Time Commander (The First Admiral Series) (33 page)

“
And, you Major Pulleine can tell me exactly where the Zulu army is?” Billy asked.

“
We have reliable intelligence that they are over to the west, towards the Mangeni area…” Pulleine said.

“
But, you don’t know exactly where they are, do you, Major? To the west? Over to the north? OR, MAYBE THEY’RE PLOTTING THEIR STRATEGY ON THE DARK SIDE OF THE MOON!! IS THAT IT, MAJOR?!” Billy snapped.

The two officers taken aback and astonished by the outburst, stared at the young colonel; whose name none of them seemed to remember. However, having stunned the two officers with the outburst, Billy pressed home the advantage.

“So, you’re deep in hostile territory, with thousands of armed Zulus unaccounted for... your commanding officer and half your forces are miles away, and no defensive positions have been established; despite standing orders! Am I correct, Major?!” Billy yelled.

“
Yes, sir, but we have cavalry patrols and…”

“
Am I correct, Major Pulleine?! Yes or No?!”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Right then...spread that map out there on the ground and let’s have a look at what we’ve got to work with.”

Crouching down, Billy and the two officers spread the large, brilliantly-white paper map out. The map indicated the physical features of the valley below them.

“Form them up, in a square…here. If the enemy attacks in force, we can hold them until help arrives.” Billy jabbed his finger onto the map at a place between two gulleys on the track that passed for a road locally.

“
What about those kopjes, sir?” Pulleine indicated the small hills that surrounded the position outlined by Billy.

“
Yes, I know, Major.” Billy acknowledged that the small hills would provide the Zulus with some form of cover to approach the square. “What we need is a nice flat-topped hill, enough time to drag all of the guns and supplies onto it, and build ourselves a nice little barricade. Then let them try and push us off it…but we can only knit with the wool we’ve got.”

That would have been the answer to all his prayers. The mass of exhausted Zulu warriors would be left struggling up a steep incline, their formations broken, to be shot down almost at leisure by the British troops on the crest. Unfortunately, this ideal defensive position would not be available to him, so he would have to make do as best he could with what was available to him.

“So, we’ll just have to do the best with what we’ve got. When they attack, they can’t run through the middle of these kopjes, so they’ll be channelled down these paths, which will allow us to concentrate our fire on them,” Billy said.

“
With any luck, the Impis will start to hold each other up as they try to squeeze through these gaps,” Billy said.

Billy remembered, from his school history lessons, that at Agincourt, the French army had been channelled into a confined area between two wooded areas. The smaller English army had held its ground and blocked the French attacks. The larger French formations, funnelled into the narrow confines of the battle area, had begun to impede one another, making them easy prey for the English foot soldiers and archers.

“And, then pray to God that My Lord Chelmsford gets back before they reach our lines.” Billy stood up to his full height and folded his arms across his chest.

“
When they attack, sir?” Pulleine asked.

“
Major, we don’t know where the enemy are, how many there are out there, or what their intentions may be. And, Until King Cetewayo personally decides to let us in on that particular secret, I am going to hope for the best, and prepare for the worst,” Billy said.

“
Sir, you can’t seriously consider that they would attack a modern British army armed only with clubs, shields and spears?”

“
Actually Major, that is exactly what I would expect, and because you don’t expect it that is precisely why they’ll attack. Remember, Major, we’re on their turf. The Zulu have a harvest to gather in pretty soon, so they need us off their ground and their men back home to harvest, or there’ll be some very hungry Zulus next year.”

“
But, it’s suicide, sir!” Younghusband added.

“
Yes Captain, it is suicide if we’re not ready for them. And, as Major Pulleine has pointed out, this camp is not ready for them. Let me ask you, if there are, say...twenty odd thousand Zulus out there. How much warning would you get of an attack, from your cavalry scouts, to build your defences?” Billy asked.

“
Depending on how fast the Zulu could run, maybe twenty minutes...half an hour.” The precariousness of their situation began to suddenly dawn upon Pulleine.

“
Yes Major, half an hour…at most. Right- for starters, let’s get the wagons into a defensive square, then drag, push, pull or carry anything that will make a barricade.”

“
Yes, sir.” Major Pulleine rose to his feet.

“
I’m commandeering your tent, Major, for my HQ. Send me the Quartermaster, the Carpenters and the Blacksmiths.”

“
Yes, sir.” Pulleine dashed off with the Captain to carry out Billy’s orders.

Picking up the discarded map, Billy stood up and walked slowly down the slope of the mountain to meet whatever fate destiny had in store for him.

“Sir!” The voice of the nervous Navigation Assistant from the third tier of consoles in the Conference Room, aboard Frontier General Avavid Kallet’s flagship, interrupted the normal dark, brooding silence.

“
Yes?” Avavid Kallet responded.

“
We’re approaching the Rubicos Line, sir, and still no indication of activity from the Imperial Guard,” the nervous Assistant said.

“
Excellent…excellent.”

Just like he promised
, Kallet thought to himself. He had been suspicious of the promises made by the dark, shadowy figure that hid behind a mask, a voice synthesiser and the Imperial Cipher. Just as he had promised, the Imperial Guard had been distracted or removed from the boundary of the de-militarised zone that was called the Rubicos Line. No military forces other than the Imperial Guard were allowed to cross the imaginary line sketched out by the orbit of the most distant of the moons of Ganthus, called Rubicos.

“
Sir, we have an automated challenge from the Imperial Guard station on Rubicos.” The trembling voice of the Communications Officer from the front tier echoed around the Conference Room.

“
Very good, respond with identification number niner, six, four, four, niner, two, zero, zero, one, four,” Kallet said.

“
Yes, sir…permission to enter…is granted, sir...”

“
Excellent…excellent…excellent!” Kallet banged the palms of his hands onto the top of the Conference Table. “Now, Gentlemen, our plans to liberate Ganthus City are set, and within the hour we will have freed the Ganthoran people from the alien threat of this Universal Alliance…it is indeed a good day to be a Ganthoran!”

“
Yes, Sir!” their voices chorused, as they had been expected to do.

The senior officers standing around the Conference Table glanced at each other conspiratorially, and were filled with the deepest anxiety. They were now in whatever Kallet had planned right up to their necks. As they glanced at each other furtively, they grew to realise in that moment that they could either hang together, or hang separately.

Smiling triumphantly, Frontier General Avavid Kallet sat down at the one chair that stood next to the Conference Table, and began to laugh.

It was the laugh that everyone in that room had heard before. The same controlled, confident laugh that told everyone that Frontier General Avavid Kallet had gotten his way once again. As he laughed, he lifted his booted feet onto the edge of the table and crossed his ankles. Lacing his fingers behind his neck, he leaned back in the chair and pictured himself in the Imperial Palace, sitting on the Crystal Throne of Ganthus.

The British troops stood ready.

In the baking heat of the computer-generated southern African sun, the sweating, red-coated soldiers were in their ranks and files, weapons loaded, ready and waiting. In front of them were the makeshift barricade of wagons, mealie bags, empty ammunition boxes, packs, haversacks, tents, and anything that the soldiers could carry. The barricade stood about a metre and a half high, with the wagons forming the backbone of the structure. Everything else was crammed around or beneath the wagons to prevent the marauding Zulus getting into the position.

Sitting in the open ground between the two Dongas, behind what was called the Conical Kop, Billy had made the best of whatever ground he had. To the north of the position was the great sweep of the Nqutu plateau; that was where Billy expected the Zulus to launch their attack. To the west, the great, looming form of the mountain glowered down at them. This would be where the Zulu right “Horn” or pincer would sweep down to try to envelop the British position, but also where many would split off to attack Rorke’s Drift. To the east, there was more of the rolling pasture broken up by more dongas, whilst to the south, another river ran about three kilometres beyond his position. It wasn’t ideal, but the two dongas on his flanks were the best protection that he could scour from this meagre territory.

It was eleven forty-five A.M., and a young lieutenant by the name of Raw at the head of his cavalry patrol, had ridden his sweat-lathered horse right into the square to inform Billy that there were thousands of Zulus heading towards the camp from the east. Billy had thanked him and ordered any of his men who could fire ten rounds a minute into the firing lines at the barricade. The rest were to form into what Billy was calling his “Spear Companies”, whilst a handful of the best horsemen were sent out to contact Lord Chelmsford to provide further confirmation of his previous messengers that he had sent throughout the morning.

Now, Billy was warning them that they would have a fight on their hands; an incredibly hard one at that. Confidently, the British soldiers handled their loaded rifles, each of them having been issued with one hundred rounds of ammunition; this was a increase from the usual seventy rounds that each soldier was issued during campaigns. This gave them enough firepower for a ten full minutes, which many considered would be more than ample to drive away the expected the spear and club wielding savages that the young colonel expected to run down the ridgeline.

The water and ammunition wagons formed the centre of the defensive position; these were the two commodities that were vital for their survival. Each face of the square barricade was built to a length of thirty metres. That gave Billy, and the British soldiers, a defensive front of one hundred and twenty metres. With some rough and ready calculations, Billy estimated that he would have between seventeen and eighteen hundred soldiers to defend that area of front. In terms of defenders, Billy knew that he could rely on the five companies of the First battalion of the 24
th
regiment, along with the single company of the Second battalion. That was about six hundred effective men to form the backbone of the defence.

There were an additional seventy men from the Royal Artillery; to serve the two field guns and the Congreve Rocket Launchers. There were various Natal Police and volunteer mounted units, who would probably contribute another one hundred and fifty effectively trained men.

Then, there was the vexing problem of the Natal Native Infantry. Billy estimated that he would have three companies; each one consisting of three hundred men, from the Natal Native Infantry.

Being composed predominantly of native troops; with white NCOs and officers, the British army was inherently suspicious of the Natal Native Infantry units. Although given the same standard of training as British army regulars, the Natal Native Infantry were still issued with insufficient firearms to make them an effective fighting force. The firearms that they carried were old and outdated, and they were issued one weapon for every ten men. The majority of the Natal Native Infantry were expected to fight with their traditional shields and spears. With no issued uniform, they were virtually indistinguishable from their Zulu enemies, except for the red bandana that they wore on their foreheads, or red rags on their upper arm.

For Billy Caudwell, it was a problem of capability versus the prejudice of the white officers and troops. The Natal Native Infantry were trained to the same level as the “squadies” in the 24
th
. This meant that a good few of them would be able to fire the required ten rounds per minute that would qualify them for the firing line. There were spare Martini-Henry rifles lying in their boxes in the Quartermaster’s Stores, and Billy Caudwell was going to make sure that anyone who could use a rifle effectively was going to get one. Calling the Natal Native Infantry officers and NCOs together, he instructed them to draw up a list of those that could accurately fire ten shots in a minute, and draw weapons and ammunition for those men from the Quartermaster. Those that couldn’t fire the ten in a minute were being formed into companies to stand behind the riflemen.