A Mild Case of Indigestion

by Geoffrey Watson

  He made his decision and called up to Thuner, telling him to pull his cord after the second company and not the first. If Mercedes could get her avalanche to work, they would trap the entire last four companies on the track round the spur.

  The trouble was as always. Calling on his long experience of war over the last ten years, he knew that any plan of action was only good for the first two minutes after the first shot was fired. After that; if you couldn’t think effectively on your feet; remember the escape plan! Only he didn’t have an escape plan!

  Only a few days ago, the company of voltigeurs had found an almost certain victory turned to bloody failure in the first two minutes. Was it likely that this company of voltigeurs, now climbing to attack the Hornets, would have better fortune?

  He peered down the precipitous slope. It was most unlikely there would be any problem from below, before the coming struggle on the plateau was resolved one way or the other. All he could see was a crowd of casualties being carried and supported away from the bottom of the climb and no attempt being made to press the assault. Perhaps when the action started above them, they would start upwards again, but it would take them at least ten minutes to reach the top in numbers. By that time the battle would be won and lost. He prayed that the result would be in his favour.

  Three of his six men were sent to join the rest of the Hornets, now waiting in ambush. The other three were to stay, protecting the climb, only until the mine exploded, or they could see the head of the column. They were then to run to join the others.

  Welbeloved trotted over to MacKay and his ten men, close to the entry point. MacKay rose to his feet. “I’m letting a couple of hundred through before Thuner fires the mine, Hamish. Don’t be in too much of a hurry. Let half of them come and spread out, then try and put a plug in the outlet and hold the rest back until we can thin out the first comers.”

  MacKay managed a phlegmatic, “Aye aye, Captain,” and sank back out of sight again. Welbeloved gazed round the plateau. Apart from the three men engaged in hurling the occasional rock onto the heads of the voltigeurs, the whole scene appeared devoid of life. Then the men abandoned the rim and ran briskly towards cover. The first of the infantry of the line had appeared round the head of the spur.

  It was a few minutes before Welbeloved could see them. They were being cautious and allowing themselves to mass together before debouching from the track onto the wider expanse of the plateau. He could now see an officer marshalling them and suddenly they were bursting out of the confines of the track and spreading out rapidly to advance on a wide front.

  The attack faltered before it had properly begun. Thuner had pulled his cord and the Condesa’s mines had exploded. There was a rapid series of small and large explosions, all within the ten-second margin that had been allowed when the fuses were cut.

  Those at the back glanced nervously behind them. Those at the front started to fall as the Hornets around the arena opened fire. Then MacKay’s bottle stoppers joined in, effectively preventing any more men from charging out onto the plateau.

  Although the Hornets remained in cover, the telltale powder smoke betrayed their positions immediately and many of the French paused to shoot hopefully in their direction, but with little apparent success. They were brave men and given an opponent they could see, might even have prevailed. All they could see though, were puffs of smoke and in all too many cases, it was the last thing they did see.

  It was just over a minute since they had burst onto the plateau to find no visible enemy, but only a hail of death that had laid over two thirds of them on the ground. The way out from the track was blocked by a pile of bodies, where MacKay’s men had slaughtered two tightly packed attempts to follow the first company out onto the human shambles of the plateau.

  A distant explosion followed by an ominous rumble heralded a successful avalanche started by the Condesa. Over three hundred French soldiers could now be trapped on the narrow track running round the spur.

  Nobody was now still on their feet on the plateau. Those still alive had acknowledged the futility of resistance by throwing their muskets away and falling flat, waving their arms and yelling for quarter.

  All the Hornets present had seen ample evidence of atrocities committed by Napoleon’s soldiers and had good reason to hate the sight of them. They were, nevertheless, self-disciplined and had accepted his rules forbidding the killing of unarmed and helpless men.

  The firing died away and Welbeloved called for five men to follow him when he stepped out to round up the survivors and herd them out of the line of fire towards the track entrance. He could see undefined but renewed movement behind the pile of bodies that MacKay and his men had shot.

  On a sudden thought, he sent two of the five to the rim of the plateau, where a flurry of activity, the sound of screams and falling bodies showed that the voltigeurs had been persuaded not to pursue their efforts to reach the top.

  Before the fight, Welbeloved had asked his men to try and avoid shooting whomever it was that was leading the assault. This was a departure from his usual policy, as the Hornets were normally trained to pick off officers and sergeants first in order to leave the men leaderless.

  On this occasion, the commander of the force had led the first charge and had survived. Welbeloved picked him out; a haggard, white faced, furiously angry, but thoroughly cowed major of infantry. He spoke with him briefly and sent him across to the remainder of the second company, now penned on the track and unable; if Mercedes’s mine had proved successful; to advance or retreat.

  Welbeloved now stood on the rim of the plateau. From there he could see the whole of the track back to the blockage. His glass revealed that the destruction had; at least for the present; completely stopped anyone getting from one side to the other. Indeed, it looked as though a whole section of the track had disappeared and that could pose problems in repatriating his prisoners and any of the trapped men that agreed to surrender.

  The major was not finding it easy talking his men into giving themselves up. After all, they still had their muskets and those behind the pile of corpses had not yet had to face the full fury of the Fergusons. They didn’t believe that the arms they faced were vastly superior to their own weapons. It was probably time for the small demonstration that Welbeloved had suggested.

  He was right. The major turned in his direction and waved. Welbeloved waved back and made himself comfortable behind a pile of stones, quickly loading and cocking his Ferguson and resting it across the rocky support.

  As suggested, the major had a bayonet fitted to a musket and drove it into the ground, fitting a shako over the butt. The range was a little over two hundred yards and any early morning wind had died away.

  Because it was meant to impress, Welbeloved took his time and aimed at the badge in the centre of the shako. The ball went cleanly through the hat and knocked the musket out of the ground. The cries of astonishment could be heard quite clearly and yet Welbeloved would only have considered it a good shot at twice the range.

  There was a great deal more gesticulating, then the major turned and walked out past the pile of corpses, with his hands up; followed in single file by his men. They piled their weapons as they came out onto the plateau and removed their equipment, tunics and shakos. This time, they were allowed to keep their trousers, gaiters and boots to help with the climbing they were going to have to do. All but twenty were led to the rim of the plateau and made to climb down the way that the voltigeurs had originally come up.

  The twenty that were held back were given the job of carrying their dead over to the meadow, where they used their bayonets to dig trenches alongside the mound containing the bodies of the earlier victims. Over eighty bodies were interred, with room left for another dozen who were so badly wounded that all that could be done for them was to make them as comfortable as possible and wait for them to die.

  It was the middle of the afternoon before the major led the rest of them over the rim on their way to safety and the Horne
ts were free to investigate the intermittent rifle and musket fire they had been hearing since shortly after the two companies had surrendered.

  ***

  It was Thuner who had been first to see the columns of infantry and it was he who had rushed off to climb into his position to fire the mine. The Condesa and Masters were far too busy laying charges under a large pile of boulders jammed into the split over the root of the spur.

  Isabella and Lopez joined them soon afterwards and having placed three separate charges and connected them with quickmatch to a single, sixty-second slowmatch, they set out to explore as far as they could on the rest of the spur. They gathered as many lethal rocks as possible into piles at positions from where they could be dropped down onto the track below. Then they waited for Thuner to pull his cord.

  Close by where the charges were laid it was possible to watch the five companies of blue-clad infantry while they were crawling up the valley opposite. They followed their progress, crossing over to the next turn right below them and disappearing onto the track around the spur, below the curve of the rising cliff.

  Mercedes knew that the plan was to blow the mine between the first and second company and she expected this to happen before the last company turned onto the spur and disappeared from view below her. As the tail of the last column went out of sight, she became concerned. As the minutes dragged on she found herself chewing on her nails, a habit she detested in others.

  She told herself to calm down. The only times she had ever seen her husband appear agitated were when she herself had provoked him and put herself into danger. She would now force herself to be cool, calm and collected before the others and have faith that Joshua would be in control, as always. But, what if he wasn’t???

  They felt the shock of the explosions through their feet, fractionally before they heard them, together with the cracks of the Fergusons. At once, all apprehension was forgotten. Calmly, she sent Isabella and the two men into cover before striking a spark onto the frayed-out end of the slow match and walking nonchalantly to join them.

  The three charges went off almost simultaneously; then she was up and running as soon as the rumbling and crashing of rocks announced the success of her avalanche. It was difficult to see anything through the clouds of powder smoke and dust, but it was very obvious that the tons and tons of rocks and boulders that had been crammed into the split on the spur, had scored a direct hit on the track below.

  The damage caused would be visible only when the cloud of dust cleared. That could be some time as the earlier wind was now non-existent. They all bounded excitedly and recklessly to the other side of the spur, just in time to view the conclusion of the spectacle in the arena spread out at their feet.

  As soon as it was evident that the action on the plateau was over, Mercedes assumed that her first mine had been successful and that no more French would be reaching the plateau by that route.

  She led them all back to see if the dust had settled so that she could determine whether her trap was complete and whether a small French army was indeed penned on the narrow track winding round the spur.

  A cloud of fine dust was still billowing around the point of impact. All the heavier particles had settled out by now and it was becoming clearer by the second. Immediately apparent was the pile of rocks and debris completely blocking the track. The track too, seemed narrower, as if part of it had been carried away and fallen into the valley below.

  She performed a little dance. Her avalanche had succeeded in blocking the way out completely, leaving a rocky slope from the edge of the path to ten or a dozen feet up the cliff face.

  It was a large blockage, but determined men would be able to move enough rocks to clear the way over it in time. A few of the soldiers were already shifting stones and climbing onto the pile, seeking a way back. They needed discouraging.

  She pointed out the targets to Isabella and Masters and told Lopez to go and toss a few rocks over the edge of the spur. He wouldn’t be able to see his targets but it would make life uncomfortable for the unfortunates down on the track.

  The three of them settled down to keep the French away from the pile. It was not an easy shot to make. Almost straight down and with their view of the target restricted by the bulge and curve of the spur, so that only four Frenchmen were in view at any one time and then only if two of them were actually climbing on the mass of rocks.

  Mercedes fired first and the soldier on the top of the pile was swept off over the edge into the valley. Isabella sent the next one sprawling and Masters got a third in the act of hurling a large rock over the edge. He went over with the rock.

  The last man quickly dashed out of sight. Masters and the girls reloaded and waited. Three soldiers rushed out of cover, raised their muskets and loosed off wild shots at the clouds of powder smoke they could see above. Two of them died as they pulled their triggers. Masters had waited until he could see which targets the girls had chosen and shot the third man as he was turning to get back to safety.

  In the few seconds it took to reload the Fergusons, another three men dashed out and blazed away at them, then dived back into cover to let the next three rush out and have a shot.

  Two of these fell to Masters and Isabella while Mercedes withheld her shot and took the first of the next three to show himself.

  After that there was silence. There were too many bodies in the small space available. They had nowhere to stand to make their shots. Not that the three Hornets had noticed even the hum of a musket ball. They were three or four hundred feet almost vertically above the French, with only part of their heads showing and the soldiers had been firing wildly upwards in the direction of the inevitable clouds of powder smoke.

  A piece of cloth, waved energetically on the end of a musket, signalled the appearance of an officer with his hands raised. He picked his way over the bodies and used sign language to indicate that they wanted to recover their dead and wounded. Not wanting to give away their exact location, Mercedes made no reply and the man took the silence to indicate assent. He gestured for more soldiers to come forward, hands raised, to move all the bodies back into cover. He then raised his hat politely and strolled slowly out of sight, staring keenly upwards all the time.

  The reason for his interest soon became apparent when a head was poked out of cover, very low down as if its owner was lying flat on his belly. The barrel of a musket next appeared and was fired at the general area where the officer might have seen the bonnets of the Hornets as he strolled back to cover.

  The next shot came within seconds. They could only be handing him a freshly loaded musket each time as the third and fourth shots followed on quickly. It also seemed to Mercedes that the marksman was left-handed. He was firing from cover to the left of their position and only his head and part of his shoulder could be seen.

  Another head appeared and another musket opened fire. This one must have been standing astride the prone marksman and being handed loaded muskets in the same way. They established a rhythm and a shot was being fired about once a second. Some of the shots were even close enough for them to hear the noise of their passage.

  They lay quiet, making no reply. Mercedes reasoned that they were doing no harm and if they wanted to waste powder and shot; that was fine too. Nevertheless, she was intrigued as to why they would bother.

  The two soldiers that dashed out and frantically started to clear the rubble, answered her question. The regular shots were meant to keep the Hornets occupied while the French worked to clear an escape route.

  She shrugged. The French officer down below was still unaware of what he was up against. A quick word to Isabella and Masters and the two unfortunate French soldiers were sprawling at the foot of the pile of rocks they had been trying to clear.

  MacKay and four of the men arrived at that point to find out what all the shooting was about. She explained in a few phrases that the avalanche had trapped all the rest of the French and she was amusing herself trying to keep them from removing her ba
rrier and breaking out.

  He grinned widely. “Ye’re getting tae be a magician wi’ that gunpowder, My Lady. The other mine went off like a dream and all the rest of the Frogs except the burial party are scrambling doon by the stream. We let them keep their boots and troos this time and the Captain will be delighted if we can dae the same wi’ the ones doon there. Can I tak’ over here wi’ Evans, while you direct everyone else throwing rocks on tae them along the side o’ the spur?”

  Mercedes smiled sweetly at him. “Of course you can, Hamish. I will be back as soon as they decide they want to talk. I’m sure I can make my voice carry from here.”

  She trotted off and MacKay made himself comfortable alongside Evans. “Dae you tak’ the head at the bottom, Dai. Let me have first shot at the top one and we’ll see what develops frae there.”

  He took his time with his shot, knowing that many of the normal considerations such as wind and gravity were lacking in such a vertical situation. Evans fired before the sound of his shot had died away and both heads jerked violently. The top one disappeared from view and the bottom one stayed where it had been slammed into the ground until the body was pulled back out of view.

  The cessation of shooting should have brought relative silence, but the sound of yells and cries of pain drifted up as the Condesa’s rocks and boulders sought out victims wherever there was no protection from overhangs, or the overhead slope took the rolling stones out over the track and straight down into the valley.

  It was nearly half-an-hour before the waving cloth appeared again and the same officer stepped into sight. The Condesa had timed it well. She was back and ready to translate. In reality she had spoken with MacKay and knew what her husband wanted. The exchange in bellowed French was hardly dignified but the result was acceptable and the trapped men were permitted to clear enough from the barrier to allow them to pass in single file, carrying their wounded and stripped to their breeches, shirts and boots.