Bayonets Along the Border by John Wilcox Read Free Book Online Page A

they were just beginning to work – particularly along the Khyber Pass, which, as you know, is the main route through into Afghanistan and Kabul. There, the Afridis and our friends the Waziris are among the most warlike tribes but the agent there, Colonel Robert Warburton – the son, by the way, of a British officer and an Afghan mother – has done a remarkable job in winning their respect. He’s reaching the end of his career, alas, and in fact, I think he’s just gone on final leave, so I don’t know what will happen when he’s gone for good.
    ‘But it seemed as though things had definitely quietened down over the last two years, as I said. Now, though, we’ve this nasty business in the Tochi Valley, with an uprising that ain’t exactly small in size, Fonthill. So I have to confess that I have a bit of an itchy feeling in me breeches, if you’ll pardon the expression, ma’am. That’s why I sent young Buckingham out to bring you in.’
    He raised his glass again and took a healthy mouthful then turned and addressed Alice and Simon on either side of him. ‘But, look here,’ he chortled. ‘I am being very miserable. This is an old warhorse speaking, who is quite possibly wrong in sniffing from his stable a gallop that is not on the cards. Let us enjoy ourselves while we can. Not a bad drop of Bordeaux, eh? What do you think, Mrs Fonthill?’
    Alice hid the pencil in the folds of her dress and raised her glass. ‘Delicious, Colonel,’ she said. ‘It’s like finding pure spring water in the Sudanese desert.’ She sipped. ‘No. Better than that. It’s elixir!’
    The three raised their glasses and, from down table, a beamingJenkins, his face glowing like that of a well-scrubbed schoolboy, raised his too and another silent toast was drunk to the company, to the great British Empire and to its dumpy, widowed sovereign so far away.
    So the dinner wound on its amiable way, with the voices of the young subalterns at the lower end of the table increasing in volume as the excellent claret was consumed from a line of silver jugs. White-jacketed Pathan servants, red sashes looped diagonally across their chests, brought a succession of scrumptious local dishes: curried lamb and what appeared to be goat with its skin crisply roasted; rice containing eggs and chillies; chapattis; a selection of green vegetables, no doubt raised with care from the allotments surrounding the bungalows; and fresh fruit that caused Simon to wonder how these barren lands could produce such fine fare.
    He gently introduced to the colonel the question of when they might be able safely to leave the haven of the cantonment in the valley; to amble on, so to speak, to enable them to view the beautiful lakes of Kashmir and attempt a little climbing on the lower slopes of the Kush. They did not wish, he emphasised, to make demands on the escorting duties of the Guides, who might well have much more important things to do shortly.
    Happily, Fortescue was not offended. ‘My dear fellow,’ he said, ‘let me get some further information along the telegraph line to see how things are going further north and east. Should be better in that direction, I should have thought. You are most welcome to stay here for a day or two to get your breath back, so to speak, and then …’ He was interrupted as a khaki-clad orderly bent deferentially, whispered in his ear and presented a telegram to him.
    The colonel adjusted his spectacles, read the contents quickly and rereadit more slowly. He sat back in his chair for a moment, staring straight before him. Then he turned to Alice. ‘Excuse me, madam.’ Speaking across her to the major who was his second in command and seated on her right, he spoke crisply. ‘George, pray have both units – the cavalry and the infantry – ready to leave camp within three hours. Seventy-five rounds per man and rations for two days. Full water bottles, of course. One company of infantry to stay defending the camp. See to it