Trajan's large cutter approached the landing place to lead the others. It carried marines. Close in now, it did not appear to be under fire but seemed to hesitate at the last minute. It dipped and rolled in the energetic seas, then turned to pass along the shoreline to find a better landing place. In a flash, the boat was seized by the riotous waves and thrown over in a tangle of oars and red uniforms. Yells of fear and despair carried across the water.
Other boats came on. Some followed the example of the lighter pinnace, which stretched out manfully to ground noisily on the dead coral in a surfing rush. Its men scrambled out, but before half had made it, the boat slewed broadside to the waves and also overturned.
The more sea-wise cast an anchor when still off the landing place, and with bows firmly held seawards, veered rope until they were in the shallows. The disadvantage was that men dropped into feet of water and stumbled, soaked and bruised, long yards to the shore. Kydd had the sense to deploy his men in a chain to the tide-line, passing over their heads muskets and the small kegs of powder.
There was still no sign of opposition ashore. Military shouts sounded in the glades where the sailors were grouping.
'My crew, t' me!' Kydd called brusquely. He mustered them carefully. Two missing. Should he tell someone to find them? The man might get lost; best to count on what he had. Curious glances came from those waiting for him to show indecision or worse. Responsibility was hard. What was Renzi doing in his party? He frowned and turned to him. 'Why are you—' he began.
'I was bored.'
Kydd took a deep breath. This was no time to be enigmatic. 'Then ...'
'I am, for the nonce, a bona fide member of your excellent party,' Renzi said.
'An' ready t' take my orders?' Kydd retorted, then regretted his tone, but stubbornness kept him glowering.
'But, of course, my dear fellow.'
One of the missing men arrived, grinning foolishly and showing obvious signs of the bottle.
'Tom, L'tenant Calley wants y'r report,' said Luke, who had managed to get ashore as messenger. His wide eyes gazed trustfully at Kydd.
'Thanks, younker' Kydd said, and looked around for Calley.
‘Kydd, sir, mustered complete,' he reported. If Renzi was so eager to be in his party, he could make up the numbers.
'Very good, Kydd. Be ready to advance in one hour — you will take flank.' Calley looked distracted. Flank was some sort of tent or blanket for the officers, Kydd assumed. 'We will storm Gozier Fort,' said Calley quickly. "The one attacked by Wessex’ he added impatiently, seeing Kydd's expression. He turned to an anxious midshipman, effectively dismissing Kydd.
As far as Kydd could see, they would be assisting the marines in the assault, a useful mass of armed men coming in from behind. They would carry the familiar weapons of the boarding party, pistols and either a cutlass or a tomahawk with its blade and useful spike. It would be just like carrying an enemy vessel by boarding, no marching up and down like the army seemed to do. He brightened at the familiar focus.
Trajans ahoy!' Calley's voice blared. 'We go to meet the enemy - to the fore, advance!'
Three distinct lines of men began to move into the light, wooded land, the red coats of the marines visible ahead. The columns diverged and, wending their way through the undergrowth, the lead men disappeared from view.
Away from the sea breeze, the warmth turned to heat, sending up the smell of steamy vegetation. The path was well beaten now, and they plodded on steadily.
The man behind Kydd suddenly gave a cry and dropped his musket. It went off with a muffled report, suffusing the ground with gunsmoke. He danced about, waving his arms frantically. Kydd stood rooted in astonishment. Then he saw a large hairy black spider with glittering eyes clinging to the man's lower arm. Suddenly it scuttled over his body, the man fell to the ground and the spider leaped off then disappeared. Shame-faced and trembling, the man rose as Calley arrived in a lather of indignation.
The first sign of resistance appeared with a tiny white puff arising from the undergrowth ahead and the tap of a musket sounding faintly. Kydd's mouth dried. This might be the enemy returning after the sea bombardment, angry and resentful — in their thousands. He gripped his musket nervously and slogged on, knowing that the eyes of his party behind - including Renzi - were on him.
'First section will attempt an enfilade.' Kydd had not noticed Calley return. 'That's you, Kydd,' he snapped, taking off his cocked hat to wipe his streaming forehead. His cotton stockings were streaked now with soft green and his blue coat hung loose. 'Sir—' began Kydd.
'In an enfilade,' Calley snarled sarcastically, 'the object is to bring the enemy under fire from the flank.' So much for blankets, thought Kydd. 'We rake him, you ninny!'
Kydd burned. Why hadn't Calley used understandable sea terms from the first? To rake the enemy at sea was to slam a storm of shot end on down the unprotected length of the vessel instead of into her heavy sides, and was generally credited a battle-winner.
Calley glared, then collected himself. 'The fort lies yonder, a mile or so off,' he said, gesturing at the dense undergrowth to the north. 'You will move around to take him from the east. But mark my words! You are to take position only. Do not advance until you hear the redcoat's trumpet that we are also in place.' He breathed heavily. 'Else you will be destroyed.'
Kydd led the way. A sea-service cutlass was too heavy and cumbersome to do much about the thickening ground cover, and he swore — at first under his breath, later aloud. His musket, over his shoulder in its sling, slipped and banged him, and he could hear his men muttering.
Without warning, the trees and vegetation dropped away to nothing. Kydd fell to the ground, motioning the others to do the same. They had reached a track crossing their course. It was the ideal path for enemy coming down on them from the north, but there was nothing for it: he must obey orders and carry on eastwards.
He ran across the track, followed by his party. The other side was a dense wall of harsh greenery reaching skyward eight feet or more, so thickly sown that it was virtually impenetrable. It would be impossible to keep on their course. Kydd crouched and felt a rising tide of panic. He would do his duty or die in the attempt! But this? What if they were going in the wrong direction, were late, betrayed the brave souls making the frontal assault who believed they would be supported to the east by Kydd's section?
'Give over frettin', Tom!' Larcomb said kindly, coming up to squat next to him. Larcomb had his jacket off, knotted round his waist. 'What say we takes a spell here, mate?'
'No!' Kydd snarled.
Renzi loped up at the crouch. Kydd braced himself — he neither wanted to justify himself to his friend nor discuss the philosophy of the situation.
'Should you await me here, I do believe I can find an easterly path for us, my friend.' Renzi was looking northward with a keen gaze.
'Er, o' course,' Kydd said, caught off balance.
Renzi left his musket and cutlass and sprinted off. Almost immediately he disappeared into the thick vegetation. Kydd waited, debating with himself what to do if Renzi did not reappear — then his friend popped into view, beckoning furiously.
'Sugar-cane has to be harvested, was my logic!' Renzi chuckled, as they hurried down a narrow break in the cane-field to the east.
Logic, thought Kydd dully. It would have to be logic if it were Renzi, but his heart warmed to the way his friend had made it easy for him.
'D'ye think a mile has passed f'r us?' Kydd asked, as casually as he could, as they moved along the endless, unchanging track. The assault could come at any time . ..
'I would think so,' said Renzi.
Kydd felt annoyed again: it was easy for Renzi, he was not in charge. Not only did Kydd have to be in position to the east, but when the trumpet sounded he had to know which direction to push forward, or end up in the empty country while the real battle was being fought and won without him.