among the trees. The reflected flames of the burning rockets flickered red on their bayonets. Somewhere nearby a man panted as he died, the blood bubbling in his gullet at the end of every laboured breath. A volley crackled and splintered a few yards away, but it was fired away from Morris who nevertheless ducked. Then, for a few blessed seconds, the confusing noise of batde diminished and in the comparative silence Morris looked around to try and find some bearings. ‘Lieutenant Fitzgerald!’ he shouted.
Tm here, sir!’ Fitzgerald called confidently from the darkness ahead. ‘Up afront of you. Cleared the buggers out of here, sir, but some of the rascals are working about your flank. Watch the left, sir.’ The Irishman sounded indecently cheerful.
‘Ensign Hicks!’ Morris called.
Tm here, sir, right beside you, sir,’ a small voice said from almost beneath Morris.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Morris swore. He had been hoping that Hicks could have brought reinforcements, but it seemed that no one except Fitzgerald had any control in the chaos. ‘Fitzgerald!’ Morris shouted.
‘Still here, sir! Got the buggers worried, we have.’
‘I want you here, Lieutenant!’ Morris insisted. ‘Hakeswill! Where are you?’
‘Here, sir,’ Hakeswill said, but not moving from his hiding place among the bushes. He guessed he was a few paces north of Morris, but Hakeswill did not want to risk being ambushed by a tiger-striped soldier as he blundered about in search of his Captain and so he stayed put. ‘Coming to join you, sir,’ he called, then crouched even lower among the shrouding leaves.
‘Fitzgerald!’ Morris shouted irritably. ‘Come here!’
‘The bloody man,’ Fitzgerald said under his breath. His left arm was useless now, and he sensed it had been injured more badly than he had supposed. He had ordered a man
to tie a handkerchief round the wound and hoped the pressure would staunch the blood. The thought of gangrene was nagging at him, but he pushed that worry away to concentrate on keeping his men alive. ‘Sergeant Green?’
‘Sir?’ Green responded stoically.
‘Stay with the men here, Sergeant,’ Fitzgerald ordered. The Irishman had led a score of the Light Company deep into the tope and he saw no point in surrendering the ground just because Morris was nervous. Besides, Fitzgerald was fairly sure that the Tippoo’s troops were just as confused as the British and if Green stayed steady and used volley fire he should be safe enough. ‘I’Il bring the rest of the company back here,’ Fitzgerald promised Sergeant Green, then the Lieutenant turned and called back through the trees. ‘Where are you, sir?’
‘Here!’ Morris called irritably. ‘Hurry, damn you!’
‘Back in a minute, Sergeant,’ Fitzgerald reassured Green, and headed off through the trees in search of Morris.
He strayed too far north, and suddenly a rocket flared up from the tope’s eastern edge to lodge with a tearing crash among the tangling branches of a tall tree. For a few seconds the trapped missile thrashed wildly, startling scared birds up into the dark, then it became firmly wedged in the crook of a branch. The exhaust poured an impotent torrent of fire and smoke to illuminate a whole patch of the thick woodland, and in the sudden blaze Hakeswill saw the Lieutenant stumbling towards him. ‘Mister Fitzgerald!’ Hakeswill called.
‘Sergeant Hakeswill?’ Fitzgerald asked.
‘It’s me, sir. Right here, sir. This way, sir.’
‘Thank God.’ Fitzgerald crossed the clearing at a run, his left arm hanging useless at his side. ‘No one knows what the hell they’re doing. Or where they are.’
‘I know what I’m doing, sir,’ Hakeswill said, and as the fierce crackling fire in the high leaves died away he lunged upwards with the halberd’s spear point at the Lieutenant’s
belly. His face twitched as the newly sharpened blade ripped through the Lieutenant’s clothes and into his stomach. ‘It isn’t the soldierly thing, sir, to contradict a sergeant in front of his men, sir,’ he said respectfully. ‘You do understand that, sir, don’t you, sir?’ Hakeswill said, and grinned with joy for the pleasure of the moment. The spear point was deep in Fitzgerald’s belly, so deep that Hakeswill was certain he had felt its razor-sharp point lodge against the man’s backbone. Fitzgerald was on the ground now and his body was jerking like a gaffed and landed fish. His mouth was opening and closing, but he seemed unable to speak, only to moan as Hakeswill gave the spear a savage twist in an effort to free its blade. ‘We is talking about proper respect, sir,’ Hakeswill hissed at the Lieutenant. ‘Respect! Sergeants must be supported, sir, says so in the scriptures, sir. Don’t worry, sir, won’t hurt, sir. Just a prick,’ and he jerked the bloodied blade free and thrust it down again, this time into the Lieutenant’s throat. ‘Won’t be showing me up again, sir, will you, sir? Not in front of the men. Sorry about that, sir. And good night, sir.’