Badge of Glory (1982) by Reeman Douglas

Author:Reeman, Douglas [Reeman, Douglas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Navel/Fiction
Published: 2002-04-01T23:00:00+00:00

12

‘Up the Royals!’

Major Rupert Fynmore sat on an upturned ration box and nodded impatiently.

‘What shape is Sir Geoffrey’s niece in? Must have been a terrible ordeal for her.’

Blackwood wiped his face with a filthy handkerchief. After the return march through the bush and the constant threat of being attacked, even Fynmore’s brusque manner seemed like a relief.

As his small, weary party had scrambled down to this same river-bank he had left just three days earlier he had seen their step smarten, the air of defiance and something akin to pride as they had carried the crude litter to the boats.

Nothing had changed as far as he could see. A few marines were scattered among the rocks and others sat or lay in the shelter of the bank while they waited for orders.

Some more seamen had joined the landing party, and he saw Lieutenant Ashley-Chute moving among them as they loaded their weapons under the watchful eyes of their petty officers.

Blackwood said, ‘Miss Seymour was wonderful. I can’t imagine what she’s been through!’

Fynmore’s sharp eyes watched him curiously. ‘Raped, d’you suppose?’

Blackwood looked away, his thoughts laid bare by Fynmore’s brutal reality.

‘No. I think Lessard had given his men certain instructions.’

Fynmore’s mind had already moved on. It was no longer his responsibility.

‘And you believe the schooner Kingsmill was responsible. That, more to the point, she’s up there round the bend in the river?’

‘Yes, sir. I think she must have entered the river just ahead of us.’

He watched his words sink in, but he was thinking of the moment when Lessard’s long-boat had rounded the bend and confronted Netten’s launch bows on. King Zwide’s territory had been Lessard’s haven. Now it could be a trap, provided Fynmore acted without any more delay.

Blackwood asked, ‘Is there any word from the admiral?’

Again he felt Fynmore’s cool scrutiny. It made him feel unclean and dishevelled. In contrast, the neat, sandy-haired major could have just come from a parade-ground.

‘He ordered me to wait your return, until tomorrow anyway.’ He gave his lopsided smile. ‘I sent word to Audacious as soon as our pickets reported your approach. We’ll just have to be patient.’ He flinched as a crack echoed across the hillside and a bullet kicked into hard ground. He said irritably, ‘We’ve had a few casualities because of those bloody sharpshooters!’

Blackwood looked at the ridge where Quartermain’s platoon had charged among the enemy, where one marine had told his friend to leave him before he had died. Fynmore had kept his word and had withdrawn all his men from the high ground. A good marksman like Frazier could mark down an army from there.

But now it did not seem to matter. He tried to put it down to exhaustion, to the relief of getting his men safely back here. But in his mind he could see the girl being carried swiftly to one of the boats with Slade’s agent, Mr Patterson, watching over her like a guard dog.

She was probably already aboard the flagship and would remember little of their flight through the bush.

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