Windrush (Jack Windrush Book 1)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'We best be careful here Ensign Windrush,' Myat stopped them again. 'There is a valley ahead, a gulley.'

  'Perfect place for an ambush,' Wells murmured, 'shall I have a look, sir?'

  Jack nodded, 'go carefully, Sergeant; I don't want to answer to your wife if we lose you.'

  The path dipped into a deep gorge with thick undergrowth on both sides and the trees above merging. The dark was dense, nearly tangible, frustrating even Myat's night vision. Jack loosened the revolver from its holster and crouched at the side of the path. He ignored the insects that feasted on the sweat that trickled down his face.

  'All clear,' Wells reported.

  The moon rose as they reached the river, ghostly white above the wispy fronds of the tall palms and reflecting from the slow slither of the water. A bird glided past, hunting some of the myriad insects whose hum enlivened the night.

  Jack consulted his map. 'The sepoys were attacked about a hundred yards down river from here.'

  Wells put a hand on Myat's shoulder, 'may I take the lead here, sir?'

  Jack nodded. He would have preferred the position of most danger but knew that Wells possessed vastly more experience.

  The sergeant eased past with hardly a sound. They moved on, slow and quiet, keeping even their breathing subdued as they followed the bank of the river.

  'Ahead!' Wells said softly and motioned them to stop. 'Over there.'

  There was nothing much left of the man. His arms and legs had been chopped off, and his head was missing. Only his torso remained, with the darker colour of skin an indication that he had once been Indian rather than Burmese or Peguese.

  'One of our sepoys, I wager,' Wells said quietly. 'What a place to end your life.'

  Ranveer stepped over the body and touched the hilt of his sword, saying nothing.

  'Rest easy, soldier,' O'Neill touched the body as he passed.

  They crept with their hands restless on the triggers of their muskets and the sweat cold as it trickled down their spines. Jack fought his nausea.

  'Sahib,' Ranveer placed a hard hand on his arm and gestured ahead. There was the sound of Burmese words, a brief high-pitched laugh and a low muttering moan that Jack could not place.

  Wells raised his eyebrows in an unspoken query. Jack nodded, and Wells vanished into the night, his feet making no noise on the soft river bank. Myat looked after him and then composed her face, folded her arms in front of her body and relapsed into total silence.

  'It's our lads right enough,' Wells had returned so quietly that Jack had not heard him. 'The Burmese have them in the river or tied to trees.' He crouched at Jack's side with his mouth close to his ear. 'I counted a dozen guards, but there might be more.'

  'Show me,' Jack said.

  The sepoys were held fifty yards further down the river, with some tied back to back and up to their necks in the river with the Burmese watching them with muskets, occasionally taunting them with insults or throwing sticks or tree branches at them. Other Sepoys were fastened to trees. Jack saw their wide eyes in the dark as their captors passed them with the occasional punch or slap. Somebody laughed.

  I have a choice: leave these lads here to the mercy of the Burmese and inform Major Hill or attempt to rescue them here and now. If I tell the major, he will undoubtedly send a column to rescue the sepoys, but some may be dead by then. If I try and free them and fail, the Burmese may kill them out of hand and my people as well. I have discretion: the decision is mine alone.

  'What do we do sir?'

  As Wells asked the question, one of the Burmese drew his dha and sliced at the nearest sepoy. The man writhed and tried to pull back, but tied to the tree there was nowhere he could go as the Burmese thrust the knife into his arm and slowly pulled downward. The sepoy's scream echoed through the jungle.

  'We rescue these lads before they are all chopped to pieces,' Jack decided. 'Go and get the others.' He took hold of Wells' sleeve, 'not Myat though. Best she keeps clear of this.'

  We are four men against twelve Burmese, with hundreds more of the enemy within calling distance. It was foolhardy, but Jack knew he could not leave these sepoys for the Burmese to torture to death.

  There are twelve Burmese sentries, but only four are looking at the prisoners. Jack checked the odds. Three are lying smoking, two are dozing, two talking together and one has vanished.

  'Sir,' Wells' whisper sounded through the silver-gloom of the jungle. 'Orders, sir?'

  Jack touched his Buddhas for luck. The feel of their golden solidity was reassuring. 'I want these sentries disposed of quietly,' he said. Disposed of, what an ugly euphemism; I am talking about stealthy murder here.

  'Sir?' Wells prompted. 'Which ones shall I take?' The sound of his unsheathing his bayonet was as sinister as anything Jack had ever heard.

  'You and O'Neill take the three that are sleeping and the two smoking. Try to make as little noise as possible.'

  Wells grin lacked mirth. He nudged O'Neill and vanished without a sound.

  The tortured sepoy screamed again.

  'That leaves the rest for us, Ranveer,' Jack said quietly. 'Are you game?' It was the same question as Hill had asked him.

  'Yes, sahib,' Ranveer said. He drew his tulwar and kissed the blade in a gesture Jack found melodramatic but strangely reassuring.

  The two Burmese talking together were too surprised to put up any resistance. Ranveer simply sliced the head off his man while Jack killed his victim with a bayonet thrust into the side of his neck.

  Isn't it frightening how easy it is to kill a man? One minute he was alive and the next he was dead.

  That left five, of whom three were watching the fourth slicing at the screaming sepoy prisoner.

  Ranveer did not hide in the shadows. He calmly walked forward and thrust his tulwar into the throat of the first of the watchers, and then gave a backhanded hack at the second. The man looked in astonishment at his intestines as they spilt onto the ground. He screamed once before Ranveer sliced his tulwar onto the back of his neck.

  Jack was not as efficient. His man turned as Jack was in the act of thrusting the bayonet, so the point missed and raked across the man's face instead. When the Burmese squealed and put both hands on his face, Jack followed up by an evil kick to the man's groin that doubled him up and crashed his ammunition boots onto the man's head until he lay quiet.

  The last Burmese swivelled as he was in the act of cutting the sepoy's throat. He shouted for help a second before O'Neill rammed a bayonet deep into his chest.

  'And that's done for you, you murdering bastard!'

  'Free these men,' Jack cursed his clumsiness, 'and get away as fast as we can.' He sliced through the bonds of the nearest sepoys. The tortured man collapsed on to the ground. 'He's dead. There's nothing we can do for him.'

  Jack realised he was shaking with reaction. I have just ordered the death of eleven men. He touched the Buddhas again, drawing strength from their presence.

  The remaining seventeen sepoys all talked volubly as Jack's men sliced the ropes that held them, all thanking their rescuers.

  'Keep quiet,' Jack hissed, 'else the Burmese will hear us!' He cursed that he had no gift for languages as Wells and O'Neill barked at them in a mixture of English, Gaelic and, Jack guessed, half a dozen Indian languages.

  'You try, Ranveer,' Jack invited.

  Within a minute the sepoys lapsed into silence.

  'Ensign Windrush,' Myat appeared from a stand of bamboo. 'Burmese soldiers are coming toward us.'

  'Thank you Myat,' Jack said. 'You- sepoys – grab a musket and some ammunition. Hurry now!' Jack mimed the actions and pushed the men as Ranveer barked at them.

  'Sir,' Wells peered into the jungle. 'I can hear them now.'

  The gongs were beating in the distance, and Jack imagined the long columns of lithe Burmese soldiers threading along half-seen paths.

  'Back the way we came,' Jack ordered. 'Wells, you and Myat lead; I'll take the rearguard; Ranveer and O'Neill help the sepoys along
. Some are pretty weak after their ordeal.' He glanced at the line of sepoys, some were pushing the others in their haste to get clear of the Burmese, and others were staggering with comrades helping them. One naik – the sepoy equivalent of a corporal - stood apart; he held his captured musket and slammed to attention in front of Jack.

  'Reporting for duty, sahib!'

  'Very good, naik,' Jack returned the salute. 'Just you help your comrades along.' He forced a smile, 'I see you speak English?'

  'Some, sahib!' The naik's smile gleamed through the dark.

  'Well done, naik. Now watch for the Burmese and let's get away from here.'

  They withdrew faster than they had come; less concerned about making a noise and more with putting distance between themselves and the Burmese. After only a few moments they heard shouts and cries from behind them.

  'They've found that the sepoys are released,' Wells guessed.

  'And their men are all dead,' Jack added.

  'Oh they'll be after us now,' O'Neill turned to face behind him. There was an uncanny ring to his laughter. 'On you come, boys!'

  'Keep moving,' Jack pushed him onward. He took two steps and gasped as the wound in his thigh opened.

  'Sahib?' The naik hesitated until Jack pushed him on.

  'Look after your men, damn it; they need you.'

  He could feel the blood seeping down inside his trousers, weakening him with every step. The harsh English public school training had taught him to ignore pain and hardship. He strode on, biting off his curses. The gulley was straight ahead.

  He heard nothing; it was an instinct that made him turn, and something drew his gaze to a pattern among the undergrowth. There was something not right, something not natural; he realised he was looking directly at the tattooed Burmese boy he had seen before. And then he was gone.

  Bo Ailgaliutlo's dacoits are close.

  Although he was alert, the burst of musketry still took him by surprise. He heard the zip of a ball passing close by and saw the muzzle flares through the foliage ahead.

  'Ambush,' Wells fired as he shouted.

  For a second Jack hesitated. Sit still or break out?

  If we sit still the numbers against us will only increase. 'Fix bayonets and charge through!' he yelled. 'Go right for the throat.' He pushed the nearest sepoy forward, 'go on, man, move!'

  The naik gave a loud yell and charged forward as O'Neill gave his high-pitched, unnerving laugh and led the attack. Wells hesitated, reached behind him and grabbed Myat. 'Come on!' Jack kept in the rear, encouraging the weaker of the sepoys with hard pushes as he fired his revolver into the undergrowth on either side of the gulley. He slipped, jarred his injured leg and swore.

  Moonlight vanished as the deeper dark of the gulley closed in, broken only by the muzzle flares of muskets on both sides. 'Keep moving,' Jack knew the sepoys would be disorientated and no doubt in shock by their recent experience but if he allowed them to falter they would be killed at best and captured for further ill-treatment at worst. He felt cruel pushing them on, but the alternative was far worse.

  'Keep going! Don't stop!' He saw a nightmare of trees and undergrowth, of flaring muskets and teeth glaring in Burmese faces, of waving dhas and jabbing bayonets, of a sepoy sliding down as a Burmese man thrust at him with his dha, of the naik clubbing at a Burmese soldier with the butt of his musket. He fired his revolver, saw a man's face dissolve in a porridge of brains, blood and bone, fired again as another Burmese soldier aimed a long musket, saw the man fall and moved on.

  'Keep running, push through them!' He lifted a sepoy from the ground by his collar and landed a kick on the seat of his trousers, 'get going!'

  'Sir!' Wells was ahead, grappling with a Burmese soldier. 'Sir!' The Burman jumped in the air and kicked out, sending Wells sprawling on his back. Jack pushed forward to help, but Wells pointed frantically behind him 'Myat, sir!'

  Myat was on the ground, struggling to get up as a Burman stabbed at her with his dha. Jack levelled his revolver, hesitated and lowered it again. Even at that range, he was not sure he could hit the Burman in the dark without putting Myat in danger.

  'Myat!' Jack knew he was no more responsible for Myat than for any of his men, but all his instincts and training told him to look after a woman. A pair of sepoys rushed past; the naik yelled as he threw himself on a Burman and Wells turned despairing eyes on him as his opponent kicked the musket from his hands.

  'Sir: please!'

  Myat tried to roll away. The Burmese soldier took hold of her hair and dragged her bodily into the undergrowth. He was grinning, holding his dha in his left hand, enjoying his moment of triumph.

  Jack lunged forward, swearing as fluently as any private soldier as a second Burman rushed at him. He fired without thought and the second Burman vanished. Myat was screaming, kicking her legs as the man hauled her away. Her hair had come unfastened from its customary tight cylinder, and her longyi was torn, so her thighs showed through the rents.

  'Sir!' Wells sounded frantic.

  Jack staggered as a root caught his ankle, recovered and thrust forward his pistol. The Burman was too intent on capturing his prey to look up. Jack saw the panic in Myat's eyes and heard her incoherent scream.

  The Burman laughed and pulled at Myat's hair. Only when Jack pressed the muzzle of the pistol against his chest did his expression alter, and then Jack squeezed the trigger. He did not hear the report as the bullet crashed into the Burman's body. The force of the shot pushed the man backwards. As Myat screamed beside him, Jack fired, again and again, sending two more bullets into the writhing man on the ground before the hammer of his revolver clicked on an empty chamber.

  'Sahib!' Ranveer put a hand on his sleeve, 'Sahib; we must leave!'

  Jack found he was gasping. He took a deep breath as sanity returned. He nodded. 'Myat…' She lay there, dazed, mouth open. Her longyi was in rags, high up her thighs and her hair a tangled mess around her face. She had never looked more attractive.

  'Myat!' Wells was bleeding from above his eye and his mouth. He lifted his wife in his left arm. 'Come on!' He glanced at Jack, 'thank you, sir.' For a second their eyes met, and Jack saw genuine gratitude.

  'Sahib,' Ranveer wiped the blood from the blade of his tulwar.

  Jack looked around. One of the sepoys lay bleeding on the ground along with half a dozen Burmese. 'Keep going,' he ordered.

  Wells supported Myat for the first dozen steps, and then she pushed him away and said something sharply in Burmese.

  O'Neill had halted the sepoys fifty yards past the gully. 'Thank God you are here, sir. I was getting worried, and these lads are a bit upset.'

  'No wonder after what they've been through,' Jack tried to count the men; they were shadowy figures in the dark, milling around and some were talking. He raised his voice slightly. 'Naik!'

  The naik appeared, teeth white in a wide smile. 'Reporting for duty, Sahib.'

  'Keep these men quiet, can't you?'

  Ranveer repeated the order in Urdu, and the naik passed it on. The noise ended at once.

  'I will lead from here,' Jack decided, 'Wells, look after Myat; she needs you. O'Neill, keep the men together and Naik, I want you to be rearguard.' He heard Ranveer speak to the naik as he pushed his men to where he wanted them to be. 'Right, move.' He led the way, careless of the noise they made. He needed to put as much distance between his men and the Burmese. Bo Ailgaliutlo was not a man to give up after a single reverse.

  Rather than pass the Burmese encampment, Jack dived straight into the forest, hacking with his dha and hoped the noise he made scared away any poisonous snakes and insects.

  'Keep together,' he reminded. After every fifty steps, he stopped to check his compass and ensure his men were together.

  'Sir,' Wells pushed to the front, 'begging your pardon sir, but may I ask something?'

  Jack nodded. 'Go ahead sergeant.'

  'Are we heading back to Pegu, sir? Or have you another destination in mind?'

  'Pegu,' Jack
said.

  'Well sir, 'Wells hesitated. 'It's in that direction.' He pointed at right angles to their line of march.

  Jack glanced at his compass. The needle gyrated. He shook it. 'This is broken; are you sure?'

  'Sure that Myat says so, sir.'

  Jack grunted. 'Is Myat fit?'

  'Yes, I am, Ensign Windrush.' For the first time, Jack noticed strands of silver in Myat's hair. With her face bruised and her longyi ripped, she looked more determined than ever.

  'Lead on then, Myat.'

  In the night time jungle, one direction looked like another to Jack, so he followed Myat with blind faith. Within minutes she had found an animal track that allowed for better movement, and half an hour later he sighed with relief as they emerged into the open maidan. The lights of the Pegu watch lanterns flickered in reassuring welcome.

  'Get your men in order,' Jack said to the naik. He looked at the quarter mile of maidan. 'Keep together; there might be cavalry patrols out here. If we are scattered, head for the lights and shout loudly when you near Pegu.' He glanced over his shoulder. 'Lead on, Sergeant and don't stop for anybody.'

  Except for Myat of course; you will stop for her. As would I, damn it!

  The maidan presented different problems from the jungle. There was not the stifling confinement and the fear of ambush, but neither was there the knowledge that they could slide into the undergrowth and hide. Instead, there was the feeling of exposure to cavalry and the vulnerability of space if the enemy saw them.

  Once all the others were away, Jack followed, taking the position of most danger. No officer should put a private soldier in a position more dangerous than his own. It also meant he could hide his limp. Only quarter of a mile of maidan to cross and they would be safe; it was a success for the 113th.

  The hands had closed around his throat and mouth before he was aware there was somebody behind him, and Jack was dragged back into the forest.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Pegu December 1852

  Oh God, what's happening?