Wearing British clothes as a second-generation aristocrat

38. Major Mackenzie, still alive

However, that's no longer possible.

A thunderous sound of hooves swept in from the southeast, deep and rapid.

In the darkness, countless British cavalrymen, holding torches high, rushed forward like a surging torrent. When they were less than a hundred meters away from the guerrillas, the cavalrymen threw their torches to the ground.

The moment the torches hit the ground, they burst into flames, illuminating the cavalrymen's ferocious faces and the gleaming sabers in their hands, their cold light sending chills down one's spine.

Immediately afterward, the cavalrymen drew their swords from their waists, shouted, and charged towards the chaotic guerrillas. They were well-trained, their formation was orderly, and no one could stop their horses.

By this time, Raj was exhausted. His fighting spirit and courage had been completely extinguished after witnessing the tragic deaths of countless comrades and facing a cavalry raid.

He closed his eyes in pain, a bitter, desperate smile on his face.

"It's all over..." They had no chance of winning anymore, only to await their execution or futilely pray for a shred of mercy from the other side.

The guerrillas in the group were already terrified and exhausted, and had no strength left to resist.

Some team members simply stopped, threw down their weapons, collapsed to the ground, and stared blankly at the charging cavalry.

In their view, being killed with a single blow at this moment, ending this endless suffering, would be far more pleasant than struggling in fear and despair.

Outside the town of Omarazi, there was another guerrilla unit participating in the feint attack. They were originally tasked with drawing the British army's attention, but because the main force's communication channels with them were cut off by the British, they had no idea that the main force inside the town had been surrounded and massacred.

By the time they realized something was wrong and tried to evacuate, they had already missed their best opportunity and were firmly held back by the British soldiers on the perimeter, unable to escape.

Hundreds of British cavalry, led by Captain Baker Hammie, roared into the guerrilla ranks.

They held their sabers high, and in the firelight, each swing was accompanied by a cold glint, and with each slash, a head fell to the ground.

Meanwhile, British soldiers in the town of Omarachi, along with the joint defense force formed by the puppet regime, also took the opportunity to launch a counterattack.

They followed behind the fleeing guerrillas, armed with flintlock pistols and machetes, pursuing them relentlessly and not letting anyone who tried to escape escape.

Most of the members of the joint defense team were townspeople who had previously reported guerrillas.

They knew that only by killing all the guerrillas could they avoid retaliation from them.

Therefore, despite being Indians themselves, they showed no mercy at this moment and were even more ruthless than the British soldiers.

Completely demoralized, the guerrillas had no more thoughts of resistance. They stopped in their tracks, raised their hands to surrender, and cried out "surrender!" and "have mercy!" begging to save their lives.

What they didn't know was that Dugan, despite his meticulous planning, had overlooked one crucial detail: he had not given his officers prior orders to accept the surrender.

In the eyes of the rigid British officers, since they had not received orders to accept surrender, there was no reason to show mercy.

Neither the cavalry officers charging ahead nor the infantry officers pursuing behind accepted the guerrillas' surrender.

The sabers were still brandished, the gunshots still rang out, and the surrendered guerrillas were still being hacked to the ground one by one. Their screams and pleas gradually faded away amidst the flames and pools of blood.

The one-sided massacre lasted for a full thirty minutes.

It wasn't until Dugan was atop the tower of the Elephant Temple that he noticed the fighting below was still intense, and he was surprised.

Why were the soldiers still killing without showing any signs of stopping? That's when I rushed downstairs to the scene.

When he saw the scene before him, and saw countless guerrillas lying in pools of blood, surrendering, he suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to give the order to accept the surrender.

He frowned, a hint of impatience in his voice, and shouted, "Enough! Enough!"

After the order was given, the British soldiers and the garrison gradually stopped firing their weapons.

At this point, fewer than 500 guerrilla fighters remained on the battlefield, still able to raise their hands and survive by sheer luck.

The rest either fell to the swords and guns or were crushed to death by horses' hooves; none escaped.

"Sigh, this is my fault," Dugan sighed regretfully.

However, Megawa, standing to the side, did not sense that Dugan felt any remorse whatsoever.

That night, the main force of the Marata guerrillas near the town of Omarachi suffered a devastating blow.

Of the nearly 5,000 guerrillas who originally participated in the attack on Omarachi, only a little over 300 managed to break through the encirclement under the cover of darkness and escape in all directions. The rest were either killed on the spot or became prisoners of the British army.

In this battle, the British army won a brilliant victory at a very low cost.

With only 67 dead and 48 wounded, the attack brought annihilation to the guerrillas.

According to statistics, the British army killed at least 3000 guerrillas. However, many of their bodies were destroyed by artillery shells or crushed by horses' hooves and were no longer identifiable. The actual number of deaths was far greater than the statistics indicated. At the same time, 850 guerrillas were captured.

The guerrilla leader, Raj, was now a prisoner of the British.

Other guerrilla leaders, such as Kamal who had surrendered to the British and Gupta who was on the front lines, were either killed on the spot or executed by the British after being captured.

It is estimated that after the entire battle, only fewer than 300 stragglers managed to escape and hide in the corners of the mountains, never daring to show themselves again.

But Dugan had no intention of letting them off the hook.

The next morning, just as dawn was breaking, Dugen ordered his men to enter the mountains and completely destroy the guerrilla stronghold.

The British troops were led by Horn, Baker Hammie and Joffrey.

Horn led a group of British soldiers and 100 Indian militia members to search the eastern mountains.

The eastern mountainous area has a complex terrain with ravines and caves everywhere, making it an ideal hiding place for guerrillas and extremely difficult to search.

"Everyone spread out and search. If you find any guerrillas, kill them without mercy!" Horn reined in his horse and shouted the order to his soldiers and auxiliary police.

British soldiers and garrison members immediately dispersed and searched carefully along the mountain path.

The search lasted all morning. Horn's team cleared out three temporary strongholds of guerrillas and killed more than ten stragglers, but they still did not find any large-scale guerrilla gathering points.

"Keep searching, don't let your guard down!"

In the afternoon, a member of the joint defense team discovered the entrance to a cave hidden by vines and weeds in a secluded ravine.

The entrance to the cave is narrow, allowing only one person to pass at a time. The vines grow exceptionally dense, making them virtually undetectable unless one looks closely.

"Sir! There's a cave here!" the auxiliary police shouted.

"Light the torch and go in to check!" Horn ordered.

The two soldiers immediately lit torches, raised their guns, and cautiously entered the cave.

The cave was more spacious and winding than I had imagined, and the further I went in, the darker it became.

After walking about ten steps, the space ahead gradually opened up. The soldiers holding torches suddenly stopped.

"Sir, there's someone here!"

Before long, the man was carried out.

Horn immediately stepped forward. "Are they guerrillas?"

"Looks like a European," the soldier replied.

Horn parted the skeletal, dying man's dirty, disheveled hair.

The moment the hair was parted, Horn's pupils contracted sharply, and an expression of disbelief appeared on his face.

His face was as pale as paper, with high cheekbones, chapped and peeling lips, and sunken eyes; he looked almost like a skeleton.

But Horn recognized him at a glance.

This is Major McKenzie, formerly of the 2nd Battalion, 94th Infantry Regiment, who was captured by guerrillas a few months ago!

"Major McKenzie?!" Horn was overjoyed and immediately ordered, "Quick! Get water!"

The soldiers sprang into action immediately. Some brought water bottles, while others carefully helped McKenzie up from beside the stone wall and placed a clean cloth under him to make him more comfortable.

By this time, McKenzie was skin and bones, with the bones in his arms clearly visible. His body was covered with scars, including whip marks and red, swollen marks from mosquito bites. Clearly, he had suffered endless torment in the cave.

Stimulated by the cool water, Mackenzie's eyelids twitched slightly, and she slowly opened her eyes.

His eyes were vacant and unfocused. He stared at Horn for a long time before slowly turning his eyes, letting out a weak groan as if he wanted to say something, but he didn't even have the strength to speak.

A faint light flashed in Mackenzie's eyes. Her lips moved, but she still couldn't make a sound. She slowly raised her hand, which was so thin that it was just skin and bones, trying to grab Horn's sleeve, but she only raised it halfway before it fell limply down, and she fell into a coma again.

"Quickly! Bring a stretcher and carefully escort the major back!"