Page 33 of The Forbidden Love of an Officer (The Marlow Family #7)

As the last sunlight painted the clouds above Paul orange, the battle could still go either way. Neither side had gained an advantage.

Napoleon’s force made another push to break through the centre of the Allied lines, trying to cut Paul and his regiment off on the left.

The fight continued as daylight turned to dusk, and then edged towards night, and once again Paul was on the defensive, in a square, watching as a British troop charged past to push the French back down the hill.

A call rang from the left. Paul’s lieutenant colonel raised his sword, calling Paul’s square to break and move about.

Something was afoot.

Paul lifted his sword high, calling his men to break from the square and move. Then he saw the risk. The riflemen of the French Imperial Guard were running up the hill, seeking to break the Allied forces once and for all.

Paul ran ahead of his men, calling them on, his sword raised.

The pole bearer ran beside him, holding up their colours, and the flag flew out on the breeze.

‘Halt and kneel!’ Paul bid his front row when they were in close range.

‘Present all!’ Three layers of men at varying heights all raised their rifles a moment before the French line formed into the same position.

‘Fire!’ he shouted.

‘ Feu! ’ the French officer called.

There was a sudden vicious volley of bullets, back and forth.

A force ripped through Paul’s stomach; a solid mass, tearing through his flesh and pushing him backwards off his feet, slamming him down onto the muddy ground as the air about him filled with the bitter smell of gunpowder and blood. There was no pain, only shock. Cold, disbelieving, shock.

My God!

‘Captain! Captain!’

One of his men was beside him, and Paul saw him for a moment before the world went black. ‘Captain!’

There was a foul smell in the air. Death. His death. The smell of a gut wound.

Ellen…

He had no feeling in his arms or legs, though his heart beat even in the darkness, but his blood and energy drained away. I am going to die.

‘Tell my wife…’ He forced the words from his dry lips into the emptiness beyond him, and felt a man’s hand touch his face. Then… the last image in his head was Ellen, her face, as around him shots still screamed above his ahead, and swords and bayonets clashed.

Life ebbed, creeping away into nothing.

‘Captain! Captain!’