For Kingdom and Country by I.D. Roberts

Author:I.D. Roberts [I. D. Roberts]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780749019709
Publisher: Allison & Busby
Published: 2015-08-23T04:00:00+00:00

Lock was standing, binoculars in hand, up at the highest point of One Tower Hill, on the baking flat roof of the tower itself. It was difficult to breathe up there such was the concussive heat being thrown up from the surface. Sweat was already pouring down Lock’s face, stinging his eyes and making his neck smart. He removed his slouch hat, wiped his brow with his sleeve. He unfastened his canteen, and swilled his mouth with tepid water. He spat it out, then raised the binoculars to his eyes again.

On Townshend’s Regatta went, steadily encroaching the Turkish ribbon of defence. Gun Hill, Shrapnel Hill and the village of Alloa were receiving a merciless pounding from the British artillery, both from land and sea. The 4.7 guns of the flotilla had a devastating effect on the Turkish resistance and morale. There were white flags appearing everywhere Lock turned his gaze, from all along the banks of the Tigris to the redoubts themselves, and long before any British or Indian troops even got close. The 22nd Punjabis had joined the main thrust, moving across from One Tree Hill on the east. The distant thump of artillery to Lock’s left made him turn his attention to the redoubt of Shrapnel Hill, the furthest Turkish defence to the west. He could make out the report of gunfire coming from the Turks’ position and watched as the 103rd Mahrattas pushed on up through the thick reeds. But just as the first of the British bellums landed, the white flags appeared and Lock watched as dozens of Turks emerged from the buildings, their hands and weapons held high as they quickly surrendered.

Directly opposite, Gun Hill was now silent. Lock scanned across until his eyes rested on Alloa. It was a tiny settlement just a mile to the northeast, sitting on the banks of the Tigris. Again there was no sign of life down there, just more white flags fluttering in the wind from various embrasures in the south-facing walls. If he and his platoon left now, Lock thought, they would get there long before the Espiegle and the rest of the flotilla. Admittedly, there was more reed marsh to negotiate either side of Birbeck Creek before they hit the southern shore of Alloa, but there was a small channel that Lock could see and he estimated that it would just allow his two boats to move up in single file. The flotilla, in the meantime, would have to follow the bend of the river, the reed marsh being too impenetrable for so many of them to take a short cut.

Lock lowered the binoculars and stood gazing out into the mirage.

‘Where are you?’ he muttered, his thoughts turning to Wassmuss. He checked his watch. Time to get going.

He stepped over to the eastern edge of the tower. Below he could make out his platoon at work by the water’s edge, loading up their equipment in the bellum and the gufa, all under the watchful eye of Sergeant Major Underhill.

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