The reflection of the moon appeared again, bobbing on top of the dark water near Stevan’s paddle. He looked up at the glowing break in the clouds, then out at the cliffs that rose twelve feet above the water. His gaze traveled across the dark forest that stood above the cliffs and up the steep slope of Urgal Hill. He stared at the top, straining his eyes.

“Relax,” said Jakes. “They can’t see us. I spent enough lonely nights up there to know.”

Stevan nodded and slipped his paddle back in the water. With each stroke he alternated glances between the floating moon and the cliffs ahead. No one spoke as they pushed the wooden boat forward, five lean men in leather jackets, each with a musket slung over his shoulder, the pride of King William’s army.

Time and muscle brought them to the cliffs. Ten feet from the rock wall, Stevan pulled his paddle inside the boat. The small waves broke against the rocks with only a gentle sound. Sarge and Ogden guided the boat in closer until it bobbed up and down only two feet from the cliff face, held in place by their paddles.

“See the spot?” asked Sarge.

“Move us ahead a little,” Jakes replied.

Ogden and Sarge pushed against the wall with their paddles and edged the boat forward.

“Stop. I think I got it.”

Jakes stood up in the boat, found his balance, and stepped between the men with paddles. He stuck a foot out of the boat onto a small ledge on the cliff. The boat dipped deeper into the water as Jakes lurched out and caught hold of the wall. The world went black.

Stevan looked up for the moon, but saw nothing but dark sky, not even a single star. The others appeared as dim silhouettes, and Jakes had vanished into the blackness of the cliff face. Stevan took small, shallow breaths, the smell of saltwater filling his nose and the boat rocking gently beneath him.

“Didn’t expect all these clouds,” said Ogden.

“No,” said Sarge.

“Should I light the lantern?”

“Give it a second.”

A rock fell into the water with a splash, and Jakes whispered a curse. The moon broke free of the clouds again, just as Jakes’ feet disappeared over the top of the cliff.

Stevan glanced at Renny who had not said a word since they had left the ship. He was a year older, but two years dumber as Jakes like to say. Renny looked back with a pale, moon-shadowed face, and shook his head. “Damn fool plan.”

They reassembled at the top of the cliff just inside the trees. Jakes untied the rope and stashed it in the bushes. The five crouched in a circle, their faces lost in black shadows from their broad-brimmed hats, each man looking across and beyond his fellows. It was the first lesson Sarge had taught: make sure you’re looking in every direction. All Stevan could see was a few feet of murky forest.

“Okay,” said Sarge. “We’ve got about two hours before the fleet goes through the straight, and they’re counting on us to silence those bombards. It’s a tough climb, especially with the moon going in and out, but Jakes knows the terrain. Stay close. Don’t lose sight of guy in front of you.”

Stevan stole a glance at Sarge’s dark face, wishing he could see the blue eyes that had so often filled him with confidence, eyes like a father should have.

“Jakes, you got point. Ogden with me. Stevan, Renny, cover our backs. Don’t make any noise you don’t have to, but if someone does spot you, go ahead and shoot. He’s going to scream anyway.”

Jakes turned from the circle, his musket held in both hands before him, and stepped off into the trees. Sarge and Ogden went next, following Jakes into the blackness. Stevan watched his companions become dim phantoms and quickly followed, fearing he should lose them. A few paces behind, he could hear the soft crunch of Renny’s boots.

Stevan scanned the forest on all sides as he picked his way through the trees, careful never to lose sight of Ogden’s broad shoulders. The breeze rustled the leaves in treetops and off to his left a tree frog croaked. Stevan stepped into a moonbeam that shone down through the canopy above and caused his skin to glow, a lighted target. He walked on.

The minutes passed by in an eerie silence as the small group made its way toward Urgal hill. The trees grew denser, and suddenly the moon disappeared. A cold grip seized Stevan’s heart an empty loneliness sunk into his stomach. He ran his tongue over the back of his teeth to keep from calling out. He counted his heartbeats. The clouds passed on, the moon returned, and the broad outline of Ogden reappeared several feet ahead. They marched on.

Suddenly, Ogden stopped, turned around, and looked skyward. Stevan dropped into a crouch worried that Ogden had spotted something. Ogden stood tall and held a hand up to his face. “Shit,” he whispered.

Renny moved up beside Stevan and cast him a questioning glance. Stevan shook his head as a drop hit his hat. “Shit,” said Stevan.

Sarge appeared out of the gloom behind Ogden and looked up at the dark canopy. Rain drops started falling fast, smacking against the leaves and the broad hats of the men. “Cover ‘em,” said Sarge.

Stevan reached into his satchel, pulled out a dirty white rag, and wound it tight around the lock of his musket. He stuffed a second rag down the barrel. It wouldn’t help for long, but it was the best he could do. A cool drop hit his cheek and rolled down to his chin.

“We aren’t gonna do much sniping in the rain,” came the whispered voice of Jakes from somewhere behind Sarge.

“It doesn’t change anything. We’ve still got a job to do, and we’re going to find a way to do it. Let’s get moving.”

As Sarge disappeared again, the skies opened up, the rain falling thick and heavy. Stevan watched the rag soak through and the weapon that made him an elite soldier become little more than an oddly shaped club. Perhaps it was a “Damn fool mission,” five men against the fortified gun emplacement, but while Sarge led, he knew he would follow.

Ahead, Ogden slung his musket on his back and pulled the hatchet from his belt. Stevan glanced down at his knife, but felt more comfortable with the gun in his hands, even if it couldn’t fire.

The rain poured down in a steady stream, drowning out the sounds of the night and the sounds of the five soldiers. The ground underfoot became slick and muddy, and the brim of Stevan’s hat sagged down into his face, weighted down by the water.

Renny struggled along a few feet behind. He had removed his hat, and his lank red hair was plastered to his head. His pale face, barely visible, wore the same sorrowful expression that it had every day since he had joined. Stevan looked ahead, and trudged on.

They reached the base of Urgal hill and came together in their circle. Sarge had to shout to be heard over the pounding rain. “Closer together. It’ll be slippery going up. Don’t worry about being seen or heard, it ain’t going to happen in this. Just keep your feet. Jakes will take us to the back door.” The soldiers nodded.

Jakes slung his musket and drew a short sword. He turned and started up the hill with the others following in close order. The ground near the bottom of Urgal hill sloped sharply, and their boots sunk and slipped with each step. They grabbed onto tree branches and pulled themselves up, doing their best to find roots or patches of moss to step on instead of bare earth. Torrents of rain continued to drive against them, and water poured down the hill in little streams and waterfalls.

Stevan yanked his boot free of the muddy ground with each step. His musket became a third balancing leg, its stock covered in mud up to the rag around the lock. With each panting breath came the smell of freshly churned earth, and a longing to be somewhere else, even back in the cramped and stinking hold of the ship.

A rock gave way, and Stevan’s feet slid out from under him. His hands clutched at his musket while his legs slid backwards, and his body fell toward the ground. A hand caught his wrist and kept him from tumbling down the hill. Stevan looked up and saw Ogden, one hand clutching his wrist, the other grasping the hatchet that was looped over a nearby branch.

Ogden’s feet slid, but with the power of his arms he pulled them both back upright. “You’d have arms like this too, if you’d plowed as many fields as I have,” he had once said. He’d still be plowing fields if his wife were still alive. He gave Stevan a grin, slapped a muddy hand on his shoulder, and started back up the hill.

Upward they trudged, each step a battle of will and balance. More than once someone fell into the mud, but each time he caught himself before sliding down the hill, and got up to continue on. Stevan’s boots sloshed with every step, his pants chafing against the insides of his thighs. He pulled off his useless hat, crammed it into his belt, and tried to brush his bangs from his face. Ahead, he saw Jakes with his back to a tree. Sarge lay in the mud near his feet. Beyond them, through the rain and dark forest, Stevan could see a small, blurry light.

Slinging his musket onto his back, he got down on his hands and knees and pushed himself through the mud to join his companions. They lay together in a line with Jakes crouching by the tree at one end and Ogden on his stomach at the other. A crash of thunder tore across the night. Stevan flipped onto his back and stared up through the trees toward the dark heavens. Sarge leaned over to his ear.

“The bombards. The attack’s started.” Somewhere out in the sea, men were dying, some his friends, most faceless.

Sarge gestured, advance. Jakes still took the lead, on his feet, moving at a crouch from tree to tree. The rest slithered forward on their stomachs, the rain pounding against their backs. As they inched closer, the blur of light resolved itself into a doorway, flanked by walls of grey stone, ten feet high. Inside the doorway, a torch flickered and cast a yellow glow around the silhouette of a man. He stood only a dozen feet away, but because of the rain and the disparity between the lighted doorway and the gloomy night, Stevan knew the man could not see them.

Jakes signaled Sarge, got the nod, and crept off through the trees until he was out of sight. They waited. Stevan could feel his heart pumping warm blood through his veins, offsetting the cold mud and rain. He could taste mud. Along the wall, a form appeared and drifted toward the doorway. Stevan recognized Jakes as he sneaked up beside the doorway, his short sword in his hand. Inches away, a man stared out into the rainy night, unaware that death hovered beside him. Without a sound, Jakes gripped his sword in both hands and swung around. The blade caught the guard in throat, nearly separating the head from the shoulders. Jakes caught the body as it collapsed toward the ground, and tossed it out into the mud.

Stevan and the others sprinted forward and slipped inside the doorway. They stood in a wide stone archway, leading to a spiral staircase. Out of the rain for the first time in an hour, they leaned against the walls and panted for breath. Up above, another thunderous roar echoed across the night and rattled the stone walls.

“Now what Sarge?” asked Jakes. “They’re at least thirty Rebs in this place, about twenty on the cannons. We’d have to take out at least half to make any difference, and that ain’t gonna to be easy without our guns.”

Stevan swung his musket off his back, aware that it was little more than a muddy club.

Sarge grabbed the torch off the wall and stared at the flickering flame. “You know where the powder store is?”

“Sure it’s…” Jakes trailed off and stared at his boots. For a second, Stevan stood in confusion glancing from Jakes to Sarge. A wordless fear came with understanding.

The five men looked at one another in the glowing light of the torch, dripping mud and water on the stone floor. Stevan ran his gaze around the circle, past the mournful face of Renny, the nervous grin of Jakes, and Ogden’s calm, thoughtful gaze. He looked into the fatherly blue eyes of Sarge. For the first time, he saw doubt in those eyes.

One word, thought Stevan, a single word from any of them would be all it took, but no one spoke. Sarge would lead, and they would follow, once more. He gripped his musket tight.

The walls trembled as somewhere above a bombard fired. Sarge glanced upward. “This is it boys, the last hurrah.”

“That torch won’t last long in the rain,” said Ogden.

“That’s okay, they’ll be more inside,” Jakes said. “Once we hit the top of the stairs, it’s twenty, thirty feet to the doorway down.”

“Lead the way Jakes,” said Sarge. “Stevan, Renny, cover our backs.”

Renny pulled a knife from his belt and nodded.

“Hey, you guys been all right.” Jakes turned and charged up the stairs.

Their boots clattered on the stone steps as they raced upward. Stevan felt the rain against his face again when they burst onto the main level of the fort. Lanterns hung along the wall to the right, their light glinting off the falling water. The two great cannons, the legendary bombards of Urgal hill, sat fifty feet ahead, murky blobs in the rain. Jakes ripped his sword free of a screaming man and ran toward a doorway. His companions followed behind.

Rebels ran from the guns, carrying the short, thick swords of artillerymen, racing the invaders to the doorway. Jakes reached it first and disappeared inside with Sarge and Ogden right behind him. Stevan and Renny, a step behind their companions, reached the door at the same time as the gunners. Gripping his musket by the barrel, Stevan swung the stock into the side of a man’s face and felt the crunch of bone and shattering teeth. By his side, Renny screamed and fell backward, a sword run through his stomach. Renny lashed out at his killer, slashing him across the face with his knife. Blood sprayed, and the man tumbled backward. Renny slid down the wall by the doorway.

Another gunner dashed past Stevan, racing after the others. Renny, clutching at his torn middle, lifted his knife and drove it into the back of the gunner’s leg. The man shrieked and tumbled through the doorway. A heavy blade crashed into Renny’s skull, cleaving it to the eye.

Stevan screamed and swung his musket in a wild circle. Men ducked and weaved, slipping by and chasing after his companions. A wild swing caught one man in the back of the head and dropped him to the wet stones. Stevan lunged this way and that, surrounded on all sides. He spun and swiped at a man behind him, then turned back in time to fend off a thrust at his chest. The sword clanked of his musket, but the wielder charged in and grabbed him around the waist. The rebel lifted Stevan from his feet, driving him backward. Stevan dropped his musket and grabbed the man around the neck. The man continued to push while Stevan’s feet scraped and slipped against the wet surface. Suddenly, there was nothing under him.

With a yell, both Stevan and his attacker plunged over the side of the fort. They spun in the air. Stevan landed on top of the man and bounced. For a second, he was on his feet back-peddling down the muddy hill, but his foot hit a root, and he tumbled over. He landed painfully on his side and slid downward. His feet hit the trunk of a tree, his shoulder another. He rolled onto his stomach, careening down the hillside, while stones and twigs clawed at his face. His head cracked against a tree, spinning him wildly about. He swallowed a mouthful of mud, gagged, choked. He rolled up against a tree, and stopped.

He lay in a muddy heap halfway down the slope of Urgal hill, wondering. Blood seeped out of a gash in his forehead. Something important, about his friends. He gripped the tree in front of him and pulled himself to his knees. The world behind him exploded.

Stevan turned as the hillside shook. The top of the hill erupted in a magnificent ball of orange flame. A roar, like a thousand bombards, tore across the night while blocks of stone hurtled through the air and crashed into the trees and muddy ground. He pushed himself onto his feet, leaning against the tree as small chunks of stone and flaming fragments of wood mixed with the falling rain.

He remembered. Stevan gripped the tree and pressed his face against the wet bark until it cut into his skin. Blood, rain, and tears mixed. For one moment he wished for death, to share that final act with the others, his friends, his family.

From the Journal of Admiral Boshai