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Next to the tracks was a row of poles that carried the telegraph wires.
“Sergeant, I want men posted left and right, twenty yards out. And quietly this time. Telegraph squad, you know what to do.”
When they reached the rails the telegraph men divided in two, with one squad walking down the ties to the east. Even before they had vanished into the darkness, the man delegated for this task was belting on his climbing irons. Up the poles he went, swiftly and surely, the pointed ends of his irons thokking into the wood as he climbed. The sharp click of wire cutters sounded and there was a rustle as the telegraph wires fell to the ground.
“Gather up the wire,” the sergeant said quietly. “Cut it free and throw it into the ocean.”
A hundred, two hundred yards of wire were cut out and dumped into the water. The soldiers had finished their appointed task and returned to the boats long before the second party. The men fidgeted about until the sergeants hushed them into silence. The lieutenant paced back and forth, tapping his fingers restlessly on his pistol holster, but did not speak aloud. The wire-cutting party had been told to proceed down the track for fifteen minutes, or as near as they could judge the time. They were to cut down another section of wire there and return. It seemed well past the allotted time now; it probably was not, he realized.
Private O’Reilly, one of the sentries stationed by the track, saw the dark figure approaching. He was about to call out when he discerned that the man was coming from the west — while the second wire company had gone east. O’Reilly leaned over and pulled the corporal by the sleeve, touching his forefinger to his lips at the same time. Then he pointed down the track. The two soldiers crouched down, trying to blend into the ground.
The figure came on, strangely wide across the shoulders, whistling softly.
Then he stopped, suddenly aware of the dark forms ahead of him beside the rails. In an instant the stranger turned and began to run heavily back down the track.
“Get him!” the corporal said, and led the way at a run.
The fleeing man slowed for an instant. A dark form fell from his shoulders to the tracks. Freed from his burden, he began to run again. Not fast enough. The corporal stabbed forward with his rifle, got it between the man’s legs, sent him crashing to the ground. Before the man could rise, O’Reilly was on him, pi
“Don’t kill me, please don’t kill me!” the man begged in a reedy voice. This close they could see that his long hair was matted and gray.
“Now, why would you go thinking a cruel thing like that, Granddad?”
“It weren’t me. I didn’t set the snare. I just sort of stumbled over it, just by chance.”
O’Reilly picked up the deer’s corpse by the antlers. “A poacher, by God!”
“Never!” the man squealed, and the corporal shook him until he was quiet.
“That’s a good man. Just be quiet and nothing will happen to you. Bring the stag,” he whispered to O’Reilly. “Someone will enjoy the fresh meat.”
“What’s happening here?” the lieutenant asked when they dragged the frightened old man up the beach. The corporal explained.
“Fine. Tie his wrists and put him into the boat. We’ll take him back — our first prisoner.” Then, coldly, “If he makes any noise, shut him up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“O’Reilly, go with him. And bring the deer. The general will fancy a bit of venison, I shouldn’t wonder.”
“Party approaching.” A hushed voice sounded through the darkness.
There was more than one sigh of relief when boots could be heard crunching on the gravel.
“Push the boats out! Board as soon as they float free!”
The wire was cut. They had not been seen.
At first light the landings would begin.
For the poacher the war was over even before it began. When he finally realized what had happened to him, he was most relieved. These weren’t Sir Percy’s gamekeepers after all; he would not be appearing at the Falmouth assizes, as he had feared. Being a prisoner of war of the Americans was far better than transportation to the other end of the world.
The lights in Buckingham Palace had been blazing past midnight and well into the early hours. There was a constant coming and going of cavalrymen as well as the occasional carriage. All of this activity centered on the conference room, where a most important meeting was taking place. There was a colonel stationed outside the door to intercept messages; a second colonel inside passed on any that were deemed important enough to be grounds for an interruption.
“We will not have the sanctity of our country violated. Are we clear?”
“You are, ma’am, very clear. But you must understand that the violation has already occurred; the landings are a thing of the past now. Enemy forces are well ashore in Liverpool, the city has been captured, all fighting ended according to the last reports.”
“My dear soldiers would never surrender!” Victoria almost screeched the words, her voice roughened by hours, if not days, of deep emotion. Her complexion was so florid that it alarmed all those present.
“Indeed they would not, ma’am,” Lord John Russell said patiently. “But they might very well be dead. The defenders were few in number, the attackers many and ruthless. And it appears that Liverpool is not the only goal. Reports from Birmingham report intense fighting there.”
“Birmingham — but how?” Victoria’s jaw dropped as, confusedly, she tried to master this new and frightful information.
“By train, ma’am. Our own trains were seized and forced to carry enemy troops south. The Americans are great devotees of trains, and have made wide use of them in their various wars.”
“Americans? I was told that the invaders were Irish…”
“Yankees or Paddies — it makes little difference!” the Duke of Cambridge snapped. The hours of wrangling had worn down his nerves; he wished that he were in the field taking this battle to the enemy. Slaughtering the bastards.
“Why would the Irish want to invade?” Victoria asked with dumb sincerity. To her the Irish would always be wayward children, who must be corrected and returned to the blessing of British rule.
“Why?” the Duke of Cambridge growled. “Because they may have taken umbrage at their relatives being bunged up in those concentration camps. Not that we had any choice. Nursing serpents in our bosom. It seems that Sefton Park, the camp east of Liverpool, has been seized. Undoubtedly Aston Hall outside of Birmingham is next.”
While he was speaking he had been aware of a light tapping on the door. This was now opened a crack and there was a quick whispered exchange before it was closed again. The group around the conference table looked up as the colonel approached with a slip of paper.
“Telegram from Whitehall—”
The Duke tore it from the officer’s fingers even as Lord Russell was reaching for it.
“Goddamn their eyes.” He was seething with fury. He threw down the message and stamped across the room to the large map of the British Isles that had been hung on the wall.
“Report from Defender, telegraphed from Milford Haven — here.” He stabbed his finger on the map of western Wales where a spit of land projected into St. George’s Cha
“South? Why south?” Lord Russell asked, struggling to take in this new development.
“Well, it is not to invade France, I can assure you of that,” the Duke raged. He swept his hand along the English Cha
At first light the attacking armada approached the Cornish shore. The stone-girt harbor at Penzance was very small, suitable only for pleasure craft and fishing boats. The Scilly Isles ferry took up the most space inside where she tied up for the night. This had been allowed for in the landings, and the steam pi