Invasion

Kydd pulled himself up. 'Then this is the first reconnaissance now returned. I must go.' He would soon be faced with the product of his night's work, the tally of blood that would hang about his neck for the rest of his life.

He slipped to the deck, catching sight of himself in the mirror— grey, drawn and old.

Teazer's boat bore him to the flagship, the bright morning a mockery of what had gone before. Gravely welcomed by the flag-lieutenant he was shown to the great cabin with the others. There were few pleasantries and Keith entered grim-faced.

'I've first to thank you all for a stout and bravely executed action of the last evening—being as it was in the best traditions of the Service.' He paused, letting his gaze move about the seated officers. 'Further, I've to inform you of the results of the first reconnoitre now to hand.'

A ripple of interest went round, but Keith's bleak countenance did not change. 'Gentlemen, the torpedo contrivances exploded to expectations—each and every one.'

The chill of dread stole over Kydd as he steeled himself for the news.

Keith leaned forward. 'And I have to tell you they did so to no effect. None. Nothing whatsoever. The flotilla remains as it did before.'

Kydd's mind reeled. None? He had personally—

'I find that, at great hazard to our seamen, the torpedoes were launched to order and, further, that they were correctly armed and prepared, resulting as we've seen in their successful exploding. What was not in expectation was that the method of their delivery to the target has signally failed us and, quite frankly, I cannot readily conceive of any other.'

The sudden buzz of talk was cut short by Keith, who went on, 'And now the French are aroused and no doubt preparing a mode of defence to meet them. This can only be construed as nothing less than a catastrophic failure of the weapons. Gentlemen, as a direct result, we'll not be troubling you with such contrivances any further. That is all.'

The meeting broke up in a babble of noise but Keith called, 'Mr. Kydd, a word with you, sir.'

Still shocked, Kydd made his way through the hubbub. 'Sir?'

'You should know that I believe your part in last night's action was entirely to my satisfaction.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'But now it is over. Done with. You are forthwith relieved of your duties with the American and will rejoin my Downs Squadron. Flags will attend to the consequentials. Understood?'

'Sir.'

Stumbling out into the bright sunlight, Kydd in his tiredness did not notice the lonely figure waiting by the mainmast. All he knew was that he had failed. His brave little fleet had achieved a derisory nothing. The enemy was untouched. No greater condemnation of a warrior's endeavours could be made.

'Tom? Tom, old friend.' Fulton took his shoulder and swung him round. 'What have you heard? Did you give the French a quilting?'

Kydd looked up dully. 'No. Nothing . . . touched.'

'Y-you mean . . . ?'

'They exploded, but without effect. We did our best—but I'm to be taken off duties with you, Toot. Your contract will be at hazard, I'd believe.'

Fulton staggered back. 'They—they can't! I'm promised . . . Tom, my friend, if you'll stay with me, speak with your high and mighty friends in the Admiralty—'

'I'm sorry. You tried your best—I tried. It wasn't enough.'

'Wait! I've some new—some ideas as will stretch the mind, will change everything. You'll see!'

'I wish you well, Toot, but it's finished. I have t' go now.'

'The world hasn't heard the last of me! I've only begun to conjure ideas. Listen . . .'

But Kydd had reached the side and, with a last wave, left to return to his old existence.

'You knew!' Kydd said, when Renzi hobbled into his cabin with a brandy.

'I did. Your sailor is not a retiring sort when stepping ashore after a hard action.'

Kydd said nothing, holding his glass and staring unseeingly. 'Nicholas, I have to live with this failure for all of my life,' he said, with a catch in his voice.

'Not at all!' Renzi began, but Kydd cut him off.

'Is there any more disgrace than a commander of men who leads them on into—nothing?' Savagely, he drained his brandy and slapped the glass down. 'I'll be a laughing stock.'

'It's not you they'll laugh at, brother.'

'What do you mean, Nicholas? Speak up!'

'The men ashore, they're singing glees about the infernals—about frog-toasters and catamarans that can do no better than entertain the enemy to an expensive fireworks show.'

'That's unfair! Fulton tried—'

'They are right, dear fellow,' Renzi said firmly. 'He tried—and failed. The time is not ripe for such dread weapons. The wit is there but the substance to work with is too frail. It is too new, the mechanicals not so advanced in sophistication.'

He regarded Kydd with an odd smile. 'There will be a time, I'm persuaded, when a submarine boat will be a common sight—and, no doubt, huge and with a steam engine to boot. Your torpedoes will probably come with