The Regiment

by Christopher Nicole

  ‘They will be flattered, sir,’ Murdoch said.

  ‘Good. Good. Now there are one or two points I must make very clear. You may be separated from the brigade for up to three days at a time. It is therefore essential that food and water be rationed at all times, and that fodder be found for your horses. Your guide, Hassan, will be invaluable here. The second point is a grave but necessary one. You have all read the report I had issued on the nature of the enemy you are going to encounter?’

  He looked from Murdoch to Knox to Ramage.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Murdoch answered for the three of them.

  ‘Well, what I am about to say may be taken as an order. That report was no exaggeration. Therefore at no time will any surrender to the enemy be contemplated. No matter how desperate the situation, fight to the last man and save the last bullet for yourselves. I am here depicting a situation which I do not for one moment suppose will arise, but if it should, remember my words. More importantly, and sadly, should you engage the enemy, and be forced to withdraw from an established position you must not allow any wounded to fall into their hands. They must be taken with you. And if that proves impossible’—he gazed at their faces—‘they must be killed before the enemy can obtain possession of them. And finally, and most sadly of all, should any member of your squadron be taken, through any mishap, there will be no heroic attempts at rescue.’ This time he gazed directly at Murdoch. ‘However hard it may be to bear, you will not send good men after dead men, under any circumstances. Is this clearly understood?’

  Murdoch glanced at the two lieutenants, whose faces were tense. Then he nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  Hardie nodded in turn. ‘Then I suggest we get a good night’s sleep, gentlemen. The brigade will move out at dawn tomorrow.’

  9 – Somalia, 1907

  Four companies of the Lancashires, as well as the artillery, were left in garrison; supported by the paramilitary police force, they composed something like a thousand men, sufficient to hold Berbera should the Mullah attempt to come in behind the brigade—although that was something he had never yet attempted.

  Murdoch felt it was a mistake to leave the artillery, and said so, but the brigadier pointed out that shelling made very little impression on desert wadis, and besides, it had never been taken before on account of the difficulty of moving the guns across such country. ‘It is your chaps who are going to do the damage,’ he announced.

  Murdoch hoped he was right. The brigadier had obviously built all his plans upon the coming of the squadron. Murdoch had no objection to being used as bait—as he had said, he was flattered, and so were his men—he was not at all sure it was a trap into which the Mullah, however mad, would fall. However, the brigade made an imposing spectacle as it moved out of its cantonment. There were eight companies of the King’s African Rifles, tall, imposing black men, who wore red fezzes, although the rest of their uniform was khaki, and equally incongruous, bare feet, although they wore regulation puttees; Halstead claimed they could travel very nearly as fast, across the roughest country as mounted infantry.

  ‘But the rebels will see those fezzes coming for miles,’ Murdoch suggested.

  Halstead merely shrugged. ‘Fortunately, the Mullah’s people don’t shoot very straight.’

  Then there were three companies of the Lancashires, who were mounted on mules, the usual hospital wagon and his squadron of cavalry, which undertook the advance guard duties—at least so far as the casual observer could detect.

  Murdoch in fact thoroughly enjoyed his role of appearing so enthusiastic that he gradually pulled ahead of the main body. He suspected it might have been suggested to Brigadier-General Hardie by those who had studied his South African record.

  He followed the South African principle of alternating each troop each day; he himself always rode with the forward party. Unfortunately, he still found the pace of the advance painfully slow, as he had to maintain contact with the brigade; it was going to take some determined prodding and baiting to make the Mullah accept battle.

  ‘Some bloody country,’ Tom Knox remarked, as they walked their horses over the sandy soil. Hardly a tree was to be seen save for an occasional thorny acacia, but the apparently flat surface was actually a mass of shallow ravines and wadis, any one of which could have concealed a hundred armed men. Luckily, the Somalis were not actually attempting to defend their country against the British—as the Boers had been—so much as trying to stir up a large-scale revolt against the foreigners, and there was no evidence of any ambush. However, there were enemies enough in the snakes and scorpions which were invisible until one actually stepped on them; they could do little damage to stout boots, but were a menace to the horses—how the KAR were faring Murdoch did not like to consider, but presumably they had campaigned in this country before.

  The Mullah’s raiders had recently been in the district; that was painfully obvious when they came across their first village. They smelt it long before they actually saw it. Murdoch made the squadron draw rein some distance off, while he went forward with Hassan to inspect the scene of destruction. The village had been burned—after some resistance, he supposed. The hideous red-headed vultures which flapped lazily away from the blackened timbers had been feasting on several dead bodies, and the spring which was the reason for the village’s existence was also choked with dead bodies, including those of women and children, nearly all savagely mutilated, and now being further reduced by flies and maggots. Close at hand the stench was quite sickening.

  ‘Where would the rest of the inhabitants have gone?’ Murdoch asked.

  ‘The Mullah will have taken them off as slaves or recruits, effendi.’

  ‘And he really believes these people will one day rise up and fight for him, when he treats them like this?’

  ‘Oh, indeed, effendi. His reasoning is simple, that in time the people will rather fight for him than be killed by him, and that then they will all rise up together and drive the infidels into the sea.’

  Murdoch glanced at him. ‘Do you believe this, Hassan?’

  Hassan gave one of his rare smiles. ‘I do not believe the infidels, or at least the British, will ever be driven into the sea, effendi.’

  Which was at least a diplomatic answer.

  Murdoch determined the squadron should clean up the mess, instead of leaving it for the brigade, for two reasons: most importantly, he wanted the use of the water from the spring to refill his men’s canteens, but he also wanted to let the troopers have a look at the reality of what they were up against. So he summoned both troops forward for Knox and Ramage to detail burial parties, while he and Hassan examined the hoofmarks leading to the south-west.

  ‘These were many men, effendi,’ the guide said. ‘Perhaps six, seven hundred horsemen.’

  ‘Would that be the Mullah’s total force?’

  ‘No, no, effendi, the lord Muhammad ibn Abd Allah commands many men. But this is still a large force.’ He looked anxious, as he had not, of course, been told the general’s plan of campaign. Murdoch inspected the country before them through his binoculars; they were within a few miles of the foothills of the Togdheer, the high land which lay due south of Berbera.

  ‘How long ago were these men here?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, not long, effendi. Two, three days.’

  Murdoch frowned. ‘That police report was a week old.’

  ‘That was further to the south, effendi.’

  ‘But you brought us here,’ Murdoch pointed out.

  Hassan gave another of his smiles. ‘It is pure fortune that you have discovered traces of the Mullah’s work on our path. I was leading you to the village of Sheikh Rahman ibn Ali, which lies fifty miles to the west, in the foothills.’

  ‘You think this Sheikh Rahman may also have been attacked?’

  Hassan’s lip curled. ‘No, effendi, I do not think he will have been attacked.’

  Of course, Murdoch remembered; Mulein’s father.

  ‘But now I think it is best for us to wait for t
he foot soldiers,’ Hassan went on.

  ‘Because you think this harka may have gone to visit the sheikh? I think that is a reason for pressing on, Hassan.’

  Hassan looked at the tracks. ‘They are many men,’ he said. ‘Many more men than you command, effendi.’

  ‘I still think we should have a look,’ Murdoch said.

  Sergeant Yeald set up the heliograph and flashed a message back to brigade that they were in contact with the enemy and were following them. By then the spring was beginning to issue clean water again and the squadron was able to replenish their water bottles. The men neither joked nor grumbled now; their faces were pale beneath their recently acquired suntan; and several had vomited. Murdoch did not doubt they would fight the harder for that.

  They moved on again and camped for the night several miles beyond the destroyed village. Next day the march was resumed, and in mid afternoon they came in sight of another sprawling village, but this one intact, an oasis of mud-brick houses, painted white and pale yellow and blue and pink, above which waved a cluster of palm trees, although even those were dominated by the tall tower of the minaret which rose from beside the mosque. The land around the houses was cultivated and green, in striking contrast to the aridity over which the squadron had marched for the previous twenty-four hours.

  The trail of hooves certainly led up to the village, although there was no sign of any large number of men or horses in the vicinity. Murdoch ordered all precautions to be taken. He halted A Troop, until Ramage had come up, then reconnoitred the position, watched with interest but no hostility by a group of Somali men, and selected a defensive position on the edge of the fields where he was sure there would be water. He then dismounted his men and assembled the Hotchkiss gun. These military preparations were carried out inside a kind of laager of the horses, so that they would not be readily evident to the villagers. When all was prepared to stand a siege if need be, he took Bugler Andrews, Squadron Sergeant Yeald, Corporal Reynolds and six men, and walked his horse into the village; neither Knox nor Ramage had actually seen action before, and he reckoned they would need the solid support of Sergeant-Major Hanley, should there be trouble.

  But the people of the village seemed pleased enough to see them, and the sheikh came out to bow to them, watched by several women from the porch of his house—veiled, Murdoch observed with interest, which suggested that he was a very orthodox Muslim. Hassan interpreted, and they were apparently made welcome. Yes, they had been visited by a large body of horsemen on their way to rejoin the Mullah’s main force, which Sheikh Rahman suggested was not all that far off. They had, as usual, demanded tribute, and this the sheikh had paid, he explained, complaining at the same time of his total impoverishment. He then invited Murdoch and his officers to a meal.

  Murdoch had no doubt at all that the scoundrel was one of the Mullah’s men; there was no other reason for his village to be so undamaged, no matter how much tribute he might have paid—not a crop had been trampled, in such strong contrast to the tragic scene of yesterday. But equally he saw no reason not to enjoy the offered hospitality, especially as Hassan told him it was traditional—and he could hope to obtain some additional information about the Mullah’s whereabouts.

  Yet he would not relax his caution. He had water and food taken out to his men, insisted that the carriers eat and drink some of it before he would let any trooper have a mouthful, and then revealed his full strength, the machine gun trained on the houses, the hundred and seventy riflemen also ready for action. Then he took the two lieutenants back for the meal. The heliograph equipment remained packed on two of the horses; he had no doubt that the brigade was following him as rapidly as it could, but he did not wish the sheikh to understand that.

  The meal itself was more interesting than attractive. They were served couscous, which consisted of very stringy mutton on a bed of undercooked semolina, and various local delicacies such as sheep’s eyeballs and goat’s testicles, which they had to swallow whole as there was no way they could bring themselves to chew them. They were required to eat with their fingers, of course, all dipping into the same pot with the sheikh and his elders, their inexperience causing some amusement amongst the women who were serving them. The women were actually more interesting than the meal itself, for they remained veiled and, indeed, so totally concealed by the combination of haik and yashmak that only their eyes and a very brief portion of forehead were visible, apart from their hands, which were invariably covered in flies. But Murdoch was only half-way through his couscous when he felt a most peculiar prickling sensation on the back of his neck, such as he had not experienced since just before the Boer ambush which had resulted in his captivity.

  He raised his head sharply and looked at one of the women, who was at that moment kneeling beside Tom Knox to offer him another fingerful of meat, but whose eyes, dark as midnight, had flickered up to meet his own. For a moment he could not believe his senses, yet he was sure as anything in his life that she was Mulein. Hastily he looked away as nonchalantly as he could, so that she would not understand that she had been recognised. But his brain was racing. Halstead had told him Mulein had quarrelled with her father and fled his house. Yet here she was...

  ‘Can you ask the sheikh,’ he said in a low aside to Hassan, ‘if all the ladies who are serving us are his wives?’

  ‘It would be impolite to ask him that, effendi,’ Hassan replied. ‘One does not discuss women, especially our host’s women. But I can tell you that they will all most certainly be his wives or daughters.’

  Murdoch saw Mulein serving Ramage, while ideas swirled through his mind. Their objective was to bring the Mullah to battle, if it could be done. But once the holy man realised the whole brigade was moving in his direction he would undoubtedly take his men to the south to war on the Italians until the British had gone home again. He would have to be tempted to stay. And Mulein understood English. In fact, that she was a spy for the Mullah and not for Halstead could hardly be doubted. At least he could find out—and perhaps manage to incriminate Sheikh Rahman at the same time, as the general so obviously wanted.

  The meal was nearly over. ‘Now, what I want you to do, Hassan,’ he said, speaking just a little more loudly than usual, ‘is see if you can obtain any information from the sheikh regarding the exact whereabouts of the Mullah and his men. I’ll tell you frankly, it’s all very well for the general to send me and my men out on a reconnaissance by ourselves and tell us we must penetrate the mountains of the Togdheer, but I don’t much like the idea of confronting several thousand fuzzy-wuzzies, what?’

  Ramage and Knox both stared at him in surprise, never having heard him speak like that before. Hassan looked equally bemused. But Knox then understood what he was trying to do, even if not the reason for it. ‘But do we have to go on, sir?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, we must, at least for a while,’ Murdoch told him. ‘I mean to say, there are those tracks, eh? Must put up a show, what?’ He was giving his best possible imitation of Johnnie Morton, but only the two lieutenants had ever met Morton.

  The bowl of couscous was offered at his elbow. As he dipped into it, he saw Mulein slipping out of the room.

  *

  There was little information to be gained from Sheikh Rahman, who had not of course understood the English conversation and merely kept saying there were many men in the hills. But Murdoch was no longer interested in the sheikh. He could hardly wait for the meal to finish.

  ‘Sergeant-major,’ he said when he regained the camp, ‘while we were lunching with the sheikh, did anyone leave the village? Fairly recently.’

  ‘Why, yes, sir. A horseman left about half an hour ago.’

  ‘I thought she was a woman,’ Sergeant Yeald objected.

  Hanley gave him a dirty look, but Murdoch nodded. ‘Very good, Yeald. She was a woman. Sergeant-major, prepare to move out at dusk.’

  ‘At dusk, sir?’ Hailley was aghast.

  ‘Can you follow that horse’s tracks in the darkness, Hassan?�
�

  ‘Yes, effendi. But moving in the dark, it is not good.’ He looked up at the hills.

  ‘And there are many men up there. It would be better to wait for the foot soldiers.’

  ‘We are going to let the foot soldiers come to us,’ Murdoch told him, ‘when we have found the Mullah. And I have an idea that we are going to be escorted to his doorstep. Lieutenant Ramage, as soon as it is dark and we move, you will send a despatch rider back to brigade with a message I will write out for him. Now let’s prepare to march.’

  They hurried about their duties, but Tom Knox, who by now considered himself a friend—as indeed he was—hesitated. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Didn’t you recognise the bint who was serving you?’

  ‘Can’t say I really looked at her.’

  ‘She was our old friend Mulein.’

  ‘Mulein? Good God! Are you sure?’

  ‘Sure enough. And as far as I’m concerned, she’s proved it. The moment she heard what we were saying in English, that we were on reconnaissance on our own and heading into the hills, she took off.’

  ‘To warn the Mullah?’

  ‘To tell him we’re coming, anyway. The general said the Mullah was becoming more aggressive, more arrogant, if you like. I doubt he’ll refuse the opportunity to annihilate an entire squadron of cavalry, especially when that course will be recommended by someone who loves us both so dearly.’

  ‘But surely this Sheikh Rahman character will see the brigade passing this way.’

  ‘Only after we are already in contact with the Mullah’s main force. If we can keep him occupied for just twenty-four hours, we may give Hardie the opportunity he has been waiting for. At the very least, if we can catch up with Miss Mulein, we should be able to turn up proof that her daddy is one of the Mullah’s men, and that will be a step in the right direction.’ He clapped Knox on the shoulder. ‘We came here to get this job done as quickly as possible. So let’s get to it, and then on to India.’