The Maclarens (The Regiment Family Saga Book 1)

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The Maclarens (The Regiment Family Saga Book 1) Page 15

by CL Skelton

‘For this important part of the operation, I am detailing the 148th, which will be reinforced by a number of guns and eight-inch mortars, and a half-company of sappers.

  ‘Colonel Maclaren, I shall discuss your part in this operation in greater detail immediately after the conclusion of this briefing.’

  Two days later, C Company was drawn up on morning parade being addressed by Andrew. They had been standing there for some half-hour, standing easy, relaxed and yet with an undercurrent of tension as they chatted quietly among themselves while they awaited the arrival of their company commander. Rumour, of course, was rife. It was obvious from the comings and goings of the top brass that some form of action was imminent. Private Buchannan turned to his companion in the ranks, Hughie Gibson, still a private after ten years service, a man with the reputation of being able to ‘take a good dram’, and who had spent a fair proportion of his service on defaulters.

  ‘What’s going on?’ asked Buchannan. ‘Do ye ken where we’s going?’

  ‘Och, aye,’ replied Hughie. ‘We’re awa’ to Peking and there we’ll shoot all the Chinks and tak’ the toon for Her Majesty.’

  ‘Will there be any fighting?’

  ‘It’s aboot time there was. Nearly two years noo we’ve been sitting around on oor arses. A guid fight and awa’ home to bonny Scotland. That would suit me fine.’

  ‘Hey, serge!’ Another man in the ranks called to Willie Bruce, who was pacing slowly between the files.

  ‘What is it, Smith?’ said Willie.

  Ian Smith, a thin, wiry little man on his first campaign, and showing just a touch of nervousness ‒ the nervousness that comes upon a man who does not know where he is going but fears the worst ‒ repeated, ‘Hey, serge, what’s going to happen?’

  ‘How the hell do I know?’ said Willie. ‘The captain’s coming to talk to us and no doubt he will tell us that which is good for us to know.’

  ‘Will there be fighting, serge?’

  ‘Och, aye, there might be a wee skirmish.’ Willie, seeing the fear in the man’s eyes, continued, ‘But it will be nothing to worry aboot. Our Enfields shoot straight and true and they’ll aye be deed before we’re in their range.’

  ‘Where are we going to?’ asked yet another.

  ‘Hell and back, if necessary,’ replied Willie, and then his tone changed. ‘Stop chattering in the ranks.’ He marched out to the front of the company as Andrew approached them across the parade ground. ‘C Company, attention!’ called Willie, saluting.

  ‘Stand easy men,’ replied Andrew, after returning the salute. The troops relaxed again. ‘In a few moments you will be dismissed. There will be no further parades or duties for the rest of today. After you have been dismissed, you will all go to your bivouacs, where you will spend the remainder of the day dirtying your equipment.’

  C Company looked at each other, wondering if their company commander had gone mad.

  ‘Cross belts,’ continued Andrew, ‘and any other articles of white webbing will be blackened with mud or dye or whatever you care to use. Buttons and badges and sporran clasps will be smeared with a similar substance, so that nothing you carry has any shine on it at all. We will parade in full marching order at four o’clock when I shall expect to see no sign of anything light in colour, or shining, on any man. Dismiss the men, sergeant.’

  ‘C Company, officer on parade, dismiss.’

  The men turned right, saluted, and wandered off in the direction of their bivouacs, and there was a great deal of shaking of heads and muttering as they went. One, however, remained.

  ‘Sergeant Bruce.’ It was wee Alex, now resplendent in kilt and scarlet tunic, who had been standing by the colours. ‘Sergeant, what aboot this?’ He held out his bugle, a gleaming piece of copper and brass, and Alex’s pride and joy. ‘Dae I really have ta mess this oop?’ he asked.

  Willie grinned. The boy had taken so much pride in everything that he did, it must have been like asking him to throw mud at his grandmother. ‘Aye, laddie, you do,’ he said, and then, seeing the dejected look on the boy’s face, he added, ‘But I’ll gi’ ye a wee tip.’

  ‘What, sergeant?’

  ‘Just cover it nice and thick wi’ brass polish and leave it on. Then, when it’s all over, all ye’ll need to do is to gi’ it a wee rub wi’ a clean cloth and it’ll come up as good as it is the noo.’

  ‘Thanks, serge,’ said Alex, and he scuttled off.

  ‘Sergeant Bruce.’ Andrew was speaking.

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘I had better put you in the picture, sergeant,’ said Andrew.

  They went over to Andrew’s tent, outside of which was a small trestle table on which Andrew spread a map.

  ‘The regiment,’ he said, ‘has been given the job of taking this fort here.’ He stabbed the map with his finger. ‘It is only eight miles south of us, but there are marshes and salt flats between us and the target. We will be on our own. We are being detached from the main force and will be leaving two days ahead of them. They seem to think that, having been here all this time, we must know the country. We start tonight at dusk so that we can cross the salt flats during darkness and take up siege positions, under reasonable cover, about half a mile from the fort. I don’t know yet what is to happen after that. I’m seeing the colonel in a few minutes, and I should have more information when I get back. The only thing you have to worry about at the moment is to see that the men are ready to move out by nightfall.’

  ‘Rations, sir?’

  ‘Three days’ rations and fifty rounds per man.’

  ‘Sir.’ Willie went off in the direction of the men’s bivouacs and Andrew headed in the direction of his father’s tent.

  They started at dusk. For the first mile and a half it was easy going and then the ground beneath them began to soften, and the air began to fill with the fetid odour of rotting vegetation. Their boots began to sink into the mud and each step became a physical effort. Sometimes there was a thin layer of water, stagnant and stinking, over the mud, and here and there a pool into which a man would sink up to his neck and have to be dragged out by his comrades. Sharp thorns tore at their bodies, and the air was filled with living, buzzing winged things, each one seemingly more ravenous than the last. Conversation soon died as they concentrated on the sheer effort of keeping going and not losing sight of the man next to them. Occasionally a cry would ring out and Andrew and Willie would pause, but they never saw anything. At last the ground began to harden again. It had taken them over four hours to drag themselves across about three miles of swamp, but their troubles were not yet over. They were now on the brown salt flats, and salt invaded the cuts and insect bites which covered the exposed parts of their bodies. At last, aching and sore, they arrived at their objective, and C Company took up their position opposite the west wall of the fort. They made camp and called the roll. Three men failed to answer their names. There was no point in searching for them; they had just disappeared, undoubtedly sucked down into the slimy depths of the swamp as they stepped unsuspecting into one of the numerous deep holes. As for the rest of them, their bodies were caked with filth. The kilt is not the ideal garment for wading through mud, and their genitals were glued to their thighs as the mud dried to brick-like hardness. The injunction to ‘dirty up’ had proved totally unnecessary; not one of them was recognizable under the batter of grime which caked their bodies and their weapons. One wag had announced that if the Chinese saw them like this, they would probably frighten them to death. Once the sun got up, the mud dried and at last they were able to scrape and chip away the thickest of it, particularly from the pleats of their kilts which must have weighed a hundredweight with all the mud which was clinging to them.

  Andrew posted his sentries under cover before first light. By the time the sun was up, they were all well down, concealed by the hillocks and scrub vegetation which dotted the landscape about a half mile from the fort. Andrew grieved silently. His father had told him gravely that C Company was to get the task of ‘Forlorn Hope’; they w
ould be sacrificed that the rest might succeed. Sappers were to work through the following night mining the west wall with slabs of guncotton. At dawn, the company would advance towards the fort in open order. When they were about twenty-five yards from the wall, the sappers would blow their charges, hopefully breaching the wall. This would be the signal for C Company to charge. It was their job to storm the breach and hold it while the remainder of the battalion forced their way through and took possession of the fort.

  It was a good plan. Militarily it could not be faulted. But Andrew knew that if they came out of the action with less than fifty per cent casualties, they would be damned lucky. Last night he had dined with the colonel, and after dinner his father had embraced him. It had been embarrassing, like saying goodbye. He could not remember when last his father had so displayed his affection for his son. Neither could he criticize the choice of C Company to storm the breach. Any commander would use his best troops for that task, and C Company was not only the best in the regiment, but it was almost up to strength. After their years of sweating it out in China, it was the obvious choice.

  As daylight came, he looked around the eighty or so men with whom, in twenty-four hours’ time, he would fight, and he knew that many of them would die. He realized that they mattered to him. Most of them came from the estate at Strathglass, most of them had wives and families that he knew, but they were the regiment’s men. What his father had said was true: the regiment was a family, bound together by blood and sweat and sometimes fear, but they were all one. And tomorrow, as a family, they faced certain bereavement. Wee Alex was the youngest, fifteen perhaps, if he had not lied about his age. But his two half-company commanders, Ensign Doig and Ensign Wallace, could not have been more than five years older; they were boys, immortal in their own minds. The men were mostly a rough and unimaginative lot, but they were loyal, tough, hard-bitten Highlanders, and he knew that they would follow him through hell and back again. But how many would come back?

  John Maclaren, Donnie Driver’s son ‒ it would not be easy to go back to Culbrech House and have to tell Donnie that his tall red-haired soldier laddie would not be returning. And Angus Buchannan ‒ how Andrew wished that he had been able to make good his promise to Maggie. Angus was big and tough, but it took only a tiny piece of lead to fell the strongest man. Now Andrew was on his own; there was no one to call on. The decisions he took in the next few hours would mean life and death to these men around him. He looked up and spotted Frankie Gibson, the best poacher on the estate; many was the time that Frankie had gone back home with a fine salmon stuffed up his sweater. His sister Margaret did not approve of Frankie, but his father always said that if they were clever enough to catch it, they deserved the eating of it.

  And then there was Willie. Willie Bruce was probably the best soldier in the regiment, and perhaps something more than that. Somehow he did not worry about Willie. Willie really was indestructible.

  Lastly, he thought about Maud. She would be at home now, back at Culbrech House, with warm fires and clean sheets. Would he rather be there with her? He looked around at his sleeping men again, and could not answer.

  On C Company’s right lay the river, so their flank was protected, unless the Chinese had a gunboat. They were not supposed to have one, but if they did, it would be a massacre. A Company covered the left flank and the north wall of the fort, with B Company covering the east wall. Behind him was Headquarters Company, who were to provide support fire and cover their advance. Andrew hoped that the bastards had improved their musketry; otherwise there were going to be more casualties inflicted by the Chinese. The plan was that A and B companies would advance towards their walls at the same time as C Company. This would serve to spread the enemy fire around the whole of the perimeter. As soon as the breach was blown, A and B companies would change direction and follow C Company through and into the fort. That was how it was supposed to work.

  Willie Bruce did not think of any of these things. He spent his day creeping from man to man, inspecting rifles and ammunition, and lambasting them if he found a speck of dirt remaining on any weapon. Willie knew that it was going to be a tough show, and he was bloody well determined that every man would go into it as prepared and as well equipped as it was possible to make him.

  ‘Clean the bloody thing, I could grow tatties in it!’ he snarled at one. ‘I’ll be back, and if it isn’t right, ye’ll be square-bashing for a week.’

  As he passed each man, he was roundly cursed, but not until he was out of earshot. Only when he got to wee Alex did his manner soften.

  ‘Well, laddie, are you scared?’

  Alex shook his head, but his lips were tight and Willie could see that he was.

  ‘Dinna worry yoursel’. We’re all scared, even me,’ said Willie.

  ‘I havena got a gun,’ said Alex. ‘I wish I had yin.’

  ‘You’ve got your sword, and you know how to use it.’

  ‘Och aye, serge.’

  ‘And ye have your bugle. You are just aboot the most important man in the company. When you blow your bugle, every one of us has to do what it tells us. You stick close to Captain Maclaren. He needs you to protect him after you sound the charge. Just you take care of yourself, laddie, and maybe you’ll be a general one day.’

  The boy’s eyes glowed with pride. ‘Could a laddie like me really get to be a general?’

  ‘And why not?’ Willie said slowly and solemnly. ‘It could happen. You know, Alex, I’ve half a mind to become a general myself,’ he grinned. ‘Now get as much sleep as you can, you’ll need to be rested and have your wits about you when the shooting starts.’

  ‘Sergeant,’ said Alex as Willie was about to move on.

  ‘What is it, lad?’

  ‘Could I come wi’ you noo?’

  ‘I’m finished,’ said Willie. ‘I’m going to get ma head doon noo.’

  ‘Serge,’ said Alex nervously as Willie again started to move, ‘you could sleep here, could you no?’

  ‘All right, laddie, one piece of hard ground’s verra much the same as another.’

  Willie stretched out his great length on the ground and lay there silently. The boy did not dare to move closer to him, but he reached out with his hand so that he was touching the edge of the older man’s kilt.

  Willie lay on his back looking up at the night sky. There was no moon and the millions of stars twinkled brightly out of the velvety blackness. The air here was as clear as the air in the glen back home, but there the similarity ended. Here it was hot and hostile and never silent.

  They had been lying there about an hour, when suddenly there was a fusillade of shots. Alex leapt up into a sitting position, and moving just as fast, Willie dragged him down again.

  ‘Never move quick or sudden,’ he hissed.

  ‘But they’re shooting, serge,’ said Alex nervously.

  ‘Don’t worry aboot it, it’s our own lads. A and B Companies are trying to keep the Chinks away from our wall while the sappers get on wi’ their jobs. Don’t let it worry you, lad, they’ll be at it most of the night.’

  And so it was. Intermittent firing continued, and Alex, feeling a sense of security in the nearness of the big man, lay back and was soon asleep.

  Chapter Nine

  ‘Stand to in five minutes, pass the word.’

  Angus Buchannan grunted and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It was still pitch-dark and had become very silent and still. He sat for a moment scratching himself and then searched around in his sporran for a biscuit. He took the thing out. It was hard as a brick and square and unpalatable. Angus fingered it with disgust and dearly wished that he was sitting at home with bonny Maggie placing a bowl of steaming porridge before him. He located his tin canteen and poured some water into it out of his water bottle, spilling some of the precious liquid in the process. Then, dipping the biscuit into the water, he had breakfast. Somewhere on his right, someone struck a match.

  ‘Put that bloody light out,’ hissed an angry voice.

/>   Angus, gasping for a cigarette himself, wondered if he could possibly light up without drawing attention, decided that he could not, and continued to munch away at his tasteless meal. Thank God that it was dark, he thought, and you were unable to see the living creatures that inhabited the biscuit. So he gave himself over to cursing the world in general and junior N.C.O.s in particular. Like most private soldiers, he blamed most of the unpleasantries of life, even the waging of war, on his immediate superiors.

  C Company was awake now, and with their waking the silence had vanished. All around, there was to be heard the clink of metal upon metal as they prepared to do battle, the occasional muttered curse or the grunt of satisfaction as the quartermaster’s orderly issued the rum ration. Andrew had made a point of seeing that the rum had come up. It was a tradition in the 148th that no man died without a tot of rum in his belly.

  ‘I dinna tak strong drink,’ said Alex when he was offered his tot.

  ‘Drink it doon, laddie,’ said Willie. ‘It’ll put fire into your belly.’

  ‘Yes, serge,’ said Alex obediently, and he swallowed the liquid, spluttering as it went down. ‘It burns ma gut.’

  ‘Aye, that it will,’ said Willie, grinning. ‘Well, you’ll ha to see to yoursel’ noo. I’ve got to report to the captain.’

  Andrew had his two ensigns with their sergeants and Willie grouped around him for a last-minute briefing.

  ‘At first light we advance, under cover, for as far as we can,’ Andrew said. ‘I’ve had patrols out and we should be able to get to about a hundred yards from the wall. There we will lie low, fix bayonets and wait until the sun is up. We don’t want to start too soon, as we shall be advancing straight into the light. My bugler will sound the advance and we will walk, I repeat, walk, in open formation. Officers will lead their halves, and senior N.C.O.s will back up. The sappers are dug in and lying twenty-five yards from the wall. When we are level with them, they are going to blow their mine. That is the signal to charge. Every man must then change direction and make directly for the breach. When the breach is taken, we hold it but go no further. Our job is to let the other companies through. Any questions?’

 

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