Run Them Ashore Read Online Free Page A

him.
    ‘Mr Pringle’s idea, sir,’ Milne explained. ‘They didn’t have enough mules to carry all the guns.’
    Good old Billy, Williams thought, and now understood the second volley from Dobson’s men.
    ‘Any minute now,’ he said, watching the road. If the French dismounted and skirmished along the slope then he would be in trouble, and he was glad that these were hussars rather than dragoons, who carried longer muskets and were trained to fight on foot.
    Loud and rapid hoofbeats echoed up the roadway as a score of cavalrymen charged in a dense knot along the road, led by an officer on a pale horse a good two or three hands taller than those of his men. Williams smiled. You could always rely on hussars – especially French hussars – to be bold.
    ‘Wait for the order,’ he said, trying to keep his tone matter offact. Milne said nothing, but dropped down on one knee and brought his own musket up to his shoulder.
    The hussars pounded along the road, fifty, now thirty yards away.
    ‘Aim low, lads.’ The corporal’s voice was steady. ‘We’re not at sea now.’
    The French were close, and Williams blinked for a moment and licked his lips, for they felt as dry as sandpaper.
    ‘Fire!’ he yelled, and the seven muskets banged, smoke instantly blotting the French from sight. Williams ran to the side so that he could see what was happening. Two horses were down, their riders tumbled, and another hussar was clutching at his stomach. The officer was unscathed and pointing towards the marines.
    ‘Change muskets!’ Milne gave the order that Williams had forgotten, but the men were already lifting their second firelock.
    The hussar officer spurred his horse off the road, and here the slope was gentle and the ground firm. Half a dozen cavalrymen followed him, while the others were still disentangling themselves from the chaos on the road.
    ‘Fire!’ Williams shouted, and the muskets flamed again. ‘Down the hill!’ he screamed at the marines, for the French were so close that any survivors would be on them in seconds. ‘Run! Run!’ Milne was bellowing at them, pushing at any who were slow. A musket in each hand, the marines set off down the valley side, the corporal following. Williams saw the French officer still coming through the smoke, but the chest of the pale horse was dark so he guessed that it was wounded. Not quite sure why, he raised his own sword to salute the hussar, then flicked the blade down and slid it back into his scabbard. Other hussars were coming on, and one was levelling a stubby pistol. Williams turned and ran. He heard a bang and almost immediately there was a hot stinging along his right thigh.
    It was easier to go down than up, and Williams slipped and fell as much as he ran down the slope. More shots came from the top of the ridge, but none came close. His thigh felt wet, buthis leg still worked and he hoped it was just a nasty scratch. If the French were shooting then that was good, because carbines were notoriously inaccurate and at night the danger from them was small. What he feared more was the French charging down along the main track to the bottom of the valley, for they might easily reach the beach before his men.
    He passed a musket dropped by one of the marines, but could not blame the man because it must be difficult to carry two of the heavy weapons down the side of a dune. He scooped it up and went on. The slope was gentler now and Williams saw a line of half a dozen men formed on the beach itself. Behind them was the cutter and gig, and men were busying themselves to get them ready.
    ‘ Sparrowhawk !’ he called out.
    Cassidy was chivvying the men aboard, the cutter much less full than when it had come ashore.
    ‘Hurry up, lads,’ he called. ‘Mr Williams, if you please.’
    Williams hurried, merely nodding back when Dobson grinned at him from the darkness. Sailors pushed at the heavy boats, helped by the rising tide, and then climbed aboard as they came free. In the