Khyber Connection

Chapter 5

Their arrival at the Malakand was like an entrance through the doors of Hell. The troops of the garrison were worn out from fighting. Many were wounded. Many had been killed. The broken ground was littered everywhere with bodies, far too numerous for the burial details to dispose of, even if they’d had the time. The lizards and the carrion birds were feasting.

The fort itself was situated on a hill overlooking the depression known as The Crater. The position of the garrison had been spread out when the attack commenced on the twenty-sixth of July. Malakand Post, the fort itself, was in a virtually impregnable spot, but its surroundings were its weak point. To the north-north-east of the fort was The Crater, where the largest concentration of buildings stood. There was the bazaar, which now stood ruined and blackened from flames; the commissariat; the brigade offices and the mess, on a rise overlooking the depression; and an area known as Gretna Green, site of the quarters of the 45th Sikhs. To the north of the depression was a giant rock formation known as Gibraltar Tower, which was in the hands of the enemy tribesmen, who possessed superior firing position from its heights. West of the depression was a water-filled nullah. Across the nullah, through the rocks and to the north-north west, was North Camp. The camel and transport lines were there, as well as Camp Malakand, the site of Number 8 Mountain Battery, the 31st Punjab Infantry, and a large detachment of the 11th Bengal Lancers. Back across the nullah, to the southwest of the fort, was the 24th Punjab infantry. Communications between North Camp and the Malakand Post were by telegraph. Two roads, separated by rock formations, ran parallel cast of the fort to Dargai — the graded road, and the older Buddhist Road.

The officers of the fort had just returned from their game of polo when the garrison at Chakdarra telegraphed that they were under attack by a large force of Pathans. A moment later the wire was cut. The officers were still in their polo kit when the attack came.

A handful of men under the command of Lieutenant-Colonel McRae of the 45th Sikhs immediately ran to hold off the enemy’s advance down the Buddhist Road until the camp could mobilise and reinforce them. They held a position at a point where the road took a sharp curve through a narrow pass. There they re-enacted the stand of the Three Hundred Spartans. McRae’s men kept up a steady stream of fire at an even more steady and seemingly unceasing stream of Ghazis, buying the garrison valuable time in which to organise. McRae was wounded, but he held on until nightfall. The enemy pulled back.

At the fort General Meiklejohn could see the glow of star shells from North Camp, which told him that an at-tack was under way there as well. More tribesmen were pressing in along the graded road, and the 24th was hotly engaged. Tribesmen commanded the heights of the Gibraltar Tower and kept up a constant sniping at the troops below while the infantry attempted to beat back the rushing advance of hundreds of fanatical swordsmen. Meiklejohn rushed from the fort, and at great peril to his life, kept moving from point to point to direct the defensive actions.

Wild fighting took place in the bazaar, a struggle of sword against bayonet as the tribesmen poured through, driving the soldiers back and capturing a large part of the ammunition reserves. Attacks continued along the high ground of the Buddhist Road and from the rocks all around. Regular fire from the rim of the depression resulted in heavy losses.

North Camp was evacuated at the first opportunity and a cavalry detachment sent to reinforce Chakdarra. Miraculously, they got through by criss-crossing the nullah while under heavy fire. Lack of proper transport caused the officers and men of North Camp to leave almost all of their possessions behind. That night the glow of flames from the north gave testimony to the

looting and destruction that commenced as soon as they had left.

Continued massed attacks made it impossible for the pickets to hold their lines. They were forced to pull back to the fort, there to strengthen their defences as much as possible by levelling the bazaar and many of the outlying buildings to cut down on the enemy’s opportunities for concealment. Open lines of fire were exposed and bon-fires built to illuminate the enemy’s approach at night.

There was little respite. By the time the detachment of lancers Delaney rode with had arrived, the Malakand garrison had sustained heavy casualties. Three British officers were killed, ten severely wounded. Seven native officers had died, amounting to a total of twenty senior officers killed. The total losses of officers, both British and native, as well as non-commissioned officers and enlisted men, stood at 153 killed and wounded.

All around upon the hills, Delaney could see the white dots that were the white-robed Ghazis moving about. There were dozens upon dozens of tribal banners, as well as the black flags of the jehad. As night came, the cliffs all around them glowed with the light of several hundred campfires.

"Hell of a sight, eh""

Finn turned toward the voice.

:‘Surgeon — Lieutenant Hugo," said the doctor.

‘ Lieutenant Delaney," said Finn. He held out his hand. Hugo took it in an awkward grip with his left hand. His right arm hung straight at his side, looking stiff. "You were hit"" said Finn.

Hugo gave a slight snort. "No, fortunately. Bit of temporary paralysis. Cramped, you know."

"From what""

"Oh, Lieutenant Ford was wounded in the shoulder. Bullet cut the artery. We were under heavy fire and he was lying out in the open, so there was no opportunity to give the poor chap proper aid, don’t you know. He had fainted from loss of blood. I had no other choice but to pinch the vessel shut between my thumb and forefinger. Crouched there that way for three hours until I could move him to safety. Hell of a thing. Haven’t been able to move my arm hardly at all since. Hand’s gone numb. Nothing to worry about, it’s only a temporary cramp, but it’s rather an inconvenience."

Finn thought that only an Englishman could speak in such an offhand manner about holding a man’s life between his thumb and forefinger for three hours while under heavy fire.

"Anyway, it’s nice to have you chaps," said Hugo, putting a cigarette in his mouth and awkwardly trying to strike a light with his left hand. Finn lit it for him. "Thank’s, old boy. Didn’t quite think you were riding into such a damned mess, did you""

"Oh, I knew it would be bad," said Finn, "but it’s another thing to see it. There must be thousands of them up there. It looks like the whole mountain range is on fire."

Hugo nodded. "More arriving every day. Word has it the Utman Khels have joined the fray. The Mahsuds, as well. The Mad Fakir’s pulling them in. Final bloody conflict and all that. There’re lathered up right and proper."

"They let us ride right in," said Finn.

Hugo nodded again. "Why not" Why take you in the open where you can make an effort at deploying" Better position here. Nothing short of a mass suicidal assault would break into this fort-not that I think they’re not up it, mind you-but they have us trapped in here. It’s like sitting atop a sugar cube in a great big empty cup. And they’re all around the rim. I believe they’re building up to final push. Meanwhile they continue sniping at us from the cliffs. They’re damned proficient at it too. Bloody good marksmanship, at this range."

"Has there been any communication with Chakdarra" " Finn said.

"We managed to re-establish heliograph signalling with them briefly on the morning of the twenty-ninth," said Hugo. "They’re hanging on, but they’ve sustained heavy losses. It seems they’ve had a rougher go of it than we. Food and ammunition are running short. Lieutenant-Colonel Adams took the Guides to make a try for the Amandara Pass, but they were forced to retire. He lost sixteen men and twenty-six horses. Now that you lot have arrived, we might stand a better chance. I was forced to miss the officer’s conference. Had to tend to the wounded. Couldn’t do much with this arm, you know. Stiff as bloody blazes. That new doctor was a godsend." He chuckled. "Godsend. Missionary, godsend, that’s good, what""

Finn smiled.

:‘So what’s the plan, then"" Hugo said.

‘General Blood’s ordered the relieving column to assemble on Gretna Green there," Finn said, pointing. "The first attack will be directed toward Castle Rock, which dominates the high ground above the green. We move at half-past four this morning."

"Bloody hell," said Hugo. "If Castle Rock is taken at the same time as troops begin a push from Gretna Green, it might open up the graded road, and then deployment would be possible! Who thought of that""

"General Blood."

"Now that I see it, it’s so damned obvious," said Hugo. "But then, we hadn’t the manpower before. We may get out of this mess yet. Well, I’d better go and give the good Father a hand. " He held up his one useful arm and chuckled. "A hand, eh" That’s a good one." Chuckling, he went down below.

Delaney hadn’t had a chance to speak with either Lucas or Andre since their arrival. Tending the wounded at the garrison was a full-time job, especially with Hugo being limited in what he could do until his arm recovered from the cramping effects of his heroic action of the day before. All things considered, the morale of the troops at the fort was astonishingly high. They had been engaged in almost ceaseless fighting for a week, with little opportunity for sleep, and they were all exhausted, but they were functioning superbly.

As soon as the relief column of infantry had arrived, their officers had been ordered into conference with General Meiklejohn and General Blood to make plans to break out and rescue the Chakdarra garrison. In a few hours the column would assemble and prepare to move while the attack against the overlooking rock formation commenced. Once the objective had been taken, Blood would then take up position with his staff upon the heights of Castle Rock, which would give him a commanding view of the field of battle.

Historically, Finn knew the tactics were to succeed and the column would break through to relieve the em-battled fort at Chakdarra, but that would only be the start in a large operation that would last for months, culminating in the Tirah Expeditionary Force, a punitive action, launched against the Afridi homeland in the high mountain valley of Tirah. In between there were plenty of opportunities for things to go wrong.

Delaney knew that they had situated themselves as best they could under the circumstances, but this mission gave them less freedom to act than any other mission he had served. There was no chance now of breaking away from the troops to reconnoitre the situation in the hills. The cliffs were crawling with Ghazis. The best they could hope for was to stay with the main body and look out for any potential disruptive actions. Blood had to be protected at all costs. Meiklejohn as well. The main problem was that they didn’t know who or where the enemy was-if, in fact, there was an enemy. Finn hoped there was. Fighting an enemy was easier than trying to compensate for an historical anomaly that might have been triggered by any number of events.

"I see you couldn’t sleep either," said Churchill, coming up to stand beside Delaney. He looked out at the fires on the mountains. "I think the entire garrison’s awake."

"Everyone’s too worked up to sleep," said Finn. "I know our men are looking forward to some action."

"They’ll have plenty of it," Churchill said. "If the Ghazis sweep down upon Gretna Green before the at-tack can be launched and the high ground secured. we’ll all be in for it. I’ve been preparing my dispatches. I only wish there were some way to convey the magnitude of this sight." He gestured out at the campfires on the cliffs. "Words simply can’t do it. There must be thousands of them up there. And I had thought our strength would intimidate them. Private Mulvaney was right. My green is showing."

— Starting to regret having come along"" said Finn.

"Oh, not a bit of it," said Churchill. "It didn’t appear as though the 4th Hussars were going to get in on any of this, and like any young fool, I was looking for trouble, I suppose." He grinned. " I seem to have found a good deal of it. Should make for some smashing reporting. "

"Fancy yourself a writer, do you"" Finn said.

"More than mere fancy," Churchill said. "I" m already beginning to make something of an income at it, but I hope to do far better. True, I’m rather young, but then there’s that fellow Kipling who’s making such a big success, and he’s not much older than I am. Still, he writes this romantic nonsense, and I have ambitions to do more serious work."

"Perhaps you’ll be famous someday," Finn said, smiling inwardly at the earnestness of this serious young man. "Maybe this experience will turn into a book for you. 91

"I’ve already been giving that some thought," said Churchill. "Give the people back home some idea of what’s happening here, more than merely dispatch writing-a detailed analysis of the Forward Policy and its effects, as well as of the military applications in carrying it out. Then perhaps the gentlemen MP’s will know whereof they speak when they rise to address the Frontier Question on the floor of Parliament."

"Sounds like a worthy ambition," Finn said, thinking that if the book were ever written, this youngster would probably find a way to make even the Malakand campaign seem deadly dull. To be so serious at so young an age! If the army didn’t knock it out of him, he’d wind up a professor at a tiny college, or one of those ivory-tower historians forever buried in the stacks of some musty library. It seemed a shame. He was a nice young fellow. Here he was, in the midst of what would probably be the one great adventure of his lifetime, and all he could think of was the overall question, the grand perspective.

— You find the idea dull, don’t you"" said Churchill, watching him intently.

"Well, no, I didn’t say that-"

— You didn’t have to," Churchill said. "It was clearly written in your face. I am an excellent judge of character. And I judge that diplomacy is not quite your forte. You’re the sort of man who usually says exactly what he thinks."

"Well, now that you mention it, the way you put it did seem rather … well, rather dry," said Finn lamely.

"Dry, — echoed Churchill. "Well then, I shall endeavour not to make it dry. I will see how my dispatches are received. If the reaction to what I write for the Daily Telegraph is not favourable, then I will not attempt to write the book. Rest assured, sir, I have too high a regard for the English people to subject them to inferiority. Good night to you."

In the fort’s infirmary, Lucas and Andre had been working non-stop since the relief column arrived. The marksmanship of the Pathans had taken its toll in gaping holes and shattered bones from the lead balls fired by the jezails. The different calibers of the weapons produced a wide variety of wounds. The jezail rifles of the Ghazis were all handmade, some. 45 caliber, some. 50, some even larger, such as the. 75 and. 80 caliber "wall guns" which were either fired from bipods or from a rest position on a sangar wall.

Many of the wounds had been inflicted by captured British weapons, such as Martini-Henry and Lee-Metford rifles. The latter, which fired the new dumdum bullet, were particularly troublesome in the hands of the enemy. When one of these rounds hit a bone, it would expand, mushrooming out and tearing through everything in its path. If the victim wasn’t killed, if the bullet struck an arm or leg, the result was usually the loss of that limb. Under the direction of Lieutenant Hugo, Lucas and Andre had performed a number of such amputations, and the infirmary was running dangerously low on morphia and chloroform. By nightfall both Lucas and Andre were exhausted. They could only imagine what it must have been like for Hugo.

"I think the two of you could do with some rest," the doctor said. "The most serious cases have been tended to, and the others will keep for a time. Besides, my arm’s not quite so numb anymore and I can move it about some. I should be fit as a fiddle in another hour or so. "He took a flask from his pocket. "There’ll be more of the same tomorrow, I can guarantee you. Here, for medicinal purposes."

He handed them the flask and they each took a pull at it. "Thanks," said Lucas, sitting down in a wooden chair. He sighed. "I don’t know how you’ve managed up till now."

"One does what one must," said Hugo, smiling tightly. "Perhaps now, after seeing all this, you can better appreciate your position, Father. There’ll be no going out into the hills to preach the word until these hostilities are done with."

"That could take months," said Lucas.

"It could," said Hugo. "Meanwhile you’re needed by your own. There shall be work aplenty for you two at Chakdarra, when we reach them. Speaking of which, Father, I think you should have this."

He handed Lucas a revolver.

" I can’t take that," said Lucas, wanting to badly but knowing that staying in character meant he had to refuse.

"I’m not asking you to shoot anyone with it," said Hugo. "That will be a matter for your own conscience. But I’ve seen what happens when Pathans get hold of a man. They cut him to pieces or else take him back to camp and have sport with him there."

"I appreciate the gesture, Doctor," Lucas said, "but I couldn’t possibly carry a gun."

1 can," Andre said. She took the revolver.

"Do you know how-" Hugo began, then stopped when he saw her quickly break the weapon open and check it. "Yes, I can see that you do. Useful skill for a woman to possess, especially in these parts. Well, go on now, you two. Get something to eat. You’ll need all your strength tomorrow."

Sharif Khan received the emissaries in the main room of his house. Flanked by his chief bodyguards and lieutenants, TIA agents masquerading as Afridi tribesmen, Phoenix waited for the two emissaries to bow to him before he returned their greeting.

He noted that they carried ornate khanjars, tapering eight-inch daggers with carved and inlaid hilts, as well as Khyber knives-the deadly charras-the long knives of the Pathans. The charras had heavy, single-edged, wide blades over twenty inches long which tapered gradually from the hilt to a sharp point at the end. The hilt, like those of the smaller knives, was without a guard, and had a slight projection on one side, by the pommel. The knives were encased in leather scabbards and worn thrust through the sashes, similar to the way Japanese samurai carried their swords. The men also carried the ubiquitous jezails, the curved-stock matchlock rifles which were frequently converted with captured English flintlocks. The barrels were long and slender, the stocks inlaid with silver plate. The weapons were as much a show of finery as force-the single most prized possession of an Afridi, when thus handsomely crafted, was evidence of wealth and status.

"The Most Holy, Mullah Sayyid Akbar sends greetings to the warlord Sharif Khan," said one of the emissaries. "He wishes to know why Sharif Khan has not responded to the call of the Prophet to rid our land of the infidel firinghi. "

" Convey my most respectful greetings to His Holiness, Sayyid Akbar, — said Phoenix, "and inform him that I have received no call to which I could respond. "

The emissary looked at him with puzzlement. "is the khan not aware of the flame that sweeps the land"" he said. "All the tribes are gathering for the Night of the Long knives. The time is ripe to slay the invader. They are weak and powerless before the strength of the jehad. How can the khan be ignorant of this""

"I have heard that the tribes were gathering," said Phoenix, "but there has been talk of the Great Jehad before. It is action that speaks loudest, and not words.

Sharif Khan does not blindly leave his holdings at the mere mention of a gathering of tribes. If there are spoils to be won, lives to be taken, that is another matter. But I have heard such talk before and little has come of it."

"Know this then, Sharif Khan," said the emissary, "that even as we speak, the infidel is being slaughtered in the Malakand by the forces of Sadullah, who speaks with the Voice of the Prophet. The Light of Islam, Sayyid Akbar, is now preparing to move against the British fortifications in the Khyber Pass. We strike everywhere and we strike as one. When comes the Night of the Long Knives, a great host shall come from the heavens to rid our land of the invader, and all who join in the jehad shall win their way to Paradise. Thus speaks Sadullah; thus speaks Sayyid Akbar. Where will Sharif Khan stand when comes the judgment" How shall Sharif Khan speak when it is asked who joined in the jehad and who stood by""

"Does Sayyid Akbar question my faith"" said Phoenix.

"If the faith of Sharif Khan is beyond question," countered the emissary, "why does Sharif Khan refrain from joining in the holy war" We have heard much of Sharif Khan, of how he has quickly risen to the status of a warlord and of how his tribe, though smaller than some, has grown strong and prospered. Clearly Sharif Khan is among the chosen. It is only fitting for Sayyid Akbar to search out such a man and seek his aid in the great cause. It is the time for the chosen of Islam to join together and lead the tribes in the fight to force the invader from our land. This is the message Sayyid Akbar has sent. What reply shall we take back to him""

"None," said Phoenix. "I will choose from among my tribe men to stay and watch over my holdings. Then I shall gather my warriors and return with you to deliver my reply to Sayyid Akbar myself. Sharif Khan has spoken. You will await my preparations and we shall depart together. In the meantime, let my humble home serve as your shelter. My retainers will see to it that you are made comfortable and that your hunger is appeased. You have been many days upon your journey. Rest and refresh yourselves, and then we shall begin our return."

The emissaries bowed. "Sharif Khan is most kind and gracious. We shall humbly await your pleasure." Respectfully, they backed out of the room.

"This is what we’ve been waiting for," said Phoenix to his fellow agents when the emissaries had left. "If we’re going to learn anything, we must be at the centre of events. Three of you will remain here-Python, Zebra, and Mustang, keep the patrols going and report to me at once if you discover anything. If we need to send for reinforcements I’ll communicate with you, and one of you will clock to Plus Time and report our findings. Agents Fox and Sable, you’ll accompany me to Sayyid Akbar’s camp. We’ll leave a force of thirty men behind to conduct patrols and maintain security. The rest of the tribe, with the exception of the older men and women and the children, will travel with us. Any questions""

"Just one," said agent Python. "There’s supposed to be an adjustment team from the First Division back here somewhere, infiltrated into one of the British army regiments. We’re assuming a cover with the other side. How do we keep from killing them if we all wind up in the same battle""

"Unless there’s some way you can recognise them, you don’t," said Phoenix. "There’s nothing to be done about that. There’s a massive disruption going on back here, and we’ve got to get a fix on it somehow. Everything else comes secondary. Don’t forget that if we can’t keep from shooting at them, they can’t keep from shooting at us as well. That’s what happens when you’ve got teams on opposing sides. It comes with the territory. They knew the risks when they enlisted. So, for that matter, did we. Let’s just try to survive this one, okay" It’s liable to get pretty hairy. Any more questions" ‘,

There were none.

"Right. Let’s get the show on the road. We’ve got us a holy war to fight."

Sayyid Akbar did not look like a holy man. Instead of white robes, he wore loose-fitting black trousers, high boots, a black shirt with flowing sleeves, and a black vest ornately embroidered in gold. His black turban was fastened with a ruby clasp. He towered over the white-garbed Sadullah as they stood in the Mad Mullah’s tent high in the cliffs above the Malakand fort.

"I have done everything you asked of me, 0 Holy One, — Sadullah said, his voice sounding very different from the way it did when he addressed his followers. It held a tone of abject supplication. "Even now, we have the British troops who have arrived trapped with the others in the fort. At dawn we shall strike and wipe them out to the last man! Then we will move to finish off the soldiers at Chakdarra. "

"And what of the force assembling below, upon the green"" said Sayyid Akbar.

Sadullah smiled. "So much the better. My sentries have reported this to me. They think to attack the Buddhist Road. It is a foolhardy plan. They will be cornpletely vulnerable to our fire from the high ground."

"Have you bothered to gauge the size of this force"" Sayyid Akbar said.

"It is insignificant," Sadullah said. "Our own numbers are far greater."

"You’re a fool, Sadullah," Sayyid Akbar said. "You have already lost this battle once before, and now you shall lose it again. I have given you another chance, and you are wasting it.’

"But how have I failed, Holy One"" Sadullah said, chagrined. " I hold the British in the palm of my hand!"

"And they shall slip right through your fingers," Sayyid Akbar said. "It is pointless. You will never understand strategy. Never mind. It matters little to me if you do not destroy the British here, so long as you engage them. It will distract their attention from the Khyber Pass long enough to buy me the time to do what I must do there."

Sadullah’s eyes were bright with the light of fanaticism. "The Night of the Long Knives" You will call forth the host of heaven""

"They will come when it is time," Sayyid Akbar said.

When you have done all that you can do here, join me at my camp above the Khyber Pass."

"And then we shall strike"" Sadullah said.

"Then we shall strike," said Sayyid Akbar.

He vanished. The Mad Mullah prostrated himself upon the ground, weeping with joy. Surely he was blessed, he thought, anointed by the Prophet. The Holy One had been sent to deliver Islam, and he had been chosen as His instrument. Once before, he had launched the great jehad, and he had failed, not having anticipated the great strength and numbers of the British. The Holy One had turned back time and given him the chance to try again. He would not fail. At dawn his forces would descend upon the infidels and cut them to pieces. Then he would take his followers to the Khyber Pass to witness the coming of the host of heaven, before whom the infidel firinghi would not stand a chance. They would drive the invader from the land once and for all, and for centuries to come the mullahs would speak of how Sadullah the Anointed had prevailed and won his way to Paradise. He pressed his forehead to the ground and prayed with all the fervour of his soul.

As the first light of dawn showed above the peaks. General Blood gave the order to advance. The force assembled on Gretna Green immediately moved off down the graded road in fours formation, while the troops mobilised to attack the high ground set off under the command of Colonel Goldney. Three hundred men crept toward the sangars the Ghazis had erected upon the cliffs of Castle Rock. The sentries, who had been watching the assembled troops below, upon the green, were taken by surprise. The troops came within one hundred yards of their objective before they were spotted and the enemy opened fire.

Goldney ordered a charge. Spreading out and moving in from opposing flanks upon the sangars, the men scrambled up the rocks, firing at will and engaging the Ghazis at bayonet point. Surprised, and with no one to direct their movements, the Ghazis gave ground before the furious assault and the ridge was captured, completely without losses. Even as Sadullah was preparing to order his Ghazis into action, the first engagement of the battle was over and Castle Rock was captured.

Lucas and Andre watched with General Blood and his staff from the heights of Castle Rock as the British troops below pressed home the advantage of surprise. The infantry fixed bayonets and advanced into the Ghazi ranks. Without enemy fire from Castle Rock impeding their movements, they were able to deploy and press their way through. So quickly had Goldney’s men captured Castle Rock that the troops down below were already deployed and in position to force open the passage before the Ghazis knew that Castle Rock had fallen. By the time they realised what had happened, it was too late.

The assaulting troops charged into the Ghazi ranks. The Ghazis panicked and began to flee. As Sadullah watched in disbelief, his followers broke ranks and ran, scrambling from the rocks, where they were suddenly vulnerable to fire from the troops on Castle Rock. They took flight down the graded road to escape being trapped by their own numbers in the narrow pass.

"No!" Sadullah screamed uselessly. "Stand and fight! Stand and fight, you cowardly dogs!"

But his words were lost upon the wind.

"We’ve done it, General!’ said Hugo, standing beside Blood and watching the enemy in full flight. "We’ve broken through! We can post pickets in the pass and reinforce our position. Now we can-"

"No," said Blood. "I will not allow them to escape so they can join with the tribesmen at Chakdarra and warn them. We’ll finish this here and now. They’ll be on the plain once they have retreated through the pass. Fully exposed and on foot. Order forth the lancers. No prisoners. No survivors."

The signal was given and the four squadrons of cavalry charged. Delaney, leading the second squadron of Bengal Lancers, couched his lance and leaned forward slightly, bearing down upon the fleeing Ghazis before him. It was going to be a slaughter. The tribesmen still trapped in the pass were run down and trampled by the lancers as they thundered through. The cavalry formed a line upon the plain and charged the fleeing enemy. There was no escape. The Ghazis died in the rice fields, run through by the lances and hacked to death by sabres. Bodies fell everywhere as the lancers descended on the running Ghazis and butchered them.

"Christ," said Hugo, turning away from the carnage down below. "I’m sorry, General, but that’s more than I can stand too watch. I’ve seen enough of death."

Churchill was riveted by the spectacle. "They shall not forget this," he said. "It’s probably the first time any of them have seen what cavalry can do, given room to deploy their strength. Henceforth the very words Bengal Lancers shall strike terror into their hearts."

He turned away and walked toward Hugo. At that moment one lone Ghazi who had remained undiscovered, hidden behind the rocks of his crumbled sangar, rose to a kneeling position and brought his jezail to bear upon Hugo, whom he took to be the commander of the British forces. As he raised his rifle, Lucas spotted him.

"Hugo, look o u t!"

Instinctively, after so much time spent under enemy fire, Hugo reacted by throwing himself down flat upon the ground. In an instant, Lucas saw that Hugo’s combat-quick response had placed Churchill directly in the line of fire. In the white heat of adrenaline-charged clarity, he saw it all. He made a running dive for Churchill. The Ghazi fired. The. 50 calibre ball slammed into Lucas’s chest, ploughing through the thorax and tearing everything in its path. Andre fired the revolver Hugo had given her, shooting the Ghazi right between the eyes.

Churchill stood, shocked, staring at the limp body at his feet. Lucas Priest lay facedown upon the ground, blood draining from the gaping hole in his chest. "My God," he said.

He crouched down over the body and gently turned it over. The others gathered round.

"Doctor, can’t you do something"" Churchill said.

Hugo looked down and shook his head. "I’m sorry, son. There’s nothing to be done. He saved my life, and then he gave his to save yours. And all he came here for was to preach the word of God."

Andre got down on her knees and gently stroked Lucas’s forehead. "No," she said, softly, "he came here to do much more than that."

She looked at Churchill, kneeling opposite her. He looked up at her, stricken. She looked back down at the lifeless body of her friend. She reached out and touched his face. It was still warm. She trailed her fingers across his forehead and closed his eyes for the last time.

They stood silently over the grave. General Blood had read the words, and when they had all said "Amen," Churchill had added a heartfelt, "Rest in peace, Father. "

He won’t do that here, Finn thought. When this is over, Search and Retrieve will disinter the body and return it to the time where it belongs. And another name will be added to the Wall of Honour at Division Headquarters, with a posthumous commendation.

He could not believe it. He had. seen men die in com-bat throughout all of history, but he could not bring himself to accept that Lucas could be one of them. They had been through so much together, had faced death a hundred times and laughed about it later. There would be no laughing anymore. No more bouts of drinking Irish whiskey in the First Division lounge to wash away the taste of the last mission and celebrate having completed it successfully. No more brawling in the dives of San Diego and Ensenada, no more quiet nights spent with the old man in his private sanctum, sipping ancient wine as they talked about old missions.

The relief force was departing for Chakdarra. The job for them had only just begun. After the brief service, Blood had ordered Andre back to Peshawar, from there to depart for Simla, and preferably from Simla to England-which was home to her, so far as the general knew. He felt that the Father’s death was his responsibility, that he never should have allowed him to accompany the unit in the first place, that if it wasn’t for the fact that medical aid was sorely lacking, he would have been firm from the beginning. The frontier was no place for civilian non-combatants.

Finn was to head up a small detachment that would escort Andre back to safer territory and deliver dispatches to be sent on from Peshawar. Mulvaney, Learoyd, and Ortheris would be among those to accompany them, since they would have to ride and Blood didn’t feet that he could spare any of his lancers. The cavalry had proved to be of great value, and he needed all the experienced horsemen under his command. Sending back one officer-the one with the least experience on the frontier-and several foot soldiers who could ride after a fashion, was the wisest choice. It would still be a hazardous journey, but one small mounted unit could move quickly and stood a better chance of getting through. All the tribes in the vicinity were up in arms, and most of them could be expected to join the forces at Chakdarra. There was far less risk in taking the opposite direction.

"I should have taken that bullet," Churchill said. "I am a soldier whose duty is to die for queen and country if the need arises. He was a man of God who would not even carry a gun. "

He was about as far from being a man of God as a man could get, thought Finn. His duty was to die, as well, if the need arose. He had discharged it. His death was not for nothing.

"It’s over then," said Finn, when they had gone. "We’ve done what we’ve come back here to do. Or Lucas has. Churchill will live now and go on to become prime minister of Great Britain. Ironic, isn’t it" We came here to find a disruption to adjust, and it found us. "

"Something’s wrong," Andre said."If I could think straight, maybe I could figure out what the hell it is, but I can’t manage to do that now. All I know is that something’s wrong. It isn’t over yet. Maybe we should have remained with the field force."

"Not much chance of that, after Blood ordered us back," said Finn. -Besides, I don’t know what the hell we should have done or should be doing. I just don’t know anything anymore, and I don’t much care either."

— You didn’t remember Churchill before I told you about him, did you"" said Andre.

"What""

"Lucas was going to talk to you about that, but he never got the chance. When we first met Churchill, I didn’t remember him. I didn’t know anything about him. But Lucas remembered him."

"Lucas was always a history addict," Finn said. "He used to say that you never know when you might need information that would help you … stay alive," he finished lamely.

"Then you knew"" said Andre.

"Knew about what""

"About Churchill, " Andre said. "Thathe would become prime minister of Great Britain."

"Whatare you talking about"" said Finn, angry with her for thinking about Churchill when Lucas was dead. "To hell with Churchill. Churchill’s not an issue any longer. Whatever happened to begin the chain of events which led that Ghazi tribesman to kill Winston Churchill, whichever act interfered with history to bring that about, it’s been compensated for, Lucas did it. I wish it had been me, but I wasn’t even there. Damn it, I wasn’t even there!"

"Finn," said Andre, softly, "I didn’t know him as well as you did or as long, but I didn’t love him any less. He thought this was important. I didn’t know Churchill would become Prime Minister of Great Britain because there was nothing about him in the subknowledge of my implant education. There was nothing about him in the mission programming either. But Lucas knew. Lucas remembered. He didn’t know it from his subknowledge, and he didn’t know it from the mission programming. He just remembered. Do you understand""

Delaney simply stared at her.

"Finn, you had to have encountered Churchill before Lucas died. You must have seen him at the officer’s conference at least. Think, Finn, did you know who he was" Who he would be""

"Of course I knew," said Finn, frowning. "I even had a chance to talk with him for a while last night. Hell, I remember thinking that he was so serious for his age, that if he didn’t …"

"What""

A blank look came over Finn’s face.

"That doesn’t make any sense," he said. ‘How could I have thought … " His voice trailed off.

"You didn’t know him either, did you"" Andre said. "His name didn’t trigger any responses. It was the same with me. It was the same with Lucas, too, don’t you understand" Lucas remembered who Churchill was, but not because the information was contained in his subknowledge or in the mission programming. He remembered reading it. If Churchill was important enough to have been written about in history books, how could he have been left out of the implant education programs" How could there have been nothing about him in the mission programming if it was a known historical fact that he served in this campaign""

"You’re right," said Finn. "It wasn’t in my sub-knowledge, either. After you told me what Lucas said, I just assumed-Wait a minute. If a historical disruption somehow brought about Churchill’s death-if he actually caught that bullet-then that would have accounted for there being nothing about him in the implant education programs or in the mission programming, because he would never have survived to become prime minister of Great Britain. But then how could Lucas have read about him in history books" There must have been some sort of flaw in the mission programming."

"And in the implant education programs"" Andre said.

"I admit that sounds unlikely, but-"

‘Sahib Finn""

They turned around to see their native attendant, Gunga Din, approaching hesitantly.

"Yes, Din, what is it"" Finn said.

"Soldier sahibs say time to leave for Peshawar," said Din. "Mulvaney Sahib say must not waste daylight."

"He’s right," said Finn. "Have you made everything ready, Din""

"Everything ready," Din said. "Sahib Finn" Is permitted for this worthless one to pay respect Father Sahib""

"Of course it’s permitted, Din," said Finn.

Din approached the grave and stood over it for a moment, his lips moving as he silently said a prayer in his native tongue. When he was finished, he glanced at them with an embarrassed smile and thanked them profusely.

Finn knelt down over the grave and placed his hand upon the mound of earth. -Good-bye, old friend," he said.

They turned and walked away. Din, too, felt the loss. Perhaps he did not feel it so profoundly as did Finn and Andre, but he was overcome with emotion at the death of the one man who had ever treated him as something more than what he was-an untouchable. As they walked back down toward the green, Din glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the "Father Sahib’s" grave. He squinted, blinked, then shook his head. He thought he had seen something, but there was nothing there now.

For a moment, just the barest fraction of a second, as he looked back up toward the knoll where the cemetery was located, Din thought he saw someone standing over the grave. Perhaps, thought Din, it was only his imagination. Or perhaps it was a portent. He shut his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Shiva. He thought he had seen a tall, dark figure, wearing a long robe that billowed in the wind.

Sayyid Akbar stood high upon a precipice overlooking the Khyber Pass. Beyond, stretching as far as the eye could see, was the tortured landscape of the Himalayas, like giant rocky waves frozen into immobility. Below, at the bottom of the gorge, was a narrow, twisting trail, walled by sheer cliffs and broken by huge boulders. One small step forward would take him to oblivion, an oblivion he sometimes longed for. He had lived for a long time. The pathetic madman named Sadullah believed him to be a god, an incarnation of the Prophet or some minor deity of his absurd religion, but who knew" Who knew what twisted thoughts that passed for cogitation flashed through that demented mind" There was no need to understand him, so long as Sadullah could be used. And he was used so easily. As I am being used, thought Nikolai Drakov, whom Sadullah knew as Sayyid Akbar.

In a few months it would be his birthday. He would be ninety-three. He looked thirty-seven. His body was in peak physical condition, and his youthful face was marred only by the knife scar that ran from below his left eye to just above the corner of his mouth. In his costume as Sayyid Akbar, he looked like a dashing bandit chieftain, but he felt old. Emotionally drained. They had done that to him. Drained him. Leeched from him everything he knew. And now he could not exist without them.

As the sun rose above the peaks, thinning the mist, he looked down into the velvet-shrouded gorge, toward a narrow section of the pass hemmed in by two protruding rock formations. Like the Pillars of Hercules, he thought. The pillars that guard the gates. Three shapes stepped out of the undulating mist, walking out of one world into another. They looked up at him. He raised his arm to signal them.

The three figures rapidly ascended toward him from the bottom of the gorge, rising up until they were level with him and continuing on over his head to land behind him. He turned around as they shut off their jet-paks.

"Give us your report," said one of them.

— Everything proceeds according to plan," said Drakov. "The British are heavily engaged in the Malakand and at Chakdarra. Sadullah is working the tribesmen up into a frenzy about the coming Night of the Long Knives. He’ll lose the battle at the Malakand fort, and undoubtedly the British will beat him at Chakdarra, but that makes little difference. The British Raj is convinced the uprising is confined to that area and that all the tribes have flocked to join Sadullah, so they haven’t realised that I’ve rallied the remaining tribes to my side here. The garrisons in the Khyber Pass have been deserted, and even Colonel Warburton’s Khyber Rifles have gone over to me, convinced I am the Light of Islam. Warburton has been transferred back to Lahore. He’s retiring and going back to England. Without him to lead the Khyber Rifles, it was a simple matter to get them to join the jehad. That’s something it will take the British years to understand, that it isn’t the Empire the natives give their allegiance to, but individuals. As Oscar Wilde said, it is personalities and not principles that move the age. Meanwhile, I have finally succeeded in recruiting the last remaining independent warlord in the region. A local chieftain named Sharif Khan. The pass is now completely under my control. I have well over 10,000 men in my lashkar, more than enough to overrun Landi Kotal and destroy all the remaining forts in our path. Your way is clear."

"We’ll have to move quickly, — one of the three said. "There’sno telling how long this confluence will remain stable. There’s no margin for error, Drakov."

"There will be none, at least not on my part," said Drakov. "Just see to it that you live up to your part of our agreement. "

"You have no need for concern," said another of the three. "Considering what is at stake, it’s a miniscule price to pay. And it gives all of us what we want. What we require. Your life is at stake as well as ours. The most important thing is that the British are kept ignorant of your strength in this area. They must not send more troops until we can mobilize."

"Theywon’t," said Drakov. "Since the action at the Malakand Pass began, I’ve been intercepting all of their communications. The telegraph wires are all down and the only dispatches which get through are the ones I wish to get through. They still think they’re dealing with a small uprising. By the time they realize that every tribesman in the Hindu Kush is up in arms, it will be far too late."

"Good. It’s imperative that you control the pass. The sooner we can move, the better. We’ll see you again when we’re ready to cross over."

They switched on their jet-paks and descended into the gorge, arcing down toward the two pillars. Drakov watched them until they were swallowed by the mist. If any wandering tribesmen had been watching, Drakov thought, the legend of Sayyid Akbar had just grown greater. They would speak of how the Holy One communed with spirits, and they would anxiously await the moment when the host of heaven arrived. And they will arrive soon, thought Drakov. But not from heaven.