by Peter Watt
‘We have faced worse odds before,’ Conan said. ‘Remember how we were trapped in that villa in the Crimea and it looked impossible that we would get out alive?’
Ian remembered, appreciating Conan’s faith in his ability to find a solution to this dire situation.
‘Mr Sinclair, you and the count must escort the Khan and his family back to the fishing village and hide until the retrieval boat arrives.’ Ian turned to Conan. ‘I am afraid you and I will have to remain here in the ditch and put up a show to delay whoever is coming our way.’
‘That is as good as suicide, sir,’ Harry protested. ‘It should be me who remains to delay the enemy, not Sergeant Major Curry.’
‘You obey orders, Mr Sinclair,’ Ian said firmly. ‘Your duty is to ensure our guests leave the country safely and our mission is completed.’
‘Sir, I –’ Sinclair began.
‘Do it now, Mr Sinclair,’ Ian commanded.
‘I will remain with you, Captain Forbes,’ Nikolai said quietly. ‘But I will trade my pistol for Mr Sinclair’s two Colts. I am sure that Mr Sinclair, as one of your officers, is more than capable of escorting the Khan and his family to safety.’
Ian frowned at the Russian. ‘It is not necessary to remain,’ he said. ‘There is no sense in us all getting killed.’
‘I was at the Redan the day you British stormed it and I thought that was to be my last day on this earth,’ Nikolai said. ‘Maybe we will triumph today. It could not be as bad as those final weeks at Sebastopol.’
‘Sarn’t Major Curry and I were also at the Redan,’ Ian said with a tone of respect. ‘We all survived those terrible days, so you may be right, Count Kasatkin.’
Ian extended his hand and the Russian took it.
‘Go, Mr Sinclair, and raise a tankard to us if we don’t make it,’ Ian said, and the young British officer scrambled with the Khan and his family from the ditch, looking back once to see the three remaining men facing the long rows of mounted figures that could be discerned ahead of the dust cloud.
Ian checked his pistols, as did Conan and Nikolai.
‘What I would give for my old Enfield right now,’ Conan grumbled. ‘I could be picking off the bastards long before they reached us.’
Ian could now see the figures on horseback, noting that they appeared to be cavalry.
‘We have to wait until they are almost on top of us before we commence firing,’ Ian said. ‘That will give us the best chance to make every shot count and maybe make them think twice. We will spread out. A distance of around ten yards apart to give us more frontage.’
Conan extended his hand. ‘Ian,’ he said. ‘We have come a long way from the bush of New South Wales, and in the short time we have served together, it has been an honour.’
Ian accepted the gesture, growling, ‘We’re not dead yet, Curry.’ Deep in his heart Ian knew that was not true, as the extended line of enemy cavalry came close enough that he could see their bearded faces and the sun shining on their sabre blades. They were dead men for sure.
Twenty-one
The three men crouched in the ditch as the cavalry approached at a steady pace. Ian could see that they were well trained, and a half-dozen rode ahead of the main body as a screen. He knew they might prevail for a short time, but soon enough the enemy would outflank them and a slashing blade would end their lives.
‘Wait until they are almost on top of us before firing,’ Ian called as a reminder.
Each man, armed with two Colt pistols chambered for six rounds, could certainly provide a devastating initial output of firepower.
Then the advancing six men on horseback were only ten paces away. Ian could see that they were not expecting any resistance from the party as their sabres were still sheathed.
‘Now!’
The three men rose from the ditch, startling the enemy cavalrymen. Ian levelled his pistol and fired two shots at the horseman nearest him. He toppled from his horse, which reared, leaping the ditch to gallop riderless towards the fishing village. Ian quickly switched his aim to one of the enemy desperately scrabbling for his sword, but another two well-aimed shots brought him down.
From the corner of his eye, Ian could see that Nikolai and Conan were having the same success and only one of the riders was able to wheel about, galloping back to the main body of enemy some three hundred yards away.
Ian noticed Conan standing over one of the men he had shot. He bent down and pulled off an Enfield rifled musket the man had slung across his back. It did not have a bayonet but Conan ripped the spare ammunition from the dead body.
‘Now I will teach the buggers a lesson in marksmanship,’ Conan said.
Nikolai recovered a sabre, and Ian immediately reloaded as he watched the cavalrymen milling about in the distance. A flash of lightning startled the three men, and Ian immediately thought that the mutineers must have a cannon. But fat droplets from the darkening sky alerted him to the fact that a heavy storm was closing in on them.
‘Brings back memories,’ Conan muttered to Ian as he levelled the Enfield on the distant cavalry formation.
‘Can you make out the leader?’ Ian asked, squatting beside Conan as the rain began to fall.
‘I think so,’ Conan said, squinting down the sights and steadying his aim. He squeezed the trigger and a second later they had the satisfaction of seeing a rider fall from his horse. It seemed to unsettle their enemy, who withdrew a couple of hundred yards.
‘Damn!’ Conan swore. ‘I missed the bugger – I was aiming for the man next to him.’
‘It does not matter,’ Ian said with his hand on Conan’s shoulder. ‘You have made them think about withdrawing out of range and now we have a little time as they get organised.’
‘What do you think will be their next move?’ Conan asked, already reloading the rifled musket.
‘As they appear to be trained cavalrymen, I suspect that they will attempt to flank us. Maybe even launch a frontal attack to distract us as they manoeuvre to the flanks. Whatever they do, I doubt we will be able to hold them off for long,’ Ian answered grimly.
Ian’s prediction proved correct as the three defenders watched the formation split into three parts. Two large parties wheeled away from the centre to ride in a long arc on either side of the ditch. Nikolai stuck the blade of his captured sword in the earth, waiting with his twin revolvers, whilst Conan levelled the deadly rifled musket on another target. The rain was increasing in its ferocity but it would not save them from a swinging sabre when the enemy finally charged the ditch again. Ian knew that there were no such things as miracles and he wondered how he would die – by bullet or sword. His greatest regret was that he would not have the opportunity in this life to be with Ella Solomon again.
*
Five boats arrived early on the mudflats, three manned by Royal Marines and two loaded with a small group of men from Ian’s company. Harry Sinclair stood beside the Khan and his family, waving frantically in the rain. He was seen and the boats beached on the mudflats nearby. Harry recognised Lieutenant Ross Woods and Sergeant Owen Williams as they disembarked from one of the boats.
‘Good to see you, old chap,’ Ross said when Sinclair approached him with the Khan and his family. ‘It appears that you were successful in your mission.’
‘There is not much time. We have to go back and fetch Captain Forbes,’ Harry said.
A Royal Marine captain approached. ‘Time to go, gentlemen,’ he commanded.
‘Sir, my commanding officer and the company sergeant major are just a few hundred yards behind this cluster of fishing huts. They are pinned down by a force of around fifty sepoy cavalry,’ Harry said. ‘We need your men to assist us in getting Captain Forbes back to the ship.’
‘I am sorry, Mr Sinclair, but my orders are to rescue our esteemed guest, not to chase after anyone left behind. It is too risky.’
‘
Sir,’ Harry pleaded, ‘they are close by. I request that I take command of the men of our company who are with you.’
‘My orders instruct me to take our guests aboard so that we can steam away before the rains become heavier. That is why we are early,’ the marine captain reiterated. ‘I am sorry, Mr Sinclair.’
‘I have temporary command of the company,’ Ross intervened, ‘and my orders are that we go in search of Captain Forbes.’
‘You will do so on your own, as my orders are that we return to the ship immediately,’ the marine captain snapped.
Ross stared with contempt at the higher-ranking officer, turning his back to address the handful of men from the company still in the boats. ‘Company, fall in!’ he barked and the riflemen clambered out of the boats, assembling in their ranks on the mudflats.
‘Lead on, Mr Sinclair,’ Ross said, drawing his sword and pistol. ‘Take us to Captain Forbes.’
Harry flashed a smile of gratitude, then set off through the village in the heavy rain with Lieutenant Woods and the contingent of twenty infantrymen following. But when Harry looked back he was surprised to see that the marine captain – with a contingent of twenty Royal Marines – was following them.
*
‘Here they come!’ Ian shouted unnecessarily as the formations galloped towards them, yelling war cries to bolster their courage.
The three men were now back to back in a triangle, as they had more chance of living for a short time in a formation of all-round defence. The thunder of hooves was muted by the noise of the storm, but the spectres of death appeared through the sheets of rain.
Conan fired a shot at the cavalrymen charging from the flank and was satisfied to see a man fall from his saddle. He dropped the rifle, which he would wield as a club when his pistols were emptied.
Ian raised his pistols at the group charging from the front, taking careful aim, knowing there would be no time to reload when the enemy arrived. A horseman was on him and the blade slashed down. Ian felt the stinging tip shred through his coat jacket, slicing his flesh in a shallow wound. In desperation, he fired both his pistols at the cavalryman who was swinging his mount around to make another pass. The shots found their mark and the horseman slumped in the saddle as his horse galloped away.
The Russian count had emptied his pistols and was standing with the captured sabre, waiting for one of the enemy to attempt close-quarter combat.
Ian knew that the ditch would soon run with their blood and he had one final thought of Ella. Oh, how he desired to hold her one last time. The three waited for the cavalry to swamp them once and for all. Conan held the captured musket by the barrel to use it as a club, and Ian held his Bowie knife in a futile gesture of defiance. The thunder of hooves was loud enough that even the drumming rain could not conceal the terrifying sound.
They were only seconds away when Ian swore he heard the sound of nearby thunder. Momentarily confused, he watched the Indian mutineers and their horses crash into the earth as if hit by lightning. The sudden and unexpected interruption to their attack caused the surviving enemy to pull on reins, turning in confusion to confront the new threat. A second devastating volley tore into the sepoy horsemen.
‘There!’ Conan shouted above the roar of falling rain and gunfire. ‘Over there!’
Ian swung around to see the dim outlines of kneeling men firing in their direction, whilst a second rank was standing, ready to fire whilst the kneeling rank reloaded.
‘It’s our boys!’ Conan whooped as the cavalry broke formation to seek safety away from the deadly fire.
Miracles did happen after all, Ian thought as the riflemen advanced in line towards them with Lieutenant Woods in front, followed by Lieutenant Sinclair.
‘Just like the old days in the Crimea,’ Conan said, a grin from one side of his bearded face to the other. ‘Ian Steele, you must be the luckiest man alive.’
‘Not luck, Conan, a bloody miracle this time,’ Ian grinned. ‘The miracle is the boys of our company and, it appears, a few Royal Marines to boot.’
Harry hurried over to Ian. ‘Sir, are you wounded?’
Ian was puzzled and then realised blood was pouring down the sleeve of his jacket. ‘Nothing a few stitches won’t fix,’ he replied, examining the wound to his upper arm. He could see that the blade had not penetrated very deep and he tore off his sleeve to bandage the laceration. ‘I must express my gratitude to you for coming back for us, Mr Sinclair,’ Ian continued. ‘I presume that you were able to get the Khan off the beach first.’
‘Yes, sir, we were,’ Sinclair replied.
‘Well done, Mr Sinclair. Your brother would be proud of you,’ Ian said.
‘Sir, he once told me of how you would draw the Muscovites towards your position and then have the company ambush them,’ Sinclair said. ‘I simply used your tactics against those savage scoundrels as you would have.’
Ian did not have the heart to correct his junior officer. Those times were the result of Herbert’s quick thinking, not Ian’s. Maybe Herbert was now his guardian angel.
The marine captain approached. ‘I say, old chap, you seem to have an uncanny loyalty from your officers and men,’ he said to Ian. ‘I wonder if my men would do the same for me under such circumstances.’
‘It is the way of our regiment,’ Ian said. ‘We are all brothers, regardless of rank.’
‘Mr Ross led me to disobey my orders and intervene here,’ the marine captain said, gesturing to the scene of carnage where the ditch ran red with the blood of the mutineers and their mounts. ‘But I realised that if Mr Ross was going to be successful, he would need the assistance of the Queen’s Royal Marines.’
‘I thank you for that,’ Ian said, extending his hand. ‘Maybe one day we will be in a position to assist you under similar circumstances.’
Around them in the torrential rain, wounded horses whinnied pitifully and wounded mutineers moaned. The Minié bullets had caused horrific injuries, and already Lieutenant Ross was supervising the shooting of both wounded horses and enemy combatants. To the soldiers carrying out the shootings it was an act of mercy and not barbarity.
‘It is time that we left and returned to our rum ration,’ the marine captain said.
Ian heartily agreed as he attempted to bring his suddenly shaking legs and hands under control. He realised that they had probably been mere seconds from death before the timely intervention of the small but lethal British contingent.
Ian turned to the Russian count. ‘Are you coming with us?’ he asked.
Nikolai nodded. ‘I do not think I will be welcome back at the village and your government has promised me sanctuary. I think it is time for me to leave India behind and travel to London.’
*
Aboard the warship steaming south, Ian gratefully accepted the tin cup of rum from Conan. The decks were lashed by monsoonal rain and the ship wallowed in the rising sea, but Ian did not care that he was soaked to the skin as he stood gazing back at the distant coastline cloaked by the night.
‘Another close-run thing,’ he muttered as he raised his tin cup to drink the dark liquid.
‘Luck of the Irish,’ Conan said, swallowing his ration.
‘Sir, the Khan would like to see you below decks,’ a soldier of the company said, miserable that he had been forced to go above into the storm and be drenched to the skin.
Ian glanced at Conan with a questioning expression and followed the soldier below, attempting to shake off the wet and make himself presentable. He was brought to a cabin that had once been occupied by the ship’s captain. The soldier knocked and the Khan bid them enter.
Ian stepped inside the cabin which was just large enough to accommodate three people. He saw the Khan’s wife sitting on the bunk with her son beside her, and the Khan standing by a desk.
‘Captain Forbes, I requested your presence to thank you. I know that your decision
to remain behind was one that the odds said you would not survive. You did that to ensure that my family and I survived. Such an act of courage should be recognised. In your army I believe the Queen has issued a new medal, the Victoria Cross, which I believe you have truly earned. But I do not have the power to grant you the medal.’ The Khan reached into one of the leather sacks he and his family had carried with them from the village. When he pulled his hand out Ian could see the sparkle of red rubies and green emeralds under the light of the lantern swinging from the ceiling.
‘These are for you, Captain Forbes,’ the Khan said, offering the precious stones.
‘I was only doing my duty, sir,’ Ian said, transfixed by the beautiful sparkling gems. ‘I do not expect any financial reward for carrying out the Queen’s commands.’
‘Please take them, Captain Forbes. My son is worth more than every stone I carry with us. If you, Sergeant Major Curry and Count Kasatkin had not offered to stay behind, we may not have survived. I will personally thank your sergeant major and the count in turn. Consider the rubies and emeralds my medals to you in recognition of your bravery.’
The Khan dropped the precious stones in Ian’s hands.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Ian said with genuine gratitude. ‘It is not necessary, but gratefully accepted.’
Ian left the cabin gripping the cold stones in his hand. Only hours earlier he had not believed he would live out the day, and here he was with a small fortune of emeralds and rubies! He had always dreamed of fame and fortune. War had provided him with fortune and a certain degree of fame amongst the men of the regiment. But what lay ahead when his company re-joined the regiment in India? Fame and fortune would not save him on the battlefield. More importantly, what had been the fate of his beloved Canadian friend, Dr Peter Campbell, and Alice, Peter’s wife and sister of the real Samuel Forbes?