The Generals

‘Yes, sir.’

Arthur turned to his men.‘Get down the bank! Into the tope. Quickly!’

The soldiers of the flank companies slithered and clambered down the bank and moved forward towards the trees, still under fire from the enemy troops and rocket crews.Arthur veered right, towards the grenadiers, who, true to their role as the teeth arm of the regiment, had fixed bayonets and were charging towards where the enemy fire seemed most concentrated. With a sick feeling of anxiety Arthur noticed that the men were already separating and he cupped a hand to his mouth.

‘Flank companies! On me!’ Around him the crackle of gunfire and the hiss of rockets and the shouts and cries of the men drowned out his order. ‘On me! On me, damn it!’

‘Sir! Watch out!’ Fitzgerald called out as half a dozen shapes suddenly materialised out of the darkness. Arthur drew his sword and raised his pistol, tensing as he prepared to fight.Then, by the dim flare of a rocket passing a short distance away, he saw that they were grenadiers.

‘It’s the colonel!’ one of the men said, in a relieved voice. ‘Thank Christ.’

Arthur waited until they were gathered round him, then issued his orders. ‘We’re going forward. We still have to clear the enemy out of the tope. There’s plenty of our lads out there, and the rest of the 33rd will be here soon, so watch your targets before you use the bayonet.’

‘Yes, sir,’ the men muttered.

‘Follow me then.’

They set off, Arthur leading from the front, followed by

Fitzgerald and then the grenadiers.Arthur made for a small group of Tipoo’s men that he had seen a moment earlier and went forward as quickly as he could through the tangled roots and undergrowth of the dried-out mangrove. It was impossible to make any speed in the pitch black and the men had to hold their weapons carefully for fear of injuring their comrades if they tripped or slipped as they struggled through the tope. Meanwhile sounds of firing and fighting continued on all sides. Arthur was furious. There was no sense in sending men forward into such terrain on a dark night. The disciplined cohesion that had made the 33rd such a deadly weapon on the battlefield was shattered. His men, so carefully trained to stand and fight in ordered ranks, were scattered across the tope. Leaderless and no doubt fearful of the unfamiliar conditions, they had lost any advantage they might have had over Tipoo’s men at Malavalley. Arthur vowed to make a protest to Harris the moment the attack was over.

‘Sir!’ Fitzgerald called out as loudly as he dared. ‘Up ahead. The enemy.’

Arthur stared into the darkness, and thought he saw shapes moving amongst the dark tangle of trees ahead of him. Then there was a flash as one of the enemy fired his musket towards the nullah and in the orange glow Arthur saw another five or six men frozen as they raised their muskets. As the light blinked out one of Tipoo’s men shouted out in alarm. The same light had clearly illuminated Arthur and his men.

‘We’re seen! Get at them!’ Arthur lurched forward, sensing clear ground under his feet as he entered an open space between the thickets. Another musket flashed out, no more than twenty feet away, and Arthur felt the rush of air as the ball passed close by his cheek. Instantly he raised his pistol and fired in the direction of the muzzle flash. By its light he saw the man, looking up from his musket. At once there was a cry of pain and Arthur shoved the pistol into his belt and went forward with his sword, slashing at the dim figure of the man he had shot. The blade co

‘Bastard’s got me!’ one of the grenadiers cried out in surprise and terror, then added in astonishment, ‘It’s me shoulder!’

Then the sounds of fighting stopped, and Arthur could hear bodies crashing away through the undergrowth. Then there was only the hard breathing of those who remained, and a thin keening whine from the badly wounded man.

Arthur swallowed and drew a deep breath. ‘On me,’ he said quietly. ‘Fitzgerald?’

‘Here, sir.’

‘You grenadiers, over here.’ Arthur moved over to the wounded man and knelt down. ‘Who is this?’

‘Private Williams, sir,’ the man groaned. ‘Oh, God! It bloody hurts . . .’

Arthur turned to the others.‘Get Williams up.We have to take him back to the nullah.’

‘Yes, sir.’Two of the men leaned over and raised Williams from the ground, while another picked up his musket. Williams groaned in agony.

‘Keep yer bloody mouth closed,’ one of the men grumbled. ‘Or yer’ll ’ave all of ’em down on us in a flash.’

‘Quiet there,’ said Arthur, and then looked round. It was a moment before he realised that he had no idea in which direction the nullah lay.

‘Sir?’ Fitzgerald whispered. ‘Which way?’

‘Damn it, man, I don’t know!’ Arthur glanced round to try to make out some landmark, something familiar. Then he saw the faintest loom in the sky which had earlier revealed his men to the enemy concealed in the tope. ‘There.’

They made their way out of the small clearing and back through the dense undergrowth, all the time listening for the enemy.There were still occasional shots and rockets much further off, and shouts from men who were fighting, lost or wounded. Arthur was tempted to try to rally them again but paused when he heard the sound of several men passing through the trees a short distance away.

‘Down,’ he hissed, and then Williams let out a groan. The other men stopped and fell silent and Arthur felt his heart beating against his chest like a mallet.

‘33rd!’ he called out, tightening his grip on the handle of his sword. The sounds resumed, growing closer, and one of the grenadiers laughed nervously. ‘Come on, you bastards, who is it?’

A musket fired close by and in its glare Arthur saw a handful of the enemy. Almost at once there was another shot and a blow struck him just above the kneecap, knocking his leg out from under him. Arthur fell back with a shout of surprise rather than pain.At once the enemy let out a cry and charged the grenadiers.

‘Let’s have ’em!’ Fitzgerald bellowed and ran forward. The grenadiers went after him with their bayonets lowered. Struggling back on to his feet Arthur ran his spare hand down his breeches until they came to a ragged tear over his knee.The cloth was sodden and when his fingers probed further a searing pain made him gasp. He stood up and limped towards the sounds of the fight nearby: the scrape of metal, the thud of blows and the groans of the combatants. A figure rose up in front of him, sword raised ready to strike. Just in time Arthur recognised the shape of the man’s hat.

‘Easy, Fitzgerald. It’s me!’

The young lieutenant froze for a moment and then laughed. ‘Sorry, sir.’

‘Where are the others?’

‘That way, sir.’ He turned and raised his arm, barely visible in the dark. ‘Over—’

Someone burst through the undergrowth just beyond Fitzgerald and then the lieutenant let out an explosive gasp as he was borne back, past Arthur, under the impact of a pike. An enemy soldier snarled with triumph as he drove the weapon on into the officer’s body and then, too late, he noticed Arthur, and the sabre scythed through the air and into his neck with a wet, crunching thud. Abruptly he released his hold on the pike and snatched at his throat, sinking to his knees before he toppled to one side with a gurgling sound. Arthur sheathed his sword and knelt beside Fitzgerald.