Chapter Twelve.
With the 'traitor of Jhansi' in their pocket, and the information he had in the wall's construction; the attacks against both the fort and the palace move apace. The artillery had broken the walls of the old palace, and a column had been formed for the assault and the Rani had to look down at the massed red-coated ranks and felt a shiver. Her palace, her home would be under attack within hours. Gobinder had urged her to leave, but she stubbornly remained. She looked down from the wall, resembling a broken tooth, and fought back the sadness that the world had brought to her door.
"We must fight them at every door; every corridor, every step in my home. We must make the attackers lose heart for battle, and fall back. I will remain here until the last moment, Gobinder, announce this to the militia guard and the palace troops. They must resist. Are the columns formed against the fort?"
Gobinder sighed, "The English have knowledge of the walls, and have found where the walls were repaired and have concentrated their fire on the weaknesses. The ramp was repositioned. They have good intelligence on the wall and will eventually break through, but it will take time and might offer enough resistance to allow Tope to attack their rear, but it is the only chance," He looked at his beloved Rani, "Excellence, I have your horse ready and your son too!"
All she could do was nod in agreement and await the attack.
As usual, the columns advanced under the first hours before the dawn. The lack of light, designed to obscure the attackers, who only held enough torches to light their scrambling in the darkened gates of the palace would then give enough illumination after the sun rose to aid the rest of the attackers in maintaining the breach. IT would be a hard-fought dirty conflict, most of it would be hand-to-hand and not delicate work.
The attack would be brutal, merciless and bloody.
The defenders knew it to be an almost hopeless task, but there was a tiny hope that the lead sections in the attack could be repulsed.
The English would form three sections of volunteers, much akin to the Napoleonic 'forlorn hope' soldiers that would rush a breach in the walls of a fortress in the hope they survive and achieve rank and booty; if they survived. The attackers would be the first to fray and would go on a murderous rampage. The officers would simply allow the men a night of pillage and plunder, as compensation for their bloody losses and come the morning, sanity would be enforced with a flurry of hangings and floggings for men who stayed within the walls after the given hour. The civilian population would suffer greatly, there would be multiple abuses, including rapes and wholesale robbery and murder.
For men that survived the hail of musket fire, the grapeshot of the levelled cannon and the edge of sharp solders; they were untouchable for a few hours and men became beasts.
As the night wore on, the defenders, waited in pools of their own piss. They could not move, they had to keep their position. One man who moved away from his assigned position might start a rout. So they waited. Their stomachs empty, their musket pans full of black acrid powder. All the women that would leave, had been funnelled away to the fort or into the hillside villagers and would hopefully escape the revenge of the English soldiers.
The Rani waited sword in hand in her audience chamber, with her son and hr valued escort of men, The half dozen were the strongest and best. They would smite anyone who attempted to harm Lakshmi Bai. By the call of cockerel, torches were lit and a snake of flame advanced up the gravel and stone ramp towards the breach. Cannon fire and musket rained down upon the English and they still advanced. Men bearing steel met men with bayonets and the fighting continued. Officers shot and slashed with their pistols and sabres. Blades blunted and became bloody clubs as they funnelled through the corridors to be met by another wave of attackers and defenders clashed.
The bloody mess continued for hours, with every foot and yard of the palace, won only at the cost of human lives.
But the English were winning.
The English officers ordered more men forward and once the fight advanced down the hallways or up the steps into a new tower, the second line would flood into the empty rooms for whomever or whatever remained. Men were slaughtered, women too. None was allowed to live whilst the balance of the conflict hung in the balance.
As the red tide rose and overcame the defenders, the fight eventually found the Rani. As she abandoned her audience chambers, and finally accepted the situation was hopeless. She fought her way through the red throng, her arm rising and falling scything her way through the attackers. Once in the clear, with her guard, a shield wall against further attack, she set light to the oil barrels that were hidden from the English in the towers above and set her home to the torch, With her son at her side, they made their way to the stables and without turning back mounted their steeds and rode for the relative safety of the fort.
By the dawn, the resistance had been broken and with only a few pockets fighting on, the dreadful pillage began. Red-coated men tore through the palace and outlying buildings. Officers, who were supposed to restrain their animalistic subordinates, abandoned such duties; searching for gold, jewels, silver and women.
