Badge of Glory (1982)

by Reeman, Douglas

  ‘Cease firing!’

  Blackwood peered round for a bugler but saw him lying face down, blood pouring from his neck.

  ‘Sergeant!’ He waited until the man reached him. He did not know his name. ‘Send your skirmishers along the other side. No risks. See if you can find where they’ve gone.’ He was shouting, and yet with all firing stopped by both sides it was as quiet as a grave.

  The sergeant blinked the sweat from his eyes. ‘Sah!’ Then he was off again, calling names, whipping up their energy like hounds who had lost the scent.

  Blackwood dropped on one kneee and dragged his telescope from his belt. Beyond the ridge there was another, and then another. Where were those guns?

  He turned and looked towards the river as it swung away towards the sea and wondered if they had heard the shooting aboard Audacious.

  A runner dropped panting beside him, his eyes fixed on the dead bugler.

  ‘Sir! Major Fynmore’s compliments and will you rejoin him?’

  Blackwood touched the runner’s arm. He was young but would learn quickly if he survived this.

  ‘Steady down, my lad.’ He made himself smile. ‘Tell the major I’ll be with him as soon as I have deployed the men here.’

  He beckoned to Lieutenant Quartermain and together they watched the runner scamper down the slope, zigzagging amongst the dead and wounded as if he was afraid of them.

  Quartermain was still grinning with disbelief. ‘There were hundreds’ of ’em, sir! Thirty of us, and they ran!’

  Blackwood listened to the cries of the skirmishers as they called to each other among the scrub. He hoped the sergeant would remember to collect the new rifles if any had been left behind.

  ‘They’ll be back.’

  What was the matter with Fynmore? Why didn’t he come up here and show some encouragement to his men? It was not fear in his case. Fynmore had walked through the whole affair from the firing of the first cannon without any change of demeanour at all.

  Quartermain took his silence for interest and added, ‘I’ve had a look at some of the men we shot. Every race under the sun, I’d say, but mostly Spaniards and Portuguese by the cut of them. Bunch of bloody pirates.’

  Blackwood stood up and tensed as if expecting a shot. ‘Take over here.’ He saw Smithett waiting for him, his face as mournful as ever. ‘You did well.’

  Quartermain beamed. ‘Thank you, sir.’

  Blackwood walked swiftly down from the ridge, his mind grappling with what they should do. Without support from Norseman they could achieve very little.

  He saw a marine on his knees beside another who had fallen earlier in the fierce exchange of shots. He was trying to shield his friend’s face from the sun with his body, and turned as Blackwood approached, his voice desperate.

  ‘It’s me mate, sir! Can’t leave ’im like this!’

  Smithett hurried forward and stooped beside them, his water flask held to the wounded man’s lips. As Blackwood’s shadow joined with the other marine’s Smithett glanced up and gave a brief shake of his head.

  Blackwood looked at the wounded man. His face was like parchment and there were flecks of blood on his lips. He was dying while he watched him, shot once, possibly twice in the stomach. It was amazing he had lasted this long.

  His friend said, ‘He’ll be all right if we can get ’im back aboard ship, sir!’

  Blackwood watched the dying man. ‘Did you hear that?’

  He seemed to realize for the first time Blackwood was there and whispered hoarsely, ‘It ain’t true, sir. Them bastards ’ave done for me.’ He reached out to hold his friend’s arm to console him but he had no more strength and his hand fell in the coarse grass as if its life had already gone.

  ‘You go with the officer, Tim. I’ll be all right ’ere. You see.’

  Smithett said roughly, ‘Do as ’e says. I’ll stay with ’im.’

  Blackwood walked away, his mind holding the picture of the dying man and his friend like an engraving. Behind him he could hear the other marine’s dragging steps as he repeatedly stopped to look back up the ridge where Smithett crouched like some ancient warrior. He would not have to wait long.

  Fynmore greeted him testily. ‘Took your time.’

  Blackwood ran his fingers through his dishevelled hair. It was filled with sand.

  ‘We’ve taken the ridge, sir. There’s less chance of being outflanked now.’

  ‘Outflanked? Oh yes, I see.’ Fynmore’s lips twitched in a smile. ‘A touch of steel. That did the trick. Knew it would. Damned barbarians!’

  Sergeant Quintin crunched over the loose stones. ‘Casualties, sir. Ten killed, includin’ Commander Netten and Mr Ward. Twelve wounded.’

  Blackwood saw Smithett coming from the slope, his shadow lengthening as he approached.

  ‘Make that eleven killed, Sergeant.’ He turned to the major. ‘Will you move the third platoon to the ridge, sir?’

  Fynmore rubbed his chin busily. ‘I think not. We’re better off here. I’ve already sent one of the boats back to Audacious with the first group of wounded, and my report to the admiral. It’ll be an hour or two before we get fresh instructions. I suspect that Sir James will order us to return on board.’ When Blackwood said nothing he snapped, ‘Well?’

  ‘I think we should hold the high ground, at least until the gunboat arrives.’

  Patterson had materialized from out of the rocks. ‘And there’s the matter of the mission, Major.’ His eyes were calm but his tone was like a knife.

  Slade chose his aides with great care, Blackwood thought. He could almost feel sorry for Fynmore as Patterson dropped this extra complication into his lap.

  Patterson looked at Blackwood. ‘You’d better get started. If you’re not there by dawn, my guess is that you’ll be too late. If we’re not already.’

  Fynmore exclaimed, ‘I’ll trouble you to stop giving orders to my officers.’

  Patterson was unrepentant. ‘Only Captain Blackwood knows what Sir Geoffrey’s niece looks like, Major. Apart from Mr Blackwood junior that is. Dead or alive, Sir Geoffrey will insist on knowing and expect an answer.’ He let his words sink in. ‘Or I could go, of course.’

  Fynmore looked trapped. ‘No. I shall need you here, in case Lessard sues for peace.’

  The idea of offending Slade had changed everything.

  Patterson said, ‘Well, Captain Blackwood, I wish you luck. At least by your going inland there’s no possibility of a complete retreat.’

  Blackwood glanced at Fynmore but he had moved away and had not heard the bitterness in Patterson’s voice.

  He saw Harry waiting to speak. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’ve just been speaking with the Princess Nandi, sir.’ He flushed under their combined stares. ‘She will agree to guide us to the mission by a quicker route.’

  Patterson pouted. ‘Makes sense. She would know all the tracks around here. She could also be used as a hostage if need arose.’

  Blackwood thought of it warily. The black princess might betray them as soon as they were away from the river, although she had certainly shown some dismay when her father had failed to meet her under the flag of truce. It was only this morning. The two lines of boats, Netten’s hideous injuries, Midshipman Ward and the marine who had died on the hillside, unwilling to embarrass his friend with his final suffering.

  Fynmore returned, his back erect and showing no sign of fatigue.

  ‘That’s settled then. Take eight men and Second Lieutenant Blackwood and leave as soon as you can.’

  They watched one another like adversaries. Blackwood had already selected the men he would take, as if this had been decreed for a long while. Perhaps this was how it would end?

  Fynmore added, ‘As soon as you’ve gone I shall withdraw the men from the ridge.’ It sounded like some sort of triumph.

  ‘I think you’re wrong, sir.’

  Fynmore gave his twisted smile. ‘Your privilege.’ He turned on his heel, already searching for his runner. ‘And I’ll s
ee that you eat your words, believe me!’

  Patterson smiled wryly. ‘He’s a strange one, but I’ll not deny his courage.’ He knew Blackwood wanted to go and thrust out his hand. ‘Good luck. And watch the black princess night and day.’

  Later, as Blackwood and his small party moved away from the river and the long ridge where men had died, he heard the mournful call of the bugle once more.

  He thought of Quartermain and wondered how he would accept retreat after overcoming his fear to lead his men to victory.

  He saw two marines moving away ahead, scouting for any kind of danger as the bush and scrub thickened around them. Eight good men and true.

  Blackwood turned and saw Harry following up in the rear, the black princess moving with easy grace just ahead of him. Had she really suggested she should lead them, or had Harry dreamed up the idea as some extra excitement?

  By afternoon the river, and even the smell of the sea, had left them to their own devices.

  11

  A Bargain Kept

  Blackwood tensed and was instantly awake as he felt a gentle pressure on his shoulder. Thoughts crowded through his mind as the realization of where he was drove away all ideas of sleep.

  Smithett whispered, ‘All still quiet, sir.’

  Blackwood sat up slowly and gingerly, his body aching from the forced march through the bush, his face and skin pricking from countless insect bites and stings.

  He felt Smithett put a cup in his hand and heard him pouring water from a flask.

  Smithert said, ‘I can give yer somethin’ stronger if you want, sir.’

  Blackwood sipped the water, it was lukewarm. ‘Save it for later.’

  He thrust his hand through his open shirt and rubbed his skin to drive away the itches. How quiet it was. Not like the first part of their uncomfortable march or when dusk had fallen and the air had been rent apart by strange animal shrieks and barks, like an insane asylum.

  Only the princess had made light of it. She had never faltered or complained, and her feet had found a path when others had stumbled or cursed their way through clinging thorns and creeper.

  Around him patches of deeper shadow showed where his men were sleeping, their weapons in easy reach. Sergeant Quintin would be out there in the darkness, making sure their sentries stayed awake.

  He thought of the princess, the way she had looked at Quintin, goading him.

  Blackwood smiled in the darkness. As she did me. But there had been no sign that she had betrayed them . . . yet. He had seen several places where an ambush could have been easily sited.

  The mission was not far away now. Two miles at the most. It would have been folly to continue in the dark, and the men needed to rest. It was hardly what they had enlisted for, to fight slavers who were obviously better armed and prepared than they were themselves.

  He looked at the sky, held like a small blue lake in a circle of trees. It was already lighter and the few stars had lost their brilliance. The realization stirred him and made him uneasy.

  With an effort he got to his feet and crossed the clearing where they had made camp and eaten their meagre rations. Once again the black princess had shown her strength, had refused to share their food and had sat apart from them, missing nothing.

  He would give his final instructions to Harry. If something was about to go wrong it would be soon.

  Blackwood stopped dead as he saw his half-brother’s shape, pale in the darkness. For a moment he could not speak or breathe. Harry was sprawled across a blanket, one arm out flung, his face pressed into the ground. Of the girl there was no sign.

  Blackwood threw himself down and grasped Harry’s arm. He had been guarding her. Sharing the duty with Corporal Jones. She must have had a knife or some other weapon concealed in her robe and . . .

  Harry rolled on to his back and peered at him. ‘What is it?’

  Blackwood stood up violently. ‘You bloody young fool, she’s got away!’

  Harry scrambled to his feet and they faced each other like strangers.

  ‘She gave her word –’

  Blackwood exclaimed angrily, ‘Is that all she gave you?’

  ‘You thought she’d murdered me, that’s right, isn’t it?’

  ‘What the hell does it matter what I think! She’s gone, and is probably getting her father’s warriors on their way here right now!’

  ‘Look, sir.’ Harry’s sudden formality made it even more unreal. ‘It wasn’t like that. She said that if her people saw her as our captive they would kill us, we’d have no chance. But once freed she promised to help us.’

  Blackwood saw Jones groping through the scrub and beckoned to him. ‘Rouse the men.’ To Harry he added fiercely, ‘If we get out of this alive I’ll see you courtmartialled, damn you, family or not!’

  Sergeant Quintin stood aside as Blackwood pushed past him. ‘Trouble, sir?’

  Harry tried to smile but nothing happened. ‘I seem to have put my foot in it, Sergeant.’

  Quintin was glad the second lieutenant could not see his face. It wasn’t only his foot he had put in it. Quintin had paused in his patrol around the clearing and had heard them, had seen Mr Blackwood’s buttocks framed by the girl’s black thighs. Going at it like a fiddler’s elbow, he was. Lucky young bugger.

  He said as calmly as he could, ‘I s’pect it’ll be all right, sir. I probably know ’im better than you do, in a manner o’ speakin’.’

  Harry said quietly, ‘You’re fond of him, aren’t you?’

  ‘Fond, sir? That’s too strong a word fer the likes o’ me. But as an officer ’e’s the best I’ve served with. That’ll do.’ He could not restrain a grin. ‘But then, sir, I’m not family!’

  A few moments later Blackwood gathered the others around him. Sergeant Quintin and Corporal Jones, while his half-brother tried to stay invisible between them. In the clearing the marines were buckling on their belts and pouches, taking a last look at their weapons. Nobody said a word about the black princess. Blackwood was beginning to suspect he had been the only one not to know what was happening.

  He said, ‘Well leave now. According to Mr Patterson’s map and instructions the mission is about two miles distant. A short climb and then downhill all the way to another river.’ He glanced at the sky again. But for the princess’s unerring sense of direction he doubted if they would even have got halfway, let alone by dawn as Patterson had suggested. ‘If the worst has happened we’ll make our way back to where we landed.’ He glanced at each one in turn. ‘Tell the men that.’ He had known it happen in the past. Marines were half-sailors at heart, and if the mission had been destroyed and the occupants butchered they would very likely continue down to the next river. To seamen and marines alike, water was not an enemy or a barrier, but a way out. Not this time, he thought grimly. ‘Questions?’

  Quintin said, ‘Them slavers wot fired on the boats will be too busy to come this way, won’t they, sir?’

  Blackwood had already considered it. Lessard and others who used the local tribal chiefs like a private army must have some method of maintaining contact along hundreds of miles of coastline. They had seemed to know what Ashley-Chute had in mind before he did.

  ‘We can’t take that for granted. We are passing through King Zwide’s territory. He may have other ideas about our progress.’ He saw them glance at Harry and added shortly, ‘But what’s done is done. We’ll have to take the chance. Once we reach the river,’ He looked at Harry, ‘you’ll go with Corporal Jones and Private Frazier to a point above the mission while the rest of us move in to investigate.’

  Harry remarked as lightly as he could, ‘Rather like being an umpire, sir!’

  Blackwood eyed him calmly. ‘You’ll be the bloody burial party if you don’t watch out!’

  He turned away, angry with himself and with Harry’s inability to take things seriously.

  ‘Corporal Jones, lead off. If you see or hear anything, I want to know instantly.’

  He could feel his heart beating faster
. And they had not even started yet. He wished suddenly he had accepted Smithett’s offer of something stronger than water.

  As the marines waded into the clinging grass and bush Harry said quietly, ‘Take my shako, sir.’ He held it out to him and added simply, ‘It might give them a bit of confidence at the mission.’

  Blackwood bit back an angry retort and jammed the shako on his head.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Then he swung on his heel and followed the others into the remaining shadows.

  Harry Blackwood paused only to look at the small, flattened patch of grass where the blanket had been. His legs still felt like jelly, and he could feel the scent of her body like something physical.

  He saw the Rocke twins trudge past, muskets at the ready as they watched the scrub on either side. He was getting to know all of them, their ways and their attitudes. He thought of the sergeant’s comment. Too strong a word. Perhaps it was trust which Philip offered them and in return they gave him an instant loyalty.

  He sighed and fell in behind the twins, his pistol drawn and resting in the crook of his arm.

  His mother and father would be proud of him, but in his heart he knew that the one man he needed to share it with was up there in the lead, wearing his shako.

  Harry smiled, the mood past. After today nothing might matter any more.

  The last part of the journey took longer than expected, and by the time Blackwood was satisfied they were close enough, the sky seemed too bright for any hope of surprise. With Sergeant Quintin breathing heavily behind him, he crawled through the treacherous gorse and dried grass to make sure each of his men was in position.

  ‘What d’you think, Sergeant?’

  Quintin had already discarded his shako and leaned on his elbows as he scanned the river below their hiding-place. In the weak daylight it looked dirty yellow, the sluggish current moving idly through long reeds and around sand-bars as it continued towards the sea. In the protective arm of a bend stood the mission. A collection of crude huts and one central building which was larger but no less spartan than the others.