Team of Seven Heroes Shorts Tales 1; Chapter 7 & 8

The other side of Duncan

7.

Corporal Selfridge had dug into his full meal after over a week. The doctor had taken him to another place where hot foods were served. He also had the other took tea for his thirst before he asked the questions.

“Who was Duncan McLeod?”

Duncan joined the Regiment was in India soon after his training. He was a good soldier with a good eyesight where he was trained as sniper. He was seen to be moving up the ranks but the lad wanted to be part of the Hidden Ones. He was given the opportunity when they lost one of theirs.

Duncan trained hard and was himself sniper for the team. The leader was Lieutenant Dunsbury and Corporal Selfridge was co-officer. They were on a few tasks and came back intact as a team. It was on one of the tasks they were to recon the hills for a certain group named the Fakirs.

“Our informers told us that the group is meeting them. They are pursued by the authorities. We will move in as usual under the guise as brigands. We will infiltrate there and annihilate the group. Simple task?”

If it was that simple, then the Hidden Ones won’t be needed.

The ride of the five soldiers was hard made by the terrain ever climbing or descending the valleys. The other members besides the Corporal Selfridge was Lieutenant Dunsbury, newly assigned to the squad, Private Jones, Private Murphy, and Duncan. They were part of the Hidden Ones Third Squad with some remarkable success on their tasks. The squad travelled light and were disguised like local tribesmen. Each of them was equipped with the Enfield rifle and bayonet knife, and the Webley with enough ammo for a small battle and provisions for a week. Every man was allowed to have a local preferred weapon and for the Corporal it was the curved scimitar on his waist belt. Duncan had on him a Mauser pistol he claimed given to him by an officer from the German Army. Their tasks may take them into the mountains for over a month and there was where they had learned to live off the land.

“We are ahead of schedule. We will take a break on the hillside.” The Lieutenant dismounted and then took the looking glass to check their back trail. He was not keen to be followed. The others dismounted and took to the shades although dusk was just an hour away.

“Corporal, assign the sentry.” The Officer took to his own shade. Corporal Selfridge looked towards Duncan and motioned to him. The other nodded and took his rifle towards the higher point where he held a vantage point. The Corporal looked to his own gear and stacked them to form his bedding for the evening. He sat there holding the dried dates while he looked to the others. They were all doing their routine; eating their choice of food or cleaning their weapons. On the trail, the men feared most was a jammed rifle or gun. It may mean instant death or delaying it.

The Corporal looked at Duncan; he was assigned from Squad One citing too many members. He knew that the squad was kept leaned but seldom they assigned their own out unless there were deaths or wounded. He had trained with Duncan and found him to be good. He kept his thoughts to his own and then rested.

It was the sound of killing that woke him.

The Corporal slept with the Webley in his right hand, and it was to save his life. He saw with his eyes open was the sight of the brigand levelling the rifle at his face. There was no time to pull the revolver out but shoot through the cut-out bottom end of the holster. He fired instinctively at the brigand legs, while the other shot him. Then bullet shaved past his eye and took a piece of his ear lobe. He rolled aside and the fired from his prone position. He was not aiming but firing off the waist. The bullet hit the surprised brigand who was reloading the ancient Bess rifle in the left thigh.

The Corporal crouched up and shot the wounded brigand in the chest before he looked to the others. He saw Jones was stabbed with the scimitar while Murphy was shooting his rifle at the brigands. He counted half a dozen brigands there at the camp site. The Lieutenant was dead from his slumped posture with the blood spurting from the back. It was up to the Corporal to call for the orders. The Corporal left eye was bloodied but he could make the scene.

“Retreat!” Corporal Selfridge called out but Jones was not joining them. Murphy had grabbed his horse and mounted it before he resumed firing with the Webley. Corporal Selfridge replaced his Webley and pulled out the scimitar. He saw Murphy coming towards him and readied his body. They have done it many times; the flight of freedom. Murphy rode by and with the sweep of the hand, the Corporal was on the horse. They rode off to safety and it was not for an hour later when they saw Duncan galloping ahead. They caught up and the first thing Duncan said was he was knocked unconscious. When he woke up, everyone was dead from his sight and he escaped.

The court martial was swift to the surprise of the Corporal and Duncan was released on the ground ‘misconduct. Duncan was only discharged later when he was caught in a drunken brawl with Officer Bromshead. The Officer was transferred back to the Regiment Barrack in city of London back here, but Duncan got the blunt end.

“In my view, Duncan was a coward. He was to be the sentry on duty, but he left us to die.” The Corporal lamented on. “I am ever surprised that he will do that.”

Doctor Watson took his leave of the soldier and went back to his rented room. He took off his jacket and then stood by the window. He was sure he was watched by someone, but he was not to see the person on the street. He had learned the trade from his days as a killer himself. He turned to look at his room; a small one with the single bedding and narrow cupboard, the small writing table and there were the two chairs there for his use. There was the coal brazier for the cold nights and the high table with the wash basin. It was nothing compared to his Officer’s House back at the Frontier or the Raj’s guest house where he stayed for some months.

“I must look for a more permanent place.” The Doctor sighed. “Perhaps with a house keeper.”

Those will have to wait. He has an obligation then to a dead mate from his Regiment.

8.

“Private Duncan McLeod? Can’t say I do not know him?” The elderly clerk at the desk in the Army Office replied. The bespectacled man in the simple two pieces suit looked towards his ledgers where he held the records of every personnel returning to London.

“He is a regular here, popping in to check on the names. He won’t say but he kept on asking to look at the newly arrived.” The clerk replied. “Maybe a lost mate or brother, I think.”

“Fancy meeting you here, Doctor.” The voice turned the doctor’s attention. It was the Sergeant.
“Can’t say you are not to be here? Are you looking for some old mates?”

“I was but they are not here. Probably gone back to their homes.” Watson replied. “And the pleasure of your visit, Sir?”

“Another of your mate died. A Corporal Ian Selfridge was found stabbed with multiple wounds in the back alley. Patrons there at a nearby pub favoured by the Corporal told my staff that a doctor was calling there regularly.”

“Can’t say I have not? I was visiting some old mates and others of the Regiment do stepped up for the drink request.” It was a viable statement and the Sergeant smiled.

“Coincidence indeed. I am here to see his commanding officer, Major Ryan Bromshead.” The Sergeant smiled. “One more to the meeting won’t matter much.”

Major Bromshead turned out to be a short figure with a thin streak for the upper lip design. He was an officer with the rank seated behind the desk fidgeting with the lists of names. He was retired but chose to serve voluntarily.

“The war there have taken us some casualties and it’s my task to ensure that they get home intact for their final bereavement. Can’t say it’s the choice of works but it’s mine now.” The officer moved some files to the side for us to place the cups of tea served by the lady during the visit. The office was not much to brag on with the stack of boxes at the walls, and the wooden desk that served for the Major. He saw the Sergeant looking at the desk and commented on. “Fine furniture we have here but non-compared to the ones at the Frontier. Nothing compared to the ones at the Raj, huh Doctor Watson?”

“Pardon me, Major….”

“Modesty? Or Army Rules? I am not overly concerned, Doctor. I am due to retire soon if this task does not kill me.” Major Bromshead smiled. “Your exploits are known by us in the inner command.”

“I say, Sergeant. I was rude to have ignored you. Are you here to enquire on something?”

“Corporal Ian Selfridge and Private Duncan McLeod.” Sergeant Lestrade voiced out. “We need their benefactor details.”

“Their demises are known to us. As to their benefactors there are none. All their pensions are given to the Widows Fund.” Major Bromshead replied. “Don’t be startled. We have our men in London too.”

“I heard of your men; the Intelligence Section. I am ever surprised that you need to spy on our backyard.” Sergeant Lestrade looked at the Major. “Tell me are the two your men too?”

“Then considered our interview over. Sergeant.” The Officer nodded to the other and then at Watson. “Stay on, Doctor.”

Watson watched the Sergeant took leave of the Officer and then he was given some new information.

“Your exploits are vague to many of us. You went missing and then we heard of the white killer in the mountains. Someone adept with the daggers. So, tell me who are you?”

“Pardon me, Major. I was wounded.”

“And offered to be the Raj’s guest when we were turned off at the gate.” Captain Bromshead cut in. “There was also the Princess.”

“Leave her out. I will be going now.” Watson stood up. The officer apologies and offered the Doctor to stay.

“You are part of the Regiment and more to that, I am in fear of my life.” Major Bromshead confessed his fear. “Your uncleared reputation of a killer gave me the sudden resolve that you may be the one that will be my saviour.”

“I have enough…” Watson took himself up.

“Please be seated. I will explain to you on Duncan and Selfridge. They were part of my squad named the Hidden Ones. We were part of the Regiment doing the dark tasks under Colonel Ian Fleming. I believed that our previous works may have triggered a retaliation. They may want to kill me too.”

“Who? I need to know.”

“Saidullah the Sartor, or the Mullah of Mastun.” Watson nodded. He heard the Major.

“The Mad Fakir is back to kill us. Or more like he is in London, so he is hunting us.” The Officer replied. “The Mad Fakir have come to London. The squad was returned.”

“Duncan was discharged. I was told by the Corporal.” Watson affirmed the fact that he knew.

“Duncan was discharged on paper. He was sent back soon after the massacre….. You may have heard of it. But what you may not know was that Duncan left his position to check on the others. It was more on Lieutenant Dunsbury. The officer was a traitor. He was signalling the brigands that day. Duncan was to kill him then; he was a sniper. He did not kill the officer; the brigands had attacked the camp. They were slaughtering the others. Duncan had reported in that he had missed the attack. It was his mistake. We could not pardon him for the slip up, but mistakes happened. So, we sent him home dishonourable. On paper anyway.”

“So, we got the Mad Fakir killing them.” Watson then threw in the unanswered question. “What about his friend? The lady friends? She was here too.”