrender.'
'Aye.' Logan spat on the ground. 'No surrender. Remember Cawnpore. They'll have to kill us first.'
'Cawnpore,' Thorpe repeated. 'Remember Cawnpore.'
Some of the men shouted the word as if it were a battle cry. 'Cawnpore! Cawnpore!'
'That's not our slogan,' MacKinnon said. 'Cry Havelock!'
Elliot was first to repeat the cry. 'Cry Havelock!'
The men shouted it, roaring defiance with all their remaining might. The reply came within a few minutes, Indian music sounding from all around the temple.
In between the music, another chant echoed that of the 113th 'Raja ram Chandra Ki Jai!'
'What's that?' Elliot asked. 'Is that a threat?'
'That's the Karkha,' Batoor answered. 'It's the war cry of the Rajputs.'
'Fuck them.' Logan spat on the ground.
'The Rajputs are a warrior race,' Batoor said.
'So is the 113th.' Logan was cleaning his rifle. 'Let them come.'
'They will,' Batoor said. 'They will.'
'Water.' Mary walked from man to man, filling up their canteens. 'Drink your fill; water is one thing we have plenty of.'
'Thank you, Mary.' Jack touched her arm. 'We'll get out of this.'
'Yes, I know we will.' Mary spoke with such certainty that for a moment Jack wondered if she had information that he lacked. 'You always get us out.'
Jack tried to smile, thought of the two revolver rounds he was saving and turned away. Maybe not this time, Mary. On an impulse, he turned back and hugged her.
'What was that for?'
'Your faith,' Jack said. I wish I could think of a way out.
'We could send a man through the forest,' Elliot suggested as the
sun swooped down and there were a few moments of lesser heat. 'We could send one of the Burma veterans who could vanish among the trees.'
Jack considered. 'There are only four Burma men left. There's me, O'Neill, Thorpe and Coleman. I won't leave, O'Neill is the best NCO we have, and I doubt if any officer of sufficient seniority would listen to Thorpe or Coleman.'
Elliot nodded. 'You've given this some thought, I see.'
'I have,' Jack said. 'I wondered if we could give the messenger a written message.'
'If the pandies caught them…'
'They'd know how desperate our position is.' Jack finished Elliot's sentence. 'We have no choice. We sit and wait and die together.'
They exchanged glances and looked away. Jack wished he could spirit Mary to safety.
Chapter Twenty-Four
'Something's happening.' Elliot looked up. 'It's all gone silent.'
Elliot was right, Jack realised. The music and the Rajput war cry had stopped. 'Jayanti is up to something. Come on Elliot.'
Dragging his wounded leg, Elliot followed Jack to the defensive positions. Only insects disturbed the oppressive silence, with all the bird sounds stilled. Heat rebounded from the stones of the temple, forcing sweat from suffering bodies, causing men to gasp for every breath.
'What's happening, sergeant?'
'Dunno, sir,' O'Neill stood behind one of the carved pillars, surveying the outworks and the maidan beyond. 'There's movement in the forest.'
'Keep your eyes open.' Jack spoke loudly enough for all the defenders to hear. 'Jayanti is a tricky devil.'
The men grunted, wiped sweat from their faces, swatted away insects and gripped their rifles.
'Sir,' O'Neill murmured. 'Over there.'
The woman who emerged from the jungle fringe carried a white flag and moved slowly.
'They're surrendering,' Thorpe said. 'The pandy buggers are surrendering to us.'
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 27
