“Oh good! Nothing I want more than to be set free to savage the fiendish foe, sir.”
“That’s the spirit that made England great, Guns!”
“I thought that was rum, sir.”
“Good idea! A rum issue now and another with breakfast. See to it, Guns!”
“What if the Paymaster objects, sir?”
“Kick him.”
“Aye aye, sir.”
The Japanese marched off, bayonets fixed and pursuing an unwavering line forward into the Chinese fire. Magnus kept the Naval Brigade exactly in position next to the Japanese.
At intervals the Japanese shouted ‘Banzai’ and Lieutenant Pattishall called for three cheers in response. It sounded very martial.
The Chinese opened fire at a range of half a mile as the attackers plodded forward, much slowed by heavy crops of grain growing tall about them. In places the rye and millet and sorghum stood six feet tall, the plants cultivated for their valuable straw as well as their heads of grain.
Casualties were far fewer than they should have been. The Chinese were firing from cover, able to rest their rifles and take a steady aim; they should have been able to kill hundreds of the attackers every minute.
“Firing high, sir. The few we are losing are mostly head shot, sir.”
“It might be true then, Guns. The story I was told. Heard it a few weeks back, from a German officer in the Mess. He said he had been told it by their training people who were teaching the Chinks to use their Mausers. When it came to setting the sights, the Chinese all put them to the maximum range. It was logical, it seems – if the bullet was to travel a greater distance, then it must be more powerful. He couldn’t explain that the sights changed the point of aim, not the distance the bullet was to travel.”
Pattishall nodded slowly – if the range was set high, then the rounds would fly over the heads of nearer targets.
“More power to their delusions, sir! They are achieving a very respectable rate of fire. Was it to be accurate, we would be in trouble. The Japanese are returning fire, sir.”
The black powder clouds were obscuring the whole Japanese line.
“I am told that the Japanese military have millions of black powder cartridges in stock, Guns. Rather than waste them, they sent them out with old single-shot breech-loaders to equip the troops coming here. Don’t need modern guns to kill Chinks, Guns! It ain’t just us who’ve got no respect for the Chinese, you know! Hold fire until we are at the edge of this field. As soon as we can see ahead, five rounds rapid fire at the trenches and then aimed fire for another ten rounds. Then we can wait to see what’s happening.”
They knelt at the foot of the slope leading up to the Chinese positions and exchanged fire with them. A few men fell on each side, neither showing any intention of withdrawing. The Chinese opened artillery fire, shells landing well behind the front line of attackers.
The Naval twelve pounders dropped their trails and responded with accurate and rapid fire. Gunfire sounded from the right as the American guns joined in.
“Have the French brought any of their guns, sir?”
“Don’t think so. Their troops are local from Indo-China. Annamites, or Annamese – depending on your preference. I don’t think they want to equip them with field guns. Pity. I am told their new seventy-five is the best light field gun in existence.”
“According to the instructors, sir, they can fire thirty aimed rounds a minute for a couple of minutes and fifteen a minute for five minutes or more. The limit seems to be the strength and endurance of the gunners themselves. No recoil, or, more correctly, the mounting absorbs the recoil so that the gun does not need to be aimed with each shot – it stays on target.”
“A true quick-firer, Guns. We need something like that!”
“If they can extend the principle to their big guns, sir, then our battleships will be in trouble.”
The thought of quick-firing twelve inchers was unpleasant.
“Japanese are moving forward, sir.”
The slope in front of them was partly terraced, low stone walls creating flat fields much of the way to the crest, leaving about a furlong of open ground towards the top.
They followed the Japanese, keeping low and falling into the cover of the uppermost wall.
“What’s our figures, Guns?”
Lieutenant Pattishall shouted down the line to the nearest officer, told him to pass the message on and the response back. He waited less than five minutes for the figures to come in.
“Thirty dead from the Brigade, sir. Two of them Obelisks. Sixty wounded and gone back, nine of them Obelisks. No officer casualties, sir.”
“Ninety effectives lost – steep, Guns.”
“Not impossible figures, sir.”
“Nasty, though. Can’t see any movement from the Chinks.”
“They’ve got the crest, sir. We can’t see what’s happening on the other side. Could be shifting thousands just out of sight.”
“What’s happening to the right?”
“Can’t see, sir. The hills aren’t straight. There’s a spur about a quarter of a mile distant that blocks the view. There’s powder smoke on the other side. The Russians have black powder rifles - some of them, not all. Looks as if they are up, sir. The Americans seem to be stuck in bad country again, sir. Brush and scrub and bog by the looks of it.”
Magnus risked standing with his binoculars.
“Almost no cover for the Americans. All they can do is lie down, exposed out in the sun.”
The temperature was close to one hundred and the humidity was high. Even in the shade of the low walls, conditions were extremely unpleasant.
“Send the runners back, Guns. Fresh water bottles, all they can lay their hands on. At least we have the cover of the grain fields for them.”
The runners did their job, resupplying the thirsty men and then returning with more. It was apparent that the issue water bottles were too small for tropical needs. Presumably, the Admiralty did not expect to fight during the heat of the day.
“Send the order to keep up a fire on the crest, Guns. Try to suppress the Chinese fire. Not much we can do other than that. Examine the slope to our front – try to map out clear paths for an advance after dark. As soon as the runners have brought more water up, send them back for extra rounds and distribute them. What’s the chance of brewing up?”
They sat in stalemate for the better part of six hours, taking few casualties and shooting at every sign of movement on the crest. Late afternoon brought a crescendo of firing to the far right and the cloud of Russian powder smoke seemed to move forward. A runner came from General Gaselee nearly an hour later.
“General’s compliments, sir. The Chinks are moving to our left. Attack your front.”
“Moving left? Where to? There’s a deep river there.”
“Looks like they have thrown a bridge across it, sir.”
“Bugger that – most of them will escape to fight again. Guns, signal a general advance across our front. Runner! Has anyone gone to the Japanese?”
“Don’t know, sir.”
“Then you go, quickly. Tell them what’s happening. They’ll almost certainly move as we do – they won’t be left behind.”
There was almost no fire as they pushed up to the crest. Only a few wounded remained under arms, rapidly bayoneted as they continued to shoot.
“All soldiers, sir. No red sashes or banners.”
“The Boxers have given up the fight, Guns. The rains have come and so they need to be at home to plant their fields.”
From the highest point they had taken they could see the Chinese army in full retreat but still under discipline, their guns with them. The Japanese had cut some off from their new bridge, were busily killing them all, but more than three quarters had escaped.
Using binoculars from the ridge, Magnus could just see another rise and the outlines of trenches.
“In business again tomorrow, Guns. Extra rounds to be brought up tonight. Each man to ha
ve a bandoleer as well as his pouches. Bring up water barrels. Each man to drink all he can tonight. Send them off in the morning absolutely full of water. Get fires lit for tea.”
“What about the Chinks, sir?”
“Collect up all rifles and ammunition and swords and other personal weapons. Look after the badly wounded – give them mercy.”
Pattishall blinked as he realised what was being said.
“Better than leaving them out in the sun for the rats and kites, Mr Pattishall. We have barely sufficient medical services for our own people. Don’t waste our rounds – use their own.”
The lightly wounded, those who had a chance of survival, were left to look after each other. There was no water spare, but there was a stream running in the shallow vale behind the Chinese defences. Magnus would not have fancied drinking from it himself, but it was Chinese water and they must be used to it.
The Brigade moved forward another half mile and camped for the night, clear of the debris and detritus of the battle. The doctors set up for those who needed treatment for minor injuries – a surprising number of the younger hands found themselves with painful burns on their cheeks, resting against the barrels of hot rifles in the sun. The older men, many of whom had taken part in expeditions ashore in Africa, had known to put a cloth pad against their chins.
Magnus walked through the makeshift camp, talking with the Obelisks, nodding to the petty officers from other ships, exchanging a few words with the officers. Mostly, he was concerned to take an impression of morale, to discover the men’s feelings about their inconclusive victory and their willingness to fight again in the morning. He returned to his tent quietly satisfied.
“Feeling I get, Guns, is that they are satisfied with the day’s work. They chased the Chinks off their hill, and tomorrow will do the same again. Took a few casualties – so what? Part of the game. They won, as far as they are concerned.”
Pattishall agreed, he had seen the same.
“A lot of our men are carrying extras they picked up today, sir. Revolvers are very popular, for some reason. Cowboy stories, I expect. PO Higgins has claimed a Mauser rifle and hundreds of rounds and is busy working it up. He told me it’s a far better sniper rifle than the Lee Metford. He wants to put a few up in the baggage wagons, for future use as he won’t be able to get hold of spares.”
“Box them or wrap them in canvas, Guns. They should not be seen. Other than that, an excellent idea. Pity we can’t get him some sort of telescopic sight. A few ammunition boxes would be useful – I saw some dumped at the rear of the Chinese trench on the crest.”
“Got ‘em, sir. Don’t want to leave the stuff hanging about for bandits to pick up.”
“Quite right, Mr Pattishall – a proper display of initiative!”
The Japanese moved out at dawn, not waiting for any commands from General Gaselee, who was not good at getting up early in any case. The Naval Brigade followed on their heels, as they seemed to expect, and the remainder of the expedition formed up as was convenient and sensible to them. An hour brought a first contact with the Chinese, set up in another defensive position on a low slope behind a village thought to be called Yangcun, or something like.
The day proceeded almost identically to the first.
The Japanese attacked headlong; the Naval brigade provided covering fire and then advanced to the point where the Japanese had been forced to halt; the artillery opened up and the Russians and Americans found worse, more exposed ground to cross and take casualties on while the French turned up late and dithered on the far flank. The Bengal Lancers did their best on the far right, massively outnumbered but causing some havoc.
By mid-afternoon the Chinese found they were suffering unacceptable casualties and pulled back in good order, driven out of their lines and losing the battle but not routed. A rough count after the firing had stopped produced four times as many Chinese bodies as dead allies.
Magnus was called back to the command tents, walked the mile or so through the rear of the expedition, admiring the organisation. The Indian Army was used to campaigning in the rough, especially on the North West Frontier, and could create a comfortable camp, with working field kitchens, in almost no time.
General Gaselee was cautiously optimistic.
“Two battles on consecutive days, massively outnumbered. Won both with tolerable losses. Killed at least two thousand Chinks. Taken three thousand rifles and a quarter of a million rounds. One field gun and its limber. Some hundreds of ponies and a good fifty wagons. What comes next?”
Magnus thought that question might be addressed to him.
“No scouts out, sir. Can’t risk sending out small parties. From the little we can see, sir, the Chinks have fallen back a distance this time. They are still in good order, sir. Several regiments of horse covering their retreat, sir. Not many prisoners – their men are not dispirited and giving up yet.”
Gaselee nodded portentously.
“The maps we have suggest there is more defensible ground about fifteen miles to the north, Eskdale. If they are going to fight again, it ought to be there. Thing is, we have no choice other than go headfirst into them. We have to keep our flank on the river and maintain contact with the junks and sampans carrying the bulk of the Army’s stores. Best thing would be a coordinated assault, all the way along the line, if we could get the Japs to wait for the rest of us to come up. Very much a piecemeal affair today, Eskdale.”
“Yes, sir. The Japanese are firm believers in getting up early in the morning, sir. They don’t like wasting fighting time.”
General Gaselee was unimpressed – he enjoyed a leisurely start to his mornings.
“Nothing like a good breakfast and a pot of tea to set you up for the day, Eskdale. I thought these Japanese had tea ceremonies or some-such for their breakfast?”
“Not that I have observed, sir. They seem to eat a bit of rice and then grab their guns and get going at sunrise, sir.”
“Not good enough, Eskdale! Best we should teach them civilised habits. I’ll chivvy up the Army, but there’s nothing we can do about the Russkis – their officers won’t get out of bed before nine o’clock whatever the need may be. As for the French – lunchtime is early enough for them – I don’t think their hearts are really in this war, you know!”
Magnus agreed gravely – the French forces were not the most martial he had ever come across.
“Not really recovered from 1870, sir. The defeat then seems to have broken their spirit. What of the Americans, sir?”
“Damned good question, Eskdale! Don’t know what to say for them. Fine fighting men – the men, that is. Some of the officers are less than fierce, shall we say!”
“Political appointments, sir. Take a commission for a few years in the hope of getting quick promotion and a handle to their name. I met one rather shy gentleman in Peking who suffered acute indigestion whenever trouble came near, a fellow called Newt Hall, a captain. It seems that to be called ‘colonel’ is very useful if you wish to be elected to their Congress and he is in for a promotion in the field. I hope he has discovered a little of martial spirit defending the Legations, sir.”
“Explains a lot. Damned amateurs in any case – leading their men the wrong way into untenable positions and then having to lay out in the sun all day under heavy fire, able neither to go forward or back. They are lucky in their field artillery – some outstandingly able gunners. Fellow name of Reilly, particularly. Their guns will be useful but the infantry have taken a beating and won’t be fit for the front for the while.”
Magnus made no comment – such matters were for the General to decide.
“For tomorrow then, Eskdale. Keep up with the Japanese – don’t let them steal a march on us. See if you can pick up any intelligence.”
He thought of pointing out that neither he nor any of his officers spoke Chinese and they had no interpreters with them. It was not worth showing unenthusiastic, he decided.
“Yes, sir. Permission to withdraw, sir?”<
br />
“Yes, yes… Best get back to your people, Eskdale. Pleased with the way you’re handling them, you know. Very good job!”
Captain Callaghan agreed, walking out with Magnus from the presence.
“You seem to get on with these Orientals, Eskdale. Any way of getting the Japs to slow down a bit?”
“Not a hope, sir. They show the Navy some respect, but only because we keep up with them. If we try to hold them back, they will think we are no better than the Russkis, sir.”
“Can’t have that, man! Do your best, as you have been. Your name has been mentioned in both battle despatches as our leading figure, right up at the front, where the Navy should be. All very good stuff, you know!”
“I am glad to hear it, sir. Can’t let the Navy down! Has there been any mail yet, sir?”
“Nothing yet. I’ve sent one of my people back down to find out what’s going on. Nothing worse for morale than no letters, you know, Eskdale!”
Magnus was inclined to agree.
“Can’t offer you much in the way of dinner, Eskdale. Field cooking ain’t the best.”
It was better that Magnus ate with his own officers, he said. He found the evening meal a good way of talking with them and discovering all the things they would rather he didn’t know.
Callaghan laughed and agreed and sent him off, basking in the approval of his seniors.
“Oh, one last thing, Eskdale. You remember that caravan of gold bullion that was supposed to have left Tientsin? The word is that the bank vaults in the town are all empty – nothing in them at all. Might be it wasn’t a fairy tale.”
Magnus had no wish to be sent off chasing those particular fairies, hurried to deprecate the enthusiasm of foreigners who were ignorant of Chinese ways.
“Cautious chaps, Chinese bankers, sir. They would never be in the way of leaving their gold where it could be pinched. I do not doubt they emptied their vaults weeks ago, well before we came near the town. Last minute panics ain’t their way, sir.”
“Pity! I don’t doubt you’re right, Eskdale – you are our expert on the Chinks, you know!”
04 Peking Nightmares (The Earl’s Other Son Series, #4) Page 11