Inferno by Julian Stockwin

Author:Julian Stockwin
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McBooks Press
Published: 2016-12-13T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter 57

Vedbæk, ten miles north of Copenhagen

In the armed transport Rathlin, the news was received with a joy born of desperation. After weeks of idleness and being packed into every conceivable space in the old merchant ship, tempers were ragged. The 52nd Regiment of Foot was a fighting force with service all over the world. Recently re-formed as part of the Light Division they were eager to prove themselves anew in the field.

Ensign Francis Maynard performed the morning inspection of his section – but this time it was in deadly earnest. At dawn the next morning the battalion would be facing the enemy. He walked along slowly, the hard-faced Sergeant Heyer close behind. The expressions varied from boredom through blank-faced inscrutability to blithe resignation. Many were sundarkened by India service; others had the pale faces and thin bodies of recent recruits. They were not noble warriors – but they were his men. He knew all their names now, their habits and mannerisms, and had a fair notion of how far he could trust them as individuals. He was aware that he himself was being weighed up and, if found wanting, could lose their loyalty.

Maynard made a point of thoroughly checking muskets and accoutrements for this was the whole being of a light infantryman. The sergeants and corporals could be relied on to ensure their knapsacks and traps were up to scratch.

The company briefing earlier had set out the operation in detail. At dawn, under the guns of the fleet, boats of the first wave would head inshore with light infantry, who would establish a beachhead, repelling enemy counter-attacks while the line regiments poured ashore. Once there, the 52nd would move forward to extend the defended line to such a point that guns and horses could be landed.

Simple and straightforward. But if the Danes brought up even horse artillery to the fringing dunes there would be a bloodbath, with an onslaught of canister and round shot into the unprotected boats. Or ashore, as they were assembling, even a small force of cavalry could slash them to pieces.

That night Maynard slept badly. Not that he must doubt his own courage but that when the hour of trial came he would fail the regiment. His was a post of the greatest honour – and the highest danger. As ensign he would be the one to take the regimental colours ashore and plant them on enemy soil as a rallying point. He would be among the first to set foot on land, in the teeth of the worst that the enemy could bring against them.

Even before dawn the troops were assembling after a cold breakfast, detailed off in accordance with the embarkation plan. From now on it was the endurance of waiting.

As first light stole over the anchorage, a silent procession of big warships weighed and detached, the squadron about to close with Copenhagen to face any sudden emergence of the Danish fleet contesting the landing. Maynard watched in the dim light as the

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