Timewars 06 The Khyber Connection Page 4

  Learoyd looked scandalised. “Now what sort of a man would do a thing like that, miss? That’s a coward’s way!”

  “I see,” said Andre. “Then it becomes a question of priorities. If survival were your first priority, then you would pursue any course that would ensure it. Yet if shooting yourself in the foot is something you would regard as cowardly and dishonourable, then clearly you have other priorities that take precedence over survival. Honour, for example. Displaying bravery in battle. Perhaps hand in hand with those go the desire for adventure and the thrill of undertaking a challenge. Those are not exclusively masculine attributes, Private Learoyd. If I were to turn around and go back to the capital at Simla, after having come all this way, I would be avoiding a duty, in a manner of speaking. If I were a man, you’d call that cowardly, wouldn’t you? ‘,

  “I suppose I would at that, miss,” said Learoyd.

  “When were you and Miss Cross plannin’ to depart upon your journey, Father?” said Mulvaney.

  “We were hoping that we’d be able to travel with the regiment,” said Lucas. “At least, most of the way, until it became necessary for us to strike out on our own.”

  “I can’t see as where that’d be a problem,” said Mulvaney. “The regiment can always use another doctor on a long march.”

  “In that case we’d best be on our way to the cantonment,” said Delaney. “I need to report in, and the Father here needs to speak with the commanding officer.”

  “That would be General Sir Bindon Blood,” said Learoyd. “He’s the chief of staff.”

  “What sort of men is he?” said Delaney.

  “Is this an officer asking an enlisted man his opinion of another officer?” Learoyd said, grinning.

  “No,” said Finn, smiling, “this is merely one soldier asking another’s opinion of a mutual superior.”

  “Ah, I see,” said Learoyd. “Well, in that case, what you think of Brigadier-General Sir Bindon Blood will depend entirely upon your personality. As far as his qualities as a soldier are concerned, they’re absolutely first rate. You share a common heritage in that you’re both Irish, though I daresay his clan is probably a great deal older than yours, sir. The general came out of the Indian Military College at Addiscombe, so he’s more than well enough prepared for service on the frontier. He first held a commission in the Royal Engineers and came to India in ‘71, where he saw active service with the Jawaki Expedition. He then went to fight in the Zulu War in ‘79, followin’ which he fought in the Afghan War. Then off to Egypt with the Highland Brigade and a right set-to at Tel-el-Kebir. Khedive’s Star, medal and clasp and the third class of the Medjidic. Back in India again, he reorganised the Sappers and Miners and was appointed chief of staff to Sir Robert Low. He’s put in a hard thirty-seven years of soldierin’, plays a keen game of polo, and has taken game from wild pig to tiger in these parts. There’s some that like him, some that don’t, but you won’t find any to dispute that Cap’n Blood’s one damned fine soldier.”

  “Cap’n Blood?” said Andre.”I thought you said he was a general?”

  “ ‘E is, mum,” said Mulvaney. “We call ‘im Cap’n Blood ‘cause ‘e’s descended from the ruddy pirate o’ the same name.”

  “And right proud ‘e is of it, to boot,” said Ortheris.

  “If an army’s to be sent to fight the bloody Pathans, then Blood’s the man to lead it,” Learoyd said, with a chuckle. “I don’t envy you the task you’ve set yourself, Father. The tribes are restless, and it’ll be hard preachin’ to them when you’re English, if it’s the English they’ll be fightin’.”

  “But it isn’t I who will be fighting them,” said Lucas. “I’m not a soldier, but a man of God.”

  “The mullahs may ‘ave a thing or two to say ‘bout that as well,” said Ortheris. “You’re forgettin’, Father, you’ll be more than just a rival to ‘em. You’ll be a rival who can give the tribes the benefit o’ modern medicine, which no fakir or ‘oly man can do.”

  “That’s true enough, Father,” said Learoyd. “The mullahs will want you out. Failin’ that, they’ll doubtless want you dead. You’d be vastly better off settin’ up shop in an army fort and havin’ the sick people come to you, rather than goin’ out and doin’ your doctorin’ and preachin’ in the hills.”

  “But then I wouldn’t know what’s happening in the hills, would I?” said Lucas. “The only tribes people who’d come to a fort would be those who were desperately ill and could make the journey. No, if a missionary is to succeed, he has to go out among the people.”

  “Then all I can say is good luck to you, Father,” said Mulvaney. “There’s strange rumblin’s up in the ‘ills, and you mark me words, there’ll be the devil to pay before we make an end of it.”

  “What do you mean?” said Andre.

  “You’ll find out soon enough, miss,” said Learoyd. “And when you do, you might well wish you’d taken my advice and gone back to Simla.”

  Chapter 3

  General Sir Bindon Blood paced back and forth across the floor, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes seeming to stare off into infinity as he spoke. He was a striking, robust figure of a man, dressed in khakis and highly polished riding boots. He bore himself erect and his slightest movement reflected a charismatic magnetism. Even his pacing seemed dramatic. Despite the sweat stains on his uniform blouse, he seemed to be completely unaffected by the oppressive heat. He had either grown accustomed to it or had simply decided that it wasn’t going to bother him.

  “As a physician, Father,” he was saying, “you would certainly be most welcome to accompany us on the march. We shall be traveling with three full brigades, and we can doubtless expect casualties, not only from hostiles, but from the rough terrain we shall have to cover. Moreover, we shall have to cover it in a hurry. Yet I would dissuade you, if I could, from your plan of leaving us to travel amongst the tribesmen. In that regard, the timing is most unfortunate.”

  “How so, General?” said Lucas.

  “We are in the middle of a situation which could lead to a fullscale frontier war, Father,” General Blood said. “I have just received a telegram from the adjutant-general in India, appointing me to the command of the Malakand Field Force and instructing me to proceed at once to the relief of the garrison at Chakdarra. They are hard pressed, very hard pressed indeed. The army here on the frontier is continually faced with one insurrection after another. We must hold the Khyber Pass because it is the most direct route into India, and so there is ceaseless fighting in that great rift. Now, word reaches me that some new mullah, an Afridi holy man named Sayyid Akbar, is preaching jehad and recruiting thousands of tribesmen into his Ghazi army to prepare for the Night of the Long Knives. We must also hold the Malakand Pass because we need to keep the road to Chitral open. We must keep the road to Chitral open because some dunderhead decided that holding Chitral was essential to our Forward Policy. And so it goes, one dustup after another, simply because politicians look at points upon a map and make their decisions in utter ignorance of the character of the land or of its people. Meaning no disrespect, Father, but I fear you may have made the same sort of mistake. I wonder if you are fully aware of what it is you plan to undertake. I wonder if you know anything of the country.

  “The land we’re going to is a savage wilderness. The Himalayas are nearly four hundred miles in breadth and more than sixteen hundred in length. The westernmost ranges of these mountains, the Hindu Kush, are all that divide our Eastern empire from territory controlled by Russia. The land has been cracked by time and gouged by torrential rainfall. It has been ravaged by ice and snow and baked by a merciless sun. Rainfall has cut mammoth gutters called nullahs into the silt deposits of the valleys. Sometimes these are great dry cracks in the land which form gorges up to one hundred feet deep and several hundred yards wide. Often they have streams flowing through them—not the sort of streams you see in our English countryside, but devilishly cold, fast flowing mountain rapids which, with the slightest degree of
additional rainfall or snowmelt, become roaring and torrential rivers which can sweep you off your feet and dash you to pieces on jagged rocks. The mountains above the valleys are steep and rockstrewn, difficult to climb even for a seasoned alpinist.

  “The inhabitants of these regions are utter savages. Tribe wars upon tribe. Khan attacks khan. Bloodfeuds are as common as trollops in Piccadilly. You take the ferocity of the Zulu, add it to the craft of the American redskin and the marksmanship of the Boer, and you have your Pathan, a violent, murderous aborigine. Every man jack of them is a soldier. Each one goes about armed to the teeth. And they dearly love to fight. We have a sizable number of them in our own forces, a mixed blessing at best, for like as not they’ll desert us whenever the mood strikes them and turn the Martinis we issue them back on us. Yet we cannot afford to do without them. We require the manpower; we need their skills and knowledge of the terrain. So long as we feed them regularly and give them something of a better standard of living than they can expect to find with their own tribes, as well as provide them with a license to kill with impunity, chances are they’ll remain with us and fight well for us, even against their own people. Such is the character of those you hope to convert to Christianity. They are a murderous, ignorant, and superstitious people, easily roused and wellnigh impossible to pacify. Yet we must pacify them. That is my duty, Father. I will not attempt to instruct you in yours, but I can at least see to it that your choice is an informed one.”

  “Some of your men have told me much the same thing,” said Lucas. “I can well appreciate the situation, General, but it changes nothing. I, too, have my duty, as you pointed out.”

  Blood nodded curtly. “Wellspoken, Father. All’s been said, then. See the quartermaster about drawing some supplies. We leave on a forced march first thing in the morning. And on your way out, see the clerk and leave the names of your next of kin.”

  “You’re most kind, General,” said Lucas.

  Blood grunted. “Oh, and one more thing, before you leave. This is a military expedition, you understand. As such, I’m in no position to spare you any orderlies. I travel without one myself. However, seeing that you are traveling in company with a lady, may I suggest you retain one of the locals as a khawasin. He’ll have to double as a bhisti, carrying water for the troops when needed, but that’s expected. I would suggest you hire a Hindustani, they’re generally less trouble. Now you’ll excuse me, Father, I have a great many things to see to. The quartermaster will see to it that you and Miss Cross have a place to bed down for the night. Enjoy it, it’ll be the last decent night’s sleep you’re likely to get in a long time.”

  After having seen to their supplies for the next day’s march, Lucas and Andre went to the barracks in search of Finn. He proved easy enough to find. All they had to do was follow the sound of raucous laughter and drinkfueled song. It was Mulvaney’s voice that carried the verse while the others joined in the chorus of a barrackroom ballad made popular by Kipling.

  “I went into a public’ouse to get a pint o’beer,

  The publican ‘e up an’ sez, ‘We serve no redcoats here.’

  The girls be’ind the bar they laughed an’ giggled fit to die,

  I outs into the street again an’ to myself sez I:.

  O it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy go away’;

  But it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.

  The band begins to play, my boys, the band begins to play.

  O it’s ‘Thank you, Mister Atkins,’ when the band begins to play.”

  Ortheris took up the next verse, howling like a stray dog.

  “I went into a theatre as sober as could be,

  They gave a drunk civilian room, but ‘adn’t none for me;

  They sent me to the gallery or round the music ‘alls,

  But when it comes to fightin’, Lord! they’ll shove me in the stalls!

  For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, wait outside’;

  But it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.

  O it’s ‘Special train for Atkins’ when the trooper’s on the tide.”

  Learoyd’s turn came next and he sounded considerably more melodious than his cohorts.

  “Yes, makin’ mock o’ uniforms that guard you while you sleep

  Is cheaper than them uniforms, an’ they’re starvation cheap;

  An’ hustlin’ drunken soldiers when they’re goin’ large a bit

  Is five times better business than paradin’ in full kit,

  Then it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, ‘ow’s yer soul?’

  But it’s ‘Thin red line of ‘eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.

  The drums begin to roll, my boys, the drums begin to roll,

  O it’s ‘Thin red line of ‘eroes’ when the drums begin to roll.”

  Delaney picked up the honors for the next verse, laying into it with gusto, to the applause of the soldiers, who were unaccustomed to having their officers being so regular around them.

  “We aren’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too.

  But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

  An’ if sometimes our conduck isn’t all your fancy paints,

  Why, single men in barricks don’t grow into plaster saints;

  While it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ Tommy, fall be’ind’,

  But it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind.

  There’s trouble in the wind, my boys, there’s trouble in the wind.

  O it’s ‘Please to walk in front, sir,’ when there’s trouble in the wind.”

  The entire group was struck dumb with amazement when Andre chimed in with the final verse.

  “You talk ‘o better food for us, an’ schools, an’ fires, an’ all:

  We’ll wait for extry rations if you treat us rational.

  Don’t mess about the cook-room slops, but prove it to our face

  The Widow’s Uniform is not the soldier-man’s disgrace.”

  Delaney joined in with her on the chorus, and after a moment’s disbelieving hesitation, the others did as well.

  “For it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ ‘Chuck him out, the brute!’

  But it’s ‘Savior of ‘is country’ when the guns begin to shoot;

  An’ it’s Tommy this, an’ Tommy that, an’ anything you please,

  An’ Tom my ain’t a bloomin’ fool, you bet that Tommy sees!”

  “ ‘Pon my soul, miss,” said Mulvaney rising to his feet along with the others, “that was a right proper finish to a right proper barracks song. An’ it’s the first time I ever ‘eard a lady sing so lustily since I was in the good of’ East End at Miss Violet McKerizie’s—“

  “Tavern,” Learoyd said very quickly. “She was a lovely singer, Miss McKenzie was. Warmed our hearts to hear her sing, it did.”

  Mulvaney turned crimson and looked down at the floor. Ortheris pretended to have something caught in his throat.

  “I’m very flattered, gentlemen,” said Andre, “to be compared to someone with so much … warmth.”

  Ortheris broke into a fit of coughing.

  “Do sit down, gentlemen,” said Andre. “No need to stand on my account. And someone please give Private Ortheris a drink before he strangulates himself. Then someone can give me one, as well.”

  “So how did your conference with the general go, Father?” Delaney said.

  “He attempted to induce me to change my mind,” said Lucas, “but said I would be welcome to accompany the force if I was dead set on going.”

  “Well, then, welcome to you, Father,” said Mulvaney. “An’ mind now, you boys watch your lips in the presence o’ the clergy an’ his lady!”

  “Somehow that didn’t quite come out sounding right, Mulvaney,” said Learoyd wryly.

  “Well, bleedin’ ‘Ell,” Mulvaney said, you know what I damn well mean!”


  Learoyd rolled his eyes.

  “Perhaps you gentlemen could be of some assistance,” Lucas said. “Where might I find a Hindustani attendant for myself and Miss Cross on the march?”

  Before anyone could reply, a thin, bedraggled young Hindu dressed in nothing save a dhoti and a turban leaped up from where he had been crouching in a dim corner like a dog and came running up to stand bowing before Lucas.

  “Father Sahib wishes khawasin? I am good khawasin! Work very hard! Very cheap! Serve very well! Take good care of Father Sahib and Memsahib!”

  ‘Well, it seems we have a volunteer,” said Lucas.

  “You could do better than him, Father,” said Learoyd. “He wouldn’t be your best choice. He’s an untouchable, you see. Outside the caste system. None of the other Hindus would have anythin’ to do with him. Poor beggar wouldn’t have any company on the march at all, no one to talk to.”

  “He could talk to us,” said Andre.

  “Any reason why we can’t take him?” said Lucas.

  “The choice is yours, Father,” said Learoyd.

  “Good. It’s settled, then.”

  The Hindu dropped to his knees and began kissing Lucas’s boots, intermingling English thankyous with a torrent of Hindi.

  “Come on now, up with you, Din!” said Mulvaney, hauling him to his feet. “That’s no way to act before a proper Englishman! ‘E’s a priest, not no bleedin’ rajah!”

  “Well, you bought yourself a faithful hound, Father,” said Learoyd. “His name is Gunga Din and he speaks English, after a fashion. Nice enough chap, though a bit childlike, like most of his sort. He followed the regiment here all the way from Simla. He’s been a sort of unofficial regimental bhisti, but I guess he’s yours now.”