The Wings of the Wind by Shaun Lewis

Author:Shaun Lewis [Lewis, Shaun]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2020-02-06T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

Paul continued to trudge westwards along the canal bank. It started to rain, only softly, but it would be enough to soak him to the skin before long, he thought. It caused him to consider once more the option of swimming across the canal. Both the bridges he had now passed to cross to the south had been destroyed. It had to be the work of those idiot hussars, he thought. But why didn’t his men stop the idiocy and why was the armoured car in the canal? Where were his men, too?

He transferred General Paris’s despatch to his leather ammunition pouch in an effort to keep it dry. The streets were deserted and lit only by the glow of the great fires that were forming in the city behind him. The next bridge he approached was also in ruins, but as this crossed a narrow inlet from the main canal, he had to turn north to find the next crossing. He froze. Ahead he saw a movement in the shadows. Carefully and slowly, Paul edged to his right to gain the cover of the buildings. By the light of the next artillery burst he saw something to relax him. ‘You damned fool, Paul,’ he muttered. ‘It’s only a stray horse.’

Paul approached the horse cautiously in order not to panic it. As he drew closer, he could see that it was tethered. Whilst he was no horseman, he could tell that it was a fine specimen and by its saddle, an army mount. He was just wondering where its owner might be when a voice called out, ‘Qui vive?’

Paul’s heart stopped for a second, but at least it was French and not German. He replied quickly in French. ‘I’m English. Where are you?’ Once Paul’s eyes adjusted to the shadows, he saw a slight movement from the corner of two buildings.

‘Come here, but keep your hands high.’ Paul noted a blue-uniformed Belgian army officer slouched on the ground and pointing a rifle at him.

‘Take care with that, sir. I’m a British officer with General Paris’s forces.’ The Belgian lowered his carbine and Paul saw the sign of relief on the cavalryman’s pale face. He also saw the pool of blood in which he lay and the stump of his left leg.

‘My word, you’re wounded!’ Paul rushed forward and looked frantically for some form of dressing to stem the bleeding. In the absence of anything suitable, he undid the strap of his water canteen and tied it above the stump to form a tourniquet. The Belgian groaned with pain.

‘How did this happen?’

‘Some of your countrymen were destroying the bridges across the canal. I tried to stop them, but I speak no English. I had just dismounted when the explosion took place and a piece of debris sliced off my leg. I’m afraid your colleagues were quite determined on the destruction.’

‘Were they by any chance mounted soldiers?’

‘They were. British cavalry, but I did not recognise the unit. Are you with them?’

‘No. I’m with the Royal Navy.

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