The Queen's Colonial

by Peter Watt

  Ian stared at the map, calculating the route there and back. It was a good distance from their own frontlines in no man’s land, and he realised that the mission had a strong element of danger. Russian patrols of feared Cossack horsemen regularly scouted the area. ‘We can do that,’ Ian finally said after his appraisal of the map, and calculations in his head to the tactics he would use.

  ‘Good, Captain Forbes,’ Jenkins said. ‘I expect to be drinking vodka with the Russian colonel for lunch tomorrow. I doubt that I have to inform you that this mission must be kept between us because of the sensitive nature of the man we wish to rescue. The only people who need to know will be the party you choose. I will emphasise the secrecy of what you do. If you have no questions, you are dismissed.’

  Ian gave another half-hearted salute and exited the tent of the brigade staff officer. As he walked back to his company lines, he thought about the mission. Why would the man he despised and was despised by give him the opportunity to gain credit for bringing in the high-ranking Muscovite officer? As everything in this campaign was dangerous, the mission did not concern Ian as much as the motivations of the brigade officer he despised.

  Ian found Herbert sitting by a small fire outside his tent and briefed him on the mission.

  ‘Naturally, we will take Corporal Curry and Private Williams,’ Herbert said. ‘They are the most experienced and competent men under my command. It would not be wise to blood any of the new recruits with what is at stake. I will also include Private Cummings, he is another good soldier.’

  ‘The matter is settled. We move out at last light,’ Ian said. ‘Get some sleep, and make sure the men selected also get some sleep. It will be a long twenty-four hours ahead of us – if we are to succeed.’

  Early that evening, the five men assembled in the forward trench. They waited until it was dark, and a heavy downfall of snow helped them go over the top to trudge in the direction of the rendezvous point of the ruined villa. Ian used his compass to give them direction in the dark, feeling relatively secure as the falling snow would ensure any enemy scouting patrols would probably seek shelter for the night.

  They trudged in silence throughout the night, greatcoat collars pulled up against the bitter, driving snow. In the early hours of the morning, just before sunrise, Ian spotted the silhouette of the bombed-out villa against the horizon of the rocky snow-covered plain, bordered by a thick forest of conifers. He signalled to the others to make their way towards the ruins, rifles in readiness against the eventuality that it was occupied by enemy picquets. Ian knew if there were enemy soldiers inside, his men had the element of surprise. He could not see any sign of light from a fire, and he cautiously entered the walls of the villa, with his big Colt revolver in one hand, and the smaller Colt in the other, his rifle was slung over his shoulder.

  Satisfied that the villa was deserted, he gave the all-clear to the others to join him inside. The roof was mostly intact, although snow piled up in corners through a few holes in the tiles above. They hardly looked like British soldiers, as each man wore bits and pieces of clothing that had been scrounged for the most warmth. It had been noted that the only difference between officers and soldiers in the field in appearance was that the officers were ordered to wear their swords to distinguish their rank. Ian had been able to purchase a sheepskin jacket and a good pair of Russian boots that were fur-lined. The others of his party were similarly dressed. As scruffy as they appeared, each man’s weapons were in immaculate condition.

  ‘I know it goes against common sense, but I think we should light up a small fire out of sight of anyone in the countryside around us,’ Ian said through chattering teeth. ‘We need to warm our hands if we have to use our weapons.’

  Herbert agreed, and the men scrounged loose pieces of timber boards from the house. They were able to break up a smashed table, and soon a small, warm glow heartened the chilled soldiers, who gathered around the flames to warm their gloved hands. Ian knew they only had a couple of hours before the dawn came to the white fields surrounding them. Now, all they had to do was wait.

  *

  ‘I am seeking Captain Forbes,’ Major Jenkins said as he strode through the regimental lines. Captain Miles Sinclair stepped outside his tent flap to meet with the brigade major.

  ‘One of my men reported this morning that Captain Forbes, his brother and three soldiers went over the top just after last light yesterday,’ Miles said. ‘I presume he is on a scouting mission.’

  ‘Did he tell you or any of your men that he was on such a mission?’ Jenkins asked.

  ‘No, sir,’ Miles answered. ‘I have just presumed.’

  ‘I have not authorised any mission to reconnoitre the enemy positions, Captain Sinclair,’ Jenkins said. ‘It sounds very much as if Captain Forbes and his brother have deserted to the enemy lines in search of a warm bed and bottle of vodka.’

  ‘Sir, with all due respect, you know Captain Forbes would never entertain the thought of deserting,’ Miles protested. ‘I am sure that he is on a legitimate mission.’

  ‘I am afraid all missions beyond our lines must first be authorised by me, and that is not so. I have already spoken with your colonel and he has informed me that he has not sanctioned any missions beyond our lines. I can only entertain the idea that the man is a traitor, and has taken other traitors with him. If for some reason we find him first, he is to be immediately arrested for desertion.’

  ‘Sir,’ Sinclair replied, not believing for a moment that his fellow company commander would ever desert. Miles Sinclair could only presume that whatever reason Ian had taken his party into no man’s land the night before it must have been a damned good one.

  Jenkins walked away, satisfied that his ruse would mean the death of Samuel Forbes, one way or another. Charles had also said he would be glad to be rid of his younger brother, Herbert, and would provide Jenkins a bonus when he returned to London.

  There was no Russian deserter coming to rendezvous with Captain Forbes. Only a contingent of Russian soldiers tipped off from a letter left in the cleft of a stick where Jenkins knew Russian patrols passed. It was signed a friend of the Tsar, and Jenkins hoped that even now the Russians had deployed to the ruined villa, to capture or preferably kill the deserting British officer. Jenkins knew that when the Russians came for Samuel that his foolish reaction would be to stand and fight, not surrender. It was in the nature of the man and, as Jenkins was a gambler, he felt the odds were in his favour, this would be the outcome.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘I count around forty infantry, and an officer on a horse,’ Herbert said, staring out of a window of the villa. ‘I somehow think this is not the Russian officer we were supposed to meet with.’

  Ian leaned with his elbows on the windowsill with his small telescope, observing the company of Russian infantry he calculated were half a mile away. ‘It is too big for a scouting party. Besides, the Muscovites would have used cavalry for that. I have this feeling we were lured into a trap, and that bastard Jenkins is behind this treachery.’

  ‘What are we to do. Surrender?’ Herbert asked in desperation.

  ‘Only as a last resort,’ Ian said, lowering his telescope and turning to Conan. ‘Corporal Curry, when do you think you can get a clear shot at that Russian officer on the horse?’

  Conan peered through the window. ‘I am sure I can get a good shot at him when he is about four hundred yards out,’ Conan said, pulling his Enfield onto the windowsill, and sighting at the distant target.

  ‘Good. I am going to gamble on your reputation as the finest shot in the regiment, Corporal Curry,’ Ian said. ‘I noticed a cluster of rocks about a hundred yards behind the villa. We will give them a hot time when they come about four hundred yards from us, then we will escape out the back door, and retreat to the rocky outcrop behind us, keeping out of their line of sight.’ The rest of his party listened intently to Ian’s desperate plan.

&nb
sp; Ian lifted the telescope. ‘I can see that their officer is assembling his company to advance on the villa,’ he said. ‘They are now advancing in two ranks. Boys, take up your positions, and deliver well-aimed shots. I will give the order for our retreat back to the rocks.’

  They all found good firing positions and waited for Ian’s order to open fire. Ian knew the odds were too great to survive a determined assault on the villa, and all he had on his side was fierce determination to make the enemy pay a high price before they were overwhelmed.

  ‘Five hundred,’ Conan muttered beside him as he observed the Russian troops advancing steadily at a marching pace, muskets tipped with the long bayonets at the shoulder. Their officer rode on the flank, and Ian frowned. It was as if the Russians were simply coming to meet them. They did not appear to be expecting trouble.

  ‘Four-fifty,’ Conan muttered once again, taking careful control of his breathing and weapon handling.

  Then the rifle exploded into action, and a second later, the officer toppled from his horse. Immediately, the advancing infantry came to a halt, no longer shouldering their muskets.

  ‘Get down!’ Ian barked and a split second later the rattle of musket balls slammed into the stone walls of the villa. It was followed by a second volley from the second rank.

  ‘Now!’ Each soldier fired his Enfield, and so did Ian. Only Herbert was not armed with the long rifle, but he had his revolver and sword ready.

  Conan had already reloaded in record time, and snapped off another shot, felling a Russian in the front rank. The two other riflemen also fired, bringing down another two Russian soldiers. Ian could see that the enemy infantry men appeared confused by the long-range accurate fire from the wrecked villa. Their officer was dead in the snow, and his mount already galloping across the plain.

  ‘Look for anyone who looks like he might be giving orders – and kill him,’ Ian said to Conan, who nodded, raising his loaded rifle musket. He could see a senior NCO exhorting the men to advance.

  Conan took careful aim, fired and saw his target fall. The ranks of the enemy saw the leader die and fell back to get out of range of the deadly accurate fire coming from the villa. They knew it was an almost fortified position, and they would have to actually be on the villa before they could engage effectively with the unseen assassins by their sheer force of numbers.

  ‘They are retreating,’ Herbert said in an almost hushed voice. ‘We have won the day.’

  ‘Not really,’ Ian said. ‘I suspect that they are going to fetch their artillery guns and blast us out of our little fort. It is now that we give the fort up, and retreat to the rock outcrop. The building will shield us from view when we do.’

  Ian gave the order, and his small party of men slipped out the back door to take up positions in the rocks behind the house. The Russians had not attempted to advance again, as Ian knew they were confident that their artillery guns would demolish what was left of the villa without exposing themselves to the long-range, deadly accurate small arms fire.

  In the rocks, Ian examined the terrain around the villa. Another half a mile away was a large belt of densely packed trees covered in snow. The cavalry would not be able to hunt them down in such woodland, and he knew that this was where he and his party must reach to throw off any enemy pursuing them. But he also knew they could not make a rush towards the trees until dark, in the eventuality the Russians had cavalry in the near vicinity. Death under a swinging sabre did not appeal to Ian, and all he could do was pray for time. He hoped the heavy snow drifts on the plain would slow any artillery guns being dragged up to bombard the villa.

  ‘We have to keep our heads down here, and not be seen by the Muscovites,’ Ian briefed the men gathered around him in the maze of rocks. ‘When it gets dark, we are going to make our way to that forest of trees yonder. From there, we will make our way back to our own lines.’ The men voiced their agreement, although Ian could see the fear in their faces. Ian also knew it was a desperate plan where many things could go wrong. What if the Russian guns appeared in the next few hours? After the villa had been flattened, they were sure to advance with fixed bayonets, and even with the cover of the rocks, Ian knew he did not have enough men to stem their attack. Any attempt in daylight hours to flee across the snow towards the trees would be seen by their enemy only a half-mile away, and the good possibility that cavalry would ride them down. All they could do was wait until dark to make their escape.

  The hours passed agonisingly slowly. Ian occasionally looked through his telescope at the mass of men on the horizon. Each time, he felt relief as the enemy had obviously taken the time to light fires and sit around them, as if waiting for reinforcements.

  Just before the sun was to descend over a distant line of hills to the west, Ian heard the sound of horses neighing, and carefully made his way along the rocky outcrop. He observed two artillery guns being unlimbered. Ian also noticed that the Russians were using a combination of solid shot and the round gunpowder-filled shells that were fused to explode on impact.

  The waiting troops remained resting as the Russian gunners went about the business of loading and firing the two guns.

  The first ranging solid shot was a cloud of smoke, followed by the bang of the gun as the sound reached Ian. Seconds later, he could hear the solid shot smash through the front wall of the villa to the faint cheer of the Russian infantry watching beyond. It was followed by an explosive round that fell between the house and the rocks, exploding its iron fragments in all directions. Some rattled off the rocks, and the British soldiers hugged any space they could find.

  The following solid and explosive artillery rounds smashed into the villa, and after an hour, the stone villa was levelled to the ground. This was the moment that Ian feared, as he huddled in their temporary place of their final stand facing the overwhelming forces arrayed against them.

  ‘What do we do?’ Herbert asked, fearfully.

  ‘We wait until it is dark enough to make our escape to the woods,’ he said, but noticed that the bleak sun was just touching the top of the distant hills. Only a miracle could save them now if the infantry once again advanced. Ian lifted the telescope and noticed that a small group of high-ranking officers had joined the Russian troops and were in a small group, as if discussing something.

  The sun was now slowly sliding behind the ridges of the hills casting long shadows and when Ian looked back at the Russians, he could see that the lounging soldiers were now forming up in two ranks.

  It was now twilight, but Ian knew they were still vulnerable. The Russians were advancing, but more slowly than the first time they attacked. It was now or never, and Ian turned to his men huddled in the rocks. They no longer had the outline of the villa to give them protection from being seen, but they had the rocky outcrop.

  ‘We have to go now,’ Ian said. ‘Try to keep in a straight line for the trees with the rocks to your back. With any luck, we won’t be spotted for the first moments of our escape. Run like the devil was chasing you.’

  ‘He will be,’ Conan said, and a chuckle broke the tension within the small party.

  ‘Get to the trees, and when you feel that you are far enough in, turn east for our lines. Does anyone have any questions?’

  None spoke. They all knew what they were about to do simply required them to run and hide. It was an act of desperation, but they had no other choice.

  ‘Ready boys?’ Ian said, half raising himself into a crouch. ‘Go!’

  The party scrambled from the rocky outcrop and began to force themselves through the soft snow as fast as they could. It was agonisingly slow, and a distant shout indicated to Ian that the Russians had spotted them. They had at least five-hundred yard start on the pursuing enemy, and were out of range of the smoothbore muskets.

  Ian fell back behind the others fleeing to provide rear protection, and in the distance, he heard the sound that he most dreaded. The muffled
thunder of horses’ hooves in the snow.

  ‘Keep going!’ he shouted when he saw the tree line only a hundred yards away.

  Ian swung around to see half a dozen Cossacks charging, stirrup to stirrup, towards his men, waving their sabres and yelling triumphantly. They could see a helpless prey inviting them to cut them down with their slashing swords.

  Ian raised his rifle, calculating the distance of the first horseman to be around two hundred yards, charging directly at him with his sabre raised. Ian fired, but missed. It was too late to reload so he snatched his twin pistols from his sash, standing his ground until the Cossacks were within range. He only hoped he would give time to his soldiers to reach the relative safety of the forest.

  Two shots rang out behind Ian, and he saw two of the Cossacks pitch from their saddles. Ian instinctively knew it had to be Conan and Edwin who had fired the deadly shots. The odds were now down to four to one, as the surviving Cossacks continued their charge towards him.

  Ian steadied himself, wondering why he was no longer afraid to die. His only fleeting regret was that he would never see Jane again or meet the child they had. When the first horseman was fifty yards away, Ian could see his bearded face, and raised his Colt Dragoon, firing two shots. One hit the cavalryman, who fell sideways from his saddle into the snow.

  The other three swerved away, flanking him, but splitting their forces. Ian could see that they were also carrying short-barrelled musket carbines, which they swapped their sabres for, and it was obvious that they would stand off and shoot him.

  Ian knew his pistol was not as accurate as a rifled musket, but as if lightning had struck them, two of the Cossacks fell from their horses, and Ian heard the echo across the plain of the Enfields. Conan and Edwin were not going to allow their officer be cut down by the Russian horsemen.

  Ian raised both pistols and charged towards the startled Cossack, who fired wildly at the insane British officer, rapidly closing the gap between them. Ian’s hail of bullets slammed into the Russian, who toppled from his horse. Ian grabbed the reins of the rearing horse, and slung himself into the saddle, looking over his shoulder to see the infantry still advancing in the heavy, soft snow. When he turned his attention to the trees, he saw Conan and Edwin providing him covering fire. Ian urged the horse into a gallop, and it forged ahead in the snow until Ian reached the tree line. Ian flung himself from the horse and joined Herbert and the men.