On the Shore at St. Brelade

The Seventh Royal Infantry was hemmed in by fog, limiting their visibility to just a few feet and Major Cecil Clempston was bored.

He had hoped that a posting as garrison commander at St. Brelade, in view of the French coast, would have meant excitement, but no such luck. This odd scrape with the Americans was the most exciting thing that had happened since he arrived six months ago, but it was still managing to be nothing more than a long, tedious wait, since the Americans still hadn’t actually shown themselves. He knew they were out there, somewhere in the mist, and under different conditions, that would have made him nervous, even fearful. But he was confident in the superiority of his forces and their overwhelming numbers and not worried in the least...