Rogue Officer (7 page)

Soon the trio left the runners behind, as the pursuers dropped off one by one, until there were none following.

In the late evening they camped in a mango grove where Wynter’s ear was patched. After eating they all smoked in silence. Then, exhausted by their ride, all three simply lay beneath the trees and fell fast asleep for the night. Wynter was woken by a wildcat of some kind, which dropped on him by accident from a branch above. It ran off without scratching or biting him, for which he considered himself lucky. In the morning some women arrived to tend to the trees. The three men left the orchard, snatching a bite of salted meat on the ride.

They rode for another day before nearing the houses of Bareilly. As they got closer they could see thousands of rebels gathered around camp fires. The smoke curling up in the wind-less air created a thick fug. It was the end of the day, when dust, smoke and heatwaves mingled to warp the landscape. A darkening sky was blotched with deep-red smears which might have been cirrus clouds. The noise from the enemy encampments – pots clattering, men gabbling, women shrieking for their children – filled the twilight world.

A wave of stink passed over the trio as they dismounted half a mile from the enemy camp, which recalled for Jack his Crimean days. It was simply the smell of a horde of men. Their cesspits were probably open to the elements. Their urinal patches would be in constant use and the contents would have no time to evaporate. There was probably only just enough water to drink, let alone wash in. They were crowded together, farting and belching, the dregs of their meals rotting on the ground. The stench of thousands of fly-spotted cavalry chargers sweating and defecating on a plain where there was no wind to carry away the unpleasant odours they produced.

Raktambar found a hut with an aged tattooed elephant hobbled outside. The occupant of the hut, a thin and grizzled elderly man, seemed uninterested in his visitors. There were so many men – several thousand of them – in the vicinity. In which case locals like him might easily lose interest. His eyes were wary, as if expecting to have to guard his precious beast, which stood with watery eyes munching hay. Raktambar exchanged greetings with the old man, told him they were only staying the night and would not bother the elephant. This put the old man’s mind at rest. He went back to stirring some liquid in a pot over a fire, completely absorbed by the task of thickening his soup.

Since Raktambar had to shout at the old man to get him to hear, they supposed him deaf.

‘Well, we’re here,’ said Jack.

Wynter said, ‘Why don’t we join this lot instead? Look at ’em. There’s thousands of the bastards. Let’s swap over. We could be on the winnin’ side for once.’

‘That’s too close to the truth to be humorous,’ said Jack. ‘I would ask you to keep your suggestions to yourself, Wynter.’

Jack could see the silhouettes of guns against the fading sky. He wanted a closer look at those field weapons, though he knew he would have to wait until dark to do so. In the meantime he could make a note of their number. The snouts of the cannons were visible between the sets of two spoked wheels. Jack counted thirty from his position out on the edge of the army. Khan Bahadar Khan’s soldiers had lined them up neatly along a ridge, with exactly five yards between each, as if expecting to give a birthday parade salute to Queen Victoria in the morning. British Army training was a difficult habit to throw off, even for rebels who professed to hate their old masters. There was the gleam of old bronze in the dying sunlight: a mellow light that leapt from barrel to barrel as the day went down.

‘I’d like to spike a few of those,’ Jack muttered, ‘but I suppose that would be too much to ask.’

‘Damn right, sir,’ said Wynter. ‘We need to get back.’

‘Unfortunately we do, or our information will die with us.’

When the last of the light had drained from the sky Jack and Raktambar went on the prowl, leaving Wynter to look after the horses. Jack had done this sort of thing before and found his private missing when he returned from patrols, but this time Wynter had remained put. He was still there, albeit very nervous, when Jack and Raktambar returned. The pair had simply wandered through the encampments, arousing no suspicions since they were dressed similarly to the rebels and they covered the lower half of their faces, as if to escape the effects of smoke and dust. Thus they were able to walk around unmolested, with Raktambar fielding any casual questions or returning greetings. Jack’s Hindi and Urdu were up to it, but he knew it was best to keep his mouth shut in case he made a tiny mistake.

‘Well?’ asked Wynter. ‘You goin’ to tell me or not?’

‘In good time,’ growled the lieutenant. Both knew the information had to be shared as quickly as possible, in case they were suddenly discovered. If Raktambar and Crossman were killed or captured, and Wynter survived, it would be up to him to pass on the information to General Campbell. This was not an outfit in which the officer kept things close to his chest, as in a normal unit. Espionage only worked on a share-all basis. The figures and disposition of the foe had to get back to be of any use at all.

Later, Jack Crossman briefed Wynter on what he and Raktambar had learned during their walkabout. They spent the evening counting fires and using the average number of men who might use a fire to calculate roughly the total number of troops. They had walked through the cavalry lines and had noted the number of corrals and the number of horses to each corral. They had strolled the edge of the town and had seen the barracks where the officers were billeted, and had come up with a total there too. By the time they walked back to their bivouacs by the mahout’s hut, they had a reasonably good impression of the enemy’s strength.

The following morning, before the dawn came up, they rode back towards Campbell’s advancing column. This time they avoided the village which the few rebels were holding, though Raktambar wanted to charge in and take them on. These mutineers had dented the Rajput’s honour by forcing him to run and he was desperate to repair the damage. Jack had to remind the Rajput that this was not the priority: that they needed to get the intelligence to General Campbell. Happily his bodyguard saw the sense in this, though he had had a fleeting thought that he might ride in alone.

On arrival back at the British camp, Jack made his way to the farmhouse which the general was temporarily occupying. Outside was a knot of cavalry officers talking with staff officers. Jack heard the phrase, ‘Old Crawling-camel . . .’ which he knew referred to General Campbell.

Too late Jack noticed that Captain Deighnton was one of the knot. The cavalry officer looked up and sneered as Lieutenant Jack Crossman passed by.

‘You still around?’ he murmured.

‘Get used to it, Captain,’ replied Jack. ‘I’m part of the furniture.’

Deighnton turned back to his brother officers and there was some low talk which fortunately did not reach Jack’s ears.

The general admitted him straight away.

General Sir Colin Campbell was now grey-haired and leaner than when Jack had last seen him. He turned an intelligent face on the lieutenant and looked him up and down. Jack remained unmoving, wondering whether he was going to get a dressing down for being in Indian cottons, and prepared his defence. There were so many senior officers who were sticklers for protocol and would rather lose valuable time than have an officer appear before them out of uniform. Campbell, however, was not one of those.

‘I know you,’ said the older man. ‘I know your face.’

‘Perhaps you are mistaking me, sir, for my brother. Both my older brother and father served with the 93rd which you commanded. My brother was a lieutenant, my father a major. The Kirks?’

‘Ah, I remember Major Kirk, yes. And the younger one. But – no, now I recall quite clearly – ’ a triumphant note entered the general’s voice – ‘you were in the line, one of those from the hospital, a sergeant at the time if my memory serves me well. The thin red line at Balaclava.’ He cackled a little with laughter. ‘William Russell made us famous, did he not, with his colourful phrase in
The Times
? “
The thin red streak tipped with a line of steel
.”’

Jack was absolutely flabbergasted. Campbell could only have seen him briefly as he stood in that line. To remember his face from such a short acquaintance was truly astonishing. Yet there was a story of Campbell recognizing an NCO’s voice during a charge in the Punjab some years earlier, thus turning the battle. It was true then, this fabulous memory.

‘If you could see your face,’ said Campbell, grinning, then taking a sip of something from a cup. ‘Well, laddie, your name is
not
Kirk.’

Jack stiffened. ‘No, sir, my army name is Crossman.’

‘And the reason you reject your family name?’

‘I – I joined the army as a private, not wanting my father to purchase a commission for me. It’s – it’s family business, sir.’

‘Uncomfortable, eh? Domestic strife.’ The general waved a hand. ‘Dinna fash yersel’ laddie, Campbell isn’t my name either.’

Jack’s eyes opened wider. ‘It’s not?’

‘No, I was born a Macliver and I too have been promoted without purchase in my time, so you see we have two things in common. However, I don’t come from a lord’s family, so I don’t know what goes on with boys growing up inside castles and mansions.’

‘My father is not a lord, sir. He’s only a lowly baronet.’

‘My father, sir,’ said Campbell, ‘was a Glasgow carpenter.’

Jack did not know what to say to this. Sir Colin had a very distinguished army career; he had been elevated to the peerage and was highly respected. What could one say in response to such a revelation? However, the general let him off the hook, by requesting him to come and look at a map spread across a table, and to divulge what he had learned. Jack was only too willing to do so and went into army business mode.

At the end of the briefing Campbell looked into Jack’s eyes and said, ‘Well done, Lieutenant. A good job. At least I can go in with my eyes open. The figures I’ve had so far seem to have been heavily inflated. I think I trust yours more. The plain on the approaches to the town are covered with small streams, you say?’

‘Yes, sir, and one of them flows right across the south side of the town, but there are bridges intact.’

‘Good. Excellent.’ The general nodded hard. ‘Well, we’ll do what we can. I’d like to get my hands on Khan. That’d be a coup.’

It would indeed, sir.’

‘Off you go then. I’ll pass on my high regard of your work to Colonel Hawke. See you on the battlefield.’

A bolt of pleasure went through the lieutenant at these words.

‘Indeed, sir. I’ll be there.’

Just before he turned to leave, Campbell nodded towards Jack’s missing hand.

‘Crimea? Or here?’

‘The Redan. Siege ladder, sir.’

‘Hmm, heavy things. You look as if you’ve been punctured a few times too. Bayonet or bullet?’

Jack grinned. ‘Both, here and there.’

‘Me too,’ replied the general. ‘All right, off you go then.’

Jack left the building. Thankfully Deighnton and his cronies had moved on and the landscape was happily clear of spurred and cockaded cavalry officers. Jack joined some infantry officers in the mess tent. There he had drink or two, before going back to see his own men. He briefed King, ruffled Sajan’s hair, commended Wynter on his first operation, and told Gwilliams to go and get himself a brandy or two.

‘You know where to find it, if anyone does. Not too much, mind. We’ll be fighting soon.’

‘You know me, Lieutenant. I always mix milk with mine.’

Jack winced at the thought of this concoction.

‘Take Wynter with you. Get him to tell you about his emulation of Xenophon’s march of the ten thousand across Asia.’

‘Eh?’ growled Wynter. ‘He’s not goin’ to come the grand scholar with me again, is he?’

Gwilliams licked his lips and prepared to deliver sermons on Ancient Roman and Greek history. He was stopped by Jack’s next statement.

‘Wynter came here overland,’ explained the lieutenant to his corporal. ‘A feat not unlike that of our old Greek general’s.’

‘This I’ve got to hear,’ said Gwilliams. ‘Come on, Wynter, let’s go and burn our bellies with some o’ that rot gut they call brandy.’

Captain Deighnton had ordered his servant to follow the Crossman group after they had left to spy on Khan. The servant had witnessed the small skirmish in the village where the rebel was shot dead. Deighnton had told his man to gather as much detail as he could on the movements and actions of the group. So, unknown to the lieutenant, Jack and his spies were themselves being spied upon. It was not difficult for the servant to carry out his master’s wishes, being an Indian who could melt into the landscape. However, the servant’s mind was not altogether in accordance with his master’s and when he reported back he chose to include whatever material as he thought fit.

Having nothing incriminating to add to his portfolio on Crossman, Deighnton made it his business to keep a watch on him constantly, even in camp. He knew, for instance, that Crossman and Campbell had hit it off, having served together at a momentous battle in the Crimea. That made it difficult for the captain. He decided to stay his hand until General Campbell was no longer around and some other officer was in command.

The following day they were on the march, across that blistering flat landscape which the Ganges often lovingly covered with the folds of its floodwaters. There were many hawks in the sky, which drew the attention of the soldiers. The raptors fell on prey right before the troopers’ eyes. They took it to be a good omen. They were the hawks, the enemy, the quarry in the grasses. So they believed. The truth was that a great column like theirs, marching over the countryside, scattered game and birds alike with their heavy tread. There were trumpeting elephants trundling along with guns and supply wagons, thumping the ground with their large feet. There were oxen, horses, camels and other domestic stock, not to mention the feet of thousands of tramping men, drumming the hollow-sounding earth, shaking the world with their heavy armaments and their big boots.