‘That I ‘ave, sir. Twelve years. An’ I can speak the
bat
.’
Warren smiled. ‘That will help. Our machine gun rissaldar, Ram Lall, has no English. Krishna, I want all the guns in position on the left of our line here. Do some ranging, but only one gun at a time.’
Sergeant Durand said, ‘Jerry won’t guess what’s up, sir. We would fire a burst now and then all day, when we was in the line ‘ere, to show the Jerries we was awake, and make ‘em keep their ‘eads down.’
He tapped his rifle sling in salute and went off. Warren said, ‘We’re going to rely a lot on you and those machine guns tomorrow, Krishna. Not in the attack so much, but if the Germans counterattack.’
‘
When
they do, sir,’ Krishna said. ‘I understand that they always do.’
Now was the time, Warren thought, to settle the other business. He said, ‘I’d like to have your opinion on what is the best course to follow about Sher Singh. You understand that the responsibility is entirely mine,’ he added quickly, in case the prince should imagine he was trying to shirk his duty.
Krishna Ram said evenly, ‘Of course, sir ... The trouble is that what he and Sowar Janak were doing is not a crime in our State.’
‘But it’s ... disgraceful, unnatural! ‘
‘
I
think so, sir,’ Krishna said, ‘because I was taught so by Mr. Fleming and by what I have read in English ... Though Mr. Fleming did say once that many people much admired in history were sodomites, such as King Richard the Lion Heart and ...’
‘Nonsense!’ Warren exclaimed.
‘Perhaps, sir ... but although you and I think it is disgusting, I am afraid that my grandfather does not. Nor does Major Bholanath. Nor the sowars. Not many of them are sodomites, but it is hard to tell because, as I say, it has not been a crime. If no one complains, no one bothers.’
‘That’s all very well in Basohli,’ Warren snapped, ‘but when you offered the regiment to the King-Emperor it was embodied into the Indian Army and subjected to the Indian Army Act and the Indian Penal Code.’
Krishna Ram said, ‘Yes, sir.’
Warren looked at him. What was he thinking? Did he want the whole thing hushed up for the sake of the State? For the sake of the regiment even, for surely there would be snickering in the rest of the brigade if it came out? Could it be that he was a bit like that himself? He had certainly gone out of his way to avoid the ladies in England ... but that was because they were white, and English.
He said, ‘What would happen if this had occurred in Ravi State?’
Krishna Ram said, ‘If there had been no complaint--nothing. If the CO thought it was bad for any reason, he could dismiss the officer, or the sowar, or both. There is no code of military law in Ravi, sir. An officer can do what he likes. He can award any punishment he wishes, except death, without trial. But if what he has done does not please the Rajah in durbar, he himself can be similarly punished ... except, of course, that the Rajah can order execution.’
Warren thought, it is completely feudal. An officer of the Indian Army had great power compared to one in the British service; but it was nothing compared to this. He said, ‘So, as I am the CO, and I don’t think it is right, I can punish both of them in any way I think fit?’
‘In Ravi, yes,’ Krishna Ram said. ‘Here ... I think Captain Sher Singh is the sort of man who might demand to be tried by court-martial, because he knows that he now has that right.’
‘Well, what would you do?’ Warren asked, exasperated.
‘I think I would order the holding of a
panchayat
, sir,’ Krishna Ram said. ‘It is our way of settling such matters.’
‘But it has no powers,’ Warren said.
‘No, sir. But you have the power to accept the
panchayat’s
recommendation ... I would suggest a
panchayat
of three officers, the rissaldar-major, and the Brahmin.’
‘Do you realize what will happen to me if the general gets to hear of this, and that I put it in the hands of a
panchayat
?’ Warren said.
Krishna Ram said, ‘Yes, sir. But in this case I think it’s the best solution.’
Warren said, ‘I’ll think about it. Meantime, continue Sher Singh’s arrest until an hour before zero hour. Then send him to his squadron. I’m damned if I’m going to have him escape the attack by being a sodomite.’
He acknowledged Krishna Ram’s salute and strode off down the communication trench. A
panchayat
for a military crime ... committing a civil offence, that is to say, sodomy: conduct unbecoming an officer and a gentleman ... they didn’t seem to think so ... God, he must get Sher Singh out of his mind, at least until the attack was over. The men looked strange in the trench, for they were still wearing cavalry breeches and downward-rolled puttees. You felt that they were only here on a visit, had left their lances round the corner, because tomorrow they’d be on horseback again. Well, perhaps they would. This trench warfare, a grappling of moles in ever deeper mud, could not go on forever. It was only a matter of gritting the teeth, facing the casualties, and breaking through this belt of trench and barbed wire and dugout and pillbox into the open fields and low hills of Artois gleaming white under snow there.
‘Sab thik hai, jawan?’
he asked a crouching sowar.
The man leaped to his feet.
‘Jee-han, huzoor.’
‘Ration ab thik hai?’
‘Jee-han, huzoor. Bahut achcha!’
He walked on, speaking to one man in four. They all looked cold and seemed to have shrunk, as though trying to make themselves small and warm inside the short cavalry greatcoats. But they were fit enough, and there had been a hot meal this morning and another was ready in the hay boxes. In his pocket he had a letter from Joan; she wished the two sides would come to their senses and end the war before Christmas. By God, he wished it himself sometimes, but only with victory. Over by Christmas, they’d thought once. Here it was December 23 and no sign of a break. Well, tomorrow might alter that. By God, tomorrow would alter that. His jaw set. Tomorrow the sowars would learn what real war was like. They’d defeat the Germans too, or he’d know the reason why ...
An hour before dawn the stars, which had been dimly visible all night, slid behind low clouds and the wind dropped. Warren stood with his adjutant in the middle of the front line trench where C and A Squadrons joined. The men had already fixed bayonets, and a heavy silence pervaded the trenches.
‘Zero minus eleven,’ Lieutenant Dayal Ram murmured. Warren put his eyes to the periscope and waited. Soon he heard the crack and rumble of artillery from far behind and simultaneously shells began to shriek overhead, to burst in thunder along the dimly darker line of the German trench and wire, barely two hundred and fifty yards away.
‘On target!’ the gunner subaltern cried, and Warren said, ‘I should hope so.’
Heavy guns, medium, and field guns were all firing, howitzer shells whined down in lazy arcs, shells from 60-and 18-pounder guns cracked low overhead. The shell bursts laid a glaring curtain of orange and yellow flame all along the German front. The Lahore Brigade made their final preparations to go over the top, the Oxford Fusiliers and the Ravi Lancers in the lead.
‘Zero minus seven,’ Dayal Ram said.
Warren wondered why he did not feel more afraid. A few bursts of machine gun fire clattered overhead, as though the Germans were sweeping the ground in case the attack had already started. It would be unpleasant when the time came to get up there. But all he could think of was Joan ... Sher Singh ... Krishna Ram ...
‘Zero minus two, sir.’
Warren knocked out his pipe against the heel of his boot, and looked right and left along the trench.
‘Zero! ‘
Whisdes blew, and the men, already on the firestep, clambered up and out. The light was a faint greenish tinge on the snow to the right, an infinitesimal warming of the darkness to the left. Warren climbed up on to the firestep and watched the dim figures walk away towards the enemy. He looked round, searching for the commanders of the two reserve companies--’Himat Singh? Sher Singh?’
‘Here, sir.’
‘I just wanted to make sure you were here. Are your men on the way?’
‘Moving up, sir. They’ll be here in three minutes.’
Warren nodded, and put his binoculars to his eyes. Now he could just make out the ruined houses on Hill 73 and the shattered stumps of Lestelle Wood, but not Wrecked Gun, for that was in the denser darkness of a hollow.
‘Zero plus five, sir.’
The guns didn’t sound any different and Warren shouted, ‘The barrage is supposed to have lifted!’
‘It has, sir,’ Lieutenant de Marquez said. ‘It just sounds the same. It only lifted two hundred yards, you know.’
Warren watched anxiously. The leading squadron commanders were supposed to send back gallopers with reports of progress as soon as they reached the enemy trench; and fire two green Very lights into the air, as a success signal. His own machine guns were firing from the flank, and he thought he heard the sound of bursting grenades and the intermittent crack and rattle of rifle fire from ahead. The light was strengthening by jerks and starts. Two green lights towered into the pale sky from Hill 73.
‘A Squadron’s there! ‘ Dayal Ram cried triumphantly.
Two greens arched up from Lestelle Wood. ‘And Bholanath!
Shahbash, shahbash!
’ Dayal Ram cried.
‘RHQ advance! ‘ Warren shouted. ‘And you just hold this trench tight, Himat Singh. D’s under your command. Don’t move unless you get a direct order from me. And watch the flanks.’
‘Yes, sir.’ The red and blue ribbon of the DSO was a little bar of colour on Himat Singh’s breast and his voice was steady. ‘Good luck, sir.’
Warren stepped out across No Man’s Land, Shikari at his heels, followed by his orderly and trumpeter, the adjutant, Flaherty the signals officer, Mahadeo Singh the officer-galloper and three sowar-gallopers, as they were still called, though they all had to do their message carrying on their own feet now. Warren glanced back and saw a pale face in the trench. He was the intelligence officer. He stopped and called, ‘Come along, Pahlwan!’
‘Oh, s-s--sir ...’ the lieutenant stuttered.
Warren saw that the man was in a blue funk. He was a dark and dwarfish fellow, physically ugly at the best of times. Now, with his jaw hanging, his eyes rotating and his body pressed back against the parados, he looked like a panic-stricken ape.
Warren said, ‘If you’re not out of there in five seconds, I’m going to shoot you.’ He drew the heavy .45 Webley from his holster. Pahlwan Ram scrambled up and forward, and Warren said, ‘Now you walk here beside me.’ Pahlwan’s legs were buckling and Warren put an arm under his elbow, ‘Stand up, man! We’ll be in cover soon.’
A few shells were bursting around them, and desultory machine gun fire that seemed to be going high. They found the German wire had been cut in many places by the artillery bombardment, and more passages through it were now being systematically cut by men of A and C Squadrons. Some shattered bodies lay in shell holes, all wearing the grey-green of Germany. A sowar of the regiment lay dead under the wire, on his back, blood trickling from his mouth. Then Warren jumped down into the captured trench. To Pahlwan Ram he said, ‘Go to A and C. Tell them we’re here. Get reports.’ Then he scribbled a note on a message pad on his knee, reporting that the Ravi Lancers were in possession of Hill 73 and Lestelle Wood, and sent it back to brigade by a galloper. Noting that the gunner telephone wire had come forward, and de Marquez was already talking to his gun position, he crawled up on the reverse lip of the trench and settled down to examine the country beyond.
The next German trench was two hundred yards away, protected by three double aprons of barbed wire, with more behind, as though they expected to be attacked from the rear. He could see no movement there, and no signs of pillboxes, but two or three machine guns were sweeping the pock-marked snow between the two trench lines. The zigzag of a German communication trench started some twenty yards to his right. He called down, ‘Mahadeo ... there’s a communication trench going back ... on, towards the Germans ... twenty yards right of here. Tell A Squadron to send a fighting patrol down it as far as they can get, and to hold it at least a hundred yards in.’
A shell landed close, showering him with mud and dirty snow.
‘Sahib,’ an agitated voice called up, in Hindi, ‘our artillery are firing at us.’
‘No,’ he said, sliding down into the trench, ‘it’s the Germans, ranging.’
A C Squadron galloper came running along the trench from the left. ‘Major Bholanath says all is well, sahib. We have had five men killed and twelve wounded.’
Pahlwan Ram came from the other direction. His voice was under better control as he reported. ‘Ishar Lall is badly wounded, sir. I saw him ... his shoulder’s smashed, half his chest. Oh, my God, he looks awful ...’
‘The report! ‘ Warren grated.
‘Three killed and sixteen wounded, sir. Rissaldar Shamsher Singh says the enemy are massing on his front and fire is very severe. No one can put his head up.’
Warren stared at the officer, unseeing. One of the Terrible Twins badly hit, probably a goner. What a damned shame that the best should go so soon, and so young. Shamsher Singh was an old woman. How could he know that the enemy were massing if no one could put his head up? And what would they see if they could?
He said, ‘Send a galloper back to B Squadron and tell them to send 2nd Lieutenant Puran Lall up to take command of A, at once. I’m going to talk to Rissaldar Shamsher Singh. RHQ will stay here.’
He began working along the trench, followed by his orderly and trumpeter. Here were German bodies, two here, one there, here a German wounded, lying against the back wall, pale as clay, here was the debris of war, coats, rifles, ammunition, mess tins, half-eaten food in the dirty snow. He passed half a dozen sowars, all bandaged with the khaki field dressings, as they were climbing out of the trench and starting back across No Man’s Land to the British lines. A group of laden stretcher bearers under the band dafadar followed. He spoke to the men on the stretchers: ‘Well done--You’ll be all right--Home to Basohli for you--
Shahbash
!’