This report, courtesy of the Mad Padre - our man on the ground in the NW Frontier.
Note - the battle described here is assumed to have happened at the same time and in the same universe as the Prussian invasion of England described elswhere:
http://leadadventureforum.com/index.php?topic=6140.0 and
http://leadadventureforum.com/index.php?topic=6203.0Prologue - St. Petersburg
Lights in the Foreign Ministry burned late into the night while the crowds below wound their way through the dark streets below, their banners visible in the light of many torches. From his office window, Count Orlovsky, adviser to the Czar, watched the protesters and stroked his moustache.
"Shall I pass the order to the Cossacks to clear the streets, excellency?" asked his aide.
"No, not yet, Yuri Petreivich. Not yet. That would be premature. Look at their banners. Icons. Requests to their beloved Czar for more bread. No, this isn't the revolution. This is loyal protest, and that can always be channeled in more useful directions. A short, victorious war should be just the thing. Have you read the dispatches from Prussia and England?"
"Yes, Excellency. Today's telegraph of the Prussian landings is fine news."
"Yes, and opportune." Orlovsky moved to a large globe by his desk and studied the frontier of British India. "Have my carriage ready to go to the War MInistry. I think we need to persuade them to give Count Gorlov permission to try his new toys."
The Fort of Chakdara, the NW Frontier
Captain Paddington Bearsham paced the ramparts of the small mud fort and scanned the rocks and defiles to the north with his looking glass. Blast this hellish, desolate place, the Czar could jolly well have it. What all the fuss from Brigade was about states of heightened vigilance quite escaped him. And blast this heat! He mopped his brow again, and frowned at the snake charmer below him, seemingly impervious to the heat.
For the fourth time that morning, Bearsham turned to the imperturbable Havildar Singh, standing in a relaxed but ready posture by the Fort's sole screw gun. "All ready for action" "Yes, Sahib, everything is perfectly ready." The sergeant's teeth gleamed whitely.
"Sahib! Look!" Naik Gurga Singh, his best lookout, shouted and pointed to the hills shimmering to the north. " I am most concerned about what is coming closer to us!"
If Bearsham's mouth was dry before, it was parched now. "Crikey, Russians! And those contraptions with them, giant walking machines." He scanned the two lumbering objects in the Russian lines, their cowlings producing clouds of smoke, like locomotives on legs. Brigade was right for once after all! He turned to Jimmy Whicker-Baskett, the other English officer in the Sikh company. "I say, Jimmy, get on your gee gee and cut along to Brigade over in Kangadar, and tell them we've got Russian clanks before the walls and we need all the help they can send us." The young subaltern nodded and raced for his horse, and in moments was a disappearing speck along the road to the south.
In the swaying conning space of the Tsarina-class steam walker Odessa, Count Vladimir Gorlov studied the British fort through his German-made field glasses. He doubted that his countrymen could ever have designed let along produced the Tsarinas without Prussian help, even though the thought galled him. "Steady, steady. Wait for their gun to fire again." Below him, shrapnel shells from a British gun on the ramparts were starting to burst among his accompanying infantry, and some were already down. "There! See the flash? Engage". The driver stopped their forward motion, the loader slammed an HE round into the breach, and the cowling filled with acrid cordite smoke.
"Damn!" Bearsham ducked as the third shell exploded just below the trunnion of his screw gun, flipping it into the air, the crew flying like rag dolls.
"Blast!" They were getting a lot of stick from the Russian clank chaps, and now he had no way to reply in kind.
His command was melting before his eyes, as the second Russian walker began firing into the fort, but the remaining Sikh riflemen continued to drop the Russian infantry as they drew nearer.
His ears ringing, Bearsham felt a hand on his arm. It was Havildar Singh. "Well, Sahib, this is certainly a very strange day indeed. Look at the curious sight to the south!" Bearsham pointed a shaky glass in the direction of the Havildar's arm, wiping blood and sweat from his eye. "By jove, Jimmy was fast, and it looks like help was on the way after all! It's McTavish, God bless his socks, and his clank has never looked so good!"
On a small knoll to the south of Spin Madli, Lt. Col. the Hon. P.G. Wooster, VC, OBE, regarded the Russian forces through his fieldglasses and shook his head.
"Damn tricky chaps, these Russians. Didn't figure them for mechanics, eh? Damned Cossacks and serfs the lot of them, and here they are with walking things, by thunder. Well, we'll soon sort them out." He turned to his adjutant. "I say, Eddie, get the Brigade moving. Get that Scots feller, McTavish, going in his clank. He may be a shocking type, all coveralls and oil stains, but let's see what he can do. Mind you, can't have the cavalry left out, eh what? Send them in too!"
Lt. Hamish McTavish ground forward on the British right, commanding Her Majesty's Land Ship Cantankerous, supported by Gurkha infantry and the Blandingshire Fusiliers under Capt. Manfred Splinter.
To the British left, Captain Hamilton Wentworth advanced, leading the 21st Lancers and the 10th Bengal Lancers in fine style, supported by a limbered Maxim gun.
Will Lt. Col. the Hon. P.G. Wooster's men save the day and rescue the beleaguered garrison of Chakdara?
Find out in the next thrilling second and final instalment of the Battle of Chakdara, only 2d in local newsagents.
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April 28, 2024, 06:09:23 PM
