Scott Mariani - The Armada Legacy

It was a flintlock musket. The flint was sharp, the action was tight, with the date 1801 engraved on its pitted lockplate; a weapon that in its day had been the standard-issue longarm of soldiers and sailors throughout the whole British Empire, known as the Brown Bess. It fired a one-ounce lead ball that could take off a man’s leg at two hundred yards. In volley fire, the Brown Bess could mow down an infantry division like weeds. Rudyard Kipling had even written a poem about it.

But …

Ben was lost for words.

Nico found them for him. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me. What’re we supposed to do with that piece of antique crap? Throw it at the fuckers?’

‘This is no good to us,’ Ben said with a sinking heart. ‘Maybe if we had fifty more of these, with enough powder and ball and the time to train up a militia of Sapaki men to use them, it would help even the odds a little. But this is hopeless.’

Tupaq’s look of pride had faded to a frown as he sensed the negativity of their reaction. He made an impatient gesture and snapped a few words at Pepe.

‘Uh, he says to come and look over here,’ Pepe said. Ben handed him the musket and followed Tupaq to the back of the hut, where layers of old blankets and animal hides were draped over something stacked against the wall. By the light of a burning torch held by one of the warriors Tupaq wrenched one of the hides aside. Ben peered underneath, and his eyes opened wide when he saw the rows upon rows of open kegs. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he muttered.

He was mightily glad he hadn’t chosen that moment to light up his one and only remaining Gauloise. Because if he had, the whole hut – the entire village – might have blown sky-high, leaving nothing but a giant crater in the jungle. ‘Get that flame away from here,’ he said quickly.

He dipped his hand into one of the kegs and let the fistful of coarse black powder trickle through his fingers. The grains were as dry as the day they’d been made. ‘You know what this is, Tupaq?’

Tupaq replied, miming the action of tossing a pinch of the stuff. ‘He says it makes the fire go well,’ Pepe translated.

‘I’ll bet it does,’ Ben said. ‘This is gunpowder. Boom . Explosive.’

Tupaq drew aside another few blankets to reveal barrels filled with shiny grey-black balls. Ben picked one out and rolled it between his fingers. The loose ammunition for the Brown Bess. Pure lead. Three quarters of an inch in diameter. There were thousands and thousands of them.

And now he was thinking. Thinking hard and fast.

‘Nico,’ he said. ‘Listen to me.’ Away from the others, he spoke quietly in the Colombian’s ear.

Brooke pushed forward through the crowd of Sapaki people, trying to hear. ‘What is it, Ben?’

Nico shook his head and grinned. ‘Oh, boy. You really are one crazy motherfucker. But yeah. It might work. It might just work, if there’s still time.’

‘Then we have none to lose,’ Ben said.

Chapter Fifty-Nine

It was the dead of night. There was a stillness in the surrounding jungle that Ben had never known before. It was as if the creatures of the forest somehow sensed what was coming and had retreated to a safe distance, waiting for the storm to do its worst and pass on by.

Meanwhile, the Sapaki village was anything but still. There was a great deal to prepare, and the seconds were ticking by. The tribespeople who weren’t actively helping watched in bewilderment as Ben and Nico worked fast by torchlight to get things ready. Most of the Sapaki still had little idea of what the blond-haired stranger was planning to do with the kegs of black grainy stuff that he had the warriors carrying out of the storage hut by the dozen and placing all around the village perimeter along with bundles of twine and other odd items. But they knew that both the white preacher and their chief had placed their trust in Ben, and that was good enough for them.

Pepe had gone to move his boat, under strict orders from Ben to steer well clear of the village at the slightest sign of anything suspicious. Father Scally, woken by the activity, had emerged from the sick bay to see what was happening. When Ben hurriedly explained to him what they were expecting to happen, possibly within the next hour or two, the priest was adamant that he wanted to be a part of it. He disappeared into his hut and reappeared a moment later with a hunting bow and a clutch of arrows.

‘You just tell me where to position myself,’ he said to Ben. ‘I’m ready for those bastards.’

‘I thought you were a man of peace.’

‘Shame on the shepherd who runs and hides when wolves are coming to harm his flock,’ the Irishman said, sticking out his chin.

‘There’s something else you can do for me, Father,’ Ben told him. ‘Once we’re done preparing everything, the village needs to be evacuated, and fast. I want every woman, child and noncombatant man outside a zone at least three hundred metres wide, so that they’re well clear when things kick off. It’s best that Tupaq hears it from you.’

Scally hurried off to talk to the chief. Within minutes, the Sapaki women and children, along with the elder men, were slipping out of the village and disappearing into the dark forest. ‘Tupaq insists on staying,’ Scally told Ben on his return, ‘along with Waskar and his best warriors. They’ve been making as many arrows as they can.’

‘How many arrowheads do we have?’ Ben asked.

‘You mean just the loose heads? A group of the women go about finding stones most days and shaping them for the hunters to fit to their shafts. I’d say we have hundreds, if not more. Why’d you ask?’

‘Gather up as many as you can find,’ Ben told him.

Scally thought for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I know what it is you’re up to. M18A1?’

‘Something like that,’ Ben said.

‘It’s diabolical.’

‘It’s worse,’ Ben said. ‘Oh, and Father, bring me all the empty poteen bottles you’ve got, too.’

The work party intensified to a frenzy until everything was finally in place. By then, Pepe had returned safely. Ben found him with Nico and a group of the warriors snatching a moment’s rest near the dying fire in the centre of the village. Nico was clutching a weapon borrowed from Waskar, a knobbly wooden club embedded with jaguar claws. Waskar himself, the chief and the rest of the fifty or so warriors were turned out nearby in full fighting trim, their quivers bristling with sharp-tipped arrows.

Ben could smell their tension. He glanced at the luminous dial of his watch. They surely didn’t have long to wait now. ‘Everyone okay?’ he asked.

‘Ready to rock and roll, man,’ Nico said.

‘Me too,’ said a tall black figure, stepping out from behind a hut. It was a couple of moments before Ben recognised Father Scally. The priest had daubed himself all over with the vegetable dye the Indians used to colour their skin. He barely looked human. ‘War paint,’ he explained.

‘You’ll scare them to death,’ Ben said. ‘Where’s Brooke?’

‘She’s helping get the last of the women and children into the safe zone.’

‘That’s where she’s going, too,’ Ben said.

‘Oh no, she isn’t,’ said a voice. Ben turned. Brooke was standing there with her hands on her hips. ‘I’m staying right here with you men.’

‘Don’t do this to me, Brooke.’

‘These people saved my life,’ Brooke said firmly.

He shook his head. ‘How’s this marriage going to work if you don’t do what I say?’

‘You watch yourself, Ben Hope.’

At that moment, the sound of tinkling bottles came from beyond the huts.

The first tripwire alarm. Something – or someone – was approaching through the trees from the direction of the river.