“Damn, damn, damn.” Cochrane, usually so voluble, was suddenly enervated. He stared at the retreating guard boat and seemed bereft of ideas. Fraser and the other officers waited for his orders, but Cochrane had none to give. Sharpe felt a sudden pang of sympathy for the tall Scotsman. All plans were nothing but predictions, and like all predictions they were likely to be transformed by their first collision with reality, but the art of war was to prepare for such collisions and have a second or a third or a fourth option ready. Cochrane suddenly had no such options on hand. He had pinned his hopes on the Spanish supinely accepting his ruse, then feebly collapsing before his attack. Was this how Napoleon had been on the day of Waterloo? Sharpe wondered. He watched Cochrane and saw a man in emptiness, a clever man drained of invention who seemed helpless to stop the tide of disaster flooding across him.
“We’ve two hours of fair water, my Lord.” Fraser, recognizing the moment of crisis, had adopted a respectful formality.
Cochrane did not respond. He was staring toward the harbor entrance. Was he thinking of making a dash for it? But how could two slow ships dash? Their speed, even with the tide’s help, was scarcely above that of a man walking.
“We’ll not get through, my Lord.” Fraser, reading His Lordship’s mind, growled the warning.
“No,” Cochrane said, but said nothing more.
Fraser shot a beseeching look at Sharpe. Sharpe, more than any other man in the expedition, had counseled against this attack, and now, Fraser’s look seemed to be saying, was the time for Sharpe to urge withdrawal. There was just one chance of avoiding disaster, and that was for the two ships to turn and slip away southward.
Sharpe said nothing.
Fraser, desperate to end the indecision, challenged Sharpe directly. “So what would you do, Sharpe?”
Cochrane frowned at Sharpe, but did not countermand Fraser’s invitation.
“Well?” Fraser insisted. The ship was still creeping toward the harbor mouth. In another half mile she would open the entrance and be under the guns of Fort San Carlos.
Cochrane was a devil, Sharpe thought, and suddenly he felt a smaller imp rise in himself. Goddamn it, but a man did not come this far just to be challenged by a toy boat and then turn back! “If we anchor off the beach,” Sharpe said, “they’ll think we’re obeying their orders. We wait till it’s dark, then we send a boat or two ashore. We can say we’re looking for fresh water if anyone questions us. Then we’ll attack the nearest fort. We may only capture a few kegs of powder, but at least we’ll have let the bastards know that we’re still dangerous.”
“Magnificent!” shouted Cochrane, released from his torpor. He slapped Sharpe’s back. “Goddamn it, man, but magnificent! I like it! Mister Almante! A signal to the O’Higgins, if you please, ordering them to ready anchors!” Cochrane was suddenly seething with energy and enthusiasm. “But bugger snatching a few kegs of powder! Let’s go for the whole pot! We’ll capture the western forts, then use their guns to bombard Niebla while our ships work their way inside. That’ll be at dawn, Mister Fraser, so perhaps you will work out the time of the morning’s flood tide for me? I don’t know why I didn’t think to do it this way from the very start! Mister Cabral? Order a meal served below decks. Tell the men they’ve got two hours rest before we begin landing troops.”
“Now you’ve done it,” Fraser grumbled to Sharpe.
“You spoke, Mister Fraser?” Cochrane demanded.
“Nothing, my Lord.”
“As soon as we’re at anchor,” Cochrane went on, “you’ll lower boats, but do it on the side facing away from the land! We don’t want the enemy to see we’re launching boats, do we?”
“A hole in each end, my Lord?” Fraser asked.
“Then suck the damned egg dry!” Cochrane, knowing he had given Fraser an unnecessary order, gave a brief guffaw of laughter.
Behind the Kitty the sky was a glorious blaze of gold touched scarlet, in which a few ragged clouds floated silver gray. The sea had turned molten, slashed with shivering bands of black. The great Spanish ensign, given an even richer color by the sun’s flaming gold, slapped and floated in the fitful wind.