Odyssey - 31. Chapter 31

October, 1797

Granger and Humphreys stood together on the parapet, watching intently as Saphiro grew nearer and nearer to the Santa Clarita. Just as planned, Saphiro’s topmast came crashing down, and now the die was cast.

“My lord, a Spanish horseman is demanding to be let in,” Eastwyck said to him. Granger held up his hand, demanding his silence, so Eastwyck paused to watch the action unfold. Closer and closer the Saphiro got, until they could see her lurch as she bumped into the side of the small frigate. They watched, almost holding their breaths, as a surge of men flooded out of the hold of Saphiro and up onto the deck of the frigate.

“You may ignore the horseman, Mr. Eastwyck,” Granger said. “He will get his answer soon enough.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Eastwyck said, and strode back to attend to the gate.

The men from Bacchante set sail on Santa Clarita quickly, and at about the same time the canvas was billowing and catching the wind, the union flag was soaring up her flagstaff. That would confirm to the Spanish that she’d been captured. A gun fired at Santa Clarita from Fort Corral. “We will hold our fire for a few more moments,” Granger told Humphreys. He wanted to make sure the Spanish were firmly focused on the frigate before giving them a bigger problem to worry about. He reasoned that the constant shifting of targets would disorient gunners who were probably not all that skilled in the first place.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, even though he was chomping at the bit to get into the action.

“Sir, the Saphiro appears to be on fire!” Fitzwilliam exclaimed.

Granger studied her nervously, worried that some accident had befallen her, but then he saw Calvert’s ingenious plan and smiled. “If Mr. Calvert’s plan works, Mr. Humphreys, you will not have to worry about those two privateers.”

Humphreys grinned. “Indeed not, my lord.”

Another shot rang out, this time from Fort Mancera. It was time. “You may begin firing, Mr. Humphreys. Mr. Kingsdale, strike those Spanish colors and run up our own!”

“Aye aye, my lord!” they said, almost in unison. The flag came fluttering down as the first salvo fired. Granger watched as shots arched across the bay, and admired the way Humphreys had handled his task. He’d designated targets for each set of guns, so that Niebla would have all the other forts under fire at the same time.

The first shots largely missed their targets, but their shock effect must have been stunning. Granger watched as the men reloaded and fired again, and smiled as a shell landed squarely on Fort Corral. The firing continued, with another direct hit on Fort Corral, and a hit on Fort Mancera as well. Over and over again they fired, subjecting the other forts to a murderous barrage. He saw gunpowder smoke from Fort Corral, shortly followed by the sound of a cannon ball passing over their heads and crashing into the village behind them. “The Don’s aren’t using shells, my lord,” Humphreys noted.

“They probably didn’t have any filled,” Granger said. “I expect they will correct that problem shortly. We will have some unpleasantness headed our way soon enough.” As if to punctuate his words, a massive ball from Fort Corral smashed into one of the guns, knocking it off its carriage and into two of the men serving it. Humphreys bellowed orders out as they tried to lift the heated monster off the men, but it would not happen soon enough to save them.

Granger turned away from the carnage and watched as Santa Clarita sailed safely past the fort. The cannonade continued until she was safely out of range. He smiled as Santa Clarita hove to next to Bacchante, as if to confirm that the mission was over and a success. His attention turned back to their fort, where the Spanish were starting to make their jobs most unpleasant. There were ten wounded men laid out in the courtyard, and another ball smashed into those already injured men like a gruesome scythe slicing through grain.

“My lord, we’re out of shells,” Humphreys said.

The fort at Niebla was not built to withstand a barrage from other forts. There was no roof over the cannon, no barrier to stop shells or cannon balls from crashing into them. And while Granger was convinced he’d hurt the Spaniards worse than they’d hurt him, he was not under any illusion that he could silence those other bastions. “Mr. Humphreys, you may cease firing. Tell your men to take cover,” Granger ordered. “They should be armed and prepared to repel a force that attacks the fort.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said. He bellowed orders to stop the firing, then to have the men abandon their guns. Granger sent all non-essential personnel below, to the level just above the dungeon. He watched as a few balls plowed into their battery, but with no men there, the damage was irrelevant. He found a safe vantage point with Humphreys and Kingsdale, and sent Fitzwilliam down to maintain order with the men huddled below. For ten minutes the Spanish continued to fire shots at Niebla, then, seeing that the battery wasn’t returning fire, they stopped shooting as well.

“I think we have confused them,” Granger said.

“Sir, a boat is approaching the beach,” Kingsdale said. Granger took his glass and saw one of Bacchante’s boats heading ashore. He could see Winkler in the boat, carrying a package, and he could see Weston’s large form in the stern, guiding the boat.

“The ascent up the cliff is quite steep and treacherous,” Granger said to Humphreys. Kingsdale was well aware of how steep and treacherous it was. “Rig some ropes to make their climb easier. Perhaps a hoist, so we can lift people and supplies up?”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, and with the same energy he’d used to get the battery into action, he then turned his skills to rigging a hoist and a rope ladder. He drafted a good number of men to help him, but they weren’t finished in time to help the group from this boat.

Winkler was the first to arrive, scowling at his pants, which had dirt on the knees, and most likely a hole as well. “My lord!” he said, and hastened over to Granger. “It is good to see you safe and sound! I thought you may need a fresh uniform.”

“That was most thoughtful of you,” Granger said, smiling. He looked down at the one he was wearing, and saw numerous tears and rips from the brush he’d tramped through.

“Mr. Humphreys!” Winkler exclaimed, the enthusiasm in his voice as apparent as the shock on his face. “It is good to see you, sir!”

“It is good to see you too, Winkler,” Humphreys said, shooting his handsome grin at Winkler. “I assumed you’d be tending to his lordship.”

“It is my burden to bear, sir,” Winkler said morosely. Granger shook his head at Winkler’s banter.

“Good afternoon, my lord,” Weston said cheerfully after hauling himself up the cliff. “It seems that it turned out to be a bold attack after all.”

“Not foolhardy this time,” Granger joked. “At least not yet. This is Lieutenant Humphreys. He is senior to you.”

“A pleasure to meet you, sir,” Weston said. “Garret Weston.” They shook hands.

“I’m tasked with rigging a hoist and a rope walk to make accessing this cliff easier from the sea,” Humphreys said. “Perhaps you can assist me when your orders allow.”

“Certainly, sir,” Weston said automatically, and then turned back to Granger. “Mr. Calvert asked me to inquire as to whether you needed anything, my lord.”

“We will be evacuating this place shortly,” Granger said. “We will need to remove as many men as we can, but we will need to be careful about it. The Spanish guns are within range of your beach.”

“Perhaps we should attempt that at night, my lord,” Humphreys suggested.

“I think that is probably best,” Granger said.

“My lord!” Eastwyck called. “There’s an officer here under a flag of truce who wants to meet with you.”

Granger raised an eyebrow. “You gentlemen may work on your ropes and pulleys,” he said to Humphreys and Weston. “Allow him to enter, and then be so kind as to keep him busy for a few minutes,” he said to Eastwyck. “Winkler, you’re with me.” Granger retreated to the commandant’s house where Winker hurriedly helped him change into a clean shirt and to put on one of his best uniforms. Pausing only briefly to comb his hair, Granger strode confidently out to greet this Spaniard.

The man sent to meet with him under a flag of truce wore the uniform of a dragoon. His two epaulettes indicated he was probably a colonel. Granger was glad he had changed, since the man was quite resplendent in his yellow tunic and matching trousers. The man himself appeared to be in his late 20s, with the darker coloring Granger had grown to expect from the Spaniards he encountered in the Viceroyalty of Peru. The man was not handsome by any stretch of the imagination, with a pock-marked face and a hideously crooked nose. “Thank you for receiving me,” he said in French, bowing as he did. “I am Colonel Antonio de Perreira, of His Most Catholic Majesty’s Dragoons, currently serving as an adjutant to His Excellency the Governor of Valdivia.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Granger responded in that language. “I am Captain Viscount Granger, commanding His Britannic Majesty’s ship Bacchante.”

The man smiled. “It is an honor to meet Your Lordship. We had heard you were visiting our waters.”

“You are too kind,” Granger said. “I am only saddened that I arrive at a time when our two countries are not at peace.”

“That is, indeed, regrettable,” Perreira agreed. “It is sad that we find ourselves as enemies.”

Granger smiled, pouring on his charm. “Colonel, I have many friends in Spain, and while our countries may be at war, that does not make you, or any other Spaniard, my enemy.”

“Of course, my lord,” Perreira said hastily. “I hope you will forgive my choice of words. It is not often that I find myself lucky enough to speak French.”

“Yet that is the language of your ally,” Granger said in Spanish, smiling as he did. “And were it not for your ally, I would not be here.”

“Then we must certainly thank the French for their friendship, since it has indeed brought you here, my lord,” Perreira said smoothly, and in Spanish. He clearly had no intention of being outdone in the flowery-language category.

“Perhaps you are correct,” Granger allowed.

“You speak our language as if you were raised as a Spaniard, my lord,” Perreira said gallantly.

“I had an excellent teacher,” Granger said. “One of the sons of the Duke of Medinacelli taught me himself.” He saw the man almost gasp at Granger’s mention of the powerful duke. “I will pass on your compliment, as it more correctly reflects on his skills than mine.”

“Thank you,” Perreira said, temporarily at a loss for a more fulsome response.

Granger saw Winkler nod to him from the commandant’s house. “I have not yet fully established myself here, but perhaps you would care to indulge in what little hospitality I can offer?” He didn’t wait for an answer, but led Perreira into the commandant’s house and sat with him in the commandant’s parlor.

“Is the commandant not here?” Perreira asked curiously.

“Sadly, he was killed when we took possession of this fort,” Granger said sincerely. “He was a gallant officer, and died bravely.”

“That is unfortunate,” Perreira said, and seemed genuinely saddened by his death.

“It is indeed. I had the honor of telling him that personally as he was dying. I will forever remember his courage. His body has been put aside in a safe place, so that it may receive a proper Catholic burial.”

“On behalf of his family, I must thank you for your kindness,” Perreira said. So much of their conversation was form rather than substance, but in that statement, he was being sincere.

“It is the least I can do for such a brave warrior.”

“You will pardon me for asking, I hope, but were there other casualties?”

“There were ten of your men who were killed or wounded in our initial assault. We were fortunately able to prevent any additional casualties,” Granger said.

“That is most fortunate,” he said, then finally got to the point of his visit. “His Excellency has sent me here to inquire as to your intentions now that you have burned the French privateers and captured the Santa Clarita.”

“His Excellency is anxious to see me leave so soon?” Granger asked, and then smiled to show he was joking.

“His Excellency assumes that Your Lordship is much too important to languish here in Valdivia,” Perreira said, smiling back.

Granger began thinking quickly, forcing his brain to grapple with what Perreira said. The governor of Valdivia simply wanted Granger to leave, and the less damage he caused the better. “Perhaps His Excellency would be willing to help me continue my voyage.”

“I am certainly willing to convey any request Your Lordship may have back to His Excellency,” Perreira said.

“I am pondering an arrangement where His Excellency provides us with substantial provisions to continue our voyage, consisting of fruit, vegetables, and no less than 100 cows or pigs. In addition, His Excellency pledges his word, and the word of his successors, that French privateers will not be welcomed in ports in Chile. And finally, His Excellency will allow my ships to approach this harbor unmolested so we may withdraw in an orderly fashion.”

Perreira gave him a calculating look. “It is possible that His Excellency will observe that Your Lordship will leave, of necessity, on your own without any help from him. In that case, he would be ill-advised to transfer significant stores to help you possibly create problems elsewhere in His Most Catholic Majesty’s realm.”

“That is certainly a risk His Excellency takes. There are over 100 of His Most Catholic Majesty’s men in the prison below our feet. It is my intention to release them on parole, with their promise not to bear arms against His Britannic Majesty or the Mapuche people until a formal exchange can be arranged. I would submit that would limit their usefulness as soldiers.”

“I must thank Your Lordship for releasing them. Their families will appreciate your generous gesture. But I would observe there are other duties they can perform without violating their parole.”

“But of course you are right, and I certainly do not want you to think that I was using them as pawns in some game, as if we were merchants,” Granger said jovially. “In fact, I intend to release them as soon as we have finished our pleasant conversation.”

“Your Lordship is most kind,” Perreira said.

“I think it would be a fair observation that this fort is currently in reasonable condition. It has not been too badly damaged during our recent battle. If I evacuate it on my own, the general procedure is to ensure that we leave no excess gunpowder or arms behind. Unfortunately, that usually entails blowing up the magazine, and it is inevitable that the fort would be damaged in such an explosion.”

“It would indeed be inevitable,” Perreira agreed, understanding Granger’s point perfectly.

“It would further be irresponsible of me to leave guns behind that could possibly be used to protect Frenchmen who prey on our merchants, or that could be used against other subjects of His Britannic Majesty. That requires me to expend considerable effort to render such guns permanently inoperable.”

“You would spike the guns?” Perreira asked.

“I think it would be more responsible of me to blow off their trunions,” Granger noted. Spiking the guns would only temporarily disable them, while blowing off their trunions would destroy the weapons. “So I think that His Excellency, as he views this, would be wise, if I may be so bold as to observe, to consider how easy it is to rebuild such a magnificent edifice as this fort, and how simple it would be to acquire cannon to arm it once it has been rebuilt.”

“I understand your position, my lord. I must thank you for speaking so clearly, and for your benevolent treatment of my countrymen.”

“I have a great fondness for Spain, the Spanish people, and His Most Catholic Majesty, who personally presented me with the Collar of Carlos II at the Alhambra Palace less than a year ago. It gives me no happiness to inflict pain on those I love.”

Perreira rose, as did Granger. “I will convey your message to His Excellency. In the meantime, we will maintain a cease fire.”

“As will we,” Granger said. If nothing else, this temporary truce would allow him to evacuate most of his men unmolested. He led Perreira out to his horse, and ordered Eastwyck to let him pass through the gates.

“We should have a rope ladder rigged, along with a hoist, within the hour, my lord,” Humphreys reported.

“That is excellent work, gentlemen,” Granger said. “Please be so kind as to have the Spanish prisoners brought up and paraded. Gather their tunics for them, and place them in a pile by the gate.”

They stared at him briefly, surprised, until Humphreys came to his senses and said, “Aye aye, my lord.” Granger stood to the side with Humphreys and Fitzwilliam as the Spanish soldiers poured up from the damp, foul dungeon. Their sergeants barked at them, and military discipline reasserted itself. They formed up in line and stood at attention, waiting for Granger to speak.

“Men,” Granger said in Spanish, “it is my intention to release you on your own parole. You have only to give me your word that, until an exchange has been effected, you will not bear arms against His Britannic Majesty, or against the Mapuche people. If you choose to leave now, I will assume that you have given your word. If you wish to withhold it, you may stay here as my guest.” He paused to let them think about that. “I would also like to thank some of you for the loan of your tunics. Those that are still serviceable have been placed by the gate. You may retrieve them whether you stay or go.” They stared at him blankly.

Granger looked at the sergeant who had helped him release the prisoners. “Sergeant, you may dismiss your men.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said. He and the other sergeants turned and bellowed orders out to their men. Those without tunics rifled through the pile to find one that fit, but certainly there was no requirement that it be their own, and then followed their compatriots through the gate. In half an hour, the fort was devoid of Spanish soldiers.

“Fewer mouths to feed that way, my lord,” Weston observed.

“That is true, and keeping our stores up with you and your appetite makes that even more important,” Granger joked, getting a chuckle from the others. “I want you to return to the ship and send boats back to retrieve the prisoners we have freed. They can serve on board Santa Clarita until such time as we can repatriate them. Please ask Lieutenant Calvert and Captain Somers to join me here.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Weston said, and turned to leave.

“Mr. Humphreys, we will be sending the former prisoners over to the Santa Clarita. We will retain a party of 25 men to guard this fort. I have offered to return it, intact, to the governor in exchange for some stores. If he agrees, we will have much work to do to load those on board. If he doesn’t, we will have much work to do to blow up this fort.”

“It seems we will be busy in either event, my lord,” Humphreys said. He began delegating tasks to the midshipmen and warrant officers. Granger watched the flurry of action around him while he himself was unusually inactive, so he took that opportunity to walk back out to the embrasures and study the town more closely. It was really a lovely setting, with large mountains in the background, and a pretty town nestled behind Mancera Island. He looked at the charred remains of the Saphiro, the two French privateers, and another merchant sloop that had also gotten caught up in the conflagration. There was still one privateer out there to capture. After that, Granger was free to either head straight to Amboyna, or to range up and down the coast, raiding to his heart’s content.

Granger was distracted by raised voices in the courtyard, and turned to see 20 angry men approaching him, led by an equally angry Humphreys. Granger jumped down agilely from the embrasures and looked at Humphreys curiously, his way of inquiring as to what the issue was. “My lord, these men are taking issue with signing on to the Santa Clarita.”

“I ain’t servin’ on no British warship,” one of the men growled. He was a very large man, with brown hair and muscular arms, and had a heavy American accent. Granger looked at him, and he seemed to realize that he had been just a little too abrupt. “My lord,” he added.

“There is no requirement that you sign on to serve His Britannic Majesty,” Granger said. “Mr. Humphreys, you may let these men leave through the gate at once.”

They stared at him, abashed now, as if they were just now realizing that they had few options. “So we either sign on, or stay here, my lord?” one of them asked.

“We have a new frigate to man, and a mission to accomplish. I do not have room for passengers, nor am I willing to expend resources to support men who are too lazy to do a day’s work,” Granger said. His tone, which had been so accommodating and friendly before, was now stern and cold.

“We ain’t asking for that, my lord,” he said lamely, then sighed. “Some of us has problems fighting for England after what happened during our last war.”

“How old are you?” Granger asked him.

“Twenty, my lord.”

“When the last war started, you were not even born. When it ended, you were not yet six years old. I am wondering how long you plan to harbor ill feelings against England.” Granger paused to let that sink in. “Here we are, some fourteen years after hostilities ended, and His Majesty’s government is actively protecting American merchant ships, offering them convoy escorts, and sending me into the Pacific to stop depredations on American whalers. My orders explicitly state that I am to try and secure the release of American prisoners. It would seem that the leaders of our countries have decided that the war is over, and we are better off as friends, but you have not.”

The man struggled, and then smiled slightly. “I see your point, my lord. Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“You may want to consider one more thing,” Granger said. “I have been lucky in the past as regards prize money. While there is certainly no guarantee that will continue, if you are a member of the crew, you will share in any bounty that comes our way. If you are not, you do not participate.”

“That is as good an incentive as any, my lord,” the man said. “Where do I sign?”

“Mr. Humphreys, I will leave these men in your capable hands,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, but he was still irritated. He wasn’t used to putting up with insolence from seamen, not that he should. But these men weren’t enlisted yet, so it was reasonable to answer their questions. Some captains would simply have pressed them into service, but Granger had a long voyage ahead of him, and he didn’t want troublemakers. Granger returned to his perch, and studied the port yet again, until he was interrupted by Humphreys again. “My lord, that American you spoke to requested to be allowed to serve aboard Bacchante.”

“He will be welcome,” Granger said. Humphreys was still quite irritated with him. “What is his name?”

“Caleb Jacobs, my lord. From New York.”

“I hope you will not hold Jacobs’ outburst against him. I think that the questions he asked before he joined the crew are irrelevant now that he is part of us.”

“I see your point, my lord,” Humphreys said.

“I am going to wait here for Mr. Calvert. Send him to me when he arrives. I will summon Captain Somers after I meet with him,” Granger said.

“Aye aye, my lord,” Humphreys said, and returned to tend to the evacuation of the fort, and the arrival of Calvert and Somers. Before he could re-immerse himself in the beautiful view of Valdivia, he was interrupted yet again.

“My lord,” Eastwyck said. “There’s another Spaniard here under a flag of truce.”

“A different one?” Granger asked. That was odd. Generally he would expect to deal with only one representative, both to avoid confusion, and to build a relationship.

“Yes, my lord.”

“Very well,” Granger said. He followed Eastwyck over to where a Spanish officer waited for him. He had already dismounted. “Good afternoon,” Granger said affably, and introduced himself.

“I am Lieutenant Rodriguez, of His Most Catholic Majesty’s tercio, my lord,” the man said. He had a clipped style, with none of the continental elegance someone like Perreira exhibited. It made him seem crass, and lower class. “I have brought you a message from His Excellency.”

“I am most anxious to hear what His Excellency has to say,” Granger said.

“He has agreed to disallow French access to our ports, and he has agreed to let you depart unmolested, but he cannot agree to provide you with stores, my lord.” Granger was furious, but he hid it quite well. The governor had clearly thought that Perreira was a bad negotiator, and sent Rodriguez up to meet with him instead. That Rodriguez was of a lower social rank and a lower military rank was a blatant insult, and to treat him like a merchant, to attempt to bargain with him, was beyond the pale of decent manners. “One moment,” Granger said tersely, and walked over to where Humphreys was supervising the withdrawal. “Mr. Humphreys, how long will it take us to fully evacuate this fort?”

“If we just take the men, I think we can have it done in an hour, my lord. Both ships are sending all their boats.” He gestured at the water, where Bacchante’s launch and cutter were already on their way toward land. “If we take additional stores, it will be longer.”

“I am going to give the governor a three-hour ultimatum. In that time, we will need to have all non-essential personnel removed. If we can, I would like to take as many muskets and as much powder and shot as we can. I think they will be useful for us to trade with natives as we travel up the coast. But we must leave enough powder to blow this fort to hell.”

“There’s quite a bit in the magazine, my lord. We will be able to get our fill, and still leave enough behind to level the fort, and most of the town.”

“Excellent,” Granger said. He strolled back over to where Rodriguez waited for him, looking slightly annoyed. “I have altered my proposal to His Excellency.”

“My lord?”

“His Excellency has chosen to send a man of lower rank to treat with me, an insult to my honor, to his honor, and to the honor of His Most Catholic Majesty. His Excellency has rejected my generous offer, and has chosen to bargain with me as if I were a merchant. You may tell His Excellency that his conduct makes him unworthy of his post, and makes me question his heritage. He is acting like he is Portuguese.” He could have slapped Rodriguez and gotten a calmer response.

“I am sure His Excellency meant no respect, my lord.”

“I am sure that he did, and I will explain my dissatisfaction when I next write to His Highness the Duke of Cardona. He is a close personal friend of mine.” The man swallowed hard. “You will tell His Excellency that he has three hours to deliver to me, here at this fort, 10,000 escudos or 17,000 reales, whichever is more convenient. If he has not delivered the money to me by then, I will blow up this fort.”

“10,000 escudos, my lord?” the man asked, stunned. Granger was demanding the equivalent of 5,000 pounds.

“That is what I said,” Granger stated. “If you appear with 9,500, it will not be enough, and I will destroy this fort.” The man said nothing. “You may leave now, and convey my message.”

“Yes, my lord,” he said, and hurriedly mounted his horse.

Granger watched as the gates closed, fighting back the anger that this rude Spanish governor had elicited in him. When he turned to speak to Humphreys, instead he found himself face to face with Calvert. “You were bearding that Don, my lord?”

“I attempted to extract cows and pigs from the governor, but he chose to bargain, so I have demanded gold instead,” Granger said. Just being here with Calvert was transforming his mood. “You did a superb job, capturing the Santa Clarita. And burning the privateers was masterful.”

“Thank you, my lord, but I would submit that you have achieved more. You have land and a fortress to show for your efforts.”

Granger chuckled. “I fear that it will soon be nothing more than a crater, so allow me to show it to you before I blow it up.” He led Calvert off to the guns, where they were by themselves, and sat with him on the embrasure. “I am giving you command of the Santa Clarita. I am going to write up orders to that effect. I am not sure that I have sufficient authority or esteem with the Admiralty to have them consider that as a legitimate posting, but it is the best I can do.”

Granger expected Calvert to be happy, but he wasn’t. At first he seemed saddened, then he seemed annoyed, and then his annoyance shifted to anger. “Why are you sending me away? I have told you before that I am content where I am. Do you not love me?”

Granger felt annoyance and anger as well, and was reminded of one of the less attractive features of a relationship with Calvert. As passionate as they were when they made love, so they were passionate and hot-headed when they argued. “There is more at stake here than you and me,” Granger said coolly. Before Calvert could respond, Granger continued. “What is the condition of the stores aboard Santa Clarita?”

Calvert was going to say something else, but he caught the steely look in Granger’s blue eyes, and did the smart thing. He answered the question. “She seems not quite fully provisioned, but close to it, my lord,” Calvert said. “I cannot speak to the quality of those stores, though.”

“Then I would suggest that you remove yourself back to the Santa Clarita and make sure you can vouch for them. I will select officers for you, and send them, with your orders, over to you shortly,” Granger said.

“George…” Calvert began, realizing for the first time how badly he’d angered Granger.

“Those are your orders, Lieutenant,” Granger said. He hopped off the embrasure and strode toward the commandant’s house, to have Winkler arrange food for them. He didn’t bother to look back to see if Calvert was behind him or not.