Far Horizons: Tales of Sci-Fi, Fantasy and Horror. Issue #16 July 2015 | Page 71

Every man was alert and most still crouched in
the trenches, eyes staring into the darkness looking for
the slightest movement that would suggest another attack. Any attempt at gossip was done in no more than
a whisper. The three infantry lieutenants and numerous
sergeants were quick to pounce on any soldier who
tried to speak.

less use since the explosive round they could fire was
much less of a threat to an enemy spread out across
the desert.

Captain Greyling stopped to check on the lancers who were standing ready for infantry action. Going
out mounted in this terrain during the dead of night
would be impossible so they were formed as a small
reserve by the horse lines. Then he hurried to catch up
with the General.

A messenger arrived at the tent to report that
Doctor Adler was treating a handful of wounded, none
serious, and all from the musket fire that had peppered
the trenches and redoubts during the attack.

Captain Charterhouse stepped away to make
sure his three lieutenants, and more importantly his
many experienced sergeants, had things tightly under
control. The levy in particular were close to panic, and
Charterhouse detailed several of his sergeants to keep
an eye on them.

The company men were formed up around that
damn mortar of theirs and had rifles at the ready. The
captain declared himself and then went over to talk
to their office to ensure they were under control and
would not be shooting anyone by mistake.

The general reached his tent where his orderly
had his uniform set out and a lamp lit.

After a few minutes all the officers, except the
duty officer from second platoon and Lieutenant Digby who was still checking the native levy for Rashid,
had reached the tent. A spirited discussion quickly
began as to just what they had all seen or thought they
had seen.

The arrival of Lieutenant Digby bought the
talking to an immediate stop, and he ushered an Arab
into the tent, the same man who had held the lantern
for the general the night before.
“Abdul Rashid sir, one of the drivers.”

Lieutenant Houseman came over to join the
general’s party; Greyhound and the four Ironsides had
steam up and were ready for action. The Land Frigate
was sitting at the edge of the camp with its main turret
facing into the darkness toward the rebel-held town.

General Summerby looked at the man, the
Arab’s face was hard angles and a great beak of a nose
under the light of the oil lamp hanging from the tent
pole. Not as old as he looked, thought the general, a
hard life but not a long one so far. Then the General
looked into the Arab’s eyes and saw fear and vengeance and terror and a fanatical resolve.

The Ironsides were in the trenches between the
forward redoubts. They could hold there or advance
against the enemy if they came in again. Men and
officers were beginning to speculate on the nature of
this enemy, and a pair of additional maxims should
prove most useful. The light cannon would be of far

“Rashid. You tried to talk to me this morning,
something about a book being opened. Tell me everything, I need to know what it is that my men are facing
here, leave nothing out. Start from the beginning.”

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