Bayonets Along the Border Read Free

particularly, if there are any more of the bastards.’
    ‘Can’t see ’em. P’raps we’ve scared ’em off.’
    But that was not so. Four separate rifles sounded now, still from the other side of the track and about a hundred feet above them. The bullets pinged off the rocks behind them, giving Simon the small satisfaction that these Pathans weren’t quite living up to there reputation as marksmen – at least so far. Yet the original two had moved so quickly and seemingly imperceptibly among the rocks. And now, it seemed, there were four of them.
    Both Fonthill and Jenkins were now sheltering behind the wagon but, despite the cover provided by their baggage, it was clear that it was giving inadequate protection, for bullets were now thudding through the bags and woodwork, narrowly missing them.
    ‘Better get back among the rocks,’ grunted Simon. ‘Spread out a bit. You go first and I will cover you. Then you do the same for me.’
    Jenkins nodded. He let off a round and then sprinted behind up the hill as Simon delivered three rounds of rapid fire at where he could seethe faint smoke trails of the Pathans’ gun barrels. Of the men themselves, though, there seemed no sign. It was like shooting at wraiths.
    ‘Right,’ shouted Jenkins. Simon reached forward from the baggage and grabbed the box of cartridges he had placed on the top, tucked it under his arm and then turned and scrambled, slipping and sliding, up the shale as he heard Jenkins and Alice firing to cover him. Puffing, he flung himself behind a large rock, roughly level with where his wife was crouching.
    ‘Are you all right, darling?’ he called.
    ‘Yes, thank you. How the hell are we going to get out of here?’
    ‘God knows.’ Fonthill turned his head and looked up behind them. ‘We shall be in real trouble if they get behind us to shoot down on us. And we shall be in even worse trouble if we are still here after nightfall. They will creep up, rush us and then we would have little chance of stopping them, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Hmmm.’ Alice’s voice was cool. ‘Do you think that the Guides might send out a patrol and hear the gunfire?’
    ‘It’s a possibility.’ He ducked his head as a bullet clipped the rock near his cheek and went pinging its way up the hillside. ‘Damn. They’re getting better at this. I doubt if the Guides would be actively patrolling around here. It’s supposed to be quiet, if you remember.’
    ‘Yes.’ Four more shots rang out, bouncing and echoing away from hilltop to hilltop. ‘I’ve noticed how quiet it is.’
    ‘Quite. As long as there are only four of them, we have a chance.’ He lifted his head. ‘352.’
    ‘Yes, bach sir.’
    ‘If I were these bastards, I would try to get behind us, on this side of the track. So I think one or two might make a dash for it acrossthe road to get up the hill on this side. Be alert and see if you can pick them off if they try it. They’ll be in the open and it’s our best chance.’
    ‘Good idea. Let’s ’ope they try it.’
    And they did. Three more shots rang out from the Pathans, and immediately a figure appeared some hundred yards up the track, broke from cover and, head down and rifle at the trail, sprinted across the road. Quick as he was, Jenkins was quicker. Swivelling from the hips as he knelt, the Welshman fired one shot and then, working the bolt smoothly, another. The first brought the man down, his rifle skittering away from him in the dust and blood spurting from his thigh. He tried to crawl to safety, but Jenkins’s second shot took him in the head, sending his turban spiralling away like a Catherine wheel. Then he lay still, as the echoes faded away.
    Fonthill blew out his cheeks. ‘Well done, 352. Bloody good shot. Couldn’t have done better myself.’
    Alice let out a quiet snort of derision. ‘Do you think this might scare the others off?’ she asked.
    ‘Maybe. We’ll have to wait and see. Jenkins.’
    ‘Bach sir?’
    ‘I don’t intend