Flashman Papers 3-Book Collection 2: Flashman and the Mountain of Light, Flash For Freedom!, Flashman and the Redskins. George Fraser MacDonald
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СКАЧАТЬ the fate of the Army rests on the strategic acumen of one self-sufficient subaltern. Distinguished in his way, no doubt.” He gave me one last withering glance. “Unfortunately, that distinction has not been gained in command of any formation larger than a troop of cavalry.”

      I lost my head, and my temper with it. I can’t explain it, for I’m the last man to defy authority – it may have been the sneering voice and supercilious eye, or the contrast with the decency of Van Cortlandt and Nicolson, or all the fear and pain and weariness of weeks boiling up, or the sheer injustice, when for once I’d done my best and my duty (not that I’d had any choice, I grant you) and this was the thanks I got! Well, it was the wrong side of enough, and I heaved half off the bed, almost weeping with rage and indignation.

      “Damnation!” I bawled. “Very well – sir! What should I have done, then? It ain’t too late, you know! Tell me what you’d have done, and I’ll ride back to Lal Singh this very minute! He’s still cowering in bed, I’ll be bound, not two bloody miles away! He’ll be glad to change his orders, if he knows they come from you – sir!”

      I knew, even in my childish fury, that there wasn’t a chance he’d take me at my word, or I’d have confined myself to cussing, you may be sure. Nicolson had me by the arm, begging me to be calm, and Van Cortlandt was muttering excuses on my behalf.

      Littler didn’t turn a hair. He waited until Nicolson had settled me. Then:

      “I doubt if that would be prudent,” says he quietly. “No. We can only wait upon events. Whether our messengers find Sir Hugh or not, he will still face the battle which you, Mr Flashman, have made inevitable.” He moved forward to look at me, and his face was like flint. “If all goes well, he and his army will, very properly, receive the credit. If, on the other hand, he is defeated, then you, sir” – he inclined his head towards me – “will bear the blame alone. You will certainly be broken, probably imprisoned, possibly even shot.” He paused. “Do not misunderstand me, Mr Flashman. The questions I have asked you are only those that will be put to you by the prosecution at your court-martial – a proceeding at which, let me assure you, I shall be the first witness on your behalf, to testify that, in my judgment, you have done your duty with exemplary courage and resource, and in the highest traditions of the service.”

      a Jeendan.

      b Ruffians.

       Chapter 13

      Unusual chap, Littler, and not only because he came from Cheshire, which not many people do, in my experience. I can’t recall a man who so scared the innards out of me, and yet was so reassuring, all in one go. For he was right, you know. I had done the proper thing, and done it well – and much good it’d do me, whatever befell. If Gough was wiped up, they’d need a scapegoat, and who so handy as one of those cocky politicals whom the rest of the Army detested? Contrariwise, if the Khalsa was beat, the last thing John Bull would want to hear was that it had been managed by a dirty deal with two treacherous Sikh generals – where’s the glory to Britannia’s arms in that? So it would be kept quiet … as it has been, to this very day.

      You may wonder, then, how I found any reassurance in Littler’s tirade. Well, the thought of having that acid little iceberg in my corner, if it came to a court-martial, was decidedly comforting; I’ve prosecuted myself, and God be thanked I never ran into a defence witness like him. And Broadfoot would stand by me, and Van Cortlandt – and my Afghan reputation must tell in my favour. I got a whiff of that later in the day, when I was nursing my leg and chewing my nails on the verandah after tiffen, and heard Littler’s three brigadiers talking behind the chick; Nicolson must have been spreading the tale of my exploits, and they were full of it.

      “Sikhs are doin’ what Flashman told ’em? Off his own bat? I’ll be damned! No end to the cheek o’ these politicals.”

      “Not to Flashman’s, anyway. Ask any woman in Simla.”

      “Oh? In the skirt line, is he? Odd, that … wife’s a regular stunner. Seen her. Blonde gel, blue eyes.”

      “She does sound a stunner, is she?”

      “Tip-top, altogether.”

      “I say … lady’s name. Not in the mess.”

      “Haven’t mentioned her name. Just that she’s a stunner. Money, too, I’m told.”

      “Scamps like Flashman always seem to get both. Noticed that.”

      “Popular chap, of course.”

      “Not with Cardigan. Kicked him out o’ the Cherrypickers.”

      “Somethin’ in the lad’s favour. What for?”

      “Don’t recall. Feller like that, might be anythin’.”

      “True. Well, God help him if Gough gets bowled out.”

      “God will, you’ll see. They can’t break the man who saved Jallalabad.”

      “When did Cardigan do that?”

      “Didn’t. Flashman did. In ’42. You were in Tenasserim.”

      “Was I? Ah, yes, I recollect now. He held some fort or other. Oh, they can’t touch him, then.”

      “Dam’ well think not. Public wouldn’t stand for it.”

      “Not if his wife’s a stunner.”

      All of which was heartening, though I didn’t care to hear Elspeth bandied about quite so freely. But it was still a long day, waiting in the baking heat of the Ferozepore lines, with the 62nd sweating in their red coats in the entrenchments, and the blue-jacketed sepoy gunners lying in the shade of their pieces, while only two miles away the sun twinkled on the arms of Tej Singh’s mighty host. Littler and his staff spent all day in the saddle, riding out south-east to scan the hazy distance: Gough was somewhere out yonder, marching to meet the gorracharra that Lal Singh had dispatched against him – if he had dispatched them. Suppose he hadn’t – suppose he’d ignored my plan, or bungled it? Suppose Littler’s fear was well-founded, and Lal had been humbugging me – but, no, that couldn’t be, the fellow had been almost out of his wits. He must be advancing to meet Gough … but would he mind what I’d said about detaching regiments along the way, so as to even the odds? Suppose … oh, suppose any number of things! All I could do was wait, keeping out of Littler’s way, limping gamely around the mess, aware of the eyes that glanced and looked away.

      It was about four, and the sun was starting to dip, when we heard the first rumble to eastward, and Huthwaite, the gunner colonel, stood stock-still on the verandah, mouth open, listening, and then cries: “Those are big fellows! 48s! Sikh, for certain!”

      “How far?” asks someone.

      “Can’t tell – twenty miles at least, might be thirty …”

      “That’s Moodkee, then!”

      “Quiet, can’t you?” Huthwaite had his eyes closed. “Those are howitzers!31 That’s Gough!”

      And СКАЧАТЬ