Swinburne had his boat hauled astern the admiral's barge and came aboard, and Carstair, crossing Swinburne's craft, also came aboard.
They sat down and watched the Lieutenant play, occasionally indicating something they thought he might miss in building on his aces.
"Lieutenant," said Swinburne at last, "we have every confidence in you.
Your feats of getting these boats and the supplies for them, your additions to our artillery all speak for themselves. But we believe that if we are to land we should do it on the opposite bank, where there is no force?'
"Every confidence?" smiled the Lieutenant. "Captain Swinburne, I may miss a trick or two in solitaire, but I never miss a trick in battle. I at least hope I don't. Let them collect their forces and alarm the countryside. This is one of those rare moments when we can relax. Our men have food and are happy. We have good, dry beds. We have just finished a most harrowing sea voyage in cockleshells. Let us rest."
"But to fight such a tremendous force as will collect¯" began Carstair.
"We are good soldiers," said the Lieutenant. "I haven't heard you howl about odds yet, Carstair, Swinburne and Carstair were uncomfortable. They took their leave and returned to their boats.
About two thirty, Mawkey set up a clamor, pointing excitedly upstream. The Lieutenant came up and peered through the thickness. Presently he could make out the hulls of boats drifting down. upon them.
"Gian!" cried the Lieutenant through cupped hands. "Mortars on those vessels and don't miss!"
Gian's men were already standing to their guns on the various gunboats.
Gian barked the range and elevation and fuse set. Artillerymen dropped their bombs into the muzzles of the mortars.
The drifting vessels were almost upon them. A furious fire lashed out from both sides and the fog was ripped by machine-gun slugs and grenades.
The mortar fire was deadly, bursting three or four feet off the packed decks of the attacking vessels and clearing the crews away from the small-bore rapid-fires before a brigade boat was even hulled.
Crouched behind their barricades, brigade grenadiers looped accurate incendiary grenades into the drifting craft when they were scarcely more than visible. Flame geysered among the ranks of the attackers. The fog was blasted again and again by the mortars. Shrapnel and solid shot finished their task. Less than twenty shore troops boarded and these were immediately killed. Against such experienced veterans they indeed had but little chance.
Men struggled in the water, carried past the flotilla by the tide and so out to sea.
The battle had lasted four minutes by the barge chronometer. The only survivors of the attacking party were the eight who were hauled up for questioning and those few who had managed to swim ashore. Brigade casualties amounted to three killed and seven wounded.
The Lieutenant took a prisoner below for questioning, and the man's nerves were so badly unstrung that he answered readily, if disconnectedly.
"What kind of government, if any, do you have?" said the Lieutenant.
"The B.C.R!" replied the soldier.
"How long have these Communists been in power?"
"A year, two years, three years. You'll kill me when this is done?"
"Not if you answer properly. Who is the leader?"
"Comrade Hogarthy. But there are many other leaders. They quarrel. But Comrade Hogarthy has the greatest power. Almost all the country is in his control¯or the army, I mean."
"How many men in your army?"
"Six thousand."
"And your headquarters?"
"The Tower of Freedom."
"What's that?"
"It was the Tower of London. Most of it is still standing."
"How much artillery do you have?"
"I ... I don't know. Some in the Tower of Freedom, I think. Some three-inch. Hogarthy took what big guns were left and had them destroyed, except for those he kept. There isn't much ammunition."
"Can you swim?"
"Sir? I mean, yes."
"Then swim ashore with the message that if Hogarthy will surrender unconditionally to me I won't attack his army there on shore. Repeat that."
The soldier repeated it.
"Now swim," said the Lieutenant.
The soldier, not believing he was still alive, hauled off his crude shoes and ill-fitting jacket with its red tabs and dived over the side to presently vanish in the fog.
"Yessir." "That calls for a drink." "Yessir." And the Lieutenant, smiling happily, leaned back upon the admiral's cushions and shuffled his cards.
Chapter VII
Shortly before dawn, Weasel and Bulger pulled their dripping selves over the gunwale of the admiral's barge and sent word of their arrival to the Lieutenant. He was seated in the stern cockpit with a map of the Thames spread out upon his knees, checking over river obstructions with an English fisherman.
The Lieutenant looked up and raised the candle a trifle. He sent the fisherman away and scanned the pair amusedly, "I never thought," he said, "that I would live to see the day when Bulger bathed, but now I can die content."
Bulger, with brown river water forming a pool about his feet as it cascaded over his protruding stomach and dropped, grinned happily to be noticed so.
He hefted a bag made out of a rubber poncho.
"We thought maybe the Lieutenant would want to know what the shore over there looked like," said Weasel, "but this pelican wouldn't be content unless he brought back half their rations."
"I wondered whether you could stand the temptation," said the Lieutenant. "I sent Hanley ashore about two hours ago to reconnoiter, but he hasn't returned."
"Then we'll be first with the news.." said Weasel. "Sir, they got about four thousand men over there now and they've brought up six small field pieces, maybe six-pounders, and they've made a barricade out of one of them destroyers when the tide was low last night. They're gettin' ready for a party and we're the guests of honor."
"Any estimate of their ammunition?"
"Sure," said Bulger. "There ain't any limit."
"What?"
"It's this way," said Weasel. "Y'see, they evidently run out of shells and so they got the breeches of these guns sealed. They load them from the muzzle with a rammer, usin' plenty of black powder and some fuzzy lookin' stuff for wadding. Then they put chunks of this and that in the guns and they got artillery. I figure maybe they got bigger stuff up the river that they use the same way. Remember them guns that used to be park ornaments?
Them that didn't have no breech you could open? Well, I figure maybe they're usin' those the same way. Damnedest way to use a gun I ever heard of 'Muzzle-loaders' " said the Lieutenant thoughtfully. "Weasel, I'm afraid we've got some work cut out here. Look." He took a pencil and drew a picture of an old demi-cannon, remembered from military history. "This is the touchhole. They put a length of fuse in it and light it and it goes through and touches off the powder. Then they stop the vent when the gun goes off. They've probably bored holes in their modern artillery so that they can touch it off in this fashion."
"But why do they do that?" complained Bulger.
"Because the rifling in those guns must be worn out and because it takes lots of machinery to make shells. And they're using black powder because any cadet could make it out of the materials at hand. This is very serious.
Those things could blow us out of the water."
"They must have had an awful time getting that stuff across the marshes there," said Weasel. "The dike is gone in lots of places and it's just like a sea in there."
"Well, look," said the Lieutenant. "The way you put a cannon like this out of commission is to drive a spike into the touchhole!'
"Yeah?" said Weasel, excitedly. "Hell, sit, we can do that before it gets light. Come on, Bulger¯"
"Slowly," said the Lieutenant. "We aren't going to do anything like that for yet a while. Let them have their guns. What kind of troops are there ashore?"
"Pretty awful," said Bulger. "But at eight to one they
can afford to be.
They evidently hauled every farmer around here down and put a rifle in his hands."
"Then these aren't Hogarthy's regulars from London?" said the Lieutenant.
"They don't look like any regulars I ever saw," said Weasel.
"Well¯we'll just have to wait," said the Lieutenant.
"Huh?" said Bulger. "You mean you're too proud to fight this rabble? Why, we could knock them kicking if we make a night attack. But if we wait for them regulars, if they exist¯"
"Thank you, Bulger, "Aw, I didn't mean nothin', sir. You know your business and if you say fly to the moon, we'll fly to the moon, sir. You know that."
"The greater the force," said the Lieutenant, "the greater the odds, the greater the victory." He smiled at them. "Now get back to your boats."
Bulger opened the pack and laid some buns on the Lieutenant's table, along with some slices of ham. Hurriedly, then, they got out.
The Lieutenant stepped to the deck and watched them over. It was plain to him that the tide was flooding, the way they struggled to breast it. He eyed his fleet, but all he could see were the vessels of Swinburne and Carstair, the first rather plainly, the second very dim. What fog this autumn brought!
"Pollard," he said.
Pollard came tumbling up from the forward cockpit. "Sir?"
"Pass the order that the flotilla is to move two miles up the river and anchor there. No noise. just drift with the tide and steer with sweeps."
Hanley came up over the barricade along the gunwale like some monster out of the deep. He was very excited. "Sir, they've got¯"
"Guns," said the Lieutenant. "Six of them. Give me your report later, but right now slip below and get dry."
Hanley blinked and then glanced distrustfully ashore. But nothing could be seen but fog. Mystified, he slid into the forward cockpit.
Quietly the flotilla got under way, carried by the flooding tide. As quietly they anchored two miles upstream. And when the morning dear period came and the shore gunners were about to blow a fleet to splinters, the fleet was no longer them. Officers, fumed and raved until a runner came sprinting up with the information that the flotilla was anchored again two miles upriver. Instantly order was regained. Men unblocked the field pieces and loaded baggage on their backs and slogged west. They met no opposition from the fleet and they supposed it to be low on ammunition. That it had stopped was almost certain proof that it had chosen another place for the battle.
The camp had been only partly moved when another maneuver occurred to worry them. Four vessels detached themselves from the fleet and sailed away, evidently headed across the river. The fog had, dosed before the field pieces could be brought into action. But they had been set up and now, without warning, shells began to thunder out from the flotilla and tear into the batteries, even though the latter were wholly invisible.
Gian stayed behind while the fleet poled itself two more miles upstream, and then Gian, tired of firing at targets he could only hope he was hitting, also had his gunboats moved, bringing up the rear against the set of the water.
About one the sound of firing was heard far across the stream. Instantly the camp was again in turmoil. Word was swiftly sent to head off any troops which might be on their way down and redirect them over the river to cover the opposite bank.
But, about two, the firing ceased. The four vessels which had been detached for water came back to report a successful landing which had been wholly unresisted, but that their scouts, about three thirty, had heard boats crossing upstream and had supposed that troops were being landed on the other bank. The Lieutenant ordered the water to be distributed, a fifty-gallon drum to each three vessels, and sat down to calmly enjoy a cup of tea.
Not until the following predawn did he have another report on the shore troops. Weasel, strictly ordered not to touch the shore artillery if any of it had survived Gian's bombardment, brought the news that another complete army had arrived, bringing with it even more field pieces. There were now, he said, about eight thousand men swarming on both banks.
The Lieutenant gave his orders. There was a little wind, nominally from the northeast but turned east by the river channel. It was just enough to carry the fog of the marshes continually up to London. The flotilla made no effort, today, to be quiet. Booms creaked and canvas slatted and sweeps groaned. In the foggy dark, they offered no targets, though the shore troops began to light up the world before the sun with a wild fanfare of shooting. They had gotten their batteries moved again and now the air shrieked as slugs and rocks and pieces of pipe sought blindly for a mark.
A mosquito boat was hit and sunk without casualty beyond its ammunition and food, for the crew grabbed hard to the next boat in line. A sailor lucklessly stopped a chunk of boiler plate which cut him half in two.
The fire was not returned. Already the flotilla was drawing away into the channel and driving west toward Woolwich at an average speed of four knots over the ground.
Leadsmen chanted loudly. Soldiers talked from boat to boat. And occasionally the Lieutenant passed the word to various craft to fire a few shots in the direction of either bank. It was a very noisy passage.
When the clear period came they found they had overshot Woolwich. Not that there was much of value there, for the arsenal, in blowing up long ago, had taken half the town with it. Shooters Hill was far behind. But there was evidence of a battery on the docks with new works, and the Lieutenant had Gian throw a few mortars back at it for luck.
The wind strengthened, which was fortunate, for the tide was nearly at flood, and the fleet jibed around the great horseshoe bend, passing hard by the Isle of Dogs. Navigation was difficult here, for the Greenwich Hospital had been blown down so thoroughly that great chunks of masonry had aided in the building of shallow bars.
Two shore batteries, constructed amid the ruins of the West India Docks to one side and the Surrey Commercial Docks on the other. But, having seen them from afar, Gian silenced them before the flotilla was in range of the shore guns, and all that was received in passing came from rifles.
From here to Greenwich the going was swift despite the turned tide, for the wind was on the quarter and the flotilla sped along at six knots over the water.
The fog had dropped heavily again when they turned at Greenwich to go in a northerly direction toward London. The wind had, also dropped and the haul up was slow so that it was very late when they at last dropped anchor in the Limehouse Pool.
They did not announce their anchorage with any sound whatever, but quietly went about supper, wondering what the Lieutenant would do next. It was, however, rather plain that he meant to make an attack upon the Tower either tonight or at dawn.
At nine that night, the Lieutenant detached the First Regiment's Second Company under Swinburnes direction and sent them in five vessels to land in the Causeway. They had orders to construct a barricade in a likely place, to march west and make contact with the Tower and then retreat full speed to the barricade where Carstone would cover their embarking, after which they, in the boats, were to cover Carstones departure.
The Lieutenant sat in the after cockpit and played solitaire. From time to time he lifted his head and listened, but as yet no firing had begun.
He knew that Limehouse was a mass of rubble, having burned eighteen years ago, nine years ago and seven years ago, after each rebuilding. After the third time, it had been abandoned. The going would not be good and he did not expect the regiment back before one or two in the morning. He dozed through his games and waited.
Sharp firing suddenly broke out upriver. Knowing that it would be wholly impossible to see anything in this fog and dark, the Lieutenant dealt himself another hand. The firing slackened, picked up and then settled down to an even exchange. A boat grated against the admiral's boat. Mawkey thrust his head into the cockpit. "Weasel is here to see you, sir."
"Bring him down."
Weasel was very well spent. Up on deck two or three of his soldiers could be heard examining
their blisters in low tones.
"Where have you been?"
"You know what you said, sir, about them cannon?"
"Yes."
"Well, you told me I could scout the shore if I wanted."
"Yes?"
"I hope you won't get sore, sir, but I come on a battery of them things and we spiked them."
"Where?"
"Just about at the place where Big Ben used to be, sir."
"You've been all the way up there?"
"Yessir, and it was an awful hard row."
"What's London look like?"
"It's all inside the Old Roman Wall, sir, just like I seen it last. They built it up quite a bit in there. Must be thirty or forty thousand people in the place, mostly living on top of the ground now."
"Carry on, Weasel."
The Lieutenant started to deal another hand when Hanley was ushered down.
His hands were also raw from pulling at sweeps, for he had been dropped off with another soldier and a fisherman at Greenwich and the row had been long.
"I come to report, sir."
"Anything downriver now?"
"They must have sent a bunch of boats and soldiers down to catch us because I passed them downriver about three hours ago. Missed us in the dark, I guess. I had an awful time finding you, even with those orders you gave the fisherman."
"What else?"
"About five hundred men were heading east through Greenwich. I made contact with them. It was easy to do because they've been scraped up and hardly knew each other. I also seen that main body's vanguard. They were all splattered with mud and lather and about wore out, but they was heading up to London and I guess the main body is right behind them, following the river. They'll be up here by tomorrow morning, guns and all."
"Very good, Hanley. Carry on."
The Lieutenant thoughtfully shuffled his deck. Time was dragging and he leaned back to catch forty winks, knowing he would awaken as soon as the tone of the firing changed.
He did. Carstones machine guns started up about twelve thirty and continued for fifteen minutes in short, careful bursts. Then, one by one, the guns stopped, the shooting taken up by rifles. After a little the rifles faded out and the night was quiet.
Final Blackout: A Futuristic War Novel Page 11
