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heading towards a fort named Ruya, which was occupied by a small force of rebels. When they arrived they found that thick bamboo forests went right up to two sides of the fort. Inside, at the head of the rebels, was their leader, Nirpat Singh. Raktambar and Sajan, posing as itinerant father and son, learned from a nearby village that there were little more than two hundred defenders in the fort. This was confirmed when Jack managed to speak with a native trooper of Hodson’s Horse, who had been a captive in the fort before escaping.
    The information was conveyed to Brigadier Walpole. Unfortunately Walpole had a harsh opinion of ‘skulkers’. He thoroughly disliked spying and regarded all such gathered information as dubious. Instead, the brigadier made up his own mind that there were at least one-and-a-half thousand rebels in the fort. Nothing would budge him from this view. Moreover he forbade any further reconnaissance of the area, saying he could see for himself what was before him.
    On his own initiative Jack decided to reconnoitre the area and discover for himself the fort’s strengths and weaknesses. He found that though it was protected by jungle north and east, there were little natural or man-made defences on the other two sides. There were shallow ditches and walls low enough to leap over should the British attack from the south or west. Jack went back with this information and tried to get past staff officers to see Brigadier Walpole, but he found himself barred.
    ‘The brigadier does not want any further reconnaissance of the fort,’ a young subaltern told him. ‘He prefers to go on advice given to him before he left Lucknow.’
    ‘Advice by whom?’ asked Jack. ‘After all, we are here now and can see for ourselves. Perhaps this advice was formed years ago?’
    The young officer sighed. ‘Perhaps – but that’s how it stands. Look, who are you anyway?’
    ‘My commanding officer is Colonel Hawke. I’m with Major Lovelace. We’re an independent intelligence-gathering unit.’
    Light came into the subaltern’s eyes. ‘Oh, I know you, you’re the fellah whom Deighnton talks about.’
    Jack sighed and looked away. ‘Yes, I expect I am.’
    The subaltern moved closer to Jack, looking about him to make sure they were alone, and said, ‘Next time, don’t miss.’
    Then the officer was gone, back into a tent opening barred by two formidable looking soldiers of the 93rd, with legs as thick as tree trunks sticking out of the bottoms of their kilts. They turned hard Scottish eyes on Jack as he stood there, wondering whether to blunder past them, to take his chance. But he could see it would be like trying to barge through two buffaloes and gave up the thought.
    As he was walking away however, the guard was changed. He turned back again, thinking there might be an opportunity to slip past two new sentries, who had not seen him ejected by the subaltern. But he found his path blocked by a short, square, very solid man with a rigid expression. The soldier, a sergeant major, came to attention and saluted briskly.
    ‘Gud day t’ye, sir. And a pleasant day it is.’
    ‘Sergeant Major Mclntyre!’ cried Jack. ‘How the devil are you?’
    A grin appeared on Jock Mclntyre’s rugged face. ‘Aye, as well as could be expected, given this bloody war.’ He looked Jack up and down, retaining the wry smile. ‘An officer, is it? I well ken the time ye thocht officers were the dregs o’ the army, sir. A wee change o’ mind, eh?’
    ‘Oh, you know how it is, Jock. I’m one of those fate is determined to thrust greatness upon, whether I like it or not. Look, Jock, can you get me into that tent? I have to speak with Brigadier Walpole.’
    ‘Can ye no walk in yersel?’ Then Jock seemed to understand. ‘Ah. Ye’ve tried it, but . . .’
    Jack’s expression must have told Jock the whole story.
    The sergeant-major shook his head sadly. ‘Sorry, sir. I ken the problems ye’ll be havin’, wi’ the commander.