Randi and the Third battle of Pornomalee

Oh Mr Quincy Sir,

Truth to tell it your Brother, not a tall man, does not own a voice that is loud enough on the field of battle.  His shoes and hat are tall, his voice is not.  We reached the town of Pornomalee, and there we dressed ranks like proper Britisher Soldiers.  Mr Macintosh, Lieutenant and a proper soldier, shouted like Ramayana, the hero of old Ram, servant of Hanuman.
"Dress your F@@king ranks, you F@@king T@wts.". He is a F@@king Scotchman.The first platoon went forward, in skirmish order.  They found the Spy, Gunga Din, one of those Din water carriers who wants to soldier.  Low Caste.  He had seen the mad English lady.  There is a mystery about this man.  Never is he seen where Lieutenant Grahame is anywhere about.  He hid in the bushes.  They ran forward into the village.  Jezail fire took one Sepoy.  Mr Mackintosh shouted "Fix socket Bayonets, you Hoors!" Forward we went. 

Dress your ranks!

Miss Parker, mad Englishwoman, was shouting about Jaysirs, an English god.  The angry Fakir, my brother Shackle, was waving his chopper at her.  Mr Quentin shouted in his high voice, "Get the Mad Fakir!". We charged forward. 

Of course it was a trap.  They came at us like ants from a kicked hill.  Two mobs of three groups, under big men, from houses and fields.  The Fakir led one mob from the front.

The Mad Fakir, Ram Shackle

The Jezails fired from an enclosure in the centre of the village.  It was the bandits.  The Fekkar brothers of the unwashed clan.  We had not fired.  They cut into us.  Surely this was a mistake.  We were going to try to break them, but should have relied on British Discipline and a Volley.  No no, this mad Scotchman had us running at them with the bayonet.  Mr Quentin tried his best.  "I say old chap?". "Oh, is this wise?". But his voice was a small voice.  So sad.  His pestle is too small for his mortar as they say.

The Badmashes had big shiny choppers.  They were led by their Fakir, a man who sleeps on nails.  But our first platoon were down to seven men.  The Badmashes broke them.  Then Mr Mackintosh was felled by my Brother in Fisticuffs. 
Mr Quentin was not up to it.  He could not hold us, but the Jemhadar called for us to stand.  He held the fifth and sixth platoons and we volleyed the nappy wearing bastards.  Forgiveness Sahib, but it was a little tense.

A tense moment

But these were Badmashes.  We were Britishers.  They had routed two platoons, but Mr Quentin did nothing.  Fate did not deal him any cards.  The Jemhadar, Haidar Sikh, followed our volley with a charge, and they did not stand.

Mr Quentin chased the Badmashes, but watched in amazement as the Angry Fakir ran up a vertical rope into nothingness to escape justice.  The bandit Jezail men also ran.  The mad missionary lady struck Mr Quentin with a bible book, and stormed off back towards Fort George, chased by our only remaining officer.

After the battle the Jemhadar had us occupy the village, Mr Mackintosh recovered slowly with much swearing. He sent me as a runner back to Fort George and the coast.  No sign did I see of Mr Quentin.  At the Fort Mr Grahame was most angry and marched our own company back to Pornomalee.
Mr Quentin has vanished, but the Bhuna Frontier is in uproar.  Word has come from Dhal Hillfort that the Bhuna himself is arming for battle, and that the Angry Fakir is whipping up support.
I fear that the campaign is just opening.
I fear that we haven't seen the last of Ensign Quentin Whitmore.
An old Hindu proverb.  If you see two eyes shining in the night perhaps it is not a Tiger.  Perhaps it is two one eyed tigers. 

Please the gods Captain Quincy Sir.  Come back to us in India. 

The Bhuna frontier erupts