Khyber Connection

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 acccompany 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 full-scale frontier war, Father," General Blood said. " I have just received a telegram from the adjutantgeneral 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, fastflowing 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 well-nigh 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. "Well-spoken, 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 barrack-room ballad made popular by Kipling.

"I went into a public-ouse to get apint o’beer,

The publican ‘e up an’sez, ‘We serve no red-coats here. ‘

The girls Wind 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 A tkins’ 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’syersoul"’

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.

"Wearen’t no thin red ‘eroes, nor we aren’t no blackguards too.

But single men in barricks, most remarkable like you;

A n’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 Wind’,

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 stops, 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 thank-yous 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."

"Is that all he has to wear"" said Lucas.

"It’s all "e" s got, period," said Mulvaney. "Not "ardly equipped for a march to Chitral, ‘e ain’t. "

"Well, we shall have to do something about that," said Lucas. "We’ll have to send him to the quartermaster to get properly equipped and to get some decent clothing."

Din’s face lit up. "Uniform, Father Sahib" Din be good soldier with uniform!"

"Soldier"" said Mulvaney, while Din shrank back from him.

"Why not"" said Lucas.

"Why not, indeed"" said Ortheris. "Just send ‘im over to the quartermaster and tell ‘im to ask for a full kit and a suit of khakis. The quartermaster, kind soul that ‘e is, will comply without a moment’s ‘esitation." The men laughed.

Din’s face took on a crestfallen expression as he saw his hopes of obtaining a khaki uniform fade as quickly as they had arisen.

"Well, now, surely if the quartermaster knew it was for me," said Lucas, "he’d do it. After all, we can’t very well have Miss Cross being attended by a half naked man."

"Right," Delaney said. "Ortheris, since you pointed out the problem, perhaps you’d be so good as to accompany Din to see the quartermaster""

"Per’aps I will," said Ortheris, "after I’ve done with this whiskey."

"Now, Ortheris," said Delaney.

Ortheris scowled. "I knew it was too good to last," he said. "Sooner or later an officer’s bound to start actin’ like an officer. Come on then, Din. We’ll go an’ get you your soldier suit."

He left with the joyful Gunga Din in tow. Learoyd smiled. "I’d say you made yourself a friend for life there, Father."

"From what I hear about where we’re going, I’d say I could use all the friends I can get," said Lucas. "Tell me, Private Mulvaney-"

"Just plain ol’ Mulvaney, Father. Everyone calls me that. "

"All right, Mulvaney. What can you tell me about what’s happening at Chakdarra" "

"Bloody fair mess is what’s ‘appenin’, if you ask me. Some damn fool sod in Simla, sittin’ on his bleedin’-"

"Mulvaney!" said Learoyd. "Perhaps it would be better if I were to explain. Mind you now, Father, I’m not privy to what’s told to the command staff, but scuttlebutt is generally pretty reliable in this outfit. Chitral is some hundred fifty miles north of here and about four miles or so straight up. Now, because it looks so nice and well situated on a map, someone went and decided that the Sirkar ought to take an interest in it, as it were, and so a political agent was ensconced there. ‘Round about five years ago or so, the local high muckamuck there, a sort of king called the Mehtar of Chitral, Aman-ul-Mulk, by name, up and died. The problem was, Aman left about a score of sons and not much in the way of a proper line of succession. Several of them killed each other off while tryin’ to take the throne, and it looked as though things would eventually even out all by themselves, until Urnra Khan stepped into the picture. "

"Who’s Urnra Khan"" said Andre.

"A bloody Pathan warlord," said Mulvaney.

"The Khan of Jandul," Learoyd said. "Also known amongst us all by several somewhat less exalted appellations. Actually, the whole thing was more or less our fault, in a way. If we’d kept ourselves well out of it, our boys wouldn’t now be in such a stew up there. Unfortunately the Forward Policy has its own curious sort of momentum. Arnan was always friendly to the Sirkar, and Simla had no trouble with him. In return for arms and ammunition, as well as six thousand rupees a year, he became our ally. We posted an agent to Gilgit and that was that. Then Aman decided that he wanted more, so the annual payment was doubled. There was no further trouble till Aman died. One of his sons, Aftal, happened to be in a position to seize the reins of power. He immediately started killing off his brothers, but the litter was quite sizable. He couldn’t get them all at once.

"Anyway," Learoyd continued, "Afzal claimed the title of Mehtar and asked for recognition from Simla. The bloody fools gave it to him, figurin’, I suppose, to be Johnny-on-the-spot with the new man. Never mind he murdered several of his brothers and had the rest seeking sanctuary with the neighbouring chiefs. Now the eldest brother, Nizam, appealed to Simla for help. Of course, our people could hardly give it to him, having already recognised his little brother. Shortly thereafter, Afzul, not to be confused with Afzal, returned to Chitral. This was Sher Afzul, the new Mehtar’s uncle. He promptly killed his nephew Afzal as well as yet another brother in the bargain. Exit Aftal, the late Mehtar, enter Afzul, the new Mehtar. Bit of a Chinese fire drill, but it grows more absurd. Having recognised the late Mchtar, it appeared bad form for the boys at Simia to recognise his murderer, so they gave Nizam 25 °Cashmere rifles, which in turn encouraged a sizeable number of the local tribesmen to join up as well. Nizam marches on his uncle, who sends over a thousand men to stop him. Said thousand men immediately desert to Nizam’s side. Uncle Mehtar, fearful for his life, and rightfully so, performs a rather graceless abdication and beats a hasty retreat.

"You follow all this so far"" Learoyd said, smirking. "We now have Mehtar Number Three, good ol’ Nizam the Nephew. He, however, proves so inept at Mehtarin’ that in order to help keep the peace, it’s decided to send Captain Young husband and a full battalion to reinforce the garrison at Cilgit. Ready trumpet fanfare … enter Urnra Khan, the aforementioned Pathan warlord. Turns out that yet another son-of-Aman-or son of something else not a man at all, if you get my meanin’-young chap named Amir, had taken refuge with the Khan of Jandul. Said son appears in Chitral, properly respectful of his brother the Mchtar, and claims to have escaped from Umra Khan, who had not used him kindly. Since brother Amir appears so properly respectful, brother Nizam the Mehtar makes him welcome, upon which Amir murders Nizam in a properly respectful manner. Where are we now, Mchtar Number Four or thereabouts" No matter, we’re still keepin’ it all in the family.

"Now the agent and the soldiers in Chitral have no idea what to do. Recognise yet another new Mehtar" Might be too hasty. After all, there’re still a few other sons runnin’ about here and there, no tellin’ the rate of turnover in this job. So word goes out to Simia-would someone mind very much tellin’ us what to do about this situation, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble"

"Meanwhile, Umra Khan the Aforementioned, who, as it turned out, hadn’t used Amir badly at all-Amir’s the current aspirant to longevity at Mehtarin’, you’ll recall-said Urnra Khan begins to march with a large force upon Chitral. Just to lend a hand, you understand. Amir, in his new precarious position, is somewhat leery of said hand and so he sends out a force to meet the khan’s. The khan prevails after a bit of a dustup, exit Amir. Now Urnra Khan, havin’ no great desire to Mehtar himself, invites Sher Afzul-that’s the uncle who was Number Two Mehtar-or was it Number Three" No matter. Anyway, Number Two now becomes Number Four. Or is it Five" Whatever. And just in case we didn’t like it, Umra Khan and Sher Afzul announce that they will fight if we oppose them. Now one knows that isn’t the sort of thing one says to an Englishman, much less a garrison full of Englishmen who are already confused about this comedy of errors. So of course the garrison opposed them, with the result being that the 14th Sikhs were massacred and their officers taken prisoner. Fort Chitral, miles away from nowhere, finds itself besieged.

"Outnumbered by fifty to one, Surgeon-Major Robertson finds himself havin’ to defend the fort with about three hundred rounds per man and not much in the way of supplies. One massed attack follows another. The fort is fired on repeatedly, yet somehow Robertson holds on and keeps the fort from burnin’ to the ground. He holds on long enough for Sir Robert Low to arrive with three brigades and Colonel Kelly with one. Both commanders had to fight for every inch of ground along the way. They save Robertson, put Umra Khan to flight, and breathe a mighty sigh of relief, thinkin’ its all over. And just to be on the safe side, so they don’t have to fight for every inch of ground goin’ back, it’s decided to establish a garrison in the Malakand Pass to keep the road open * ‘ Now we come at last to a gentlemen who calls himself Sadullah, referred to hereabouts as the Mad Mullah. Rather like that Mahdi chap General ‘Chinese’ Gordon ran afoul of in Khartoum. Am I losin’ you""

" No, go on, " said Andre. " This is fascinating.

Learoyd grinned. "You’ll find it less so, miss, I promise you. While all this was goin’ on, our supposed ally in Kabul, the Emir Abdur Rahman, called a sort of council of the local holy men in all these parts, to study the Koran or some such. While he’s being a genial chap to all the lads in Simla, the emir tells all the holy men about how General Gordon got his head up on a pike down in Khartoum and how we’re havin’ other minor troubles here and there, and he tells them that the Prophet has decreed the time has come for the infidel firinghi, and so on and so forth. Thus, havin’ attended Sunday school, the holy men go forth to spread the word. And our friend Sadullah spreads it finer than any man I know. Next thing the boys up in the Malakand know, they’ve got themselves a bloody jehad upon their heads.

"Accordin’ to the latest communication, they were havin’ themselves a go at a few chukkers of polo when about 10,000 Ghazis came screamin’ down their throats. They’re hangin’ on up there, holdin’ off against a hundred to one odds, and praying’ like Hell, if you’ll excuse the expression, Father, that we’ll get there in time to save them all from bein’ butchered. The Guides have already left, the lancers leave tonight, and us Tommys, bein’ the least mobile, leave first thing in the mornin’. "

He turned to Delaney. "You’ll be good enough to clear the way for us, I’m sure, sir. We’ll do what we can on our part. After all, we’ll have the Father with us. You watch, he’ll get there and convert them all to Christianity and they’ll throw down all their weapons and join us in a chorus of ‘Bringin’ in the Sheaves.’ "

"An’ I couldn’t ‘ave told it better meself," Mulvaney said, " ‘ceptin’ I wouldn’t ‘ave taken so bloody long a time about it." He pushed back his chair and got up from the table. "Gentlemen, and lady, you’ll excuse me, I am sure, but I’ve to go an’ see about me kit." He tossed Delaney a half drunken salute and shambled off.

"Take my advice, Father," said Learoyd. "Go home. "

"I’m afraid I cannot, Private Learoyd," said Lucas.

Learoyd rose. "Well, then, much as it may go against your Christian conscience, you may find it more useful to lay aside your Bible for a time and do your convertin’ with a rifle. Good night to you."

Lucas looked across the table at Finn and Andre, his mouth set in a grim expression. "Who was the idiot who decided this would be a good scenario for temporal confrontations" "

Andre shook her head. "I didn’t hear anything in what he said that contradicted history. If there are any anomalies present, if there’s any interference, it hasn’t affected the scenario yet."

"That we know of," said Finn. "I’d keep an eye on Learoyd if I were you, Lucas. Despite the occasional lapse into slang, it strikes me that his conversation is way too educated for a mere army private. And scuttlebutt or no, he’s a lot more well informed than the average soldier."

"That had occurred to me," said Lucas. "I think I’ll stick close to all three of them."

Outside, a bugle sounded, and Finn stood up. "That’s first call for assembly," he said. "My unit’s getting ready to move out."

Andre reached out and took his arm. "Be careful, Finn. "

‘, I will."

"Don’t take any chances out there," Lucas said. "If it starts to look bad, use your warp disc and get the hell out. If we don’t rendezvous at Chakdarra, we’ll meet here, at that same shop in the bazaar."

"Right," said Finn.

"Good luck."

"You too. Stay close to Blood, if you can. He seems to be the most important figure in this scenario."

"Got it."

Assembly blew.

"Got to go," said Finn. "I’ll meet you in Chakdarra. "

Outside, there were the sounds of horses and pack animals massing as the 11th Bengal Lancers prepared to ride out to the relief of Chakdarra.

"I wish we were going with him," Andre said.

"So do l," said Lucas, "but this improves our chances. If anything gets out of whack up ahead, Finn can scout the situation and clock back to let us know. Besides, he’s right. We’ve got to protect the important figures in this scenario. And Blood’s the most important one on hand right now."

The door burst open with a slam. Standing in the entrance was a dashing young blond officer in the uniform of a subaltern in the 4th Hussars. He saw Lucas and Andre and politely removed his shako.

"Excuse me, Father, madam. I wonder if you could tell me where I might find General Sir Bindon Blood" I’ve just arrived to join the march. My name is Winston Churchill. "