THE DOMED BUILDING, with its narrowing finger of a tower, dominated the clearing. From within the structure came the sound of chanting.
Lieutenant Everson beckoned the men to remain in the cover of the undergrowth at the clearing’s edge. There were sixteen of them, all told, but their ammunition was severely limited. He didn’t want to get into a skirmish if he didn’t have to.
He ordered Gazette to cover the doors to the building. A little persuasive fire might keep those within from breaking out, if necessary.
But he needed to know with what he was dealing. With another gesture, he ordered Atkins and Gutsy to advance and scout out the building.
Crawling on their bellies, they crossed the open space until they reached the wall of the building. Crouching with their backs to the wall, Atkins beckoned to Gutsy to stay where he was. Keeping close to the wall and below the loopholes, he made a circuit of the dome, checking for other entrances. He made his way round and came to the only entrance they had seen. The wooden doors were shut as he crawled past. The sound of chanting from within rose and fell like a liturgy.
When he got back round to Gutsy, Atkins jerked his thumb up. “Take a dekko through t’loophole.”
Gutsy stood cautiously and peered through the hole. “Urmen. They’ve got the tanker,” he hissed. “He’s still alive, but I don’t know for how much longer. There’s loads of the buggers. Fifty, sixty maybe. Most of ’em had their backs to me, couldn’t see much past ’em. Looks like some sort of temple. It’s not looking good for Alfie. They had him by some altar thing.”
“Bugger,” said Atkins. “Stay here. See if you can tell what they’re saying.”
Atkins headed back to the cover of the undergrowth on his elbows. He slithered down by Everson.
“There’s a large mob of urmen in there, all right, sir. Gutsy – I mean Private Blood – thinks they might be getting ready to sacrifice him. From my experience they have a tendency to do that,” he offered, before nodding with respect towards their urman guide. “Napoo’s mob excepted, that is.”
Everson chewed his lip, looking at the building, considering his next move. “It’s a defensible position.”
“Only if they know how to defend it, sir. There’s only one way in and out,” said Atkins. “Seem to me that we have surprise on our side, and those loopholes can act just as much in our favour as theirs. Depends who gets to use ’em first.”
Everson nodded approvingly. “I see your point, Corporal.” He patted Atkins on the shoulder as he crawled back to where the rest had laid up.
“Jack and Pot Shot, take the door with me. Gazette, cover us from here. Riley, Tonkins. Miss Abbott, Padre, stay with him.”
“What, we don’t get to try out the electric lances, sir?” asked Tonkins, disappointment clear on his face.
Everson smiled. “Not now, private. I can’t take the chance.” He looked back at Mercy and the tank crew. “The rest of you, fan out and take up positions below the loopholes. Make sure you keep the next man along in sight and on my signal, stand to arms and cover the interior. Fire only on my orders. Napoo, you’re with me.”
They crept up to the edge of the undergrowth and Lieutenant Everson drew his Webley, its cord lanyard hanging round his neck as he ran across in a stoop to the doors. Napoo followed. He reached the entrance to the building and stood with his back against the wall by the door, and listened for a moment. Inside, the chanting continued unabated. Jack and Pot Shot joined him either side of the door. He watched as the rest of the section and tank crew slipped from the undergrowth to take up their positions at the loopholes. He could hear the familiar but faint jingle and clink of equipment, of men moving and trying to be quiet. He waited for it to stop.
Gazette signalled him from the undergrowth. Everyone was in position.
Everson looked across the doorway at Pot Shot, who nodded his readiness.
He took several deep breaths, steeling himself. He could order the men to do this from the rear, but he was too much the subaltern. He’d always led his men over the top. This time wasn’t any different. Neither were the nerves.
NELLIE LAY IN the undergrowth with Gazette and the signallers. Although she had her revolver, Jack’s words still reverberated in her head. She checked her First Aid bag again. Field dressings, iodine, and morphine. It took her mind off Alfie, if only for a moment.
She thought she heard something in the jungle behind them. Or rather, she didn’t hear anything. The background jungle noise, which seemed so ubiquitous it barely registered at all. She only noticed it once it had stopped. Why had it stopped? She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes and ears straining.
EVERSON BLEW HARD. The shrill pea whistle split the air.
Pot Shot and Jack put their boots to the wooden doors, which crashed open. The large Tommies stood in the doorway, silhouetted in the rectangle of light, before stepping to the side and covering the urmen with rifle and revolver.
With a rattle of equipment and a cycling of bolts, the men outside stood to, the barrels of their rifles at the loopholes, as they had done hundreds of times before in the trenches, pointing in and covering the urmen inside.
The chanting churned into a jumble of screams and shouts of anger as the urmen turned to face the intrusion, raising swords and spears, ready to defend their sacred space.
Lieutenant Everson stood in the doorway. A couple of Mills bombs in this space and the urmen would be taken care of, he found himself thinking coldly. Instead, he fired his revolver into the roof.
The shouting and screaming died down to a ripple of sobs and muted wailing.
“I want our man and I want him unharmed. Do you understand?” Everson demanded, loudly and slowly. He indicated the loopholes around the circumference of the building and the bristle of rifle barrels and bayonets thrust though them. “We have you covered.”
The urmen muttered darkly, restrained by uncertainty and fear, shooting nervous glances at the gun barrels.
“Where is Private Perkins?” he demanded again.
THE COMMOTION STARTLED Alfie as much as the urmen, but when he heard the barked orders and the cycling of Enfield bolts he at least knew what was happening, even if he never expected it. He felt a flood of relief to know that he hadn’t been forgotten, and that they had come for him.
“Here, sir,” he called over the heads of the urmen.
Alfie limped towards the Lieutenant. The crowd of frightened, angry urmen parted, allowing him to pass.
Alfie took in the rifle barrels at the loopholes. “I’ve not been harmed, sir. In fact,” he said, “just the opposite.” He hobbled forward on his splinted leg. The cheery grin of mustered bravado twisted into a grimace as pain lanced through him.
“Alfie! Thank God!” blurted Jack as he saw his crewmate.
Alfie hadn’t parted on the best of terms with his crewmates. The last time he saw them they were so paranoid, they’d forced petrol fruit down his throat to try and make him see things their way. He hadn’t expected to see them again, and now that he had, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it. Anger, relief, and a bright flare of hope. Nellie. Was Nellie with them?
Everson shot a glance at the gunner over his shoulder and the man clammed up. It looked as if Alfie’s answers would have to wait.
“It’s all right, sir,” said Alfie. He turned to face the urmen, who were looking from Alfie to Everson in muted awe. “You can put your weapons down,” he told them. “I know these men. They are like me.”
“Perkins, what’s going on here?”
Alfie glanced back at the urmen. “Long story, sir,”