The Sound of Boer Rifles (The Soldier's Son Book 2)

Book summary

Amidst the turmoil of the first Boer War, Andrew Baird, son of Jack Windrush, leads his Natal Dragoons through bloody battles and Boer sieges while aiding Mariana Maxwell's recovery. Tasked with finding a German agent, Andrew must navigate the complex interplay of military duty and personal life against a cunning enemy.

THE SOUND OF BOER RIFLES is a historical war novel.

Excerpt from The Sound of Boer Rifles (The Soldier's Son Book 2)

FORT AMIEL, NEWCASTLE, NATAL, SOUTHERN AFRICA.

AUGUST 1880

“Where is she?” Andrew demanded.

“Where is who?” The army hospital orderly viewed Andrew with total disinterest.

“I am Lieutenant Andrew Baird of the Natal Dragoons,” Andrew introduced himself. “I am looking for Miss Mariana Maxwell. Where is she?”

“Oh, the lunatic,” the orderly said. “We got rid of her.”

“Lunatic? What? What do you mean, lunatic?” Andrew looked away for a moment to control his temper. “I’ll ask again,” he said, breathing hard. “Where is Mariana Maxwell? I left her in the garrison’s care while I was on duty in Zululand.”

The orderly shrugged. “Not in my care, mate. I’m here to look after injured and sick soldiers, not stray lunatics.”

Andrew grabbed the orderly by the throat and began to squeeze. “I’ve killed Galekas, Zulus, and renegades, my friend. Adding you won’t bother my conscience.”

When the orderly began to choke and turn red, Andrew released him, straightened his jacket, and smiled. “Where is Miss Maxwell?”

The orderly drew in a ragged breath. “She’s locked up. We had to put her in the guardhouse.” He rubbed his throat and backed away when Andrew lifted his fists. “It was for her own good, sir! She attacked Corporal Biden and was thrashing about, rambling in her sleep, and disturbing the other patients.” He stopped when he realised that he was talking to himself. Andrew had already left.

The red-coated sentry at the guardhouse looked up as Andrew strode toward him. “Where do you think you’re going, chum?”

“Inside the guardhouse. Step aside, private,” Andrew ordered.

“I don’t think so, mate,” the private moved to block Andrew’s way, hefting his Martini-Henry rifle. “This is a military fort, and civilians don’t tell us what to do.”

“I am Lieutenant Andrew Baird of the Natal Dragoons.”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t realise you were an officer.” The private snapped to attention.

“No reason why you should,” Andrew glanced down at his civilian clothes. “I believe you have a young woman confined in the guardroom. A Miss Mariana Maxwell.”

“Yes, sir, we have a woman. She’s a colonial lunatic who attacked a corporal.” The private smiled. “Not that I blame her for that, sir.”

“Let her out,” Andrew ordered. “I’ll look after her.”

“If you say so, sir,” the private said doubtfully. “You should have a letter of authority or some such.” He looked around for an NCO or officer for advice.

“If anybody enquires, tell them I have her,” Andrew said.

“Yes, sir.” The private stepped aside. “This way, sir.” He hesitated for a moment. “Be careful, sir. She’s a bit erratic. She shouts and screams in her sleep, and we had to restrain her.”

Andrew took a deep breath. “Take me to Miss Maxwell, Private.”

Knowing her history, Andrew felt responsible for Mariana. Her family had owned a farm on the border with Zululand, and Andrew had intended to marry Mariana’s sister, Elaine. However, when the Zulu War started, a group of renegades murdered the Maxwell family and kidnapped Mariana, holding her prisoner for months. Andrew had been part of a mixed rescue party of British, colonists, and Zulus.

“Yes, sir,” the private said. “This way, sir.”

Major Charles Amiel and the 80th Foot had built Fort Amiel only four years previously, and it still felt raw and unfinished. The guardhouse was solid, dark, and unpretentious, with small cells intended for drunken or insubordinate soldiers rather than traumatised women. Mariana sat hunched on the wooden shelf that served as bed and seat, with heavy handcuffs weighing her slim wrists and a gag in her mouth.

She looked up when the door opened, staring at the incomers through wide, red-rimmed eyes. Tears had streaked grime down her face.

“Good God! What have you done to her?” Andrew pushed past the private. “Mariana! It’s me! Andrew!”

Mariana tried to cower away, hugging the cold wall as Andrew stepped closer and gently unfastened the gag.

“Don’t touch me!” Mariana held her manacled wrists defensively in front of her.

“It’s all right, Mariana,” Andrew knelt before the bench. “You remember me. Andrew Baird.”

Mariana gasped and tried to fend Andrew off with wild swings of her arms. He inched back to reassure her.

“I won’t hurt you,” Andrew promised.

“I told you we had to restrain her,” the private tried to excuse the manacles. “She scratched the corporal’s face. He ordered the restraints, sir, not me.”

“Where’s the key?” Andrew demanded. He took hold of Mariana’s wrists, frowning at the ugly marks where the harsh steel manacles had rubbed off her skin. “Has she not been through enough with the renegades without the British Army treating her as a criminal?”

“I’ll get the key, sir,” the private said and hastily withdrew.

“It’s all right, Mariana. I’m here now.” Andrew put a hand on Mariana’s shoulder. “You’re safe with me. We’ll soon have you out of these things.”

Mariana’s eyes were huge, but she did not resist when Andrew held her.

“Do you recognise me, Mariana?”

She nodded, holding up her hands in supplication.

“We’ll have the manacles off you soon,” Andrew promised.

The cell was tiny, stinking of urine and stale human sweat. Andrew heard a prisoner in the next cell bawling drunkenly, swearing with a long string of obscene oaths.

“Just a few moments,” Andrew said reassuringly.

“What’s all this?” A skull-faced corporal banged open the door and appeared in the doorway. “Who gave you authority to come into my guardroom?” He glared at Andrew suspiciously.

“The Queen did,” Andrew replied tersely. “I hold Her Majesty’s commission. Do you?”

“No, sir,” the corporal said, coming to attention.

“Then release this woman.” Andrew saw two long scratches on the corporal’s left cheek and hoped they stung. “Now!”

“I’ll need authority,” the corporal said.

“You have mine. Set her free,” Andrew demanded, “or I’ll have your stripes and ensure you spend the next year cleaning out the latrines. If anybody asks who ordered her release, tell them it was Lieutenant Andrew Baird of the Natal Dragoons.”

“Yes, sir!” the corporal reached for the keys at his belt, unlocked the handcuffs, and stepped back, watching Mariana warily.

Andrew placed an arm around Mariana’s thin shoulder. “Come with me, Mariana.” He eased her off the bed as she rubbed her weeping wrists.

“It’s the moon,” the corporal muttered, retaining his distance as if he expected Mariana to lunge at him. “She must have slept under the full moon, and it’s sent her mad.”

“It’s nothing to do with the moon, and she’s not mad!” Andrew guided Mariana out of the guardhouse and through the fort, with passing soldiers staring at her.

A heavily moustached officer approached, frowning. “What are you doing with that woman? Who the devil are you?”

“I’m Lieutenant Andrew Baird of the Natal Dragoons, and I’m taking this lady where she can be treated with care and attention, not shackled like a criminal!” Andrew recognised the insignia of a major and added a belated “sir” while lifting his chin challengingly.

“That’s Up-and-at-’em!” a private pointed to Andrew. “He fought all through the Zulu War from Isandhlwana to Ulundi!”

A small group of privates joined the speaker, staring at Andrew as though he were an exhibit at a showground. A smooth-faced youngster lifted his hand to wave until an older soldier hissed in his ear.

“That woman is dangerous, Lieutenant,” the major nodded to Mariana. “She attacked one of my corporals.”

“I’ll take care of her, sir,” Andrew pulled Mariana closer as she stumbled.

“If it were up to me,” the major spoke through his unruly moustache, “I’d send her to Robben Island. They know how to deal with lunatics there.”

Robben Island treated people with mental health problems. At one time, conditions on the island had been notoriously poor, and although they had improved significantly, the name still made people shudder.

“That won’t be necessary, sir,” Andrew said. “She’s not a lunatic, just a woman who has been through a terrible experience. Excuse me.” He eased Mariana past the sentry at the gate.

“That’s Up-and-at-’em, I tell you!” the first private repeated. “He rescued that woman from a thousand Zulus.”

Andrew hurried away from the fort before the tales grew even more exaggerated.

Andrew had rented a small house on the outskirts of Newcastle with a surrounding garden and a single soldier-servant. The garden was small, with a lonely Natal Krantz ash tree and a couple of patches of flowers. Andrew had no pretensions of being a gardener, but he did like to see the surroundings tidy, and a splash of green reminded him of growing up in Herefordshire and Berwick-upon-Tweed in the far-off British Isles.

“In you come, Mariana,” Andrew opened the front door. “I’ve got a room ready for you.”

The house was basic, for Andrew had few requirements. The bungalow boasted a square hallway with four doors opening off it. One door led to Andrew’s living quarters, one to his bedroom, and another to a kitchen. The fourth room had been empty until Andrew converted it into a bedroom for Mariana.

“Go straight in, Mariana,” Andrew ushered her inside. “I’ll give you a quick tour.” He smiled. “It won’t take long as there’s not much to see.”

Andrew had bought a basic bed for Mariana, with a chest of drawers, a stool, a dressing table, and a mirror. When he glanced inside, the room looked spartan. He regretted his lack of experience with women and wondered if she wanted more.

“We can go into Newcastle and see what else you need,” Andrew suggested as Mariana stood awkwardly inside the house.

“I get nightmares,” Mariana spoke for the first time since leaving Fort Amiel.

“That’s not surprising after what you’ve been through,” Andrew told her.

Mariana stood at the open door without entering her room. “I didn’t mean to hurt the corporal. I thought he was attacking me.”

“He’s a corporal of British infantry,” Andrew said. “He’ll hardly notice a couple of scratches. Look inside your room and let me know if you need anything.”

She’ll need more clothes. I didn’t think of clothes.

Both looked up as Andrew’s soldier-servant appeared. “This lady is Mariana,” Andrew said. “She’ll be staying in the house for a while. Mariana, this man is Trooper Briggs. He keeps the place clean and tidy and does the cooking.”

“Good afternoon, Miss,” Briggs was in his late twenties, with quiet eyes. He nodded to Mariana and stood to attention in the hallway.

Mariana said a shy hello and dropped her gaze. She remained within the doorway, her hands twisting together and her head bowed.

“You’ll be safe here,” Andrew told her. “I’ll come home as often as duty permits, and Briggs will ensure you want for nothing.”

“I might talk in my sleep,” Mariana said.

“Your talking won’t bother anybody,” Andrew said. “I’m in the room opposite, and Briggs sleeps in the barracks.”

Mariana looked at her hands. “I had nice nails,” she said. “When I scratched the corporal, some soldiers held me down and cut them.”

Andrew lifted her right hand. A careless soldier had crudely hacked Mariana’s nails, some into the quick. He drew in his breath. “They’ll grow again.”

“I might attack you,” Mariana said.

Andrew put her hand gently down. “I’ll understand,” he told her. He gestured for Briggs to move away and guided Mariana into her room, where she sat on the bed.

“You’ve been through hell,” Andrew said. “I am no doctor, but I can imagine how you must be feeling. It will take time, Mariana, but you will get better.” He tried to smile. “I promise you will get better.”