‘Didn’t make it, Maître.’
Charrondier nodded and brought up the rear with Laval while Killigrew and Lindström took a turn leading the way. They slipped between another blockhouse and a barrack house and came to a T-junction.
‘Which way?’ asked Lindström.
Killigrew was not sure. The pathways between the bastions, blockhouses and ravelins were so mazy, even he had become disorientated. ‘Left,’ he decided, figuring that one way was as good as another.
Except that the left fork led them straight into Nekrasoff and his men. Charrondier fired his musket and Killigrew and Lindström blazed away with their revolvers, killing several of the Russians and putting Nekrasoff and the others to flight. But Killigrew and Lindström had exhausted their revolvers, and it was not going to take Nekrasoff long to realise that and rally his men.
‘Fall back!’ Killigrew told the others, gesturing with his empty revolver.
They sprinted back the way they had come only to run into Verne and the other nine matelots.
‘Back, back!’ yelled Killigrew. ‘They’re right behind us!’
Verne glanced nervously over his shoulder. ‘Funny you should say that…’
With two sets of Russians closing in on them from two different directions, there was only one way they could go. Killigrew ducked through a low arch to his right, into a courtyard where he dashed up a ramp to the casemated battlements above. A lone thirty-two-pounder pointed through a loop-hole: it faced across the inner harbour, so there were no men manning it, but there was no other way down from the casemate except the ramp they had come up.
‘It’s a dead end!’ one of the matelots exclaimed in despair.
Killigrew turned back to the ramp only to see the Russian infantrymen clustering beyond the archway below. Stålberg and Aurélie brought up their revolvers and blazed away, sending them diving for cover.
‘Tiens!’ exclaimed Aurélie. ‘They’ve got us nicely bottled up now.’
‘No they haven’t.’ Killigrew indicated the long gun. ‘If we pull this back from the wall, we can crawl out through that loophole. It can’t be more than a dozen feet to the rocks below.’
‘You heard the man, mes braves!’ Verne told his men. ‘Put your backs to it!’
The Frenchmen cast off the side tackles, seized the train tackle and hauled it away from the loophole.
Below, a dozen infantrymen filed through the archway into the courtyard, lining up with their muskets levelled up the ramp. ‘Throw down your guns and surrender!’ Lieutenant Rudenko called up. ‘There is no escape!’
Killigrew looked around desperately and saw thirty 32-pound round shot piled in a pyramid on a brass monkey beside the long gun. ‘Ever played skittles?’ he asked Aurélie.
She looked at him as if he was mad, but he was already snatching up a handspike, bracing one end against the flagstones below the brass monkey and using it to lever it up. With nearly a thousand pounds of solid shot on it, he could not shift it alone, but then Aurélie, Stålberg and Lindström saw what he was about and grabbed a handspike, ramrod and worm respectively. With a supreme effort on the part of all four, they managed to tip the brass monkey up far enough for the iron balls to cascade from it, thundering down the ramp to bowl over any Russian infantrymen unfortunate enough to stand in their path and scattering the rest.
Verne and his men had got the gun far enough from the wall for Charrondier to swing himself through feet first. Gripping the edge, he lowered himself down to the full extent of his arms and dropped the rest of the way. He stepped back at the bottom and waved up to where Verne stood at the loophole to show he was all right and it was safe to follow.
‘You next, Mam’selle Plessier,’ the enseigne called.
Aurélie went through nimbly, and Charrondier caught her at the bottom. Stålberg and Lindström followed her. The rest of Verne’s men went through one after another, until only Killigrew, Verne and one matelot were left in the casemate.
That was when the Russians attacked again, charging through the archway below with bayonets fixed, Rudenko at their head with his sabre drawn.
Killigrew looked at the gun, saw there was a quill tube in the vent. ‘Reckon there’s any powder in this thing?’ he asked Verne, shouting to make himself heard above the roaring of the Russians charging up the ramp.
Verne caught his drift at once. ‘Get down, Gagneux!’
The matelot, who had been about to ease himself through the loophole, threw himself flat on the floor below it.
‘Only one way to find out.’ Killigrew grasped the lanyard of the cannon and gave it a firm tug. The hammer snapped, sparks shot from the vent as the quill tube ignited, and the whole thing shot back on its carriage as flames roared from the muzzle. Without the side tackles to secure it, it rolled back until the rearmost wheels crested the top of the ramp, and then the whole thing trundled down, the two-ton cannon inexorably gathering way as gravity accelerated it down the slope.
Rudenko and three of his men were able to escape death by pressing themselves against the wall to the left of the ramp, narrowly avoiding having their toes crushed by the wheels of the gun carriage. Most of the others managed to leap from the side of the ramp and sprawl on the flagstones of the courtyard below, but a couple were not so lucky: the cannon smashed through them, tossing one aside and carrying the other before it as it careered through the archway to slam into the masonry opposite.
Rudenko charged the rest of the way up the ramp with three of his men. Killigrew still had the handspike in one hand, and he used it to parry as Rudenko slashed at him with his sabre. Verne grabbed the ramrod, knocking aside a bayonet thrust and swinging the end of the ramrod against one Russian’s ear, knocking him from the platform, before ramming it into the stomach of another and sending him sprawling back down the ramp. Killigrew parried another sabre-cut with the handspike, then caught Rudenko by the wrist and whirled him so that the fourth Russian was spitted on the end of the lieutenant’s sabre. Letting go of Rudenko’s wrist, he slammed his elbow back into his face, pulping his nose. Rudenko spun away with blood dripping between the fingers that clutched at his face. Killigrew took the revolver from the Russian’s holster and kicked him up the backside so that he fell from the platform with a wail to land on the flagstones below. Rolling over, Rudenko picked himself up and limped out of the courtyard after the rest of his men.
Killigrew dropped the handspike, tucked the revolver in his pocket and followed Gagneux and Verne through the loophole, dropping down to the rocks on the other side. Aurélie and the others were already making their way up the east shore of the island. Killigrew walked a few yards away from below the loophole and turned. Drawing the revolver, he braced his right wrist with his left hand and took careful aim.
He did not have long to wait: one of Rudenko’s men thrust his head out through the loophole. Killigrew squeezed off five shots in rapid succession, and at that range even he could not miss with all five bullets: the Russian slumped, his arms hanging limply down until his comrades dragged his body back out of sight. After that, the next man was reluctant to show his face. Killigrew pocketed the revolver and ran after the others.
Shells still exploded all over Vargon and Gustafvard; now one seemed to explode amongst the forts and blockhouses every two or three seconds, so that a new roar of sound boomed across the islands before the echoes of the last had died away. The return fire of the Russian batteries seemed to be slackening, and fires had broken out in several places, sending thick clouds of acrid smoke drifting between the buildings. Damage-control parties ran back and forth, carrying buckets of sand and beating at the flames with wet mops.
Killigrew soon caught up with the others and hurried to the head of the party, where Aurélie and Lindström led the way along the west side of Artillery Bay. The channel angled around to the left, and beyond they saw the bridge leading across to East Svarto, mercifully still intact. They waited for another damage-control party to run across, disappearing into the smoke in
the direction of the citadel, and then Killigrew and his allies broke cover, dashing across the bridge and following the path past the arsenal to the gunboat sheds.
Killigrew kicked open the door of the first and dived through, rising on one knee with the revolver in his hands. The gunboat was still in the quay, with two matrosy on her deck. He shot one in the chest, aimed at the other and squeezed the trigger, only for it to fall on a spent cap. He threw the revolver, striking the matros square in the middle of the forehead and knocking him back against the far bulwark. An officer emerged from the after hatch, revolver in hand, and took aim at the defenceless Killigrew. But Verne had already followed him into the shed with the rest of his men, and Charrondier brought up his musket and killed him with one shot.
Killigrew vaulted over the bulwark on to the deck of the gunboat, followed by Verne and his men. ‘Make sure he’s dead or tied up!’ yelled the commander, indicating the man he had knocked out, before descending the after hatch.
The officers’ quarters below were small and poky. Killigrew found a door leading forward and entered the magazine, the shelves stacked high with flannel-wrapped cartridges. The next compartment beyond that was the engine room, the only light coming from the coals glowing in the furnace. He was looking for the pressure gauge on the engine when a burly, crew-cut figure in a vest stained with coal and sweat lunged out of the shadows and swung a shovel at his neck.
If there had been more space in the compartment Killigrew would surely have lost his head; as it was, the blade of the shovel clanged against part of the engine framing before the blow could land, giving Killigrew enough time to twist and throw a punch at the stoker’s midriff. The man grunted and dropped the shovel, then caught Killigrew by the tunic and swung him painfully against the side of a coal bunker. Holding him there with his left arm, he threw a meaty fist at his face with his right. Killigrew managed to jerk his head far enough to the left for the fist to sail past him. It smacked against the iron bunker and the stoker staggered back with a howl of pain. Killigrew charged, catching him around the waist and slamming him back against the boiler casing, but then the stoker grappled him in turn and swung him against the furnace. The two of them wrestled, the stoker getting the palm of one hand under Killigrew’s jaw and forcing his head back through the open door of the furnace.
Killigrew could feel the heat from the glowing coals sear the back of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a small oil-can resting on one of the stanchions of the engine framing. He grabbed it, pointing the spout in the stoker’s face and squirting oil in his eyes. The stoker screamed and let go of him, enabling him to step away, grasp the door in one hand and slam it shut on the stoker’s head.
Verne and Charrondier charged into the engine room. ‘Are you all right?’ asked the enseigne.
Killigrew had burned his hand on the handle of the furnace door, and he clutched it with a wince. ‘Where were you?’
Verne grinned. ‘We found a couple more matrosy in the fo’c’sle who needed to be dealt with. I knew you could handle any stokers you ran into down here. What do you think? Can we fire her up?’
Killigrew found the pressure gauge. Like the one on the steam pinnace he had stolen at Novaya Gollandia, the engine had been made in London, and the gauge was marked in pounds per square inch. The dial pointed to fourteen.
‘We need to get the pressure up to twenty-five,’ he told Verne. ‘Get a couple of your lads down here to stoke the furnace.’
Verne nodded. ‘Charrondier, get Darlot and Fanton down here.’
The petty officer nodded and headed forward. Verne followed Killigrew into the magazine. ‘How long will it take?’
‘Ten, fifteen minutes? Depends on how fast your boys can shovel.’
‘What if someone comes by while we’re waiting?’
‘Pray they don’t… and put a couple of men on guard, just in case. Don’t worry, the Russians have their hands full dodging shells and putting out fires; they’re not likely to worry about what’s going on in here. Take these,’ he added, taking down a couple of the cartridges and passing them to the enseigne.
‘What do you want these for? Or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘Best if you don’t ask,’ Killigrew told him, taking two more cartridges and leading the way back on deck. ‘Just a little job I have to take care of next door. If I’m not back by the time that pressure gauge hits twenty-five, don’t wait for me: just get the others out of here.’ He took the other two cartridges back from Verne and stepped on to the quayside.
Aurélie intercepted him on his way to the door. ‘Are you going where I think you’re going?’
He nodded. ‘Stay here with Verne and his men,’ he told her. ‘I can manage.’
She shook her head. ‘This is an Anglo-French operation now, remember? And you’ll need some of this.’ She showed him the spool of fuse she was holding.
‘Got any lucifers?’
She patted the pocket of the greatcoat she wore, and he heard the rattle of matches.
‘You’ll need these.’ Lindström proffered a pair of revolvers. ‘They’re both loaded.’
Killigrew nodded, putting the gunpowder cartridges down on a table close to the door. ‘We’ll leave this stuff here while we make sure the other gunboat shed is clear, then come back for it,’ he said, taking one of the revolvers from Lindström. Aurélie nodded and took the other.
He eased the door open a crack. What had been a bright, clear day less than an hour ago was now dark and overcast from the huge quantities of smoke that billowed up all around the complex, blotting out the sun. The roar of exploding magazines added their detonations to those of the shells that continued to burst amongst the forts and blockhouses, hurling masonry and debris high into the sky. The mortar vessels continued to focus their attentions on Vargon, but the barrage was steadily working its way back towards the channel, and it would not be long before shells started dropping on East Svarto too.
Killigrew waited for a damage-control party to dash past outside. Once it had disappeared into the smoke, he opened the door all the way. ‘Come on, let’s go! Close the door behind you.’
They hurried across to the next gunboat shed and stood on either side of the door, drawing their revolvers. ‘Ready?’ Killigrew asked Aurélie.
She nodded, her face pale beneath the dirt and grime on her cheeks.
‘Let’s hope we’re not too late,’ he said, and kicked open the door.
The Sea Devil was still in the dock, although the fact the water gates were already open and two matrosy were running back along the side of the quay to board the underwater vessel made it clear that Killigrew and Aurélie had only just got there in time. She brought up her revolver and fired twice, bringing down a matros on the dockside with each shot. A third matros stood on the back of the Sea Devil, preparing to lower himself down the hatch. Killigrew aimed two shots at him and missed with both, giving the matros time to jump down the hatch and slam it shut behind him.
The water astern of the Sea Devil became turbulent as the matrosy within manned the treadmills. The contraption slowly began to move towards the gates.
‘It’s getting away!’ groaned Aurélie.
Killigrew looked around in desperation until his eyes fell on the chain-winch on the dockside. The chain ran from the barrel up to a joist on the ceiling, supporting a hook. ‘The devil it is!’ He began sprinting towards the overhead gantry. ‘Man that winch!’
He ran up the steps to the gantry and swung his legs over the handrail, measuring the distance to the chain. No time to think: he jumped. It was only a few feet. His fingers caught the chain, slipped, and he felt himself falling. Then he had caught hold of the hook by one hand. He gripped it with the other and hung there, suspended over the dock.
There was no need to tell Aurélie what to do next: she had already begun lowering him to the deck of the Sea Devil. It was a race to see if she could lower him before the contraption left the dock: Killigrew won, but only by inches. ‘More slack
!’ he yelled at her. ‘I need more slack!’
Aurélie continued to turn the winch as fast as she could. The chain rattled through the overhead hoist, and Killigrew ran along the top of the Sea Devil until he reached the hatch. He looped the chain through the wheel that opened the hatch, and hooked it in place.
The Sea Devil’s bows had reached the open gates. It continued to move forwards, dragging more of the chain through the pulley, until Aurélie closed the ratchet on the winch and all the slack had been taken up. The pulley creaked under the strain, but it was more than a match for the treadmill-powered Sea Devil. The water astern of the underwater boat became still as the crew realised the futility of trying to escape.
‘Now what?’ Aurélie asked as Killigrew stepped back on to the dockside. ‘It seems to me we’ve reached an impasse.’
Killigrew nodded. As soon as they left to escape on the gunboat, Lieutenant Fedorovich would simply climb out of the contraption, unhook the chain, and set off once more on his deadly mission. Killigrew crouched down behind some of the crates stacked on the dockside, and motioned for Aurélie to join him.
‘Go and fetch the fuse and cartridges from next door,’ he told her, and gestured at the Sea Devil with his revolver. ‘I’ll stay here and make sure they don’t go anywhere.’
She nodded, ran across to the door, and slipped out. Outside, the shells continued to rain down and the constant succession of explosions rattled the windows. While she was gone, Killigrew wondered where he could put the cartridges to do the maximum damage. If all four exploded inside the body of the Sea Devil, they would rip it apart; but the damned thing had been built to withstand the pressures of the deep, and he doubted that four cartridges would be enough even to dent the outside if he exploded them on its back. If only he could somehow set them off under the Sea Devil, the rising blast would snap it in two. But, of course, the cartridges would be rendered ineffective if they were wet.
He glanced about the interior of the shed and saw the diving suit hanging on one wall. Of course! It was waterproof: all he had to do was fill the suit with powder, run the fuse through the air hose and somehow wedge the suit under the Sea Devil’s keel…
Killigrew and the Sea Devil Page 47