THE GENERALS

by Simon Scarrow

  As light faded the day after the army had encamped, General Harris summoned Arthur to his headquarters and both men leaned over a map of the territory around the enemy’s capital. Harris pointed to the tope. ‘The enemy have been firing rockets into our lines from these trees all afternoon. I want them cleared out of there. If you can take and hold this area then we can get some guns forward to enfilade their defences this side of the south Cauvery.’

  Arthur looked at the map. ‘What do we know about the nullah, sir? Is it fordable?’

  ‘I imagine you’ll discover that soon enough,’ Harris replied tersely.

  Arthur straightened up. ‘Would it not be a good idea to send out a small party to reconnoitre first, sir? Before we try anything with the whole regiment in the dark.’

  Harris frowned. ‘Colonel, we do not have the luxury of time to do that. Now you have your orders, so carry them out.’ He paused and then added shrewdly, ‘Unless you would like me to give the job to Baird.’

  ‘I’ll go, sir.’ Arthur replied stiffly.

  ‘Good. Then you’d best prepare your regiment right away. I want that tope in our hands by first light.’

  ‘Where’s this bloody tope then?’ Major Shee muttered as he strained his eyes to try to make out the details of the ground ahead of them. The night was dark and ahead the nullah rose up as a black mass. It was impossible to pick out any trees. He turned back to the other officers. ‘Sir?’

  Arthur had been trying to identify some landmarks to fix his position from what he recalled of the general’s map, but the night had defeated him. At first they had been guided towards the tope by the continuing rocket fire, but then the enemy had ceased their attack and Arthur had done his best to keep his men moving in that direction, advancing ahead of the main body of the regiment with the two flank companies. He had decided to leave Major Shee in command of the rest of the battalion, where hopefully his difficult nature and predisposition to drink would not endanger the men. Arthur was aware of the nervousness of the soldiers around him, particularly young Lieutenant Fitzgerald of the grenadier company.

  He cleared his throat and spoke calmly. ‘The tope should be just the other side of the nullah.There’s only one way to be sure, of course. That’s why we’re here. It’s time to go forward, gentlemen. Mr Fitzgerald.’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘Pass the word back down the line and tell the men to move as quietly as possible. Then come forward with me. I’ll need a runner once we reach the tope.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Arthur turned to Shee. ‘Major?’

  ‘Yes, Colonel?’

  Arthur could have sworn that he smelt traces of spirits on Shee’s breath.

  ‘Return to the other companies and bring the regiment up in support. If we do engage the enemy on the far side of the nullah, we’ll need you on the scene quickly.’

  ‘Yes, sir.You can rely on me.’

  ‘Of course, Major. I would expect nothing less.’

  Shee saluted then turned and half walked, half stumbled across the broken ground back towards the rest of the 33rd. Arthur put the chances of the man’s losing his way at about evens and was grateful that he had thought to appoint Fitzroy as the major’s second in command for the night’s operation.

  Arthur waited for Fitzgerald to return and then he called out softly, ‘Flank companies . . . advance.’

  They moved forward as quietly as they could but Arthur winced as his finely tuned ears caught the sound of boots scuffing the ground and the faint chink of loose equipment. The land began to slope upwards as they reached the nullah and Arthur’s senses strained to pick up every detail of sight and sound. Somewhere on the far side of the aqueduct the enemy were waiting and he suddenly felt terribly vulnerable. Then the realisation hit him.

  There was a faint loom along the horizon behind the regiment and they would be silhouetted against lighter sky the moment they reached the top of the nullah.They would be easy targets. He drew his pistol and held it close to his chest as he scrambled up through the grass.Then, as the ground levelled off, he stopped and glanced round. The water in the aqueduct was ink black and stretched out on either side.

  ‘Fitzgerald. Bring the men up. Light company to the left. Grenadiers to the right.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  As Fitzgerald whispered the order down the bank Arthur eased himself forward, slipping his boot into the water. The footing was soft and sloped steeply and in moments he was up to his waist. He held the pistol high and waded forward, hoping that the crocodiles confined themselves to the river. He moved slowly towards the far bank, fifteen yards ahead, and then climbed carefully out. Arthur looked round, listening, but all was still and quiet amongst the low trees of the tope below the nullah. He felt a wave of relief that they seemed to have found the right place, and stood erect, forcing himself to set the appropriate example to his officers and men.

  ‘Fitzgerald, bring the flank companies over.’

  The men moved forward into the water, muskets held overhead as they waded across. Above the faint splashes Arthur could clearly hear some muttering, before a sergeant growled, ‘Keep yer bloody mouths shut.’

  The dark shapes were clambering up on to the bank on either side of Arthur when there was a blazing pool of light from a short distance away down below amongst the trees, and a loud roaring hiss.

  ‘Rocket!’ someone just had time to yell before the missile arced out of a gap in the trees, towards the bank of the nullah, and buried itself in the ground so close to Arthur that he blinked as a shower of loose soil spattered his face. At once more rockets were fired, brilliantly illuminating the tope so that Arthur had brief glimpses of the tangled mangrove that lay ahead of him. Muskets joined in, flaring in the darkness as they went off.

  ‘The bastards are everywhere!’ Fitzgerald shouted and ducked as a rocket fizzed overhead.

  ‘Stand up!’ Arthur took his arm and forced Fitzgerald to his feet. ‘You’re an officer, Fitzgerald.You must set the standard.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Arthur turned to his men.‘Get down the bank! Into the tope. Quickly!’

  The soldiers of the flank companies slithered and clambered down the bank and moved forward towards the trees, still under fire from the enemy troops and rocket crews.Arthur veered right, towards the grenadiers, who, true to their role as the teeth arm of the regiment, had fixed bayonets and were charging towards where the enemy fire seemed most concentrated. With a sick feeling of anxiety Arthur noticed that the men were already separating and he cupped a hand to his mouth.

  ‘Flank companies! On me!’ Around him the crackle of gunfire and the hiss of rockets and the shouts and cries of the men drowned out his order. ‘On me! On me, damn it!’

  ‘Sir! Watch out!’ Fitzgerald called out as half a dozen shapes suddenly materialised out of the darkness. Arthur drew his sword and raised his pistol, tensing as he prepared to fight.Then, by the dim flare of a rocket passing a short distance away, he saw that they were grenadiers.

  ‘It’s the colonel!’ one of the men said, in a relieved voice. ‘Thank Christ.’

  Arthur waited until they were gathered round him, then issued his orders. ‘We’re going forward. We still have to clear the enemy out of the tope. There’s plenty of our lads out there, and the rest of the 33rd will be here soon, so watch your targets before you use the bayonet.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ the men muttered.

  ‘Follow me then.’

  They set off, Arthur leading from the front, followed by

  Fitzgerald and then the grenadiers.Arthur made for a small group of Tipoo’s men that he had seen a moment earlier and went forward as quickly as he could through the tangled roots and undergrowth of the dried-out mangrove. It was impossible to make any speed in the pitch black and the men had to hold their weapons carefully for fear of injuring their comrades if they tripped or slipped as they struggled through the tope. Meanwhile sounds of firing and fighting continued on all sides. Arthur was furious. Th
ere was no sense in sending men forward into such terrain on a dark night. The disciplined cohesion that had made the 33rd such a deadly weapon on the battlefield was shattered. His men, so carefully trained to stand and fight in ordered ranks, were scattered across the tope. Leaderless and no doubt fearful of the unfamiliar conditions, they had lost any advantage they might have had over Tipoo’s men at Malavalley. Arthur vowed to make a protest to Harris the moment the attack was over.

  ‘Sir!’ Fitzgerald called out as loudly as he dared. ‘Up ahead. The enemy.’

  Arthur stared into the darkness, and thought he saw shapes moving amongst the dark tangle of trees ahead of him. Then there was a flash as one of the enemy fired his musket towards the nullah and in the orange glow Arthur saw another five or six men frozen as they raised their muskets. As the light blinked out one of Tipoo’s men shouted out in alarm. The same light had clearly illuminated Arthur and his men.

  ‘We’re seen! Get at them!’ Arthur lurched forward, sensing clear ground under his feet as he entered an open space between the thickets. Another musket flashed out, no more than twenty feet away, and Arthur felt the rush of air as the ball passed close by his cheek. Instantly he raised his pistol and fired in the direction of the muzzle flash. By its light he saw the man, looking up from his musket. At once there was a cry of pain and Arthur shoved the pistol into his belt and went forward with his sword, slashing at the dim figure of the man he had shot. The blade connected with a jarring thud and the enemy soldier collapsed with a grunt. Then there were more figures all around him in the darkness and only the vague shapes of turbans or shakos allowed the combatants to identify each other.There was no chance for skills learned in bayonet drill or fencing practice to be used in the deadly game of blind man’s buff as the redcoats and Tipoo’s warriors fought it out, thrusting with their bayonets and swinging heavy musket butts, while the two officers made sword cuts at the swirling black forms to their front.

  ‘Bastard’s got me!’ one of the grenadiers cried out in surprise and terror, then added in astonishment, ‘It’s me shoulder!’

  Then the sounds of fighting stopped, and Arthur could hear bodies crashing away through the undergrowth. Then there was only the hard breathing of those who remained, and a thin keening whine from the badly wounded man.

  Arthur swallowed and drew a deep breath. ‘On me,’ he said quietly. ‘Fitzgerald?’

  ‘Here, sir.’

  ‘You grenadiers, over here.’ Arthur moved over to the wounded man and knelt down. ‘Who is this?’

  ‘Private Williams, sir,’ the man groaned. ‘Oh, God! It bloody hurts . . .’

  Arthur turned to the others.‘Get Williams up.We have to take him back to the nullah.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’Two of the men leaned over and raised Williams from the ground, while another picked up his musket. Williams groaned in agony.

  ‘Keep yer bloody mouth closed,’ one of the men grumbled. ‘Or yer’ll ’ave all of ’em down on us in a flash.’

  ‘Quiet there,’ said Arthur, and then looked round. It was a moment before he realised that he had no idea in which direction the nullah lay.

  ‘Sir?’ Fitzgerald whispered. ‘Which way?’

  ‘Damn it, man, I don’t know!’ Arthur glanced round to try to make out some landmark, something familiar. Then he saw the faintest loom in the sky which had earlier revealed his men to the enemy concealed in the tope. ‘There.’

  They made their way out of the small clearing and back through the dense undergrowth, all the time listening for the enemy.There were still occasional shots and rockets much further off, and shouts from men who were fighting, lost or wounded. Arthur was tempted to try to rally them again but paused when he heard the sound of several men passing through the trees a short distance away.

  ‘Down,’ he hissed, and then Williams let out a groan. The other men stopped and fell silent and Arthur felt his heart beating against his chest like a mallet.

  ‘33rd!’ he called out, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword. The sounds resumed, growing closer, and one of the grenadiers laughed nervously. ‘Come on, you bastards, who is it?’

  A musket fired close by and in its glare Arthur saw a handful of the enemy. Almost at once there was another shot and a blow struck him just above the kneecap, knocking his leg out from under him. Arthur fell back with a shout of surprise rather than pain.At once the enemy let out a cry and charged the grenadiers.

  ‘Let’s have ’em!’ Fitzgerald bellowed and ran forward. The grenadiers went after him with their bayonets lowered. Struggling back on to his feet Arthur ran his spare hand down his breeches until they came to a ragged tear over his knee.The cloth was sodden and when his fingers probed further a searing pain made him gasp. He stood up and limped towards the sounds of the fight nearby: the scrape of metal, the thud of blows and the groans of the combatants. A figure rose up in front of him, sword raised ready to strike. Just in time Arthur recognised the shape of the man’s hat.

  ‘Easy, Fitzgerald. It’s me!’

  The young lieutenant froze for a moment and then laughed. ‘Sorry, sir.’

  ‘Where are the others?’

  ‘That way, sir.’ He turned and raised his arm, barely visible in the dark. ‘Over—’

  Someone burst through the undergrowth just beyond Fitzgerald and then the lieutenant let out an explosive gasp as he was borne back, past Arthur, under the impact of a pike. An enemy soldier snarled with triumph as he drove the weapon on into the officer’s body and then, too late, he noticed Arthur, and the sabre scythed through the air and into his neck with a wet, crunching thud. Abruptly he released his hold on the pike and snatched at his throat, sinking to his knees before he toppled to one side with a gurgling sound. Arthur sheathed his sword and knelt beside Fitzgerald.

  ‘Oh, God . . . God . . .’ Fitzgerald moaned as his body trembled. ‘Sweet Jesus . . . it hurts.’

  Arthur groped towards the shaft of the pike, felt along until he sensed Fitzgerald’s jacket and then fixed his grip on the pike. ‘Hold steady there.’

  ‘Sir?’ Fitzgerald writhed as the pike moved inside his stomach. Arthur gritted his teeth and wrenched the shaft and head of the weapon out and felt a rush of blood over his hands as the other man screamed.

  ‘Grenadiers!’ Arthur called out. ‘Over here! On me!’

  There was a rustling as the men came back, breathing hard. ‘There you are, sir. Thought we’d lost you. Where’s Mr Fitzgerald?’

  ‘Here. He’s been injured. Did you deal with them? The enemy?’

  ‘Two down; the others ran for it. Not a scratch on us, sir.’

  ‘Good. Now, you, help Mr Fitzgerald. Get him over your shoulders.The rest of you find Williams and let’s get out of here. There’s nothing more we can do.’

  ‘What about you, sir?’ asked one of the grenadiers. ‘I heard you fall.’

  ‘I’m all right.’ Arthur replied through gritted teeth. ‘Don’t worry about me. Get moving.’

  The nullah was closer than he had thought and shortly after the brief skirmish they emerged from the trees to see the bank rising up above them. As they struggled up the slope several figures rose up on either side.

  ‘33rd!’ Arthur snapped. ‘Colonel Wellesley. We’ve got wounded men here.We have to get them across to the other side. Lend a hand.’

  The small party clambered into the water, helping Williams and Fitzgerald across to the other side.The lieutenant groaned in agony as he was manhandled over the nullah on the shoulders of three men, and he passed out before he reached the far bank. Arthur glanced back towards the impenetrable mass of the tope. There was still fighting going on in there, further off now, and he shook his head in pity and anger for the fate of his men before he turned and waded across the nullah.

  ‘Twenty-four casualties?’ Harris mused. ‘Not as bad as it could have been, Colonel. Too bad about Fitzgerald. He was a fine young man.’

  It was shortly after midnight and Arthur stood before the general in the head
quarters tent, still in sodden, muddy clothes. A bloodstained dressing had been tied round the flesh wound just above his knee. His face was rigid with barely suppressed rage as he replied. ‘Twenty-four of my men is bad enough, sir, considering they never should have been sent into the tope in the first place.’