The King of Dunkirk by Dominic Fielder

The King of Dunkirk

The King of Dunkirk (King’s Germans Book 2) by Dominic Fielder
English | 2019 | General Fiction | ePUB | 1.6 Mb

The King of Dunkirk: In the War of the First Coalition, friend and foe know only one simple truth: trust your ally at your own peril.

May 1793: The French border.

Valenciennes, Paris then home! Every common soldier knows the popular refrain so why can’t the commanders see sense?

The protracted siege of Valenciennes exposes the mistrust between the allies. National interests triumphed over military logic. The King’s Germans find themselves marching north to the coast, not east to Paris. Dunkirk has become a royal prize, an open secret smuggled to the French, who set a trap for the Duke of York’s army.

Lieutenant Erich von Bomm and Captain Werner Brandt find themselves in the thick of the action as the 14th Nationals, the Black Lions, seek their revenge. In the chaos of battle, Sebastian Krombach, working alongside Major Trevethan, the engineer tasked with capturing Dunkirk, must make a dreadful choice: to guide a battalion of Foot Guards to safety across the Great Moor or carry a message that might save the life of a friend.

The King’s Germans and the Black Lions do battle to determine who shall be crowned the King of Dunkirk.

“The redcoat gulped back warm water. A first mouthful was vomited up almost as soon as it was swallowed; the second, slower and measured, felt sublime.

He tried to picture the orientation of the land. In the last month he had travelled the roads and crossed its waterways in his service to the British engineer in charge of the siege artillery.              

North were the dunes and sea; the army had waited four weeks in vain for the arrival of the fleet. Today the bombardment of Dunkirk was scheduled to begin; even if the Royal Navy arrived, how could he hope to attract their attention?

South were the network of canals and marshes; land firmly in the hands of the French by now. To the west was Dunkirk, still held by the enemy.

Follow the coast east and head to Furnes. It was the only direction of flight that made sense.

The redcoat was a King’s German and knew his duty. Survive, find the army and find his battalion.

Furnes was twelve miles away; the French would be patrolling the road to Ghyvelde, the halfway point. Escape on foot would be near impossible. His body was still too exhausted from the events of the last thirty-six hours. “

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