Light Cavalry Action

by Max Hennessy

  Potter seemed to sketch a shrug. ‘First time in action,’ he said quietly. ‘First time I was in action, I was frightened, too.’

  Kirkham’s voice rose. ‘Mr. Potter,’ he said, ‘it is, I think, an accepted fact that military operations are an art not a science, because they are always conducted without full knowledge of the facts, and because most decisions are made on partial evidence only. That being so – and I’m sure that you will agree with it – has it not been proved on many occasions that a courageous officer, acting on a hunch against orders, can execute some bold manoeuvre that can be of great importance to his side? What I’m getting at is this: It is the speed at which a cavalry commander makes up his mind that leads to success and, throughout history, there are instances of commanders who have ignored orders and, by acting promptly on intuition alone, have made their reputations. Is this not so?’

  Potter nodded. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is so…’

  Kirkham nodded, satisfied, and was just turning to pick up a bundle of papers when Potter finished.

  ‘…provided,’ he added mildly, ‘that the action undertaken on the intuition results in victory, which it doesn’t always.’

  Kirkham frowned, hesitated, then he sat down abruptly. ‘That is all,’ he growled.

  * * *

  There was a stir in court as the next witness’s name was called, as though everyone were beginning to feel that now they were going to leave behind the harsh facts of military action and come to the more interesting parts of the story where a woman was involved. There was a distinct movement forward and the fashionable hats in the public gallery bobbed as their owners whispered together.

  Katerina Vronskina was still beautiful, but there was the same aura of suffering about her face as she crossed to the witness box as there was about Higgins’. But hers was different, nevertheless. Her expression held a placid acceptance of things, while in his there was a hint of bitterness – as though she had no complaint against whatever was her lot, while he had fought against it through the years.

  She was dressed in dark green, her face pale and fine-boned above the little fur collar of the jacket she wore.

  Moyalan rose as the usher approached her. ‘This witness,’ he said, ‘owing to reasons which will eventually become clear, does not wish to hold the Bible in her right hand. My lord, I crave your indulgence. I trust you will allow her to repeat the words of the oath holding the Bible in her left hand.’

  Godliman stared down. ‘Is it quite impossible?’ he asked.

  ‘It is difficult, my lord, as I will explain later.’

  ‘Very well. So long as she understands what she is doing.’ Moyalan bowed, and turned to the witness. ‘You have understood what His Lordship has said?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘Perfectly.’

  She repeated the oath after the usher and stood waiting calmly, and there was another little movement among the¡ fashionable hats in the gallery as she dominated the court by her stillness.

  ‘You are Katerina Dimitrievna Vronskina?’

  She smiled slightly. ‘I am Katherine Higgins,’ she corrected.

  Moyalan nodded gravely. ‘You remember the period of November 7th to November 22nd, 1919?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where were you at that time?’

  ‘I was at the Slavska Barracks in Nikolovssk.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘I was looking after the wounded men who had been brought in by the armoured cars from the fight on the Nikolovssk-Elizabetskaya road.’

  ‘Were there many wounded?’

  ‘There were twelve seriously wounded, four of whom died. There were also thirty-three other wounded, of whom fifteen were slight and soon recovered. They were all placed in one of the dormitories of the barracks.’

  ‘You had had nursing experience, I suppose?’

  ‘Practically none.’

  ‘But you tried to help, nevertheless?’

  ‘Nikolovssk was in such a state of chaos at the time that it was impossible to get a doctor and the hospital was so full the doctors there would not accept any more wounded.’

  ‘Please tell the court what happened.’

  * * *

  Like most Russian girls, Katerina had offered to nurse as soon as she was old enough but, owing to her age, her work, before her move south had brought it to an end, had been confined largely to rolling bandages or helping to feed lightly-wounded men. There had been little to upset her and even an element of glamour attached to the work, but she had often wondered how she would react if she were to be plunged, as some of her older friends had been, into the more sickening aspects of war nursing.

  Now, however, surrounded by the choking cries of dying men and the whimpering of the wounded, she found she hadn’t time to have dizzy spells at the sight of blood and, driven by the need for it to be done, she had stitched up without flinching a gash in a man’s head that had stretched from the nostrils to the line of the hair, and had set a broken leg without anaesthetics while Busby and Sergeant Sidebottom had held the moaning man down. She had bound up more sabre cuts than she cared to think about and probed for bullets in shrinking flesh, and had even attempted to do something for the dying Packer’s butchered face.

  It had been obviously hopeless to try to do much for the twelve seriously wounded cases beyond giving them morphine to ease their pain, but for the lesser wounded they had torn up what sheets they had possessed, while the Hispano had shuttled back and forth between the barracks and the house for more linen, pillowslips and cotton underwear. By the time the Rolls roared into the barracks at first light the next morning, the block they were using was looking reasonably normal again.

  Higgins and his crew looked grey-faced and strained in the early light. They climbed stiff-legged and half-frozen out of the vehicle and stood in the snow in a group, stamping their feet and lighting cigarettes. Katerina went down with Potter to meet them, and Higgins’ taut featureless face lit up as he saw her.

  ‘I’m glad you’re here,’ he said quickly, almost shyly, then he turned hurriedly to Potter, as though conscious of having been unnecessarily bold.

  ‘Where’s the Colonel, Willie?’ he asked.

  ‘Gone,’ Potter said. ‘Inde’s got typhus. Went to take over.’

  Higgins’ face changed, and it was hard to tell whether he were angry or pleased.

  ‘Last night,’ Potter went on. ‘Took him to the station. Barry got him on a train. Said he was going to Khaskov to arrange for our relief. Got rid of Cheltenham Charlie, too. And Murray-Hughes. Freeman went with ’em. And that bloody woman that Finch always carted around – Countess Seinikina, and all her blasted baggage. It almost killed Freeman.’

  Higgins managed a tired smile. ‘What’s it like in the town?’ he asked.

  ‘Local Bolshies running riot. Looting the shops. Some shooting, too. White units getting out as fast as they can. We’re almost all that’s left.’

  ‘What about transport?’

  ‘Barry couldn’t guarantee anything,’ Potter said. ‘Think Hardacre’ll pull the fat out of the fire, though. Last saw him with his head close to the yard foreman’s. Probably promising red revolution in England so long as they get him home to start it.’

  Higgins smiled. ‘I’ll leave it to him, Willie. I think we have a little time before we go.’

  Potter looked grave. ‘We’re not going,’ he said. ‘We’re supposed to stay here. Prideaux promised we’d hang on to Nikolovssk.’

  Higgins looked up, a flicker of anxiety crossing his face. Then it vanished at once. ‘A hundred men?’ he asked quietly.

  ‘That’s the idea. British honour at stake and all that rot. He promised to send reinforcements.’

  Higgins paused for a moment, then he smiled. ‘We’ll still make arrangements to leave,’ he said. ‘He’ll probably change his mind.’

  * * *

  Katerina watched the Hispano swing out of the barracks, its drab paint steely under the iron-dark skies
as Potter went off to add weight to Hardacre’s efforts, then as she turned, Higgins called one of the corporals to him and arranged for the spare Lewis to be placed with a crew just outside the barracks, commanding the road to the town, while the Rolls was parked facing in the opposite direction.

  During the morning, Potter returned with Hardacre in the Hispano.

  ‘Got a train,’ he announced. ‘Hardacre fixed it. Only a small one but we’ll probably find it grows as we go along.’ He gestured cheerfully. ‘Barry’s leaving today,’ he went on. ‘Engineers are due through tomorrow from Elizabetskaya. They’re to immobilise the yards. That’s when the panic’ll start. Everybody knows there’s nobody behind ’em except the Reds. Barry says he’ll wait for us at Khaskov.’

  ‘Put a guard on the wagons, Willie,’ Higgins advised.

  ‘Already done. Hell of a lot of refugees coming through. Someone set fire to the Tsar Alexander I, and everybody who lived there’s outside now sitting on their baggage.’ Potter paused. ‘I’ll start getting the baggage down,’ he ended.

  ‘We’ll need a priest, of course, Willie, if you can find one.’

  Potter’s eyebrows rose and he looked quickly at Katerina.

  ‘I’m going to see our dead have a decent burial.’

  ‘Oh!’ Potter’s face fell.

  As he began to load the Hispano, Higgins and Katerina moved back inside the barrack block. MacAdoo was stuffing papers into the stove.

  ‘Just finished,’ he said.

  He glanced curiously back at them as he left, and Higgins bent over the desk, turning the remaining scattered papers over quickly.

  Katerina watched him for a moment. He seemed absorbed but, as she moved to leave also, he stopped abruptly and took a step towards her.

  ‘Katerina!’

  She halted in the doorway. He paused for a moment then spoke abruptly.

  ‘What will you do when we go?’ he asked.

  She gazed at him with calm eyes. ‘I don’t know,’ she admitted.

  ‘They might consider you’d no right to help us. It might go hard with you. You’ve no idea what’s happened to your family and – well, you know what they do to women.’

  She managed a smile. ‘The people who stay where they are seem to be safe.’

  ‘There’s a vodka factory in the town,’ he pointed out. ‘They’ll break into it. God knows what’ll happen then.’

  She was still smiling a little. ‘Major Higgins,’ she said, ‘I’m sure you’re trying to tell me something.’

  He paused. ‘Yes, I am,’ he said. ‘We owe you a lot. Perhaps I could repay it.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘I don’t know how to say this, but – well, Russian girls are going off with British officers. They become British citizens. It would mean we could take you with us – and your aunt. That’s what they’re doing and I think it’s right.’

  She gave him a gentle smile. ‘Are you asking me to marry you, Major Higgins?’

  He looked up at her frankly, ‘Yes, I am,’ he said.

  ‘Major Higgins.’ She stopped and smiled again. ‘Really, we should be using Christian names when we’ve reached the point of a proposal, shouldn’t we?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so.’

  ‘I was going to say that marriage isn’t really a question of safety, is it? It’s a question of love.’

  ‘Yes.’ He seemed rebuffed and uncertain again. ‘I realise that. I don’t suppose you’re in love with me.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not.’

  He swallowed and tried again. ‘I’m offering you safety, that’s all,’ he pointed out. ‘There’s a girl who married one of the corporals – she’ll be going. They’d put you on a ship. Then,’ he hesitated, as though he found it hard to say what was in his mind, ‘when you get to England, you’d be free to go off if you wanted. I wouldn’t mind.’

  ‘Wouldn’t you?’

  He paused. ‘Well, yes,’ he admitted. ‘I would, as a matter of fact. But I’d understand. What do you think of the idea?’

  She gazed back at him, trying to be frank. ‘I’m going to say “yes”,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure why, though. It’s not because I love you. But it’s also not just because I want a safe trip out of Russia for us. It’s something else and I can’t explain it.’

  ‘You don’t have to.’

  ‘No. But I feel I ought to try. Arranged marriages are not unusual in Russia and a lot of them seem to turn out well. I’m going to marry you because I trust you and because I know I shall never see my family again. But I’m not going to leave you when I get to England because perhaps things will work out better than either of us expect.’

  He nodded. ‘I’m glad, Katerina,’ he said. ‘I’m glad.’

  He seemed about to turn away but she remained in front of him. ‘It’s usual,’ she reminded him, ‘when a proposal of marriage’s accepted, to seal it with a kiss.’

  He looked at her, then he nodded, in that brisk, quiet way he had. ‘Yes, of course.’

  He took her hands and she could see it was going to be a chaste peck, a mere token of affection, and suddenly she was overwhelmed by gratitude and a feeling that he deserved more. As he drew her closer, she put her arms round him and kissed him full on the lips.

  ‘When will it be?’ she asked.

  His eyes were suddenly bright and he seemed delighted with himself, his featureless face alight in a way she had never seen before.

  ‘I hope your ceremonies aren’t too long-drawn-out,’ he said.

  * * *

  Moyalan laid down his papers. ‘You were married in Nikolovssk?’ he asked. ‘On the afternoon of the 22nd?’

  She smiled. ‘Yes. Most of the baggage and equipment had long since been taken down to the station and the remaining wounded had been placed aboard the train. Another man had died, but we felt that the others had a chance. We had been ready to leave for some time.’

  ‘In the meantime, had anything happened?’

  ‘There’d been a telegram from Khaskov. It was from Major Finch. I didn’t see it but I heard Captain Potter reading it out. It merely said that as General Inde had died of typhus and his chief-of-staff had been evacuated to the coast, Colonel Prideaux had assumed command.’

  ‘That was all? There were no orders for you to leave?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I see.’ Moyalan picked up his papers and studied them. There was no sign of Prideaux in court now, and Kirkham was huddled in his seat, frowning at the documents in front of him. The jury and the people in the public gallery were leaning forward, listening intently.

  ‘When did you leave Nikolovssk?’ Moyalan asked.

  ‘In the late afternoon of the 22nd. As it happened, the demolition troops were late, but we had waited and waited for instructions. When none came, it was finally decided it was impossible to wait any longer.’

  ‘Who decided this?’

  ‘All the British officers. Major Higgins and the major of the Engineers, and all the others.’

  ‘But you first got yourself married to Major Higgins?’

  ‘Yes. We had to wait for our train to be freed in the yard so we were married in Nikolovssk instead of at the coast. It was in a church which was partly burned. There were still black marks on the floor where the sooty water had run.’

  * * *

  They had decided to use the Rolls for safety, with the Hispano following just behind, and the two vehicles rolled into the town, past the crossroads where a great fire had been lit and the cabbies steamed by their horses in the smoke.

  It was bitterly cold and still snowing and there was little time for ceremony because Hardacre had warned them they had a chance of moving off within two hours and that the demolitions were already under way. The church was filled with a smell of damp and decay, and near the entrance there was a hole in the roof through which the snowflakes drifted, and a lot of collapsed woodwork covered with pigeon droppings. There was no light beyond the meagre glow of a taper that fell faintly on the t
hreadbare clothes of the priest. Potter was acting for Higgins and they had roped in Sergeant-Major Busby as a groomsman. Outside, in the empty street, two troopers sat behind the Lewis guns in case of emergency.

  The priest was obviously in a hurry, and Katerina found herself wondering if perhaps he had a place on a train for the south, too. He looked shabby without his vestments which had long since been looted by the Bolsheviki, and his face, with its greasy ringlets of black hair hanging to his collar, had a nervous dough-white look about it.

  ‘We, Thy servant,’ the low voice was hurried and barely distinguishable, ‘as in Cana in Galilee, give glory to Thee, the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Ghost, now and forever, unto ages of ages…’

  Afterwards, they signed their names in a book with charred corners at a table by a smashed door, and shook hands all round.

  ‘Permission to kiss the bride, sir,’ Potter said, as gaily as if he were attending a normal wedding in peace time instead of a hurried ceremony in a dying town, and Katerina held up her face.

  Then she kissed Higgins gravely, neither of them excited, but both curiously moved, and they filed outside, shepherded by the cheerful Potter, to where the two cars were waiting. As they were about to leave, her aunt began to weep and, as Katerina went to her, she took her niece in her arms and wept quietly.

  ‘I am too old to leave Russia now,’ she said. ‘You must go – and with my blessing – but you must go alone. You are a British subject now and it’s your duty to go, as it’s my duty to stay. We still hope your father will appear and God might be good.’

  Katerina tried to protest but the old woman laid a finger on her lips. ‘We don’t pretend, Kat,’ she said. ‘You’re starting a new life. When the time comes to gather the rest of the family round us again, I shall tell them how you married and how happy you looked.’