The Wardroom - 8. Chapter 8

August 29 1793

Granger woke up at dawn but not to Winkler's urgent shaking. He woke up to a feeling of, well, ecstasy. He opened his eyes to find Robey straddling him, his cock already deep in Robey's ass. “Good morning,” Robey said playfully.

Granger smiled at him and pulled his face to his and their lips met, fueling the lust that was theirs. Robey began moving slowly up and down on Granger's dick all the while kissing him, or sinking his head lower to nuzzle Granger's ear. They said nothing, they merely worked to enjoy each other as quickly as possible. Granger came first, too caught up in his orgasm to care. After he came, Robey slid off of him and moved his engorged and leaking cock up to Granger's mouth and plunged in. Granger sucked him until he was rewarded with Robey's copious load. He stopped for a minute to smile. Robey tasted good, but not as good as Travers. No one tasted as good as Travers.

They started to get ready even before Winkler came in to rouse him, a shock to Winkler since Granger had been hard to wake up lately. “That was a nice surprise,” Granger said.

“Had to pay you back for last night,” Robey said with a smile. Then sensing that Granger wanted to talk about other things, about Travers, he pushed the conversation ahead. “We'd better grab a bite if we're to get up on deck in time.”

They ate quickly with the other officers, most of them speculating about the events that would unfold. Granger kept his mouth shut. He had more information than they did, but it wasn't his place to enlighten them. He finished quickly and hurried up on deck just as the sun began to rise.

“Should be an interesting day,” Brewer said, standing next to him.

“Yes sir,” Granger said noncommittally. They both stood there expecting immediate action, but they were to be disappointed. Dawn broke and there were no French ships blocking the harbor.

“It seems Lord Hood's intelligence report was correct,” the Captain observed to Granger. So it seemed. But they were still there, floating in limbo quite literally, waiting for the signal from the shore. Finally, at 9:15, a series of signal flags rose up from Fort Malgue. Granger eyed them through his glass, soon to be interrupted by the Captain. “Is that the signal Mr. Granger?”

“It is sir,” Granger said. The Committee in Toulon had now finalized their decision. A brave decision indeed, thought Granger. The carnage in Marseilles would be repeated here if Toulon fell, and those men of the Committee would pay for this decision with their lives if this venture was not successful.

“Signal from the Flag, sir,” spurted the signal Midshipman. “Proceed.”

“Very well. Acknowledge. Mr. Brewer, get the topsails on her. We're to land at that quay you see over by the naval base. Captain Moncrief, Captain Brereton!” Elphinstone said, calling for the marine commanders.

“Sir!” they said with military rigidity.

“Prepare your men to disembark.”

“Aye aye sir!” And then Robust broke into a beehive of activity. The marines came pouring up on deck, their officers inspecting them to make sure each belt was polished, each uniform was spotless. Granger smiled at them, with their scarlet red coats, maintaining that blend of sailor and soldier so distinctive of their breed. They stood rigidly at attention from the waist up, while from the waist down their sea legs moved with the ship to keep them stable.

The Robust warped up to the quay, and Granger saw the delegation waiting to meet them. At its head was Monsieur D'Aubert. “Sir,” Granger said to Elphinstone, distracting him from maneuvering the ship.

“What is it Mr. Granger?” he demanded. He softened his expression then, realizing he'd been caught worrying about his ship. Not that everyone didn't think he would be, he just didn't want it to show.

“That man in the party on the quay, the one with the white coat, that is Monsieur D'Aubert.” Granger waited until Elphinstone had picked him out of the crowd. “He was the one sent to meet with Lord Hood, the French representative as it were. He speaks fluent English.”

“Thank you Mr. Granger.” Granger wanted to say something like 'just doing my job' but that would smack of insubordination, and no good would come of it. The Robust moored next to the quay and put down a gang plank. Granger followed Elphinstone down the plank, the two marine captains behind him.

“Captain Elphinstone, allow me to introduce Monsieur D'Aubert.” They bowed and greeted each other. “Captain Elphinstone is in charge of all British marines and seamen ashore.” While they exchanged pleasantries, the marines began pouring off the ship and forming up in companies on the dock.

“Captain Moncrief!” Elphinstone called, now back to business.

“Sir?”

“Take your company and secure the dockyard and these batteries,” he said, pointing to the batteries along the waterfront. Those would be the most dangerous to the Robust.

“Aye aye sir!” he said, in an odd blend of navy terminology in an army milieu.

“Captain Brereton! Mr. Granger!”

“Sir?” they both chimed.

“We will form a column and march to the city square. It is a festive occasion, so music is in order,” Elphinstone said cleverly.

Brereton gave his orders and the result was immediate. The pipers and drummers began playing ditties and the sergeants began yelling at their men. “All ready sir,” Brereton reported.

“Very well,” Elphinstone said, and began to walk toward the end of the quay with the French delegation. Granger followed him, his duty to be of assistance if necessary. He turned to Granger and gave a slight grin. “Things seem to be going smoothly.”

“Yes sir,” Granger agreed.

“We're going to the town square to have an infernal ceremony. Even now, when there is much to do, the French want to insert pomp,” Elphinstone groused.

“Yes sir,” Granger agreed again.

“Once we have completed our ceremony and know that we are in possession of the place, your orders are to report back to Lord Hood.”

“Aye aye sir,” Granger said, a little disappointed. He was here on the precipice of victory, only to be shuttled back to the flagship.

When they got to the end of the quay, there were horses for Elphinstone, Granger, and the marine officers. Granger mounted his with ease; he'd grown up riding. There was also a crowd here, citizens of Toulon, and they cheered the marines. “Eyes left!” screamed the sergeant. “By the center! Quick! March!”

And then, with perfect military discipline, the marines marched in step to their band and headed toward the city square. It was more of a parade than a conquest or occupation. When they got to the city square, the Committee was there to greet them. After a solemn ceremony, complete with rousing declarations about that modern Satan, Robespierre, the white Bourbon flag was raised up the flag pole, announcing to the whole world that Toulon was now loyal to King Louis XVII. That Louis XVII was a young boy, and was being held in the Temple Prison in Paris, seemed of little import. It was about symbols.

A messenger arrived from Moncrief. “Well Mr. Granger, we seemed to have achieved our objective. We have taken the city and the dockyards, and the entire French fleet. It seems many of their sailors, about 5000 chaps, fled into the country when we approached. And all without a shot being fired. Go and report to Lord Hood.”

“Aye aye sir!” Granger said, and spurred his horse into a dignified trot for the short trek back to the dock. Brewer sent him back to Victory in one of Robust's boats, with Winkler thankfully managing to jump aboard with his kit at the last minute.

“Bit tough keeping up with you sir,” Winkler said with a smile.

“You're doing quite well nonetheless,” Granger said, smiling back. And then they were back on board the flagship, and the past 24 hours seemed like some ethereal dream. Certainly not a nightmare, Granger thought with a smile, as he remembered his tryst with Robey.

Hood was waiting impatiently for him. “Well?”

“Captain Elphinstone has secured the town and the batteries, as well as the fleet, my lord,” Granger said. Straight and to the point. “Not a shot was fired.”

Hood smiled a huge smile! “Excellent! Excellent!” He walked over to the stern windows and gazed out at Toulon. “Signal Captain Nelson to repair on board.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said. He went up and found Humphreys and ran out the signals, waiting for the Agamemnon to acknowledge, and then sent a midshipman to inform Hood. Granger sighed and headed up to the poop, a nice place to find peace and solitude. He was deep in his thoughts when the pipes twittered to announce Nelson's arrival. Granger was about to go down and greet him but he saw Curtis waiting there, so decided to stay put.

Nelson approached the quarterdeck with ease, a confident bearing emanating from him. Granger had met Nelson at a couple of Hood's dinner parties and was impressed by him. He had a charisma, a draw that just pulled a person in. It was hard to describe, and harder still to characterize, but Granger felt it. He smiled as he thought about it. One had to be in front of him, to feel the full weight of his charm to really appreciate it. Once he had someone in his grasp, Granger thought, they'd follow him straight to the gates of hell. He watched Shafte escort Nelson aft and gazed off to the starboard side of the ship where Nelson's ship lay anchored near the Victory.

The Agamemnon, a 64 gun ship of the line, old and worn, a relic from the days past when smaller ships of the line were built. Now Britain and France, and pretty much most naval powers, had settled on the 74 gun ship of the line as the standard for a “third rate”. But Agamemnon, or Eggs and Bacon as her crew called her, was fast and handy, even if she was in constant need of a refit, and Nelson was vehement in his praise and defense of his little battleship.

“His lordship would like to see you at your earliest convenience,” Shafte said to Granger, disrupting his thoughts. A nice way of saying ‘NOW!’ Granger thought, smiling.

“I am at his lordship's disposal,” Granger said, bowing to Shafte. Shafte allowed himself a slight grin and bowed back, then led the way back down to the Admiral's cabin.

“You wanted to see me my lord?” Granger asked, standing at attention.

“Yes Mr. Granger. You've met Captain Nelson?”

“I have had that pleasure,” Granger said, then turned to Nelson. “It is good to see you again sir.”

Nelson smiled at him and Granger felt himself get sucked into Nelson's vortex. “You as well Mr. Granger.”

“I'll want you to signal all Captains to repair on board Mr. Granger.” Granger made to rush off but Hood stopped him. “When we are done here.”

“Assuming you can stand still long enough to listen,” Nelson said, teasing him.

“Yes sir, my lord,” Granger said, and felt himself blushing.

Hood looked up to the heavens in feigned frustration. “I plan to inform the Captains of the situation in Toulon, of our resounding victory. But if we are to hold the city, we require more troops. I am assigning Captain Nelson to head to Sardinia and Naples to seek troops to reinforce the French royalists. Spain has promised help, and I've sent a request to London for British troops, but those won't be here immediately. We'll need all the help we can get.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said simply.

“You've been to Naples; you've been introduced to King Ferdinand. I want you to go with Nelson, help him out. ”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said.

“When Captain Nelson returns to his ship after the meeting this afternoon, you'll go with him. We'll try to survive around here without you.”

“Yes my lord. That may be difficult my lord,” Granger said playfully. He knew Hood's moods, and gauged it just right. He saw Nelson grin at him.

“We shall have to manage nonetheless,” Hood said with a smile. “Now go make that signal. Do it yourself so the captains don't end up on board Agamemnon, drinking all of Nelson's wine instead of mine.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said, and headed up to make the signal. Granger knew that the other ships would be sending their captains over almost immediately after they made the signal, but he managed to find enough time to have Winkler pack up their stuff, again, and put it in Nelson's boat before he had to greet and direct the captains as they arrived.

Granger and Devlin were both in the meeting, albeit in the background, until Hood asked Granger to recount in detail the events of the morning. Then came the celebration and the toasts. Granger noticed that Nelson drank very little, and did the same.

Nelson broke off a conversation and strolled over to him. “Are you ready to go Mr. Granger?” He was like an unbridled colt, full of energy and action. Granger thought that making him sit still in a room when action loomed may be his ultimate torture.

“I am sir. I've had my servant stow my chest in your boat already, I have only to take my leave of his lordship.”

“Then I will await you up on deck,” he said. Granger headed over to Lord Hood, finding him hovering over a map of Toulon with Admiral Hotham and a few other captains.

“With your permission, my lord, I'll be off then,” Granger said respectfully. The other Admiral gave him a dirty look.

“Excuse me for a moment gentlemen,” Hood said, dismissing the others. Now they really glared at him. Crap.

“Take care of yourself Mr. Granger. Nelson is the best captain in the navy. You can learn a lot from him. He's also a bit impulsive, so do try and keep him from starting a war with the Neapolitans.” He grinned.

“Yes my lord. I will do my best to squelch his zeal,” Granger said, joking.

“Good. I want to see you back on board, safe and sound, as soon as possible.” Granger smiled and sauntered out, pausing to apologize to Hotham for interrupting. He found Nelson waiting for him impatiently.

“His lordship tell you to keep the reins on me?” he teased.

“Something like that sir,” Granger said cautiously. Nelson laughed heartily, and Granger wondered at how easy it was to like this man. They approached the Agamemnon and heard the hail: “Boat Ahoy.”

“Agamemnon,” the coxswain shouted. Granger could hear the commotion on deck as the ship prepared to greet her captain. They hooked onto the chains and Nelson climbed up, the shrilling of the bosun's whistles announcing his arrival. Granger climbed up after him, feeling quite the nonentity.

“Welcome back sir,” said a tall, thin lieutenant. He looked to be in his mid-20s, but it was difficult to tell in the darkness.

“Good to be back. This is Lieutenant Granger. The flagship sent him over to spy on us, so we have to convert him over to our side instead.” The other lieutenant held out his hand in a friendly manner.

“I'm Palance, First Lieutenant. We'll get you set up in the wardroom directly.”

Granger took his hand, feeling his strong grip. “Thank you sir.”

“Mr. Cardwell, take Mr. Granger below and show him to his cabin,” Palance ordered a midshipman.

“Aye aye sir,” Cardwell said. “This way sir.” Granger and Winkler followed him down to the wardroom. Granger walked into the wardroom and found a group of men around the table, laughing and joking.

“Well what have we here?” said one man.

“George!” said another, and Granger turned to find Bell standing next to him. They embraced warmly.

“You know this villain, Bell?” teased one of the men.

“I do. He's my friend, so be nice to him.”

“Probably your only one, so we'll do just that,” said the obnoxious yet playful voice. “I'm Blackwell, third lieutenant.”

“George Granger,” Granger said, trying to grapple with this environment, entirely different from the other ships he'd been on.

“We'll put you in here Mr. Granger,” he heard Palance say from behind him, indicating one of the cabins adjacent to the wardroom. He had no idea Palance had followed them down here. “Make yourself at home. I understand you're to be with us for a while.”

“Yes sir,” Granger said, and headed into his cabin. Typical fare, a cot, a desk, and a bureau for his clothes. But compared to the cramped warren on the Victory, or his quarters on Barracuda, this was palatial. Granger excused himself from his new colleagues and focused on unpacking his gear and getting settled in, with Winkler's expert help, of course.

Settled in, Granger relaxed on his cot, enjoying solitude after a long day, solitude that was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Enter,” he said.

Bell poked his head in. “Am I bothering you?”

“You're never bothering me,” Granger said warmly, and patted his cot. Bell came in and sat down next to him. Bell had been a cute midshipman, had looked a lot like Chilton with his red hair, but he'd grown just like Granger had, and now he was every inch a man. And a very handsome man at that. Granger remembered back to their times as midshipmen, when they'd blown each other more out of teenage desperation than anything else. “How did you end up here?”

“I didn't see myself fitting in with the new Captain of Barracuda. Another one of those damned Wilcoxes. And I got into a bit of trouble in London.” Granger stared at him, and Bell grinned back. “I dipped my wick into the wrong tub of wax, and the girl's father was a bit upset.” Granger laughed. “Then things just fell into place. Agamemnon had an opening, I needed to flee; a marriage made in heaven.”

“How do you like it here?” Granger asked.

“It's amazing. Nelson is a lot like Fellowes, but even more of a leader. Once you serve under him, you're hooked. You'll see,” Bell said.

“So you're still having a hard time keeping your dick in your pants eh?” Granger said, letting his eyes glance down at Granger's crotch.

“I didn't have anyone to help me out,” he said, smiling.

“Those were fun times,” Granger said, licking his lips. He saw Bell's bulge get bigger.

“They were,” Bell said. Their eyes met then, despite the poor light, and Bell stood up, revealing his tenting trousers. “Still are.”

“True,” Granger said, and pulled down the front of Bell's trousers, pulling out his nice long dick. Granger moved his face in close and kissed the base of his dick, inhaling his unique odor, that scent that only redheads seemed to have. Then he took Bell's cock into his mouth, and worked him like he used to. Bell showed no sign of wanting to reciprocate, but Granger didn't care. He worked Bell to the edge of orgasm, and then backed off, sucking on his balls until he calmed down, then he went back to work and brought him to a huge orgasm. He thought Bell would drown him; he shot such a huge load. Bell pulled up his pants and smiled down at Granger.

“You're as fun as you always were George. Did you, uh, want me to, uh...?” he said, stammering.

“Next time,” Granger said. He knew that it was asking an awful lot of Bell to blow him after he'd already cum. It was sweet of him to offer. Bell smiled and snuck out of his cabin, leaving Granger to take care of his own needs. Not that that wasn't fun too.

The Agamemnon was heading to Sardinia as fast as Nelson could get her there, and that was pretty fast indeed. Granger stared up at the masts, where every sail was set to take advantage of the strong Northwesterly wind. The old ship creaked and groaned with the pressure of the sails, but nothing gave way amazingly enough. Still, Granger kept a wary eye aloft, and was on his guard enough in case he needed to leap out of the way of a falling spar or two.

“So how do you like the old girl?” A voice said next to him. Nelson.

“Quite nice sir. She shows a fair turn of speed,” Granger said.

“That she does. Speed is important. Can't be dilly-dallying around while your enemies are busy,” Nelson said as he looked aloft. “Mr. Blackwell, there's a block on the main mast that is about to work its way loose. We can't have it falling on Mr. Granger's head and thus invoke Lord Hood's wrath.”

Blackwell swallowed, infuriated that he'd missed it, but smiled at Nelson anyway and dispatched a topman up to fix it. How he'd seen that little detail, Granger had no idea. He found himself staring at Nelson, wondering if he had supernatural powers. Nelson nodded to them and headed back to his cabin.

“He's quite the man, isn't he?” Blackwell said, joining him as they paced the quarterdeck.

“He's got a charm, a charisma about him that is very compelling,” Granger agreed.

Blackwell laughed. “He's got you hooked. Once you serve with our Nel, you're hooked.”

Granger smiled at Blackwell as they turned. “I fear you may be correct.” Blackwell was so engaging it was hard not to like him. Outgoing and cheerful, bawdy and boisterous, he livened up the wardroom. His charm made him much more handsome than his ordinary looks warranted. He was of average height, with brown hair, hazel eyes, and a nose that was far too big for his face. In fact, it looked like it had been broken a few times, and reset badly. His teeth were crooked and yellowed, which gave him a strange look, almost the look of a goblin, when he laughed. Yet the whole package was quite entrancing.

“I hear you are friends with Arthur Teasdale,” he observed. Granger tensed up at that.

“I am,” Granger said proudly and defiantly. “I went to school with him.”

Blackwell smiled. “He is my friend too.” Now that was interesting. What was he saying? That he fucked Teasdale? That he knew Granger fucked Teasdale?

“How do you know him?” Granger asked casually.

“I was introduced to him at court. Nice enough chap, even if he has a bad reputation.”

“Arthur is a good man. I can't think why people would spread vile rumors about him,” Granger said, coming to his defense.

“Powerful men make powerful enemies. And you assume that the rumors are false,” Blackwell teased.

“Are they?” Granger asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Land Ho!” cried the lookout.

“Saved by the hail, as it were,” Blackwell teased. “Mr. Cardwell, my compliments to the Captain. We've sighted land.”

“Aye aye sir,” Cardwell said, and dashed below.

Blackwell looked back at Granger and smiled. “I believe they are.” Granger smiled back, hiding his nervousness, and headed down to his cabin. He was sure the land they sighted was Sardinia, but it would be hours before they made port, so Granger decided to take that opportunity to nap. He'd learned shortly after joining the navy that sleep was a precious commodity, one to be grabbed whenever available.

He was dozing when he heard a knock at the door. “Enter!” It was Blackwell.

“I just got off watch. I hope I'm not disturbing you,” he said, nervous for once.

“Not at all. Just taking a bit of a nap,” Granger said, smiling, and patted the bed, offering him a seat.

“I hope you didn't think I was implying that you were a bugger,” he said.

“Why would I think that?” Granger said, knowing quite well why he'd think that. “Arthur is a friend. Being his friend has a price. I find it is worth it.”

“It can be hard sometimes though,” Blackwell said softly. Granger didn't know what he was referring to, but felt his heart swell with sympathy for Blackwell. He put his arm around him in a friendly gesture. “I miss him.”

Then Blackwell stiffened and got nervous, began stammering. “I mean, I miss his company. He's a good conversationalist, he's charming...” Granger stopped him.

“It is alright. I will not judge you. I am your friend,” Granger heard himself saying, and didn't quite know what he meant. Blackwell looked at him, into his eyes, and Granger was sure that Blackwell was going to kiss him.

Then Blackwell swallowed and got up, almost jumped up. “Thanks George.” And then he was gone, leaving Granger very confused.