The Ravi Lancers

by John Masters

  ‘I don’t think it will,’ Warren said.

  ‘I was going to see Ishar Lall. I heard he was wounded.’

  ‘He is. But get back to your squadron. I think the Germans will attack soon.’

  ‘I ought to see him,’ the old man said doubtfully.

  ‘Get back to your squadron! ‘ Warren snapped. ‘And hold tight! ‘

  He hurried back towards RHQ. As he passed behind one of the sentries on the parados he heard the man gasp, ‘Dushman a-rahe!’

  He scrambled up and saw a dense grey-green mass advancing from the north. The enemy artillery fire had lifted and was now falling on the original British front trench, behind him. He dropped down, blew his whistle and shouted, ‘Enemy coming! Fire! Fire! ‘

  Then as the sowars jumped into position and a sporadic rifle fire broke out he ran with all his might to reach RHQ. The guns ought to be firing their defensive tasks ... even as he thought it, the whistling crack of the 18-pounders burst overhead, quickly increasing in volume. He reached RHQ and ran up to the little firestep they had dug out while he was away. The Germans were still coming, and now barely a hundred yards off.

  From the left fire from four machine guns raked the Germans and men began to fall.

  Warren exulted as the German mass wavered, began to break up, eddied to and fro, a fury of British artillery shells bursting among them. The Germans disappeared into holes and craters and trenches. A few minutes later their artillery opened up again, as heavy as before on the front line, and with a couple of extra batteries of mediums searching the left flank for the machine guns which had held up their assault. The smoke and lyddite fumes made him choke. A direct hit on the trench to his right hurled half a dozen broken bodies of A Squadron twenty feet into the air. The shelling grew insanely furious. At his feet Shikari began to whine and fidget. Crouched on the firestep, looking towards the enemy, Warren caught movement from the corner of his eye. Turning his head he saw a handful of men--sowars of the regiment--appear on the rear edge of A Squadron’s trench and begin running to the rear. One threw away his rifle as an encumbrance in his flight even as Warren watched. A moment later a huge shell burst, hiding the runners from sight. When the smoke cleared there was only one man running.

  ‘Bloody fools,’ Warren muttered. ‘They’re safer in the trench.’

  He jumped down, drew his revolver and called to Flaherty, ‘Come with me! Use your revolver if you have to.’

  ‘Very good, sir,’ the big lieutenant said, drawing his revolver.

  The German shelling stopped suddenly. Most of the men of A Squadron were huddled in the bottom of the trench, wide-eyed and dumb. ‘Up on the firestep,’ Warren shouted, ‘up, up!’ Behind him he heard Flaherty’s curt, ‘Get up, you,’ and the thud of kicks. The sowars began to shake their heads like men recovering from a nightmare. Some got up on to the step.

  Round a traverse he came upon half a dozen men climbing out in the other direction, among them Rissaldar Shamsher Singh.

  ‘Stop, rissaldar-sahib! ‘ he yelled. The old rissaldar looked at him with blank eyes and continued trying to get out of the trench and away. Warren thrust his revolver forward, shouting again, ‘Stop!’ The bloody old fool was not really scared, just numbed, shocked. He changed the grip on his pistol, meaning to knock the man out, but Flaherty stepped close, and his revolver was up. ‘Don’t...’ Warren cried, but it was too late. The Webley exploded heavily by his ear. Rissaldar Shamsher Singh’s face broke up, blood spurting from the eye and the mouth and the jaw falling to pieces. He fell, rolling back into the trench. But more men were scrambling out of the trench behind Warren, and more in front. To the left, he saw that C Squadron were out too, and streaming to the rear like a football crowd at the end of a match. Krishna Ram’s machine guns which had begun to fire again, had had to stop for fear of hitting the fleeing men.

  Now he saw Dayal Ram and the RHQ start back, for their lives, followed by de Marquez and his gunner signal group. He was alone in the once-captured trench with his orderly, his trumpeter, Lieutenant Flaherty, and Shikari. The Germans were advancing again.

  ‘We’d better get back, sir,’ Flaherty said, ‘our Indians have run and left us.’

  The four men scrambled out and ran, the dog racing away ahead as though he knew the danger as clearly as they. Bullets whistled and cracked about them. Once Warren glanced over his shoulder and saw that the Germans were not stopping at their old trench but were still coming on, at a steady walk, bayonets glistening under the cloud wrack. The artillery on both sides had lifted their fire off the immediate battlefield, though gouts of earth and the continuous thunder of explosions showed that they were firing on the flanks and rear areas to prevent the movement of reserves.

  Now, Warren thought, it all depends on Himat Singh and B and D Squadrons. He dropped into the trench which he had left nearly three hours earlier. At once a withering fire broke out all along the line. Himat Singh was there, but gave no more than a word. ‘All right, sir? ... Fire, B Squadron, fire! ‘ He and his rissaldar ran up and down the trench like sheep dogs, calling, ‘Fire! ... Aim and fire as fast as you can! They shall not come! Ahne mat do!’

  The Germans were wavering once more, the mass stopping, the men lying down. The four machine guns opened fire from the left again. A little to his right Warren saw Captain Himat Singh emerge from the trench, drawn sabre waving, at the head of a dozen men with fixed bayonets. They charged, firing and throwing jampot bombs as they went and attacked a group of Germans in a shell hole barely twenty yards from the trench. Three minutes later they returned, bayonets and sabre dripping red.

  De Marquez got a message through to his 18-pounders and the whipcrack of the light shells bursting in No Man’s Land finished the job. The remaining Germans started back for their own trenches. Almost at once the German heavies opened on the British lines and a few minutes later the scene was almost as it had been before zero hour--heavy shelling, the Ravi Lancers in this trench, the Germans in that. But it was not the same. Nothing ever would be again, Warren knew. The Ravi Lancers had faced war, and been found out.

  He turned to the adjutant and snapped, ‘Tell Bholanath to re-form and take over the left section of the front line, where they were this morning. D Squadron into reserve when it’s done.’

  ‘You’re wounded, sir. In the head.’

  Warren touched his head and felt a sharp stab of pain. There was blood on his hand. ‘It’s nothing ... a splinter. I suppose ... Send for Mr. Puran Lall.’

  ‘Yes, sir ... Rissaldar Ram Lall here reports that Major Krishna Ram is missing.’

  Warren said, ‘Speak, rissaldar-sahib.’

  The rissaldar’s uniform was torn and covered in mud. He said, ‘We were firing while the enemy was shelling, sahib. But the prince said we would not be able to fire on the enemy properly if they advanced past their old front line. He went alone, with his trumpeter, to look for a better place. Then there was heavy shelling upon us. He did not come back. Just as I started to go and look for him, the enemy attacked, and the squadrons began to retreat.’

  ‘To run away, you should say,’ Warren snapped.

  ‘We had to save our machine guns, sahib. I stayed till the Germans were so close I was throwing bombs at them.’

  ‘So the major’s out there, somewhere near where the machine guns were, and you don’t know whether he’s dead or alive? ... Dayal Ram, tell Major Bholanath to send out a strong patrol as soon as it’s dark, to look for the major or his body.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Warren sat down wearily on an ammunition box. Lieutenant Flaherty handed him a tin mug, saying, ‘Here, sir. Tea. The gunners have been brewing it ...’ and, as Warren took the tea, ‘I’m sorry about Rissaldar Shamsher Singh, sir. I thought you meant me to shoot ...’

  ‘I did,’ Warren said, ‘but when I saw the numb look in the old man’s eyes, I realized ... It doesn’t matter. You were right. We can’t afford any softness in this kind of war. You did well, Flaherty.’

 
; ‘Thank you, sir.’ The lieutenant flushed with pleasure.

  Warren sipped wearily. What a debacle. He needed more British officers. Even more Flahertys. Flaherty was a good deal senior to Puran Lall. Perhaps he would resent Puran being given A Squadron. He said, ‘I know you’re fit to command a squadron, but for the moment I’d rather keep you near me in RHQ. Besides you understand signals better than anyone else could.’

  ‘I understand, sir,’ Flaherty said; but did he, Warren wondered? He leaned down and patted Shikari’s head. ‘You didn’t like it out there, did you?’ he said, fondling the dog’s ears. ‘Well, no more did I, but we have to do our job, don’t we?’

  Warren drank again, thirsty now. Krishna Ram gone ... There had been times recently when he had almost wished for something like this, for the young man seemed to be wilfully opposing him. If there was any discontent and intrigue among the officers, he’d be the focus of it, with his rank and royal blood he could hardly help that ... and now he was gone, and in truth the odds were five to one against ever seeing him again. He felt saddened, as sad as the memory of Ishar Lall lying shattered in the bottom of the trench. Krishna was a good young man ... Indian, more Indian than he perhaps realized, but good, and brave. He did not have to risk his life; and now he was gone.

  What was he to do about the disaster of the battle? His men had run away. Even Bholanath had been unable to prevent it. They had acted illogically, running when the artillery fire made it suicidal, running when they could have held the Germans, as B Squadron had shown. They were Indians, that was the answer--their minds didn’t work the same way, even yet. But, what sort of an answer was that, when he knew that in the old days the Rajputs had gone out en masse to die in hopeless battle against the Moguls; and while the battle raged, the Rajput woman had burned themselves to death on vast funeral pyres inside the beleaguered fortress? Was the failure due to something in the conditions of this particular war? He remembered the words of the Commissioner in Lahore ... ‘the gods of Europe do not speak Hindi...’

  Dayal Ram said, ‘Sir, the Punjabis’ attack has been cancelled. The brigade commander wants to see you at his HQ.’

  Warren nodded, too weary to speak.

  Brigadier-General Rogers was angry. ‘The attack failed,’ he snapped, ‘when I had promised General Glover that it would succeed. Why? What am I going to tell him?’

  ‘It was not difficult to take the German front line,’ Warren said. ‘I think they moved most of their men from it as soon as our preliminary bombardment began. But unless the second and third lines are also taken in the same assault the Germans are ready there for a counterattack. The trenches that have just been captured face the wrong way and there’s no barbed wire to hold up a counterattack.’

  ‘Your men ran away, I am told,’ the general said coldly.

  ‘Yes, sir. The bombardment up there was very heavy. I was in it.’

  ‘The Fusiliers held on your right.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Warren said.

  British troops were more used to noises, blasts, and machines, he thought. Besides, they were British. But, then, his men were Rajputs.

  ‘What do you propose to do to raise the morale of your regiment?’

  ‘I haven’t worked it out yet, sir,’ Warren said. ‘I think probably the answer is to institute aggressive patrolling. I must prove to the sowars that they are as good men as the Germans, which they are.’

  That would help them stand up under the impersonal rain of steel. They had not lost their pride, from what he had seen, as British troops would have done, knowing they had disgraced themselves. They had been assailed by something no Indian had ever known, that there was nothing in his blood or experience to prepare him for, and now they were considering.

  ‘They’ll be all right, sir,’ Warren said. ‘We need a little more infantry training.’

  ‘I thought you were clamouring for action on foot,’ the general snapped. ‘You told me when you were converted that the men felt ashamed of seeing no fighting while the infantry were suffering so heavily.’ The monocle gleamed angrily in his eye.

  Warren said, ‘Yes, sir. But when we actually lost our horses the world was turned upside down for the men. I didn’t realize quite how lost they would feel. This attack came before they were mentally sure again ... sure of who they are.’

  ‘They’d better learn.’

  ‘Yes, sir ... I would like to have another British officer posted to me.’

  ‘You’ve lost the Yuvraj fellow, haven’t you?’

  ‘He’s missing. I’m sending patrols out to look for him.’

  ‘He seemed a good chap, for one of these fat rajah’s sons. Full of opium all the time, I suppose, like the rest of them.’

  ‘I don’t think so, sir. He was a very good cricketer.’

  ‘Well, about another BO ... You realize he’d have to be your second-in-command? Can’t have natives ordering British officers about, especially not States Forces fellows.’

  ‘No, sir,’ Warren said. Personally he wouldn’t have minded a junior officer. A young man would learn a lot serving under such as Bholanath and even Krishna Ram ... if he came back. But the general was probably right from the point of view of the army as a whole.

  The general said, ‘Well, I’ll try, but officers trained to serve with Indian troops don’t grow on trees, you know. And we’ve lost half a dozen in this attack already.’

  Warren saluted and started trudging back up the line. Brigade headquarters was two miles in rear of his own rear area. They couldn’t have seen anything of what was going on in the attack from back there, and no one had come forward to see for himself. No one had come forward since the attack ended, either. His orderly, at his heels, said, ‘The sahib should go to RAP now.’

  Warren said, ‘What for?’

  ‘To have his wound properly dressed.’

  ‘Oh, that.’ Warren had forgotten about it and as the dried cut was under his hat the general had not seen it. ‘But I must visit the wounded.’

  He turned off the shell-pocked muddy road just before the trench lines began, and found the RAP in the ruins of a cowshed, the vanished roof replaced by tarpaulins and a large red cross painted on the front wall, facing the Germans.

  The smells of formaldehyde and carbolic were overpowering, and the colour was red ... red stained earth and red stained khaki bandages, the soldiers’ brown faces reddened by the hurricane lanterns placed on benches and empty shell boxes down the muddy floor. Captain Ramaswami was operating in the corner on a man sitting on a table, holding out his hand. The doctor was digging a sliver of steel out of the hand. The man’s face was wet with sweat and he had the end of his turban clenched between his teeth. The doctor finished, expertly bandaged the wound and said, ‘All right. You can go now.’

  Warren said, ‘Didn’t you give him an anaesthetic?’

  ‘Don’t have enough to spare. Besides, he didn’t want to be sent back to the CCS. He just wanted to be returned to his squadron.’

  ‘Which is that?’

  ‘A.’

  Warren thought, that’s the squadron that started the debacle. And this man wanted to get back up the line rather than rest in safety for a few days.

  ‘How’s Ishar Lall,’ he asked.

  ‘Dead,’ the doctor said coldly, as though Warren had killed him himself.

  Warren frowned at the black face, and was about to make a sharp retort; but Ishar Lall was dead. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘He was one of the best.’

  The doctor’s surly expression softened a little and he said, ‘He had no business coming to this war and dying this way . . . ‘

  ‘How many men have you treated here,’ Warren interrupted.

  ‘Forty-eight. Sent twenty back to CCS and ten back to their squadrons. I can hold the rest. Three died here of wounds, including 2nd Lieutenant Ishar Lall.’

  ‘You’ve done well,’ Warren said.

  ‘Well? Patching these men up so that they can get back into this murderous war? I woul
d be doing a thousand times better saving one woman in Madras.’

  Warren lost his temper and shouted, ‘If you want to get out of the fighting, Ramaswami, put in an official request and I’ll see that it is forwarded to brigade. Or go and see the ADMS.’

  He walked out, his orderly muttering, ‘Your wound, sahib.’

  He snapped, ‘Quiet, son! Say no more.’

  He trudged up the communication trenches towards the front. He must put Himat Singh in for another DSO. And speak to Puran Lall about A Squadron. Of course, the poor fellow had hardly been in command ten minutes when it happened. With his twin brother dying beside him. And there was the panchayat on Sher Singh which he had decided to hold. The general would have a fit if he knew. The general was going to lose one medal because of the failure of the attack--Warren could sense it--and if the truth about this affair ever reached him ... Still, he must go through with it.

  He reached RHQ and said, ‘Send for Major Bholanath.’

  The major came soon and Warren said, ‘I have decided that the matter of Captain Sher Singh’s behaviour should be judged by a panchayat. It shall consist of yourself, as a prince of the blood and representative of the rajah, your brother. Captain Ramaswami. Lieutenant Dayal Ram. Rissaldar-Major Baldev Singh. And the Pandit-ji.’

  ‘It is understood, sahib,’ the old major said in Hindi.

  ‘Hold it here, as soon as you can. Give no decision to the prisoner, but advise me before midnight what you recommend.’

  ‘It is understood, sahib.’

  ‘Make proper arrangements to be recalled to your squadrons in case of alarm.’

  ‘It is understood, sahib ... I was going to go out with the patrol to look for my great-nephew, the Yuvraj.’

  ‘You’re too senior for that. Send your rissaldar.’

  ‘The Yuvraj is of my blood, sahib.’

  ‘Hukm hai!’ Warren snapped. ‘You have plenty of work in your squadron, to see that it does not run away again.’

  ‘They have blackened my face,’ the old man said seriously. ‘They know it. They will not do it again. It was the noise, sahib, and the sight of A Squadron running ... It is said that Lieutenant Flaherty killed Rissaldar Shamsher Singh.’