Invasion

Kydd needed time—much more than the days he had. Keith's orders were clear and sound: he was keeping back his conventional warships on outer guard tasks to allow the torpedoes clear sight of the enemy, a prudent and sensible measure given the disaster that would eventuate in the fog of war if a ship in the night chaos were to plough through the slow-moving and near-invisible catamarans.

But it meant as well that he alone was responsible for devising the technique that would see them to the launch point and a successful conclusion. The first worry was the size of the beasts: the large coffer would need the biggest of ship's boats to get it going against inertia and water resistance and he could not see how a 'small' coffer could be brought aboard the catamaran. Even the hogsheads were huge and unhandy. It would be asking a lot of the crews.

A soft sunset had finally faded into the advancing night. They could begin. 'Pipe the launch's crew to muster,' he ordered.

Expecting the order they quickly appeared. 'Poulden,' he said, to the coxswain, firmly, 'this is not a time for volunteers. They'll be called on the night we're to attack. At this time I want a measure of how well these infernals swim.' It had slipped out—it couldn't be helped. 'Take the large coffer in tow six fathoms astern. When you reach a cable or so off, slew it around and, at the bo'sun's pipe, lay out with all your heart. Clear?'

Poulden could be relied on to get the best out of his men but he dropped his eyes and mumbled, 'Um, sir, is it, as who should say, tender in its motions?'

'If you're worried about it exploding precipitate like, don't. The safety peg is in. However, er, do keep clear of its hawse. It's armed and has a full charge.'

Uncharacteristically muted, the boat's crew tumbled into the launch, secured the coffer and bent to their oars. Straining and tugging produced only the slightest movement, and it was long minutes before they were able to heave it off into the darkness.

It was a clear night and a quarter-moon was rising. At a cable's length, when the boat made its turn gingerly, Kydd was dismayed to see its beetling black shadow clearly against the glittering moon-path. As promised, though, the torpedo was all but invisible.

He took out his watch and held it to catch the light from the binnacle lamp. The boatswain raised his call ready. 'Pipe!' he said. The distant rowers started in a flurry of strokes but slowed immediately to a near stop. Poulden's frenzied hazing could be heard floating across the water—it made Kydd smile, but on the night it would not do.

Twenty minutes on the return: this was dismaying. 'He's a pig t' steer, sir,' Poulden reported, after returning aboard. 'Worse'n a bull in a paddock as is shy o' the knife.'

A catamaran was available now and it was brought round. As Kydd had suspected, there was no possibility that the small coffer could be raised and carried on the flimsy gratings fore and aft. It would require ship's boats as well.

'Load with hogsheads,' Kydd said, after the two reluctant oarsmen had taken their place at the stubby sculls. One was swayed across and lashed in place. The catamaran settled at an angle until the other was aboard and then, with a heavy reluctance, the ungainly craft shoved off. 'Same as the others, if y' please,' Kydd told them.

They made slow progress, but this was due to their near comic performance at the sculls, so close to the water. They turned and started back. This was more encouraging—inches above the water only, it was difficult indeed to make them out. But it was hard going.

Helped aboard, the two oarsmen, soaked from the shoulders down, shuddered uncontrollably. 'Every man as pulls a plunging boat is entitled to a double tot, if he wants it,' Kydd ordered. 'Get 'em dry and see it's served out immediately.'

Too much hung on their efforts for rest and the remainder of the night was spent in timed trials, with two boats on the coffer, then three; the smaller with the pinnace at an angle to the launch and the carcass between, and, of course, the procedure for recovering the operations crew after the launch.

It was done: he had the facts, now for the figuring. But when he awoke later in the morning doubts and anxieties flooded in. Send them in as a broad wave or in stealthy column? The coffers first or the catamarans? Request some kind of diversionary tactic? Would volunteers step forward when the time came?

And the orders. His orders. The first he had ever given as a squadron commander as, in reality, he was. He bent to the task, nibbling his quill. So much to plan and decide.

'It's madness, is what I say,' exploded Mills. 'Settin' these vile contraptions afloat wi' a quarter-ton of powder an' two men sailing t' meet the enemy! I've never heard such—'

'Have a care, Mr. Mills!' Kydd barked. 'These are my orders and I mean them to be obeyed! If you have objections, I'm sure Admiral Keith would like t' hear them.' With men's lives in the balance, only trust and teamwork would see it through. He resolved to catch Mills privately later.

Teazer's great cabin seemed an incongruous setting for such a briefing. Kydd had seen this room dappled by water-reflected moonlight from warm and exotic Mediterranean harbours; it had been the scene of his hopes and fears—and now was to be the place of his disposing of so many destinies.

Containing his emotions, he resumed his orders. 'The large coffers will have two boats each and will set off first on either side of the designated channel. The faster catamarans will then move forward and past the coffers, being able to penetrate unseen up to the French line where the torpedoes will be launched.'

He paused, conscious his words had rung with false confidence, then went on, 'The recovery of the catamaran crews will be the responsibility of Mr. Lamb and his little fleet o' gigs. The whole operation should take less than two hours.'

'How do we give coverin' fire if we're laying off t' seaward?' growled Mills.

Kydd bit his lip. Now was not the time for a confrontation. 'You don't. The whole point is to stand clear of the channel of approach and let the torpedoes go in and do their work quietly. You're a dispatch vessel; crew the catamarans and boats and send 'em on their way only. No play with the guns—is that clear?'

Lamb seemed troubled and Dyer's face showed resignation, but they paid attention while the remaining details were laid out—elementary signals concerning the start and others for cancellation of the assault, provision for an assembly-and-dispatch sequence, launch timing, accounting for munitions expended, the order of night mooring.

Kydd tried to end on an upbeat note. 'In the morning there's to be practice with the catamarans, and my gunner, Mr. Duckitt, will instruct on the timing engine and other. Now, gentlemen, this is our chance t' give Boney a drubbing as he can't be expecting. Let's make it a good 'un, shall we?'