Jimmy Loong
1st October 2017
A healer with a task
Notes:
This is a series of short tales on Heroes. The first is on Doctor John Watson soon after he returned to London from the Frontiers. He had not met Sherlock then. Doctor Watson held a secret life when he was at the Frontier. He had thought he will start a new life then back in London.
Well good wishes to him then. He needed it then.
Malakand,
The North West Frontier
1.
The
weather in the area was cold at nightfall, with many of the men bivouac in the
tents on the hard ground with the fireplaces spaced out among them. The area
was seen as a large cup with the rims broken with numerous clefts and jagged
points. It was a shelter from the harsh cold winds of the northern mountain but
it was also a poor defensive position then. The place was selected more for the
main task it was assigned for then; the field hospital for the wounded in the
war with the local tribesmen there at the North West Frontier.
On
such a cold night, a refreshing drink of scotch from another Highlands was most
welcomed by the senior officers there including a seasoned doctor of medicine
who had seen action for over a year then.
“I
say, Doctor Watson, your posting here have been a relief to us. We do lack
surgeons here; well out last one had to return home due to poor health.”
Colonel Schalch greeted the doctor who was then seated with his three other
peers of the similar profession.
“Old
Smithy probably missed his missus back home. I hear she is a nurse and that
what he needs right now.” Field Doctor Major Benjamin roared out in his deep
laughter. He was with the thin moustache that bears not with his huge frame. He
was the Camp Surgeon and was handy with the blade nifty in his hands when he
removed those bullets.
“I
can’t say I don’t agree. The doctor did look like he needed the fresh morning
air of Dover then what this acrid land had to offer.” The Colonel raised his
glass to finish the remaining scotch. “I am too fond of my home but duty calls
for me to be here. Another round please, gentlemen.”
The
glasses were refilled and the ensemble of seven officers including the newly
posted doctor trying very hard to fit into the seasoned group there.
“Tell
me, Watson.” The Field Doctor looked at Doctor Watson. “How did you fare at Bombay?
Did you come alone or with your missus in the bags?”
That
drew laughter among the officers on the muse of sharing tales of their love’s there.
It was a hard posting and with the unrest there, some of the officers will
leave their family at the stronghold at India while they served the Empire
without any reservation. Some families were there but the unrest reported, most
of them have retired back to India.
“I
am …not married and presently unattached. Thank you. I…”
“A
bachelor still in the looks. I say, doctor you are not a measure of age to be
one. I will take you to be in your thirties ….”
“Thirty
four of age, Sir but I have never…I meant found one yet to settle with.” Doctor
Watson drew up a smile. He was aware that among them there, he was the youngest
and without a soul mate. He had a few before from his earlier age of the
twenties but the call of a poor man in the health line with various postings
required by the Empire eluded him of holding a relationship.
”I
may have a sister in London that may suit you.” Another officer named Dean
voiced out. “She is teacher and may be more invested in her student’s wellbeing
instead of her own. She may be the one I will introduced her to you when we
return to London. Or if we do.”
“Gentlemen,
let us not be gloomy. The unrest will end soon enough.” Colonel Schalch drew
the conversation back to the main concern of the officers. “The Pashtuns will
get in line like the others. We the best in the Empire and God knows how many
of these rebels we have uprooted from here to the southern tip of the Horn and
the Far East where the servants held their balls in the pouches.”
The
Colonel ended his words with a roar to toast to the Empire for its glory.
Everyone took a sip and then he reality sets in once more.
“Colonel,
I heard from the wounded, the Pashtuns have a new leader….” The Field Doctor
raised the concern but was brushed off.
“Baloney
there, Major. The wounded are unfortunate to shot by those pesky snipers.” It
was from the minor skirmishes that the men were wounded. Most by the snipers
with the locally built rifle; the Jezail musket rifle mostly savaged from the
Empire troops of their Brown Bess parts. The local rifle may be an adaption but
it out rivalled the Empire issues with a longer range of five hundred yards
compared to the Bess range of a hundred and fifty yards.
“The
bullets I dug out are ours but the men claimed it was fired from afar. Further
than ours.”
“Aye,
I can agree. That’s why are in the basin here and our sentries are on the rim
of it will keep those nasty snipers from shooting at us here.” The Colonel
calmed the officers. He had called for that evening drink with all the doctors
present was to keep them in place. Wounded men may sometimes demoralize the
others with taller tales and hoped for the wagon to return home.
“Who
is this Mad Fakir?” Doctor Watson felt out the grim silence that came from his
question.
“The
man is Saidullah the Sartor, or the Mullah of Mastun. We named him the Mad
Fakir. He will be what you considered a mad …medicine man. No offenses to all
of you here but the cures are fatal to the patients.” The Colonel laughed.
“According to the scouts, the man had been telling the tribes to unite against
us. He is doing a bloody good task for we are here now trying to stop his influence.”
The
strength there named as the Malakand Field Force was one British Calvary
regiment, one Indian regiment, and one Indian infantry battalion.
“We
are assisted by the North Camp on the plains of Khar with more regiments and
more within two day’s march. I doubt the Pashtun will consider us as a weak
position to attack.”
Those
were bold words then on the evening of the battle soon to be remembered as the
Malakand Battle.
2.
The
bulge call was sounded on the late night soon after the Colonel retired for his
rest. He was roused by the aide that a messenger had come bearing grave news.
“Colonel,
the Pashtun rebels are seen to conveyed at Khar.” That was three miles from
Malakand.
“Sound
the bugle and get me Lieutenant Colonel McRae now.” Soon a company of
infantries with two mountain guns and a squadron of lancers were assembled.
“Lieutenant
Colonel, you will march to Amandara Pass and hold that position.” It was a
direct order.
While
the assembled company was moving out, new reports came in.
“Colonel,
the sentries reported skirmish with the Pashtun.” The Lieutenant who had rode
his horse to report then was a young man who had only served two months there.
“Well,
Lieutenant. Do you want me to hold your hand or do you mobilized more men to
the rim now? You must maintain the position.” The Lieutenant embarrassed then
took to call on the non-commissioned officers to assist him here. He then took
off and it was then Doctor Watson having dressed up in haste and had his gun
belt on without his Webley. He searched for it then in his tent and recalled he
had placed it under the pillow. He placed the pistol in the holster and
approached the Field Medical Tent.
“Major,
may I take an intern with me to join the sentries? We may have …”
“Yes,
Doctor. Do so and be quick.” With that Doctor Watson took his medical case and
ordered a local intern to assist him. He has no horse then but he managed to
convince a cooking staff then to offer him a ride there in the wagon,
“You
assist me.” Doctor Watson told the local driver in his bare understanding of
the local dialect. “You will help me to bring the wounded back here.”
That
was soon to be a tiring task when he reached the rim. He got off the wagon with
his case but before he could assess the situation, he turned to see the wagon
with his two local help have absconded to the safety of the camp. Watson sighed
but he went onto the fighting area. He followed behind a junior
non-commissioned officer, Corporal Daniel Selfridge the jagged opening at the
rim.
“I
took you for an officer but a doctor that is a surprise.” The Corporal leaned
back to the dry wall there while he slid along it to where the action was.
“Follow me, doctor and you might just live tonight.”
Watson
followed the man and soon found himself at the edge of the rim. There were two
sentries there hugging the sands there while bullets whizzed above their heads.
“Corporal
Selfridge, ain’t you a sight to behold?” One of the sentries called out before
he tapped his companion.
“Did you bring any rum for us?”
“Did you bring any rum for us?”
“Private
Duncan McLeod. I have you the flask but tell me why the son of a Highlander
warrior like you not shooting back?”
“Aye,
Corporal. We would if we could. Bloody Bess not within the range they are on.”
The other handed out his rifle. “You wondered if we could have better rifles
then these.”
“Hush
your mouth, Highlander. The rifle is one of the best that any service man could
hold. Those local rifles may fire further but they are no match for us in the
close battle.” Corporal Selfridge defended the Brown Bess. “They may just blow
up in their faces. So move your flanks and return fire.”
With
that the Corporal moved on with Watson in the rear. At the next position, the
doctor was put to good use treating the sentry there for a shoulder wound. He
checked the wound and saw the bullet had impacted on the flesh but it missed
the bones. He had the wound bandaged to stop the bleeding and told the sentry
to get back to Camp for the removal.
“I
am sorry, Doctor. No one leaves their posts. I can’t have the luxury of them
running off while I am shorthanded.” Corporal Selfridge made his point. He then motioned to the wounded man to get
back and return fire.
“Doctor,
treat them for their wounds but no one goes back.” Corporal Selfridge reminded
the doctor. “If you persist, then I suggest you go back.”
Doctor
Watson felt his position was compromising and then turned to go back. He took
the trail back and soon came to the previous position of Private McLeod but the
later was fighting off the Pashtun. His other companion was dead on the edge
with a bullet wound in the face.
The
Highlander was locked in arms with the Pashtun who was having the edge of
holding a curved sword. Watson dropped his medical case and reached for the
Webley pistol when he was rushed at from the side. Both figures fell to the
ground and Watson soon found himself facing Pashtun wielding the curved sword.
His Webley pistol was out of the holster but the lanyard attached to hilt held
his pistol hanging onto his body. He picked up the pistol just then the Pashtun
rushed at him with the raised sword. He pulled the pistol cock and pressed the
trigger. The shot was wide from its intended target but the Pashtun was taken
aback by it. He stared at Watson who then cocking the pistol for the second
shot. That moment of indecision saved Watson and ended the Pashtun’s life.
Watson
stood there stunned for that was first time he had actually killed a man on
purpose. He looked at the smoking pistol and then back at the dead man. He was
sure the other was dead for his shot impacted at the face. He was not a good
shot but his medical practise told him the result.
“Hey!”
Watson looked over and saw the Highlander was holding the right shoulder where
the sword had cut at but the man alive.
“Doctor,
I am bleeding.”
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