Hart of Empire (2010) Read online

  'Huzoor, can you stand?'

  'I think so.' With Ilderim's help, he staggered to his feet. His left thigh muscle screamed with pain - it had probably taken a blow from flying timber but the bone did not appear to be broken. His face was sore and bleeding, but otherwise he was unharmed. The smell of burning flesh, he now discovered, was coming from the sepoy's corpse, which lay pinned beneath a flaming hackery wheel. The rest of the cart had simply disappeared, as had the door beyond, leaving a jagged hole in the wall.

  'They must have brought an artillery piece down from the citadel,' mumbled George, his senses still dulled by the explosion.

  'Yes, huzoor, and it won't be long before they gird their loins to attack. I must get help. Can you hold a rifle?' asked Ilderim, handing George his own loaded Snider.

  'Of course.'

  'Take cover behind the godown and wait for my return.'

  George did as Ilderim suggested, and was covering the hole in the wall when a bearded mutineer poked his head through and, satisfied the gap was undefended, signalled to his comrades to join him. All the while George was glancing back and praying that Ilderim would hurry. He knew that if he fired he would never have the chance to reload, and would be forced to rely on his revolver, which was useless for anything beyond point-blank range. But still there was no sign of Ilderim and, with more mutineers in the doorway, it was now or never. George fixed his sights on the foremost mutineer and fired, the bullet hitting the man in the chest and driving him backwards into his comrades. As George tried desperately to reload, his fingers scrabbling to open the packet of rolled-brass cartridges in his ammunition pouch, the mutineers spotted him and charged.

  Dropping the rifle, George drew his pistol and was about to fire when a fusillade of shots slammed into the charging Afghans, dropping the trio in front and causing the others to turn tail. George looked back to see Ilderim rise up from one knee and run forward. Behind him came a bandaged Cavagnari, Hamilton, Jenkyns and four sepoys. Cavagnari stopped next to George while the others covered the gap in the wall. 'You all right, Harper? Your face is a little singed.'

  'I'm surprised you can tell,' said George, with a grin. 'It was courtesy of the mutineers' field gun.'

  A loud bang - and another section of the wall disintegrated into yet more smoke, dust and flying masonry. George and Cavagnari ducked. 'Right on cue, sir,' said George. 'We've got to disable it. If we don't, it'll blow our defences to pieces.'

  'You're right. Hamilton!'

  The lieutenant trotted over. 'Yes, sir?'

  'Find ten volunteers. We're going to spike that gun.'

  'We?' said Hamilton, eyebrows raised.

  'Yes, we. You don't think I'd ask you and your men to do something I would not? You forget I fought during the Great Mutiny. This is a mere riot in comparison.'

  'I didn't mean to imply you couldn't fight, only that you've already been wounded and shouldn't risk yourself further.'

  'That's for me to decide. I got us into this fix by ignoring every warning,' he said, glancing at George, 'and it's my responsibility to see us safe. So rustle up some volunteers and let's get on with it.'

  George put his hand up. 'You want to go too?' asked Hamilton.

  'Yes. I served for a time in the King's Dragoon Guards. I know how to spike a gun.'

  'I thought as much. While you do the business we'll keep the Afghans busy.'

  Minutes later the raiding party was lined up on either side of the gap in the wall: Cavagnari, Jenkyns and three Guides to the right; Hamilton, George, Ilderim and two more Guides to the left. Hamilton sneaked a look. 'The gun's about a hundred yards away, at the bottom of the lane. It's manned by six mutineers with more in support. Once we've killed the gunners, Mr Harper will spike the gun. No one is to stop for the wounded. Understood?'

  The group nodded.

  'Good. Wait for the next shot. We'll charge as they reload.'

  Excitement coursed through George as he waited for the signal. Why me? he asked himself. But he knew the answer: he never felt more alive than at moments like this. His blood felt as if it was boiling, his brain on fire. Danger for him was an addiction, and death the only cure.

  'All right. Let's go!'

  Pistol in one hand, sword in the other, Hamilton tore up the street, with George and the others close behind. At first the mutineers were so shocked by this desperate sortie that they just stood and gaped. Then someone shouted a warning and they opened up with everything they had. The air seemed alive with bullets, one striking the ground a foot in front of George, and another wounding a Pathan sepoy in the leg. 'Leave him!' shouted Cavagnari.

  With just twenty yards to the gun, a second Guide was shot, then a third. Hamilton avenged them by shooting two gunners with his pistol and impaled another with his sabre. The rest fled down the lane towards the royal palace. 'All yours, Harper,' said Hamilton, as Cavagnari and the others took up defensive positions around the gun.

  Placing his pistol on the ground, George took out a long thin spike and a mallet from a satchel round his neck and proceeded to hammer the spike into the field gun's vent-hole so that it could no longer be fired. Bullets whistled overhead but he ignored them. 'Done,' he shouted, after three lusty blows.

  'Everyone back to the compound!' roared Hamilton. 'I'll cover you.'

  'So will I,' said Cavagnari.

  'What about our casualties?' asked George.

  'They're dead,' said Hamilton, pointing to the two Guides near the gun. 'But Harawant Singh, the sepoy on the road, needs a helping hand. Now go!'

  Ilderim beat George to it and lifted the wounded sepoy on to his shoulder. But as he set off for the compound a second bullet hit the sepoy on the head, spattering the back of Ilderim's white kurta with crimson blood. 'He's dead. Leave him!' exhorted George.

  Ilderim did so, and he and George were the last, but for the rearguard, to reach the safety of the breach. When they looked back, Hamilton and Cavagnari were running up the lane, bullets striking all around them. So much for the Afghans' prowess with a rifle, thought George. They couldn't have hit a haystack at fifty paces.

  Just yards from safety Cavagnari's body twitched, as if it was attached to an invisible thread, and toppled to the ground. George and Ilderim ran forward to help and, covered by Hamilton, managed to half carry, half drag the unconscious resident back inside the courtyard. 'How is he?' asked Jenkyns.

  'Not good,' said George, indicating the spreading stain of blood on Cavagnari's shirt front. 'Let's get him upstairs to Dr Kelly.'

  Chapter 8

  The Residency, Kabul

  Kelly looked up from inspecting the livid exit wound, a hole the size of a sovereign, on the right side of Cavagnari's chest. 'It's mortal, I'm afraid. He's lost too much blood.'

  'Is there nothing you can do?' implored Jenkyns.

  'I'm sorry, William. The best I can do is ease the pain with a little morphine if he comes round. But I doubt he will.'

  As if oblivious to the noise of battle outside, the room was quiet as the senior men came to terms with the loss of their chief. George broke the silence. 'Any sign of your messenger, Hamilton?'

  'What's that?' said the lieutenant, wiping away a tear. 'No, no sign.'

  'Don't you think you should send another?'

  'I suppose we should. If you write it, Jenkyns, I'll see that one of my men carries it.' Then Hamilton turned to the doctor. 'I see the rooms next door are overflowing with wounded, Ambrose. Do you know how many?'

  'Twenty-two. And that's just in this building. There'll be more in the resident's house and the barracks, with goodness knows how many dead.'

  'I don't mean to teach you your business, Hamilton,' interjected George, 'but it strikes me we don't have enough men left to defend all three buildings. Wouldn't it be better to withdraw everyone into the barracks? It has a parapet on the roof and the best all-round field of fire.'

  'You're right,' said Hamilton, putting his sun helmet back on. 'I'll see the messenger off first, then give the order.'
He left the room.

  What of Pir Ali, Doctor?' asked George. 'Any change?'

  'I'll check.' Kelly knelt down next to the munshi's prone form and checked his wrist pulse. 'I'm afraid not. He's still out cold and his heartbeat is very weak. I don't think he'll pull through either.'

  George shook his head slowly. 'I doubt any of us will.'

  The sound of firing broke out from the floor above. Seconds later a Sikh jemadar appeared in the doorway. 'The Afghans are on the roof! Where is Hamilton Sahib?'

  'He's down in the courtyard, sending off another messenger,' said George. 'How many men have you got left on the floor above?'

  'Only seven, sahib, and two of those are wounded. The Afghans are firing down from the trapdoor and have driven us into the corridor. We can't hold them for long.'

  'Christ. We've got to get the wounded across to the infantry barracks before it's too late. Can any of them walk, Kelly?'

  'A few. But don't you think we should wait until Hamilton returns? With Sir Louis incapacitated, he's the senior military officer and the order should come from him.'

  'This isn't the time for military niceties, Doctor!' snapped George. 'If we delay even a few minutes it may be too late.'

  'I'm sorry, Mr Harper,' said Kelly, his jaw jutting forward in defiance, 'I don't take orders from a civilian.'

  George was so angry he was about to draw his pistol and put it to Kelly's head, but then he realized there was another way to persuade him. 'What if I told you I'm not a civilian, but a captain in the British Army on special duty for the Foreign Office? That makes me the senior officer.'

  'You? On special duty?'

  Another burst of firing sounded from the floor above. 'Yes, and I don't have time to explain so you'll have to take my word for it. Now, get the wounded moving while we hold them off above. The serious cases will have to be left.'

  'Left? To be butchered by the Afghans? I won't do it.'

  Boots sounded on the stairway below and, seconds later, Hamilton appeared in the doorway. He had a bloody gash over his right eye and was helmetless. 'The mutineers have broken into the compound below. They bored loopholes in the wall and shot the men guarding the gates.'

  'What about the messenger?' asked George.

  'He scaled the wall, but I wouldn't wager a rupee on his survival. Our only hope of getting to the barracks now is over the roof.'

  'I'm afraid it's too late for that, Walter,' said Kelly. 'They're on the roof too.'

  Hamilton's face drained of all colour. 'My God, we're trapped.'

  'Not necessarily,' said George. 'My guess is that only a handful of insurgents have made it up ladders and onto the roof. The last thing they'll be expecting is for us to risk an assault from below. So if we do it now, using every able-bodied man, we might take them by surprise. What do you say?'

  Hamilton frowned. 'I don't know . . . it sounds very risky. Might we not be better to sit tight and hope the amir comes to our assistance? Even if we do retake the roof, how are we to move Sir Louis and the other badly wounded?'

  'We can't,' said Kelly, 'and Harper knows it. Though I doubt that's his real name. He has just told me he's a British captain on undercover duty, and therefore your superior.'

  Hamilton looked from George to Kelly and back again. 'Is that true?'

  'Yes. You guessed I'd had military training and I confirmed that. What I didn't tell you was that I'm still a soldier. I don't want to pull rank but I will if I have to.'

  'Now, just hold on a minute. You say you're a serving captain, but why should I believe you?'

  'Because--'

  'Hamilton Sahib!' a voice hailed from below.

  The lieutenant ran out to the landing and looked down the stairs. 'What is it, Mehtab Singh?'

  'The Afghans in the courtyard have set fire to the building. The flames are spreading.'

  George joined Hamilton on the landing from where they could both see, through the window overlooking the front of the building, the first plumes of black smoke. 'That settles it. It's the roof or nothing.'

  'All right.' Hamilton turned to the Sikh jemadar who, with Ilderim and Kelly, had joined them on the landing. 'Mehtab Singh, gather all the able-bodied and any wounded who can walk on the top-floor landing. Leave the rest with a pistol so they can decide how it ends.'

  'Sahib.'

  George returned to the bedroom in which Cavagnari and Pir Ali lay unconscious. He knelt next to the munshi and shook him gently by the arm. There was no response and he had to accept that Pir Ali was all but dead, and that he would never learn what the spy had found out about the cloak, if anything. He left the room and climbed the stairs to the top-floor landing where he found the remnants of the garrison gathered. They were a motley crew, eighteen in total, including six walking wounded. Some of the Guides were heavily bandaged, others had lost their turbans, but all were armed with a rifle and fixed bayonet. Hamilton, Jenkyns and the doctor had both a sword and a pistol, George a pistol, and Ilderim his rifle and Khyber knife.

  'This is it, men,' said Hamilton, the crackle of burning timbers clearly audible from the ground floor, 'it's all or nothing. We're dead men if we don't clear the roof, so let's give it everything. Mehtab Singh and I will lead the way through the trapdoor and, if we survive, provide covering fire for the rest of you. Are there any other volunteers for the covering party?'

  A forest of arms went up. 'You and you,' said Hamilton, pointing to George and Ilderim. 'The rest of you are to jump as soon as you reach the gap between the two roofs. Don't hesitate. It looks a long way, but it's manageable. And remember, no quarter to mutineers.'

  'No quarter!' roared his men, as they shook their weapons.

  'Follow me!' Hamilton tugged open the door of the room that led to the roof, and fired his pistol once before tearing up the stairs, his boots clattering on the wooden steps. Mehtab Singh was close behind him, followed by George and Ilderim. More shots rang out as Hamilton and Mehtab Singh passed through the trapdoor, then a scream of pain. When George poked his head through he fully expected to see two bodies and a host of armed mutineers waiting to despatch him. But the only casualty was a prone Afghan clutching a stomach wound. Both Hamilton and Mehtab Singh were still alive, the latter shot in the left arm, and were firing at the backs of six retreating Afghans as they ran across the roof to the rear of the house. George leapt clear of the trapdoor and opened fire, as did Ilderim, and one of the Afghans slumped to the floor. The others scrambled onto and down the ladders they had used to scale the Mess House from the flat roofs of the houses behind.

  Hamilton poked his head through the trapdoor. 'For God's sake, hurry! The roof's clear but it won't be for long.'

  The first Guide emerged and was directed by Hamilton to the front right corner of the building where the gap to the lower roof of the Sikh infantry barrack was a nerve-racking perpendicular angle of ten feet. 'Jump!' roared Hamilton.

  The soldier hesitated for a moment, then took a short run up and leapt into the abyss. Others followed, though by now the mutineers were firing from both the tops of the ladders and the upper Bala Hissar - bullets were ricocheting all over the Mess House roof. One Guide was hit in the back as he was about to jump, and tumbled three floors to the alley below, his body hitting the stone paving with a sickening thud.

  George was certain the shot had come from a mutineer poking his head above a ladder so he waited, pistol outstretched, for the man to reappear and when he did he shot him. With a groan, the mutineer fell. By now black smoke from the fire had obscured much of the Mess House, enabling Jenkyns, Kelly and the surviving Guides to make it across safely to the barracks. 'Your turn,' shouted Hamilton, to George and Ilderim.

  George was in the act of holstering his pistol when a body stirred beside him. It was the wounded mutineer. Before George could react, the mutineer had grasped his fallen rifle and was pointing it at George's chest. At point-blank range he knew the Afghan could not miss. He waited for the explosion, his body tensed against the bullet. But as th
e Afghan squeezed the trigger a blade flew through the air, entered his back and exited his chest, its bloody red point emerging a full two inches. The Afghan dropped his rifle and toppled sideways.

  'That makes up for last time, huzoor,' said Ilderim, as he ran forward, placed a foot on the mutineer's back and, with a loud grunt, pulled free his Khyber knife. He then wiped it clean on the mutineer's kurta before replacing it in his belt. All the while George was staring at his assailant's body, finding it hard to believe that he had cheated death by the narrowest margin for the second time in a matter of weeks.

  His shoulder was tugged. 'Huzoor!'

  'What?'

  'It's our turn. Let's go.'

  At the edge of the building Ilderim threw his rifle to some Guides waiting below. Then he and George took a short run up and jumped together. Ilderim made the distance with feet to spare, though he stumbled forward on landing. George miscalculated and landed with both feet on the parapet. For a second it seemed his momentum would carry him forward to safety. But then his right foot slipped on a loose piece of masonry and he began to fall backwards. He threw up his arms in a futile attempt to regain his balance and a strong hand gripped his wrist to pull him, sprawling, on to the roof. The swarthy, bearded face of one of Hamilton's Pathans smiled down at him. 'A lucky escape, sahib.'

  'Yes, and not my first.'

  A bullet pinged through the air, close to George's head, and he and the Pathan ducked behind the parapet where they were joined by Ilderim. George looked up to the Mess House roof, waiting for the final pair to make the leap. The building was burning fiercely now, and screams were coming from the second-floor rooms where the wounded were being engulfed by flames. George turned away, unable to watch. As he did so another jumper landed beside him with a thump, and rolled forward. It was Hamilton.