'Aye, that's right, Thorpey. They heard that you're here with your Victoria Cross and they're scared.' Coleman grunted. 'It's a flag of truce, you bloody moonraker. They want to talk.'
'Why?'
'How should I know? I'm not a bloody pandy.' Coleman shifted his rifle and settled the stock against his chin. 'Come closer, you murderous bitch, and I'll blow your bloody head off.'
'Hold your fire.' Jack knew the mood of his men. After so long on campaign, they would shoot anything that they even suspected of being an enemy. 'We'll hear what she has to say. Watch the rear and flanks. It could be a trick.'
'It could be a trick,' Thorpe repeated. 'Watch in case it's a trick, lads.' His laugh was unsettling, and Jack wondered if nervous strain had unhinged his mind even more.
'That's Jayanti.' Jack recognised the woman as she approached them. 'What devilish thing is she planning now?' He stepped out of cover. 'If they shoot me, you take charge, Elliot.' He handed over his revolver. 'You know what to do with that.'
'Yes, sir,' Elliot said. 'Take care.'
Feeling acutely vulnerable, Jack stepped beyond the defences and into the outer temple. He knew that the enemy would be aiming at him, as his men were aiming at Jayanti. Taking a deep breath that seemed to scorch his lungs, he straightened his shoulders and marched forward.
The dry grass crackled beneath his boots and a dozen insects buzzed around his head.
'Well, Jayanti?' Jack stepped twenty paces into the maidan. He could run that distance if the enemy tried to shoot or capture him.
'Jai ram.' Jayanti salaamed politely.
'What do you want?' Jack was as curt as possible.
'Here we are again, Captain Windrush.' Jayanti held her flag aloft. 'You and I, in the midst of my country.'
'Here we are again,' Jack kept his voice firm. 'You and I in British India. Do you wish to surrender to me now, or are you going to wait until General Rose or General Campbell arrives to smash your army?'
'General Rose is deep in the south, tied up before the walls of Jhansi,' Jayanti said. It was impossible to see Jayanti's expression behind her veil, yet Jack sensed some humour in her voice. If they had met as anything except enemies he could have liked, or at least admired, this woman. 'And as for Sir Colin, he is so slow that he would take months to reach you, even if he knew or cared about your existence. You and your men – how many? Forty? Thirty? You are all alone, Captain Windrush.'
Jack was not surprised at Jayanti's words. 'Do you wish to surrender to me, then, Jayanti?'
'We have a proposition, captain.'
Jack smiled. 'We? Who is commanding your army, Jayanti? Is it Nana Sahib, who Sir Colin Campbell and General Havelock have defeated so often? Or is it some other failed leader?'
'We have a proposition, captain.' Jayanti ignored Jack's probes. 'I advise you to listen and consider before you decide. We surround you, we outnumber you, and your men face defeat, disgrace and death.'
'We hold a strong position, we have plenty of food, water and ammunition and we have defeated every attack you have made,' Jack countered.
'Your wounded are suffering, your food and ammunition are running out, and you will not survive another three days,' Jayanti replied easily. 'Now listen, Captain Windrush. You have something we want, and we are prepared to be generous to obtain it.'
'Oh?' Jack placed a hand on the hilt of his sword. 'What do we have that you want?'
'You have the treasure of Lucknow,' Jayanti said, 'and you have the man Batoor.'
Jack couldn't hide his surprise. 'Batoor?' he repeated. 'Why the devil do you want a stray Pathan?' He recovered. 'As for the treasure, we only hold a small portion of it. The Honourable East India Company possesses the bulk.'
'Our reasons are our own,' Jayanti said. 'Hand over Batoor and the Lucknow treasure, and in return, we will allow you passage to the nearest British garrison. We will provide an escort to ensure your safety.'
Jack laughed openly. 'We have heard such promises before,' he said. 'General Wheeler at Cawnpore accepted such an offer. Where is he now? He's dead, with all his men and women. The word of a mutineer is not to be trusted.'
'Then I have another proposition.' Jayanti didn't seem surprised that Jack had rejected her offer. Her voice hardened. 'We hold some prisoners of your regiment. Hand over Batoor and our treasure, or we will execute them.'
Despite the heat, Jack felt a chill creep over him. Remembering the game of chess he'd played with her, he knew Jayanti was not bluffing.
'I will not hand over any of my men,' Jack said.
'Batoor is not one of your men,' Jayanti reminded. 'Batoor is a prisoner you recruited to find me. You have no further use for him.'
'I will not hand him over.' Jack was no longer surprised at the efficiency of the enemy's intelligence service.
'As you wish, Captain Windrush.' Jayanti took a single step back. 'My offer stands. If you choose to reconsider, come out under a flag of truce, or send out the brave Lieutenant Elliot. I hope he survives the wound in his leg. We will arrange an escort to take all your men to safety and even release our British prisoners in return for Batoor and our Lucknow treasure.' Her eyes were brown and sincere. 'It is a more generous offer than any British general would grant an Indian force in your position.'
Jack said nothing to that, he knew Jayanti was correct. 'If you wish to surrender to me,' he countered, 'I will speak to Sir Colin on your behalf.'
'Thank you, captain. That will not be necessary. You may return in peace to your men. Hostilities will restart in five minutes.'
Tempted to hurry back, Jack forced himself to stroll, pausing to light one of Elliot's disgusting cheroots to show his contempt for the enemy.
'What's happening?' Elliot's omission of the word “sir” proved his disquiet.
Jack explained what Jayanti had said.
'Bastards.' Elliot shook his head. 'Will they kill their prisoners?'
'Without a doubt,' Jack said.
'Is there anything we can do to stop them?'
'We could hand over the loot and Batoor.' Jack was glad when Elliot didn't even consider that option.
'We could use sharpshooters against them,' Elliot said. 'Our Crimea men were trained in shooting. I know they used the old Minié rifles, but they're still better shots than the average soldier.'
'Who are our best shots?'
'Whitelam, MacKinnon, Riley and Coleman,' Elliot said at once.
'Whitelam is dead,' Jack said. 'Tell the others to select a firing position, and we'll see what happens.' He drew on Elliot's cheroot. 'God, this is foul.'
'I know,' Elliot said with a grin. 'We might be poisoned to death even before the pandies get us.'
'Sir,' O'Neill called out. 'I see movement.'
First out were a group of men carrying muskets or rifles, followed by a dozen of Jayanti's women, and then three men in battered British uniforms.
'Oh, dear God,' Jack said.
'You were right.' Elliot tipped back his hip flask. 'Jayanti has kept her word.'
'That's our men!' Thorpe shouted. 'Look, that's Higginthwaite, Peter Defford and O'Malley from Number One Company. O'Malley still owes me a shilling.' He half rose from his rifle-pit until Logan shoved him back down.
'Keep your heid down, you stupid bastard! The pandies have got sharpshooters waiting for us.'
As if in confirmation, two rifles cracked out from the jungle and a bullet thudded into the earth a few inches from Thorpe's head.
'Missed!' Thorpe jeered. 'You couldn't hit a bull's arse with a broomstick!'
'Sir,' Coleman whispered. 'Can I fire? I can hit the sharpshooter or these devil women.'
'Not yet,' Jack said. 'Jayanti might only be bluffing.'
Behind Jayanti's women, a file of men trotted out with a selection of lengths of rough-hewn timber. As the 113th watched, the rebels built a triangular structure with three uprights connected at the uppermost point by three crosspieces.
'That's a gallows,' Jack said.
; 'It's a copy of the Tyburn Tree,' Elliot agreed.
'Ready your rifles, boys,' Jack ordered. 'Shoot any pandies that try to hang our men.'
'Yes, sir,' Riley answered.
The enemy sharpshooters took positions at the 113th's old front line.
Jack watched as a group of white-clad men threw ropes over the crossbars; each rope had a noose on its end.
'The pandies are going to strangle the prisoners.' Thorpe sounded interested in the proceedings. 'I thought they might break their necks.'
'That's too merciful,' Logan said. 'They pandy bastards will do things the cruellest way.'
Jayanti's women pushed forward the three British prisoners.
'Ready lads,' Jack said. 'Make sure you hit the executioners and not our men.'
The hush was so intense, Jack could almost taste it as the white-clad men placed the ropes around the necks of the prisoners.
'Get the bastards.' Logan fitted his bayonet with a metallic snick.
'Take that blade off, Logan,' Jack ordered. He knew that Logan was quite capable of launching a solo attack on the entire enemy army, getting himself killed in the process and losing Jack a valuable rifleman.
'Permission to fire, sir?' Coleman asked.
'Yes, if you can get a clear shot,' Jack said.
MacKinnon was first to fire, with the crack of the rifle startlingly loud and the echoes resounding around the temple. One of the white-clad men staggered backwards and fell, kicking on the ground. Coleman fired half a second later, with one of the executioners grabbing at his arm and spinning around.
'Winged the bastard,' Coleman said.
'I can't fire, sir,' Riley said. 'Our boys are in the way.'
The enemy reply came at once as their musket men began a rapid fire. Bullets pinged and whined from the stonework, spreading chips of masonry around the ducking defenders.
Jack slid behind a pillar, flinched as a bullet smacked against the stone and breathed out slowly. He inched back around the opposite side and swore as another bullet landed a few inches from his face. One of the rebels evidently had him in his sights. Dropping low, Jack rolled away and into the nearest rifle-pit. He crouched beside the occupant – a dapper man named Flynn – and peered through the embrasure.
'Murdering blackguards!'
The three British prisoners swung and kicked from the gallows, trying to grasp at the ropes that slowly tightened around their throats.
'Bastards!' Logan roared the word. 'Dirty pandy bastards!'
'If the pandies want us to surrender,' Flynn murmured, 'they don't know much about the 113th, do they, sir?'
'Give me your rifle.' Jack thrust the Enfield through the embrasure. He wanted to kill. He wanted to kill Jayanti and all her warriors. He wanted to kill everybody who murdered his men in such a foul manner.
Jayanti was not among the group of women at the base of the gallows. Jack selected a victim at random. He didn't sufficiently trust his marksmanship to hit her head so aimed for her belly, the widest part of her body. He grunted with satisfaction when she staggered and clutched her middle.
'Suffer, you witch,' he said and handed back the rifle. 'Load that, Flynn.'
'Can we fire back, sir?' Logan asked.
'No,' Jack said. 'Nobody fire, except the designated marksmen. Jayanti wants us to waste our ammunition.'
'You fired, sir.' Thorpe sounded indignant.
'I did,' Jack admitted.
Two of the prisoners had stopped struggling and were motionless at the end of their ropes, with the third still kicking. Even as Jack watched, the white-clad men dragged another three British soldiers forward.
'Sir!' Thorpe pleaded, 'can we fire now?'
'Fire be buggered,' Logan said. 'We should charge forward and free the poor buggers.'
Jayanti's strategy is working. My men are unsettled. 'You lads facing the gallows,' he said, 'fire, only if you have a clear target. Don't waste ammunition. The others sit still and face your front. The pandies could be using these murders as a distraction.'
Thorpe was first to fire, with Logan a moment afterwards. Jack nodded when he saw one of the white-clad men crumple. At least the executioners were paying a hefty price.
'Sir!' O'Neill called. 'Flag of truce!'
The enemy's firing ended as Jayanti stepped forward under the white flag.
'What does that woman want now?' Jack wondered. Again, he handed his revolver to Elliot, checked his sword was secure and walked forward onto the maidan.
'Well, captain,' Jayanti gestured to the gallows and the three dead men, 'you can see that we were not bluffing.'
'You are a murdering blackguard,' Jack told her.
'Your General Neil regularly hanged his prisoners.'
'The penalty for mutiny and treason is death.' Jack was in no mood for games.
'Fighting against foreign oppression is not treason,' Jayanti said.
'I am no foreigner.' Jack realised that Jayanti was drawing him into another discussion. 'Why do you walk under a flag of truce? Are you going to surrender?'
'Look.' Jayanti stepped aside to reveal the identity of the three British prisoners. Two were stony-faced privates that Jack didn't know. The third was Major Snodgrass, the commander of Number One Company.
For an instant, Jack met Snodgrass's gaze and then he looked away. As an officer, he should think that the life of Major Snodgrass was worth more than two anonymous privates. As a human being, and a man who had spent much of his career with the ordinary infantrymen of the 113th, he no longer believed that was true. Every single man of the regiment mattered as much as any other, no matter what the rank. Besides, I don't like Snodgrass.
'Windrush!' Major Snodgrass shouted. 'For God's sake, get us free!'
'Now will you agree on the exchange?' Jayanti asked. 'I guarantee you safe passage and the lives of these men. In return, all you have to do is surrender your Pathan and the treasure, which we will gain in time anyway.'
'Come and get them,' Jack said. 'If you dare.'
'Windrush!' Snodgrass shouted. 'I order you to free us! Hand over the damned Pathan and the gold.'
'We already are coming, and we already are daring,' Jayanti said and laughed when firing broke out at the temple. 'You see?'
Jack swivelled around. 'You treacherous hussy!' Jayanti had used the flag of truce to distract the defenders' attention and then launched an attack. Drawing his sword, Jack pounced forward, to see Jayanti withdrawing, with a dozen of her warriors running towards him. He hesitated for a moment, calculated the odds and ran back to the British positions.
The enemy had attacked three fronts at once, crawling through the long grass to the original British front line and then charging forward. Elliot must have been alert, for the defenders were firing regular volleys. Jack swore as a group of sepoys in the battered scarlet tunics of a Bengal Native Infantry regiment ran to cut him off. Jack glanced behind him, where Jayanti's warriors had spread out; there was no escape in that direction.
'Don't shoot the captain!' Jack heard O'Neill's roar through the clamour of battle.
'Fire away, lads!' Jack shouted. 'Shoot the bastards flat!'
The mutineers were closing, rifles levelled and bayonets glittering. Jack dodged right and left as if on the football field, slashed with his sword, missed, and ran on. A mutineer appeared in front of him, presented his bayonet and collapsed as a bullet crashed into his back. Jack ran on, jinking, and slashing with his sword whenever anybody came close.
He reached the old British outer perimeter, parried the wild swing of a tulwar, thrust his sword into the arm of a careless mutineer, withdrew, ducked a clumsy spear, dodged left and ran.
'Don't shoot! It's the captain!'
Jack leapt over the outer wall and landed inside a rifle-pit where Logan was firing and swearing with equal skill.
'Glad you could make it, sir,' Logan said.
'Thank you, Logan.' Jack looked around. The enemy was pressing the flanks harder than in front or rear. 'Number yourselves
!' He waited until the men had intoned their numbers, one to twenty-four. So few! 'Every third man on the front move to the right flank, every third man on the rear move to the left flank.'
The reinforcements wouldn't add much firepower, but every bullet counted.
'Elliot! Revolver!' He caught it by the belt and buckled it around his waist.
'Here they come!' That was O'Neill's roar.
The attack came heaviest on the right flank, a mixed horde of men, some in near-mediaeval uniforms with steel helmets and chain breastplates, others wearing loin-cloths and carrying spears, a few with white clothes and wicked tulwars. They came at a rush and hesitated before the disciplined fire of the 113th.
'These are not soldiers,' O'Neill said. 'Most aren't even warriors. They don't know how to fight.' He shot a tall man with a red turban. 'Look at that poor fellow, he just stood there waving his spear.'
'Don't complain, sergeant,' Jack said. 'Shoot and keep shooting until they run.'
'Left flank!' Elliot shouted. 'They're on the left flank!'
Jack swivelled. While he'd been concentrating on the right flank, the real attack had developed on the left. The enemy came in two columns, one composed of Jayanti's women, trotting forward with musket and sword, and the other comprising a company of sepoys, still wearing their scarlet uniforms and fighting under their regimental colours.
'Another feint, by God,' Jack said. 'Jayanti's good, I'll grant her that. She's very good.'
'Fire!' Elliot ordered. The Enfields crashed out, knocking down half a dozen of the attackers, but they were Company-trained soldiers and dedicated warriors, rather than the unhappy peasants on the right flank. Ignoring their losses, they pushed on and clashed with the defenders, sword to rifle butt and bayonet to bayonet.
Jack saw Elliot shoot one of the sepoys; he saw two women hack down a private and neatly cut off his head, he saw a havildar heft his regimental colours and lead a section of three sepoys onto the parapet. By sheer force and pressure of numbers, the attackers drove the 113th back, fighting, swearing and stabbing.
'They've broken through!' Jack shouted. 'Form a square!'
It was the last line of defence, the solid British square that had withstood the test of time. The surviving men of the 113th formed around Jack; panting, bleeding, cursing but still fighting, still soldiers.
Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns Page 28
