he could make up the numbers.
'Very good, Kydd. Be ready to advance in one hour — you will take flank.' Calley looked distracted. Flank was some sort of tent or blanket for the officers, Kydd assumed. 'We will storm Gozier Fort,' said Calley quickly. 'The one attacked by
As far as Kydd could see, they would be assisting the marines in the assault, a useful mass of armed men coming in from behind. They would carry the familiar weapons of the boarding party, pistols and either a cutlass or a tomahawk with its blade and useful spike. It would be just like carrying an enemy vessel by boarding, no marching up and down like the army seemed to do. He brightened at the familiar focus.
Trajans ahoy!' Calley's voice blared. 'We go to meet the enemy - to the fore, advance!'
Three distinct lines of men began to move into the light, wooded land, the red coats of the marines visible ahead. The columns diverged and, wending their way through the undergrowth, the lead men disappeared from view.
Away from the sea breeze, the warmth turned to heat, sending up the smell of steamy vegetation. The path was well beaten now, and they plodded on steadily.
The man behind Kydd suddenly gave a cry and dropped his musket. It went off with a muffled report, suffusing the ground with gunsmoke. He danced about, waving his arms frantically. Kydd stood rooted in astonishment. Then he saw a large hairy black spider with glittering eyes clinging to the man's lower arm. Suddenly it scuttled over his body, the man fell to the ground and the spider leaped off then disappeared. Shame-faced and trembling, the man rose as Calley arrived in a lather of indignation.
The first sign of resistance appeared with a tiny white puff arising from the undergrowth ahead and the tap of a musket sounding faintly. Kydd's mouth dried. This might be the enemy returning after the sea bombardment, angry and resentful — in their thousands. He gripped his musket nervously and slogged on, knowing that the eyes of his party behind - including Renzi - were on him.
'First section will attempt an enfilade.' Kydd had not noticed Calley return. 'That's you, Kydd,' he snapped, taking off his cocked hat to wipe his streaming forehead. His cotton stockings were streaked now with soft green and his blue coat hung loose. 'Sir—' began Kydd.
'In an enfilade,' Calley snarled sarcastically, 'the object is to bring the enemy under fire from the flank.' So much for blankets, thought Kydd. 'We rake him, you ninny!'
Kydd burned. Why hadn't Calley used understandable sea terms from the first? To rake the enemy at sea was to slam a storm of shot end on down the unprotected length of the vessel instead of into her heavy sides, and was generally credited a battle-winner.
Calley glared, then collected himself. 'The fort lies yonder, a mile or so off,' he said, gesturing at the dense undergrowth to the north. 'You will move around to take him from the east. But mark my words! You are to take position only. Do not advance until you hear the redcoat's trumpet that we are also in place.' He breathed heavily. 'Else you will be destroyed.'
Kydd led the way. A sea-service cutlass was too heavy and cumbersome to do much about the thickening ground cover, and he swore — at first under his breath, later aloud. His musket, over his shoulder in its sling, slipped and banged him, and he could hear his men muttering.
Without warning, the trees and vegetation dropped away to nothing. Kydd fell to the ground, motioning the others to do the same. They had reached a track crossing their course. It was the ideal path for enemy coming down on them from the north, but there was nothing for it: he must obey orders and carry on eastwards.
He ran across the track, followed by his party. The other side was a dense wall of harsh greenery reaching skyward eight feet or more, so thickly sown that it was virtually impenetrable. It would be impossible to keep on their course. Kydd crouched and felt a rising tide of panic. He would do his duty or die in the attempt! But this? What if they were going in the wrong direction, were late, betrayed the brave souls making the frontal assault who believed they would be supported to the east by Kydd's section?
'Give over frettin', Tom!' Larcomb said kindly, coming up to squat next to him. Larcomb had his jacket off, knotted round his waist. 'What say we takes a spell here, mate?'
'No!' Kydd snarled.
Renzi
