Rules of War. Iain Gale

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СКАЧАТЬ truth the field will not be ours.’

      Van Cutzem shook his head: ‘That may be so, Captain. But our orders are to stand. We are to wait until the cavalry have attacked. My generals believe that the day will be resolved by a cavalry battle, not by the infantry. I’m sorry. My orders and yours too, are to stand here.’

      Steel put a hand to his head: ‘And be shot to shreds by the French guns?’

      ‘If that is what it takes. Those are my orders, Mister Steel. And I am very much afraid that at the present time, as you find yourself under my command, you must obey them also.’ A horseman cantered up to the major and the rider, a Dutch dragoon, muttered a few words of Flemish. ‘And now excuse me, please. I am summoned by my brigadier. Perhaps we shall advance after all.’

      Van Cutzem took his horse from the orderly who had been holding her, mounted and rode towards the rear of his regiment. Steel bit his lip and shook his head. First they had been pulled out of a hard-won foothold and now seemed destined to be left to the mercies of the French artillery. The first decision he had understood. But the second? Sometimes he wondered whether his own commanders were fully aware of any of the many wasted opportunities offered by a battlefield. His musings were interrupted by activity to the front as a body of men approached them.

      Slaughter had seen them too: ‘Grenadiers. Stand to. Charge your muskets.’

      Forty weapons were levelled towards the horsemen, bayonets fixed. Steel looked at the advancing troops and as they grew closer saw with relief from the green cockade in their hats that they were of the allied side.

      ‘At ease, men. They’re ours.’

      As the ragged column neared them he began to hear snatches of broad Scots dialect. He also saw that, whoever they were, these men had been badly mauled. This bloody mess was, it seemed, what had once been a battalion or more of redcoats. And Scottish troops at that. But under whose command were they, he wondered.

      Slaughter came to his side: ‘That’s not a sight I ever like to see, sir. Unsettles the men too. Poor buggers.’

      A man passed them, a junior officer, perched on a makeshift seat made from a musket carried by two of his men, one of whom was sobbing. The officer’s left leg had been sheared clean away from the bone and his calf was hanging by the thinnest of tendons. To judge from the colour of his face he had lost a great deal of blood. He said nothing but stared with glazed eyes to his front, still in deep shock. Steel wondered how he would fare when the pain finally cut in. The longer the shock, they said, the worse the agony when it came. Slaughter cursed. Evidently they had been repulsed with some force. It impressed Steel that they were not in rout, but retreating in a controlled manner, their sergeants keeping them in line despite their evident exhaustion and distress. As Steel stood watching, one man – a big fellow with an almost bald head, walking at a fast pace – pushed past him, knocking against his arm with some force. The man did not apologize but carried on.

      Steel, regaining his composure, shouted after him: ‘Mind your step, sir. Have a care. Even on a field of battle we yet have manners.’

      The man turned and Steel saw, even through the mud and blood which had spattered across his once-white breeches, that he was an officer. He turned and walked back towards Steel and as he did so wiped a hand across his face, removing some of the dirt which cloaked his features. ‘And who might you be, sir?’

      His accent was not unlike Steel’s own; soft and with a slight Scottish burr.

      ‘Captain Steel. Sir James Farquharson’s Regiment of Foot. I command the Grenadiers. Who, may I ask, might want to know?’

      Again the man wiped his face and stared hard at Steel: ‘D’you not know me?’

      ‘I was not aware that I should, sir.’

      The man smiled and Steel registered his confidence: ‘Well, you certainly are aware now, Captain Steel. Argyll is my name. I command those Scots regiments in Dutch service which for the last hour have been engaged with the enemy.’ He pointed towards the village which lay in the centre of the battlefield: ‘Over there. Against Ramillies. And now, I have had enough of playing with the French. The pleasantries are finished. I intend to take it.’ He paused, then looked at Steel again: ‘You recognize me now, I’ll wager.’

      Steel blustered through his embarrassment. John Campbell, Duke of Argyll. Not only was the man a general. He was a general of Scottish troops and a close friend of Sir James Farquharson, his own colonel. In fact Steel had seen Argyll several times in the past campaign in conversation with Sir James. But on those occasions he had not been dressed in quite this manner. Now he looked to all the world like the meanest junior officer.

      Steel stiffened to attention: ‘I am most dreadfully sorry, My Lord. I really did not know you. Your … your appearance. Your dress. I …’

      Argyll laughed: ‘I am disappointed. But in truth I suspect that were I now to look in a glass I should not know myself. I imagine that I can hardly present a noble appearance. For the present however, such things are not important. What I am concerned with is prising the village of Ramillies away from the French. And I very much fear that we must go again.’ Steel saw a thought pass over his mind. ‘Steel, yes. Jack Steel, is it not? You are the officer, are you not, who saved Sir James’s colour at Blenheim?’

      For the second time in two hours Steel had to admit that the honour was indeed his.

      Argyll smiled broadly and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Then you are a brave man, Steel, and at this most pressing moment I need every brave man that I can find. Your command is where at present?’

      Steel gesticulated to the Grenadiers who stood twenty paces to his rear. ‘We are detached to a Dutch command, My Lord, and await our orders to attack.’ He added: ‘Should they ever come. For the present I am commanded to stand here.’

      ‘Well, Captain Steel, your waiting just came to an end.’

      A French cannonball, fired at an unseen target, flew past them. Steel watched as the younger Grenadiers flinched and those few remaining veterans pretended to ignore the ever-present danger. Slaughter stood leaning upon his halberd, keeping a careful watch over his charges.

      Steel spoke: ‘I have my orders, sir.’

      Campbell smiled at him. ‘I am your orders now, Steel. Come on, man. I’m not waiting here to die and I believe that you and I are cast in the same mould. The fight is over there, Captain Steel. You are a Scot, I perceive and Sir James Farquharson’s man, an officer of whom he speaks most highly. It’s men such as you and I that are fighting to build a new world. We are Britons, Steel, but do not forget that we are also Scots. We above all others protect the faith of our homeland. I take it, Steel, that like myself, you have never any greater wish than to see these French Papists and their Jacobite allies sent to hell?’

      Steel was surprised at the passion of Argyll’s impromptu political rant. Although he did not share his bigotry, he did certainly believe in the concept of Union. Uncertain quite how to respond, he settled on diplomacy and merely nodded.

      Argyll smiled: ‘I knew it. Now bring your men. We’ve a village to take.’

      As the duke loped off towards his brigade, Steel turned grim-faced to Slaughter. ‘Sarn’t, it seems that we’re to attack the village. Form the men up. Battle order.’

      ‘You had an order then, sir? I thought that Major Cutzem wanted us to stay put.’

      ‘Firstly, СКАЧАТЬ