Alexander Kent - FORM LINE OF BATTLE!

Bolitho said, 'I am glad to see you are better, sir.' Pomfret nodded indifferently. 'Just in time it seems.'

He stopped as Piper ran excitedly through the smoke and held up a large flag across his body. He was grinning and weeping with excitement. He did not even touch his hat as he shouted to Pomfret: 'Here, Sir Edmund! The enemy's command flag! I got it for your

Bolitho smiled in spite of his ragged nerves. 'It is your victory, sir. It will make a good souvenir.'

A musket-ball plucked Pomfret's hat from his head, but as Bolitho stooped to retrieve it he saw the admiral pointing with his hand. For the first time in days he was showing some emotion.

When Bolitho twisted round he saw the reason. Piper was on his knees, the flag still across his small body. Dead in the centre of the flag was a black hole, and as he reached out to catch him he saw Piper's face crumple with agony. Then he fell forward at the admiral's feet.

Seton staggered through the smoke and dropped beside him, but Bolitho pulled him to his feet.

The signals, Mr. Seton!' He saw the stunned horror on the boy's face and added harshly, 'They're your responsibility now!'

Herrick watched Seton walk away like a blind man, his shoes slipping on the blood-spattered planks, his hands hanging at his sides as if he no longer controlled them.

Then he bent over the dead midshipman, but Pomfret said sharply, 'Leave him there, Mr. Herrick! Get to your duties!' Without looking at either Bolitho or Herrick he rolled Piper's body on to its back and gently covered his face with the captured flag. He murmured, 'A brave youngster! Would that I had had more like him at St. Clar!'

Bolitho tore his eyes away, realising vaguely that the guns had ceased firing. But when he reached the rail he saw that the other ship was already moving downwind, her topgallants spreading from the braced yards as her hull slid deeply into the dense smoke.

All around men started cheering and dancing, and even some of the wounded dragged themselves up to the battered gangways to watch and add their own voices to the tumult.

Seton called, 'Signal from 'Tenacious, sir!' His voice was quite empty of expression. 'Two enemy ships are withdrawing from battle! The rest have struck their colours!'

Bolitho gripped the rail, his arms and legs shaking uncontrollably. It was impossible. But it was true. Through the smoke and wreckage he heard the cheering going on and on, as if it would never stop. Men capered through the carnage to shake each other's hands, or just to grin towards a friend who had somehow survived the savage harvest.

'Captain, sir!'

Bolitho thrust himself clear of the rail, half fearing that his. legs might give way. When he turned he stared with disbelief at Rowlstone who was kneeling on the deck beside Pomfret.

The surgeon said shakily, 'He's dead, sir!' He had one hand inside the admiral's gold-laced coat, and when he withdrew it, it was shining with blood.

Gossett murmured, 'My God, 'e must 'ave bin wounded earlier, yet 'e said nothin'!' He took off his battered hat and stared as if seeing it for the first time.

Allday said quietly, 'When that Frenchman crossed our quarter, Captain, a ball came in through the chartroom.' He dropped his eyes under Bolitho's stare. 'It killed poor Gimlett, and a splinter struck the admiral.' He hung his head miserably. 'He made me swear not to tell you. He forced me to dress him in his best uniform. I'm sorry, Captain, I should've told you.'

Bolitho looked past him. 'It was not your fault, Allday.' So Pomfret would not receive the reward of the battle after all. But he must have understood that it was for him. In his broken mind he had found the strength and the will to show his appreciation the only way he knew.

Herrick said thickly, 'He had courage, I'll say that for him!'

Bolitho looked at the two bodies side by side on the broken deck. The admiral and the midshipman.

He said harshly, 'He is in gallant company, Thomas!'

The smoke was drifting clear of the ships to lay bare the destruction to victors and vanquished alike. The last two Frenchmen were already under full sail. Not that their captains need to fear now, Bolitho thought emptily. Apart from the distant Chanticleer, there was hardly enough undamaged sail to equip one ship amongst the battered survivors, let alone give chase.

If only the men would stop their cheering. He saw Inch walking unsteadily along the.upper deck. He stopped and stared down at Rooke's body and then gave what might have been a shrug. He was still alive. For today that was miracle enough for any man.

Seton called, 'Masthead has reported ships to the nor’east, sir!’

Bolitho looked at him blankly. His ears were so stunned by the gunfire that he had heard nothing.

Seton said, 'This time they are our ships, sir!' Then he looked down at Piper's body and began to shake.

Herrick watched him sadly. 'Had they been here earlier…’

He left it unfinished.

Bolitho rested one hand on his arm and replied quietly, 'Bend on another flag, Thomas. This is still Pomfret's ship.' Then ' he looked away, his eyes suddenly pricking with emotion. 'And make this signal.' He faltered, seeing again all those faces. Caswell and Shanks, Rooke and little Piper. Like so many more they were just part of the past now.

In a firmer voice he said, 'Hyperion to Flag. "We are rejoining the squadron."'

Herrick touched his hat and walked past the cheering marines.

A moment later the flags jerked up the remaining yards to replace the signal which Piper had somehow managed to keep flying throughout the battle.

Herrick had taken the telescope from Seton's nerveless hands, and as he trained it on the distant ships his lips moved as if talking to himself.

He turned and looked at Bolitho. Very quietly he said, 'Victory to Hyperion. Welcome. England is proud of you.' Then he turned away, unable to watch the distress in Bolitho's eyes.

Gossett walked between the jubilant seamen and reported, 'The steerin' gear is rigged, sir!'

Bolitho swung round and wiped his face with the edge of his sleeve. He said quietly, 'Thank you. Be so good as to get under way, Mr. Gossett.' He ran his fingers along the splintered rail, feeling the old ship's pain like his own.

'There is still a long way to go yet.’

Gossett made to reply, but Herrick shook his head. He more than any other knew that Bolitho was speaking to his ship. Arid that was something he would share with no one.

The return of summer brought all things to all people. It was the second so far in a war which now seemed as if it would last for ever. In the towns and cities it was greeted with relief by those who had imagined that their island might already have been under the enemy's heel. By others, separated from loved ones, widowed or orphaned by the war's endless demands, it marked just one more milestone of loneliness or despair.

But in Cornwall, and in the seaport of Falmouth in particular, it was hailed as a time of thanksgiving, a just reward for the hardships and dangers of darker days. Inland, the patchwork of lush fields and red hedgerows, the rolling hills with their scattered sheep and contented cattle, all were visible evidence of survival, a sure belief in the future.

In the town itself the atmosphere was almost one of celebration, for although Falmouth was small, it drew its heritage, from the sea and the ships and men who came, and went on the tides. The long generations of sailors, who had been St. Anthony's Beacon not as a mere welcome but as a first sight of-home, had a true understanding of wider affairs and had done much to influence them.

Even the news was better, as if the coming warmth and the clear skies had at last brought a promise, if not a sight, of victory. Only that week the couriers had shouted the tidings in the narrow streets and along the busy waterfront. It was not just a rumour, but something to fire the most doubting heart.