ALEXANDER KENT - TO GLORY WE STEER

The boat pulled clear, each man's eyes white in the cruel glare as the burning sloop drifted past. Several French sailors were swimming nearby,;and one tried to pull himself aboard the overcrowded boat. But Stockdale pushed him away, and Bolitho heard the man's cries fading piteously astern.

A seaman yelled, `They've struck, by God!' -

Sure enough, the sloop had reached the other vessel, and already the flames were racing up the transport's tall masts where the half-loosed sails vanished like ashes in a strong wind.

`Keep pulling, lads!' Bolitho turned to watch, satisfied but awed by the terrible success of his attack.

The sloop's magazine exploded, the shockwave making the little boat jump beneath Bolitho's chattering seamen. The little ship, which thirty minutes earlier had been riding quietly at her anchor, folded amidships and dipped spluttering and hissing below the surface. But the work was done. The transport was ablaze from stem to stern and with fore and main-masts already down in a welter of flame and dense smoke.

Of the second transport nothing was visible through the pall. But Bolitho knew that she had only two choices. To try to warp clear and risk the fate of her sister, or drift ashore to be left a useless ruin when the tide retreated.

Belsey said, 'There are lights at the end of the bay, sir! That must be where the troops are camped!'

Bolitho wiped his smoke-blackened face and nodded. `There will be a hornet's nest about our ears shortly!' With their ships destroyed and no battery to protect them, the French soldiers would be all the more willing to die to avenge their disgrace, he thought grimly.

But it was done. And done far better than he had hoped. In future, people might remember this when they spoke the name of the Phalarope.

Lieutenant Matthew Okes stared down from the gun battery shocked and dazed by the raging holocaust and the echoing thunder of exploding powder. He could feel the hot breath of the burning ship across his sweating face, and his nostrils rebelled against -the stench of charred timbers and other horrors he could only guess at.

Farquhar said sharply, Time to send the guns over!'

Okes nodded dumbly, his eyes still fixed on the blazing transport as it rolled slowly on to one side. Men were swimming and floating amongst the great mass of fragments and charred flotsam, and the glittering water was constantly pockmarked by falling wreckage from muffled explosions within the shattered hull. Faintly through the drifting smoke he could see the second transport already hard aground, her masts leaning at a dangerous angle.

Behind him he heard the rumble of chocks and then a ragged cheer as the sailors sent the first gun careering over the cliff edge and on to the rocks below. A second and then a third gun crashed after it, and he heard McIntosh yelling at his men to throw their weight against the others.

Okes could feel the strength draining from his limbs, and wanted to run from the scene of hell and destruction which lit the whole anchorage in a panorama of red flames and sparkdappled smoke. It was all sheer madness, something which none of them could control.

There was no sign of Bolitho, and even if he had succeeded in escaping from his drifting fireship he would have a much longer passage to make back to the headland.

Farquhar said, `Look, sir! There are troops coming over the hill!'

As Okes tore his eyes away the transport took a final roll and plunged beneath the surface. Immediately the fierce light was extinguished like a candle and the anchorage was once more plunged into deep shadow. Okes blinked through the smoke and realised for the first-time that the sky was already brighter and there was a tinge of grey along the ridge of hills beyond the anchorage. The fierceness of the blazing ships had hidden the dawn's stealthy approach, and now as he followed the direction of Farquhar's arm he saw with rising panic the faint glint of bayonets and the bright colours of a raised standard moving inexorably over the rim of the nearest hill like a mechanical caterpillar.

His eyes darted from the marching troops to the bridge. From his own position on the battery to the end of the coast road. In a voice he no longer recognised he shouted, `Prepare to blow the magazine, Mr. Farquhar!' He stared round like a trapped animal. `I must see Rennie at once. You carry on here!'

He started to walk quickly away from the battery, ignoring the curious stares of the seamen and Farquhar's look of questioning contempt. His racing thoughts seemed to take over his feet, so that all at once he was running, his breath gasping painfully, his shoes skidding across stones and gorse alike as he ran blindly across the bridge, past the armed sailors on the far side and out along the open road. Here and there he could see the scarlet patches of crouching marines amongst the hillside bracken, and he was horrified to realise that he could already see the beach below and the jumble of houses beyond the pier. The growing daylight added to his sense of nakedness, and in his imagination he thought he heard the tramp of French soldiers as they marched steadily to cut his escape to the sea.

He rounded a bend in the road and almost fell on top of Captain Rennie, who, was sitting comfortably on a small mound of grass, his cocked hat and sword lying neatly beside him. Cradled on his knees was a half-eaten pie, and even as Okes staggered to a halt Rennie glanced up at him and dabbed at his: mouth with a handkerchief.

`Delicious.' He looked curiously past Okes. `They sound busy back there.'

Okes stared round wildly. This was almost too much. He wanted to scream, to shake Rennie, to make him realise the enormity of the danger.

Rennie's eyes narrowed, but he said calmly, `A chicken pie? I had almost forgotten what it was like.' He gestured over his shoulder, but kept his eyes on Okes' stricken face. `Some Dutch folk in the village brought it for me during the night, y'know. Damn nice people really. It's a pity we're at war, isn't it.' He stood up and wrapped the remainder off the pie carefully in his handkerchief. Then he said quietly, `You'd better tell me what is happening.'

Okes controlled his breathing with a savage effort. `The French are coming! Over there, behind the hill.'

`I know. My men have already spotted them.' Rennie regarded him calmly. `What did you expect them to do?'

The marine's obvious indifference gave Okes the little extra strength he still needed. `You can start falling-back. I've given orders to fire the magazine.' He dropped his eyes. `I'm blowing the bridge as soon as McIntosh is ready!'

Rennie stared at him. `But the captain! How in hell's name can he get back to us without the bridge?' He clapped on his hat and reached for his sword. `I'd better go and have a look back there.'

Okes blocked his way, 'his eyes blazing. `You know the orders! I'm in charge if anything happens to the. captain! Your duty is to cover the withdrawal!'

Sergeant Garwood trotted round the bend, his half-pike glittering the growing light. `Sir.' He ignored Okes. `The Frogs is comin'! There's best part of a company movin' down on our flank. I think the rest will try and work round the village and take us from the rear.'

Rennie nodded, his face suddenly grave. `Very well. I'll come at once.'

He turned back to Okes and said slowly, `You'll wait a bit longer surely? It takes time to get a boat back to the headland!'

Okes swung on his heel as a ragged volley of musket fire echoed around the hills. `Get back to your men, Captain Rennie. I hope I know my duty!'

Rennie shrugged and walked quickly up the sloping hillside towards the firing. When he looked back he… could see the smoke from the anchorage drifting across the headland in a solid wall, and tried to picture the devastation beyond.

Against the hillside and the glittering water below the cliff Okes' running figure looked frail and lost. `I hope you do, Mr. Okes!' Rennie spoke aloud to the empty hillside. Then he turned and began to run to his prepared positions and his men.

Okes found McIntosh already squatting on one side of the bridge, craning his head to peer down at one of the massive wooden trestles.

'Ready? Okes could hardly stop himself from shouting. 'Well, are you?'

McIntosh nodded. 'Aye, aye, sir. A two-minute fuse. And a four-minute fuse to the magazine.' He rubbed his hard hands. 'Mr. Farquhar is waiting atop the battery to light it as soon as the cap'n gets back.'

Okes swayed and then controlled himself. 'Wait here!' He started to run again, and as soon as he had reached the outskirts of the battery he blew his whistle and yelled, 'Clear the headland! Fall back there!'

Startled, the seamen gathered up their weapons and began to hurry towards the bridge. Most of them had seen the approaching soldiers and needed no second order.

A petty officer, his face stained with dirt and smoke, strode across to the panting lieutenant. 'Beggin' yer pardon, sir! The cap'n ain't come yet!'

'Yes, yes, I know that!' Okes glared at him glassily. 'You go with the others and get them across the bridge. Wait for me there, and be ready to move!' He peered through the smoke. 'Where is Mr. Farquhar?'

The man shrugged. 'Gone down the steps, sir. He said he'd get a better chance of seeing through the smoke from there.'

Okes strode to the battery wall and leaned against it for support. With the sailors gone and the gunports unoccupied and empty the place seemed strangely dead. He made himself walk to the top of the steps. There was no sign of Farquhar, of anybody in fact.

There was a fresh burst of firing, intermingled with wild cheering, and his limbs started to move as if he had already lost control of them. He walked to the open door of the magazine and stared for several seconds at the waiting fuse and the smouldering slow match beside it. It was not his fault, he told himself. There was nothing else he could do. He sank to his knees, his eyes filled with the fuse and the mental picture of Bolitho hurrying away towards the anchored sloop.

Damn them! Damn them all!.He had to steady his wrist with his other hand as he took the match and held it against the fuse.

He felt the nausea hard in his throat as he staggered to his feet and ran quickly towards the bridge.

McIntosh stared up at him, his eyes uncomprehending,

`Light it, you fooll' Okes was already halfway across the bridge. 'Or stay there and go up with the magazine!'

Mcintosh fired the fuse and scrambled on to the bridge. He caught Okes up around the curve in the road and gasped, 'Where's Mr. Farquhar, sir? An' what happened to the captain?'

Okes snarled, 'Back to the beach! All of you!' To McIntosh he added, 'All dead! Like you'll be if the French catch you!'

There was a thunderous roar, followed almost immediately by a second, sharper explosion. The force of the detonations seemed to quell the musket fire and distant shouts, so that the whole island appeared to be stunned by the noise.

The growling rumble went on, and Okes heard a splintering crash as the bridge fell into the ravine like so much kindling wood.

Strangely, he found that he could walk now, his feet moving almost steadily as he followed his men down the road towards the pier and safety. He had acted in the only way possible. He kept his eyes fixed on the pier. The only way. Others would soon see that, too. He pictured his wife's face when she read the announcement in the Gazette.

'Lieutenant Matthew Okes, who carried the brunt of the responsibility of this daring raid after the death of his commanding officer, is to be congratulated on his valour and his keenness to press home an attack against impossible odds!'