The Gunroom - 3. Chapter 3

Dinner had been a tedious affair. The admiral and his entourage were deadly dull. Granger had seen musicians arrayed in the background, but he was disappointed when they played. They weren't nearly as good as their trio on board Barracuda. Maybe the reason it had been so tedious was that Granger was anxious to get away with Iggy, to fuck him as he'd fucked Granger.

They walked up to their room, Iggy looking nervous. “Lord Calverton will want a bath in half an hour. Prepare it now, hot enough so it's still warm then,” Granger ordered the servant. It took them about 15 minutes to get that ready. Granger nodded to Iggy, who looked at the servant meaningfully.

“I am not to be disturbed,” he said.

“Yes my lord,” the servant replied, and scurried out of the room. Granger followed him and locked the door.

“Strip,” he ordered, staring right at Iggy. Iggy smiled and started taking off his clothes, with Granger doing the same thing. Granger admired Iggy's body. For a foppish man, he was remarkably fit. Protruding in front of him was his hard dick. Damn he was big. Probably a good eight inches long, and wide as well. No wonder it had hurt so much, Granger thought. “Lay down,” he commanded, pointing to the bed.

Iggy lay on his back, stroking his dick seductively. Granger knelt between his legs, smiling at him, and took him into his mouth. He got Iggy really worked up, getting him close again, but still not letting him cum. “Roll over,” Granger ordered.

Iggy looked at him nervously and swallowed. “I know I don't deserve it, but I've never done this before, been fucked. Please don't hurt me like I hurt you.”

“I'll think about it,” Granger sneered, as Iggy rolled over, exposing his cute ass. It was big and bulging, not like Bell's thin, cute little butt, or Travers athletic physique. Iggy had a butt that was made to be fucked. Granger slapped Iggy’s ass hard. Then again, and again, and again, until it was bright red. Granger got the distinct feeling that Iggy enjoyed it. He then grabbed a handful of the lard he'd brought upstairs and greased Iggy's crack, taking time to run his fingers playfully over his hole.

Granger had never fucked another guy. His only experience with that had been his abortive experience with Iggy, so he was on shaky ground. He decided to just do what he thought he'd like. He gently probed Iggy's ass, pushing a finger up his chute. Iggy went nuts, humping back against it, so he added a second finger. Granger lathered some of the lard on his dick and positioned himself at the edge of Iggy's hole. “I'm gonna fuck you now. Tell me how bad you want it,” he said.

“I want it. Come on George. I want it so bad. I never thought I would, but God I do. Fuck me,” Iggy said, and then he gasped as Granger pushed in. “Hurts,” he said.

“Good,” said Granger, and began to fuck him slowly but rhythmically. Iggy was so tight, because this was his first time, and because he was holding his body together so intensely it was like a fist fully clenched. Granger adjusted his thrusts and picked up the pace, and finally he felt Iggy relax, loosen up. Then it got really fun. Iggy got really into it, and started fucking his ass back into Granger. It was more than Granger could stand. He pulled Iggy up onto his hands and knees and stroked his cock frantically while he fucked him Granger came first, blasting his load into Iggy, while Iggy finally released a huge load, the load that had been pent up all day.

“Get up,” Granger ordered, not giving him any time to enjoy the afterglow. Iggy smiled and got up.

“That was incredible George. I've never felt anything like that. You made me feel things I never thought I could feel.” Granger gulped. It was hard to stay so severe with Iggy.

“I'm glad, I really am. That's how it could have been for me,” Granger said, still working out his demons. He led Iggy to the bathing tub and climbed in. “Wash me,” he ordered. Iggy smiled, grabbed the soap, and began to wash Granger, every crack and crevice. When he got to Granger's cock, he found that it was hard again already. Granger rolled over to give Iggy access to his ass. Iggy took the hint and began to run his soapy fingers up and down Granger's crack.

As Iggy's fingers grazed his hole, Granger couldn't repress his moans. Iggy worked his ass, pushing a soapy finger up there, then another. Granger pushed back into his hand, moaning. Then Iggy's fingers hit a button, a button that set Granger free. He felt his ass spasm, opening wide, and felt his cock start to throb in ecstasy. He stopped Iggy, rolling over. Iggy grabbed for his dick but he pushed him away. Instead, Granger stood up, taking the fresh water pitcher next to the bath and handing it to Iggy so he could wash off the soapy water.

“I'll get you a towel,” Iggy said, transfixed by Granger's throbbing dick.

“No,” Granger told him. “Lick the water off. Lick me dry.” Iggy got a weird look on his face, and then he grinned, a huge grin. He brushed Granger off lightly with a towel and guided him back to the bed. Then he started to bath him with his tongue. He started with Granger's toes, and feet, perfect feet, then his calves, muscular for a 15 year old, and sexy as hell with a light dusting of blond hair. Then his thighs, running his tongue up and down each one, taking a chance to flick his tongue on Granger's balls. Then he sucked on Granger's pubes, getting any water out of his hair, and rubbing Granger's hard cock against his face.

“Good?” Iggy asked.

“Yeah, real good,” Granger said, smiling at him. Iggy followed Granger's almost imperceptible treasure trail up to his belly button and sucked the moisture out, tickling Granger in the process. Then it was up to his chest, to each nipple, and then to his armpits, so sexy with their little patches of blond hair. Finally, face to face, they kissed, with Iggy lying gently on top of Granger, while Granger wrapped his arms and legs around him. Iggy thrust against him, relishing the body contact, until Granger stopped him. He rolled over, getting a huge smile from Iggy.

Iggy moved down to that sweet ass, the ass he'd dreamed about, and the ass he'd so violently taken all those years ago. The guilt overwhelmed him and a tear escaped his eye, but he wiped it away before Granger could see. Then he worked his mouth up Granger's thigh to the back of his balls and his taint, licking and moaning into his perineum. Granger moaned and thrust back into him. Iggy moved up to Granger's hole, his cute little pucker, and dove in, licking it, rimming it, probing it with his tongue.

“Iggy,” Granger panted, getting his attention. “Now's your chance. Show me how you would have fucked me. Make me feel good,” Granger cooed.

Iggy grabbed the lard and spread it on Granger's hole. Granger felt the cool grease around his ass. Between the bathtub, and now the rimming, he knew he wanted Iggy's dick, but he also knew it was big, so he was going to let Iggy earn his redemption. He felt Iggy's finger probe inside, and felt it hit his magic button again. He moaned, his hips automatically thrusting back into Iggy's hand. Then there were two fingers, and then three. Iggy used his fingers to stretch him, but he did it in a way that wasn't painful, maybe a bit uncomfortable, but not painful.

Iggy pulled his fingers out and Granger knew that it was time. The next thing he felt was Iggy's cock head, pushing against his hole, demanding, no asking for entry. He pushed, and then backed off, as if politely allowing Granger to adjust to his huge organ. Granger felt him push harder, more insistently, and then he was in, past his ring. It hurt; it hurt like hell, but not nearly as bad as the first time. Iggy knew what he was doing this time. He adjusted his angle of penetration to make sure his dick hit Granger's magic spot and began to move in and out deliberately, not too fast and not too slow.

Granger lay there, letting the stimulation flow through his body, feeling the electricity that Iggy's dick was generating in his body, and then he gave in to his emotions, into the feelings of lust and ecstasy that overwhelmed him. He moaned loudly and thrust back into Iggy. He felt Iggy laying on top of him now, pushing him into the bed with his much heavier body.

“Is this better?” Iggy asked in a sultry tone. “I told you I'd make you feel so good this time Georgie. So good. You like this?”

“Yes,” cried George, almost a high pitched shriek. Then Iggy picked up his pace. With the thrust of Iggy's dick in and out of his ass, and the corresponding rubbing of his dick against the bed, Granger knew he couldn't last much longer. “Gonna cum,” he moaned, and then he started shooting. He felt a charge flow through his body from his balls, forcing his whole being into one huge orgasm. He lost complete control. He thrashed around under Iggy, blowing his load into the sheets, feeling Iggy as he swelled up and blasted inside of him. Spent, they collapsed on the bed next to each other.

“Am I forgiven?” Iggy asked.

Granger smiled at him. Iggy had been a total dick, had traumatized him beyond belief, but he had redeemed himself. “Yes, you are forgiven. Just be nice to the Captain on the voyage, alright?”

“Nice? What would make you think I wouldn't be?” he asked with a grin.

They lay there, dozing off to sleep. It seemed like in no time at all there was a knock on the door, the servant telling them it was time to wake up. Granger straddled Iggy as he slept, his morning hard on rising up from his body like an obelisk. Granger lowered his still lubed ass down on his dick, finding that it didn't hurt nearly as bad this time. He looked down to see Iggy looking up at him. “So you like that huh?”

“Shut up and fuck me,” Granger said, smiling back. Iggy rolled him over onto his back and did just that, bringing Granger off in yet another spectacular orgasm.

The Barracuda had to warp out of Gibraltar, around the mole. There was a strong wind out there beyond the rock, but it was dead calm in the harbor. Dacres, Wilcox, Travers, and Bell were in the boats, encouraging the sweating men to pull the grumpy ship along. It was amazing that something so lithe and beautiful in the wind could be a total bitch when becalmed.

Granger found himself in the Captain's cabin, or at least the larboard side of it. Sir Evelyn had courteously had partitions put up in his cabin to provide a suitable space for Lord Calverton. It was Granger’s job to supervise the set up of those quarters, and the stowage of the unnecessary trunks, to make sure everything was to his lordship's satisfaction. Granger smiled, remembering their morning fuck. Hand jobs were nice, blow jobs were awesome, but fucking was unbelievable. He wondered if Bell would be into it but put the thought aside. He was enjoying Iggy now, but there was really only one person he wanted.

And the only thing to mar his relative happiness was that that person seemed to be pissed off at him. Granger had returned to the Barracuda and had gotten the cold shoulder from Travers. He'd tried to engage the lieutenant in light conversation, but Travers had shut him down, had been downright rude. Travers was a lieutenant and he was a mere midshipman, so Travers was well within his bounds to be rude. It's just that he hadn't done it before, and now that he had, it was throwing a wet blanket on Granger's mood.

“That will be all for now,” Iggy said, dismissing his steward. “Come look at how they configured my sleeping cabin,” Iggy said. Granger followed him into the partitioned room and found himself in an instant lip lock. Then Iggy was turning him around, his fingers were on his ass, and he felt Iggy's huge dick probing at his still-lubed hole, then entering him forcefully.

“We can't do this,” Granger said as Iggy pumped into his ass while stroking his cock at the same time.

“Yes we can,” Iggy said, and picked up his pace. They both sensed the danger, which heightened their senses and made the sex that much more exciting, but also made it much faster. Within five minutes they were both back out in the day cabin, with Granger trying to figure out how to keep Iggy's cum from leaking out of his ass all day.

“We can't do that Iggy. If we get caught, they'll hang me, maybe you too.”

He eyed Granger slyly. This was the old Iggy, the prick, the heartless bastard. “You want me to be nice to the Captain? You give me what I want.” Granger glared at him and he relented. “Come on George, you're my fantasy. I only have you for a few weeks while we travel to Naples. We'll be careful, but let me enjoy you.”

Granger relented. “Saying no to you is tough. But we have to be careful.”

“We will,” Iggy said reassuringly.

“Now I have to get back up on deck. We should almost be clear of the mole.” Granger looked around furtively and then gave Iggy a quick kiss. He grinned then rushed up to the quarterdeck.

“Is his lordship settled to his satisfaction?” asked the Captain.

“I believe so sir,” Granger said.

“He hasn't been difficult at all, so far anyway,” the Captain observed. “Your presence seems to placate him. I'm going to ask you to keep a close eye on him. If you need someone to take your watches on this voyage, just ask.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said, shocked. “I'm sure I can still pull my weight though.”

“You're pretty slim Mr. Granger. That shouldn't be too hard,” the Captain joked. For the first time, Granger laughed with him. Their interlude was interrupted by the arrival of the breeze, loudly signaled by the flapping canvas of the sails.

“Trim those yards,” the Captain bellowed to the tops. “Mr. Granger, tell the boats to return to the ship.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, and ran forward to wave at the boats and shout for their recall. There were some tired men and cranky officers that were hauled aboard. Granger smelt the galley fire. The Captain was going to reward their hard work with a hot breakfast.

Granger stood on the quarterdeck, enjoying the feel of the ship as she heeled over under the press of canvas. Travers approached the Captain and saluted. It was their watch. Granger smiled at him but Travers ignored him. Travers had seemed to dislike Iggy on sight, and the feeling seemed to be mutual. Maybe Travers just didn't like change, didn't like the routine of the ship to be upset. Maybe once they'd deposited Iggy in Naples, he'd go back to being his normal self. A thousand miles to Naples, Granger thought. Could be ten days, could be three weeks. Shit.

Six days of strong winds off the quarter had propelled the Barracuda toward Naples with amazing speed. The ship had gotten to within 200 miles or so of its destination, but then it had been hit by adverse winds, and then no winds, and then adverse winds again. For three days the officers and crew had labored for every mile, tacked and clawed their way toward Italy, and finally had sighted land. That had seemed to be a cause for celebration, so Lord Calverton had invited the officers to dinner.

Granger paced the quarterdeck on the lee side while Travers paced on the windward side. He looked sideways at the lieutenant and felt the sadness well up inside of him. Travers had shunned him more and more throughout the trip, to the point where he barely spoke to Granger at all. For Granger, it had been a devastating experience, to have someone he'd completely liked and idolized suddenly turn on him and reject him. So now, here they were, sharing a watch, and pacing separately.

The only thing that had helped was Iggy. Iggy had kept him busy when he wasn't on watch, and had found a way to fuck him at least twice a day. Granger found he had to work hard to keep from glowing afterward. The more they did it, the better it was. It was a time of exploration, getting to know each other's bodies, learning what made the other feel good.

But when Iggy had said he wanted to throw a party, Granger had insisted that he do it on his watch. He'd benefited from Iggy's huge store of food and delicacies for the whole voyage, and had monopolized his company. It was time for some of the other officers to get to know him. Iggy was an influential person, and it might do Granger’s colleagues good to ingratiate themselves to him.

All except Travers, who was civil to Iggy and nothing more. That was the other reason Granger wanted Iggy to have the party on their watch. He didn't want to force Travers to spend a whole evening with him. Iggy was charming, a skilled conversationalist, but Granger knew from personal experience that if you didn't like him, it was annoying as hell.

Granger reached the end of the quarterdeck and turned inward and found himself staring across the deck at Travers. They both froze, just staring at each other. Granger swallowed, tackling his fear, and walked over to Travers. “May I walk with you sir?”

Granger expected him to say no, just as he had two days ago, but this time he said nothing, just nodded and continued his walk. Up and down they walked together, the silence deafening and uncomfortable. “Permission to speak freely sir?” Granger asked.

“You can't say what you have to say within the confines of proper discipline?” Travers asked sharply.

“No sir.”

“Then I think it would be best not to say it,” he said simply.

“Do you hate me sir?” Granger asked.

Travers stopped, mid stride, and stared at him, then they resumed their walk. “I don't hate you Mr. Granger. Liking or disliking someone has nothing to do with doing your duty anyway. These are not things that a King's officer is supposed to discuss.”

“Does that mean you don't like me sir?” Granger probed, knowing he was on very dangerous ground here.

Travers was totally within his bounds to banish him to the masthead or some other nasty punishment, but he knew that Granger came from an influential family, and he was not one to give in to his emotions. This kid was like gunpowder: dangerous, someone to be handled with care. He paced a bit longer and sighed. “I'm not quite sure how I feel about anything right now,” Travers said. “But I'll make you a deal. When I figure it out, I'll let you know, and in the meantime, we'll just drop the issue.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said. “For the record sir, I like you. I admire and respect you.”

“And?” Travers asked, correctly assessing that there was more.

“And I'll fill in those blanks for you when you figure out how you feel about things sir,” Granger said cheekily. He said it with a grin that made Travers smile briefly.

“Lord Calverton is an interesting man,” he said.

“He is indeed sir,” replied Granger. “We haven't always gotten along in the past, so this voyage has given me the opportunity to work things out with him. He's an old family friend, so it makes things easier.”

“So you've worked things out?” Travers asked, with a slightly bitter tone.

Granger eyed him curiously. “We had a really unpleasant fight a number of years ago. I've been able to put that behind me. It's kind of like having an open wound finally heal sir.” He paused. “So now I'd say we're friends, and I've been able to forgive him for the past.”

“What did he do to you?” Travers asked.

“I'd rather not say sir,” Granger said nervously.

“It seems that you and I have a lot of things we can't seem to say to each other,” Travers observed. “I'll try not to ask such personal questions.”

“I don't mind sir. I really don't. I know that you're my superior officer, but I still consider you to be my friend. I hope that's not too presumptive of me. If you ask me something that I'm uncomfortable answering, I'll tell you.” Granger cringed. He was opening up too much.

“I consider you to be a friend too Mr. Granger,” Travers said, smiling.

The bell rang, signaling the end of the watch. Dacres and Wilcox came up to relieve them, followed by Iggy.

“Would you two honor me by joining us?” he asked. “We've saved you some food, more of a bribe to get you to play a bit for us.”

Granger looked at Travers and raised his left eyebrow. If they were going to play, that meant they were playing with the Captain. And that meant they had no choice. “It would be my pleasure my lord,” Travers said with a bow. He and Granger headed below to get their instruments.

They found the rest of the dinner crowd drinking and having a great time. Travers and Granger took a few minutes to wolf down some food, and then they played a number of songs. The Captain was in a good mood, and Granger had the feel of his and Travers' style, so they did really well together. Iggy was like a cheerleader, encouraging us. For the first time, he seemed to get along with Travers.

They took a break to eat some more food. Granger found the opportunity to corner Iggy. “It looks like we'll be outside Naples tomorrow, maybe in port. It was great to see you.”

“It was great to see you too. Promise me you'll come and visit me as often as you can?” Iggy asked, almost pleading.

“Or perhaps you meant visit you and cum?” Granger said, teasing him.

The party ended somewhat abruptly, with the need to add more sail demanding the attention of the Captain. Granger did his duty and then snuck back down to Iggy's cabin.

“We're outside of Naples now. We'll make port in the afternoon,” he updated Iggy.

Iggy didn't seem to hear him. He already had Granger turned around with his hands stuck down his trousers. “You have the sweetest ass George. This ass has given me more pleasure than anything else ever has.”

Granger leaned back into him with a murmur and tilted his head to the side to kiss Iggy's cheek. “You've made me feel things I never thought possible. Do it again.” Iggy moaned as he pushed his big dick into Granger's ass, and made love to him for what would prove to be their last coupling before Iggy landed in Naples.

One week later found them warping the Barracuda out of Naples harbor, a pilot on board giving the Captain staccato directions about this shoal or that rock. Granger stood on deck, fortunate to avoid being in the boats once again, ready to assist the Captain or Mr. Preston as they saw fit, and nursing his hangover.

Their time in Naples had been one long party. He'd been detailed to be Iggy's liaison with the ship, of course, which meant he'd inhabited the Royal Palace. Granger contrasted the Neapolitan Court with that of Britain, and found it to be archaic and rigid. Perhaps that was to be expected, considering that King Ferdinand's wife was the sister of Marie Antoinette, who languished in a French prison, subject to the whims of revolutionaries. Most of the courtiers were worried about their Most Christian Majesties, as the French monarchs were styled, but no one could really believe that those Godless scoundrels would actually harm their rightful monarchs. Granger wasn't so sure about that. For him, it had been a strange experience after being on the Barracuda. It was almost like being back in London, especially with Iggy there to guide him.

Saying goodbye had been difficult. Iggy had been angling to have him transferred to the embassy, but Granger wouldn't hear of it. He'd gotten so adamant, that Iggy had given up on that plan and accepted that he'd be leaving. Granger thought about their relationship, and how it had changed. He'd met Iggy in Gibraltar full of hate for him, and now as they left him behind in Naples, there was a lot of affection there. In the end, that one horrible, painful incident in the stables a few years ago had probably kept him from falling in love with Iggy, and even though Granger had never been in love before, he had the distinct feeling that heartbreak was much more painful.

“Mr. Granger, if you can pull yourself out of your daydream, your assistance would be helpful,” Mr. Preston drawled.

“Yes sir, I'm sorry sir,” Granger stammered.

“I want you up on the foretop, looking for rocks and shoals in case our pilot here forgot how to say left or right in English.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger chirped, and scurried toward the bow to the foremast and scrambled up the shrouds as a good midshipman should. It provided him with a marvelous view of Naples and its harbor. In the end, he did nothing more than sight see, as Mr. Preston's qualms about the pilot were unfounded.

Free of the harbor and exposed to the winds again, the boats were hauled in and the ship resumed its normal routine. Granger found himself on watch with Travers and sighed. Despite that one brief time where he'd unbended a bit, Travers had returned to his contained, aloof self. Granger watched him out of the corner of his eye as he paced the windward side and sighed again to himself.

“Join me Mr. Granger,” Travers said, and Granger smiled and cheerfully began pacing with him. “This is a great way to exercise.”

“Yes sir. It is,” said Granger, just happy to be having a conversation with his moody and unpredictable lieutenant.

“Did you enjoy Naples?”

“I suppose sir,” Granger said cautiously. He had the feeling that Travers was probing. “It's a lot different than Britain.”

“How so?” Travers asked.

“Their court is more rigid, more archaic than ours, sir. Naples is still an absolute state. In Britain, the Parliament acts as a control on the King,” Granger responded, wondering if talking about putting controls on the King was a mild form of treason.

“So you think our government is superior to that of an absolute monarchy like Naples has?” Travers asked.

“I do sir. Do you?” Granger asked.

“Well, my family were Royalists during the Glorious Revolution, so I'm not sure that I'm supposed to think so, but I agree with you,” he said with a smile.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters sir?” Granger asked.

Travers got visibly tense. “I have a brother and a sister. And you?”

“I have two brother sir,” Granger said.

“Ah yes. One of them was Lord Calverton's friend. You two seemed quite intimate by the time we left Naples,” Travers observed.

“Intimate sir?” Granger asked, warning bells ringing in his brain. Was Travers accusing him of having a homosexual relationship with Iggy? What did he know? Had they not been careful enough?

“Yes, as in a close personal relationship. Perhaps a better term would have been good friends,” Travers said, seeming to realize that he'd gone too far.

“I'd say we're friends now, not good friends sir. I get the feeling that you don't like him.”

“I have no opinion of him one way or the other,” said Travers, irritated.

“Did you have fun in Naples sir?” Granger asked, changing the subject.

“I did. I went to pretty much every whorehouse in town,” Travers said, just as they turned. Granger couldn't hide the shocked expression that drew, but he did manage to contain the incredible jealousy that it aroused. Travers eyed him carefully and then smiled big. He was joking. “I stayed on board for the most part,” he said, laughing.

Granger laughed with him. “I'm sorry sir, you just shocked me. You don't seem like the type to visit whorehouses.”

“And why is that?” Travers demanded in a very irritated tone.

“You are too classy for that, sir, and you are handsome enough that you wouldn't have to resort to that kind of women for, uh, pleasure,” Granger said confidently.

“Ah. Well thank you Mr. Granger. I supposed you're right. I'm not a habitué of whorehouses.” Travers paused, and then became a naval officer again. “That forebrace is as slack as one of the whores we were talking about. Attend to it at once.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger chirped, and detailed a party of seamen to handle it, sad that his brief interlude with Travers was over.

The Barracuda was thrashing along under reefed topsails, her movement so lively even Granger's normally solid stomach was having qualms. The waves were massive, huge walls of water that moved across the sea like cantering horses. Every once in awhile the Barracuda would put her bow into a wave and a huge wall of water would cascade across the deck, flowing out through the scuppers, although a goodly portion would make its way to the bottom of the ship. Granger heard the pumps working to empty out the bilge, and it was likely that they'd continue to keep working throughout the storm.

A gale had descended upon them, almost without warning, driving them eastward instead of west, a loss of precious ground, but even more dangerous than that if it drove them onto the rocks of the Italian coast. So the Captain had an unenviable choice. He could force Barracuda on, maintain his course and keep the ship on track to reach Toulon. The problem with that was that there was a real possibility that she would tear some of her rigging away, perhaps enough to prove fatal to the ship. On the other hand, he could heave to, give in to the wind and waves, and let Barracuda ride out the storms. The problem with that was that if they weren't careful, they could make too much leeway and possibly end up tossed on the rocks. Granger stood on the quarterdeck with Travers, watching the Captain as he gauged the force of the wind and waves.

“Mr. Travers, call the watch. We'll heave to,” the Captain said. Granger saw the relief on Mr. Buckle's face, which told him that he'd been arguing that point with the Captain down in the chartroom.

“Aye aye sir,” Travers said. Whistles blew and hands rushed up from below, up the rigging, with Dailey the bosun there with his starter, “encouraging” the laggers. His starter was a short length of thick rope, and Dailey liked to lay it across larger posteriors. Dailey was young for a bosun, probably about 28 years old, and built like a boxer, so his lashes would leave some bright makes on those unlucky butts.

Granger watched the Captain, much like the rest of the crew. He was like an orchestra conductor, with the crew waiting to do their part upon command. He began rapping out orders, the helm went over, and the yards came around. Granger's eyes were forward, watching a mountain of water charging toward them, but Barracuda yielded to the wind and waves now, so the ship rose up with the wave, soaring higher, and then dropping back down into the trough. It was a perfectly executed maneuver.

Granger heard a cry from the mizzenmast behind them. He turned, along with everyone on the quarterdeck, and looked aloft. The mizzen top yard was sagging under the strain, and then, to the horror of all of them, it snapped, dangling towards the deck with only a few lines to keeping it from dropping. Worst of all, there were three terrified seamen clinging to yard. They needed help, and they needed help now.

“Sir, permission to go aloft and help those men,” Granger heard himself ask.

The Captain eyed him and nodded. Granger stole a quick glance at Travers and met his eyes. He reveled in the pride they showed. He tore up the mizzen, arriving at the dangling yard quickly. He was used to the much bigger main mast. He braced himself and leaned out to grab the hand of the closest seaman and pulled him to the mast.

“Thank you sir,” he said and made to flee down the mast.

“Help me with these other men, Dawkins” Granger ordered. He tied a rope around his waist and eased down the sloping yard, while Dawkins secured the other end and held it, controlling the tension. He reached the other man and gripped both of his hands with his own, leading him back as well. The third man, Grant, was further out.

“Toss him a line and he'll grab it sir,” offered Dawkins, but Granger saw the look in Grant's eyes, the look of terror that said he'd do no such thing.

“Just keep a grip on me alright,” Granger ordered. The yard was not handling the tension well. He gently worked back down and out to the edge. Grant was a young guy, probably no more than 17, and a skilled topman. The sudden collapse of his yard, his world, had just rattled him.

Granger was at the end now, close to Grant. “Take my hand!” he screamed.

Grant just stared at him, as if he couldn't comprehend him. Granger moved closer. “Take my hand!” he yelled again. Grant finally moved, reaching out for Granger's hand. Granger took another length of rope and wrapped it around Grant's waist, tying it tightly just like his own. Safety was only a few steps away.

Granger heard a loud snap, the loudest noise he'd heard besides the Barracuda's cannon. And then he felt himself falling. The yard had given way, the ropes holding it up finally giving into the strain. He expected the yard to fall beneath him, to have the rope save him from following it down, but that idiot Dawkins had tied the other end to the yard itself. Grant's line had been fastened to the mast, as was appropriate, so he felt Grant's hands yanked out of his as he fell. It seemed as if it took forever for him to hit, but it wasn't the wood of the deck that he impacted on, it was the cold water of the Mediterranean. Somehow the yard hit the water first and helped slow his fall, so he found himself tied to the yard, floating and bobbing in the water, with the yard acting as both his flotation device and his prison. He looked up to see the Barracuda tossing in the heavy seas like a toy boat, the current pushing him along her side and around to her stern.

He looked up and saw Dailey with a rope, twirling it, a marlin spike attached to the end. He threw the rope and Granger saw it fly through the air and land a few hundred feet away. He knew the odds and they were dim. It was most likely that he would drown within the next few hours. It would take a miracle for Dailey to get a rope close enough to him.

But if he did, Granger realized, he'd have to be able to grab it, and he couldn't do that if he was chained to this yard. He took out his knife and began to saw away at the rope holding him to the yard. If he let go of it, he'd lose his flotation device, but Granger was betting against the odds. He felt the rope part but he grabbed it with his hands, holding tight, hoping that Dailey would make it next time.

Dailey was spinning his rope again, and he let it fly. Granger watched as the marlin spike headed right for him. It clanked into the yard, and Granger let go and lunged for the rope before it sank. He felt the hemp in his hands, the marvelous feel of the hemp rope from the ship, and wrapped it around his waist as he had the other one, making it fast, but still holding it tight. He'd needed a miracle, and he'd gotten one.