Inferno (37 page)

Oarsmen fought desperately at their twenty-five-foot oars but the gunboat didn't move. Men took hits and the oars fell out of time into a fatal disorder.

Krieger felt a mounting desperation. Aboard
Nakskov
the impossibility of their situation became clear to them and they threw themselves into the water and stroked frantically for
Roeskilde
where they were hauled in.

The gunboat had been fully evacuated yet it was still there to be captured after they'd left, and would be the first of the Danish fleet the English had come here to take.

Something snapped. ‘Get the dinghy into the water,' Krieger ordered. It was insane but he had to do something. ‘Throw in a line,' he added, to the astonished Swenson.

It was only a tiny skiff tucked away under the transom but Krieger didn't hesitate. He scrambled in and took the oars. ‘Secure your end,' he demanded. Swenson understood and, with deft turns, had a bowline about two thwarts.

Krieger pulled savagely for the stranded gunboat, the line paying out behind him.

He reached
Nakskov
, made for the bow and hauled himself in, the rope around his waist. The dinghy drifted away but he didn't care; the foremast partners made a fine samson post and he secured the line tightly to it.

He waved energetically and
Roeskilde
took up the strain. Affixing the line so far forward offered an enormous leverage, and with oarsmen giving it their utmost at a
rightangle, it was enough.
Nakskov
's bow came around and she was free.

Joyfully they pulled her out and Wulff's crew tumbled back aboard.

Krieger's attention was diverted to the English boats coming on – their bow carronades were opening up now and in their length the Danish gunboats were vulnerable. It would be madness to allow them to close for a hand-to-hand fight and he'd made his decision to withdraw.

The turn-back completed, tired crews pulled for their lives, running the gauntlet once more of the shore artillery pieces to face yet another blow.

The canny English had sent their boats out in two groups, one to protect the store-ships, and one curving around behind them while they were engaged. This now stood four-square across their path.

Trapped between the two there was nothing for it but to fight their way through – but, glory be,
Mercurius
and
Sarpen
, gun-brigs, and the
kanonbåd
s were coming up to join the fight from the other side: the shore artillery had ceased firing for fear they hit their own vessels.

A towering smoke plume arose over the confined area, stabbed by gun-flash. The sky was criss-crossed with crazy patterns of smoke trails as the fighting grew to a deadly climax.

In
Roeskilde
the big gun spoke once, then the twin four-pound howitzers fore and aft with a vicious crack, flinging case-shell generally about the British boats – crude, but it was all they had.

And then they were through!

In the open water past Swan Mill the
kanonchalup
s regrouped and turned to face the English once more but under the
menace of their long guns they thought better of it and broke off the fight to withdraw.

It was over.

Krieger fought to control his feelings. It had been a rough and bloody contest, but had he ever thought it would not be, up against the rulers of the sea?

The corridor they'd relied on to get at the store-ships was now firmly closed. The massed artillery on shore could only get thicker and the battery they had bombarded would be reinforced against challenge from the sea, in effect forcing them out to where the heavier units of the inshore squadron would be waiting.

And if the store-ships were denied him, what purpose had they left?

No matter. Tomorrow he'd be out again, and again, until the invaders had been thrown back into the sea or …

F
rancis Maynard picked up his pen and began:
Dear David …
He certainly had something to write about today.
Just when we thought the Danskers were tamely giving up the match, we got a bit of a surprise …

That was an understatement. The 52nd had stood to arms when it became clear that trouble was brewing. The earth-works they were manning, however, were intended for an artillery battery and were incomplete, with supplies and equipment lying in the open among their encampment.

In the afternoon, out of the blue, the Danes had sortied in force. It had been a hard-fought engagement but the British engineers had pushed up the fronting glacis before the rest of the works and the attack had petered out on the fifty-yard open slope.

What happened next was a complete surprise. From nowhere a ship-sized round shot had thumped into the earth-work with shocking force, tearing a gap before finishing in splintered wreckage in the camp. Another soon followed, killing two sentries and rampaging on into their lines beyond.
Still more – and then a heavy mortar shell had hurtled in over the rampart and detonated in their unprotected camp with appalling results.

Another exploded some distance away and, as it was very clear there was going to be no defence against this sea-borne rain of destruction, the 52nd was pulled back. Was this a prelude to a sea landing to take this strategic objective? He recollected going to the little woodland rise and lying down to peer over at the powder-smoke-hidden inshore waters, trying to make sense of the violence and chaos. Where was the navy? It seemed they were being attacked only by boats. Surely that great fleet all across the horizon could deal with this.

He'd been taken up to provide men from the horse artillery, summoned to make some sort of reply, but they'd been punished badly as soon as they'd shown themselves on the shoreline. Beaten back, there'd been little they could do against the Viking marauders.

The day had ended with a wasteland of ruin and devastation where once had been the left flank of General Baird's second division.

A response was needed, and quickly. During the night the roads and trackways came alive with the urgent jingling of harness and rumble of wheels as every field piece capable of movement was brought around the rear to line the shore by Swan Mill.

In the morning the Danes were fought to a standstill, then forced to retire.
Damme, they're game fellows but we're emplacing some twenty-fours of our own as will be the medicine to be rid of 'em!

The candle guttered as the night breeze wafted in from the tent opening. It was Adams. ‘Care for a snifter, Francis?'

Before he could reply a grubby bottle was upended over
his chipped cup. A pale golden liquor splashed into it. ‘Snaps, the locals call it. Rather a tasty drop, I think.'

‘Um, yes.' Maynard was unsure about its foreign-tasting wormwood bitterness.

‘May as well make the most of it while we're here.'

‘What do you mean, Stephen?'

‘Our bluff's called, old chap. We're to go home.'

‘
Whaaat?
'

‘By resisting they're forcing a siege. They could be well stocked, watered and so forth. All they've got to do is sit down behind their bloody great walls and wait for us to give up and fade away. There's no way we can sustain a siege of months – and who's to say in the meantime Boney won't get irritated and send in an army or two?'

‘Not while the navy's here,' Maynard said stoutly. ‘Got the whole place surrounded and sealed off.'

‘Ha! You don't know this part o' the world. In weeks it starts getting mortal chilly, ice and snow around the corner. Your wooden walls have to get out while they can and leave us here or …'

‘We can't give up! We'd be a laughing stock!'

More snaps was forthcoming before Adams gave a half-smile. ‘Some say we take the whole of this island, Sjælland, and hand it over to the Swedes. That way we – that is to say, they – would control both sides of the Sound and no more threat to the Baltic trade, which is what all this pother is about.'

‘Weren't they thrown out of Pomerania? Doesn't sound as if they can hang on long enough to defend it.'

‘Sound? Sound! Ha-ha, good one, Francis,' Adams chortled.

‘A good drop, then, this snaps,' Maynard murmured drily.

‘Aye. No, as I was saying, those blundering great bastions
an' ramparts, we'll never get through 'em without we have a clinking great siege train in depth an' that we don't have.'

‘Storm the city? Escalade? But that's always a bloody affair.'

‘I'll agree. Our betters have a right puzzler they must solve. For me, I'd—'

‘You pair!' the adjutant barked from behind. They started in consternation, twisting round to face him. ‘Why are you still here? All officers attend at Headquarters, this hour!'

‘N-now?'

‘Take horse, be at Hellerup within twenty minutes or you'll rue your indolence for a week, I promise you, gentlemen!'

T
he spacious farmstead was seething with activity and no one could spare the time to explain. A harassed aide eventually told them, ‘We've word from our scouts inland. The Danes have landed an army to the south. It's to join another advancing from the north-west with the object of falling on our rear and raising the siege.'

‘An army? Where did this come from, for God's sake?'

‘No time. Stand ready to be redeployed, anything. Good luck!'

Behind the closed doors all military commanders were in conclave.

First to emerge was Wellesley, cool and patrician. He strode out without a sideways glance, quickly followed by the two divisional commanders.

Maynard and Adams stood back respectfully as brigadiers and colonels followed.

‘The 52nd Regiment of Foot. All officers of the 52nd this way, if you please, gentlemen.'

The room was crowded but the major was brief to the point of curtness. ‘With immediate effect, four companies of the 52nd are detached and assigned to the Reserve Division. These are …'

He rattled them off from a list and Maynard heard his own included.

‘All others revert to their line assignments and may leave now.'

As the room began to empty of half its number, the major waited with heavy patience.

Maynard was confused. Reserve Division? What were they to do? Skulk in the background until called on to join the struggle? Then, with a stab of realisation, he understood. This division was the one set back from the others to act as a roving force against threats to the besiegers from inland. And therefore in the forefront of the first serious challenge to the invaders.

The major cleared his throat. ‘You probably know by now that there are two armies of unknown force on the march against us. You will also know that—'

‘Sir – where did they come from?' Maynard found himself blurting. The appearance without warning of such a hostile force in their rear … He couldn't believe that the navy had let them down to this extent.

‘Questions after, damn it, Ensign!' he barked. ‘You will know that it will be the chief object of the divisional commander to prevent a conjunction of the two forces. Our intelligence is limited, our videttes even now under attack, and all I can tell you is that you will shortly be very busy indeed.

‘You will return to your men, have them in full marching order to step off at dawn, baggage to follow. You are to join
with the Reserve Division at Vanløse, placing yourself under the orders of Brigadier Stewart of the 43rd Monmouths who will dispose of you as he sees fit. Understand?'

‘Sir, you were going to tell us why—'

‘No time! I've others to deal with. Any other questions? No? Good. On your way out, tell the 79th to come in, will you.'

The camp was in uproar but discipline took hold and the detachment was on the march as soon as it was light enough to move.