Free Fire and Sword by Simon Scarrow

they might be blown on to the shore.’
     
    ‘Could be? Might be?’ Napoleon snapped. ‘Where is your courage, Admiral? Where is your determination to see your orders through? Have you no sense of duty?’
     
    Admiral Bruix’s face coloured at the attack on his integrity. ‘I know my duty, sire. It is my duty to preserve the men and vessels under my command so that they are fit and ready to do battle with the enemy. As such, it is my decision to delay the review until the weather improves.’
     
    ‘I see,’ Napoleon replied icily. ‘Then it is my decision to dismiss you from your post, with immediate effect.’
     
    ‘What?’ Admiral Bruix’s eyes widened in astonishment.‘You can’t do that.’
     
    ‘It is done. Berthier?’
     
    ‘Sire?’
     
    ‘Inform the naval ministry at once. And then see that Monsieur Bruix is removed from our presence and sent home.’
     
    ‘Yes, sire.’
     
    Napoleon swept his gaze away from the hapless admiral and fixed it on the nearest of the other naval officers. ‘You.What is your name?’
     
    ‘Vice-Admiral Chaloncy, sire.’
     
    ‘Well then, you will take command of the naval forces in the harbour, and give orders for the review to continue.’
     
    ‘Sire, I . . .’ The vice-admiral glanced helplessly towards Bruix and Napoleon slammed his hand down on the table, making the others jump.
     
    ‘Damn you navy officers! Is there not one man amongst you ready to do his duty?’
     
    The third naval officer stepped forward at once. ‘I’ll give the orders, sire.’
     
    ‘You are?’
     
    ‘Vice-Admiral Magon, sire.’
     
    Napoleon stared at him and then nodded. ‘Very well.You are now promoted to admiral. See to it that there is no further delay.’ His glance flicked back to the other naval officers. ‘As for you two, get out of my sight.’
     
     
    By the time word arrived at headquarters to announce that the men had boarded their vessels and the review was ready to begin, the rain was lashing down across the coast and the sea was a heaving mass of lead-coloured waves, fringed with white caps and spume where the wind carried off the spray. The barges, under heavily reefed sails, and towing launches, battled to keep their stations as the flotilla prepared to sail past the imperial pavilion on the beach. Napoleon and his staff, wrapped in oilskins and clasping their hats on their heads with their hands, made their way down through the cobbled streets of the port and out along the strip of sand and shingle to the pavilion.
     
    ‘Wild weather, sire,’ said Berthier.‘I wouldn’t fancy being out on the sea in this storm.’
     
    ‘Storm?’ Napoleon laughed. ‘This is no storm, Berthier. Merely an unseasonable spell of bad weather. It’ll soon pass, you’ll see.’
     
    ‘I hope so, sire. For the sake of our men.’
     
    ‘A little seasickness never hurt anyone. Besides, they must be prepared to make the crossing in whatever weather there may be when our fleet arrives to clear the Channel.’
     
    They reached the steps to the viewing platform and climbed on to the stage, which overlooked the beach and the sea beyond. In this slightly elevated position the wind was even stronger and the Emperor and his staff officers were forced to squint into the driving rain blowing in off the sea. Napoleon turned to the newly promoted naval commander. ‘You may begin, Admiral Magon.’
     
    ‘Yes, sire.’ Magon nodded to the signals officer and a moment later the telegraph arms above the pavilion swung into place to pass on the order to the flotilla.There was a delay as the sailors on the leading barge scrambled aloft from the crowded deck and shook out a reef. Slowly the vessel got under way and cautiously crossed in front of the pavilion before approaching the shore, while the other barges struggled to follow in the heaving seas. One by one they lurched forward across the waves in a straggling line, and then hove to half a league from the pounding surf. At