Under her flight suit she wore a load-bearing harness. Into its pockets she had crammed a canteen of water, maps, a set of night-vision goggles, a couple of packs of chewing gum, a small plastic first aid pack, other survival rations and gearand her phone, which had the sense to keep itself inert. She crammed her useless wraparound microphone into an outside pocket. Off came shirt and trousers. They were both allowed to stop when they got down to their dirt-brown T-shirts and shorts.
They were unarmed, save for a bayonet knife Abdikadir carried strapped under his harness. He handed this over to McKnight with some reluctance. McKnight picked up the night goggles and peered through them, evidently baffled. Their little plastic boxes of kit were snapped open and rummaged through.
Then they were allowed to dress again, and were given back most of their gearbut not the knife, and not, Bisesa noted with amusement, her chewing gum.
After that, to Bisesas astonishment, Captain Grove, the commanding officer, kept them waiting.
The two of them sat side by side in his office, on a hard wooden bench. A single private stood guard at the door, rifle ready. The Captains room had a certain comfort, even elegance. The walls were whitewashed, the floor wooden; there was rush matting on the floor, and what looked like a Kashmiri rug hanging on one wall. This was obviously the office of a working professional. On a big wooden desk there were piles of papers and cardboard folders, and a nib pen standing in an ink pot. There were some personal touches, like a polo ball set on the desk, and a big old grandfather clock that ticked mournfully. But there was no electric light; only oil lamps supplemented the fading glow from the single small window.
Bisesa felt compelled to whisper. Its like a museum. Where are the softscreens, the radios, the phones? Theres nothing here but paper.
Abdikadir said, And yet they ran an empire, with paper.
She stared at him. They? Where do you think we are?
Jamrud, he said without hesitation. A fortressnineteenth-centurybuilt by the Sikhs, maintained by the British.
Youve been here?
Ive seen pictures. Ive studied the historyits my region, after all. But the books show it as a ruin.
Bisesa frowned, unable to grasp that. Well, it isnt a ruin now.
Their kit, murmured Abdikadir. Did you notice? Puttees and Sam Browne belts. And their weaponsthose rifles were single-shot breech-loading Martini-Henrys and Sniders. Seriously out of date. That stuff hasnt been used since the British were here in the nineteenth century, and even they moved over to Lee Metfords, Gatlings and Maxims as soon as they were available.
When was that?
Abdikadir shrugged. Im not sure. The 1890s, I think.
The 1890s?
Have you tried your survival radio? They both carried tracking beacons sewn into their harnesses, as well as miniaturized survival radio transceivers, thankfully undetected during McKnights inspection.
No joy. The phones still out of touch too. No more signal than when we were in the air. She shivered slightly. Nobody knows where we are, or where we came down. Or even if were alive. It wasnt just the crash that spooked her, she knew. It was the feeling of being out of contact cut off from the warmly interconnected world in which she had been immersed since the moment of her birth. For a citizen of the twenty-first century it was a unique, disorienting feeling of isolation.
Abdikadirs hand slipped over hers, and she was grateful for the warm human connection. He said, Theyll start search-and-retrieve operations soon. That crashed Bird is a big marker. Although its getting dark outside.
Somehow she had forgotten that bit of strangeness. Its too early to get dark.
Yes. I dont know about you but I feel a little jet-lagged
Captain Grove bustled in, accompanied by an orderly, and they stood up. Grove was a short, slightly overweight, stressed-looking officer of perhaps forty, in a light khaki uniform. Bisesa noted dust on his boots and puttees: he was a man who put his job before appearances, she thought. But he sported an immense walrus mustache, the largest facial growth Bisesa had seen outside a wrestling ring.
Grove stood before them, hands on hips, glaring at them. Batson told me your names, and what you claim are your ranks. His accent was clipped, oddly out of date, like the British officer class in a World War II movie. And Ive been to see that machine of yours.
Bisesa said, We were on a peaceful reconnaissance mission.
Grove raised a graying eyebrow. Ive seen your weapons. Some reconnaissance!
Abdikadir shrugged. Nevertheless, were telling you the truth.
Grove said, I suggest we get down to business. Let me tell you first that your man is being taken care of as well as we can.
Thank you, Bisesa said stiffly.
Nowwho are you, and what are you doing at my fort?
Bisesa narrowed her eyes. We dont have to tell you anything but name, rank, serial number She faltered to a halt as Grove looked baffled.
Abdikadir said gently, Im not sure if our conventions of war apply here, Bisesa. And besides I have the feeling that this situation is so strange that it may be best for all of us if we are open with each other. He was eyeing Grove challengingly.
Grove nodded curtly. He sat behind his desk, and absently waved them to sit on their bench. He said, Suppose I put aside for the moment the most likely possibility, which is that you are some sort of spies for Russia or her allies, sent on some destabilization mission. Perhaps you even engineered the loss of contact we are suffering As I say, lets put that aside. You say youre on temporary assignment from the British army. Youre here to keep the peace. Well, so am I, I suppose. Tell me how flapping about in that whirling contraption achieves that. He was brisk, but visibly uncertain.
Bisesa took a deep breath. Briefly she sketched the geopolitical situation: the standoff of the great powers over the regions oil, the complex local tensions. Grove seemed to follow this, even if most of it seemed unfamiliar, and at times he showed great surprise. Russia an ally, you say?
Let me tell you how I see the situation here. Were at a point of tension all rightbut the tension is between Britain and Russia. My job is to help defend the frontier of the Empire, and then the security of the Raj. About all I recognized from your little speech was the trouble you have with the Pashtuns. No offense, he said to Abdikadir.
Bisesa found this impossible to take in. She was reduced to repeating his words. The Raj? The Empire ?
It seems, Grove said, we are here to wage different wars, Lieutenant Dutt.
But Abdikadir was nodding. Captain Groveyou have had trouble with your communications in the last few hours?
Grove paused, evidently deciding what to tell him. Very wellyes. We lost both the telegraph link, and even the heliograph stations from about noon. Havent heard a peep since, and we still dont know whats going on. And you?
Abdikadir sighed. The time scale is a little different. We lost our radio communications just before the crasha few hours ago.
Radio? Never mind, Grove said, waving a hand. So we have similar problems, you in your flying roundabout, me in my fortress. And what do you suppose caused this?
Bisesa said in a rush, A hot war. She had been brooding on this possibility since the crash; despite the terror of those moments, and the shock of what had followed, she hadnt been able to get it out of her head. She said to Abdikadir, An electromagnetic pulsewhat else could knock out both civilian and military comms, simultaneously? The strange lights we saw in the skythe weather, the sudden winds