There were times when a man’s duty was hard to perceive and times when he had to trust to his own judgment and the voice inside him that said he had to do thus and so, for the good of his soul. For Lieutenant Colonel Pierce Harvey Garry, this was one of those times.
Ever since Sir Richard Cardew had approached him in the Calcutta United Service Club, Colonel Garry had been torn by the belief that what he was doing was fundamentally dishonorable; yet he was also sure that not following the path he had chosen would have appalling consequences for the country he loved and the people he knew. That dichotomy, between what he knew to be right and what he knew to be necessary, had led him to the place and time he occupied now. Just as inexorably, it had led him to the actions that he was about to commit, for better or for worse.
“Pickets are in place. There’s no movement yet.” Captain Shashi Madhav was less uncertain of the rights and wrongs of this issue. To him, India was independent at last; broken away from the British who had ruled the country for so long and standing on its own feet. The regiment was in position to guard that independence and reverse the changes that had been made over the last four months. Had he had his way and followed his heart, the British would have been removed completely from power and sent packing, but he was a hard-headed, realistic man who understood the difference between wishes and practical reality. A transition period was needed to make the transfer of power as smooth as possible. The events that would be taking place here tonight confirmed that. They had shown Madhav something else; his Colonel’s determination to defend the Indian government and, by definition, India’s independence meant that some, at least, of the British were as Indian as he was.
“They’ll be coming down the main road.” Garry’s voice was heavy at the impending tragedy. “In lorries. The plan was for us to open the way for them. Instead, we’ll have to bar it.”
The plan that had been explained to him was quite simple and yet profoundly, irretrievably, flawed. His Third Battalion, 7th Rajputs was assigned to guard the government complex in New Delhi. Instead, they were to secure that complex and await reinforcements from several more regiments that would converge on New Delhi and fortify the area. Sir Richard Cardew would then contact London, secure an appointment as the new Viceroy and take over the administration of India. His first responsibility once his authority was secured would be to arrest the previous Viceroy and his followers. A very simple plan indeed. Its primary flaw was also a very simple one. As any good civil servant would, Cardew had made the presumption that the center of administration, New Delhi, was also the center of power.
It was not. It would be, one day, but here and now, in October 1940, the center of political power still resided in Calcutta, not the nominal capital New Delhi. General Auchinleck had expressed it beautifully. “The idiot is trying to commandeer the train by taking over the dining car.” That, of course, had highlighted the other minor flaw in the plan.
It presumed Garry would do his part by seizing the administrative complex for the mutineers; he was actually wholeheartedly on the side of the existing government and had been keeping their intelligence service under Sir Eric Haohoa fully advised on the situation. Once the mutineers had been committed by their attempt to join the troops they believed would be holding the Administrative Complex, other loyal Indian regiments would be moving to disarm them. Garry shook his head at that. The loyal troops would mostly be Ghurkas, the one force in India the existing government could depend upon without question. There was an age-old rivalry between the Rajputs and the Ghurkas and Garry would have been a lot happier if he could have had his Rajputs gain the honor of putting down the rebellion. Instead they would have to make do with firing the first shots.
A runner came up to the command post, his bearing filled with urgency. “Sir, they approach.” Captain Madhav’s voice was heavy. It was a hard thing to order troops to open fire on their own comrades, especially misguided ones that had been mislead by their commanders. Even with his devotion to his new India, Madhav had studiously avoided calling such men ‘the enemy’.
Garry breathed heavily; to his great embarrassment, his eyes moistened. Suddenly, he bitterly regretted his thoughts of only a few seconds before about firing the first shots needed to put down this rebellion. He wished devoutly that the burden could have fallen to another battalion, even one of Ghurkas. He shook his head and breathed deeply for a second to steady his voice.
“Are our machine guns in position to stop them?”
“They are, sir.” Garry was shaken to hear Madhav’s voice trembling. A quick glance showed that he, too had tears in his eyes.
The machine guns were Vickers-Berthiers, a weapon the Indian Army had chosen when the British had selected the Bren Gun. The virtues of the two weapons were hotly disputed Both armies thought they had made the better decision. But, this was India, and the Vickers-Berthier was the weapon that would be used.
“We will give them a warning burst on my order. If that is ignored, instruct the gunners to fire at the engines of the lorries. They are to try and stop them without hitting the men in the cab or the back. If it is at all humanly possible, I would have this night go without bloodshed.”
Madhav nodded in acknowledgement and passed the orders through. The end of the road suddenly seemed to brighten. The first of the approaching lorries turned the corner. Its headlights illuminated the buildings on either side. Silently, Colonel Garry damned Sir Richard Cardew for starting this whole sordid business. By the time he had finished the words in his mind, the lorries were rumbling towards the administration complex. He could temporize no longer.
“Captain Madhav, open fire on those lorries.”
A stream of tracers from a single Vickers-Berthier light machine gun streaked through the night across the front of the lead lorry. From his vantage point by the side of the road, Lieutenant Colonel Pierce Harvey Garry saw it swerve to a halt and stand, swaying, in the middle of the road. The suddenness of the turn and braking came very close to causing the lorry to roll over.
Behind it, other lorries in the convoy were also coming to a halt, swerving to avoid each other. What had once been a neat, orderly convoy was now chaos. Troops started to jump down from the back of the stopped vehicles. Some formed a perimeter; others stood around in confusion. Which group did what said much about the junior officers and NCOs in the individual units.
There is still time. Garry knew it, but he also knew that time was the critical element in the situation that was developing. He desperately did not want this confrontation to end in a bloodbath. Once the firing started in earnest, that is exactly what it would do. He had to put a stop to it. His course was clear. For the first time in weeks, he felt happy with what his sense of duty demanded he do.
“Stop right there. Stand down immediately.”
His voice rang across the road, cutting over the rumble of lorry engines. The lighting was dim but it still reflected off his rank insignia.
“Sir, we are under orders to enter the government building complex and aid in securing it.”
The reply came from the cab of the first lorry, the one that had so nearly turned over. An officer dismounted. The same dim light revealed his rank as Captain. There was uncertainty and a hint of nervousness in his manner.
“And I am under orders to deny you access to this complex.” Garry’s voice continued to dominate the sounds of the street. In his mind, he could hear echoes of the burst of gunfire that had halted the trucks. Would that they were the last shots fired.