Free Fire and Sword by Simon Scarrow Page B

through the ranks of the silent officers standing behind Napoleon as the latter glanced back towards the sea. The surviving launch had made it as far as the surf and the sailors timed their oar strokes carefully before putting in a spurt as a large wave lifted the boat and carried it towards the beach.The launch grounded heavily and swerved slightly to one side as the terrified soldiers clambered out, splashed into the surf and ran from the sea. Napoleon noted sourly that some had even abandoned their muskets in their haste. A fresh wave caught the stern quarter of the launch and rolled it over on to the last of the men still aboard, crushing them underneath.
     
    To one side, Napoleon heard a sharp intake of breath as Admiral Magon watched the unfolding disaster. Then the Emperor turned his gaze to the other barges stretching out behind the vessel he had been watching. Many more boats had capsized or floundered and hundreds of men were in the heaving waves, fighting for their lives as their heavy clothes and equipment dragged them down. Less than half the launches reached the shore, and as the dazed soldiers staggered out of the surf the officers and sergeants that remained tried to form them up in their companies on the rain-slick sand. Half an hour after the attempted landing had begun the remains of the division stood shivering, while behind them those men who had managed to swim ashore crawled out of the reach of the waves, exhausted.
     
    Napoleon stared at the scene, thin-lipped and silent.Then he turned abruptly to the admiral and said in a low voice, ‘Put an end to this charade, at once. Send the men back to their bivouacs and order the ships back into harbour.’
     
    ‘Yes, sire.’ Magon swallowed and forced himself to continue.‘As soon as they have finished picking up survivors from the sea.’
     
    ‘What? Yes . . . yes, of course. Take over here, Admiral. But I want a full report on this mess, first thing in the morning. Find out which of your officers were responsible for the shambles and discipline them.’
     
    ‘Yes, sire.’
     
    Napoleon did not return the admiral’s salute, but stalked away, head down and hands clasped behind his back. He could sense the fear of the officers and gave thanks for that small mercy at least. None would dare to confront him over the affair, and he would have Fouché see to it that the Paris newspapers made little of the event. Back in his private quarters Napoleon cast off his wet clothes and ordered his manservant to prepare a bath. Then, as he lay up to his chin in the steaming water, he closed his eyes, folded his hands over his chest and began to reflect on the day. There was no question of it. The navy was woefully unprepared to carry out the vital duty of conveying the invasion army across the Channel. The officers vacillated over every decision, and the men had little opportunity to train and carry out exercises, thanks to the vigilance of the British navy patrolling just off the coast.
     
    Napoleon felt a surge of rage sweep through him. Barely thirty miles from where he lay were the shores of Britain. No more than a day’s hard marching. And yet it might as well be three hundred miles, or three thousand, thanks to the wretched stretch of ocean that guarded the country like a moat. As things stood, there was only an outside chance that Britain would ever be invaded. Accepting the point, he suddenly gritted his teeth and thumped the side of the bath.Very well, then. Even if there was no invasion, he would keep an army here, and fill the ports and harbours along the coast with transport ships, just to keep the fear of invasion alive in the minds of the British.That at least would help to divert them from intervention elsewhere. Which was as well, since Napoleon’s thoughts were already turning towards a more pressing situation to the east.
     
    The gale blew itself out overnight and in the rosy glow of dawn the sea was calm and a gentle swell rolled in towards