Free Bayonets Along the Border by John Wilcox Page B

dead.’
    ‘Blimey!’ Jenkins wiped his mouth and moustache with the back of his hand, spreading the smudge of cordite across his cheek. ‘I thought they’d never stop comin’. They’ve got guts, I’ll give ’em that.’
    Fonthill slumped down, his back to the barricade. ‘They think that if we kill ’em, they’ll go straight to Paradise.’ He grunted. ‘The pearly gates are going to be a bit crowded by the time this night is over.’ He looked up. ‘You all right, 352?’
    ‘Just about, thank you. ’Ow long will they keep chargin’, d’yer think?’
    ‘Well, there are certainly enough of them out there to keep attacking all through this night and then the next. How’s your thigh?’
    ‘Ah, stopped bleedin’ ages ago. It was just a scratch.’
    ‘Good, but you will have lost a bit of blood, at least. Close your eyes for a minute. I’ll keep watch.’
    ‘Thank you, bach sir. Best keep lookin’. They come out of the darkness so quick, bless you, that they’re ’ere before you’d know it, see.’
    Further down the line, the
abattis
had been breached after intensive hand-to-hand fighting and a handful of Pathans had broken through. The small reserve that Meiklejohn had stationed in the middle of the Crater, however, rushed forward and the intruders were killed within seconds, after which anxious hands restored the barrier.
    The respite after the first charge lasted only long enough for the tribesmen to clear away their dead and wounded, before more beating of drums announced a fresh wave of attacks. Once again, the Pathansrushed forward in a maniacal desire to get to close quarters where their swords and knives could take effect. And once again, the crashing volleys brought them down in untidy lines, like piles of seaweed left high on a beach to mark the highest of the tide.
    So it went on through the night until dawn brought succour to the exhausted defenders. Immediately, the officers began checking the casualties.
    Fonthill wandered over to where Meiklejohn and Fortescue were crouched, sipping from tin mugs of coffee.
    ‘Thank you, Fonthill,’ said the former, raising his mug. ‘I watched you. You and your chap have done sterling work through the night. Sorry we can’t put you in charge somewhere but, to be honest, your sharp shooting with those Lee-Metfords are more valuable to us than having you charging around waving a sword.’
    ‘Of course he’s useful,’ grunted Fortescue. ‘He’s a Guide – even if only an honorary one.’
    ‘Have some coffee, my dear chap,’ offered Meiklejohn, ‘you’ve earned it.’
    ‘Ah, thank you, Colonel.’ Simon accepted the mug. ‘It seemed touch and go through the night. Tell me, have we suffered many casualties?’
    Meiklejohn extracted a scrap of paper from his pocket and consulted it. ‘Bad enough. Forty-two casualties in all. Not as bad as the night before, though. We lost three officers killed then and three wounded. Of the men, there were twenty-one killed and thirty-one wounded. If these losses continue we shall be in trouble. One good thing, though – just before daybreak I was able to get parties out on both sides of the Crater with bayonets and screw guns to clear the foothills. They had trouble at first but we managed to beat back the devils near to us, sothe sniping during the day should be less dangerous.
    ‘Now.’ He threw away the dregs of his coffee. ‘You must excuse me. There is much to do.’
    Indeed there was. As before, there were no direct attacks during the day and the sorties just before dawn had cleared the close foothills of snipers, although spasmodic firing continued through the day at long range. The tired defenders were put to work repairing the defences. Trees were cut down to thicken up the
abattis
, the breastworks were strengthened and the barbed wire entanglements renewed. The wounded were tended and then, when the perimeter was judged to be suitably improved, the men were marked off in sections to gain sleep