Read Online At the Narrow Passage by Richard Meredith - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Richard Meredith
Ads: Link
fumbled with his Enfield for a moment,
then placed it to his shoulder and began to snap off shots with a
marksman's ease. He seemed to have forgotten about his wound, for the
moment at least.
From a quick estimate of the number of rifle and submachine-gun flashes
from the now-distant left bank I guessed that there were about fifteen
Germans there. There seemed to be none on the right bank now, and I
wondered why, though I thought that now and then I could hear small-arms
fire from the vicinity of the broken bridge and I wondered if the British
had overrun the German trenches and driven the Imperials that far back
into the city.
But I didn't take much time to think about that sort of thing. I was
far more worried about the fifteen or so firing from the left bank.
In a few seconds the brilliant light of the explosion passed, and the
river was again plunged into darkness, save for the flickering red glow
that reached it through broken buildings and naked trees. Then the Germans
could see us no better than we could see them, and that was only by the
flashes of our weapons.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the boat's prow bumped against something solid.
I spun around, felt forward, and my hands met slimy stone, the bank of
the river and the stonework that had been built there.
"We're there," I gasped, grabbing the stone as best I could and pulling
the boat in closer. The river's current turned us around so that the
boat's side bumped against the old, slimy stones.
"Kearns," I said, "out! Help Sir Gerald."
"But I . . ." Sir Gerald began to protest.
"Out!" I said and then turned my attention back to the far shore,
slipping a fresh clip into my Enfield.
I heard Kearns' harsh breathing as he clambered around me and out of
the boat onto the uncertain footing of the stones.
"Take my hand," he said.
"Be careful, you fool," Sir Gerald gasped.
"Shut up and get out," Kearns snapped, hauling upward on the general's arm.
Sir Gerald came to his feet awkwardly, gasping under his breath, but
British enough not to cry out from the pain.
He came out of the boat, half falling onto the stones, struggling and
then with Kearns' help stumbling up the sides of the slippery stone
steps to drier ground.
The boat began to slip away from the shore. I slung my rifle across
my shoulder, grabbed the stones with both hands, pulled the boat back
against the bank. Then, barely able to keep my footing as the boat tried
to pull out from under me, I half stepped, half jumped onto the slimy
stonework. For a moment I almost fell back into the water, dropped to
a crouch, grabbed for a handhold, and then pulled myself up to where
Kearns and Sir Gerald stood. Even as I reached his side, Kearns had
begun to fire again toward the distant bank.
The second and third boats came up against the stones, and the men tumbled
out. One man did not get out of the final boat, and his body was still in
it when it began to pull away from the -bank, bumping against the stones
and then moving out into the current.
"Come on," I said. "We've got to get a couple of miles up the river and
then cross back over. The villa's on the other side."
"Oh, shit!" someone muttered under his breath. A few of us fired parting
shots at the Germans on the far bank and then we moved away from the
river into the dark ruins of the city.
7
The Villa
The villa had been built in the early part of the century, back in the
days before the war. Then France had been, in theory at least, a free
and sovereign nation, though in reality it had been little more than a
British satellite.
When the bloody Peasants' Rebellion of 1789-93 had been put down by
the remnants of the French nobility and the British Army and the king
restored to his throne mainly by British aid, France had been unable to
sever all ties with its British allies. Normandy and Brittany had been
ceded outright to the English throne by a grateful French king, but
the king had not bargained on the
then placed it to his shoulder and began to snap off shots with a
marksman's ease. He seemed to have forgotten about his wound, for the
moment at least.
From a quick estimate of the number of rifle and submachine-gun flashes
from the now-distant left bank I guessed that there were about fifteen
Germans there. There seemed to be none on the right bank now, and I
wondered why, though I thought that now and then I could hear small-arms
fire from the vicinity of the broken bridge and I wondered if the British
had overrun the German trenches and driven the Imperials that far back
into the city.
But I didn't take much time to think about that sort of thing. I was
far more worried about the fifteen or so firing from the left bank.
In a few seconds the brilliant light of the explosion passed, and the
river was again plunged into darkness, save for the flickering red glow
that reached it through broken buildings and naked trees. Then the Germans
could see us no better than we could see them, and that was only by the
flashes of our weapons.
Suddenly, unexpectedly, the boat's prow bumped against something solid.
I spun around, felt forward, and my hands met slimy stone, the bank of
the river and the stonework that had been built there.
"We're there," I gasped, grabbing the stone as best I could and pulling
the boat in closer. The river's current turned us around so that the
boat's side bumped against the old, slimy stones.
"Kearns," I said, "out! Help Sir Gerald."
"But I . . ." Sir Gerald began to protest.
"Out!" I said and then turned my attention back to the far shore,
slipping a fresh clip into my Enfield.
I heard Kearns' harsh breathing as he clambered around me and out of
the boat onto the uncertain footing of the stones.
"Take my hand," he said.
"Be careful, you fool," Sir Gerald gasped.
"Shut up and get out," Kearns snapped, hauling upward on the general's arm.
Sir Gerald came to his feet awkwardly, gasping under his breath, but
British enough not to cry out from the pain.
He came out of the boat, half falling onto the stones, struggling and
then with Kearns' help stumbling up the sides of the slippery stone
steps to drier ground.
The boat began to slip away from the shore. I slung my rifle across
my shoulder, grabbed the stones with both hands, pulled the boat back
against the bank. Then, barely able to keep my footing as the boat tried
to pull out from under me, I half stepped, half jumped onto the slimy
stonework. For a moment I almost fell back into the water, dropped to
a crouch, grabbed for a handhold, and then pulled myself up to where
Kearns and Sir Gerald stood. Even as I reached his side, Kearns had
begun to fire again toward the distant bank.
The second and third boats came up against the stones, and the men tumbled
out. One man did not get out of the final boat, and his body was still in
it when it began to pull away from the -bank, bumping against the stones
and then moving out into the current.
"Come on," I said. "We've got to get a couple of miles up the river and
then cross back over. The villa's on the other side."
"Oh, shit!" someone muttered under his breath. A few of us fired parting
shots at the Germans on the far bank and then we moved away from the
river into the dark ruins of the city.
7
The Villa
The villa had been built in the early part of the century, back in the
days before the war. Then France had been, in theory at least, a free
and sovereign nation, though in reality it had been little more than a
British satellite.
When the bloody Peasants' Rebellion of 1789-93 had been put down by
the remnants of the French nobility and the British Army and the king
restored to his throne mainly by British aid, France had been unable to
sever all ties with its British allies. Normandy and Brittany had been
ceded outright to the English throne by a grateful French king, but
the king had not bargained on the
Similar Books
