Windrush: Blood Price (Jack Windrush Book 3)

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Nicely done,' Jack said.

  With the door open, Coleman and Thorpe dragged the sentry inside. 'We like to keep the place tidy,' Coleman said.

  The interior was lined with racks of rifles, British and Russian, plus boxes of ammunition, bayonets, and uniforms.

  'This is a treasure trove,' Riley said.

  'Take our own rifles,' Jack said, 'and as much ammunition as we can carry.'

  'Bayonets sir?' Thorpe asked.

  'Yes, take our bayonets too.' Jack looked around the room. He was very aware that their time was limited. 'Do any of you have Lucifers?'

  'I have, sir,' Coleman had a small smile on his face.

  'Then we'll set light to this place,' Jack said. 'That should give the Russians something to think about rather than chasing us.'

  Coleman grinned. 'Can I do the burning, sir?'

  Something about his eyes warned Jack. 'You've done this sort of thing before, haven't you?'

  Coleman nodded eagerly. 'I used to burn the farmer's ricks, sir. That's what got me into the army. The magistrate was after me and I joined up; changed my name…'

  He stopped as he realised he had said too much.

  'That's all past now, Coleman. As far as I'm concerned you're a soldier of the 113th and if you want to destroy something of the enemy; that is a patriotic act!'

  'Thank you, sir!' Coleman was smiling more broadly than Jack had ever seen before. 'Thorpey; you drag over all these cartridges to me; and that keg of gunpowder as well. We'll make a lovely blaze here; one to be proud of.'

  Riley looked at Jack, raised his eyebrows in what could have been construed as wonderment and then regained his habitual phlegmatic look.

  'Don't be long, Coleman.' Jack lifted a revolver from one of the shelves and searched for bullets. 'We haven't got time.' He glanced at Riley. 'Check out the door.'

  'There's nobody around, sir,' Riley peered through a knot-hole in the wood. He jerked a thumb at the recumbent Cossack. 'Are we going to leave him behind, sir?'

  'Damn' Jack had forgotten about the guard. 'No; that would be murder. We'll drag him outside when we leave.'

  'There!' For the first time since Jack had met him, Coleman was whistling; he broke into a small song:

  'Soft o'er the fountain, lingering falls the Southern moon…' Glancing at Jack, he looked away again. 'Sorry sir.'

  'Keep the noise down,' Jack warned. 'Are you about ready?'

  'Yes, sir.' Coleman said happily. 'I've laid a gunpowder trail to the cartridges and opened a few up so they go bang. It should be a lovely fire, sir.'

  'We'll see.' Jack looked around. 'Gather our rifles and ammunition and let's get out of here. Riley, you take the lead; Hitchins, drag that blasted Russian out of here and Coleman, you light the fuse or whatever you call it.'

  'Yes, sir!' Coleman called happily.

  Riley eased open the door and slipped outside. 'All clear,' he said.

  'You next Hitchins; get that Russian clear.' Jack took hold of one of the Cossack's arms and helped Hitchins drag him out of the hut.

  'Sir! Somebody's coming!' Riley hissed.

  'Damn!' Jack swore. 'Keep still; maybe they won't notice us.' Dropping the Cossack, he looked behind him. 'Don't fire that fuse yet Coleman, for God's sake.'

  'Too late, sir. It's burning!'

  'Jesus!' Jack could smell the powder smoke and hear the hiss as the flames burned toward the box of cartridges. 'Dump the Russian and get out of here. Come on, lads!'

  Encumbered by the rifles he was carrying, Jack staggered away, with his men on either side. Coleman was giggling like a schoolboy, staring over his shoulder as he moved.

  'Face your front, Coleman!'

  'I don't want to miss anything, sir.'

  'Face your front, damn you!' Jack shouted, just as the Russians appeared around the corner of the building. Jack had only a glimpse and then he pushed Coleman in front of him.

  'Run,' he said, 'run as if the devils of hell were after you.'

  'Come on Coley!' Thorpe dragged him onward. 'The thing will explode even if you don't watch it. Come on!'

  There were three Russians; one wore the uniform of a Cossack officer; the second was Valeria and the third was Ansar the spy.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  'Here!' Jack unloaded his rifles as they reached the others. 'Take one and run. There is going to be an almighty bang in a few seconds.'

  The explosion was smaller than he had expected, but it was followed by a succession of cracks and bangs as the flames reached the rifle ammunition. Stray bullets whined overhead or ricocheted from the stone buildings around them. Powder smoke hung like a funeral pall.

  'Run!' Jack wondered if Valerie had been killed; he hoped so. 'And keep your heads down.'

  They set off at a trot, with Logan gasping and holding himself in obvious pain.

  'Logie got beat up by a Russian, sir,' Riley excused him. 'It's not his fault.'

  'I know. Help him along,' Jack said. 'I won't be leaving anybody behind.'

  The trees were in full summer foliage, with the low boughs that impaired their passage also providing welcome cover from the bullets that whizzed and whined through the air.

  'That will keep Johnny Russ occupied for a few moments,' Jack said. 'Long enough for us to get clear.'

  He led them northward, away from the British lines and deeper into the oak forest. After twenty minutes he stopped, panting and with his left foot throbbing. Logan and Riley were in the rear, with Riley virtually carrying the smaller man.

  'I don't think we're being followed,' Hitchins gave a small smile. 'The keepers haven't got our trail.'

  'How're you holding out, Logan?' Jack asked.

  'I'm fine, sir,' Logan was white faced and gasping.

  'I'll help him, sir,' Riley said, his face stubborn. 'We're not leaving him behind.'

  Jack nodded. 'I already said that nobody will be left behind.'

  If Ansar was a double agent, then it was no wonder that Anderson was able to ambush them. Ansar may have been feeding information to the Russians ever since Cattley started his spying network. What else had he told them? And how vulnerable was Sir Colin and the British staff to assassination if spies were reporting their movements?

  'I hear something, sir,' Hitchins said quietly.

  'Lie low and keep still,' Jack ordered. 'Let them pass us.'

  The men slid down among the undergrowth. Not for the first time Jack was glad that they had adopted neutral coloured uniforms in place of the scarlet tunics that were so brave on the battlefield but so conspicuous everywhere else. The men had automatically assumed a position of defence, lying in a tight circle with their rifles facing in all directions. They were silent, ignoring the questing insects, watching for Russians.

  The footfall was stealthy, yet after MacRae's training, Jack heard it. Anderson was in the centre of the Cossacks, as quiet as any Iroquois tribesman, and as deadly. Jack aimed his revolver at Anderson and put slight pressure on the trigger. If the American saw any of his men, he would shoot him and damn the consequences. He took a deep breath and waited, with the trigger hard against his finger. The Cossacks passed without seeing a single man, more intent on speed than in concealment.

  'Wait,' Jack whispered as Kelly stood up.

  The rearguard came after a minute, two men moving quieter than the others, pausing every ten steps to peer around them.

  Jack allowed them five slow minutes. 'Now we move.' He led them north by west, away from the allied lines and deeper into the Crimea. It was an hour before Jack altered the direction of their march and headed due west.

  'Where are we going, sir?' O'Neill asked.

  'We're heading back to the British camp,' Jack said grimly.

  'I thought we intended to hide behind Russian lines, sir.'

  'Anderson might act tomorrow, or even today. We have to chance the Russian patrols and get back to warn Sir Colin.' Jack said. 'How's Logan holding up?'

  'I'm fine, sir. If I slow you down just leave
me behind with a rifle and I'll cover you. I'll take some of the bastards with me.'

  'You'd probably miss,' Riley said. 'I've seen your shooting. Come on Logie. You're not getting off that easy.'

  'We didn't free Captain Windrush, sir,' O'Neill said half an hour later.

  'No.' Jack did not go into details. He did not wish to think of his brother choosing to remain in Russian custody. 'Come on O'Neill; we've a long way to go yet.'

  Once again he had been out-witted by Anderson. True, he escaped with most of his men, but the mission had been a failure. The Russians held his brother and would use him for whatever propaganda purpose they desired.

  Chapter Twenty Three

  Colonel Maxwell took a deep breath and stood up abruptly. 'So you failed to free Captain Windrush.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said.

  'Yet you were in the very house he was detained, you tell me, and there were no guards between you and him.'

  'Yes sir.'

  Maxwell cut the end off a cheroot, lit it carefully from a candle and inhaled. 'You had better tell me what happened.'

  'Riley and I got into the house, sir…' Jack explained the situation and William's response. Maxwell leaned back in his chair, listening, smoking and saying nothing until Jack finished.

  Only then did Maxwell nod. 'Short of cracking him over the head and carrying him out, Windrush, I can't think what else you could have done.'

  'Thank you, sir.' Jack felt overwhelming relief.

  'Of course,' Maxwell said, 'we can never let this out. The public, and the army, need their hero. We cannot allow truth to taint Captain Windrush's status.' He held Jack's gaze. 'You do understand that, I trust?'

  Jack nodded. 'I understand, sir.'

  'Now the other information you have.' Maxwell said. 'We will work on that. You will have heard that Cattley has passed away?'

  'No, sir,' Jack felt an instant of shock. 'He will be missed. I only met him once and he impressed me.'

  'We'll just have to jog along as best we can,' Maxwell said tersely. 'I will allow that without him the intelligence service is rather thin, so we must make do with our own resources.'

  'We should take a grip of Ansar right away, sir,' Jack said. 'If he is working for the Russians…'

  'No,' Maxwell said and gave a small, humourless smile. 'You are a reasonable soldier, Windrush, but when it comes to this sort of thing you are only a child. Don't you realise what sort of weapon we have now?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Well, you should.' Maxwell said. 'Anderson is clever but boastful. He thought you were secure and told you he planned to assassinate Sir Colin. If we allow him to think you died in that fortuitous explosion in the magazine, then he will still continue with his plan, and we can turn the tables on him.'

  'I don't quite understand, sir. How do we make him think that I am dead?'

  'We tell him so,' Maxwell said. 'Or rather, your friend Ansar tells him so.'

  'I must have been seen in camp, and my men know I am alive. They can be talkative.' Jack thought of Kelly and Thorpe, good men in battle but not renowned for their tact and diplomacy.

  'From a distance you look much like any other regimental officer, Windrush; I have taken the precaution of isolating the men, for more training.' Maxwell stubbed out his cheroot on the table. 'Except for that wounded Scotsman.'

  'Logan sir.'

  'Yes; interesting little fellow. He was most put out when I had the surgeon check him. He has three broken ribs and a cracked skull, yet he insisted that he was fit for duty.' Maxwell smiled. 'He even swore at me when I told him I disagreed.'

  'That's Logan,' Jack tried to keep the pride from his voice. 'One of my men.'

  Maxwell held his gaze for a long second. 'He is a soldier of the 113th Foot,' he said quietly. 'He is not one of your personal warriors.'

  'Yes, sir,' Jack said. He understood; he was growing a little too attached to the ranking soldiers he served with. They were not his men; they fought for Her Majesty.

  'I am going to send you away again for a while.' Maxwell said. 'To keep you out of the public eye. I don't know how many more of our spies cannot be trusted. Anderson is obviously even more dangerous than I thought, so we must get rid of him.'

  Jack nodded. Anderson's shadow had darkened his life for far too long. 'It may not be a good idea for us to leave the lines, sir. My men… I mean the men under my command, are the best chance we have.'

  Maxwell's smile was as evil as anything Jack had ever seen. 'Anderson has outmanoeuvred us twice, Windrush, and is still at large and planning our destruction. I will do what I can here; I want you to go with these men and their, eh, peculiar habits and skills, and work out something that even Anderson does not expect. With your bunch of ruffians, blackguards and murderers, I expect something original.' He leaned closer. 'War is not a game, Windrush, and I don't want you to fight by the rules of gentlemen. I want Anderson and his thugs destroyed.'

  'I'll do my best, sir,' Jack said.

  'And Windrush,' Maxwell said quietly. 'You only have one more attempt. If you fail again, your little force will be disbanded and returned to normal duties and I fear any future requests you make for promotion will not be looked upon favourably. You will remain a lieutenant until the day you retire. Do you understand me?'

  'Yes, sir.' The threat was naked and strangely obscene. Saluting, Jack turned around and left the hut. He felt dirty.

  'There are only ten of us now, until Logan returns,' Jack looked over his men. 'And we were lucky to get away with our lives last time we met Anderson and his Plastun Cossacks.'

  They sat around him in a semi circle, with the Crimean sun beating down on them and the sea gently hushing in the background. A sea-bird called, wild and free; nature was cruel, yet honest compared to the machinations of politicians and this devious diplomatic failure called war.

  'Colonel Maxwell has ordered us to devise some new ways of defeating Anderson and his ruffians. Speak freely.'

  'Sort of set a thief to catch a thief, eh, sir?' Riley sat slightly apart from the other men; without Logan at his side he was an outsider, with the men but not quite of them.

  'Something of that nature,' Jack agreed. 'We are not like any other unit of the British Army; we have more freedom so let's use it. I don't know how long we will be allowed to enjoy this relaxation before we rejoin the regiment.'

  'We won't let you down, sir,' O'Neill said.

  'What sort of ways are you looking for, sir?' Coleman asked.

  'I don't know,' Jack said frankly. 'That's where you men come in. The best military brains we have in the Crimea have tried and failed. Oh yes, we have bested the Cossacks in a few encounters, but they have also beaten us twice. I don't want a third time, so it has to be something unconventional; something Anderson won't expect.'

  'Something only the 113th can do,' Coleman's words brought a cheer.

  'Exactly so.' Jack said.

  'We could use fire, sir,' Coleman said tentatively. 'We could burn them out.'

  'You think on that, Coleman. See if you can add some details.' Jack said. 'The thing about fire is that it can get out of control. Anybody else?'

  'We tried to use Colonel Maxwell as bait before, sir,' Riley said. 'But they were waiting for us. This time we know they are after Sir Colin Campbell. Maybe use the same idea? If we can find out when Sir Colin is most vulnerable, then that is where Anderson will probably try.'

  'I was thinking something similar,' Jack said.

  'How about if we take the war to them, sir,' Kelly said. 'Rather than putting our best general at risk, can't we attack these Plastun people in their home?'

  'As far as I am aware, they are in Sebastopol,' Jack said. 'Out tactics are better suited to the open rather than the town, and it would be hard to get in and out of Sebastopol.'

  'Sir,' Hitchins was normally a very quiet soldier. 'I have some ideas that may help if I may.'

  'Please do, Hitchins.'

  'I used to be a poacher, sir, and we had a sort of wa
r with the keepers in Shropshire.'

  'I am aware of that, Hitchins.'

  'Yes, sir,' Hitchins was quiet for a few moments as he tried to order his thoughts. 'The keepers and squires had different ways of guarding their lands and property, sir. They used to put broken glass on the top of walls to stop us from climbing over, and they had spring guns and man-traps.'

  'Carry on,' Jack could see Hitchins' confidence drained away. 'We're listening, Hitch.' The use of Hitchins' nickname gave sufficient encouragement for Hitchins to continue.

  'Spring guns have been illegal for years, sir, but when the landowner is also the magistrate, he ignores the law and does what he likes.'

  Jack shifted uncomfortably. When his father had been at home in his rare periods away from active duty, he had been a stern magistrate. Jack had been brought up to believe that justice should be swift and merciless for those who disregard other's property.

  'I am sure the poachers had methods of their own, Hitchins.'

  'Yes, sir. We used wire snares to trap game, sir.'

  Jack remembered the long looped wires that the Russians had used to garrotte unwary British sentries in the early part of the siege, and the explosive fougasses around the Quarries. 'Right, Hitchins. I want you to devise ways that all these things can be used. Man traps, spring guns and wire snares. They think their Cossacks are good; let's show them that British poachers and gamekeepers can take them on at their own game and beat them hollow.'

  'And fire, sir?' Coleman asked eagerly. 'How can we use fire?'

  'You think of a way, Coleman, and let me know. I want all our expertise used.'

  'We'll need to get the blacksmiths on it, sir,' Now that Hitchins had an idea, he was not prepared to let it go. 'The railway will have smithies, and maybe the engineers. We need to make the man-traps and they're horrible things. And we need lots of wire if we're to make snares that can catch people.' He mused for a moment. 'And we have to set up trip wires for the spring guns.' He stood up and began to walk back and forth, muttering to himself as his colleagues watched him in some amusement.