Julian Stockwin - Seaflower

'Sugar-cane has to be harvested, was my logic!' Renzi chuckled, as they hurried down a narrow break in the cane-field to the east.

Logic, thought Kydd dully. It would have to be logic if it were Renzi, but his heart warmed to the way his friend had made it easy for him.

'D'ye think a mile has passed f'r us?' Kydd asked, as casually as he could, as they moved along the endless, unchanging track. The assault could come at any time . ..

'I would think so,' said Renzi.

Kydd felt annoyed again: it was easy for Renzi, he was not in charge. Not only did Kydd have to be in position to the east, but when the trumpet sounded he had to know which direction to push forward, or end up in the empty country while the real battle was being fought and won without him.

'Damn you!' he ground out. Renzi glanced at him, no emotion on his face.

Kydd looked away. At least they were in position now — the fort must be away to their left. He hunkered down for the wait. The others lay around, some on their backs, seeming uncaring of the coming clash-at-arms. Renzi sat, hugging his knees and staring into space, while Kydd got up and paced.

The sun grew hotter. They had no water as it was all expected to end rapidly one way or the other. The minutes dragged on, with not a sound apart from a bird that kept up a deafening racket. It was agonising — what was delaying the main assault? Kydd checked the priming on his musket again. Perhaps Calley had received secret knowledge of a greater than expected French garrison, and was waiting for reinforcements. If that was so—

A rustling sounded on the other side of the wall of cane. They were discovered — and before the assault!

He would sell their lives dearly, though. Kydd seized his musket and pointed it at the sound. He sensed the others grouping behind him.

Luke wheeled round the end of the cane-field. 'I bin a-looldn' fer you!' His face was wreathed in smiles as he ran towards Kydd. Then he stopped and attempted a professional look, such as messengers have when delivering their news. ‘Er, Mr Kydd, I'm ter tell yer from L'tenant Calley ter report t' the fort.'

'What?

'He's in a rare takin' - Frogs ran off afore we c'd even get in position, they did!' His face clouded. 'An' he says as how yer such an infernal looby as y' doesn't know when the guns ain't firin' there ain't a battle.'

Kydd gritted his teeth. Of course! That was what had been niggling at the back of his mind - no firing! A quick glance at Renzi's blank expression told him that he had known all along that their advance on the fort would be guided by the sound of battle.

'An' he told the Joey major that he'd be a confounded prig afore he sounds the trumpet t' advance jus' ter oblige a parcel o'—'

'That's enough o' yer insolence, m' lad!' Larcomb said reprovingly. The party hefted their muskets and followed Luke meekly to the fort.

Flames flickered ruddily from the cooking fire. The seamen had left the foraging and other arrangements to the marines, who seemed well able to cope. Kydd nursed his cracked cup of rum as he sat morosely against the wattle wall of the chattel house, staring into the flames. It was not his kind of war, this - crashing about in the undergrowth not knowing what was going on. Real war was serving a mighty cannon on a surging gundeck.

The evening was pleasant, the constant breeze from the ocean reliable enough, but the ground all about was hard and dusty. He scratched at a persistent tickle in his leg-hairs in the darkness, then saw by the firelight that it was a busy column of ants. He leaped to his feet in disgust.

They'd eaten a kind of spicy chicken that the previous owners of the house had thought they would be having that night It sat uneasily on Kydd's stomach. Reluctantly he pushed his way closer to the fire and settled down again on the stony ground.

It seemed like minutes later when boatswain's mates and corporals roared about to rouse the huddled men. Kydd ached in the pre-dawn darkness after his uncomfortable doze. A thin overcast hid the half-moon and the night was full of dull shadows.

Kydd knew the plan in a general way. They would push forward before dawn towards a much bigger fort, Fleur d'Epee, and fall upon it at first light It was hoped that the defenders would not expect such a rapid resuming of the advance.

'Pay attention, you section leaders.' Calley was indistinct in the poor light but his words came strongly. Kydd stood in the semicircle of a dozen men, listening carefully.

'We advance on the fort shortly. There are two roads. Sections one and three will take the easterly, the other sections the westerly. The roads go each side of the fort. Now, mark this, the fort is on a slight hill, and reconnaissance tells us that the brush has been cleared around to give a good field of fire. Therefore — and I cannot emphasise this too strongly - we will be bloodily repulsed if they are waiting for us. The advance must take place in complete silence. Total silence! Do I make myself clear?'

All traces of weariness and aching fell away as Kydd took in the words.

‘For that reason, the first numbered sections will be armed with cold steel only - this will ensure that there are no accidental discharges of musketry. And, do you bear in mind always, you are not to leave cover and advance over the open ground until the trumpet sounds. Then move very quickly, if you please,' Calley added drily.

Kydd took his cutlass, the blackened steel and grey oily blade sinister in the last of the firelight. He remembered the first time he had used one with deadly force. Then it had saved his life, but at the cost of the enduring memory of a young man's face sagging under the recognition of his coming death.

He fitted the scabbard to its frog, and slid it on to his wide seaman's belt. Experimentally, he drew the heavy weapon's greased length - it fell to hand easily, and Kydd noted that the blade had been ground to a good point: it could be relied on to sink through clothing and leather to the heart.

'Form up!' he growled at his section. Renzi was present, although Kydd was none the wiser about his action in joining his party. He had been too tired the previous evening to do more than grunt at Renzi's solicitudes; there had been no comfortable conversation.

They moved off. In the lead were other sections. They paced on rapidly, Kydd grateful for the easy going afforded by a road instead of clinging undergrowth. The road forked. Kydd's section took the lead to the right. The road sank lower and its sides reared as they passed into a defile cut into a rise in the coral rock, until even the least military of them realised that, trapped as they were by the vertical sides of the road, they were easy meat for any ambush.

Kydd paced on, his ears pricking, his eyes staring-wide. His men followed behind in file. It was no use trying to listen for strange sounds - the tropical night was alive with unknown stridulations, barks, squeaks and grunts. The road emerged from the defile, and began to trend upward. They must be approaching the prominence with the fort astride it, he reasoned. Sure enough, a curve in the road led out of the wooded fringing area and somewhere shortly ahead must lie the open ground — and Fort d'Epee.

'Dead silence!' whispered Kydd, 'Or - or ...' It seemed thin and pathetic against the reality of their situation, but the men nodded, and plunged after him off the road and into the woods. It wasn't long before they came to the edge: the crudely felled and levelled area ahead gave no cover, open ground all the way up to the drab cluster of low buildings inside stout palisades. It was still too overcast and murky to make out much.

'Back — we wait f'r the call,' Kydd whispered. It were best they were not at the very edge of the clearing in case a pale face in the night was seen from the fort. They moved inward a few yards and settled to wait.