The Siege of Kandahar Part III

I tossed the executioner’s revolver into Macpartout’s lap.“Make every shot count you Foul Jock Cur..” I muttered in encouragement, to rouse his rum-sodden spirits...

But before we could raise our gun-arms, the rampart collapsed. A fusillade of Hindu Cannon reduced the East wall to rubble and our bodies were toppled like chess-pieces.

Through divine intervention my stunned body fell upon soft cushion, as beneath me lay a mattress... a mattress filled with the Smack-ruined corpses of the Regiment.

So yet again the Lord smiled upon his Champion, for though half-crippled, and woozy with Helmand-Poppy, I found myself surrounded by the arms and munitions of the Queens Finest.  

Eyes closed I raised and fired, reloaded, then shot again. Roaring violent curse and kicking out with my barely functioning legs I caused panic amongst the invaders.

More in fear at my Christian anger, than by my blind shot, the vile tide ebbed then fled from the ruined Fort.

Alone (with scant Ghurka help) I faced the Horde!

But the Drowned Man's respite was brief.

As darkness fell, amongst the rubble and cooling bodies of my death-drugged comrades, my morale began to sink.

The loyal Ghurka tended their wounded, rearmed and marshaled the lower wall; but I knew without the virile command of a white-sahib the Fort was lost. And yet I could not sustain my spirit. Perhaps it was the realisation I might never see my darling Abigail again, or perhaps it was the diminishing energy of that long distant Opoid-breakfast. Whatever... I felt close to surrender...

And it was then, at my weakest, I first heard the seductive voice of the Gloating Overlord!

To be continued....