11 December 1854
The firing woke Jack. He was inured to the occasional grumble of Russian artillery and could sleep through the intermittent crash of falling mortars, but this was a new if familiar sound. It was the regular crackle of musketry augmented by the ear-battering roar of controlled volleys.
"Arthur!" Jack shook Elliot awake. "Listen!"
"That"s more than a raid," Elliot said. "Are we assaulting Sebastopol at last?"
"I think Raggles would have let us know if we were," Jack hauled damp trousers onto cold legs, dragged wet boots onto his wet stockings and slipped on his limp, damp jacket. Buckling on his sword belt, he checked his revolver and opened the flap of the tent.
The camp was astir with officers hastily dressing as they hurried between the tents, officers" servants dash
