TW06 The Khyber Connection NEW (10 page)

As the first light of dawn showed above the peaks, General Blood gave the order to advance. The force assembled on Gretna Green immediately moved off down the graded road in fours formation, while the troops mobilized to attack the high ground set off under the command of Colonel Goldney. Three hundred men crept toward the
sangars
the Ghazis had erected upon the cliffs of Castle Rock. The sentries, who had been watching the assembled troops below, upon the green, were taken by surprise. The troops came within one hundred yards of their objective before they were spotted and the enemy opened fire.

Goldney ordered a charge. Spreading out and moving in from opposing flanks upon the sensors, the men scrambled up the rocks, firing at will and engaging the Ghazis at bayonet point. Surprised, and with no one to direct their movements, the Ghazis gave ground before the furious assault and the ridge was captured, completely without losses. Even as Sadullah was preparing to order his Ghazis into action, the first engagement of the battle was over and Castle Rock was captured.

Lucas and Andre watched with General Blood and his staff from the heights of Castle Rock as the British troops below pressed home the advantage of surprise.

The infantry fixed bayonets and advanced into the Ghazi ranks. Without enemy fire from Castle Rock impeding their movements, they were able to deploy and press their way through. So quickly had Goldney's men captured Castle Rock that the troops down below were already deployed and in position to force open the passage before the Ghazis knew that Castle Rock had fallen. By the time they realized what had happened, it was too late. The assaulting troops charged into the Ghazi ranks.

The Ghazis panicked and began to flee. As Sadullah watched in disbelief, his followers broke ranks and ran, scrambling from the rocks, where they were suddenly vulnerable to fire from the troops on Castle Rock. They took flight down the graded road to escape being trapped by their own numbers in the narrow pass.

"No!" Sadullah screamed uselessly. "Stand and fight! Stand and fight, you cowardly dogs!"

But his words were lost upon the wind.

"We've done it, General!" said Hugo. standing beside Blood and watching the enemy in full flight.

"We've broken through! We can post pickets in the pass and reinforce our position. Now we can—"

"No," said Blood. "I will not allow them to escape so they can join with the tribesmen at Chakdarra and warn them. We'll finish this here and now. They'll be on the plain once they have retreated through the pass.

Fully exposed and on foot. Order forth the lancers. No prisoners. No survivors."

The signal was given and the four squadrons of cavalry charged. Delaney, leading the second squadron of Bengal Lancers, couched his lance and leaned forward slightly, bearing down upon the fleeing Ghazis before him. It was going to be a slaughter. The tribesmen still trapped in the pass were run down and trampled by the lancers as they thundered through. The cavalry formed a line upon the plain and charged the fleeing enemy.

There was no escape. The Ghazis died in the rice fields, run through by the lances and hacked to death by sabers. Bodies fell everywhere as the lancers descended on the running Ghazis and butchered them.

"Christ," said Hugo, turning away from the carnage down below. "I'm sorry, General, but that's more than I can stand too watch. I've seen enough of death."

Churchill was riveted by the spectacle. "They shall not forget this," he said. "It's probably the first time any of them have seen what cavalry can do. given room to deploy their strength. Henceforth the very words Bengal Lancers shall strike terror into their hearts."

He turned away and walked toward Hugo. At that moment one lone Ghazi who had remained undiscovered, hidden behind the rocks of his crumbled sangar, rose to a kneeling position and brought his jezail to bear upon Hugo, whom he took to be the commander of the British forces. As he raised his rifle, Lucas spotted him.

"Hugo, look out!"

Instinctively, after so much time spent under enemy fire, Hugo reacted by throwing himself down flat upon the ground. In an instant. Lucas saw that Hugo's combat-quick response had placed Churchill directly in the line of fire. In the white heat of adrenaline-charged clarity, he saw it all. He made a running dive for Churchill. The Ghazi fired. The .50 caliber ball slammed into Lucas's chest, ploughing through the thorax and tearing everything in its path. Andre fired the revolver Hugo had given her, shooting the Ghazi right between the eyes.

Churchill stood, shocked, staring at the limp body at his feet. Lucas Priest lay facedown upon the ground, blood draining from the gaping hole in his chest. "My God," he said.

He crouched down over the body and gently turned it over. The others gathered round.

"Doctor, can't you do something?" Churchill said.

Hugo looked down and shook his head. "I'm sorry, son. There's nothing to be done. He saved my life, and then he gave his to save yours. And all he came here for was to preach the word of God."

Andre got down on her knees and gently stroked Lucas's forehead. "No," she said, softly, "he came here to do much more than that."

She looked at Churchill, kneeling opposite her. He looked up at her, stricken. She looked back down at the lifeless body of her friend. She reached out and touched his face. It was still warm. She trailed her fingers across his forehead and closed his eyes for the last time.

They stood silently over the grave. General Blood had read the words, and when they had all said "Amen,"

Churchill had added a heartfelt, "Rest in peace, Father."

He won't do that here, Finn thought. When this is over, Search and Retrieve will disinter the body and return it to the time where it belongs. And another name will be added to the Wall of Honor at Division Headquarters, with a posthumous commendation.

He could not believe it. He had seen men die in combat throughout all of history, but he could not bring himself to accept that Lucas could be one of them. They had been through so much together, had faced death a hundred times and laughed about it later. There would be no laughing anymore. No more bouts of drinking Irish whiskey in the First Division lounge to wash away the taste of the last mission and celebrate having completed it successfully. No more brawling in the dives of San Diego and Ensenada, no more quiet nights spent with the old man in his private sanctum, sipping ancient wine as they talked about old missions.

The relief force was departing for Chakdarra. The job for them had only just begun. After the brief service, Blood had ordered Andre back to Peshawar, from there to depart for Simla, and preferably from Simla to England—which was home to her, so far as the general knew. He felt that the Father's death was his responsibility, that he never should have allowed him to accompany the unit in the first place, that if it wasn't for the fact that medical aid was sorely lacking, he would have been firm from the beginning. The frontier was no place for civilian noncombatants.

Finn was to head up a small detachment that would escort Andre back to safer territory and deliver dispatches to be sent on from Peshawar. Mulvaney, Learoyd, and Ortheris would be among those to accompany them, since they would have to ride and Blood didn't feel that he could spare any of his lancers. The cavalry had proved to be of great value, and he needed all the experienced horsemen under his command. Sending back one officer—the one with the least experience on the frontier—and several foot soldiers who could ride after a fashion, was the wisest choice. It would still be a hazardous journey, but one small mounted unit could move quickly and stood a better chance of getting through. All the tribes in the vicinity were up in arms, and most of them could be expected to join the forces at Chakdarra. There was far less risk in taking the opposite direction.

"I should have taken that bullet," Churchill said. "I am a soldier whose duty is to die for queen and country if the need arises. He was a man of God who would not even carry a gun."

He was about as far from being a man of God as a man could get, thought Finn. His duty was to die, as well, if the need arose. He had discharged it. His death was not for nothing.

"It's over then," said Finn, when they had gone.

"We've done what we've come back here to do. Or Lucas has. Churchill will live now and go on to become prime minister of Great Britain. Ironic, isn't it? We came here to find a disruption to adjust, and it found us."

"Something's wrong," Andre said. "If I could think straight, maybe I could figure out what the hell it is, but I can't manage to do that now. All I know is that something's wrong. It isn't over yet. Maybe we should have remained with the field force."

"Not much chance of that, after Blood ordered us back," said Finn. "Besides, I don't know what the hell we should have done or should be doing. I just don't know anything anymore, and I don't much care either."

"You didn't remember Churchill before I told you about him, did you?" said Andre.

"What?"

"Lucas was going to talk to you about that, but he never got the chance. When we first met Churchill, I didn't remember him. I didn't know anything about him. But Lucas remembered him."

"Lucas was always a history addict," Finn said. "He used to say that you never know when you might need information that would help you . . . stay alive," he finished lamely.

"Then you knew?" said Andre.

"Knew about what?"

"About Churchill," Andre said. "That he would become prime minister of Great Britain."

"What are you talking about?" said Finn, angry with her for thinking about Churchill when Lucas was dead. "To hell with Churchill. Churchill's not an issue any longer. Whatever happened to begin the chain of events which led that Ghazi tribesman to kill Winston Churchill, whichever act interfered with history to bring that about, it's been compensated for. Lucas did it. I wish it had been me, but I wasn't even there. Damn it, I wasn't even there!"

"Finn," said Andre, softly, "I didn't know him as well as you did or as long, but I didn't love him any less. He thought this was important. I didn't know Churchill would become prime minister of Great Britain because there was nothing about him in the subknowledge of my implant education. There was nothing about him in the mission programming either. But Lucas knew. Lucas remembered. He didn't know it from his subknowledge, and he didn't know it from the mission programming. He just
remembered
. Do you understand?"

Delaney simply stared at her.

"Finn, you had to have encountered Churchill before Lucas died. You must have seen him at the officer's conference at least. Think. Finn, did you know who he was? Who he would be?"

"Of course I knew," said Finn, frowning. "I even had a chance to talk with him for a while last night. Hell, I remember thinking that he was so serious for his age, that if he didn't ..."

"What?"

A blank look came over Finn's face.

"That doesn't make any sense," he said. "How could I have thought ..." His voice trailed off.

"You didn't know him either, did you?" Andre said. "His name didn't trigger any responses. It was the same with me. It was the same with Lucas, too, don't you understand? Lucas remembered who Churchill was, but not because the information was contained in his subknowledge or in the mission programming. He remembered reading it. If Churchill was important enough to have been written about in history books, how could he have been left out of the implant education programs? How could there have been nothing about him in the mission programming if it was a known historical fact that he served in this campaign?"

"You're right," said Finn. "It wasn't in my subknowledge, either. After you told me what Lucas sad, I just assumed—Wait a minute. If a historical disruption somehow brought about Churchill's death—if he actually caught that bullet—then that would have accounted for there being nothing about him in the implant education programs or in the mission programming, because he would never have survived to become prime minister of Great Britain. But then how could Lucas have read about him in history books? There must have been some sort of flaw in the mission programming."

"And in the implant education programs?" Andre said.

"I admit that sounds unlikely, but—"

"Sahib Finn?"

They turned around to see their native attendant, Gunga Din, approaching hesitantly.

"Yes, Din, what is it?" Finn said.

"Soldier sahibs say time to leave for Peshawar," said Din. "Mulvaney Sahib say must not waste daylight."

"He's right," said Finn. "Have you made everything ready, Din?"

"Everything ready," Din said. "Sahib Finn? Is permitted for this worthless one to pay respect Father Sahib?"

"Of course it's permitted, Din," said Finn.

Din approached the grave and stood over it for a moment, his lips moving as he silently said a prayer in his native tongue. When he was finished, he glanced at them with an embarrassed smile and thanked them profusely.

Finn knelt down over the grave and placed his hand upon the mound of earth. "Good-bye, old friend," he said.

They turned and walked away. Din, too, felt the loss.

Perhaps he did not feel it so profoundly as did Finn and Andre, but he was overcome with emotion at the death of the one man who had ever treated him as something more than what he was—an untouchable. As they walked back down toward the green. Din glanced over his shoulder for one last look at the "Father Sahib's" grave. He squinted, blinked, then shook his head. He thought he had seen something, but there was nothing there now.

For a moment, just the barest fraction of a second, as he looked back up toward the knoll where the cemetery was located, Din thought he saw someone standing over the grave. Perhaps, thought Din, it was only his imagination. Or perhaps it was a portent. He shut his eyes and muttered a quick prayer to Shiva. He thought he had seen a tall, dark figure, wearing a long robe that billowed in the wind.

Sayyid Akbar stood high upon a precipice overlooking the Khyber Pass. Beyond, stretching as far as the eye could see, was the tortured landscape of the Himalayas, like giant rocky waves frozen into immobility. Below, at the bottom of the gorge, was a narrow, twisting trail. walled by sheer cliffs and broken by huge boulders. One small step forward would take him to oblivion, an oblivion he sometimes longed for. He had lived for a long time. The pathetic madman named Sadullah believed him to be a god, an incarnation of the Prophet or some minor deity of his absurd religion, but who knew? Who knew what twisted thoughts that passed for cogitation flashed through that demented mind? There was no need to understand him, so long as Sadullah could be used. And he was used so easily. As I am being used, thought Nikolai Drakov, whom Sadullah knew as Sayyid Akbar .