Conall: The 93rd Highlanders, Book Two

C
ONALL

The 93rd
Highlanders, Book Two

by

Samantha
Kane

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Copyright 2014
Nancy Kattenfeld

The Crimean War was
fought in 1853–1856 between Russia and a coalition of Great
Britain, France, the Ottoman Empire and Sardinia. Most of the
fighting took place on the Crimean Peninsula in southern Russia.
Russia lost the war.

Between 300,000–375,000
coalition forces died in the war. New weapon technology made battle
tactics outdated and resulted in high casualties. Great Britain
lost between 2,000–6,000 in battle. A little over 2,000 died later
from wounds suffered in battle, and over 16,000 died from disease.
There were doctors assigned to military units at the front, but the
sick and wounded were sent to the British hospital in Scutari, a
suburb of Constantinople in the Ottoman Empire. Hospital conditions
in Scutari were deplorable, which prompted British nurse Florence
Nightingale to recruit nurses to go to Scutari to care for the
sick. Nightingale is considered the mother of modern nursing, and
her nursing corps made a difference in Scutari, improving sanitary
conditions and the morale of the sick and wounded.

The Highland
Brigade fought in the Crimean War under the command of
Major-General Sir Colin Campbell. The Highland Brigade consisted of
the 42nd (Royal Highland) Regiment of Foot, the
79
^th
(The Queen’s Own Cameron Highlanders) Regiment of Foot, and
the 93rd (Sutherland Highlanders) Regiment of Foot. All fought
bravely, but the 93rd would become known as The Thin Red Line after
their famous victory over the Russian cavalry at a place called
Balaclava.

Balaclava,
Russia

October 25,
1854

“
Are they
coming, then?” Lieutenant Conall Fletcher of the
93
^rd
Highland Infantry Brigade asked his twin brother, Lieutenant
Brodie Fletcher. Brodie peered to the left to try to see down the
valley. He just shook his head at Conall when he looked back. They
could see nothing from where they stood, but the sound of gunfire
and the shouts of men and horses easily reached Conall’s
ears.

The English
and French bombardment of the Russian supply base at Sevastopol had
failed the week before. Now the Coalition was defending their own
supply route at the port of Balaclava as the Russians retaliated.
The 93rd
were the last line of defense in
the South Valley, Balaclava at their back. As the day had begun
they hadn’t expected to see heavy fighting. Now the battle-hardened
men under Conall’s command were tense. He’d seen less fighting than
most of them, and he’d learned to listen to their
instincts.

“
Get ready,”
he told Brodie, his voice tight. “They’ll be here soon.”

“
Well,
goodbye, Mr. Fletcher,” Brodie said solemnly.

“
Goodbye, Mr.
Fletcher,” Conall replied. It was their customary prebattle
routine. Today Conall was glad they decided to do such a silly
thing. He wasn’t ready to die without saying goodbye to
Brodie.

“
The Russian
cavalry’s coming from the Causeway Heights, men,” the Highland
Brigade Commander Sir Colin Campbell called out, calm and cool.
“Just four hundred or so. Form two lines only.”

Conall snorted, amused in
spite of the fear racing through him. Sir Colin must have little to
no respect for the Russians if they were only forming two lines
instead of the usual four. He signaled his men and called out the
order, watching with pride as they formed the lines without an
ounce of fear on their faces.

“
Connie.” He
looked over to see his older brother Major Douglas Fletcher glaring
at him as he walked closer. “You stay out of the way,” Dougie told
him. “I’ll not be writing to Mum about your dead body.” He looked
over at Brodie. “You too,” he said harshly.

Brodie scoffed and waved
a hand at him. “Go on with you, then,” Brodie said dismissively.
“Get over there and see to your men.”

“
Goodbye, Mr.
Fletcher,” both Conall and Brodie called after the retreating
Dougie. He ignored them, as usual.

Conall looked
over at Captain Graeme Munro. Munro was watching him intently as he
often did, and once again Conall wondered what he was thinking.
Munro was about Dougie’s age, taller than almost anyone else in the
93
^rd
,
big and brawny and quiet as a mouse. You never knew what the man
was thinking.

“
See to your
men, Lieutenant,” Munro said, his deep voice carrying without
having to holler. “Then fall in line.”

“
Yes, sir,”
Conall said. As he went to stand with his men, he looked out at the
valley and saw the Russian cavalry thundering toward them. The
numbers were about even between them, but infantry against cavalry
usually turned into a bloody hell for the infantry. He took a deep
breath and ordered his men to arms.

“
Men,” Sir
Colin called out, riding up and down the line. “Remember there is
no retreat from here. You must die where you stand.”

They must have made quite
a sight, standing side by side in their Black Watch kilts with
their scarlet jackets and tall black feathered bonnets. Conall was
proud to stand with the 93rd and he’d be proud to die with them
too. Someone jostled his arm and he looked over to see that Munro
had taken up position next to him.

Unbidden, the thought of
Mrs. Scott, a widow back in camp, came upon him. She was sweet,
small, patient and practical. Her blonde hair had looked like wheat
shining in the sun as she’d stood there and waved the men off.
Conall had wanted her from the moment he met her. He’d quietly
courted her, but to no avail. She’d not marry him. She’d offered
him her bed and he’d refused out of respect for her, not wanting to
treat her so shabbily. Now he was wishing he’d taken her up on her
offer. He could certainly have courted her from between her legs as
easily as not.

Conall heard Sir Colin
give the order for the first volley and the men in the front line
fired at the oncoming cavalry. Nary a shot hit a mark. They were
too far away. The second volley rang out and Conall noticed the
Russians seemed to swerve and there was some confusion among them.
They were firing steadily at the Highlanders, most shots missing
their mark as well. All of a sudden Conall was shoved forward as
Munro shouted at him, and as he was going down he felt a sharp pain
in his right shoulder. It dropped him to his knees.

A third
volley was fired at the Russian flank and the cavalry made a sharp
turn to their left and thundered back down the valley, away from
the 93rd
^.
Conall fell to his side, his arm a burning pain that made him
gasp. There was shouting and smoke still lingered, obscuring his
view of the men around him. Several came close to stomping on him.
And then Munro was there, kneeling beside him and lifting him up
into his arms.

“
Be careful,
man,” Conall gasped. “I’ve been hit in the arm.”

“
Thank God,”
Munro said fervently. He peered into Conall’s eyes and down at his
arm and then back into his eyes. “I thought I’d lost
you.”

Conall couldn’t look away
from Munro’s dark eyes. For once they weren’t cold and blank, but
filled with emotion, wild and hot and more intense than ever
before. There were things there that Conall’s mind, clouded by pain
and exhilaration from the battle, couldn’t decipher. For one brief,
mad moment he thought Munro was going to kiss him, and he leaned up
toward him, wanting it. Then Munro jerked away from him and Conall
came to his senses.

“
It’s just a
flesh wound,” he told Munro, his voice shaky.

Dougie came running over
and fell to his knees beside them and began tearing at Conall’s
jacket.

“
Ow!” Conall
howled. “What are you doing, you big looby? I’ve just been shot,
for God’s sake.”

“
Douglas.”
Captain Iain Roberts, Douglas’s best friend, came over and put a
hand on his shoulder. “Dougie, the boy’s fine. He’s fine.” He
squeezed Dougie’s shoulder and shook him and Dougie sat back,
gulping in air as he looked around, dazed.

“
Ham is
down,” Brodie came over and said cheerfully, referring to their
other brother, Hamish. “It’ll be the hospital at Scutari for both
of you.”

“
What’s wrong
with Ham?” Dougie demanded.

“
You’ll soon
find out,” Brodie said with a laugh. “He’ll never live it down.” He
squatted beside Conall. “You’ve got to learn to duck faster, man.
Those Russians can’t hit the side of a barn, but you make an easy
target for sure.”

“
Munro saved
me,” Conall said, looking up at the man whose face was blank once
again, his thoughts and feelings locked away. But Conall knew what
he’d seen, and he wouldn’t forget it. “He pushed me
down.”

“
We all owe
you,” Dougie told Munro solemnly. “Fletchers pay their
debts.”

Munro slid Conall off his
lap and stood. He kept hold of Conall’s good arm and helped him up.
“I tripped and shoved him down,” he said without meeting Conall’s
eyes. “No heroics here.”

The next day Conall left
for Scutari, dazed, confused and happy to be alive. He was already
missing Mrs. Scott. But it was Munro’s eyes, full of anguish and
wild emotion that haunted him as he was carried away.

January,
1855

Sevastopol,
Russia

93rd
Highlander Encampment

Conall whistled and
called out before he entered Mrs. Scott’s hut. He’d come here
first, as soon as he’d reported in from Scutari and dumped his sack
in the tent he shared with his brother Brodie. Perhaps she’d
changed. He knew he had. Perhaps she’d left, although he’d asked
around and been told she was here. He hoped she was. His heart was
beating a rapid tattoo, anticipation firing his blood and flushing
his cheeks. His hands were sweating in his gloves.