Alexander Kent - ENEMY IN SIGHT

Gossett said thickly, "She's goin', sir!" He was looking at Bolitho as if seeing a stranger.

Two last shots bellowed from the Hyperion's ports, and as the order to cease fire reached the lower battery Bolitho said harshly, "We will wear ship, Mr. Gossett!"

He tore his eyes from the shattered, listing hull and looked at Gaseoign by his side. "You did well, my lad."

He tried to smile but his lips felt frozen. Even Gossett thought he had slaughtered helpless men to no purpose. He snapped, "Carry on!"

Sails slapping and cracking to the fresh wind, the ship swung her stem slowly across the wind. Bolitho waited, counting seconds, then said, "Steer nor' nor'-west."

Gossett faltered under Bolitho's eyes. "Beg pardon, sir, but we'll need to 'ead more west'rd to clear the 'eadland."

Bolitho ignored. him. "Shorten sail, Mr. Inch. We are going to anchor directly."

If he had uttered some dreadful obscenity he could not have cause greater consternation.

He did not wait for anyone to speak. "Mr. Gascoigne has seen what that frigate was hiding from us. And why it was necessary to take the Ithuriel before she could warn us." He pointed across the starboard quarter. "There are ships putting to sea, gentlemen! There is no frigate for us to send to the commodore for help, and we do not have the speed for such business." He looked around their tense and shocked faces. "We will anchor in the centre of the channel." He turned his head to watch' as the frigate dipped and rolled over in a great welter of bubbles and swirling wreckage. "Any large ship must pass us. The other channel will be blocked by the wreck."

Inch said in a small voice, "But we are alone sir!"

"I know that!" He softened his tone slightly. "Pelham.Martin may send someone to see what we are about." He looked away. "In the meantime we must do all we can to stop or cripple as many as we are able!"

Then he walked back to the rail and stood in silence as the ship glided purposefully towards the first headland. He could feel no anger at Pelham-Martin's foolish optimism or the hopelessness of the next few hours. Below deck some of the men were cheering again, as if they had just won a great victory. The ship was all but unmarked, and but for the bright splash of blood below the nettings, they could have been at manoeuvres.

Inch said wearily, "Shall I stop them cheering, sir?" Bolitho stiffened as a lookout pealed, "Two ships on the starboard quarter, sir!"

Inch stared fixedly at the' topsails of the leading vessel.

They were moving above the low bank of mist, detached

and impersonal, and all the more threatening.

Bolitho replied at length, "Let them cheer." He raised

his voice above the din. "Helm a-lee!" Slowly the Hyperion swung into the wind. "Tops'l clew lines!"

The bowsprit was seeking the land again. Bolitho gripped his hands behind him to control his rising despair. "Let go!"

As a shaft of watery sunlight painted the topmast of the leading ship like a golden crucifix, the last of the mist cleared from the sea as if a curtain had finally been lifted.

All cheering aboard the Hyperion ceased, and over the whole ship there was a silence you could feel.

Bolitho lifted his glass and studied the approaching vessels. The first was a two-decker, so too was the second. Rounding the side of a jutting spur of land came the third, her hull shining as she swung slightly in the current. A three-decker with a vice-admiral's command flag at the fore. Bolitho tried not to lick his lips. It was hopeless. No, it was worse even than that.

He wondered briefly what the leading captain must be thinking at this moment in time. At last the order to sail had been given. The watching English frigate had been overpowered before the alarm could be passed, and after months of waiting, the French were on the move again.

There was the open sea, with a bright if blurred horizon as the prize.

But alone in the centre of the channel was a single ship, anchored and ready for a fight to the finish.

Allday crossed the deck and held out Bolitho's sword. As he clasped the belt around his waist he said quietly, "It's a fine day for it, Captain." Their eyes met as he added, "First really good one since we left England!"

There were, as Gascoigne had indicated, four French ships in all, and as the minutes dragged by it seemed to the watching British seamen that the whole channel was filling with sails and masts.

Bolitho made himself walk aft to the poop ladder where Roth, the Hyperion's fourth lieutenant, was standing as if mesmerised beside his nine-pounders. Roth had proved to be a competent officer and quick to learn the implications of his first appointment to a ship of the line. But as he stared at the oncoming ships his face was the colour of parchment.

Bolitho said evenly, "Should I fall, Mr. Roth, you will assist the first lieutenant on the quarterdeck to the best of your ability, do you understand?" The man's eyes moved and settled on his face. "Stay with your guns, and give your people every encouragement, even if…"

He swung round as Inch called hoarsely, "The leading ship's dropped anchor, sir! By the living God, so has the second onel"

Bolitho thrust past him and climbed into the mizzen shrouds. It was incredible, but true. Even as he watched he saw a feather of white spray beneath the bows of the stately three-decker, and knew that she, too, had followed suit. The last ship was too well hidden by her consorts, but he could just make out the flurry of activity on her yards as first one then another sail vanished as if by magic. The captain was killed." He shrugged. "I gave the order to strike. No choice or chance seemed left open to me." His eyes suddenly clouded with despair and anger. "Had I known what would happen, I would have let every one of my men die fighting!" He was shaking violently and tears ran down his grimy cheeks as he said in a choked voice, "The French admiral wishes me to say that unless you weigh and put to sea at once," he paused, suddenly aware of the watching faces around him, "he will hang every one of Ithuriel's people here and now!"

Inch gasped, "Good God, that's not possible!"

The lieutenant stared at him, his eyes dull with fatigue and shock. "But it is, sir. The admiral's name is Lequiller, and he means what he says, believe mel"

A gun boomed dully across the inlet, and then as two small, twisting shapes rose kicking and jerking to the mainyard of the French flagship the Hyperion's hull seemed to quiver to a great groan of horror which came from the watching seamen and marines.

The lieutenant said desperately, "He will hang two men every ten minutes, sir!" He seized Bolitho's arm and sobbed, "For God's sake, there are two hundred British prisoners in Lequiller's hands!"

Bolitho released his arm and tried once more to mask his feelings from those around him. The cold inhumanity, the very horror of the French admiral's ultimatum had made his mind swim with both fury and sick despair. As he glanced along the crowded main deck he could see his own men standing back from the guns, staring up at him or at each other, as if too stunned to move. They had been prepared to fight and die, but to stand by and watch a slow, merciless execution of helpless prisoners had broken their spirit with no less effect than the greatest broadside ever fired.

"And if I obey his demand?" Bolitho forced himself to watch the lieutenant's misery.

"He will land Ithuriel's people and send them under guard to Bordeaux, sir."

Again the gun echoed and re-echoed across the water, and Bolitho turned to hold and keep the picture in his mind. So that he would never forget it. Two small, writhing shapes. What must those men have thought as they had waited with the halters around their necks? Hyperion would have been the last thing they saw on earth.