Alexander Kent - FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

He pushed Allday aside and followed the others out into the sunlight. To Rooke he snapped, 'The flag! Get it down, man!'

Rooke swung round, his eyes wild. Then he saw Bolitho and seemed to come to his senses. He croaked, 'Did you hear that? Then jump to it, you dolt!' A seaman beside him was trying to throttle a wounded soldier with his bare hands, but released him with a gasp, of pain as Rooke struck his shoulder with the flat of his sword.

Allday waited until the French flag lay on the stonework, then he unwrapped the ensign from about his body and handed it to the breathless seaman.

'Get this up, lad!' Allday shouldered his axe and watched as the flag lifted and then- broke in the warm breeze. 'That'll give 'em something to bite on!'

Bolitho moved across to the rampart and leaned heavily against the worn stones. Below him, inside the battery wall, the French gunners were staring with dismay at the British ensign above the tower, and the Hyperion which even now was going about and preparing to tack towards the harbour entrance.

He felt sick and desperately tired, yet he knew that so much had still to be done. Wearily he made himself turn and look around at the breathless victors. There seemed to be very few left of the twenty-five he had brought with him. He said, 'Take these French soldiers and lock them up.' He looked round as Tomlin appeared at the open doorway. 'Well?'

The bosun knuckled his forehead. 'I have a French officer 'ere, sir. 'E's in charge of the guns.' The fangs gleamed with pleasure. "E 'as surrendered, sir!'

'Very well.' He could not face the Frenchman now. The look of hurt and humiliation always carried by the vanquished. Not now. He said, 'Mr. Rooke, go below and disarm the battery. Then open the gates and welcome Captain Ashby with my compliments for a job well done.'

Rooke hurried away, and Bolitho heard distant cheering. From the ship or Ashby's marines, he neither knew nor cared.

Allday's face swam across his vision, anxious and questioning. 'Are you all right, Captain? I think you should rest awhile.'

Bolitho shook his head. 'Leave me to think. I must think!' He turned and saw Seton staring down pale-faced with horror at a wounded French soldier by his feet.

The man had been stabbed in the stomach, and there was blood pouring freely from his open mouth. But he still hung on to life, pathetic and desperate as his words choked in his own blood. Perhaps in these last seconds he saw Seton as some sort of saviour.

Bolitho said, 'Help him, lad. He can do no harm now.'

But the boy hung back, his lip trembling as the man touched his shoe with one bloodied hand. He was shaking uncontrollably, and Bolitho saw that his dirk was still in its scabbard. He must have gone through hell a dozen times, he thought vaguely. But he said, 'He's not an enemy now. At least let him die with somebody at his side.' He turned away, unable to watch as the terrified midshipman dropped on his knees beside the gasping, bubbling thing which clutched his hand as if it was the most precious object in the whole world.

Allday said quietly, 'He'll be all right, Captain. Given time, he'll learn.'

Bolitho eyed him emptily. `It's not a game, Allday. And it never was.'

Ashby clumped up the stairs, his face split in a great, beaming smile. 'By God, sir! I just heard what you did!' He banged his hands together. 'I say, sir, I mean, it really was splendid, what?'

Bolitho looked toward the Hyperion. She was settled on her final course towards the entrance now, and he could see men swarming across the boats and preparing them for lowering.

He said, 'I will want you to march across the island to the other fortification, Ashby. They will surrender quickly enough, I imagine, when you inform their commander they are alone now.'

But Ashby refused to move. His scarlet face and uniform seemed to blot out everything, and his voice filled Bolitho's mind like echoes in a cave.

'A splendid victory, sir! Just what we needed! Really splendid!'

Bolitho replied, `If you say so, Ashby. Now please go and do as I say.' Thankfully he watched the marine march through the doorway, still muttering with excitement.

Had he really known what he was doing when he had thrown himself against the French bayonets? Or had it been a fighting madness coupled with the mounting fear of defeat and shame?

Down on the battery the ramparts were alive with shouting marines, and he saw two of the seamen astride Ashby's horse, grinning and whooping like children as they cantered amongst the dazed prisoners.

Allday said, 'He is right, Captain. They were done for when you acted as you did.' He shook his head. 'Quite like old times it was. Short an' sharp, with a few bloody noses at the end of it!'

Bolitho looked down at Seton. He was still sitting beside the French soldier, grasping the bloody hand and staring at the man's face with terrible concentration.

Allday followed his glance and then said, 'He's dead, Mr. Seton. You can leave him now.'

Bolitho shuddered. It was over. He said, 'I shall want a message taken down to the Chanticleer. Bellamy must sail at once and inform the Princesa that we have taken the island.'

He swung round, realising that Seton was standing beside him. His lip was still trembling, and there were tears running down his pale face. j

But his voice was steadier now and strangely determined. 'I w-will go for you, sir, if you th-think I can do it.'

Bolitho laid one hand on his shoulder and studied him for several seconds. Allday's words seemed to linger in his mind like an epitaph. 'Given time, he'll learn.'

He said slowly, 'Very well, Mr. Seton. I am quite sure you can do it.'

He watched the boy walk stiffly towards the doorway, his arms hanging at his sides, his face turned away from the staring corpses and moaning wounded. That could have been me, he thought dully. Twenty years ago I nearly broke and someone helped me to survive with words. He screwed up his eyes against the sunlight. But try as he might he could not remember the words, or the man who had saved his sanity when, like Seton, his boy's world had crumbled about him. He straightened his back and thrust the sword back into its scabbard.

Then he said, 'Follow me, Allday. Let us go and see what we have captured.'

Bolitho stepped quickly into the stern cabin and slammed the door behind him. For a few moments he stood gratefully in the welcoming shade, knowing it to be merely an illusion after the relentless heat of the quarterdeck, where he had just witnessed a flogging before the assembled ship's company.

Gimlett, his servant, shuffled nervously across his vision and stared at him with something like awe as he removed his hat and coat and tore open the front of his shirt before unbuckling 'his sword. Without a word he dropped them into Gimlett's arms and walked wearily towards the open stem windows.

The scene which greeted his eyes never changed. The flat, glaring water of the anchorage and the barren hills of Cozar Island shimmering in a heat haze above the sheer-sided cliffs. Even the ship felt unmoving and lifeless. But that was no illusion, for she was moored both fore and aft just inside the arms of the harbour entrance, so that she could present a whole broadside to any would-be attacker who might, scorn the hill-top battery as he had once done.

His eye fell on a glass decanter and goblet which Gimlett had placed on his desk. Almost automatically he poured a full measure and drank it straight down. It was some of the coarse red wine which they had found in plenty in the captured fortress. It gave a brief impression of freshness for a matter of minutes, but like a constant spectre the thirst was soon back again.

Bolitho threw himself on to the bench seat below the windows and listened to the patter of feet across the quarterdeck as the last of the assembled men dismissed below. They needed no goading now. It was close on noon, and in spite of the awnings and the canvas air ducts rigged above every hatch and companion, the ship was already like an oven.