Signal Close Action (14 page)

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 someone 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 torn 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
1'

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, 'Avast,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 hors
eman who had beaten wit
h 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 gatel'

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 God'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 madman'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.