The Sabre's Edge

commanded it. It promised them something if they did pull hard rather than threaten if they did not. In truth, they needed little encouragement. Months confined, cruising the Bay of Bengal, and now the prospect of action. It would take more than the monsoon and the Rangoon river in spate to damp their ardour.

After half an hour's pulling hard, the boats swung closer to the right bank to clear a thick knot of mangrove that reached into the river like a giant's arm. And then their first sight of the enemy, or rather his work - a hundred yards distant on the opposite bank.

'Still a mile to go by my reckoning, at least,' said Captain Birch. 'An outpost do you think?'

Hervey had no more prior intelligence than Birch. 'I think it best to work on that assumption. It's not a thing to have at your backs as you go for Kemmendine - or, for that matter, in front of you as you come back.'

'My view precisely.' Birch cupped his hands to be heard above the fall of water. 'Mr Wilkinson!'

The lieutenant brought his boat within easier hailing distance, and without once losing the stroke.

'I want to put half the company ashore to assault yonder fort,' called Birch, gesturing with his pistol. 'The rest I would have Mr Ash work upstream to assault the Kemmendine stockade. We can go at it from two sides at once. But maintain a contact.'

Both officers signalled their understanding, and put their boats for the bank.

? ? ?s

Out scrambled the grenadiers like ants swarming from a nest, with Hervey and Wainwright almost knocked over in the rush. There were no orders, no forming-up, just a headlong rush with the bayonet.

Shots rang out from the fort. At a hundred yards the musketry was well wide, though one ball sent a man's shako flying.

It continued as grenadiers splashed through the sodden padi, and still no nearer the mark. Hervey could hear the whizz of balls high above, or see the odd one spatter in front. He was surprised the Burmans stood their ground at all, for they could neither volley nor snipe.

Now they were under the bamboo walls, breathless. 'Up, up, get up!’ shouted the corporals as grenadiers clambered onto each other's shoulders: the Burmans were only ten feet above them, and the redcoats wanted but a fingerhold to claim first blood.

But the Burmans wouldn't wait for them to gain the top. They leapt from the parapet and ran for the gate for all they were worth. The stockade was no longer a fort but a pen.

Over the parapet came the Thirty-eighth, wild-eyed and baying like, hounds on to their fox.

The gate wouldn't open, and then not wide enough. And then the press of Burmans was so great that it jammed closed again, trapping three dozen of them, perhaps four.

Hervey picked himself up after half tumbling from the wall.

The grenadiers' yelling was truly terrible. The Burmans turned to receive them on their spears, but they had never faced English bayonets before.

The ferocity astonished even Hervey. Two dozen of them fell to the point of steel in a handful of seconds, a single man sometimes to three and more bayonets. The rest would have fallen the same had not the gates been suddenly wrenched from their hinges, terror-stricken Burmans throwing down spear and musket and fleeing through the ooze in bare feet twice as fast as boots could follow. They were lucky that the rain kept lead from following, too.

Hervey looked at the heap of dead, a sight he was spared as a rule since the horse took him and his dragoons on from their slaughter. The Burman soldier looked the same in death as any other: untidy, unsuccessful. He felt nothing for them. Had they stayed at their posts and fought they might at least have repulsed the first headlong attack. Was that not what they were paid to do? Perhaps Calcutta was right: perhaps there was no fight in the Burman army.

'Good work this, eh, Hervey?' called Captain Birch from outside the gates. He bent to wipe his sword on a Burman coat.

'Very good work indeed. But I wonder they were not more determined. You might have lost a fair few men had they stood their ground.'

'Perhaps,' said Birch, returning his sword. 'But in this rain they would not have been able to reload, and we'd have pushed them from that wall in no time. See the size of these men compared with mine.'

Hervey did. The grenadiers were picked men. It had been many years since the biggest soldiers in a battalion had been mustered together to throw the grenade, but the custom of putting the biggest men in the same company remained - quite evidently so in the Thirty-eighth. He nodded. 'But I doubt we shall be so fortunate every time. I can but admire the ardour of your men, though,' he added quickly, not wanting to belittle it in the slightest.

Captain Birch turned to his ensign. 'Have them form up in column of route, if you please.' And then to Hervey. 'Shall you come with us?'

'Indeed I shall.'

'Good. We all know of your exploits in Chittagong.'

Hervey was gratified, if surprised. He made no reply.

He did not speak for the best part of one full hour. They marched the while, first through mud so gummy that it pulled boots from feet at every step, and then through forest that from the outside looked deceptively like an English wood.

'No, no; it's too much,' said Captain Birch, coming to a standstill in the middle of a particularly dense tangle of byaik.

'I've never seen thicker,' agreed Hervey.

'We'd better make for the river and re-embark. We've lost enough time - and surprise, too.'

Hervey could but agree again. 'The shots may not have carried that far in this rain, but the runaways will have. They're bound to know a way through this.'

Captain Birch cursed.

Hervey sympathized. An approach march through difficult country for an attack from an unexpected direction was an admirable undertaking, much to be preferred to a frontal assault from the direction they were expected. But, as he had heard say often enough, the business of war was merely the art of the possible, and passage of this verdure was not possible in the time they had.

'At least this rain's to our advantage,' said Birch, signalling the change of march with his hand to those behind.

Hervey smiled. Here was an infantryman who knew his job: a man who preferred a soaking to the skin in order that it might soak the powder of his enemy too.

'Pull hard again, my lads; pull hard!' called Liffey's lieutenant as they struck off.

'I'm grateful to you, sir,' said Captain Birch, who had decided to place himself in his barge as they re- embarked. The rain had not eased in the slightest; he turned up the collar of his cloak again. 'You kept a good contact. Did you see aught of the fugitives bolting the stockade?'

'We did indeed, sir! Your lieutenant was all for putting ashore to give chase, but they sped so there was little chance of taking any. I fancy they're hiding in that wilderness and won't come out for a week.'

'And I fancy they're already half-way to Kemmendine to raise the alarm. What say you, Hervey?'

Hervey was trying to secure the bib of his jacket, having pulled off a couple of buttons while scrambling into the cutter. 'We must pray they're not like the Thirty-eighth, Birch, but proceed as if they are.'

'Well said. And very wise. I think we'd better take their measure this next time before hurling ourselves at the walls. Anyway, we're number enough to give them a fright.'

Hervey was relieved. It saved him the trouble of telling a man his job. A bayonet rush may have overawed the stockade, but Kemmendine would be different. A show of discipline and steady bearing, and all in red, might do better. It would at least preserve a good many of them, for he could not quite believe that Kemmendine had as little fight in it as the place they'd just sent packing. 'And we shall shock them!'

'Ay, indeed, Hervey. Naught shall make us rue!'

'I recall when last I said that, just as we were about to attack a Burman camp. We thought ourselves very bold.'

'You were.'

'It was a comfortable affair compared with this.'

'You would count yourself happier in the saddle, I suppose?'