Julian Stockwin - Tenacious

He felt the thumping of camel feet through the ground as they drew nearer. The voices were louder—and it was not Arabic that was being spoken but French.

It seemed to take for ever for the camel train to pass. He heard muted laughter, sharp words and an occasional snatch of song above the rustle of shuffling feet and the leathery slap of harness. Finally the last one passed. Cautiously Kydd raised his head: they were receding along the road without looking back. He delayed for a while longer, then slid down to the beach and waited for the boat.

"Load with canister!" he growled at Poulden, as they shoved off. There was no doubt in his mind of what he should do—the sound of the cannon would be as good as a personal report to Smith of their presence.

The launch leaned purposefully to the wind; they passed the camel train once more, the riders took no notice of the little sailing boat offshore. Kydd chose his move carefully: if the boat took the ground they could expect no mercy from the enemy riders.

At a stipple in the line of dunes ahead he doused the sails and took in the bowsprit, using oars to rotate them shoreward. "Out kedge," he snapped. The little anchor plummeted and bit and the line tautened over the transom. He paid it out to allow the boat to nose close in, the deadly carronade trained steadily on the shore. Still the camel riders did not take alarm: in the uncertain light and against the setting sun it must have seemed a fishing-boat.

The line of camels came on, some heads turned curiously. "As they bear, Poulden," Kydd growled, "an' make it count." There was a great army following behind and he had no compunction about the blood he was about to spill, but his heart beat faster as the train of camels passed the cold black muzzle.

The carronade crashed back in its slide, the gun-flash nearly blinding in the fading light. The effect on the column was instant— sleeting balls tore into them, and with squeals and screams it dissolved into panic. One riderless camel fled back down the road as others shed their mounts and scrambled in terror over the dunes. Hoarse cries of command mingled with shrieks. Poulden reloaded, and Laffin deftly lined up the boat for another crashing discharge.

In total disarray, the camel train was no more, still dark forms and wildly scrabbling men and animals all that were left. Kydd recalled from the map that inland there was nothing but salt-marsh: the French would find themselves trapped.

"Secure the gun," he ordered. They had made contact with the enemy and alerted the defenders—there was no glory in useless bloodshed.

Smith arrived late for the morning conference, and wasted no time. "So Buonaparte's advance guard now has a bloody nose—well done, Mr Kydd." He grinned without humour. "We can expect therefore that they'll abandon the coast road and swing inland to come at us from the north. There's no time to lose. We're nearly complete with the fosse—that's our surrounding ditch—and all the gunboats I can find are anchored here in support."

He bit his lip. "Regrettably it would appear that the Muhammadans have got wind of Buonaparte's behaviour at the siege of Jaffa—he induced the garrison there to surrender, then took them all down to the beach and slaughtered the lot. Had the cold-blooded gall to use bayonets to save powder. Now half our own Mussulmen are streaming out of town and heading for the hills." Unexpectedly, he smiled. "But this means that those who remain will be staunch. We're well rid of the rest—useless mouths to feed.

"So! We expect Buonaparte on our doorstep directly. I have given orders concerning the illumination of the wall in the event of a surprise attack and other matters, do you both ensure they are carried out—" He was interrupted by a messenger. Unfolding the dispatch he chuckled grimly. "From Tenacious. Good news indeed, for once. In fact, magnificent news." Dancing a jig and flourishing the paper aloft, he grinned boyishly at the dumbfounded officers.

"This will take the shine off the morning for Mr Buonaparte. Tenacious fell in with a French convoy off Mount Carmel and took nine—nine o' the beggars, mark you!" Kydd and Hewitt politely murmured their surprise, but Smith continued, "And the best thing about it is, those were Buonaparte's entire siege train! He has no ammunition, no heavy guns—we're reprieved, gentlemen. Unless he gets another such, we have a chance."

Kydd felt an unworthy envy: he could visualise the convoy, within sight of safe harbour and then a ship-of-the-line, no less, appears from round the point. Boarding parties are sent away in every boat, seizing vessel after vessel, all under the helpless eye of the French army ashore.

"Count Phelippeaux will be exceedingly satisfied with this morning's work—we shall mount the guns ourselves and pound 'em with their own metal," Smith concluded.

Later in the morning there was a blurring of the horizon to the north-east, a broad ochrous veil of dust rising from the countless thousands of a great army. Kydd climbed the narrow steps inside the Cursed Tower to see for himself. His pocket spyglass added details of the serried glitter of bayonets, columns of dusty blue coats, cavalry, vast numbers of wagons, light guns, more columns.

In its creeping, menacing, unstoppable progress it was a sinister sight. It would take some time yet to reach them but when it did it would clamp a vice-like grip on Acre before an overwhelming assault.

Kydd went cold as he considered the larger scene and realised the stakes could hardly be bigger. Buonaparte was a ruthless, gifted general: there was no reason why he could not complete his march north by taking Constantinople from the weakened Turks. Then he would stand astride the route to India and the world. Only one thing was in his way: Acre.

If he bypassed it on his thrust north he would then have a port in his wake through which his enemies could pour troops to fall on his rear at any time. Even in his ignorance of military affairs Kydd could see that this would be intolerable. While Acre still stood Buonaparte's triumphant advance was halted. He had no alternative but to throw everything he had into its destruction.

Kydd descended the tower stairs slowly. This was no longer a simple duty in a far-off land: it was now the crux of the whole war against the French and he had been called to the fore at this critical hour. Acre must be held.

A sea mist over a calm sea was lifting as Kydd made his way back to the headquarters, but the road out of Acre was full of people, some on donkeys or camels, others in wooden wagons, all hurrying away from the doomed town.

Smith was still at the headquarters, crisply ordering the disposition of the captured guns. Kydd took up the order book to make sure he was aware of any changes. In addition to sentries there were outlying pickets who would be the first to catch sight of the siege army. They would retire quickly and sound the alert. A small force of gunboats would patrol to seaward from now on, not only to give warning of hostile naval forces but also to deny the attackers any seaborne supply.

Hewitt returned from his inspection of the northern flank with Tigre's gun, propping his sword in the corner and wiping his brow, ready to hear Smith's latest news.

"Ah! Now, gentlemen, let me apprise you of some intelligence that has come my way. It appears that while Tenacious dealt ably with the convoy, four vessels escaped. These, it turns out, are sailing barges laden with stores for the army. I don't have to tell you, if the enemy is denied these he will find it hard to forage hereabouts ..."

Kydd could see where it was all leading. "Sir, where are they?"

"In the port below Mount Carmel, which is Haifa. There's no doubt it will require a bold cutting-out expedition if we wish to take them from the enemy."