Signal-Close Action!

5. The Only Way Out

BOLITHO tugged his hat firmly over his forehead as Lysander's heavy, thirty-four foot launch dipped into the lively wave crests and soaked the occupants with spray. He peered astern but the ship was already lost in darkness, while on either quarter he could see the white splashes from oars as the two cutters held their station on him. Despite the careful preparations, oak looms tied with greased rags and the tight stowage of weapons and equipment, the combined sounds seemed tremendous.

He turned his attention ahead of the launch, and could just discern the outline of the gig, the occasional splash of phosphorescence as a seaman in her* bows marked their progress with a boat's lead and line.

The gig was commanded by Lysander's senior master's mate, named Plowman, who had been highly recommended by the master himself. Bolitho thought that if Grubb could not take part in the raid personally, then Plowman was the next best choice. Grubb had confided in his thick, wheezing voice that Plowman had served in a Welsh trader along these shores in happier times. "Leastways, that's what "e says, sir. I reckon "e was doin" a bit of blackbirdin" with the Arabs!"

Slaver or not, Plowman was taking the little procession of overcrowded boats straight inshore without the slightest show of hesitation.

It was strange that the more important the work, the lowlier the man who was most needed.

He felt Gilchrist shifting his bony figure beside him, the quick nervous breathing as he clutched his sword between his knees.

Bolitho tried not to think of the possibility of disaster. That already, out there in the blackness, muskets and blades were waiting to cut them down in the shallows. Perhaps Gilchrist was thinking much the same.

Someone lost the stroke in one of the cutters and he heard Steere, the fifth lieutenant, call anxiously "Easy there! Together!"

The boats were so heavily laden with marines as well as their oarsmen that it took plenty of brawn to pull them. The resulting splashes and creaks, grunts and curses were only to be expected.

The bowman called, "Gig's "eaved-to, sir!"

Bolitho leaned forward, suddenly aware that the white, writhing patterns no longer came from Plowman's oars but from sea against land.

"Easy all!" The launch's coxswain tensed over his tiller bar. 'stand by in the boat!"

Gilchrist snapped, "I can"t see a damn thing!"

The two cutters were backing water vigorously, their pale hulls gleaming in the darkness as an offshore swell swung them in a dance.

Metal rasped and boots shuffled as the marines prepared to quit the boats. It only needed one of them to loose off his musket or fall against the seaman who was holding the lanyard of a stem-mounted swivel gun and stealth would go by the board. Bolitho held his breath, watching Plowman's gig loom from the darkness and touch the launch with barely a shudder. Hands reached out to hold them together, and after a few more fumbling thuds Plowman appeared in the sternsheets, his teeth very white as he muttered, "There seems a fair beach up yonder, sir. "His breathing was even, as if he was actually enjoying himself. Remembering perhaps when he and his men had gone after live cargo. "Not very big, but by the looks of the water I’d say we"re safer here than gropin" to the next bay."

"I agree."

Bolitho tried not to think of the time. It was like a mental hour-glass, the sand running away remorselessly.

Plowman added, "I’ll lead then."

He made to turn towards the bows but stopped as Bolitho said, "Once we are ashore you will take charge of the boats. You have done well, Mr. Plowman, to get us this far. I’ll see it's not forgotten."

Plowman protested, "I could put one of my lads in charge, sir. "

"No. We will need you again later. I don’twant Mr.

Grubb's right-hand man getting lost in Spain! The master would never pardon me!"

Several men chuckled arid Plowman sighed. "That's true, sir. "

Fifteen minutes later the gig and then the big launch thrust into hard sand, and while seamen stumbled waist-deep in water alongside, and oars and weapons went in all directions, Bolitho ran with Gilchrist up the beach, their swords in their hands.

This would be the moment. Bolitho halted by some scattered rocks, his eyes straining in the darkness, trying to pitch his ears above wind and sea.

But no challenge came, no ripple of flashes from the higher darkness above the beach. And with each precious minute more and more men were squelching out of the shallows and hurrying to their allotted positions. The crossbelts grew in numbers, and when the cutters, which had watched warily for any sign of attack, came in also, the small cove seemed to be full of silent figures.

Major Leroux strode up the beach. "All mustered, sir." "Very well. Have the boats stand off. Pass the word to Mr. Plowman to remain close inshore for one hour and then return to the ship as arranged."

He watched Leroux beckoning to his orderly. One hour. It should be long enough to know if they had an even chance of success.

As the boats and their depleted crews splashed astern from the beach, Bolitho could sense the uncertainty around him. Despite their military code, the marines were not land animals. The thought of being left in foreign territory, denied a link with their ship and the only way of life most of them understood would be uppermost in their minds.

He said, 'send out your scouts, Major Leroux."

The marine nodded. "We will need some good men to flank us, too."

He hurried away, and in no time at all the whole landing party was on the move..

It was much as Grubb and Plowman had described, although the track which followed the high ground above the beach was rougher than expected. Men swore savagely in the darkness, and occasionally Bolitho heard Nepean or one of his sergeants demanding silence under all manner of threats.

After an hour Bolitho ordered a rest, and while the marines sat or crouched on either side of the track he called his officers together.

"It will be growing lighter in five hours."

He saw Midshipman Luce shaking stone chippings from one shoe, and thought again of Pascoe. In the poor light he was not unlike him. They had been, no were good friends.

"According to my calculations we have a gully to cross and then we will be very near to the bay. The chart describes the first headland as loose and worn down by the sea. So it is my guess that any defending battery must be mounted on the opposite headland."

Gilchrist said angrily, "We can never march all that way before Lysander begins her attack."

"Are you speaking to me, Mr. Gilchrist?" His voice was so mild that Luce jammed on his shoe and stood very still to listen.

"I’m sorry, er, sir." Gilchrist sounded off balance. "It was an opinion."

"I am glad to know that." He looked at the others. "But we must seize any pieces which might be capable of crippling Lysander before the attack begins. Unprepared for our visit the Spaniards may well be. But the bay will be like a nest of hornets once the first shot is fired."

Leroux tightened his sword-belt. "I agree, sir. And the sooner we get to the gully, the better I’ll be pleased. " Bolitho looked round, feeling the dust and grit against his face. The wind was holding. It was to be hoped that Herrick's "lady luck" did the same.

He said, "Get them moving again."

Leroux strode away, and after a few whispered commands the marines clumped on to the track. In the darkness their belts made a long, undulating snake of crosses.

And still nothing moved from the outer darkness. Not a stray dog, nor some befuddled fisherman groping his way to a boat to prepare for the dawn. It was as if the whole of the shore had been abandoned.

Stranger still, Bolitho found that he was able to think without interruption, his gait almost relaxed as he strode beside the middle section of marines. He thought of the times he had sailed past this coastline in both directions. Now he was actually walking along it. Names on the chart crossed through his mind like memories. Cartagena, which lay less than forty miles away. Alicante, Valencia, each held a place in his memory. And five years back, in this same war, Spain had been an ally of England.

He realised that a whispered command was coming back down the line, and as he hurried forward he saw Leroux and Nepean in close conference with a corporal.

Leroux did not waste words. "This is Corporal Manners, sir. A good skirmisher by any standards." He looked steadily at Bolitho. "He's been leading the scouts."

Bolitho kept his tone level, although he knew that some- thing was very wrong. "Your advance party has reached the gully?"

Leroux nodded. "Tell the commodore, Manners."

The marine's dialect was like a sound of home. Manners explained, "The gully is there as we expected, zur. But there must have been a great cliff fall. It's almost sheer-cut, like the side of an abbey." He hesitated. "I was a tin miner in Cornwall afore I signed on, zur."

"Then you will know what you are talking about."

Bolitho looked past them, his mind grappling with the totally unexpected.

Manners added, "I could try an" get down with the grapnel an" line, zur."

Bolitho shook his head. "Under cover of darkness it would be fatal." He looked at Leroux. "What do you think?"

The major replied, "It would take hours. Even if we could do it, the men would be in poor shape for a pitched battle afterwards. "

"And Lysander would already be in the bay."

He felt despair crowding in on him. He had been blind, too stupid to plan for this one real barrier which made all other preparations a waste of time. And lives. He had relied on the chart's sparse information and his own eagerness. His mind rebelled at the word. For vengeance?

"We will have to march them around the gully, sir. " Leroux was watching him. Sharing his anxiety. "However-"

"Indeed, Major Leroux. That one word however tells all." Lieutenant Nepean remarked, "We will circle whatever defences there are in the bay, sir, and storm the battery from inland. "

Leroux sighed. "Pass the word to Sergeant Gritton. We will follow the scouts as before." In a quieter voice he said to Bolitho, "There is nothing else we can do now."

It could have been a reproach, but it was not. Gilchrist's tall figure carne out of the gloom. "I hear that we are cut off by the gully, sir."

"That is so." He tried to discover his reactions. 'so we will have our forced march after all."

He saw the marines plodding past again, muskets slung, heads bowed as they watched the legs of the men in front. Most of them did not know where they were, let alone what they were doing here. Trust. The word came at him like a shout. It was all they had, and he had thrown it back at them.

Gilchrist said in a dull voice, "It is what follows that troubles me, sir." He turned to take up his position with the next file of marines.

Leroux snapped, "That man puts an edge to my patience, sir. "

Bolitho glanced at him. "Captain Herrick is satisfied with his competence."

Leroux slashed at a gorse bush with his curved hanger and replied, "It is not for me to speak of others behind their backs, sir. "

"Remember that word we were using, Major?" Bolitho heard the hanger cut angrily at another patch of gorse. "However?"

"I know that Captain Herrick has served with you before, sir. The whole squadron knows it. He is a fine man, and a fair one. It is hard to be either in a ship of the line, from my experience. "

"I will agree to that, Major. Thomas Herrick has been my friend since the American Revolution. He has saved my life more than once."

"And you his, to all accounts, sir." Leroux darted a swift glance at his panting file of marines. "He has a sister, sir, did you know that?"

"Yes. She means a lot to Captain Herrick. The poor girl has had much to endure, that I also know."

"Yes. She is a cripple. I met her once when I went to Kent on a mission for the captain when we were refitting Lysander. To see a face so fair, and so betrayed by her useless limbs, is enough to break a man's heart." He added slowly, "Mr. Gilchrist has asked for her hand in marriage."

Bolitho gripped his sword hilt and stared into the darkness until his eyes hurt him. He had been so "busy with his own affairs he had not once considered Herrick's other world. Herrick had begun his service as a poor man without privileges. Compared with officers like Farquhar, or himself for that matter, he still was poor. But over the years he had managed to save, to swell his meagre beginnings with prize money and the reward from his promotion to post-captain.

Leroux said, "Captain Herrick's mother died just before we sailed from Spithead. So you see, sir, his sister is all alone now."

"He did not tell me." Bolitho's mind went back over those first moments when he had joined Lysanderat Gibraltar. "But maybe I gave him no chance."

He fell silent, and Leroux hurried on towards his scouts, leaving him to his thoughts.

Herrick loved his sister dearly. To find her a husband would be more important than almost anything. Even his loyalty to him. He thought, too, of Gilchrist's hostility, and forced himself to ask why he should want to marry a crippled girl. He could find an explanation for neither.

He lifted his head and stared up at the stars. So cool and aloof from all their pathetic efforts on earth.

So often in the past when he had served, fretting and impatient under his superior officers, he had told himself he could do better. But they had had fleets to command, great events to consider and manipulate. He had been given just one small chance to show his ability, to prove that he could now join that elite group of men whose flags flew with pride for all to see and obey.

As he listened to the weary, dragging boots of the marines at his side he knew he had failed.

"What can you see now?" Pascoe kept his voice to a whisper as he watched the sentry outside the tent flap.

At the back of the tent Allday was bent almost double while he peered through a small hole cut with an improvised blade which he had fashioned from a drinking cup.

Allday held up his hand to silence him. From the rear of the tent he could see part of the beach below the camp, the glitter of stars on choppy water and a riding light from one of the ships. There was no moon, so that any small glow from fire or lantern shone out with false brightness, even from as far as the other headland.

It was past midnight, from what he could judge, but there had been plenty of activity in and around the camp with barely a pause since that trumpet call.

It was quieter now, but above the headland he could see a few pin-pricks from lanterns, and guessed that the battery was fully manned and getting ready for the dawn. Something red wavered for just a few seconds and then died as quickly.

He felt sweat on his neck and chest. That was a furnace door being opened and closed. They were heating shot to welcome the ship with fire.

He ducked down, and together the two of them lay side by side on the ground, faces almost touching.

Allday whispered, "The battery's heating shot. That must be why we’ve got a native trooper as a sentry. Every Don in the camp will be an artilleryman, and needed for those damned cannon. "

Pascoe's face was pale in the darkness. "What shall we do?"

Allday gestured at the flap. "Just one guard, is there?" "Aye. They seem to think we"re safe enough."

Allday grinned in spite of the mounting tension. "With good reason, Mr. Pascoe! Not much harm we can do if we start walking, is there?"

"I know-" It sounded like a sob.

"Easy." He touched his shoulder, feeling the rawness left by the sun. "If we can make an explosion, like the way we spoke of, we might be able to drive the ship away." Pascoe nodded firmly. "How can we cross the camp? It must be all of a mile to the other side."

Allday looked at the rear of the tent. "If there is more than one guard, we are dead before we begin." He let his words sink in. "But if I take this one before he shouts for aid, one of us can wear his uniform."

Pascoe wriggled on his stomach to the flap again. "He's sitting down." He came back again, moving like a poacher. "I think he may be asleep. But take care. "He touched his wrist. "There could be more guards close by."

Allday examined his crude knife and said, "If I get taken before I can do anything, you stay still and pretend to be asleep. Don’t let on that we were doing it together."

Pascoe showed his teeth. "The hell with you, Allday!" Allday smiled. "That's more the sound of it, Mr. Pascoe!" Pascoe stayed by the flap, shutting his ears to the steady scraping sound of Allday cutting through the tough canvas. The sentry did not move, and Pascoe was certain that some- one would hear the steady thud of his heart against his ribs.

The noise stopped and he took a quick glance across his shoulder..

"Are you going now?"

But he was alone.

He rose on one knee, holding his breath as Allday's shadow flitted round the side of the tent, his bare feet soundless on the sand. It was as if he had transformed himself into a great, enveloping cloak. One moment he stood there, towering above the dozing soldier. Then he was down and around him, merging the shadows into one, with little more noise than a brief yawn.

He tugged open the flap as Allday came back through the narrow entrance, dragging the inert soldier behind him.

Allday spoke through his teeth. "Dare not light a lantern.

You’ll have to dress best you can. Here, pull his tunic off while I get his breeches. He stinks like a sow." He groped quickly for a belt. "Ah, he has a pistol, too."

Pascoe felt the man's skin under his fingers. It was clammy and hot, but unmoving.

Allday muttered, "I think I broke the bastard's neck." Pascoe stared at him and tore off his own breeches. He stood naked for a few hesitant seconds before struggling into the dead soldier's. His own breeches were almost tom to shreds, but they were part of his remaining link. He tightened his lips. There was no link any more.

Next the tunic and belt. Allday was right. He would never have been able to get his powerful bulk into this man's clothing.

He heard Allday moving across the tent, the gurgling of wine, and wondered how he could drink at a time like this. He" gasped as Allday's dripping hands clamped around his face and neck and down the open collar of his tunic.

Allday said grimly, "Got to make you as dark as possible see? God help us if they see you in daylight. Don’t reckon they"d have seen a red-faced trooper before!" He clapped the fez on Pascoe's head and draped the neckcloth carefully to hide as much of his face as possible.

Pascoe picked up the musket and checked it. Fortunately it was a new one, probably French.

"I’m ready."

Allday dragged the corpse aside and covered it with a piece of canvas.

"Good. Now just loop some cord round my wrists behind my back. This has got to look right an" proper." He grinned. "Not too tight, mind."

They looked at each other in silence.

Then Pascoe said, "If they take me alive… "

Allday shook his head. "They won’t. Me neither." Outside the tent it seemed almost cool, the deep shadows of tents and earthworks unreal and menacing.

Allday wondered what the guards did with the slaves and prisoners during the night. All being well they would get a rude awakening wherever they were.

It was all so easy. They walked quickly down the slope from the officers" tents and onto a rough, partly completed track which Allday guessed led towards the new pier. Dying embers from a fire glowed redly by an unlimbered wagon, and between the big wheels he could see several sleeping figures.

He heard Pascoe's footsteps close behind him, the regular tapping of his musket against his hip as he carried it slung over one shoulder.

Something moved away from a pile of timber and he hissed, "A vast; Mr. Pascoe!"

Pascoe unslung his musket and jammed the muzzle into his spine, pushing him along as fast as he dared. The shadow called something and then laughed before turning away again into the darkness.

Allday murmured, "Well done, but I hope you"re watching your trigger finger!"

They continued in a straight line, using the dark margin below the stars to show the way to the headland. There were no lanterns there now. The gun crews would be resting by their weapons. They had little to fear.

Allday halted and felt Pascoe stop immediately. "What is it?"

Allday said quietly; "There's someone directly ahead of us. Right in our path. "

Pascoe whispered, "We daren"t stop here. We"re out in the open."

"Aye." Something about the figure standing in their way worried Allday. "Just laugh if he says anything. I’ll try and jump on his back as we pass."

But the man did not challenge them, nor turn as they moved abreast of his lonely vigil.

He was tied to a post, his eyeless sockets huge and black above his bared teeth. Allday stayed silent, knowing it was the senior horseman who had beaten him with his whip.

Pascoe said it all for him. "If they do that to one of their own… "

After a few more minutes Allday said, "I think we"d better rest here. Take our bearings."

They were almost on the sea's edge, the sand made uneven by the comings and goings of many feet as the anchored ships and lighters had been loaded.

The nearest one, a brig, seemed harder in outline, Allday thought. The dawn was closer than he had believed. How inviting she looked. He thought of the task they had set themselves and shuddered. Any ship would seem so just now.

He turned his attention to the low headland. Two humps, about a cable apart, marred the otherwise level outline. So there were two batteries. It was unlikely there would be more than one magazine. The Spanish captain had hinted that he had enough to do without adding to his work at this stage…

"We’ll take the inner one, if you agree?"

Pascoe nodded. "The one with the oven." He nodded again. "It's more likely that the magazine will be there. They’ll not want too many delays when cradling heated shot into a primed gun!"

Allday watched his silhouette. It could have been the commodore speaking.

"I think I can see a path. We’ll follow it. If we"re wrong, we’ll double back and try elsewhere." Pascoe added firmly, "It’ll be a quick death."

But their choice of direction was the right one. The path widened as it curved around the back of the headland, and even to Allday's sore feet felt smoother.

Sheltered once more from the sea it was much quieter. They heard other sounds. Rustlings in the salt-dried grass, the distant neigh of tethered horses, a persistent whistle from some night-bird on the search for prey.

They turned yet another bend and found themselves staring straight at a tall wooden gate. It was wide open, and in the dim light of a hanging lantern they saw some crude steps leading up the hill to a point which must be directly below the first battery.

Allday asked quickly, "Do you have that whip?"

Pascoe fumbled with the unfamiliar belt. "Yes, why-" He broke off as two figures moved slightly from inside the doorway.

Allday snapped, "Use it! Lively, or we’ll never reach that bloody gate!"

Both of the sentries were armed, Allday could see their bayonets glinting in the yellow glare. They were both Spaniards, artillerymen by the look of their boots and wide breeches.

He caught his breath as the whip passed against his shoulder.

"Harder, for Gad's sake!"

Pascoe gasped and struck out again, remembering with sudden clarity the way the horsemen had beaten them. Without emotion or pity.

The two sentries were watching with little curiosity. In this awful place it was a regular spectacle.

Then a musket clattered as one of them brought it up from the ground, and Allday bounded forward, dragging it from the astonished sentry's grip and driving the butt into his face in one savage thrust.

Pascoe ran to join him, but the second guard was already dashing wildly up the steps, his voice yelling like a mad man's.

Allday threw up the musket and fired, seeing the man hurled round by the force of the ball before falling out of sight. They heard his body rolling down a slope in a small avalanche of loose stones and earth.

"Come on!" Pascoe ran up the steps and almost charged headlong into a sentry who was trying to let himself through another entrance which was guarded by a stout studded door.

Allday reached out and seized his neck, turning him easily and then smashing his head into the door,

It swung open into a narrow passageway, and as more shouts and running feet echoed overhead Pascoe said breathlessly, "Bolt the door." He held up a lantern. "This must lead to the powder room."

"It's dry enough." Allday dragged two heavy barrels against the door. "Be easy with the lantern." He sniffed. "I’ll wager they"re wondering what the hell is happening down here!" He cocked the second musket

Boots and muskets hammered on the heavy door, and then just as suddenly fell silent.

Pascoe looked at his companion. "Here goes then."

Major Leroux handed Bolitho a small pocket telescope. "I doubt if you will be able to see much yet, sir."

Bolitho raised himself up on his knees, feeling the ache in his limbs and back from the long march overland. Scattered around the hillside gorse and dried grass he could see the belts and breeches of the marines as they lay gasping for breath in untidy clusters.

The sky was paler, as were the stars, there was no doubt about that. But horizon and land were still interlocked, and only where the shoreline was edged with pale sand could he get a true idea of their position. They were on a hillside, behind and about level with the headland. In the small glass he could see the crude gashes where the ground had been dug into earthworks and pallisades, the occasional flicker of light from a single lantern. It played on a pair of fat gun breeches, probably twenty-four pounders, he,thought… Leroux was leaning on his elbows, sucking quietly at a round pebble.

"Down this steep slope and up the next to the pallisade, sir.

Even allowing for there being no other protection at the rear, we might lose half our men in a charge." He glanced at his weary marines. 'shipboard life takes the wind out of "em. They"re not infantry or line soldiers."

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked with sudden vigour. It was like the beginning of another day.

Bolitho snapped, "This morning they will have to act like soldiers, Major. We must attack without delay. Before the trumpet calls the garrison to arms."

He felt the other officers moving closer to him. He kept his gaze directed towards the sea, the three dark shapes of the anchored ships. Perhaps they could silence the battery and then fight their way to some boats. All because of that gully. And his own blindness."

He said shortly, "Mr Steere, you will take what seamen remain with us and head for the beach. Mr. Luce will accompany you." He nodded to Leroux. "Carryon. We had best move directly."

Leroux touched his sergeant's arm in the gloom. The man jumped as if he had been hit by a ball.

The major said curtly, 'sergeant Gritton. Pass the word. Fix bayonets. Check each man. When I give the signal, the whole line will advance at the trot."

The marine straightened his hat. "Yes sir." He might just as well have been ordered to polish his boots from the little emotion he showed.

Men stirred along the hillside, and steel clicked against steel as the bayonets emerged to glint feebly in the dull light.

Bolitho drew his sword and said quietly, "We will make as much noise as we can. It is the best weapon today."

He swung round as a single shot echoed and re-echoed round the hills like a ricochet.

For a moment he imagined that a picket had sighted his marines, or worse still they had been out manoeuvred even as they prepared to mount their attack on the battery.

Nepean called, "Down there, sir! I saw a flash. A man fell, I think."

There were muffled shouts, and the single lantern on the battery began to move across the flat ground behind the earthworks as if carried by a spirit.

Leroux muttered, "It's no signal, by God. There must be a madman at work." He added bitterly, "In heaven's name, look at the confusion! There's no chance of a surprise now!"

Bolitho could see even without the major's telescope the surging figures along the battery wall. Most were very pale, as if only partly dressed, rudely awakened by that mysterious shot.

He replied harshly, "It is our only chance; Major." He lurched to his feet and waved his hat towards the astonished marines. "Are you with me?" He could feel the madness rising in his throat like bile, the fierce pounding against his ribs as if his heart was trying to break free.

With something like a growl the marines stumbled from their positions and as one and then another pointed his bayoneted musket towards the battery Leroux yelled, "Charge!"

Down the slope, yelling and cheering like wild things, the marines soon forgot the order to keep down their speed. Faster and faster, feet kicking over grass and stones, the wavering line of bayonets brighter now as a faint glow showed above the headland.

Here and there a man fell, only to stagger upright again, find his musket and double after his yelling companions.

Bolitho heard a few shots, but who was firing and where they went he did not know. He knew it was getting harder to maintain the pace, and realised they were going up now instead of down.

He gasped out, "Lively! Make for the pallisades!"

Some louder bangs came from above, and he heard a man gurgle and roll away down the slope.

But several marines had fallen behind and were kneeling to take aim above the heads of the others. A ball slammed past Bolitho's head and he heard a voice scream out with agony from the battery wall.

Leroux was yelling, "A path! Sergeant Gritton, take "em up there!"

Crack, crack, crack! Balls ripped into the pallisade from both sides, and as if from a great distance Bolitho heard the urgent clamour of a trumpet.

They had to reach that wall. Breach it before help came from the camp. They had all heard the horses. Cavalry would disperse the tired marines and destroy them piecemeal.

He almost fell across a sprawled soldier in a gateway, before he was pushed aside by a yelling marine at the head of the leading section. His mind reeled but clung to the strange. fact that the gate was open, the sentry killed.

Up some steps and around a narrow bend where he saw some half dozen Spaniards beating against a board door with weapons and fists, oblivious it seemed to the onrushing marines.

One turned, then the whole bunch of them scattered from the door, fighting each other to climb up and over a partly finished wall.

Whooping like fiends the marines charged amongst them, the bayonets lifting and stabbing, the awful cries drowned by their own excited madness.

Bolitho shouted, 'stand fast, marines!" To Leroux he gasped, 'stop them, for God's sake! We must get through that door!"

Shots banged down. from the battery and several marines fell kicking, but as others were still hurrying up the steps it seemed likely they would soon be unable to move, to escape the hidden marksmen.

He saw Sergeant Gritton with a great axe standing framed against the door, heard the mighty clang as the blade hacked into the studded timber.

Leroux fired a pistol and handed it to his orderly as a body spilled over the rampart and pitched amongst the yelling marines.

"He’ll never get it down in time!"

He fired his other pistol and cursed as the ball whimpered harmlessly towards the sky.

"Ready, lads!" Gritton was almost screaming. "It's openin"!"

Bolitho thrust himself through the press of men, aware that the door was swinging inwards, knowing that no axe had done it, and that in the next seconds his men might be smashed down by a blast of canister.

Gritton was bawling, Shoot, lads! Let's be at the bastards!"

Then another voice, louder even than the sergeant's. "Avast there, Sergeant Gritton! Hold your fire, damn you!"

Bolitho felt himself being carried bodily through the door on a tide of cursing, cheering marines, and as they burst into a roughly-hewn passage and fanned out on either side he stared at the two figures who were etched against a solitary lantern.

Leroux gasped, "One of us! Shoot that soldier, Gritton!" The 'soldier" threw down his musket, and as his arms were seized by two marines he called hoarsely, "It's me!" Bolitho pushed the marines aside and gripped the youth around his shoulders. "I must be dreaming!"

Allday shouted, "Then so must we, sir!"

Leroux was at his side again. "This is the main magazine, sir!" He stared at Pascoe's stained face. "Did you…? I mean, were you going to…?"

Pascoe said huskily, "We planned to blow the magazine.

The commandant here knows a ship is nearby. "He looked at Allday, the strength suddenly gone out of him. "And we knew she would be Lysander."

Allday nodded, his filthy face split into a grin. "What we didn"t know was" that we"d see the bullocks this fine morning!"

Bolitho controlled his reeling thoughts. They might still be too late to do anything. But it no longer seemed so black, so impossible as it had just moments ago.

"Major, take some men to the battery. Tell your sharpshooters to fire with care: I doubt you’ll get much opposition. They’ll not be keen to shoot down here and build their own inferno." He looked at Pascoe and Allday. "As you were quite prepared to do." Allday said, "One thing, sir. There's a second battery on the outboard end of the point. I think. this is the only magazine, but-"

He broke off as the passageway shook to a sudden explosion. There was cheering, too, and the sporadic clatter of musket fire.

Bolitho nodded. "That was a gun from the other battery, I’m thinking."

Pascoe made to follow him as he ran after the marines, but he said, "No, Adam. Yours has been the lion's share of danger. Remain here with these wounded marines until I know what to do."

As he hurried along the dimly lighted passageway, past great vats of shots, barrels of powder and cradles for carrying the massive balls up to the furnace, he kept thinking of what had happened. Pascoe and Allday had survived. Not only that, they were here, with him, though how they had man- aged it he could not begin to comprehend. If he had been turned back completely by the gully, or had arrived at the camp perhaps minutes later, they would have blown up the magazine and battery, and themselves also. He felt the emotion pricking his eyes. To make that sacrifice, such a reckless gesture, without even waiting to see if a ship was actually entering the bay. They had known she was Lysander. It had been enough.

Another great bang brought dust filtering from the beamed roof, but he took time to sheath his sword, to compose himself, as Leroux, hatless with blood above his eye ran down some steps and shouted, "Lysander is in sight, sir. The other battery has opened fire on her, but this one has struck to us." He sighed heavily. "Listen to my lads. Their huzzas are a reward enough."

Bolitho flinched as another bang echoed around the magazine.

Traverse some of the cannon to point on the other battery. There is heated shot, I believe."

Leroux led the way up the steps, his coat scarlet again in a rectangle of dull light from the sky.

Bolitho felt the salt air across his face, and watched the cheering marines as they hurried about the earthworks, firing as they went towards the other battery. He ignored the hiss of balls which flicked past him and stared fixedly at the high pyramid of canvas which appeared to be rising from the sea itself.

The seventy-four was moving very slowly into the bay, her lower hull still in deeper shadow. Herrick was coming in, just as he had known he would. No battery on earth would prevent his attempt to complete the plan of attack, nor frighten him from his attempt to rescue the landing party.

A gun crashed out from the battery, and he gritted his teeth as a tall waterspout erupted violently alongside the ship's hull. Too close.

He snapped, "Hurry your men, Major! Tell them that the sea is their only way out!"