Free A Flag of Truce by David Donachie

metal spikes, water for both men and
matériel
, levers to move the aim of the guns, spades to dig and a tub of unlit slowmatch to ensure that if the flints malfunctioned, the cannon could still be fired.
    Harbin was as good as his word; if there was anything the Navy was good at it was shifting two-ton weights as though they were feathers. Using double blocks, the cannon were lifted clear of the ox-wagons that had fetched them up the hill, then slung onto a thick cable that sloped towards the cushioned bed of the carts. The trunnions followed quickly, and the gun crews who would fire these pieces took up the ropes with which they would haul, this as Dilnot sent his men out to form a defensive line in front of the party.
    ‘Mr Harbin,’ called Pearce, seeing something that had been missed, ‘two more cables to the rear of the carts. If we have to beat a hasty retreat we will not have time to turn them round.’
    ‘Our friends over yonder must wonder what we are about,’ said Dilnot. ‘If they come out in numbers to find out we will be in trouble.’
    ‘Worth the risk, Mr Dilnot?’
    ‘No doubt about it, Mr Pearce.’
    ‘Right, you behind the parapet, take the strain. Quench the torches and drop those fascines.’
    The creak of the wheels, which had been greased, still sounded too loud for comfort as the carts were eased down the slope into the hollow ground. Once there those cables were detached and left for later, as the seamen took up the strain on the front, leaning on capstan bars that had been lashed to the steering frame that controlled the front axle, a better method of forward movement over uneven ground than pulling. Dilnot’s bullocks walked fifty paces ahead, bayonets fixed, ten feet apart, the officer and his sergeant behind them to keep them dressed in the right line.
    Several times a wheel dropped into a depression. These were impossible to see in the low light of the stars, plus a sliver of new moon, and the carts needed to be levered out, in one case hauled backwards and manoeuvred round the obstacle. It took three hours to get to the foot of the incline leading to the proposed position and at that point Pearce called to Dilnot to say every hand, his skirmishers included, would be needed to get up the slope, which was accomplished by a heave, moving it forward a few inches, with men again placed behind the rear wheels to jam in levers that would prevent the carts slipping backwards. Now a couple of inches would have seemed like a mile as the gun transports, in all weighing near three tons each,were eased up and up, until finally the front wheels crested the plateau and pushing became easier.
    There was not a man, officer, seaman or marine who was not sweating buckets at the exertions, but there was no time to rest. Harbin had a frame and pulleys to rig, the trunnions coming off first, they being wheeled because they could be moved on their own, if not with ease, at least with effort. They were rolled into shallow forward-facing pits, freshly dug, designed to absorb some of the recoil and each cart was rolled over the top so that the cannon could be lifted straight in the air. The cart was then removed and the weapon lowered into position. Having twice carried out that manoeuvre, the next task was to rig the lines that would also act to control the recoil, though the stakes that would be needed to hold them would have to wait till near dawn; that was the last task to be carried out.
    Powder and shot were unloaded and set in place, the cannon tompions removed and the barrels swabbed before loading. Flints had been fitted and the slowmatch lit out of sight, to fizzle in the dark bringing with it the smell of burning saltpetre, and ahead of them, still flickering in the dark, were the dying campfires of their enemy.
    ‘A grey goose at a quarter mile, Mr Dilnot.’ There was just enough light to see his quizzical expression, as Pearce added, ‘It’s is a naval term, sir.’
    ‘I only ask, are we wholly