Chapter 25

David was arranging his bedroll on a bunk. He’d placed his saddle pistol inside a saddlebag along with the ammunition for the pistols and his telescope. A cloth bag containing forty clips of rifle ammunition hung by its strap next to his rifle. All the men had similar bags within arm’s reach. He had almost finished the cup of tea the mortar team had made for the men, when the Havildar reported movement along the crest. David rushed back to his position by the rim. Looking through the telescope he saw about twenty men emerging from broken ground some eight hundred yards away. Sighting his rifle on the leader, David said, “Wait for my signal.” He waited until they were only three hundred yards away before squeezing the trigger.

It was over in less than thirty seconds. At that range, the well-trained marksmen his men had become didn’t miss. Not one of the bodies stirred. David looked down into the gorge where hundreds of faces were looking up at the sound of gunfire. The Gurkhas efficiently stripped the bodies of their fur coats and weapons, bringing them back to the step. One handed David a coat, “It will be more comfortable to lay on, Colonel Sahib.” David thanked the man noticing there was no blood on it.

Through his telescope, David could see a heated discussion going on between the tall Russian and the obvious leader of the Afghans. A discussion they were taking care to have well beyond effective rifle range of the 1st Khana Rifles’ position. The Havildar came over to him, “The men only used two or three rounds of ammunition, Colonel Sahib, and they all aimed for the head.”

David nodded, “They’ll be back tonight, but there will be a lot more of them. They know we are here now.”

“I will rig trip wires out by the outcrop. It will give us some warning of their approach, Colonel Sahib.” David watched as the Riflemen put pebbles into tin cans then attached them to a series of long cords placed across the most likely routes of approach for the Afghans.

He told the men to eat early and put out any fires before the sun went down. After they had eaten, leaving only a couple of men on the line for security, he gathered them around him, “When the rockets go up, don’t look at them, the light will blind you. Instead, look to your front and fire fast and accurately. There will be many more tonight than today, but they must not get past us.”

The men looked grimly at him. He continued, “The Afghans are tough fighters, but they have never fought a real battle against Gurkhas before. We will make sure that, after this battle, they will never want to meet them again.” The smiles on their faces looked more like snarls of pleasure.

He moved his position to the centre of the line and placed a rocket rest firmly into the ground at a slight angle. The Havildar and six men along the line did the same. They had divided the rockets and grenades between them. Each had a length of greased rope that, when lit, would smoulder for many minutes and thus act as a match for lighting the fuses of the new weapons.

Just before full dark David went along the lines checking each man. Their weapons bags were open revealing the clips of rifle ammunition ready for use. Some had clips resting on top of the firing step for more rapid access; others had their unsheathed kukris there.

The night was moonless, its light hidden by dark clouds. Only the sound of the wind disturbed the darkness. David sat with his back against the step, his rifle in his gloved hands, the sights set for five hundred yards. His pistols rested on top of the step. Strangely, he was thinking of Susan. He’d done everything he could think of ... now it was a matter of waiting.

An hour passed, and then another, and then out of the blackness the wind brought the sound of pebbles rattling in a tin can. David blew on the smouldering rope’s end and touched the rocket fuse. The night sky was suddenly torn apart by a brilliant light as the rocket exploded. A mass of men stood frozen their hands gripping rifles as they looked up at the light. Twenty rifles fired as one, cutting them down as the night erupted into screams. David was working the rifle bolt as fast as he could, not bothering to aim; just firing into the solid mass of men. As the Havildar’s rocket went up, David’s rifle fell empty and he placed another rocket in the rest before reloading.

With suicidal courage, some of the Afghans charged forward, only to be met by death from the sustained fire of the .303’s. David was working like an automaton; firing, reloading and releasing rockets. Many of the Afghans had gone to ground to return fire from behind the dead bodies of their comrades, some less than a hundred yards away.

He lit the fuse of a grenade and threw it with all his strength at one group of Afghans bunched up behind a pile of bodies. The grenade ignited in a shower of burning magnesium, adding a new horror to the battlefield, igniting clothes and burning flesh. Men leapt up, their rifles forgotten while trying to beat out the flames, only to be shot down by the Gurkhas. The Havildar must have thrown one as well, David reasoned, as more burning clothes lit the battle area as the Afghans withdrew.

For the rest of that night they waited in the dark, listening to the screams and groans of the wounded and the smell of burning flesh carried to them by the wind. Two of the Riflemen had been wounded, one in the arm and the other had an ear torn off by a bullet. They were lowered down on a pallet to the gorge below.

The true horror of the battle was revealed the next morning. Piles of bodies littered the area, some stacked three deep on top of each other. David sent two Riflemen forward to the outcrop eight hundred yards away to check if any Afghans remained. When they signalled all clear, the rest went out to clear the bodies.

David was sitting with his back against the blockhouse wall taking a drink from his flask when the Havildar reported. “One hundred and forty-three dead, Colonel Sahib. Some of their rifles were hit by our bullets and destroyed. We will lower their weapons down to the gorge. We have thrown the bodies down a fissure, and reset the alarm tripwires.”

“Thank you Havildar. Return the rockets and grenades to their bins and have two more men sent up from the gorge to replace the wounded. Tell the men they fought well, like true Gurkhas.”

David took his telescope to the rim to look down at the enemy. Twenty or thirty Afghans were surrounding the Russians, obviously angry as they pointed up at the crest. David smiled grimly, ‘So what’s your next move,’ he thought.

He returned to the valley floor to arrange for rockets to be sent up to replace the ones used. While there, he told Turin about the battle and the deadly effect of the grenades. “Have the wounded been sent to the Fort,” he asked.

“No, Colonel Sahib. Memsahib Doctor is at the entrance of the Pass. She has erected tents for the wounded and has two assistants with her as well as ten Riflemen to help.”

David was horrified at the news of Susan’s close proximity to the battle. He gave the order to saddle his horse, but before it was acted upon frantic signals were seen at the crest. David was torn between seeing Susan and knowing what was happening at the crest. He rescinded his order about the horse and hurried back up the path to the crest. At the top, the Havildar met him, “They are repositioning the mortar, Colonel Sahib, to fire up here”.

David rushed to the rim to look down. The mortar had been moved much closer to the buttress and now faced the lookout position. Wedges had been placed under the front of it giving the mortar a steeper angle so that, through his telescope, he could almost see down the barrel. A cask of gunpowder stood alongside the mortar as the Russians charged it from another cask. David had to think fast. There was no cover for the Riflemen to hide from the blast of the Russian mortar bombs. “Tell the men to lay flat against the step and cover their ears,” he yelled at the Havildar, before rushing to their mortar. He didn’t wait to see if he was obeyed, as he began adjusting it to a 60-degree firing angle.

He heard the crashing boom as the Russian mortar fired and then seconds later the thud as the bomb landed just behind him. He spun round; expecting to be torn to shreds with the blast, but the ball lay there with the fuse hissing. Without really thinking, he rushed forward and nipped out the fuse, burning his fingers in the process. With his heart pounding, he realised the Russians had not allowed for the shorter distance the round had travelled and had cut the detonating fuse too long. The men climbed to their feet, amazed at what he had done. However, he gave them no time to comment, ordering the mortar team to adjust it to his directions as he stood on the rim in line with the mortar below.