odds were even worse, the position less defensible and the enemy better armed.
'Fire!' shouted Hamilton.
George pulled his trigger and the stock slammed viciously into his shoulder. He had no idea whether he had hit his target but, given the number of bodies he had fired into, it didn't seem to matter. As the boom of the first volley echoed behind him, and the smoke from the black powder cartridges began to clear, he could see gaps in the charging mass. But still they came.
Hamilton ordered a second volley, and a third, and each time the Residency's rooftops erupted into smoke and flame. By the fourth volley the charge had been broken, and upwards of a hundred bodies, some still, others writhing in agony, littered the ground between the cavalry lines and the infantry barracks. Many hundreds more had taken cover and were firing back from the roof of the stable block, some godowns to the left and the low mud wall to the right.
'Independent firing,' called Hamilton. 'But only shoot if you have someone in your sights. Our ammunition is limited and Heaven knows how long they'll keep this up.'
Cavagnari looked across from his own position in the firing line. 'How limited, Lieutenant?'
'Fairly, sir. Each man has seventy rounds on him, and we have five thousand in reserve, which works out at another seventy per man. It sounds sufficient, but we'll soon run through it if we're not careful.'
George nodded in agreement. For him it was deja vu . At Rorke's Drift he and the other hundred and forty or so defenders had shot off forty thousand rounds in just under twelve hours. At Isandlwana, a few hours earlier, the problem hadn't been quantity but supply: the increasingly desperate, and ultimately doomed, attempt to get the bullets out of their boxes and up to the firing line. 'May I suggest,' said George, above the zip and whine of incoming bullets, 'that you ensure the ammunition boxes are unscrewed and the packets ready for distribution? If they rush us we'll need the bullets to hand.'
'The advice of a civilian is always welcome, Harper,' replied Hamilton, his voice heavy with sarcasm, 'but not required in this instance. The boxes are no longer secured by screws - Isandlwana taught us that lesson - and I've already divided them between the various houses and ordered the sliding tops to be removed.'
'A wise precaution, Hamilton,' said Cavagnari, 'but Yakub is bound to intervene long before we run out of ammunition.'
'Hamilton Sahib!' shouted a sowar manning the opposite side of the roof, with a view of the royal palace.
'What is it, Dowlat Ram?' asked Hamilton.
'Horsemen are coming from the amir's palace.'
'At last!' exclaimed Cavagnari. 'I knew Yakub wouldn't leave us in the lurch. How many are coming, sepoy?'
'Three, sahib.'
'Only three? You must be mistaken! Let me see for myself.'
Cavagnari kept low as he crossed the roof, followed by Jenkyns, Hamilton and George in the same crouching stance. All four joined Dowlat Ram behind the low barricade. 'There, sahib,' said the sepoy to Cavagnari, pointing to a trio of riders advancing up the lane that led from the royal palace.
'Well, that explains it,' said Cavagnari. 'See the big rider in front? That's General Daoud Shah, Commander-in-Chief of the Afghan Army. If anyone can restore order, he can.'
The lead rider was a huge man whose broad shoulders and huge frame almost dwarfed the Arab horse he was riding. He was simply dressed in a drab black kurta and trousers, with matching cap, and only his jewel-studded sword-hilt hinted at the high office he held. George held his breath as Daoud and his two aides approached the rear of the mob, which, by now, had entirely surrounded the Residency compound, and was tightly packed into the lane that ran along the back of the Mess House. Without breaking stride, the horsemen rode into the crowd and tried to force their way through. At first the mob gave way, but as soon as the soldiers among them recognized Daoud they surged angrily
'Fire!' shouted Hamilton.
George pulled his trigger and the stock slammed viciously into his shoulder. He had no idea whether he had hit his target but, given the number of bodies he had fired into, it didn't seem to matter. As the boom of the first volley echoed behind him, and the smoke from the black powder cartridges began to clear, he could see gaps in the charging mass. But still they came.
Hamilton ordered a second volley, and a third, and each time the Residency's rooftops erupted into smoke and flame. By the fourth volley the charge had been broken, and upwards of a hundred bodies, some still, others writhing in agony, littered the ground between the cavalry lines and the infantry barracks. Many hundreds more had taken cover and were firing back from the roof of the stable block, some godowns to the left and the low mud wall to the right.
'Independent firing,' called Hamilton. 'But only shoot if you have someone in your sights. Our ammunition is limited and Heaven knows how long they'll keep this up.'
Cavagnari looked across from his own position in the firing line. 'How limited, Lieutenant?'
'Fairly, sir. Each man has seventy rounds on him, and we have five thousand in reserve, which works out at another seventy per man. It sounds sufficient, but we'll soon run through it if we're not careful.'
George nodded in agreement. For him it was deja vu . At Rorke's Drift he and the other hundred and forty or so defenders had shot off forty thousand rounds in just under twelve hours. At Isandlwana, a few hours earlier, the problem hadn't been quantity but supply: the increasingly desperate, and ultimately doomed, attempt to get the bullets out of their boxes and up to the firing line. 'May I suggest,' said George, above the zip and whine of incoming bullets, 'that you ensure the ammunition boxes are unscrewed and the packets ready for distribution? If they rush us we'll need the bullets to hand.'
'The advice of a civilian is always welcome, Harper,' replied Hamilton, his voice heavy with sarcasm, 'but not required in this instance. The boxes are no longer secured by screws - Isandlwana taught us that lesson - and I've already divided them between the various houses and ordered the sliding tops to be removed.'
'A wise precaution, Hamilton,' said Cavagnari, 'but Yakub is bound to intervene long before we run out of ammunition.'
'Hamilton Sahib!' shouted a sowar manning the opposite side of the roof, with a view of the royal palace.
'What is it, Dowlat Ram?' asked Hamilton.
'Horsemen are coming from the amir's palace.'
'At last!' exclaimed Cavagnari. 'I knew Yakub wouldn't leave us in the lurch. How many are coming, sepoy?'
'Three, sahib.'
'Only three? You must be mistaken! Let me see for myself.'
Cavagnari kept low as he crossed the roof, followed by Jenkyns, Hamilton and George in the same crouching stance. All four joined Dowlat Ram behind the low barricade. 'There, sahib,' said the sepoy to Cavagnari, pointing to a trio of riders advancing up the lane that led from the royal palace.
'Well, that explains it,' said Cavagnari. 'See the big rider in front? That's General Daoud Shah, Commander-in-Chief of the Afghan Army. If anyone can restore order, he can.'
The lead rider was a huge man whose broad shoulders and huge frame almost dwarfed the Arab horse he was riding. He was simply dressed in a drab black kurta and trousers, with matching cap, and only his jewel-studded sword-hilt hinted at the high office he held. George held his breath as Daoud and his two aides approached the rear of the mob, which, by now, had entirely surrounded the Residency compound, and was tightly packed into the lane that ran along the back of the Mess House. Without breaking stride, the horsemen rode into the crowd and tried to force their way through. At first the mob gave way, but as soon as the soldiers among them recognized Daoud they surged angrily
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