Time Commander (The First Admiral Series) (37 page)

Looking to the south, Billy could see nothing but the shimmering haze of the sun sparkling from the broad winding river that lay about two miles to the south of his position.

There were no Zulus approaching from the south, but twenty spear-carrying Natal Native Infantrymen, accompanied by a white sergeant, had been posted as sentry, just in case. To the east, the situation was much the same as the west. The Zulus there, having run across the Nqutu plateau, were further behind their comrades who had swept down the slope. Once again, they had just come within range of rifled carbines of the Natal Cavalry who had been posted to guard the flank. Still, no Zulus had managed to cross the donga that protected the eastern flank, but the Natal Cavalry carbines were starting to hit targets on the Zulu bank.

So far, the position is holding
, Billy considered, wishing that Lord Chelmsford would hurry up with the relief force.

It had been around nine that morning when Billy had sent the first of the messengers galloping off to the west to find Chelmsford, and The General, as the troops called him, had already been gone for three hours. The messenger, if he was lucky, would probably have found Chelmsford between) eleven and eleven-thirty, or, at the very latest, twelve-noon.

Even if Chelmsford about-turned at noon, it would still take him four maybe five hours to get here and put together an attack that would drive the Zulus off. That was, if Chelmsford believed the first messenger. In the historical battle, Chelmsford had sent various scouts out to observe the Isandlwana camp before re-grouping his forces and returning. By the time Chelmsford got back to Isandlwana, it was early evening, and the battle was over.

Meanwhile, the Zulus were still attacking. On the north wall of the barricade, the rifle volleys and cannon were taking a fearful toll of Zulu warriors. They had passed the five hundred yard markers and were making steady progress toward the four hundred yard posts, with no indication of them slowing or looking for cover. Behind them, a whole swathe of the battlefield was littered with dead, dying, and injured warriors, along with their equipment. Shields, spears, and war clubs lay scattered where their owners had dropped them. As a rough estimate, Billy considered that the Zulus had lost between eight and ten thousand men in the space of ten minutes.

It was a fearful casualty rate, but loss of life was never the greatest concern of the Zulu commanders. With one fifth of the Zulu warriors as casualties, there were still another four-fifths that were fit and able to fight and the Zulu warriors were still willing and able to attack.

With the volleys from the riflemen running like clockwork, Billy could see that the Zulus were now within the four hundred yard markers. They were starting to get too close for Billy’s comfort.

“Sir?!” a voice called from below.

Looking down from the water supply wagon, Billy saw a young, dark-haired boy of about nine or ten years old in a red-coat uniform. This would be one of the drummer boys from the 24
th
, who would be acting as a messenger.

“
Beg pardon, sir!” Another rifle volley exploded across the front of the north wall. “Major Smith asks if he should start using case shot, sir?!”

So far, the wily artillery officer had been using what was called ‘round shot’ or exploding shells which broke apart on impact and sent shrapnel and shell casing bursting into the enemy ranks. Now that the Zulus had gotten within five hundred yards, Major Smith was now requesting the use of case shot. Case shot effectively turned the artillery piece into a large shotgun. Where the round shot was solid with an explosive core, case shot was made up of smaller lead spheres which were usually packed into a cylindrical tin.

“Come on!” Billy dropped down from the wagon and approached the boy. “Where is Major Smith?”

“
This way, sir!” The boy started to run to the eastern wall.

Following at the trot, Billy became aware of the sights and sounds of the battle from the ground level view of the riflemen. The strong smell of rotten eggs that he had experienced from up in the water supply wagon was intensified down at ground level. The Martini-Henry cartridge was still packed with black powder. The era of a smokeless propellant for cartridges was still several years away. In 1879, sulphur was still a primary ingredient in the powder.

From behind the firing line, Billy could see very little of the battle beyond the tea-stained helmets of the riflemen. Billy was still able to notice the accumulation of spent cartridge shells at his feet. The soft metal of the cartridge casing crumpled easily beneath Billy’s shiny black boots, and he observed that many of the red-coats were starting to collect a considerable pile of cartridge cases at their feet.

Officers and NCOs were still bellowing orders on the litany of death and destruction that they were meting out to the Zulu warriors. “Load...present...aim...fire,” they shouted again and again. Like automatons, the riflemen responded to the orders. The routine of ten shots per minute had quickly dropped to about seven or eight as the riflemen began to tire under the afternoon heat.

Stopping at one of the Company commanders, Billy asked if there had been any casualties. The captain with a large, bushy beard shook his head, but mentioned that some of the riflemen were down to their last forty rounds. With a pat on the back to the Captain, Billy ordered him to request more ammunition from the Quartermaster.

Moving on, the sounds of the volleys became almost hypnotic in their regularity, as did the enemy’s “Zulu-Zulu-Zulu-Zulu” chant as they attacked and were remorselessly shot down. At every officer or NCO he came across, Billy stopped to offer words of encouragement, and many responded with a smile and a joke. Still, there had been no casualties in the British position, but that couldn’t last forever, Billy considered. Reaching Major Smith at the cannon on the eastern wall, Billy responded to the salute of the wiry officer with the drooping moustache.

“Case shot, sir?” The cannon behind the Major BOOMED once again.

“
Not yet, Major!” Billy yelled, “Wait until they reach two hundred yards, and if they reach the one hundred yard posts, pour it on thick…as thick as you can!”

“
I’ve got the case shot, sir, but we’re starting to run low on powder!” Smith said.

Another rifle volley smashed out its hail of death and destruction at the advancing enemy.

“Can you use rocket powder in your guns?!” Billy asked.

“
Yes, sir!” Smith said.

“
Very well, have Major Russell start to dismantle his surviving rockets, use the propellant for the guns, and start fusing the warheads to use as grenades,” Billy ordered.

“
Major Russell won’t be pleased!” Smith smiled, knowing that the Rocket Troop commander wouldn’t like to be disassembling his weapons.

“
He’ll get over it,” Billy said, “tell him that his lads can throw the bombs!”

“
Yes, sir!” Smith replied with a grin.

Leaving the eastern gun, Billy decided to visit the eastern wall before returning to the water supply wagon. Walking down the eastern wall, Billy could see that the Zulus had outflanked the position completely and were trying to force a crossing of the donga. So far, there were no Zulu bodies on the British side of the donga, but considerable numbers on the opposite side. As he watched, encouraging the officers, NCOs, and Troopers of the Natal Cavalry, he noticed some Zulus trying to climb over the lip of the donga, on the British side, who were promptly shot back down by the cavalrymen. Durnford, it appeared, had also taught his Troopers how to shoot, as well as to march and parade.

Billy had almost reached the distance of the southern wall, when he suddenly heard the orders from the north wall to cease fire and fix bayonets. The Zulus had gotten within three hundred yards of the position. Things were getting serious now. At the run, Billy dashed back to the water supply wagon, but had only gotten half way to his destination when the volleys started up again. Breathless from his dash, Billy scampered back up onto the wagon next to the large water barrels, now regretting his little excursion down the firing lines.

“
They’re within three hundred yards, fixed bayonets, sir,” Major Pulleine reported.

“
Surely, they can’t take much more of this?” Billy scanned the battlefield to the north of his position.

It was like a charnel house out there; dead, dying and injured Zulus lay everywhere, and yet, they still came on. All across the front of the north wall from the six hundred yard markers onwards, the bodies were thick on the ground. More of a shock was the realisation that there had been casualties amongst the British defenders. The Zulus who carried firearms had gotten within effective range and had managed to hit seven redcoats. One was already dead, as indicated by the blanket covered from behind the Quartermasters wagon. Billy was pleased to note that their webbing, with the ammunition pouches, and their rifles were not with them. Someone from their units had grabbed the precious bullets, and their weapons, before the men were carried off to the surgeons.

From his left, Billy heard the cannon fire once again, but this time there was something different about it. The sharp BOOM of the round shot firing was now replaced by the flatter CRACK of case shot being fired. The Zulus had gotten within two hundred yards. Now, they really were coming to the crisis point. If the Zulus got beyond the one hundred yard line, in sufficient numbers, then there would be a vicious hand-to-hand melee before the barricade was overrun. Looking to the east and west walls, Billy could see that the Natal cavalrymen were on top of the situation. A handful of Zulus had managed to clamber up onto the British side of the donga. But as he watched, they were in the process of being targeted and shot down. The real fight was going to be on the north wall.

Clambering onto the water barrels stacked in the wagon, Billy raised himself up as high as he could possibly could, and scanned the Zulus approaching the north wall. They were still coming forward at the run, and still being shot down by the volleys from the riflemen. To his right, the cannon bellowed and belched a great plume of smoke. The projectiles from the weapon hurtled downrange and snatched ten Zulu warriors from their feet; shredding them to a red bleeding and twitching ruin in the maelstrom of fire.

“Dear God, we’re doing murder out there, sir,” Pulleine said.

“
Well, Major, it’s them or us.”

Strangely, at that moment, Billy did feel surprisingly calm. Perhaps, it was the influence of the part of his mind that was Teg Portan. When the pressure and stress was greatest, Portan had a habit of being icy calm. Now, Billy felt that calmness, and could see the events around him unfolding with the greatest clarity that he had experienced all that day. His instinct also told him that it was time to get down into the firing line.

Grabbing the rifle that had been supplied by the Ganthorans, he dropped down from the water supply wagon and made a path directly to the centre of the north wall.

“
Come on, make a hole!” Billy shoved and barged numerous red-coats out of his way to reach the front rank of the firing line.

The burly red-coated sergeant with the bushy sideburns, along with a few of the riflemen stared in open-mouthed disbelief. Never in their lives had they seen an officer, let alone a senior officer, lift up a rifle and join the firing line. Then, it dawned upon the sergeant just how serious the situation must be if the colonel was taking a hand in the defence. Many of the riflemen smiled at the unusual sight of the Commanding Officer with a rifle, and Billy was able to see their teeth shining through the grime and soot of the constant firing of their rifles.

“Come on lads, out of the way! I’m not letting you have all the fun!” Billy grinned, barging his way to the barricade.

He landed up beside what looked like a campaign table with a couple of empty wooden crates and several mealie bags piled up on top.
Well, at least it’ll be comfortable
Billy thought, resting the barrel of the rifle on one of the mealie bags as he loaded it.

From there, it was a simple step to looking out onto the battlefield. Now, Billy was starting to see the Zulus up close and personal without the aid of his field glasses. At over one hundred and fifty yards, they looked a lot closer.

“Right, you ‘orrible shower- Load!” The sergeant began the litany of the firing drill.

“
Present!” Billy, like the other riflemen drew the butt of the weapon up to his shoulder.

“
Aim!” Billy drew a bead on a large muscular Zulu with what looked like a top knot in his hair.

“
FIRE!” Billy gently squeezed the cold metal trigger.

In an instant, the world in front of Billy Caudwell vanished in a great cloud of acrid, burning, dirty grey smoke, and he felt the kick of the rifles recoil on his shoulder. Whether he hit the large Zulu, Billy was unsure, but when the smoke cleared from in front of him a few moments later, the tall muscular figure was no longer loping confidently forward with his war cub and shield in hand.

Almost at once, Billy felt the enormous exhilaration, and the feeling of raw, naked power that holding and using a firearm gave him. This was nothing like he had ever experienced before. He had fired at targets on the range aboard Aquarius, and the rocks out on the desert of Chronos. Never had he fired at a moving, even if it was computer-generated, human target. However, he had no time to savour the sensation. Quickly, and with nimble fingers, he drew forward the lever to eject the spent cartridge. From his tunic pocket, he fished out a new cartridge, and pushed it quickly into the rifle’s breech. Then, with one sharp movement, he pulled the lever back and snapped the breech closed.