 Call all hands, speak to quarters. One broadside into it, please, Captain Bush. Pointes on target. Linstuff's ready. C.S. Forrester's indomitable man of the sea, Horatio Hornblower. I run my cabin aboard the nonsuch and get in anxiety. He was talking 50 to a fabon, yet my thoughts were still in England. It was not his words, it was that confounded pacing of his that finally brought me back to our immediate concern. If they get ice, I'm afraid of... If we're not careful, we'll be frozen into the winter. Oh, Captain Bush, count it, she keeps still, man. Thinking of home, they've got doppelganger in sheerness. That's but 30 miles from Smallbridge. Barbara would be there waiting, and my little boy Richard. Or it might be even better to appear suddenly and then, surprise her. Ah, dreams, dreams, dreams. Our duty remains here. That's not so, Horatio. You've paid no heed at all to what I've been saying. Why? There's ice, Barbara. Thus far, it's thin. Only a scum, and mainly at the shoreline. But each day, it creeps further out. I know, I know. We'll soon be icebound, frozen in. My first duty is to my squadron. Locked in, we're at the mercy of the enemy. Marshal Maydor may bring his foot soldiers across the ice and capture every one of us. I know, I know, I know. It was done 20 years ago at Amsterdam. History has a way of repeating itself, Horatio. It's dangerous to risk freezing in. Extremely dangerous. That's true enough. And yet the Admiralty has ordered us to stay. Think how the news would spread through all Europe. Burned apart, Second Army captures a British squadron. The Admiralty would have my head down, wouldn't they? Disgrace, dismissal. Yeah, there's no doubt about it. I say up, anchor, and get out before it's too late. General S. Knopf and his Russians would call us cowards, Bush. Horatio. The Russians are done for. There's no fight left to them. Well, they still hold here at Riga. And if they do, what of it? What about himself? His army has already taken Moscow. Aye, but there's some question that he can remain there. The Russians burned the city before he took it. What of that? He's there and he's victorious. Well, from all the reports General S. Knopf receives, Sir Alexander, yet lost heart. The Russians are still fighting, Bush. Reports more like rumors than facts. Horatio, you've done all that could be done and more. Without you, Marshal Maedon would have reduced Riga and marched onto St. Petersburg long before this. Well, we've helped hold him back and glad to see him. Besides, there's something else. You're not well, Horatio. Oh, Nonsense, you're not. You've lost weight. You've had a cough for weeks. My advice is, take this squadron out. Well, just find your advice. We have to stay where we are until we have orders to move. I don't see that. I saw no ice. We'll follow orders. To find me a horse. And as I joined General S. Knopf and Colonel von Kleiser, near the Russians' defense works, it was all I could do to keep the beast in hand. The opera will make him rear and snort and the saddle heaved harder under me than any ship's deck in the Havocan. I strove to keep my voice calm and unruffled. Well, it appears you may be right, General S. Knopf. The enemy is massing troops in their front line, yes, I can see. Many troops, Commodore. The French have brought up reinforcements. To judge from their colors, I think they have been joined by some Spanish and Portuguese battalions. Is that not a company of the valians to hold out? It is. Your eyes are sharp, von Kleiser. And look beyond. If you will forgive me. Your regiment of your own complement. The Prussian standard. I see that. Yes. You're ashamed that Prussians must fight for Bonaparte. They have been forced to fight for him. They are not really allies. Oh, big one, sir. The Bob Baldwin seems to have stopped you. Yes. So I know this brand. The General Assault. The Assault? The enemy is advancing all along the line. Come, S. Knopf. There's no time to be lost. We must value the troops, for it is too late. Nothing but open country. Well, exactly. And it should not be open. It's the enemy's flag. It leaves some exposed to a sudden attack from that force. It might, sir. Yes. But who's going to leave such an attack? The machine is starting to fight. They have been forced back. They'll be treating. At any moment, the retreat might become a roundabout. Close by me, near the ruins of what had once been a village church, stood a mobby collection of Russian troops not yet engaged in battle. They were all sorts. Artillerymen, supply troops, and a few foot soldiers, all bewildered and leaderless. I found myself beside them, shouting at them, gesticulating to make them understand. I pointed towards the flank of the attack, and they came after me. We fell upon the enemy there and took them completely by surprise. Had a horse shot under their rear. There's no reason to tell. Are you certain you're all right, sir? They sound quite quick. They're beaten off. Aye, sir. Going back to their own lands with their toes between their legs. It was that flank attack that did it, sir. And by the time I'd set myself to rights, General Esnoff had galloped up with Colonel von Krasnitz. Do you see them, Commodore? All those troops. Prisoners? Of course, if they were prisoners, they'd be under guard. And they're not. It's a whole regiment of them. And beside it another. And their uniforms, ragged and dirty. Wait, those standards they carry. Can they be? Exactly. Those are Spanish troops. And they're in Portuguese. But before the battle, they were with Mars from Médon's army. General Esnoff, do you mean to say they've come over to our side? Exactly. They deserted on Massar. I would be much obliged if you would question their commanding officer on my behalf. Much obliged to you, Condé de la Salta. What you tell us about Bonaparte's main army is of great interest. Hunger and disease, eh? Even so, senor Commodore. It has also been reported that nearly all his horses have died off. What of Marshal Médon? If Bonaparte falls back, will Médon also have to order a retreat? These two, I cannot say. They've been part of his army. Does he lack food, supplies? There is no shortage yet. His troops are cold and there is some disease, but... I see. In the lap of the gods, eh? Commodore Hornblower, may I speak of another matter? I have a favor to ask for my troops. Would it be possible to return us to our own countries? Back to the peninsula. We will fight against the tyrant. But we can fight better on our own soil. I have not seen my native Spain for four long years. If we could... could go by sea. If you could provide shipping for us. Yes, it will be arranged. It might have a great moral effect on other allies of the tyrant. Gracias, gracias, Commodore. You will not regret this. However, I ask one favor in return. Any favor that is within my power. Name it. Your signature to a proclamation. That's all. We shall endeavor to circulate among Bonaparte's other satellites the news of your joining the Allied cause. Your signature will attest to its truth. I will sign gladly. Thank you. Now, if you'll excuse me, Condé. I must return to my ship, seeking for Moscow. It is true. True, I tell you. He left Moscow five days ago. We beat him at Maloyaroslavet. The news just came. He's running as hard as he can for Smolensk and Borschev. He may never get there. No, they're dying by a thousand every night. Nothing to eat. Winter. Bonapete. That means we can get out of this bay before the ice by heaven. Not yet, Captain Borschev. Why not? What about the enemy here? Marshal Maydown is still standing firm. He'll have to retreat. There can be no sign of it. Otherwise, General Asnop would have mentioned it. I would most certainly have mentioned it. Still, it is possible. Commodore, I am arranging to send out a sally. A small attack to test the enemy lines at dusk. Will you join us? Well, certainly. Sir, you can't. You're all worn out. Not since Borschev. I must better the pillow. Well, if you say so. You'll wear warm clothes, won't you? And take brown along. When you're in to keep you happy, you're like a hen with one checkbook. You know, from Glosevitz, here come their cannon. They seem to have plenty of ammunition to waste. Campfires at the enemy blowed as yellow as before, and the flashes of their cannon remain regular as clockwork. Then, after a bit, I began to doubt my vision. At first, I thought that curious lightheadedness was overcoming me again, making my eyes deceive me. But in a moment, I... They're destroying their guns, firing some shots at us while at each cell, the fun ends of one of their own cannon, eh? Do you see that first battery? Only one gun that time, by the great Nipejuicorect Commodore. Disabling the guns, letting their campfires die? Hey, Don has given up. His army's in retreat. That must be it. For Glosevitz, we must follow up at once. Order the foot soldiers to prepare to advance. I want the cavalry plerated two hours before dawn. Now, if all goes well, we should come within sight of their rear guard by daylight. Can you provide me with a horse, General Esnoff? I want to go with you. I could dream only clearer somehow. If we trotted up the road, Brian would hide behind us. No shots were fired at us. Cossack patrols and the enemy, too, stared at us, unbelievably. Then suddenly, we were in among the Prussian's. I asked to be escorted to the general. His name was York. What is this? Von Kosevich? If I may, General York, let us put aside personalities. What are you doing at my rags? You realize I shall make you prisoners? As you and all of Prussia have been prisoners of Napoleon Bonaparte? General, I represent the King of England. General Von Kosevich represents the Emperor of Russia. We are fighting to free Europe from Bonaparte. Are you fighting to maintain him as a tyrant? Such a question cannot be answered. It is impolite. Bonaparte is beaten. He's retreating from Moscow. Not 10,000 of his army will return. Yes, I thought armies... The stand-eds have deserted him, as you know, so have the Portuguese. All Europe is turning from him, knowing that they've been betrayed. I am a soldier. If you fight for him, you may keep him on his tottering throne a few weeks longer. You are a German. Your duty is to your enslaved country, to your King, who is Bonaparte's prisoner. You are a soldier. If you can free your country, you can free your King. Now, at this moment, you can end the useless pouring out of the blood of your own men. What do you suggest? An armistice, General York. An immediate cessation of hostilities. To put down our arms? To stop fighting, fighting for Bonaparte? Yes. Well, General, I agree. Good. The wind of snow and desolation faded. I seemed to drift. I was in a bed. Lemon, nothing but lemons. Again, a bed. And I also, Elisha. Thank you. Third spells, boys. Well, we'll show them, huh? Yes, Elisha. Those spells must mean peace. They don't bring that much in water, do they? It's peace. Oh. I've been ill, haven't I? You have? With the plague, for a month. Huh? I'm conscious, most of the time. A month? Impossible. Ever thought you'd pull through, sir? You were that fever-stricken? Where's the squadron, Captain Bush? I'm going back to England, all except an unsuch. I put Duncan in command. We've been ordered to stand by here until you're ready for the trip. The doctor says you should be up and about in another three weeks or so. Grey's land. Grey sands and green hills of England. You dropped Duncan at Shear Ness where I was welcomed by the vice-admire. But I was impatient. The next morning, just 30 miles to Smallbridge, 30 miles. And the church bells ringing and brown pounding upon my own door. And Williams, the butler, opening the door. What a joy! Elisha. Oh, my, my observing, huh? I'm back, huh? How's young Richard? Oh, he's wonderful. He's wonderful. Michael Redgrave is based on the novels by C.S. Forrester. Music composed and conducted by Sidney Torch, Alan Towers.