by Mark Jackson
Ritchie brought his boot down hard and picked up the gun.
Outside the castle doors, four Boers stood in confusion at the noise of distant gunshots. Janni and Kruger raced out of the castle.
“What’s going on?” Kruger, his voice hard.
Venter pointed towards the village.
“Gunshots. From the harbour.”
Kruger and Janni exchanged glances.
Kruger turned back to Venter.
“Take two men and check it out. The locals might be getting jumpy. Where’s Skinstad? Find him.”
Kruger nodded to Janni.
“Speed up the packing and check the guards.”
They rushed to obey. Kruger looked agitated, like a ruffled hawk.
Battle rose to face Sturm. He adjusted his balance on the boat deck.
“Six four, 18 stone. Heavyweight.”
Battle wiped blood away from his lower face.
“And a southpaw.”
Battle edged forwards.
Sturm’s bulging shoulders tensed. A huge haymaker was launched. Battle stepped inside and drilled his fists into the taller man’s stomach, dancing away he planted a stinging hook onto Sturm’s jaw. The Afrikaner recovered his balance, but the blows hurt.
Thomas appeared eight feet behind Battle’s shoulder.
Battle edged forward. Sturm looked powerful. He threw out two heavy punches. Battle skipped in again. This time Sturm’s face took a battering. A vicious combination, followed by two stabbing blows to the kidneys. Sturm looked pained and bewildered.
Sturm’s eyes looked wild. He went berserk. Battle ducked to avoid the taller man’s reach, smashing his fists in again, but Sturm seemed beyond pain and caught Battle on the top of his head. Battle twisted away, but was cuffed by Sturm’s other hand.
Battle rocked back against the railings. Sturm, his mouth and nose bloody, blundered on. He grabbed Battle by the throat and squeezed.
Battle’s punches rained into Sturm’s kidneys and ribs. The big Afrikaner just squeezed tighter. Battle’s efforts grew more frantic. Sturm leaned in and Battle, desperation contorting his face, butted him twice in the face.
Battle powered on, using head and hands, as slowly the great Afrikaner’s strength gave way.
Sturm slid backwards, his grip failing, as Battle, his face dark, stepped in close to finish his work.
The lumbering Sturm fell to the deck. His face was a pulp.
Battle looked done. He stared across at Thomas and Ritchie, breathing heavily.
At the rear of Drumgoyne Castle, Otto, a small broad shouldered Boer with a goatee beard, was on guard duty. He was too far away to have heard the attack at the harbour, being at the other side of the castle.
Keilty’s eyes narrowed down the barrel of his sights. Slowly, gently, his finger caressed the trigger. The weapon kicked back into his shoulder.
Otto’s expression fixed, as the air was pumped out of his lungs by the impact of the round. He crumpled.
Keilty scanned the countryside and gave a hand signal. Karen was at his shoulder. McDonald and Gordon made a break from cover.
Thomas crouched in the shadow of a building. He watched the road up the hill. He turned and signalled. Battle moved forward. Battle stopped. His face was still bloody. He turned back and waved. Ritchie ran towards him, carrying the rifle and ammo he had taken off the young Boer, Pieter.
Krease trotted across the castle lawn to where Mani was standing by a garden wall. Krease was well named. Like Kruger, his face was scarred, and his mouth twisted by an old burn. Mani, by contrast, was younger, handsome with a shock of blond hair that threatened to curl if it were ever permitted to grow.
“There’s some trouble down the harbour. Tell Helt and Otto.”
Mani nodded. As Krease headed back to the castle, Mani turned and waved at Helt, who acknowledged and tightened his grip on his rifle. Mani stepped into the outer garden, which was designed as a Victorian maze. However, he seemed to know where he was going. He moved with pace. Right and left. At the third turn, he stepped onto McDonald’s knife.
The highlander lowered Mani’s body to the ground.
Helt was standing at the second entrance to the outer garden. He had seen Mani go in, but edged closer to the wall. He began a scan of the garden. He responded to a slight coughing noise, but was already dead. His face scraped against the granite stone wall as he fell. Keilty stepped out from the maze.
In the Great Hall, the crates were being sealed. Kruger and Janni moved through the hall, Kruger giving instructions.
“As soon as you’re done, take up position at the front gate.
“There could be more to those shots than Skinstad’s mischief.”
Janni nodded, but looked momentarily frightened.
Laird’s private chambers were lavish. The huge four-poster bed hung with weighty velvet curtains. The furniture, all dark and expensive, was made to outlast the Empire. The candlesticks and Laird’s hairbrush and mirror were silver.
Laird’s ageing hands carefully lifted up a magnificent crown. The elegant fingers lovingly caressed the craftwork, that glinted and shone as he raised it.
Laird’s expression was that of a small child.
“Fit for a king.”
Venter and four other Boers were running down the steep lane from the castle towards the village.
The sound of their feet on the uneven flagstones echoed down the road.
Thomas stepped out from a side passage, his Enfield buckled. Venter screamed a warning. Battle fired from the other side of the wynd, the narrow street that led up from the harbour. The leading Boer’s tunic changed colour. Three of the Boers were cut down. Venter dived for cover.
He lay pressed against a cold wall. He reached across to feel his arm. He had been hit. He swore in Afrikaans.
From his position he could see the body of one dead colleague and the twitching boot of another.
Venter made his decision.
“Kruger.”
Using his rifle as a crutch, he lifted himself up.
Through the back yard of a village house, a pair of boots moved quickly.
Venter sensed his predicament. He wiped his face and edged along the passageway. Speeding up, he turned left back up the hill.
The boots moved through a gate, trailing Venter.
Venter froze at the noise, then hastened his retreat. He reached another yard and hugging the wall of a house, turned the corner. Ritchie stood, feet apart at the top of a short stone flight of steps. Ritchie and his rifle stared malevolently at Venter.
“NO!”
The butt of Battle’s gun knocked Venter out from behind. Battle nodded at Ritchie. The two moved on.
As Kruger and Janni hurried from the Great Hall, they were met by an agitated Krease.
“More shots and I was close enough to tell they are firing Enfields.”
Kruger took this in.
“How many men at the gate?”
Kraese answered:
“Six.”
Kruger looked to Janni.
“Tell the packers to hurry.”
“They’re just about done.”
Kruger made his call.
“If there’s trouble coming, we sit and wait for it.”
Kruger spun away to issue more orders.
Chapter Sixteen
Storming the Castle
McDonald surveyed the castle from the garden wall. He leant back and signalled Keilty. McDonald checked Gordon was with him. He pointed to a doorway.
“That still the kitchen?”
Gordon nodded.
McDonald crouched and sprinted towards the door. Gordon followed. Keilty and Karen covered them.
They reached the doorway. McDonald tried the handle. It was locked.
He turned and signalled Keilty. Pulling out his Webley Mk IV revolver, a souvenir from his service in Africa, McDonald shot the lock, leaning back to empty more rounds into the top and bottom of the door, where the bolts and hinges were.
Kruger and three packers froze at the sound of the nearby shots.
Kruger threw a rifle to one of his men.
“The servants’ quarters. Now!”
All the three men rushed to obey. Kruger checked his rifle and strode from the room.
On the other side of the kitchen door, McDonald nodded to Gordon. They charged the door. It gave slightly. A second charge.
Gordon and McDonald burst through the door. The door was still on its hinges and Gordon had been gashed above his left eye by evil looking splinters.
They moved through the large kitchen.
McDonald scanned the room.
“Just how I mind it.”
He turned to Gordon.
“I used to deliver game here with my father.”
Gordon was binding his hand. That too was seeping blood. Gordon’s smile was hard.
“I still do. Where’s your Irish friend?”
Mac pointed towards the other side of the castle.
“The others may need some help with the front gate.”
McDonald and Gordon moved out of the kitchen into a short dark hallway. A Boer appeared at the far end. He shouted a warning to the other Boers coming down the corridor. Gordon ducked against a doorway, but McDonald dropped onto one knee, moving the rifle up in the same movement to shoot the Boer.
Another appeared, shouted and fired wildly, but McDonald had already turned down a corridor.
Kruger strode towards the open main doors. Three men were stationed at the main entrance. Rifle in his hand, he looked across at the main gates.
“Tell them to keep the gates open. We’ll need them tonight.”
Keilty was outside, at the corner of the building. From here, he could see the gate clearly and the front entrance by craning his head.
“Any time now.”
As if in answer, shots rang out. One of the Boers at the gate fell. Keilty smiled.
Kruger and his men were startled.
“Find out who we’re up against,” Kruger ordered.
Johannes raced towards the gate, where the exchanges of fire were coming from.
Keilty shifted his position. Johannes’s run halted midway across the lawn. His legs buckled and he fell.
Kruger stared in amazement. He turned to the right to find the source of the shot, amidst the shooting at the gate. The man next to him slammed into the wall. Picked off by the sniper.
Kruger waved his men back.
“Inside!”
At the gatehouse, a handful of Boers were returning fire at a stone dyke. Thomas and Ritchie fired back. The Boers held the better cover. Two of them were shooting from inside a small gatehouse.
Thomas opened his coat and pulled out a flare gun. He slotted in the cartridge.
Thomas caught Ritchie’s attention.
“Give me cover.”
Ritchie, slightly bewildered, did as he was told. Thomas stood, aimed and fired the flare at the gatehouse. The flare flashed through one of the windows.
“Now!”
Before the two of them had moved a couple of feet, Battle appeared from the other side of the road. Bayonet fixed. He was howling like a Dervish, firing as he ran.
Two Boers scrambled out of the gatehouse. Another fell as Battle emptied his magazine. Thomas and Ritchie followed.
Across the lawn, Keilty dropped one of the Boers emerging from the gatehouse.
The other turned in desperation as Battle charged at him. The Boer raised his rifle, but Battle stepped in knocking the weapon aside with his own and, counting to himself, as if practising a deadly dance ritual, stabbed home the bayonet.
In the entrance hall, Kruger was met by Janni.
He pointed back into the great house.
“They came in through the back. At least two of them. It’s the drunk from the train.”
“McDonald.”
Kruger’s scarred face was evil with hate.
“He’s mine.”
McDonald was moving through the castle. He pushed a door open. It was a bedroom. He scanned the room. Empty. He withdrew. His movements trained, contained, primed.
Keilty rolled away from the building. Now he had a better angle on the main door.
He gave covering fire as Battle, Thomas and Ritchie charged.
Keilty squinted and gently eased back the trigger.
One of the two Boers firing from the archway was hit. The other fired two more wild rounds at the onrushing trio. A loud retort as Karen’s bullet took him in the chest. Keilty nodded at her in appreciation of the shot.
Battle, Thomas and Ritchie poured through the entrance and into the hallway. Keilty rose and ran the same way in a crouch. Karen followed, stopping to send another shot at the front door.
Battle charged into Drumgoyne Castle. He stabbed down on the Boer lying on the left and took up position looking into the Great Hall. Thomas crouched at the foot of the wide stairs. Ritchie followed.
The Boer on the right moved slightly. Keilty’s shot had not finished him. His gun dragged on the floor. Battle spun around at the noise as the Boer fired. Ritchie was spun off his feet.
Battle levelled his gun, but Keilty’s rifle butt beat him to it.
McDonald was moving through the castle corridors. He stopped as a door ahead of him closed. He paused. McDonald stepped forward very slowly. The doorframe next to him splintered as a bullet slammed into it. McDonald dived for cover.
Kruger stood against a wall at the far end of the corridor.
“Remember Bulwana, McDonald? You shot my father as he rode with Laird. Remember that?”
McDonald listened to place the voice.
“It was our land. Our homeland. We tamed it. Did you think you could steal it?”
“The ravens came home. So will the jewels.” McDonald’s voice carried down the corridor.
Kruger’s cold, twisted laugh floated down the hall like an evil ghost.
Thomas and Keilty were kneeling over Ritchie in the entrance hall. His face was chalk white. Thomas pushed some cloth into the wound.
“Stay awake, man. Sit there and cover the door for us. Can you do that?”
Ritchie, his breath shallow, nodded.
Thomas and Keilty’s eyes met. Karen watched the exchange and realised what it meant. There was no hope for Ritchie.
Gordon was advancing slowly and cautiously down a passageway. Like his sister Karen, he was more used to stalking deer high in the glens. This type of room to room fighting was alien to him. He edged forward cautiously. One wrong move could be his last and he knew it.
McDonald was listening, pressed against a doorway. From the end of the long corridor came the merest of movements. Kruger raised his arm and fired.
Kruger waited, then leaned out and loosened another round. Simultaneously, McDonald did the same. They spied each other as the bullets flew wide. Both pressed back in for cover.
The muffled sound of shots reached Battle in the hallway.
“They’re upstairs, Ged. Come on, Doubtin’!”
Battle’s cry reached Kruger.
Kruger made a decision. He stepped out and fired two shots down the hall, before turning towards the stairs. He moved across the top of the stairs, where Janni was covering them.
As Thomas appeared climbing the sweeping staircase, Kruger leaned out and fired. Janni did the same.
Thomas stumbled backwards, clutching his shoulder.
Battle leapt forwards.
“Doubtin’!”
Kruger signalled Janni and he moved away from the stairs. Kruger followed.
McDonald was pressed into the doorway. From there he heard the shooting near the grand staircase. Slowly he crept forward.
Thomas was slumped on the first landing, when Battle reached him.
“Doubtin’, you stupid old duffer.”
Thomas grimaced.
“There’s two of them. Kruger and the one from the train.”
Keilty appeared three steps below. Battle’s eyes misted over. He powered up the st
airs.
“Cover me, Ged!”
“Tommy!” shouted Keilty in warning.
Battle leaped up the second flight, Keilty in pursuit.
McDonald rounded the corner of the upstairs hallway and saw Janni and Kruger moving away from the stairs. He stepped forward and fired. His shot missed Janni, who fired back. As Battle charged up the stairs, Kruger levelled his pistol.
“You’re a dead man, Tommy.” Kruger looked down his barrel at Battle and fired.
Battle was propelled backwards.
McDonald, hearing Kruger’s words, stepped out and fired again. The Boers retreated.
Keilty reached Battle. The Londoner was struggling for breath.
“He knew my name, Ged.” Battle was bewildered.
Keilty looked stricken.
“You’re famous, Tommy.”
Battle died.
“All the world over.” Keilty laid Battle’s head back.
“Ged, Tommy! Come up slowly. Watch your right!” Mac shouted from above.
Keilty closed Battle’s eyes and lifted his gun.
Keilty climbed cautiously to the top of the stairs. McDonald pointed to where the enemy had gone. Keilty nodded. His face was pitiless.
“Laird’s your man, Mac.”
McDonald studied his friend’s face and accepted his decision.
McDonald watched as Keilty inched forward with catlike stealth. As he did so, Keilty pulled out a pistol and a thin killing knife.
Chapter Seventeen
The Wolf ’s Bite
McDonald walked slowly down the wide main staircase, pausing to take in Battle’s still body. Ritchie was slumped against the ancient stone wall. White-faced and motionless, he gave no sign of life.
McDonald edged into a small hall. He scanned the room and stepped into it. Propped against one of the crates was Gordon. He was wounded, bleeding from a thigh wound.
“He jumped me. Him and his master. He’s waiting for you. In the Great Hall.”
McDonald examined Gordon’s wound. The injured man grimaced.
“I’ll live.”
McDonald smiled at the man’s courage.
“Aye, you will, laddie.”
McDonald looked towards the doors that led into the Great Hall.
Tucking away his weapons, Mac picked up Gordon’s fallen Enfield, with the bayonet still fixed, and checked the breech. Old habits keep you alive.