April, 1812, the Siege of Badajoz in southern Spain. Lieutenant James Henry Webster leads the small group of volunteers who are first into the breach.
In the spring of 1812, the British army under Sir Arthur Wellesley, Earl of Wellington, has driven the French from Portugal. With Napoleon obsessed by the invasion of Russia, Wellington turns toward Spain. The way is barred by two fortresses, Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz. When Ciudad Rodrigo collapses after a short siege, Wellington prepares to break the fortress of Badajoz, the most formidable stronghold in Europe.
Lieutenant James Webster is in mourning following the loss of his wife, and he volunteers to command the small group that will lead the assault. Second in command is Sergeant Thomas Davis; recently diagnosed with a fatal illness, he prefers a valiant death in battle. Breaches have been blown into the walls of the southern bastions, Trinidad and Santa Maria, and here Wellington will unleash the 4th and Light Divisions, while launching diversionary assaults on the northern San Vincente bastion, as well as the Badajoz castle. Together with one hundred volunteers, the Forlorn Hope, Webster and Davis will storm the breach.
**Note: This novella serves as the prelude to the full-length novel of the Waterloo Campaign, "I Stood With Wellington"**
Excerpt
“God be with you.”
“God be with the Forlorn Hope.”
Such phrases were quietly echoed from the assault groups as James and his band of valiant volunteers followed their guide to the trenches that led them towards Badajoz and their destiny. The sun had fallen a couple hours prior, and all was black. All they could hear was the shuffling of their feet over the damp earth, as well as their own nervous breathing.
At length they climbed out of the last trench and made their way quietly across the open plain. Regiments that would follow them into the breach were assembled; most of the men were kneeling next to their assault ladders and grass bags. By chance, they passed his own company from the 3rd Battalion of the 1st Foot Guards. James recognized the hushed voice of one of the men.
“Return to us a captain, sir.”
He smiled briefly at the notion, though quickly dismissed the thought from his mind. He then wondered how many lads from his company would fall this night. They would be in the first assault, right behind the Forlorn Hope. In real terms, the only difference was they might live a few minutes longer before being cut down over the bodies of Lieutenant Webster and the volunteers of the damned.
His guide halted abruptly, and James almost bumped into him. He then glanced to his right and saw that the man had been stopped by his captain, Daniel Roberts. Though they had already said goodbye and wished each other well, seeing his friend pass by him in the quiet night that preceded the coming storm proved too much for the captain. The two men clasped hands, and it was then James noticed Daniel’s face was streaked with tears. No words needed to be spoken. James placed a reassuring hand on his friend’s shoulder and then signalled for the guide to continue.
Knowing the ditch surrounding Badajoz was deep, with a steep precipice, men not bearing ladders carried large bags of grass that they would use to break their falls when they jumped in. Sergeant Davis crept along next to Lieutenant Webster, carrying such a sack, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Behind them were Corporal Shanahan and the ever-present Privates Lawrence and Reynolds. In the black of night it was hard for James to make out where anything was. His guide from the 95th Rifles seemed sure of himself, and so he placed all of his trust in the man. Those selected to act as guides had thoroughly reconnoitred their avenues of approach over the past few days, rehearsing their approaches both during the day, as well as at night. For James and his men, the faint light that came from Badajoz was the only thing that told him if they were moving in the right direction.
Eventually, they reached a designated halting point that was about one hundred yards from the ditch. The guide stopped and dropped to a knee. James kept low as he knelt down beside the man. The rest of the Forlorn Hope halted and assessed the imposing fortress they now had the daunting task of leading the assault upon.
“La Trinidad bastion,” the rifleman whispered. “You may not be able to see it yet, but if you go straight on and keep the lights of the castle in your sights and just off to your right, you’ll find your breach.”
“Much obliged to you, sir,” James said as he shook the man’s hand.
“And to you, sir,” the rifleman replied before rising up and heading back to his regiment. The 95th Rifles would be assaulting the Santa Maria bastion off to their left where, at that moment, Lieutenant Benedict Harvest and his men were forming up.
James took a minute and steeled himself to his task. It was hard to see much in the utter blackness. The occasional torch from French sentries silhouetted the ramparts, which were staggering in their size. He wondered how long they would last, a minute…two, perhaps? Would they even get into the breach before they were all cut to pieces? No trumpets or fanfare accompanied the Forlorn Hope, only silent courage. Even though more than twenty-thousand men would eventually converge on the assault, for a brief instant forever etched in time, Lieutenant James Webster and his men were utterly alone. In that moment of silence he said a quick prayer, in case God happened to be listening. He prayed not for survival, but for a mercifully quick death. And with the last pleadings of his very soul he asked that fate be kinder to his daughter than it had been to her parents.
“We ready to do this, sir?” Sergeant Davis asked quietly.
James gave a nod and drew his sword.
“Let’s get it over with.”
Based on the memoirs of a Pearl Harbor survivor. Letters from two pen pals take the reader on a journey into the past, a past where nightmares came true, and when hatred reigned.
Book I of Southern Swallow Series – 12th Century scholar Li K'ai-men takes command of his first official assignments during a time of political unrest and barbarian invasions.
