Jack Steel Adventure Series Books 1-3: Man of Honour, Rules of War, Brothers in Arms

‘Oh, good God, no!’

Through the smoke, advancing up the slope towards their position, Steel began to make out tall, white-coated figures marching in close order. French infantry. A battalion. No, an entire brigade. Slaughter had seen them too:

‘Christ almighty, Sir. How the hell? They’ve got round behind us.’

Steel flung himself back against the parapet and closed his eyes.

‘I’m sorry, Jacob. This wasn’t meant to happen.’

‘Nothing’s meant to happen in war, Mister Steel. It just does.’

Instinctively Steel started to turn the men. If one rank could about-face there might just be a chance to hold off the French in both directions. At least for a little while.

But he knew that it was too late. The white-coated infantry were too close. Steel cast down his gun and drew his sword. As he prepared for the worst, a lone, foreign voice floated up towards him from the white ranks:

‘Hallo there, in the defences. Are you English?’

This, surely was the final insult. To be asked for his surrender in such a way. Well, that was one thing at least he would not concede.

‘We’re Scots. Most of us. And we hold this place in the name of Queen Anne.’

‘Then thank God, my friend. We have come to save you.’

He couldn’t place the accent, but as the man stepped out of the smoke, Steel knew instantly. These were not French but Imperial infantry and Grenadiers, like themselves. He began to laugh.

‘Christ, but I’m glad to see you. We thought you were French.’

The Austrian officer looked aghast.

‘No, my friend. We are not French. We hate the French. Excuse me. Captain Wendt, Regiment von Diesbach.’

The Imperial infantry were among them now and as they climbed in through the gabions Steel’s men clapped them on the back. But the French were still advancing.

‘Take position.’

Slaughter had seen the danger. Again the ranks formed, joined now by the long line of Wendt’s men. The French, shocked by the sudden appearance of so many of the enemy, came again to an abrupt halt. This time, Steel knew, they would not wait for the volley.

‘Fire!’

Three hundred muskets crashed in unison and the red-coated Frenchmen, caught in the act of turning, fell in scores. Then Steel was up and in front of his men.

‘Now, Grenadiers! Now. Charge!’

With a great cheer the British redcoats rushed forward, smashing, bayonets levelled, into the remains of the dragoons. The second squadron did not stay to watch the carnage. Seeing his chance to press the advantage, Steel moved through the mêlée, waving his sword high above his head.

‘Grenadiers. To me. We’ve got them, boys. Follow up. Follow up. Come on. Follow me.’

Leaving the wounded French dragoons to the tender mercies of the Imperial infantry, the redcoats ran quickly to join Steel and Hansam, pouring pell-mell towards the centre of the fortification. To their left more Austrians were now climbing unhindered over the breastworks. There must, he thought, be a good 500 on the plateau by now. Yet the day was not yet complete. Suddenly, in a clatter of sword and harness, and with a chilling cheer, a squadron of red-coated cavalry swept past their right flank. At their head Steel recognized Lord John Hay. Marlborough was sending in the Scots dragoons. Some said they were the finest horsemen in Europe. Steel watched as their sabres swung and chopped at the heads of the French infantry like tops of barley. The Grenadiers pressed on now too, along the slope and directly into the exposed flank of the main French garrison. Then with a great cheer the entire allied line – the British and Dutch who for nigh on two hours had suffered at the hands of the defenders, broke in over the parapet. And then it was over. The French line simply fell to pieces.

Steel glimpsed a senior French officer – a full General he thought – riding hell for leather down past the ruined fort, towards the town, pursued by five of his aides and a party of British dragoons. Isolated groups of French infantry began to surrender. Some succeeded. Others fell under the unforgiving bayonets of the allied infantry. Steel looked away. He knew what happened in the aftermath of an assault. It was unlike any other battle. No room for gentlemanly conduct here. He watched instead, transfixed, as the allied cavalry and dragoons careered down the reverse slope towards Donauwörth, in pursuit of the French who were dropping anything that might slow their progress: packs, muskets, hats, all were thrown off in the desperate rush for safety. Some of the Frenchmen made it across the single narrow bridge. The less fortunate were forced into the waters of the Danube. Few emerged. He saw horses trampling men into the mud as the cavalry swung their sabres and the allies exacted their murderous revenge. Hansam patted him gently on the back.

‘Well, Jack. I told you I’d see you at the top of the hill, and here we are. You know I am a man of my word.’

‘We did cut it a little fine, don’t you think?’

Hansam smiled, picking langrously at a soot-encrusted fingernail.

‘Oh, I knew we’d do it.’

And so they had. Against all the odds and against all the rules of military logic they had done it. But at a terrible cost. Steel looked back down the hill towards the allied lines where the main body of the army was now preparing to advance. There seemed to be no grass any more. Just a carpet of bodies. Redcoats mostly. Among them men sat nursing wounds and wives and lovers looked for their men. Hansam sneezed and tucked away his snuff handkerchief.

‘I’d better rejoin my men. They look set to chase the Frenchies all the way to Paris.’

As Hansam hurried off to secure the prisoners, Steel found Slaughter kneeling over the dead body of a Grenadier. Pearson. His face looked quite serene, despite the fact that a musket ball had passed into his cheek and blown off the back of his head. The Sergeant spoke quietly.

‘Poor sod. He did bloody well. Saved the lot of us, I reckon. Close thing, Sir, weren’t it?’

‘I never knew a bloodier fight.’

‘Nor me.’

Slaughter paused, pushing the dead boy’s hair away from his brow.

‘Do you think this is how it will be, Mister Steel? The rest of the campaign. The rest of the war?’

‘I do, Jacob. This is how the Duke chooses to make war. This is war without limits. War such as even you and I had not seen until today. As savage and bloody and brutal a war as Europe has seen for nigh on eighty years. Since this place was built.’

Steel kicked the earth wall of the ruined fort. ‘It is not the way that gentlemen like to fight. When that war ended gentlemen drew up rules for the conduct of war designed to prevent such a thing ever happening again. Well, Jacob. Today we threw away the rule book. Now it’s up to men like you and me to make sure that there’s still such a thing as honour on a battlefield.’

‘We have to write our own rules, you mean, Sir?’

‘Our own rules. Yes. That’s it exactly.’

Steel looked down at the broken body of the young Grenadier that lay at his feet. ‘If we must fight in such a way as this, Jacob, then at least let’s do it with honour. God knows this life is short enough. We might as well take pride in what we do.’

He raised his sword and, stooping to pick up a length of neck cloth that lay on the ground, wiped the big blade clean of blood, before sliding it firmly back into the scabbard.

‘And now, Sarn’t, I believe there was the matter of a cask of wine.’

‘Ale, Sir.’

Steel laughed.

‘Ale, Jacob. Find what’s left of the platoon and be sure to tell Mister Hansam where we’re going. I think it’s time to see what the good people of Donauwörth have to offer us.’

TWO (#ulink_271e515d-ddc4-5a13-a1c5-1431686a4a76)

General Van Styrum was dead. Cut clean through the skull by a French officer’s sword the moment he reached the ramparts. Goors too had been sent to oblivion with a bullet through his brain and with him a score more of the army’s senior officers. In all six lieutenant-generals were dead, five more wounded, together with four major-generals and twenty-eight brigadiers and colonels.