Forever the Colours (27 page)

‘I know, old chap, they seem to be struggling somewhat. I have just heard they haven't many British officers left commanding them. All dead or injured, apparently.'

Tommy thought about this as they walked. ‘You do remember what I told you, don't you, Maurice? About how this whole thing falls apart? Perhaps you should go and inform the General that if he doesn't do something about them soon, then they will break up completely.'

‘
FIRE
.'

They both ducked as the smooth bore let loose. ‘And what, pray tell, do you expect he will say when he hears the tale you told me, Thomas? I would like to keep some credibility in this battle, you know.'

‘Then ask Galbraith to point it out to him, advise him or something, make up a fucking story if you have to, just try and get the General to see reason.' Tommy was shouting now, and drawing curious glances from the rearmost troops of the 66th.

Maurice wiped the sweat from his face with his sleeve and took a big sigh. ‘All right, damn you, I will talk with the Colonel and try and get him to talk to Burrows about the native infantry, but that is it, Thomas. I do not wish to talk about this again, do you hear.' He looked at Tommy sternly, who knew there was nothing else he could do.

The two friends were approaching the outer companies when Maurice stopped.

‘Sar'nt Major Cuppage,' Maurice shouted, and Tommy saw the big man standing with Captain Cullen. He looked up and made his way over to them. And he still looked impeccable Tommy thought.

‘How can I be of service, Mr Rayner?' Tommy noticed he was carrying a rifle.

‘The Colonel would like you to attend him, Sar'nt Major.' Maurice nodded and made his way over to Captain Cullen.

‘Very good, sir.' He turned to Tommy. ‘And how find you the battle, Mr Evans? Is it as you were expecting?'

‘Worse, Sar'nt Major.'

‘I gave your tale some thought, Mr Evans, and it seems to be playing out as you described.' He looked over towards the battered Cavalry and Indian infantry companies. ‘So either you are a highly intuitive young soldier and have a gift for military strategy,' he looked at Tommy again, ‘or the end is upon us.'

Tommy gave him a sad shrug. ‘You either believe me or you don't, sir, but everything I told you is happening. Look around you, the Grenadiers have taken too much stick, the Jacob's Rifles are shitting themselves and won't last much longer, there isn't going to be any Cavalry soon, but your General is still thinking he can win the day.' Tommy shook his head. ‘Someone needs to talk sense to the man and get him to pull back towards the baggage and the cover of that ravine and village.' He pointed towards where the baggage was. ‘At least you might be able to hold it and you will have your supplys to hand, you know, water and ammo and stuff.' He looked Cuppage in the eyes. ‘I'm telling you now, sir, this brigade won't last much longer.'

Cuppage took a deep breath in through his nose. ‘Well, let us see what the Colonel wants with me. Mayhap I might try and give him your advice, eh.' He smiled, nodded and walked off toward the Colour party.

Tommy watched him go, then went to join Maurice, who, along with Cullen, was lying below a ridge in the ground and looking toward the village beyond the nullah.

‘How many do you gauge there are, Captain?'

‘I'm not sure, Rayner. Could be ten, could be a hundred, probably a bloody thousand. But either way, Quarry has had to deploy some of the baggage guard against them.'

Tommy looked and could see little puffs of smoke from the building windows in the village and the walled garden areas. There was also some smoke from what looked like an orchard on the other side of the village, and he could see khaki-clad soldiers lying amongst the boulders and grass, returning fire. Quarry's men, he presumed.

‘Very well, Captain, I will tell the Colonel that the village has been occupied by the enemy, but Quarry is attempting to have it cleared, yes.' He tipped his hat to Cullen and backed away from the ridge.

‘Follow me, Thomas.'

They hurriedly made their way back but, as they neared, Maurice stopped and stared out toward the front of the 66th lines with a horrified look on his face. Tommy stopped and followed his gaze, and although he too was horrified, he had been expecting something like this. About 500 yards in front of the 66th, thousands of Ghazis rose up as if out of the ground, many carrying banners and flags that fluttered in the wind.

‘Where the fucking hell have they come from?' muttered Maurice.

Tommy was more shocked to hear his friend swear than what was in front of him, and he started to laugh.

‘What the bloody hell are you laughing at, Thomas, you mad fool?' He didn't get an answer, though, as the call went out all along the 66th line to make ready. Officers were shouting, NCOs giving the same instruction with a bit more colourful language.

‘Check those cartridges, lads.'

‘Keep those breeches clear, boys. You don't want any jamming with that lot coming at us.'

‘Set sights for 400, and remember to aim low.'

‘Dina worry boot them bastards, lads, they're all wearing dresses anyhoo.'

‘
Fix
bayonets
.'

Tommy looked up and down the 66th ranks and was humbled at the bravery of these men, who were standing in front of that mass of madmen out there with nothing but an antique rifle and some coarse language. He saw Captain Garratt at the front of his company, sword in one hand and pistol in the other, leading from the front.

‘Come, Thomas,' said Maurice, and he walked off towards the Colour party. Tommy followed. On arriving he heard Galbraith talking to Oliver. ‘Well, it will not do, Charles. If those native boys break, our flank will be wide open and that will be the end of that. It will not matter if my regiment are holding, they cannot hold front and rear.'

‘I understand, sir, but the General has ordered the Grenadiers and the Jacob's Rifles to hold their positions. There is nothing for it but to hold as best you can.'

‘Where is Burrows now, Charles?'

‘He's over with Mainwaring and Anderson, trying to shore up the gaps in the Bombay Infantry. How, though, I don't know.'

‘All right, then, we will continue to hold here.' As he said this, the 66th opened up on the Ghazis now attacking their front, and the officers turned in unison to watch the proceedings.

‘This will get worse, Charles, you've seen the size of the enemy host. They can do this all day. We, on the other hand, cannot; we are already running short on ammunition and water, but that will not matter at all when they throw themselves at us completely, and they will, to be sure. I am starting to believe that we will be lucky to live through this day.' He paused and looked at his feet for a moment. ‘I have just been talking with the Sar'nt Major and he is of the same mind, that we should retire to the village with the baggage to make our defence. I always listen to my senior NCOs, Charles. So would you be so kind as to make my request to Burrows that we withdraw while we still have the chance?'

Oliver nodded his head. ‘I will, sir, right away.' With that, he mounted his horse and made off through the smoke towards the Grenadiers.

Good
old
Cuppage
, thought Tommy.
He
got
through
to
him
. He turned to Maurice, who was watching the Ghazis attack the 66th lines. Tommy watched as well, and saw Captain McMath holding his sword aloft, then slashing it downwards. His company fired a volley on that manoeuvre alone. He tapped Maurice on the shoulder to tell him about Cuppage when he heard Lieutenant Honywood exclaim, ‘My God, sir, the guns!'

Chapter 10

Battle -
The End

T
ommy
turned to look where the Lieutenant indicated and saw the gun teams of the Royal Horse Artillery frantically pulling the cannon out of the fray.

‘What in blazes are they doing?' said the Lieutenant. Tommy heard Maurice call Olivey. ‘Bloody cowards.'

‘Mr Rayner, would you please go and enquire as to why we have lost the Horse Artillery,' shouted Galbraith above the noise.

Maurice stepped forward with a look of incredulity on his face. He turned to Tommy.

‘With me,' he said, and started running toward the gun teams.

‘Jesus fucking Christ, Maurice, hang on,' panted Tommy.
Damn,
this
heat
is
sapping
my
strength.
He caught up with Maurice as an enormous volley from the ranks of the Grenadiers crashed out; he looked for the Bombay Infantry and saw that they were now hand to hand with hundreds of Ghazis and regular Afghan Infantry. Tommy stopped to watch, momentarily fascinated by the brutality of the way the Grenadiers were fighting: stabbing, hacking, bludgeoning with their rifle butts. But still the ordered volleys were sending death and destruction to their front. The officers, what was left of them, were still shouting commands, the NCOs still pushing their men forward.
What
a
sight!
he thought. He tore his eyes away and looked for Maurice, and found him talking to an NCO of the Artillery, so he ran over.

‘Blackwood's down,' the Sergeant shouted to Maurice. ‘We've lost two guns. Maclaine was overrun, so Captain Slade ordered us to pull back, replenish and reposition.'

Maurice was nodding and ducking every now and then as some shot flew over their heads. ‘What state are the Jacob's Rifles in, do you know?'

‘They are going to break, sir, very soon, I should think.'

Tommy looked to where the Rifles
were positioned to the left of the Grenadiers, and to the right of where the guns had been.
Shit!
They're
going
to
go
any
fucking
minute
, he thought. Loads of them were looking backwards towards the cannon, looking for a way out.

‘Maurice,' he shouted, ‘we have to move, mate. That lot are gonna bolt shortly and I don't fancy getting caught out here on our own.'

Maurice looked at the situation for a moment. ‘You speak very wise, Thomas,' he said, turning to the NCO. ‘Good luck Sar'nt Mullane.' He tapped Tommy on the arm and indicated for him to follow, back to the Colour party.

‘Well, Thomas,' shouted Maurice breathlessly above the noise of battle, ‘seems you were right on the mark with your predictions of disaster. I think perhaps you should load that rifle, what.'

Thomas pulled a round out of his pouch, pulled open the cocking lever and pushed it into the breach of his Martini-Henry
.
Then he removed his bayonet and connected it to the rifle barrel.
Strange
, he thought to himself, but he felt a whole lot better with the extra foot or so of steel. He watched Maurice remove his service revolver and check to see if it was loaded, and the two friends made their way back to Galbraith's party, just in time to see a commotion from the very right of the line, and hear the sound of cannon fire. Tommy took in the unfolding scene. The 66th were heavily engaged with the enemy to their front, but were keeping up an intense fire on them; the Grenadiers were fighting hand to hand with Afghan regulars and Ghazis, as were the Jacob's Rifles, who were being slowly pushed back. The Artillery had withdrawn to resupply, but had lost a couple of guns and a whole load of horses.
Well
, he thought,
what
a
total
fuck
up!

As this thought entered his head, a very young officer came trotting up on a horse from the right of the line. Tommy didn't recognise him, though Maurice called out a greeting.

‘Barr, old man, how goes the day with you?'

‘Could be better, I suppose, Rayner. The Afghans have moved some cannon up towards that nullah back there, about two hundred yards to our front, but luckily Roberts's boys have sorted them out a few times and they seem to be keeping their heads down some. I say, what the devil is happening over there?' He was pointing to the left flank.

‘Good god, the Jacob's Rifles have broken,' exclaimed Maurice, and indeed, as Tommy watched, the steady stream of Indian Jawans turned into a stampede as the soldiers looked for somewhere safer than where they were. They began to roll down and into the rear of the heavily engaged Grenadiers, who were struggling anyway without the Infantry now packing into their ranks. The void they opened to the left of the guns was rapidly filling with screaming Ghazis, stabbing spears and slashing Khyber knives at any unfortunate soldier left behind.

Any wounded soldiers on the ground were horrifically slaughtered by these religious fanatics; in a frenzy, they cut, hacked and stabbed at anything in their path. Tommy moved over to the rear of the Grenadiers to observe this route.
Well
, he thought,
you
don't
get
to
see
something
like
this
very
often
. He watched with a sense of morbid curiosity as a Grenadier was dragged out of the front by these madmen, his turban was ripped from his head and his scream cut off as a broad curved sword chopped and hacked through his wind pipe, muscle and cartilage until, finally separated from his neck, his head was held up like a trophy.