Requiescat was engaged with the Grand Chevalier in the next section of the line. Although he had a little edge in weight, her advantage in having a crew was telling against him. A steady rifle-fire was peppering his massive sides and had left a great many small holes visible in his wings, and she cleverly took every opportunity to position herself higher aloft, where he was forced to dodge the bombs her bell-men flung against him. Temeraire saw that on their flank, the harnessed dragons of the Corps were only just barely holding off the advancing right wing of l'Armée de l'Air, and realized that they would soon be forced into a tangled mess.

‘There are ships coming,’ Majestatis said, looping nearby.

‘What?’ Temeraire said.

‘Ships,’ Majestatis said laconically. ‘Out to sea. You can see them if you go over that cloud.’

And then the trumpets were at last sounding the order to yield the centre, with a shrill note, and there was no time to look. The squares below were falling back into column and marching away, and Temeraire made sure that everyone was flying away properly, to either flank as they were meant to do. ‘Remember, we are to meet again behind their lines!’ he called urgently, nipping an over-excited Anglewing who had started to fly the wrong way.

The French soldiers were charging forward more quickly now, and their dragons were stooping. ‘Surely we ought not just fly away? They will have our men in a moment,’ Temeraire said urgently over his shoulder to Laurence.

‘Go!’ Laurence said; he was looking through his glass at the sea. ‘Go at once! You must get clear of the centre, and aloft—’

Temeraire pulled away, with a last anxious look over his shoulder; but as he did, he was startled to see the last of the Coldstream Guards throwing themselves flat upon the ground instead of marching away further. Then a roar of thunder erupted from the fog-bank, with smoke and orange flame.

He broke the top of the cloud-bank and in that moment saw them: sixteen ships of the line, and the enormous goldblazoned Victory at their head, with Admiral Nelson's flag flying from the mast. They unleashed their full broadsides directly into the front rank of the French dragons and men, clouds of black smoke enveloping them even as the last of the fog spilled off their sails and prows.

The French dragons came down in shocking numbers. The heavyweights, were struck one after another, with cannonballs; wings shattered and bones cracked, they came down into their own infantry below them. Only a few managed, with faltering beats, to carry themselves out over the remaining laggard lines of British infantry and smash them. The great Grand Chevalier dragged so far along the ground that she ended at last in the surf, shattered and still, her head rising and falling limply with the break as the waves crashed upon her shoulders.