. . . and then the Sikhs were charging them with the bayonet against Ab spears and swords, smashing into their ranks like a steel fist, outnumbered but forcing the robed tribesman back, and standing by Theodore on Fala I had to clamp my jaws tight to stop myself yelling, for I remembered their fathers and uncles at
Sobraon, you see, and within I was crying:
“Khasla-ji! Sat-sree-akal!” There’s no hand-to-hand fighter in the world better than a Sikh with his bayonet fixed . . .
Flashman on the March,
p.239,
Harper Collins, paperback edition 2005.
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