Inferno

Chapter 93

Egilsgade, one mile south of Copenhagen city ramparts

Adams and Maynard stood together. It was a strange, eerie sensation. The ever-present rumble of gunfire had petered out and a heavy stillness hung over the city that allowed the chirp of birds and occasional farmyard lowing to be heard for the first time in days.

Adams hailed a passing fellow officer and crossed over to him. ‘When did the summons go in to the Danskers?’ He returned to Maynard with his answer. ‘Says they’re to have all the time they want to think about it, save we get a reply this day.’

The 52nd had the simple task of holding the line of guns should the Danish make a desperate sally, and had little to do but watch proceedings.

Along the emplacements howitzers and mortars stood ready, their crews lazing at their posts, deadly projectiles stacked neatly in their protected earthwork magazines. A line of supply was in place for each, all the dread paraphernalia of siege warfare complete, primed and waiting.

‘You have to admire the rascals,’ Adams murmured. ‘Leaving it to the last moment possible before conceding.’

‘So we’ll be cheated of our bombardment,’ Maynard said lightly, hoping his feelings didn’t show.

‘One entertainment I’d be happy to miss, m’ friend,’ Adams said, in a low voice.

The morning passed but with the noon rations came news.

A reply had been received but it was not what was expected. General Peymann had acknowledged the peril Copenhagen stood in but wished to refer any final decision to the King of Denmark. The response from British Headquarters had been immediate: a rejection of the delay and a repeat of the original ultimatum.

‘Damme, but they’re sailing close to the wind,’ Adams muttered.

The sensation of unreality heightened, time dragged into the afternoon and then the evening.

‘How will we know if …?’

‘You’ll know it.’

Everyone agreed the Danes had to give way and they were not helping their situation by holding out for some alternative outcome. They were risking the whole thing turning bad and damage being done to their fair capital.

Night drew in. A moonless Stygian dark. Lights were going on in Copenhagen but the walls and ramparts in the foreground were in utter blackness.

The gunners were still stood to, as they had been all day, but now it was night with no aiming points. They would shortly be obliged to secure their weapons for the morning, when-

At seven thirty precisely a signal rocket hissed low across the sky, its red trail vivid in the blackness of the heavens. At its height it exploded with a thud in a pretty twinkling light.

‘Let’s be ’avin’ you, lads!’ came a bellow from the gun emplacement, and in a general stirring men closed up at their guns.

Battle lanterns were brought up and, with portfires and linstocks glowing, it dawned on Maynard what was going on. Incredibly, the bombardment of Copenhagen was really about to happen.

Two mortars opened up nearly simultaneously, the livid flash and hoarse bellow catching him off-balance. Others quickly joined in, gun-flash leaping up and down the line in a continuous roar.

In perfect parabolas red lines traced across the sky, the smouldering fuses of mortar shells, to descend somewhere in the interior of the quiet city with their lethal detonations. Other lines criss-crossed them: howitzers firing carcass shells to set buildings ablaze and still more with explosives to bring ruin and devastation.

Grouped together, stands of war rockets burst into action – an immense bright flare and roar, then a release to vanish instantly into the heavens in a vast arc up and away, trailing flame, then descending like a vengeful bolt from the gods. Another, and another, still more, stunning the senses.

Maynard stood rigid as the pungent stink of burned powder wafted by him. He tried to control his thoughts. What must this be doing to a city full of people?