* * *
Ian found out the hard way what the Afghans' next stratagem was. After several hours of inactivity, something appeared at the bend. He swore when he identified a piece of light artillery. Then he raised his rifle and aimed at the gunner.
The cannon fired at the same moment he did. His shot was more accurate, clipping the gunner, but the cannon was enormously louder. It discharged with a deafening boom and a ball crashed into the cliff face fifty feet from Ian, setting off reverberations in the cave around him.
Bloody, bloody hell! As cannon went, it was rather small, probably a nine-pounder. It must had been difficult to get even that up the pass. But the gun was plenty large enough to kill Ian if they targeted the cave mouth accurately. Worst of all, the artillery piece offered some protection to the men firing it, so he wouldn't always be able to take them out.
A grim duel began. The cannon would fire, then was dragged out of sight for reloading. Ian would move forward and wait for a good shot at the gunner until the fuse was ignited. Then he retreated into the cave, simultaneously ramming another cartridge into the breech so that he would be ready for the next round.
After half an hour, his ears were numb, and he was beginning to lose some of his accuracy from sheer fatigue. His rifle barrel was already too hot to touch, and there was a very real possibility that the gun might explode in his face. On top of everything else, the afternoon sun was glaring into his face and his eye was stinging from exhaustion and smoke.
But if he stopped firing, the Afghans would pour around the bend. If enough managed to get onto the track, he would be unable to shoot fast enough to turn them all back.
Ka-boom! A cannonball smashed into his crude parapet. He ducked instinctively as rocks flew in all directions and stone chips peppered him. The ball itself didn't enter the cave. It must have bounced down the cliff. Ears ringing, he crawled to the end of the ledge and peered over.
The gorge had filled with acrid, vision-obscuring clouds of smoke, but he saw that this time the gunner was reloading in position so the cannon wouldn't have to be aimed again. A man with a jezzail was providing cover, and he fired as soon as Ian looked down. The ball was so close that Ian heard it whistle.
He didn't waste time flinching. Instead he squeezed his trigger and shot the jezzailchi in the shoulder. Then he swiftly reloaded and fired again. The gunner ducked but managed to touch off the fuse in the cannon.
The cannonball smashed into the cliff just above Ian's head, causing another rain of debris. Yes, they had definitely found the range.
As he automatically reloaded, he thought with detachment that the end was near, for he was close to the limits of his endurance, and he was almost out of ammunition.
He raised the rifle and fired, this time hitting the gunner. The man fell back with a cry and was dragged away, along with the cannon. A minute later, the reloaded cannon was shoved out by someone else. Christ, these devils were brave!
Ian fired but wasn't sure if he hit the gunner. He retreated into the cave, sliding another cartridge into his rifle.
Ka-boom! The cannonball didn't strike as closely this time; shifting the gun had wrecked the aiming. I
nstead of moving forward to shoot again, Ian stayed in the back of the cave. He had only a couple of dozen cartridges left. When those were gone, he'd have only his revolver, which wasn't accurate at any distance. Best to stop returning their fire for a while, perhaps lull them into feeling they'd knocked him out of action.
It was a rule of thumb in these parts to save the last bullet for oneself. Good advice, that; if the Afghans took him alive, they would show no mercy, not after the number of them he'd shot. They were inventive people, and death would be a long, painful time coming. The revolver would be adequate for saving him from that.
But first, there would be a battle for the cave. The advantages were still on his side. He should be able to take down a dozen or more of the enemy before the end. More important, he would be delaying the invasion a little longer.
The cannon fired, striking closer. They were getting the range again. Time to move forward and shoot another gunner.
Before he could act on the thought, the world exploded into chaos and blackness.
* * *
They heard the sounds of gunfire long before they entered the pass. Laura winced at every shot, even though the barrage meant that Ian was alive and holding his own. Because of the difficulty of riding so many horses along a narrow, hazardous track, David had ordered the lancers to dismount and proceed on foot. Most were now snaking their way though the Shpola Pass.
Though pain stabbed her lungs and she was near exhaustion, she refused to give up her position near the head of the line of soldiers. She would have dropped out if she were slowing the advance, but on this rough track dexterity was as important as strength, and she was surefooted.