Call of Empire, page 21
George chuckled. No doubt the cowardly officer would one day tell stories of how he was at a place called Palmietfontein where he charged with his men into the jaws of hell.
Twenty-seven
Rebecca Steele was a spinster in her early thirties. She had the dark beauty of her mother, Ella, inherited from a Russian ancestry. She was intelligent, lively and kind, and many who knew Rebecca – or Becky, as she was affectionately known to family and friends – wondered why she had discounted the many men who attempted to woo her over the years.
There had been times when one or two had come close to winning her heart, but something caused her to shy away when she unconsciously weighed their characters against that of the man she idolised, her father. After a time, she found those rich men with impeccable pedigrees shallow and boring compared to the legendary Colonel Ian Steele.
Becky had resigned herself to life as a matriarch of the Steele family. With Marian away so often, Becky was in charge of the family home. She had a life filled with the love of her brothers, sister-in-law, nieces, nephews and stepmother. What more could she want?
Becky was pleased to welcome Duke Maximillian von Kellermann and his son to stay in the Steele family mansion, regarding it as her duty to ensure their guests received every comfort. The duke captured her attention immediately with his warm smile and charming manners. She knew a little about him from Josiah, who said that he was now a widower, an aristocrat, a serving soldier who had fought the French in the Franco–Prussian war as a young officer with great courage. This handsome man with an aristocratic bearing had much in common with her deceased father, but time would confirm her female instincts.
Hermann opted to dine with Josiah’s children early in the evening, where they did not have to be on their best behaviour and could eat as much as they liked. Becky checked in on the children and found they were enjoying a raucous meal. By the end, Hermann had bonded with David over common interests and annoying younger siblings.
As the adults sat down to dinner, she overheard the count say quietly to Josiah, ‘I was not aware that you had such a beautiful sister.’ Her heart fluttered. Was it that there was such a thing as love at first sight?
*
Later that evening, Josiah and their guest retired to the library to share a bottle of fine port wine and cigars.
‘You have a fine house and family,’ Maximillian said as he sipped his port and puffed on his cigar. The room was already filling with the sweet scent of the smoke drifting away on a gentle breeze from an open window. Although it was chilly outside, the warmth from a log fire warded off the cold.
‘Thank you,’ Josiah replied. ‘I must compliment your son for his manners. I believe he and my oldest son, David, have become instant friends.’
‘That is not like Hermann,’ Maximillian said. ‘He is usually a reserved boy who has aspirations to entering a military college, following in my footsteps.’
‘As I cannot see any future wars ahead of us, you can rest in the knowledge that he will not experience those horrors I know you and I have. A career – even in a peacetime army – has its merits.’
‘I am pleased that you think that way, my friend,’ Maximillian said. ‘The current bad relations between our people are not good, yet the Kaiser insists on supporting the Dutch cause in Africa.’
‘Why would he jeopardise the long friendship we have with the German people?’ Josiah asked.
Maximillian frowned. ‘The Kaiser has a deep hatred for England,’ he sighed. ‘The last time I was in his court, he expressed this publicly to his officers.’
Josiah was shocked. ‘But his mother was our Queen’s daughter! From what I know, the Kaiser is very fond of our Queen, as she is of her grandson.’
‘I think Willie is envious of the British Empire and wants to show the world that he is an equal,’ Maximillian replied. ‘He is even throwing his support behind our navy to build dreadnoughts, similar to those Britain possesses. Rule of the sea is rule of the world.’
‘Do you believe that Britain and Germany may ever go to war against each other in the future?’ Josiah asked, leaning forward to his friend.
‘Sadly, with Willie as the Kaiser, there will always be that dreadful possibility,’ Maximillian said. ‘Europe is a powder keg of nationalist and anarchist zealots, and we cannot predict who will light the fuse to another European conflict not seen since Napoleon swept across the continent. But then, Blucher and Wellington stood shoulder to shoulder to prevent the French dominance of Europe.’
Josiah leaned back in his big leather chair and stared at the dancing flames. ‘I pray that there will never be such a war between our two empires,’ Josiah said.
Maximillian raised his glass. ‘To peace between Germany and England,’ he said, and Josiah responded to the toast.
But it had a hollow ring to it.
*
It was a cold day of drizzling rain when the men of Sam’s squadron came upon the Boer farm. Led by Lieutenant Anderson, George and Sam knew what the mission was, and it left a bitter taste in their mouths.
Surrounded by Australian gum trees, it could have been any farm in western New South Wales, and this was not lost on the mounted infantry of the squadron. Wispy smoke rose from the stone chimney of the small cottage as half the men dismounted while the rest stood alert to any Boer fighters in the district.
‘You, Sergeant, and the corporal with you, follow me,’ Anderson barked when he had dismounted.
Sam slid from his horse as did George, rifles in hand. They reluctantly followed the officer to the front door, where Anderson hammered, demanding entry. After a short time, a middle-aged woman wearing a bonnet answered, fear written across her features.
‘You speak English?’ Anderson demanded, thrusting forward into the terrified woman’s face. She shook her head and turned to call something into the cottage.
‘You have ten minutes to pack your belongings and get out of this house, which we will burn, along with any other outbuildings. Do you understand, woman?’
Again, she shook her head and retreated into the house.
‘You two. Search for any signs of complicity with the enemy,’ Anderson commanded. ‘See if you can find any small arms or ammunition.’
Anderson stepped into the house. A photo of two proud men sporting thick beards and displaying their Mauser rifles with ammunition bandoliers slung across their chests was on display. Anderson ripped it off the wall, smashing it to the ground, splintering the glass from the frame.
The woman shrieked in despair and scrambled for the remnants. It had been a photo of her husband and son, now long dead after battling the invaders of their independent republic.
Anderson kicked her as she was on her knees sobbing.
Instantly, Sam stepped protectively forward. ‘No need for that, sir,’ he said, holding his rifle across his chest. ‘Bad enough that the woman is about to lose every worldly possession she owns in the middle of winter.’
Anderson looked into Sam’s eyes and blinked. ‘Be careful, Sergeant Steele. You are facing disciplinary charges if you dare interfere with a commissioned officer of the Queen.’ But Anderson took a step back when he saw the smouldering menace in the big sergeant’s eyes and turned to George, who had emerged from a side room, ushering four children ranging in age from three to fourteen. The eldest was a blonde-haired girl whose terror-stricken look did not hide her beauty. Sam could see a strange expression on Cecil Anderson’s face that he did not like.
‘No sign of any weapons or ammo, sir,’ George said. ‘Just another poor Dutchie family tryin’ to eke out a living here.’ George’s sarcasm was lost on Anderson, who was still fixated on the pretty blonde girl.
‘I think this family has had enough time to get their belongings together, Sergeant. Get them out of the house before we torch it,’ Anderson demanded.
‘Sir, with all due respect, they do not understand anything we have told them. I think they should be given the chance to gather up personal belongings of a valuable nature to them,’ Sam countered.
‘You saw the photograph on the wall, Sergeant. It demonstrates to me that they are in league with the enemy and have most probably been giving them succour.’
‘It looked like a photograph of her husband and son,’ Sam challenged. ‘Who knows if they are still alive?’
‘Just get the family out – but leave the girl,’ Anderson said with a glazed look. ‘I wish to interrogate her away from her mother.’
‘She does not speak English,’ Sam countered. ‘She is better off accompanying her mother in these traumatic moments.’
‘You heard me, Sergeant. Leave now and close the door after you. You are forbidden to re-enter unless on my explicit orders.’
Sam turned to George and both soldiers ushered the terrified woman and her children into the wet, cold front yard, where they looked up at the mounted soldiers with their rifles on their hips wearing the slouch hat popular with their own men in the field.
They were hardly out in the yard when Sam heard a scream from the girl they had left with the despised officer. Without hesitating, Sam turned and smashed his shoulder into the door, flinging it open, where he saw that the front of the young girl’s dress had been ripped down, revealing her small breasts. Anderson was attempting to force her down on the rough wooden dining table, but she was fighting back with all her strength.
Sam brought up his rifle and levelled it at Anderson. ‘Let the girl go or I swear I will put a bullet in your head,’ he snarled.
Anderson immediately let her go and stood up defiantly, adjusting his uniform. ‘You have gone too far this time, Sergeant Steele. I will see you arrested immediately.’
‘I don’t think so . . . sir,’ Sam sneered. ‘Rape – or attempted rape – is an offence punishable by death under military regulations, even for officers.’
For a moment, Anderson appeared confused, then the realisation dawned on him that there were two of his troopers standing in the doorway, observing the scene. Troopers Brendan and Nate Welsh held their rifles in a threatening way that made it plain they would not hesitate to shoot if ordered by Sergeant Steele. Anderson knew his threat was useless with so many witnesses.
‘She attacked me, and I was forced to restrain her,’ he replied weakly. ‘Thank God you came in when you did.’
Sam glanced at the girl, who had retreated to a corner, where she crouched, attempting to cover her breasts with the ripped dress. In the little of the Boer language he had learned from his years on the African goldfields before the war, he asked, ‘Did this man try to have his way with you?’
The girl nodded vigorously, and Anderson appeared stunned that his sergeant was speaking in the enemy’s language.
‘She agreed that you attempted to molest her,’ Sam said. ‘I am sure that she would give evidence to the fact in any court of law. But we can let the matter stay here and proceed with real soldiering and not your idea of fighting the Boer. I know it has been you who has volunteered us for all the farm burnings.’
Anderson knew he was cornered and nodded his head. ‘I will not volunteer the section for any more farm raids,’ he replied, walking stiffly past Sam to his horse.
The farmhouse was conveniently overlooked and was not put to the torch. The woman and her family were left alone to gather the remnants of their life in the harsh land they had fought for long ago.
At least Anderson was true to his word and Sam had burned his last farm.
*
The day cruising the harbour on the Steele motor launch was only dampened by scudding showers, but Becky conveniently found that the enclosed cabin gave her the opportunity to converse with Maximillian. Becky impressed him with her grasp of German, which she explained was one of the languages she spoke, along with French and Italian.
Josiah noticed the warm exchange between his sister and his German friend and was surprised. It was obvious while they cruised the harbour that Maximillian hardly took notice of the tree-lined foreshores and cottages on the northern side. Becky and Maximillian were deep in conversation, switching from German to English and back. She was laughing at things Maximillian said, and Josiah swore that he saw his sister touch the usually reserved Prussian on the hand.
Josiah shook his head; who would have known?
*
It was just another routine day scouting the veldt for retreating Boer commandoes. The icy-cold barbs of rain bit through the khaki uniforms of the patrol, under the orders of the squadron commander and led by a sullen Lieutenant Cecil Anderson.
George and Sam rode side by side, always scanning the flat land studded by low, rocky outcrops that formed a perfect position for enemy snipers. The troopers of the mounted infantry scouting party of ten men remained silent, hunched against the wet and cold conditions, wishing they could return to camp and indulge in a mug of hot tea and shelter from the rain.
In the distance was one kopje that was larger than the surrounding outcrops. The rain had brought some green to the African grasses but made the footing slippery for the mounts.
‘Halt,’ Anderson said, holding up his hand and surveying the kopje, which Sam calculated was about five hundred yards away. Anderson took a set of binoculars from a leather case at his waist and peered through them. He sat back in the saddle, looking around at his small scouting party.
‘Corporal Bowden, I want you to ride directly to the high ground to our front and see if there are any enemy located there.’
‘Sir?’ Sam said. ‘It might be wiser to flank the kopje.’
Anderson turned to Sam with anger in his eyes. ‘I gave an order, and it will be obeyed.’
George glanced at Sam and shrugged, withdrawing his rifle from the leather bucket and spurring his horse into a gallop. Sam watched his friend with a feeling of dread. If there was anyone on the high ground, they had a perfect shot at the horseman riding directly towards them.
‘Sir, we could still provide cover for Corporal Bowden if we advance out to one side on a flank,’ Sam protested, but was met with a steely stare by the junior officer.
‘Corporal Bowden knows his job, which is more than I can say for you, Sergeant Steele.’
Sam felt rage boiling up. How the man had ever been commissioned struck Sam as ludicrous. The decision to send a lone man against a potentially lethal position was akin to murder.
They saw George fall before the gunshot was heard.
‘Withdraw!’ Anderson screamed in a shrill, terrified voice. Sam sat stunned by the sight of George lying under his badly wounded horse, and could see that George was struggling to pull himself away from the mount, which was thrashing in its death throes.
Sam did not turn about with the rapidly retreating troop, noticing that Anderson was well and truly galloping in front of the troopers, heading back to the main body of the advancing mounted infantry regiment. Only the two recruited Kiwi troopers remained with Sam.
‘We can go out and get him back,’ Brendan said, rifle in hand.
‘Just give me covering fire,’ Sam answered, galloping at breakneck speed towards George’s position. As Sam lay low over the neck of his panting horse, he could hear the crack of Mauser rounds around his head. He slid the horse to a halt beside George, who had been able to extract himself from under the dead animal.
‘Sam! Get away from here!’ George yelled up at his friend as Sam leapt from his mount. ‘I’m done for. My legs are broken!’
‘I’ll get you out of here,’ Sam yelled, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and leaning down to grip George under the armpits and pull him to his own mount nearby. But the hail of bullets from the high ground continued, and Sam felt the sting of one grazing his shoulder.
George grunted and went limp in Sam’s grip. Horrified, Sam could see that half George’s head had exploded from one of the high-velocity rifle rounds, splattering Sam’s face with bone, brain and blood. It was obvious the wound was fatal, and Sam dropped George to the wet earth.
The heavy rain now falling must have spoiled the accuracy of the incoming rifle rounds. Sam guessed that there was a small party on the high ground, and he was now alone.
Sam dragged George’s lifeless body onto his shoulders and staggered to his mount, throwing him over the front of the saddle and taking hold of the reins to walk his mount away.
Sam could not know that the Boers firing upon him had seen the courageous act and ceased shooting at the man walking beside the horse with the body of his fallen comrade slung over it. They, too, understood the meaning of courage.
Sam trudged in the rain towards the main column, hardly aware that the bullets had stopped. He reached the Kiwi brothers, who were waiting for him out of range of any accurate sniping.
‘It was bloody murder to send George out there,’ Nate growled. ‘That bastard deserves to be court-martialled.’
Sam silently agreed, and gave the order for them to return to the squadron commander’s position. The rain concealed the tears streaming down his face as they withdrew. All the time, Sam swore that there would be a reckoning.
Twenty-eight
Sam reached the main column of his regiment in the rain. Two troopers met him and the Kiwi brothers.
‘Bloody hell!’ one of the troopers swore. ‘They got old George.’
Sam glanced up at the squadron commander sitting astride his horse, watching Sam. Beside the squadron commander sat Anderson.
‘That bastard Anderson got George killed,’ Sam snarled quietly. ‘He and I are going to square off over this.’
Sam let go of the reins of the horse he was leading and strode towards his squadron commander.
