“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.”
Chapter 6
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, O 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 fo
rt. 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 completely 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.