Windrush- Jayanti's Pawns

by Malcolm Archibald

  'Where are they?' Bryce fingered the trigger of his revolver. 'They've gone. We've beaten them off.'

  'Keep quiet!' Jack snarled. 'Can anybody see anything?'

  'They're still there, sir,' O'Neill said. 'I can smell them.'

  'They're on this side, sir!' MacKinnon gave the warning. 'I know they are.'

  Jack nodded. 'Left flank, load and cap. Right flank, aim low, fire a volley, fire!'

  The Enfields crashed out with fleeting muzzle flares and spurts of smoke, a scream from the dark and then shocking silence. Powder smoke caught dry throats; a man coughed.

  'Right flank, load and cap!' Jack ordered. 'Keep quiet and listen.'

  The music began so softly that Jack thought he was hearing things, Indian music, rhythmic and subtly beautiful, with undertones that unsettled him.

  'What the devil are they doing?' Bryce asked.

  'Serenading us,' Elliot said.

  'They're trying to unnerve us,' Jack said.

  'They might be trying to mask the sounds of an attack,' Elliot said.

  'Good thinking, Elliot. Everybody keep quiet, ignore the music and listen.' Jack glanced over his shoulder. Mary was amidst the camel drivers in the centre of the square, squatting. He lifted a hand, and she acknowledged with a wave. She was as safe there as anywhere in the square.

  'It's getting lighter.' Jack was used to the speed of the tropical dawn. 'We can see them now if they come.' He relaxed a little, confident in the ability of his fifty men to defeat an attack by many times their number. After serving with Havelock and Sir Colin Campbell, he knew the fighting prowess of the British soldier. His 113th was as good as any soldiers in the world and better than most.

  'They've gone sir,' MacKinnon said.

  'The music is still playing,' Bryce pointed out.

  'Sir!' O'Neill gave a quick salute. 'Packer's missing.'

  Packer was one of the replacements, a thin, undersized youth from London.

  'Has he fallen out?' It was common for Johnny Raws to collapse on long marches, from either exhaustion or heat.

  'No, sir,' O'Neill said. 'He was with us ten minutes ago. I think the pandies grabbed him in that first rush.'

  'Oh, dear God almighty.' Jack took a deep breath. 'We'll have a look. O'Neill, you're with me. I want Coleman, Thorpe, Riley and Logan.'

  'Where are you going, sir?' Ensign Wilden asked. 'Can I come?'

  'Not this time, Wilden.' Although officers needed to blood Griffs and Johnny Raws, there was a time and place, and this was neither.

  'Elliot, take command.'

  'Yes, sir,' Elliot said and lowered his voice. 'I'll take care of her, sir.'

  'Come on, O'Neill.' Jack slipped through the square and into the growing light outside. They were in an area of extensive fields, small topes of trees and abandoned villages. A hanged man swung from the bough of a tree; victim of mutineer, vengeful British or local lawmaker, Jack did not know.

  'Sir,' Coleman knelt on one knee. 'Over here. Blood.'

  A cluster of flies rose from the bloodstain as Jack examined it. 'We got one of them, then, whoever they were.'

  'Yes, sir,' Coleman agreed. 'Unless that's Packer's blood.'

  'I hope it was quick.' Riley said what they were all thinking.

  'They've gone now.' O'Neill scanned the open terrain. 'There's no sign of anybody.'

  'They'll be there, watching us,' Jack led them in a wide circle around the 113th position, searching for Packer and the enemy and finding nothing.

  'We'll stay put for a couple of hours,' Jack ordered when he returned. 'Greaves, Elliot, Bryce, take out patrols and look for Packer.' He could only afford a couple of hours. Any more and he would be marching in the afternoon and would lose more men to the heat. In this sort of expedition, they moved from water to water, sought the shade or died.

  'Now we wait,' he said to Mary.

  'And Packer?' Mary asked.

  'We hope.'

  Mary nodded, touched his arm and searched for the closest shade. She knew he was worried about his missing man.

  One by one, the patrols returned, all with grim faces and a shake of the head. 'The pandies have gone,' they reported.

  'And Packer?' Jack asked, already aware what the reply would be.

  'There is no sign of Packer.'

  Jack swore. He hated leaving a man behind.

  'We beat them off, sir!' Wilden put a more optimistic slant on the encounter.

  'You did well,' Jack said. 'You stood with your men and did your duty. That's what soldiers are supposed to do.' He turned away, knowing that his few words would have boosted Wilden's morale more than a hundred brass bands or long speeches.

  'Forward!' Taking his place in front of the column, Jack waved them on. Already the heat was intolerable. Within fifteen minutes, the men would be sodden with sweat, made prickly by the dust of the road sticking to them. Within another half-hour they would be flagging, some staggering as the heat smote them like a brass fist. He looked ahead, knowing there was a village two miles along the road that would have a well.

  'Wilden; take a picket ahead, find water. Take five men, three old soldiers and two Johnny Raws.'

  That was an easy enough mission that would improve the lad's confidence and give him and the replacements some experience of acting outside the regimental framework.

  'You'll really need to learn some languages.' Mary seemed comfortable sitting inside a pannier, slung at the side of one of the baggage camels. With a scarf shading her head, she looked as if she belonged in this environment.

  'Why?' Jack was preoccupied with scanning the surrounding countryside. 'I have you.'

  'I won't be here forever,' Mary said. 'You didn't want me here this time.'

  Jack frowned, wondering if Mary was hinting at something. 'You'd better teach me, then.'

  'Now?'

  'Not now! I'm leading a column in hostile territory! Damn it, woman!' He thought of Packer, wondering if he could have done more to find the missing man.

  We can start when we camp then.' Mary ignored his irritability.

  'Yes,' Jack said, 'when we camp, unless the mutineers attack.'

  'Oh?' Mary raised her eyebrows, a habit she seemed to have. 'Surely you would not allow the mutineers to interfere with your education.'

  Only the slightest twitch at the corner of her mouth indicated that Mary was pulling his leg. Jack shook his head. 'You'd better get back in the middle of the column in case the pandies come.'

  'Yes, Captain Windrush, sir,' Mary gave a mock salute that raised a smile on the faces of the nearest men.

  Aware he was watching her rather than concentrating on his duty, Jack looked away abruptly. Duty, duty, first and last. Duty to the death.

  'Penny for them,' Elliot said.

  'What?'

  'Penny for your thoughts,' Elliot said.

  'I was wondering if the pandies would try to attack us again.'

  'You're a lying hound, Jack Windrush,' Elliot said pleasantly. 'You were thinking of Mary Lambert.'

  'I was doing nothing of the kind!'

  'Another lie!' Elliot said. 'You'd better be careful, Jack, or Saint Peter will bang the pearly gates in your face and kick you downstairs with the thieves, robbers and blackguards.' He grinned. 'And I'll be waiting with the 113th to welcome you.'

  'Watch your blasphemy, lieutenant, and you a clergyman's son.'

  'She's a good woman, Jack,' Elliot said.

  'As good as any other.' Jack tried to sound grudging in his praise.

  'You risked your life to save her in the evacuation of Lucknow,' Elliot reminded. 'And she nursed you when you were wounded.'

  'She knew my mother,' Jack said.

  'There's more than that.' Although he was talking, Elliot never ceased to survey the countryside through which they passed. 'You know there is.'

  'She's a useful woman with her language skills, and she's a pleasant companion.' Jack eased off a little.

  'Is that all?' Elliot raised his binoculars to stud
y a ruined village on the horizon. He grunted. 'Something is moving over there. Could be pandies.'

  'Riley and Logan are on the flank picket. If there's anything out there, they'll pick it up.'

  'She likes you, too.' Elliot accepted Jack's opinion on the distant village. 'And more than likes you, or she wouldn't have followed you here. Be careful, Jack.'

  'I know what I'm doing.' Jack was becoming used to Elliot's warnings of doom where Mary was concerned.

  'She'll be bad for your career,' Elliot said. 'She's Anglo-Indian, or Eurasian or whatever you wish to call it. Could you imagine introducing her into the Mess? What would the officers say? How would the other wives react?'

  Jack felt his temper rising. 'Who the hell cares what the officers say, or how the other wives react? Surely any decision would be between Mary and me, and I'm not saying that I have any idea about marriage or anything else.'

  'Mary might care,' Elliot said quietly. 'Could you imagine what sort of life she would have, especially if the Army posted us home? The wives would shun her, and the other officers would treat her like dirt. It's not fair on Mary to lead her on, Jack, and as for you…' Elliot shrugged. 'You could whistle for your next step. No matter what heroics you did, a man with a Eurasian wife would never get promotion. You would remain a captain, Jack until you were in your dotage and Horse Guards would find some excuse to put you on half pay so you would rot in Eastbourne or Brighton or some other nowhere.'

  'Thank you for your advice, Lieutenant,' Jack said stiffly. 'And now if you could return your attention to your duty, we would all be grateful.' Jack had been watching Ensign Wilden hurry back from his patrol.

  'There is a village ahead, sir, with a working well.'

  'Good man, Wilden,' Jack encouraged. 'Now take ten men forward and secure the village perimeter until we get there.'

  'Yes, sir!' Wilden looked excited as he called together the nearest ten men and rushed forward again.

  'Poor lad.' Elliot was not the slightest abashed by Jack's rebuke. 'He'll learn.'

  'Let's hope he has time to learn and the pandies don't get him,' Jack said. 'Or the cholera.'

  The village centred on a well and a babul tree. In peacetime, elderly men would gather under the tree, exchanging gossip and watching the world go by, but in the present war, the place was deserted.

  'Water the camels first,' Jack ordered, 'then the men and the officers last.' There was an order of priority in the army and any officer who drank before his men would soon learn of his mistake.

  'This place is eerily quiet.' Mary dismounted with a single fluid movement and stretched her limbs before walking toward Jack.

  'It's the war,' Jack said. 'We're marching through a land accursed by God.'

  'It's more than that,' Mary said.

  'Something's wrong.' MacKinnon held his rifle ready. 'Something's wrong here, sir. There are no birds or anything.'

  'He's right,' Mary said. 'There are no birds, not even in the tree.'

  Jack frowned. Even if the villagers were absent, the babul tree should be swarming with birds. Where were they?

  'That camel, what's wrong with it?'

  The camel was swaying from side to side as if drunk. As Jack watched, it fell to one side, spilling its load of tents and water-canteens.

  'What the devil?' Jack jumped forward. 'What's happening here?' He grabbed the camel driver. 'What have you done to the beast?'

  The man stared at him, terrified.

  'He's done nothing,' Mary said. 'You can't blame him! Look at that other camel!'

  A second camel was also swaying, staggering from side to side.

  'The blasted things were all right a minute ago,' Jack said.

  'They were all right until they drank from the well,' Elliot pointed out.

  'Bad water!' Jack yelled in near panic. 'The pandies have poisoned the well. Get the animals back! Nobody touch the blasted water!'

  'The foul bastards!' Elliot was not normally prone to swearing. 'Get back, lads! Don't touch the water! Get away from the well!' He extended his arms and pushed back thirsty camels and thirsty men. 'Back!' They retreated, swearing.

  'That's a new trick,' Jack said. 'It's a dirty thing to do in a hot climate.'

  'We need water.' Elliot pushed back a thirsty camel. 'Neither the men nor the animals will last another day without it.'

  Unfolding his map, Jack spread it on the ground, weighed down the corners with stones and pored over their position. 'It's the dry season' he said as if speaking to Griffs, 'so there is little standing water in this part of the world. We have to find a well.'

  'Yes, sir.' Elliot agreed.

  'We passed close by a deserted village a mile or two down the road,' Jack reminded. 'They'll have a well.'

  'The pandies could have poisoned that one too,' Lieutenant Bryce said.

  'Take out a strong picket out and find out, Bryce,' Jack decided. 'Be careful.'

  'Yes, sir.' Bryce selected a dozen men and marched off. Jack posted sentries around the village as the remaining men sought shade, cursing the enemy and the climate.

  'What do we do now?' Mary asked.

  'You keep away from the sun,' Jack said. 'I'll do my duty.'

  'You're worried.' Mary touched his arm.

  'The men can't see that. They must think their commander is confident of success at all times.' Jack checked his revolver was loaded and looked around the village once more. Both camels that had drunk at the well were now dead, and Jack gave orders to redistribute their loads among the others.

  'What's taking Bryce so long?' Jack scanned the distant village through his binoculars.

  The rifle fire was flat and vicious under the pressing sun.

  'Ambush,' Jack said. 'The pandies have ambushed Bryce. Form up, men! We're heading out!'

  For a moment, Jack wondered if he should leave his camels and Mary behind with an escort, but decided that further splitting his force when facing an unknown number of the enemy would be foolish.

  'Keep together. Elliot, take the right flank, Wilden, and O'Neill, take the left, Peake, command the rear guard. Follow me.'

  As Jack doubled back toward the village, he saw that Bryce and his men had gone to ground, lying in an extended line to fire at an invisible enemy.

  Jack ducked as a bullet flicked his forage hat, and then Bryce was rising beside him.

  'They're firing at us, sir,' Bryce reported.

  'Get down, man!' Jack ordered. 'There's no sense in making yourself a target. How many of them are there?'

  'I don't know, sir,' Bryce said. 'Maybe a hundred or so.'

  'Very good, Bryce.' Jack didn't need to ask where the enemy was; he could see powder smoke rising from the village and various points on either side.

  The village was no different from a thousand others in India, with a peepul tree near the centre of a straggle of houses of different sizes. Jack knew the rules when ambushed. He could find cover and try to fight it out, knowing that the ambushers held all the advantages of position and surprise, he could withdraw, or he could charge for the throat and hope to unsettle them. In this case, retreat was not an option.

  'Hutton, Smith; stay with the translator and don't let her come to harm. The rest of you, follow me! Come on the 113th!' Jack charged forward. Cheering and swearing, his men followed. There was no time to think of tactics. He had to rely on force and speed.

  'Cry Havelock!' Elliot used the old battle cry. 'And let loose the dogs of war!'

  The dogs were loose.

  Smoke jetted from the windows of the nearest house, and Jack felt something flick past his face. Lifting his revolver, he fired back. A mutineer appeared at the upper window, his scarlet jacket now faded with sun and exposure. For a moment, Jack stared right into his face. He was a havildar – a sergeant of native infantry – with greying hair and impressive whiskers, a man who had grown middle-aged in the service of John Company and now had lost his pension and his reputation by turning against his old employers.

  Weaving
from left to right, Jack ran forward and fired again, knowing he had little chance of hitting the havildar. The door of the house crashed open, and a press of men rushed out, some were mutineers, other warriors in white clothes and twisted red turbans with curved tulwars and round shields. Jack shot the leading man, dropped his revolver as it jammed and drew his sword.

  There was no time for hesitation now. For the next few moments, all Jack saw was screaming faces and darting bayonets, slashing tulwars and round metal shields. He thrust, parried and swore, felt the shock of impact as his sword entered a man's chest, and then something heavy crashed on the side of his head, and he staggered, falling to the ground.

  He lay there, dazed, seeing only the white trousers of the mutineers and the bare brown legs of a swordsman. A mutineer in a faded scarlet tunic and loincloth straddled him and poised a bayonet.

  Here is death, Jack thought. He wasn't scared. He was a soldier, and this was a soldier's death. The mutineer snarled at him and lifted the bayonet, ready to plunge it into his chest. The man's face twisted in hatred, his eyes wide open and his teeth bared. Jack wondered why an NCO had not pulled the sepoy up for having a rusty blade and then a naik pulled the man away. Jack rolled to his feet and grabbed his sword.

  'Sir!' O'Neill and a press of men arrived with sweating faces and thundering boots. Logan dispatched the sepoy with a casual thrust of his bayonet. 'Are you all right, sir?'

  'I'm all right,' Jack said. 'What happened?'

  'You were on the ground sir, and an old naik saved you, sir,' O'Neill said.

  'Why?' Still dazed, Jack felt the side of his head. 'Why did the naik save me?'

  'Dunno, sir.' O'Neill shook his head. 'Rum fellows, these sepoys. You never know what's going on in their heads.'

  'Where is the naik now?'

  'He's gone, sir,' O'Neill said. 'He shoved Jack Pandy aside and fled.'

  Jack wiped sweat from his forehead and looked around. There was a litter of bodies on the ground, but after the brief skirmish outside the houses, the mutineers had not fought. Only three of the enemy remained, standing in the open with tulwars and round shields.