The admiral could feel the power of the Indomptable’s engines through the soles of his highly polished boots as another salvo of shells exploded along the waterfront. He savored the heady mix of cordite and coal smoke, the weight of the brass telescope in his hands, and the power resident in the weapons ranked below him. The three-inch guns occupied the forward portion of deck two. But it was the battery of two breech-loading five-inch cannons on the Indomptable’s main deck that were the ship’s pride and joy.

  Gaudet turned to Dubois. The other officer had the grave demeanor of a Jesuit priest. He was dressed in a bicorn hat and a long blue coat that was decorated with gold epaulettes, matching trim, and two rows of gleaming buttons. A pair of white breeches and knee high black boots completed the uniform. “Thank you, Captain Dubois. Please send the following signal to our escorts: ‘Attack.’ ”

  The south bank of the river had been built up, the gun emplacements were only fifty feet apart, and thousands of brightly clad troops were packed into the trenches behind them.

  As rounds fired by the heavy guns located well back of the river whistled over his head, Battalion Commander Lieutenant Colonel Trevor Fitzhugh stood on top of the fortified embankment and eyed the French to the north. The Royal Marine officer’s tall black shako and blood red uniform were immaculate. Just as the shamefully indolent George IV would expect them to be.

  Amphibious vessels were already waddling into the water, and Fitzhugh watched a forty-ton gunboat take a direct hit, as the French battle cruiser Indomptable belched black smoke and jerked into motion. The men in the trenches cheered as the gunboat exploded, but Fitzhugh took scant comfort from the momentary victory.

  He had seen action throughout Europe and in the colonies. That meant he had been frightened on many occasions. But never more so than on that fateful morning as the French land cruiser approached the river.

  And for good reason.

  Reading about the Indomptable in a two-month-old copy of the London Times was one thing. But seeing the monstrosity coming straight at him was another. The hull rose seventy-five feet above a pair of thick axles to which enormous drive wheels were attached.

  The Indomptable’s three-tiered superstructure boasted an equal number of smoke stacks, plus a multitude of secondary weapons platforms. And that was to say nothing of the cruiser’s main armament, which was pointed at him.

  But British officers led from the front.

  That was what Fitzhugh had been taught, and that was what he expected of his subordinates. That meant he felt an obligation to remain where his marines could see him until the last possible moment.

  At that point it would be permissible to stroll over to one of the wooden ladders where Fitzhugh planned to turn and give the French the finger before retiring to the walkway below. A gesture calculated to evoke a cheer from the lads and give them heart.

  Fitzhugh watched as the Indomptable crushed a riverside warehouse and splashed into the Ohio River. It was only thirty feet deep at that time of year. So the water barely came up to the top of the churning wheels, as hot steam shot out of the warship’s relief valves, and her whistle shrieked like a banshee. But the French ship was within range by that time, and a reedy cheer went up as shells struck the Indomptable’s superstructure. A flash of yellow-orange light marked each hit.

  But the French ship had been designed to take such punishment. So when the puffs of black smoke blew away, and the cruiser fired her guns, it was as if the gates of hell had opened to take the British in. Fitzhugh disappeared in a gout of flame as a five-inch shell landed on his position. Whatever remained of his body was buried by the half ton of dirt that fell out of the sky.

  Admiral Gaudet stood with his feet planted wide apart and took pride in his ability to remain upright without taking hold of the rail in front of him as the British soldiers fortunate enough to survive the Indomptable’s initial salvos poured up out of their hiding places with flags waving. Bugles sounded, and their Scottish pipers played Bonnie Dundee as they marched forward to meet the French.

  And it was then, as the Indomptable lurched up out of the river and her guns were pointed at the sky, that Gaudet felt an emptiness at the pit of his stomach. Because mighty though the land cruiser was in every other regard, only a thin layer of steel protected the bottom of her hull. A compromise necessitated by the need to armor the rest of the ship, carry more than a hundred tons of coal, and still make good time over often difficult terrain.

  But the moment of uncertainty was soon over as the bow dipped, a British destroyer appeared up ahead, and the Indomptable’s main battery fired. There was a bright flash of light as the enemy land ship exploded and jagged pieces of metal were hurled in all directions.

  The recoil produced by the Indomptable’s five-inch gun turret sent it back along its rails to a pair of stops. At that point a steam-powered thruster pushed the battery forward again. Seconds later, having ejected the hot casings from the breech loaders, the battery was ready to fire again.

  Except that there weren’t very many targets worthy of the cruiser’s mighty guns, since with the exception of a few elderly ships like the one that had just been destroyed, most of the British land navy was hundreds of miles to the west responding to an attack on the city of Louisville—a feint conceived by Napoleon himself as a way to draw the British fleet away from the real objective. And that was the coal-rich colonies to the south.

  Enemy sharpshooters had spotted the admiral’s uniform by then. Bullets pinged the metal all around Gaudet as an aide suggested that he leave the bridge. But, with the exception of his daughter’s birth, this was the finest day of the officer’s life. And he wasn’t about to miss the horrible beauty of the moment as thousands of British soldiers swarmed up out of their trenches and rushed forward. The swivels mounted to port and starboard cut them down, as did the multi-barreled Picard guns, which were generally credited for Napoleon’s victory at Waterloo.

  But the battle wasn’t entirely one-sided. The land cruiser continued to take hit after hit from enemy artillery pieces and the three-inch guns eventually fell silent. But there was no stopping the cruiser as its wheels turned red clad troops into mush, the Indomptable’s steam whistle shrieked defiance, and Gaudet savored the taste of victory. He could see the future from the bridge on which he stood, and it was undeniably French.

  Fort Cumberland, Kentucky

  The so-called “gap” in the Cumberland Mountains was twelve miles wide. But the only way vehicles could pass through it was via the narrow dirt road that led into the colonies of Tennessee and Virginia. Fort Cumberland had been constructed to prevent rebellious colonists from making use of the pass during the uprising of 1776.

  Later, after General Washington and his coconspirators had been caught and hanged, the fort was used as a base for two companies of his majesty’s Frontier Guards. Their mission, when not taking part in endless drills, was to chase Shawnee Indians and collect taxes on the freight that passed through the gap.

  As Lieutenant Nathan Landry left the bachelor officer’s quarters and made his way toward the more substantial headquarters building, there was a tremendous amount of activity and noise all around him. Steam-powered tractors puffed furiously as drivers maneuvered the machines into position, chains rattled as trailers were hooked on, and orders flew as the process of loading began. It was all part of the last minute preparations for a journey that would take the 17th Light Dragoons and most of their battalion north and west to Louisville where a great battle was about to be fought.

  Landry, who had already been detailed to remain behind, would have gladly traded places with any of the Dragoons. Unfortunately, it was his lot to stay and work on the fortifications along both sides of the road that wound through the Cumberland Gap. The problem being that he was supposed to remove twelve functional, if somewhat elderly nine-pound guns, and replace them with sixteen of the new Lawson steam cannons.

  And Landry suspected that it was his objections to the newly arrived weapons that explained why a lowly Engineering Lieutenant had been ordered to report to Lieutenant Colonel Weyth Wilson. A prospect sufficient to cause even the most experienced junior officer a certain amount of concern . . . never mind one fresh from England.

  There was one bright spot along the way, however. And that came as Landry passed the neat two-story structure in which Lieutenant Colonel Wilson and his family lived. Because there, hanging a quilt out to dry, was Sarah Wilson, the battalion commander’s daughter.

  She had long brown hair, a heart-shaped face, and green eyes that seemed to dance with merriment every time the two of them came into contact, as if she could see to the very heart of him, and found his boyish infatuation to be vastly amusing.

  So when Sarah saw Landry, and waved to him as he passed by, the resulting flush of pleasure was so intense he was still in the grips of it as he entered the lowceilinged headquarters building. Once inside, Landry removed his bicorn hat and presented himself to the fortress-like desk where a Staff Sergeant named Hopkins represented the last line of defense between the Colonel and any fool who sought to see him without an appointment.

  But Landry was expected. So after consulting an enormous pocketwatch, Hopkins rose and made his way over to the metal-strapped oak door. It was partway open. Three sharp raps produced the expected response. “Yes?”

  “Lieutenant Landry, sir.”

  “Show him in. And Hopkins . . .”

  “Sir?”

  “Have one of the men collect my field chest. And tell him to make sure it gets loaded on the first wagon. The bugger will be sorry if he doesn’t.”

  “Sir!” And with that Hopkins left Landry to find his own way into the lion’s den.

  With his hat held in the crook of his left arm, Landry took three paces forward and came to attention. “Lieutenant Landry, reporting as ordered, sir.”

  Thanks to his family’s wealth, Wilson had been able to purchase a lieutenant’s commission. Since then he had risen to the ranks of Captain, Major, and Lieutenant Colonel largely on the basis of competency. Although the fact that his father was a general had been helpful as well.

  In keeping with Wilson’s background, Landry knew that he looked down on graduates of the Royal Military Academy at Woolrich as “not quite gentlemen.” Which meant that any fantasies that Landry might harbor regarding Sarah Wilson were just that. Fantasies.

  As if to reinforce that perception, Landry wasn’t invited to sit down in spite of the fact that two guest chairs were available. Wilson cleared his throat. His eyes were like chips of Kentucky coal. They stared out from under a pair of heavy brows. “The 17th will depart in two hours,” he began. “So I’ll keep this brief.”

  Having separated a sheet of paper out from all the others on his desktop, Wilson held it up for Landry to see. “Please explain why, having taken delivery on sixteen of the new Lawford steam cannons, you saw fit to send me this report? Which, if I’m not mistaken, recommends that we continue to use the nine pounders already in place. Weapons which you, a member of the Royal Engineers, know to be twenty years old.”

  Landry swallowed nervously. “We tested three of the Lawfords, sir. And the new guns fell well short of the performance parameters we had been told to expect. Even under optimal conditions the Lawfords weren’t able to propel standard shells beyond a distance of five hundred feet. A range which I think you’ll agree is inadequate. The problem may be in vaporizing water quickly enough to achieve the desired result. Whatever the reason, it’s my opinion that they are unreliable.”

  Landry watched with a growing sense of alarm as Wilson’s already choleric face took on the color of the bright red jacket he wore. “First you, a mere Lieutenant, have the temerity to tell me that all of the experts at the Lawford Arms factory are wrong.

  “Then, using your supernatural ability to read minds, you presume to know what I think! Well, here’s what I really think Lieutenant . . . I think your tests are flawed. And more than that, I think that when Captain Morris arrives to take command of the engineering company he will figure out where you went wrong and put it right. In the meantime, you will install the steam cannons and do so in a timely manner. Do I make myself clear?”

  Landry felt a nearly overwhelming mix of resentment, shame, and embarrassment. He knew his face was flushed, and it was all he could do to keep his hands from shaking. “Sir, yes sir.”

  “Good. Dismissed.”

  Near Fort Cumberland, Kentucky

  It was a fine evening and Lieutenant Landry was in a good mood as his horse carried him down the dirt road toward the town of Middlesboro. Major Monfort’s birthday party had been planned months earlier, long before Lieutenant Colonel Wilson and the 17th had left for Louisville, and Mrs. Monfort was determined to see it through, even if the guest list was a bit thin without the usual military contingent.

  But her husband’s militia officers would be present, as would the local gentry, all of whom were looking forward to the annual event. Because even though Monfort was the local magistrate, and therefore “the King’s man,” he was very popular and being invited to his birthday party was a sure sign of one’s social standing. Except for junior officers like Landry that is, who were invited as a matter of courtesy.

  But Landry was glad to be included regardless of the reason, because Sarah Wilson was almost certain to be there, and since her father was gone he might even have an opportunity to speak with her. Or, if he could muster the nerve to dance with her, although his skills in that arena were somewhat limited and he feared making a fool of himself.

  The Monfort house was a large two story structure, with a pleasantly curved drive and white columns out front. Every window was ablaze with light, and Landry could hear the faint strains of a waltz, and an occasional burst of laughter, as he brought his horse to a halt just behind a handsome looking carriage.

  A groom was there to take the reins, and Landry thanked him before following a well dressed couple up a wide set of stairs to the point where Mrs. Monfort was waiting to greet her guests. Her hair was piled high on her head, and she had a pretty if somewhat full face. Her beautiful high-waisted gown was from New York, if not all the way from London, and glittered in the lamplight.

  Warm greetings were exchanged with the couple, Mrs. Monfort laughed in response to some sort of joke, and then it was Landry’s turn. He removed his hat, took a step forward, and bowed. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Madam Monfort. My name is Lieutenant Landry. Thank you for inviting me to your husband’s birthday party.”

  “You are most welcome, Lieutenant,” Mrs. Monfort replied. “It’s nice to know that at least one of the King’s officers was left behind to protect us.”

  “I shall do my best,” Landry replied solemnly. “Although I believe it might be advisable for Major Monfort to guard his wife at all times.”

  Mrs. Monfort’s unrestrained laugh was a full throated affair reminiscent of her rural upbringing. “You are an impudent and thoroughly amusing young man. Fortunately, I have no daughter or I would fear for her safety. Henry will show you the way.”

  Landry bowed and followed a brightly liveried servant into the large, already crowded ballroom. It was painted white and at least a dozen well framed mirrors were being used to amplify the light from dozens of candles. As the Monfort’s richly clad major domo announced his name and rank Landry caught a glimpse of his own reflection.

  He had brown hair, what his mother referred to as “a serious face,” and a rail thin body. Too thin in his opinion, which was why he’d never been known for feats of strength as a boy, or been able to distinguish himself at sports within the highly competitive ranks of the military academy.

  Then he was in the crowd where he was greeted by the few people he knew, and introduced to dozens more, while he scanned the room for Sarah. Then he spotted her. She and a couple of other young women were standing in a corner talking to a young man who, judging by his clothing and languid demeanor, was something of a dandy.

  Landry felt an unreasonable flush of jealousy as a florid-faced farmer lectured him on the finer points of hog breeding. But then, as the young man was called away by a well dressed woman who might have been his mother, Landry saw his chance. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to the farmer. “But I have a message for Miss Wilson and it’s somewhat urgent. Perhaps we can continue this conversation at a later time.”

  It was a lie of course, but the farmer was willing to accept it, as Landry made his way over to where Sarah stood and bowed formally. “Miss Wilson. . . . This is a pleasure.”

  Sarah smiled as their eyes met. “Really, Lieutenant Landry? And why is that?”

  The young women to either side of her tittered. Landry felt the blood rush to his face as he struggled to find a suitable response, and might have been forced to retreat in disarray, had it not been for the voice that called his name. “Lieutenant Landry? I have an urgent message for you, sir.”

  Landry turned to find that the Monfort’s portly major domo was waiting for him. “There’s a soldier outside, sir,” the servant said. “A Corporal Lewis. He has a message for you.”

  Landry nodded. “Thank you. Please tell the corporal that I’ll be there in a moment.”

  Then, turning back to Sarah, he nodded formally. “It is always a pleasure to encounter a young woman who is both intelligent and charming. And, if you will permit me to say so, very beautiful. Please convey my best wishes to your mother. Good evening.”

  Eyes grew wider as the young women around Sarah looked at each other. But there was no laughter as the young man with the serious face left the muggy ballroom for the cooler air outside.

  Corporal Lewis was one of Landry’s men and came to attention as the officer appeared. He had the leathery face of a professional soldier. “Sorry to bother you, sir. Especially what with the party and all. But Sarn’t Major Crowley said to come fetch you. It seems a French land cruiser broke through our lines up north and is headed this way.”

  Landry frowned. “That’s bad news. Has the Captain been notified?”