Hart of Empire (38 page)

'I suppose I am, sir,' said George, stepping forward.

'You? But you're a private.'

'Actually, I'm a captain, but General Roberts chooses not to recognise my rank.'

'Why ever not?'

'It's a long story, sir. I'd be happy to tell you when the battle's over.'

'I might hold you to that. In the meantime, please give my compliments to your company commander and tell him that his prompt action in sending you and your men to help us may have saved the garrison.'

'It wasn't his idea, sir. It was mine.'

'Yours?'

'Yes, sir.'

'Well, I'm very grateful to you, then, Captain . . .?'

'Hart, sir.'

'Well, Captain Hart, you'd better get back to your post. The Afghans have captured the village of Khatir, to the north of Bimaru, and from there can launch fresh assaults on both Bimaru and the heights. This fight is far from over.'

'Does General Roberts know, sir?'

'Of course. General Gough, who's in command of the heights and Khatir, sent him a message by internal telegraph, requesting reinforcements. Roberts's reply was that no men could be spared, as we were hard pressed elsewhere, and that Gough was to "hold on" at all costs.'

'But what if he can't?'

'Then we're all in trouble.'

George shook his head in disbelief. 'This is madness. If Roberts was on the spot, instead of safe in his headquarters, he'd surely release part of Baker's reserve. It's only a mile away, in the lee of the heights, and could be here in no time.'

'I agree with you, Hart. But as I'm a mere colonel, and he's a major general with a Victoria Cross, I'm hardly in a position to tell him that. Then again,' said Jenkins, scratching his beard, 'it wouldn't do any harm to repeat the original message. If I write it out, will you agree to carry it? Your personal observations just might make a difference.'

'Of course I will, sir, if you'll inform the Twenty-Eighth of my whereabouts.'

'Consider it done.' Jenkins pulled a pencil and notebook from his pocket, scribbled a quick message and handed it to George. 'Tell the general that I support Gough's request for reinforcements. The dyke's sprung a leak and we need to plug it.'

George smiled at the colonel's choice of metaphor. 'I will, sir. But may I take this man with me?' he asked, nodding towards Ilderim. 'He's my lucky charm.'

'By all means. If something happens to you, he can carry the message.'

Proceeding at a jog-trot, with Ilderim complaining most of the way, it took them a good fifteen minutes to negotiate the two miles that separated the north-east corner of the cantonment from Roberts's headquarters in the centre of the west wall. With the battle still raging, particularly against the south wall where the firing was incessant, George was grateful for the protection given by the covered walkways from stray bullets that rattled the tiles above them like rain.

At last they emerged into the low winter sunlight, close to the headquarters gate, and were shown the way to Roberts's office on the ground floor of the bastion by a private of the 5th Punjab Infantry, one of the regiments defending the west wall. Two more tall Punjabis guarded the entrance to the office, but George walked straight past them, leaving Ilderim to explain their business.

Having opened the door, George paused on the threshold. He was struck by the tense atmosphere in the room as Roberts and his staff - FitzGeorge among them - stood grouped round a central table spread with a huge map of the cantonment and the surrounding area, listening intently to a telegraph clerk delivering the latest situation report. It was from Brigadier General Macpherson, and seemed to confirm that the attack on the south wall was still at its height, though as yet no breach had been made.

'Very good,' said Roberts, still unaware of George's presence. 'Tell Macpherson to hold on. They can't keep this up for too much longer.'

The clerk saluted and returned to the telegraph room, at which point George announced his presence with a cough. All eyes turned to the doorway, though it was FitzGeorge who spoke first. 'Hart! What are you doing here? Who gave you permission to leave your post?'

'Colonel Jenkins. I have a message from him for the general,' said George, nodding towards Roberts.

'And why didn't he send it by telegraph?' asked Roberts.

'Because, sir, he wasn't convinced that a telegraph message would have the desired effect.'

'Ye gods!' snapped Roberts, his quick temper and bloodshot eyes showing the strain he was under. 'I'm plagued by little Napoleons. Well, bring it to me, then.'

George handed Roberts the slip of paper. Having read it, he frowned. 'This repeats General Gough's message.'

'I know, sir. Like General Gough, Colonel Jenkins is of the opinion that if you do not release reinforcements
now
we might not be able to hold on. By capturing Khatir, the Afghans are perfectly placed for further assaults, either against the heights or Bimaru village itself. They could break through at any time.'

'Yes, and they could break through elsewhere too. Do Gough and Jenkins think they're the only ones under attack?'

'Of course not.'

'Well, they're damn well behaving as if they do. That firing you can hear is coming from the south wall. It's been under attack for the best part of three hours and, according to the report we've just heard, the Afghan dead are piled before it in heaps. So if I do release the reserves, and there's a breakthrough at the south wall, what then?'

George could hardly believe that a general famed for his tactical brilliance was being so cautious. But now, he realized, was not the time for sarcasm. 'I can't speak for General Gough or Colonel Jenkins, sir, but I doubt either of them is expecting you to send the whole reserve force to assist them, just some of it. The north-east section of the wall is, after all, the one the princess identified as the Afghans' chief target.'

'Certainly she did - but can we rely on her word?'

'I think we can, sir. The pattern of attacks so far seems to back up her assertion.'

Roberts turned to his chief of staff. 'What do think, MacGregor?'

The hard-bitten old soldier fingered his salt-and-pepper goatee. 'I don't suppose it would hurt, General,' he said, 'to send Gough a wing of Third Sikhs from Colonel Hills's sector above us. His men have hardly fired a shot. And that way we'll still have the reserve if we need it.'

'An admirable solution,' said Roberts, nodding. 'Give the order at once.'

'Of course, sir,' said MacGregor, scribbling a note and then handing it to an assistant.

Roberts turned to George. 'Satisfied?'

'It was not I, sir, who requested reinforcements.'

'No, but you've made it quite clear you agree with the request.'

'I do, sir, and so would you if you had seen at first hand the hair's breadth by which we held on to the trench between the hospital and Bimaru village.'

'Are you daring to criticize my generalship?' asked Roberts, his voice rising.

'No, sir, I'm simply saying the situation in the north-east sector is a little more precarious than you've been led to believe.'

'Is it? Then you won't mind telling us your solution to the problem, will you?'

George was a little taken aback by the question and took a moment to weigh his response. 'Well, as you ask, General, I'd recommend an immediate sortie by cavalry and horse artillery through the gap in the Bimaru Heights to take the Afghans in Khatir village in the flank. They might be expecting an assault from the front, but not the side.'

Roberts's eyes widened - he appeared to be looking at George with new respect. 'That's not a bad idea, young Hart. Not a bad idea at all. MacGregor, what do you think?'

'I think his plan has merit, General,' said the chief of staff, 'but now is not the time. The Afghans are still attacking in huge numbers and we need to weaken them further before we can risk a sortie.'

'But that's my point,' said George, his hands clasped. 'If we wait too long they may force a breach. At least this way we'd keep the initiative.'

Roberts seemed in two minds. 'Anyone else like to voice an opinion?'

'Yes, sir, I would,' said FitzGeorge. 'We know from spies' reports that our attackers number at least sixty thousand men. I doubt half that number has yet entered the fray, which means it might be extremely dangerous to take the initiative. Remember what happened the last time our cavalry got caught in the open by Afghan foot soldiers?'

'Only too well,' said Roberts, shaking his head at the memory. 'So you'd advise caution?'

'Yes, General. My feeling is that we should only unleash the cavalry when we know the Afghans are beaten. But if Hart here is looking to be a hero, why don't you assign him to the flying column that will pursue Mir Bacha and the Kohistanis? He's been among them, after all, and will know what Mir Bacha looks like.'

'You've already planned the pursuit?' said George, horrified. 'Isn't that a little over-confident?'

'Of course not,' said Roberts. 'A sensible general always plans ahead. As soon as I knew the rebels' battle plan, I was confident we could hold out here. My next priority is to crush the rebellion, and the quickest way to do that is to arrest the leading players. Hence the flying columns: one to go after Mir Bacha, another to chase the Ghazni mullah and Mohammed Jan. And Major FitzGeorge is quite right: you'd do us a great service if you'd agree to accompany the column bound for Kohistan. So, will you volunteer? It's dangerous work, but nothing a resourceful fellow like you can't handle.'

Even George had to admit that Roberts was right: the sooner they caught the leading rebels, the sooner they could re-establish some kind of rule of law; and the sooner they could do that, the sooner the chance of a political settlement that would allow the British to withdraw from some or all of the country with their honour and, more importantly, their prestige intact. First, however, George needed reassurance. 'If I agree to go, and we catch Mir Bacha, what guarantees can you give me that you'll try to bring this bloodshed to an end by withdrawing from Kabul?'

The general's eyebrows shot up. 'What an extraordinary request. Why do you care if we stay or go?'

'I have no personal interest one way or another,' said George, less than truthfully, 'but I was sent here by the British government to try to prevent another Afghan imbroglio and, thus far, I've failed. But if we can cut our losses now my mission won't have been entirely in vain.'

Roberts shook his head in astonishment. 'You're either a fantasist or you really were sent by London, Hart, and I'm inclined to believe the latter. But I can't give you any guarantees about our future policy here. I'm a soldier, not a politician. All I can say is that, from my own perspective, a long-term British presence in Kabul is not feasible. We're clearly not wanted, and may be doing more harm than good.'

'So when things settle down you'll advise the viceroy to withdraw?'

'From Kabul, certainly. The scale and violence of the uprising here has made it plain to me that Kabul can only be ruled by Afghans.'

'Sir,' interrupted FitzGeorge, 'I must protest. I thought the policy was to keep control of the country as far as the Hindu Kush.'

'That was the theory, Major. But my experience on the ground tells me that it's no longer possible. The best we can hope for now, I suspect, is a ruler on the throne whom we can do business with, rather than one we control.'

'Is there a chance that Yakub will be restored?' asked George.

'I doubt it. He's too closely connected to the attack on the Residency and poor Sir Louis's murder. But I'm sure any future amir will be a member of the Barakzai dynasty, though preferably one not tainted by the current uprising.'

George's thoughts turned to Yasmin. Was this an opportunity for her to prove her worth to the British, and to push herself up the pecking order of viable alternatives to Yakub? It seemed so. 'I will volunteer, General,' he said, after a pause, 'but on one condition.'

'Which is?'

'That you also let Princess Yasmin join the Kohistan flying column.'

'The princess? A woman? It's out of the question.'

'Hear me out, General. She's a cousin of Mir Bacha and if anyone can persuade him to surrender she can. She's also a skilled horsewoman, no slouch with a sword or carbine, and can take care of herself, if that concerns you.'