Gauging the distance between his men and the two companies of Danes, Arthur waited a moment and then drew up, thrusting his sword into the air. ‘Thirtieth! Halt! Make ready to fire!’
The battalion drew up, swiftly dressed their ranks and then advanced their muskets, the men panting for breath.
‘Aim!’
The muskets came up, the bayonets pointing directly at the enemy. The Danish officers were busy bellowing their own orders and their men raised their weapons in response.
‘Cock your muskets!’
‘Fire!’
The two sides fired within an instant of each other and the volleys thundered out. Arthur felt the wind of a ball pass close by his head and heard the thudding impact and gasps of his men as they were struck down. From the right came the sound of another blast from the cannon.
‘Charge!’Arthur bellowed, the cry torn from his throat.Thrusting his sword forward, he raced through the thin cloud of gunpowder smoke and saw through the opposing veil that the Danes had already grounded their muskets and begun to reload. On either side the men of the Thirtieth burst through the smoke and raced across the open ground directly at the enemy. As they closed the gap Arthur could see that the Danes would not have time for another volley and already some of them were stepping back in the face of the line of bayonets sweeping towards them. Only a handful managed to discharge their weapons before the redcoats were among them.Arthur made for a tough-looking veteran, who had managed to fix his bayonet and now advanced the point towards Arthur’s stomach.With a vicious slash, Arthur parried the thrust and slammed the hilt of his sword into the man’s face, crushing his nose and knocking him senseless. On either side the men of the Thirtieth tore through the enemy line, stabbing with their bayonets and using the butts of their muskets like clubs as they smashed into skulls with savage roars.The Danes, outnumbered and stunned by the ferocity of the charge, died where they stood, or broke and ran, fleeing towards the shelter of the town.
‘Keep after them!’ Arthur roared. ‘Charge! Charge!’
The officers and sergeants took up the cry and the redcoats rushed over the last stretch of open ground before plunging into the town. Arthur drew up, and grabbed the arm of one of the young ensigns.
‘Circle round the town. Find Stewart and tell him to charge. Got that?’
‘Yes, sir.’ The ensign nodded, wide-eyed and breathing fast.
‘Then go!’ Arthur thrust him in the right direction and turned to re-join the tide of screaming British soldiers charging into the town.
Their blood was up and they cut down any Danish soldier they came across, whether they attempted to surrender or not. Arthur joined a loose column of men surging up one of the wider streets leading into the heart of Køge. Ahead of them, at an intersection with another broad thoroughfare, stood another company of soldiers, formed up and facing the redcoats.They raised their muskets and thumbed back the cocks.
‘Get down!’ Arthur cried over the heads of his men. Most instinctively obeyed, falling to their stomachs or crouching on hands and knees. A few slower souls reacted too slowly and were cut down as the Danish volley crashed down the length of the street.
‘Up and at ’em!’ Arthur shouted and the charge surged forward again. This time the Danes put up more of a fight and there was a heaving scrummage as the soldiers were thrust against each other and then pressed on from behind. The war cries subsided into agonised groans and the grunts of men straining to push their foes aside. The weight of numbers was on the British side and the Danes were steadily forced back, the men striking at each other with their fists as well as their weapons as the resistance eased. Again the enemy broke and fled and Arthur and the others pursued them down the street towards the heart of the town.
One of the redcoats stopped outside a door and kicked it in, splintering the wood around the latch.There was a female scream from within, then Arthur grabbed his arm.
‘Move on!’
The man stared at him, wide-eyed and wild, his teeth bared in a snarl.
‘That’s an order!’ Arthur shouted into his face and thrust him away from the door. ‘Move yourself !’
The soldier’s snarl faded as some sense returned, then he turned and ran after his comrades, and Arthur had a glimpse of a terrified young woman clutching a child before he ran on after his men. A short distance ahead the street opened out on to a large square, filled with a milling confusion of Danish soldiers.Those who had fled from Arthur’s columns had run headlong into the formed units of their comrades and caused confusion and chaos, a situation made far worse the moment the grenadiers and the men of the Thirtieth burst into the square and threw themselves on their enemies. Arthur stopped, heart pounding, gasping for breath. Seeing a supply wagon parked close by he thrust his way through his men and climbed up on to the driver’s seat for an overview of the struggle.
Now that he could see right across the square Arthur realised that his men were hopelessly outnumbered. With surprise and shock on their side they would hold their own for a short time yet. But beyond the nearest mob of Danish soldiers stood over a thousand more men, formed up and ready to fight. In their midst Arthur could make out Schmeiler and his staff officers. He watched for a few more minutes as his men pressed the enemy back, and then the impetus of their wild charge died and the melee formed a static line across the edge of the square. Then, almost imperceptibly at first, the British soldiers began to give way, forced back by weight of numbers, and they began to be cut down by the vengeful Danes. Arthur looked in the direction from which Stewart would come and prayed that the ensign he had sent had managed to get through. If the other two battalions did not appear now, the Thirtieth’s attack would fail and they would be hunted down and killed in the streets.
Seeing that his men were now winning the fight, General Schmeiler rode through the ranks and drew his sword, bellowing encouragement to his soldiers. He looked over the heads of the combatants and for a brief instant he met Arthur’s gaze and his lips curled into a smile of triumph.
Just then a volley crashed out to Arthur’s right, then another, as musket balls swept into the square from the side streets. The range was close and scores of Danes went down. A moment later the first of Stewart’s men surged into the square, charging home with wild abandon.
‘We’re saved, boys!’ a grenadier sergeant close by Arthur cried out, then his head snapped back in a welter of blood and brains as an enemy officer fired a pistol into his face at close range. But it was too late for the Danes. Those who had been facing Arthur’s men stopped moving forward and glanced over their shoulders in panic at the sound of a new threat.
‘Thirtieth!’ Arthur cried. ‘One more effort and the day is yours!’