“Oh, bless you, Holy One! Truly, you are the most charitable and forgiving of—”
“Charitable?” said Drakov. “Forgiving? Let me show you how forgiving I am.”
He beckoned Sadullah forward. The mullah followed him to one of the towers of the house, the entrance to which was barred by a heavy door. Drakov unlocked it. “In here,” he said, “you will see the price of failure.”
He swept his arm out to indicate that Sadullah should ascend the stairs. Fearfully the mullah went through the door and slowly climbed the stairs. Drakov waited down below. He did not have long to wait. Moments later, a shrill throat-rending scream came from the tower.
Sadullah had climbed to the top of the tower, where he saw himself. Knowing nothing of Zen physics, he did not understand that he, who had been brought from the alternate timeline where he had already lost his holy war, now confronted his own twin in this timeline, whose place he had taken. He only saw himself, staked out naked on the floor, dying the Death of a Thousand Cuts.
The man Sadullah saw was beyond reason. He had been kept alive for weeks, given only bread and water to sustain him while slowly, over a period of time, Drakov’s guards had made hundreds of small incisions in his skin, pushing in the thorns while the wounds were still raw and bleeding.
Those wounds now festered with infection. The gangrenous skin was turning mottled green and black. Flies covered the filthy, scrofulous body, which despite it all was still alive. Lice crawled in the long, matted white hair. The eyes, protruding from their hollowed sockets, stared blankly at the ceiling, seeing nothing. Bilious spittle ran out of the corners of the mouth and maggots writhed in the infected wounds.
The screams from the top of the tower continued unabated. Drakov smiled. After seeing that, the mullah would risk anything, even death in battle, to avoid that fate. Sadullah would not fail now.
“What an extraordinary adventure!” Churchill said. “Attacked by Ghazis, escaping, and then traveling all alone through miles of hostile territory to find safe haven with the regiment. Incredible. I will be sure to mention it in my dispatches. What a sterling example of indomitable English spirit!”
“If it’s all the same with you, Winston, I’d rather you not mention it at all,” said Andre. “A story such as that would only result in notoriety when I returned to England. I really have no wish to be deluged by requests to lecture upon my ‘harrowing adventures in Afghanistan.’ Nor would I wish to be known as an adventuress. I would much prefer to enjoy my privacy.”
Churchill nodded. “Yes, well, certainly, since you put it that way, I quite understand. I will accede to your wishes. There is no lack of things to write about. We have had ourselves quite a time since we departed the Malakand fort. I said earlier that you had found safe haven here, but I must admit I do not quite know how safe it is. We have had reports the camp will be attacked tonight.”
“Tonight?” said Finn. “Where did this intelligence come from?”
“The khan of Nawagai has informed us so. He states that he has ‘definite information’ that a determined assault will take place tonight. I shouldn’t be surprised. He will play both ends against the middle until he sees how it all comes out, whereupon he will give his allegiance to the victor. The politics of expediency seem to be a way of life with the tribes on the frontier. Friends one day, enemies the next, one battle decides the outcome and then the next is approached afresh.” He chuckled. “Much like the House of Commons, in a way.”
“How does General Blood plan to deal with this threatened attack?” said Andre.
Churchill shrugged. “There are no alternatives except to make a stand. Retreat in such uncertain political circumstances would be unthinkable. We must hold our position until General Elles arrives. The pass must be kept open, the khan ‘expediently’ loyal. And the Hadda Mullah’s Ghazis must not, under any circumstances, be permitted to join with the tribesmen of the Mamund. Therefore we are entrenched, a bold course, but soundly conceived. Our position is commanded by the surrounding heights, but unlike the Malakand, in this case the range is long. If an attack is launched, orders are to strike our tents, and all those not employed in the trenches must lie down, thereby reducing the risk of casualties. If they attack in force, we stand and fight.”
“We expected an attack last night, but only a half-hearted attempt was made, one easily repulsed. We lost one man. Prior to that there had been some skirmishing. The squadron lost one horse when Ghazis opened fire on us from a nullah, and that night one fool who strayed some fifty yards from his picket was killed by tribesmen lurking in the dark. It’s astonishing that you were able to get through. The enemy is always out there, creeping close at night and sniping or trying to kill the pickets. Everyone’s nerves are a bit on edge. You were fortunate. If you had come just one half hour later, you would most certainly have encountered savages taking advantage of the dark to get in close. They’re building up to it, that much is certain. Tonight may well be the night. I’m looking forward to it.”
“I don’t think I am,” Andre said.
“Never fear, Miss Cross. I shall keep close to you. You have had quite an ordeal, but it shall be over soon. Once the pass is forced, we will have broken their resistance. After that it will only be a matter of destroying the fortified villages and bringing them to complete submission.”
“I hope you’re right,” said Andre.
Shots cracked out in the night. Churchill paused to listen. “More sniping?” he said.”Or could this be the push?”
Further shots followed rapidly, and the answer came when the order to strike the tents was passed. The men took to the trenches while others lay flat on the ground, protected by the entrenchment walls, but there was still danger from the dropping bullets. The soldiers conserved their fire. There was nothing to shoot at, no definite targets in the darkness. No one walked unless it was absolutely imperative, and even then they did so at great risk.
“Somewhat ignoble way to spend the evening, don’t you think?” said Churchill, keeping his head low to the ground.
“I was tired anyway,” said Finn. “I needed to lie down.”
Churchill’s chuckle was lost in the screaming of the Ghazis who suddenly came charging out of the darkness on all sides of the camp. Volley after volley was poured into them and still they came, waving their swords, charging r
ight into the bayonets of the troops. The new magazine rifles, coupled with the lethal dumdum bullets, took their toll as Ghazis fell by the dozens. There was no panic. The soldiers maintained disciplined fire in the face of a frightening onslaught, and the big guns fired star shells to illuminate the field in a pale, surreal light.
For those lying on the ground, well behind the trenches, there was nothing to do but remain flat and hope a stray bullet would not find them. Only Finn and Andre had a great deal more occupying their attention. They had to keep constantly on the alert for anyone approaching. The first charge was stopped and whistles blew, signaling an end to independent firing. Volley fire was the order now, until another charge threatened to break through.
It was not long in coming. Screaming at the tops of their lungs, the Ghazis came once more, swarming like army ants out of the darkness. Again the devastating fire was resumed. Ghazis charged up to within several yards of the big guns, only to be blown in half when they discharged. The scene in the trenches was a bizarre juxtaposition of men firing while others next to them engaged Ghazis at bayonet point.
Finn and Andre could spare no time to worry about Ghazis. They were watching their own troops, craning their necks all around to see if anyone in a British uniform was moving closer. And then the mortar fire started. The first shell exploded some thirty yards to the left of the camp, taking out more than a dozen Ghazis as it burst. The second one came moments later, striking just in front of the trenches.
Finn leaped on top of Churchill and kept him pinned beneath his weight as bullets whipped past them.
“We’ve got to find the bastards before they zero in!” yelled Finn. At that moment a bullet struck him in the arm. “I’m hit!”