Rules of War

by Iain Gale

  ‘Are you quite certain of that, Captain? My sources tell me that the bulk of your force is still to enter. Even now they are fighting for their lives on the ramparts. And how many men do you have with you here? Six that I can see. Do you really propose to arrest me with six men. Captain Steel?’

  ‘No, Trouin. I’m going to kill you.’

  Trouin laughed again, his bellow echoed by the higher snigger of Stringer. ‘I see that you have brought your sergeant with you. Your heroic rescuer.’ He paused: ‘Now, drop your weapons.’

  Steel glanced at Slaughter and nodded, but gave him what might have been half a wink. Reluctantly the sergeant and three of the men placed their guns on the floor.

  Trouin went on: ‘You see, Captain Steel, I have the upper hand. Always. You cannot win this game. Such a clever plan, don’t you think, to use Mister Fabritius to play on your sentiment. Stringer here said that you were “soft”. And do you know, Steel? I didn’t believe him. But I see he was right. And soon you will die.’

  Steel could see that the pirate was becoming drawn into his own rhetoric. Stringer looked uneasily at the Grenadiers, particularly those who had not yet grounded their weapons.

  But Trouin continued: ‘You think that your great army, your General Malbrook, is going to win this battle. But you’re wrong. Why do you suppose I was released? Major Malbec authorized it because I have two ships in the harbour, Captain Steel. Two fine ships, both armed and rigged and crewed and ready to sail. And those two ships are faster and more powerful than any vessel your precious navy can muster. I intend to sail them out of this harbour and to board your bombketches before your sailors are even aware that I am there. Then I shall turn your own bombships on your flotilla and blow it from the water. And when that is done I shall turn them inland, on your army, whether it’s in or out of this miserable town. Not that it will matter to you, because by then of course you’ll be dead. You and I and Ajax have an appointment. We are going to resume where we left off when we killed that Belgian scum. Who knows, we might let you live. It would be amusing to see how long you lasted on the streets of Port Royal as a blind, impotent beggar.’ He noticed the two Grenadiers who had not dropped their weapons. ‘You men there. I said drop your guns. I’ll give you a chance. I’ll count to five. One …’

  Steel had no reason to doubt Trouin. He had seen the two ships in the harbour as they had rowed in three nights ago and although he was no sailor, they made a fine sight. One at least had looked low enough in the water to be a sloop. As to the threat, Steel had seen what Trouin was capable of. He realized that he was sweating hard beneath the thick red coat. Knowing that at all costs he must not show his fear he spoke through it.

  ‘You’re a fool, Trouin, if you think that you’ll get away with it.’

  Trouin smiled and continued to count: ‘Three.’

  The pirates prepared to fire. And again Steel caught Slaughter’s eye, for as he had been talking he had gradually been working his right hand further behind his back, seeking a small pocket which lay just at the peak of the two tails of his coat. He had got it now and with infinite patience inched his index finger deeper inside until it rested on a hard, cold object – the small knife he always kept in the hidden pocket. Carefully, Steel closed his thumb on the knife and slowly began to draw it out. It slipped neatly into the fold of his hand and using a fingernail he opened the blade and felt his hand close around cold steel. In a split second the knife was out and flying through the air towards the pirate closest to Trouin whose musket was pointing directly towards him. It hit the man in the centre of the forehead and he sank to his knees, stone dead. There was an instant in which time froze and Trouin gazed in disbelief at the dead man and the protruding knife.

  Then all hell broke loose. Trouin shouted and six of the pirates managed to get off a shot, their balls flying for the most part over the heads of the Grenadiers, although one grazed Lejeune’s right shoulder and another hit one of the redcoats. The two Grenadiers who still had their weapons fired and three of Trouin’s men went down. Tom Williams dashed at another and with a swift backhanded cut, flensed away the flesh from his cheek. Steel yelled, ‘Down’ and his men ducked low and reached to retrieve their grounded weapons. Fabritius pushed his wife and children, screaming now, to the floor and as two of Trouin’s men knelt to fire their fusils, Steel rushed at Trouin, headlong through the smoke. And connected with … nothing. Looking around he searched in vain for the Frenchman.

  And at that moment the noise of the struggle was lost in another, louder sound which rocked the room. A huge explosion and not far away, he thought. A musketball sang through the air past his cheek and thinking quickly he ran, bent double, towards where the shot had come from and found to his satisfaction that his head connected with a man’s lower abdomen, winding him and knocking him over.

  Steel straightened up and quickly grabbed a musket lying across the body of a dead pirate. Praying that it was loaded, he cocked it fully, before pointing it point-blank at the winded man and pulling the trigger. The man’s head exploded in a welter of blood and brains. Steel hurled the gun to the ground and looked around. To his left he saw Slaughter bayoneting another of Trouin’s men, while elsewhere the Grenadiers were fighting their own battles. Six of the pirates lay dead on the floor with one of his own men. Apart from the few of Trouin’s men left fighting, he could see no others in the room and of their leader too there was no trace. Fabritius’ family were huddled, cowering, in a corner, and the Belgian lay spread-eagled on the stone floor. His eyes were wide open. Steel ran across and dropped down on to one knee. The man had been killed by a single shot to the head. Steel cradled his head for an instant and looked across into the accusing eyes of his wife. The room was suddenly quiet and standing, Steel saw that the remaining pirates had given up the fight. He walked over to the table and bent to retrieve his knife from the pirate’s body. He wiped the blade clean on the man’s coat.

  ‘Sarn’t Slaughter, we’ll need to move fast if we’re to catch Trouin. It sounds as if they’ve a battle on their hands out there, but that won’t stop him from taking the bombships. What d’you suppose that explosion was?’

  ‘Dunno, sir. Ammunition magazine going up most likely.’

  Steel found Williams: ‘Tom, take Mackay and Mister Fabritius’ family and head for the west walls. Find Lieutenant Hansam, if you can. If not, then any British officer will do. Tell him to send word to Marlborough to warn the fleet – Trouin intends to capture the bombketches and turn them on us. And tell him that I’m going to try and stop him. Oh and Tom, you might ask him to send some men if he can spare them, to the harbour.’

  Steel turned to Lejeune who had found his shirt and coat and did not look too much the worse for his ordeal. ‘Lieutenant, do you suppose that you might be up to handling a sword?’

  The Frenchman smiled: ‘Captain Steel, if you do not allow me to carry one then I shall take one for myself. For the moment at least it seems that your enemy is mine also.’

  Cussiter approached them and handed Lejeune his thin, standard French pattern infantry sword, which he had found among the pirate’s weapons. Steel drew his own heavier blade and moving towards the door, turned to address the remaining redcoats.

  ‘The rest of you load and prime your weapons and fix your bayonets. Keep your heads down and your senses keen. I intend to finish that heartless bastard and I’m taking you with me.’

  Marlborough sat astride his grey mare in a gaggle of staff officers on the single road which led directly into the city and watched closely through his spyglass as the afternoon’s events unfolded before him. He had seen the assault force go in, and had watched the struggle on the western rampart as Hansam’s Grenadiers had fought hard with the reinforced Walloons before being relieved by the Dutch. His carefully aimed barrage had taken out battery after battery of enemy cannon and minutes before one of the few guns he had ordered to fire in support had scored a hit on a powder magazine, sending men and debris high into the air. Now as he loo
ked on, the West Gate stood wide open. The Grenadiers and the Dutch had done their work and now the task of securing the place fell to the lead battalions of Argyll’s brigade.

  He turned to Hawkins: ‘This was a masterful plan, James. Quite masterful. Why, barely half an hour ago I could not have stood here for fear of being hit by one of the garrison’s guns. There is still resistance to be sure. D’you see? There, to the south. Blue coats and white fighting along one of the ravelins. But tell me that I am wrong when I say that the place is as good as ours.’

  Hawkins shook his head sagely: ‘Take care, Your Grace. Argyll’s men may be fierce enough but they’re not used to the sort of fighting they’ll encounter in there. Remember, the town is filled with pirates.’

  ‘Privateers, James. Something quite different. But do you not share my faith in Captain Steel? He is your man, after all, and he has served us well this day. I am confident that he will already have subdued the privateers.’

  ‘Steel has but one company of men, Your Grace, and we do not know how many Trouin may command.’

  ‘Steel has but one company, James, and he is but one man. But they are Grenadiers and I’d rather have that one man with me than all the officers in King Louis’ army.’

  SIXTEEN

  The narrow streets were choked with soldiers. Some wore the red coat of English or Scots regiments, others the white of France or Dutch blue. Many of them were wounded, some of them were dying. Most though were just struggling to stay alive. In fifteen years of soldiering Steel had seen little to match the chaos and savagery of this glorified street brawl. Not even the mayhem of Blenheim village could compare for sheer animal violence as men fought with anything that came to hand and even their bare fists to gain a few yards. He passed one street and saw Argyll’s redcoats driving back the French. But on entering an adjoining alley he found himself caught up in the headlong rout of a half-company of English infantry. He had thought that the hottest fighting would be in the west, where the attack had come in. But it seemed now to be everywhere, and the further they moved into the south of the town, the more complex the combat seemed to become. He had thought that by now the battle might be won. The explosion of a main powder magazine might, in any other siege, have prompted the defenders to lay down their arms. But here it seemed, in this den of thieves, it had not stunned the enemy into submission, but strengthened their resolve.

  Steel turned to Slaughter: ‘What d’you make of this farrago, Jacob? Who’s winning, do you reckon?’

  ‘Hard to say, sir. I thought once we were in the town we’d have had ’em. But something’s got their dander up, Mister Steel. They don’t seem that inclined to yield.’

  Steel ducked as they crossed a junction where a firefight was taking place between two companies of opposing infantry. ‘Yes, I suspect that the duke’s intelligence may be at fault. It seems to me there’s more here than Walloons. Most of these men are regulars, Frenchmen. There’s ten, fifteen different regiments. Probably came in after Ramillies. And then there’s Trouin’s lot.’

  Steel began moving faster, dodging as best he could between the individual mêlées taking place it seemed at every turn. Vaguely recognizing a system of streets close to the church of Peter and Paul, he found himself standing at the foot of its great stone bulk and paused in the shadows for breath. They were almost there now; two, perhaps three streets away from the gate that led down to the Key and to Trouin’s ships.

  He half-turned to the men: ‘To me.’

  But when he looked round, Steel found himself to be completely alone. He had outpaced the others and they had lost him in the warren of narrow, clogged and smoke-filled streets. He listened for their footsteps but could hear none distinct from the cacophony of the battle that seemed now to rage on all sides. Then he did hear something, and it froze his blood. The noise came from directly behind him. The unmistakeable, heart-stopping sound of the hammer of a musket being pulled back to half-cock, prior to being fired. He presumed that it must be a Frenchman, or one of Trouin’s men. Or perhaps it was Trouin himself.

  Without turning he spoke: ‘I am aware that you are there, whoever you are. I am a British officer and I am empowered to offer you quarter – if you drop your weapon. We have taken this town, or soon will and I guarantee that you will receive fair treatment. You have my word on it.’

  There was a short, mocking laugh. ‘Your word, have I? I’m not sure that will be good enough for me, Mister Steel. You see, I have orders.’

  Steel recognized the rasping voice of Sergeant McKellar, Argyll’s butcher. ‘It’s Captain Steel to you, McKellar. And I’ve no time to come with you to Argyll, if that’s what you mean. I have urgent business.’

  ‘Well that would make two of us then sir, wouldn’t it?’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘I’m sure you are sir, but not as sorry as you’re going to be when I put this bullet in your brain.’

  Steel paused: ‘You have orders to kill me? From Argyll, I presume.’

  ‘You might like to think that sir, if you will. I’m not at liberty to say.’

  Steel played for time: ‘Would you oblige me then by telling me precisely why you have been asked to kill me?’

  ‘Treason, sir. Fraternizing with the enemy, in particular with Jacobites of which sympathy you are yourself suspected.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Couldn’t say, sir.’

  ‘By your master and by no one else. Don’t be foolish, Sergeant. You and I have no quarrel. And you know that I’m no Jacobite. I have the ear of Marlborough himself.’

  McKellar laughed again: ‘Lord Argyll says that the duke hisself might be a Jacobite. And wasn’t he shut up in the Tower for it?’

  It was true. Marlborough had been imprisoned for suspected Jacobitism, fourteen years ago, though nothing had been proved.

  Steel tried another tack: ‘How did you find me?’

  ‘Well, seeing as you ask, it was a stroke of luck. His Lordship had just said to me, “McKellar, I want that traitor Steel. Dead or alive, now. Head for wherever the fighting’s fiercest. Steel’s sure to be there.” So there I was, about to set off when up runs a young officer. Smart-looking lad, recognized him at once as one of yours.’

  ‘Williams,’ said Steel.

  ‘That’s it, sir. Mister Williams. He finds Lord Argyll and he asks him to send reinforcements to you. Tells him that you’re to be found by the Key gate. Asks him to send word too to Marlborough. Something about a pirate going to capture a bombship and guns being turned and to be sure to warn the fleet.’

  For a moment Steel’s thoughts wandered from his own plight to a grander scale of horror. ‘And did he? Did he warn the fleet?’

  ‘Did he my arse! No sooner has Williams left us than His Lordship says to me he’ll be damned if he’s going to save a few sods of wet bobs. Now off you go and find that traitor Steel. So here I came. And here you are, just as he said.’

  Steel heard the hammer being cocked back to its full tension and, still unable to fathom a way out, played a final delaying tactic. ‘I presume you’ll call this accidental.’

  ‘Or enemy action, sir. All the same in a battle, ain’t it?’

  Steel was well aware of the uses of ‘accidents’ in the fog of war. How many unpopular officers were there whose families slept soundly believing them to have died with honour bravely in the field, but had later been found to have received a bullet wound to the back of the head? It was understood that someone must have discharged their piece half-cock. An accident. But Steel knew better. They all did. It was how the army cleansed itself of bad blood and rotten officers. So the commanders turned a blind eye and the sergeants said among themselves that it was the most honourable way for any such useless an article to meet his maker.

  But Steel was damned if he was going to join their ranks. Yet at this moment there seemed little choice. He winced as he heard McKellar move, easing the gun into his shoulder, preparing to squeeze the trigger.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir
. Just following orders.’

  Steel closed his eyes and braced himself.

  The shot rang out. Then – nothing. He opened his eyes and turned to the rear, expecting at any moment to feel the agony of a ball entering his brain. Instead, he saw Sergeant McKellar lying face down in a pool of his own blood. Standing over him was the welcome sight of Dan Cussiter, his gun smoking as he bit the top off another cartridge.

  Cussiter spat out the paper and spoke: ‘Lucky I came along, sir. Saw what he was trying to do, sir.’

  ‘Thank you, Dan. I am in your debt.’

  ‘Why was he going to kill you, sir? One of our own men.’

  ‘It’s a long story, Dan. Someone in the high command, someone very powerful indeed would like to have me killed it seems. Apparently I am an enemy of the state.’

  Cussiter laughed as he rammed home the bullet: ‘You’re the best officer we have.’

  Steel pushed at McKellar’s corpse with his foot. ‘Not according to his master.’

  There was a clatter of running feet and round the corner appeared Slaughter, Lejeune and the missing Grenadiers. The sergeant spoke: ‘Sir, we thought we’d lost you.’

  ‘You almost did, had it not been for Cussiter here and his keen eye. Any sign of Trouin?’

  ‘None. And there’s fewer of his men now too. The Walloons are surrendering in droves. Some of the French too.’

  ‘The Key Gate is around the next bend. It’s my betting Trouin will have left men to guard it. If we can take it quickly enough we’ve got a chance of getting across the bridge over the ditch and on to the Key. God knows what we’ll find there. Stick close to me. You too, Lejeune.’ The lieutenant nodded. ‘And, Jacob. I know you’re old, but keep up. Don’t lose me again. Right. Now.’

  Running as fast as he could manage, Steel led the party round the back of the great church and on to the wide street which ran just inside the walls of the town. Directly opposite them stood a tall bastion at the top of which men in red and white coats were in the throes of a life-and-death fight. He remembered the place from when he and Slaughter had first come ashore from the little rowing boat. Sure enough, as he looked along the wall to the left he saw a gate – the Key Gate – and as he had predicted two of Trouin’s men stood guard. He turned and to his relief saw that his party were all still with him. Then waving two fingers in the air to beckon them on, he darted from the shadow and across the boulevard into the darkness at the foot of the bastion. Within seconds the others too were safely across. Slowly, Steel edged round the curtain wall and looked towards the gate. Trouin’s guards were talking to each other now. Both held muskets which he knew would be loaded. Ducking back, Steel unslung his gun before moving forward again and dropping to one knee. He pulled back the hammer to full cock and whispered to the rear.