Company Of Spears

Hervey, so tired that his patience was near the end, but by long years persuaded that such men as Somerset could only be dealt with through flattery, spoke calmly. ‘They do indeed have stomach, Colonel. They will fight for you to the last. It is only that … their stomachs may be a little empty, so to speak.’

The emollience worked. ‘I see. Yes, of course they will be tired. I will take careful note of it. Perhaps, now, you will ride with me as we post the Rifles, and I will point out the lie of things.’

‘By all means,’ replied Hervey. And then, imagining he would not likely have a better – or perhaps any – chance to say it, added: ‘I must commend to you, Colonel, in the strongest possible terms, the valuable service of Captain Fairbrother these past two days. Without his address I do believe we should have suffered many casualties; and, I venture to admit, perhaps even a reverse.’

Somerset was not entirely dismissive of the notion, though his ‘surprise’ was unconcealed.

The first reports came within an hour: the black host advanced as before, a dozen columns, single file. Hervey at once alerted Somerset, who was siting each field-piece in detail. Somerset declared he would see for himself. Hervey did not discourage him.

In minutes they were with Fearnley at the picket line, and with just enough elevation to see what they faced. The sight shook Somerset, as it first had Hervey – the order, the discipline of it, not at all the horde of savages he had imagined.

‘We must suppose they know we are here,’ said Hervey. ‘They’ll likely make a probing attack at once, or else try again to encircle us, though the river will confound them in that. May I recall the outposts?’

Somerset was less confident than an hour ago. ‘Yes … by all means … do.’

Trumpeter Roddis repeated the call until Hervey saw the outposts acknowledging, and then bid him cease.

The Rifles were trained to the bugle too, but Captain Welsh had decided instead on signals by whistle in order to avoid confusion. Hearing the recall of the picket line he gave three long blasts – the order to stand to arms.

‘It will now depend on each rifleman’s initiative,’ said Hervey, and to Somerset’s evident discomfort.

The outposts came in at the trot, tall in the saddle though the horses looked weary. Each dragoon saluted as he passed the two colonels, eyes on Hervey but Somerset acknowledging with a finger to the peak of his cap. They had done their work, they had done it well, and they knew it. Once across the river they could dismount and take a little ease before it was their turn again. For it would be their turn again; it always was. When the men with the rifle and the musket had done their work it would be theirs to turn defeat into rout – to make vulture meat of the fleeing enemy so that they might not turn again. It was a grim business sabring those who no longer wanted to fight, but it had to be done lest the next day these fleeing men became resolute once more. To think otherwise was nothing but sentiment – dangerous sentiment.

Rifle fire began on both far flanks almost at the same time. Hervey marvelled at the evident ability of the Zulu to coordinate the movement of the two horns of the crescent formation. And then the firing spread along the entire front as the main columns began approaching, still hidden by the prodigious grass.

But not, apparently, hidden to the gunners. A shell buzzed high over him and to the left, bursting twenty feet above the ground three hundred yards in front. Hervey smiled to himself. Never had he known an artilleryman to miss his opportunity. How he was able to place his fire so accurately, and have the shrapnel shell explode at the precise height, was quite beyond him. He was only grateful for it; vastly grateful. It was, in truth, how war should be made.

‘Colonel Hervey?’

He turned to see his lieutenant, and detached himself from Somerset’s party to confer with him. ‘All eager, Mr Fearnley?’

‘Indeed, Colonel. Minnie has wind aplenty left.’

Hervey glanced approvingly at Fearnley’s second charger. Minnie – Minerva – had won one of the regimental races at Hounslow that year. She looked in as hale condition now as then. ‘The intention for you now is clear?’

‘Exactly clear. I think I shall be well pleased to see that ford.’

A cry like hounds breaking covert turned every head. The staunchest heart faltered for a moment as Zulu rose up from the ground like corpses on the Day of Judgement, swarming, stabbing, grunting like rutting pig.

Hervey saw two of Somerset’s staff tumble from the saddle, and then Somerset’s own horse fall to its knees, and Somerset himself half under it, his escorts desperately lashing out with sword and pistol.

Hervey spurred for him at once, sabre drawn, Fairbrother and the others close on his heels. He cut left and right, taking a passing spear in the thigh though not feeling a thing.