The Wardroom - 14. Chapter 14

September 25, 1793

“Signal from Vesuvius, sir,” Chilton said. “Ready.”

“Very well. Mr. Carslake, topsails only. Steer a course parallel to Vesuvius,” Granger said. Carslake yelled up at the yards and the men let the sails fall. The other part of his small crew was in the bow, heaving away at the anchor.

“Mr. Wilson, don't cat the anchor. We'll need it soon enough again,” Granger called to the forecastle. He strode over to the railing and watched the Vesuvius setting sail with perfect precision, much more quickly than he'd been able to achieve with his new, small crew.

“Mr. Chilton, run up our flag. British colors over French.”

“Sir?” Chilton asked. It was tasteless to show the Aurore as a captured ship after she'd already been in possession for a long time, and since she wasn't even a prize, technically.

“I want to piss off those gunners over there,” Granger said, grinning. Carslake and Chilton grinned back. Granger trained his glass on the batteries, and saw a puff of smoke. There was no sign of the shot. That was bad shooting, even at long range.

“Anchor's up but not secured,” Wilson reported.

“Very well Mr. Wilson. Mr. Fleming!” Granger yelled.

“Sir?” Fleming responded.

“Clear away the larboard bowchaser and antagonize those batteries,” Granger ordered.

“Aye aye sir,” said Fleming, and pulled together a crew to do just that. Granger knew they had little hope of hitting the batteries at that range, but he wanted them to think that Aurore was the biggest threat.

Granger stood there, calm and impervious, as they crept closer and closer to the batteries. There was a crash forward, where a ball had found its mark. Granger expected to hear the cry of the wounded, but there just weren't that many people aboard. The ball had hit part of the ship where no one was stationed. Their bowchasers were hitting close to the batteries. Granger thought he saw a ball or two actually crash into them, but it was hard to tell. But his plan was working perfectly. All of the shots were aimed at Aurore.

Another ball slammed into the Aurore, sending splinters flying through the air, but again injuring no one. “Warm work,” Carslake said to him smiling. “When do we turn to and let them have it?”

“Vesuvius' mortars have a maximum effective range of eight cables,” Granger said. They were a cable's length away. “As soon as Captain Travers anchors, we will follow suit.”

“Yes sir,” Carslake said.

“No sign of a furnace,” Granger said. They'd have seen the smoke rising up from the batteries in this light breeze.

“No sir,” Carslake agreed.

“Vesuvius is anchoring sir,” Chilton called.

“Very well. Hard a starboard,” Granger ordered. He felt the Aurore turn slowly and gracefully until they were broadside to the batteries. “Let go!” Granger ordered. “Rig the spring Mr. Carslake.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. A spring was a cable run through the ship and attached to the anchor cable, allowing the Aurore to pivot and change her target with just a few clanks of the capstan.

“Mr. Fleming, assemble your crews and commence firing.”

“Aye aye sir,” Fleming said.

Granger walked to the taffrail and looked back at the Vesuvius. He saw Travers standing over the mortar, a shell in his hand, as he cut the fuse. Granger was so engrossed in watching the preparation of Vesuvius' mortars that he almost jumped when Aurore's guns started firing.

He saw chips of dirt fly up from around the French battery as Aurore's balls hit around them. “Mr. Chilton, run tell Mr. Fleming to try grape shot.” It may not work, but if it did, it would be much more effective against the men serving the French guns.

A roar from behind got Granger's attention, and he looked up in the sky to see Vesuvius' first shot fly toward the French battery. It landed over and to the right, and then seemed to blow up a few seconds later. Granger saw the Vesuvius take a pull on her capstan and move slightly. Travers would reduce the charge, and the fuse next time.

He watched as Aurore fired grapeshot and it seemed to cause no appreciable damage. “Mr. Chilton, tell Mr. Fleming to switch back to round shot,” Granger ordered. Trial and error, Granger thought to himself.

Then Vesuvius' mortar roared again. The shell exploded directly over the battery, and Granger saw some of the gun crews try to flee. There was that officer, Buonaparte, sword in hand, pushing them back and encouraging them. The Vesuvius second mortar roared out and it was a direct hit. Now he saw more men running from the battery, panicked. Travers, having found the range, began a merciless bombardment, until a slightly smaller explosion seemed to destroy the battery. That must have been the small powder magazine in the battery.

Travers shifted targets then, and so did Granger, lining Aurore up with the other battery and firing on their new target. Granger heard another shot hit the Aurore. He'd counted seven hits so far, but fortunately no one had been wounded. Travers repeated the steps on the other battery, mercilessly adjusting his mortars until he found the range. A few direct hits from those 13-inch, explosive shells, and that battery was obliterated as well.

“Vesuvius is signaling the recall sir,” Chilton said.

“Very well. Cease fire Mr. Fleming!” Granger called below. He waited for Fleming to say “aye aye sir” before he began rapping out more orders. “Mr. Wilson, get the anchor up. Mr. Carslake, set the topsails again!”

“Aye aye sir,” came their replies. There really was no hurry. They'd disabled the batteries that had been tormenting them, and could make their escape with impunity. They worked their way back to their anchorage.

“Call away my boat,” Granger ordered. He watched the weary men go through the evolution of swinging the boat out, and then the unlucky bastards that were his designated boat's crew had to go down and row him over to Victory. Granger ran down to grab some of his leftover bread for them. It was amazing how such simple gestures could mean so much to them.

He got back to the Victory right after Travers, waiting for his boat to sheer off and make room for Aurore's. He moved his sword to make sure it didn't slip between his legs and then leaped for the Victory’s chains, pulling himself up to her entry port, and back on board the flagship.

“Welcome back Mr. Granger,” Captain Knight said. “Mr. Travers just headed back to Lord Hood's cabin. I assume you can still find your way?”

Granger stared at him, surprised. “Thank you, sir,” he said. Knight hadn't said a friendly word to him since the execution of Chalmers.

He found Travers standing at attention in front of Hood. “Alright Captain Travers, you may deliver your report,” Hood said.

“Yes my lord,” Travers said, and recited the details of their attack perfectly. Granger watched Hood grin, happy for this small victory, happy to eliminate the annoying bombardment of his ships.

“You flew British colors over the tricolor, Mr. Granger?” Hood asked.

“Yes my lord. I figured it would irritate the French and induce them to focus on the Aurore and not the Vesuvius.”

“It seemed to work,” Travers said. “Not one shot came close to Vesuvius.”

“Aurore was hit eight times, my lord, but nothing vital was affected, and no one was wounded,” Granger added.

“You gentlemen have done an excellent job. I'll need your written reports by tomorrow morning. Mr. Granger, I want you to keep the Aurore as she is. We may need her again. You will retain command of her until relieved.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said, grinning.

They left the admiral's cabin in a slow deliberate way. “Stop by and sup with me,” Travers said to Granger as they walked to the side of Victory.

“I have a better idea sir. Why don't you come sup with me?” Granger said.

Travers smiled. “It would be my pleasure,” he said.

Travers courteously let him disembark first, and that let him get to Aurore first as well. “Hoist the boat aboard, Mr. Carslake.”

“Aye aye sir!”

“Winkler, Captain Travers is joining me for dinner. Have Lefavre cook something up for supper.”

“Aye aye sir,” Winkler said, and dashed off to find the cook. Granger looked over and saw Chilton looking at him, his upper teeth slightly biting his lower lip in anguish. Well, it couldn't be helped.

Then there were the twittering of pipes to welcome Travers on board. “Welcome aboard sir,” Granger said, spreading his arm around in a welcoming gesture.

“You have a nice vessel here Mr. Granger,” Travers said, smiling. “It's good to see you again Mr. Chilton.” The tension in his voice was obvious when he talked to Chilton.

“Good to see you too sir,” Chilton said nervously.

“Come below and see how much bigger my cabin is than yours,” Granger teased, lightening the mood. He led Travers down to the cabin, to his palatial quarters.

“I’m amazed. This is quite a set up George,” he said.

“I thought you'd be impressed. Come see this,” Granger said, and led him into his sleeping cabin.

“I think I like this cabin the best,” Travers said.

“Show me,” Granger said, moving up to him and kissing him passionately. They made love, slowly, with a lot of feeling, and with almost no noise. They strolled out of the sleeping cabin later, having so enjoyed each other that they'd left their arms around each other. There they found Winkler, setting the table. Travers jumped away from Granger as if he had the plague, but Granger was stunned, unable to move, and just stared at Winkler horrified. He and Travers were truly busted, caught in an affectionate gesture that was highly indicative of their romantic relationship. There was an uncomfortable period of silence that seemed to last forever until Winkler just smiled and giggled.

“Dinner's almost ready sir,” Winkler said.

“Uh, Winkler...” Granger said nervously.

“Sir, seems to me you lectured me something fierce about loyalty. I haven't forgotten sir,” Winkler said with a twinkle in his eye. “It's good to see you again Captain Travers.”

“You as well Winkler,” Travers said nervously. Winkler vanished then, off to get their dinner.

“Bloody hell. He caught us!” Travers exclaimed, frustrated.

“He did. And he just told us that our secret is safe with him. Winkler won't betray us John,” Granger implored.

Travers grinned slightly. “I suppose you're right.”

“I had a most unpleasant conversation with Mr. Chilton,” Granger said.

“About me?” Travers asked.

“Yes. He accused me of transferring him here to keep you from falling in love with him. I explained that it was in his best interest to be off Vesuvius.” Granger elaborated then, telling Travers all about his interaction with Chilton.

“I feel bad for the young lad,” Travers said guiltily.

“It's not your fault you're so easy to fall in love with,” Granger said, smiling at him.

Winkler came in with their dinners. Travers looked at his plate skeptically. Lefavre had taken the best beef he could get a hold of and covered it liberally with some sort of sauce. Granger watched him as he took a bite, and his eyes exploded in delight.

“This is really good!” he said.

“The Aurore's cook was stowed away. He is quite talented, don't you think?”

“This is amazing! What a find!” Travers stopped about every other bite to rave about the food. “I suppose you'll spirit him back to Victory when your duty here is over?”

Granger laughed. “I suppose so. If not, I'll try to talk him in to heading your way.”

“Well, I'd best be going,” Travers said, standing up. “Thank you for a wonderful supper.”

“You forgot about dessert,” Granger said, and led him back to his sleeping cabin to make love to him one more time before Travers headed back to Vesuvius.

September 27, 1793

“Sir,” Granger heard Winkler saying as he shook him. “Sir, time to wake up.” Granger opened his eyes and looked up at Winkler wearily.

“Thank you Winkler,” Granger said, yawning. “And thank you for your discretion.”

Winkler laughed. “Begging your pardon sir, but you're just a randy lad. It’s nothing.” Granger blushed. “Although I'm thinking that Mr. Travers is a might more important to you than someone who just satisfies your needs.”

“You would be correct,” Granger said, blushing harder. “It's not obvious to anyone else is it?”

Winkler smiled. “No sir. But I know you pretty well, begging your pardon, and I can tell when you like someone. And when you love someone.”

“You know Winkler, with anyone else that would really bother me, but I know I can trust you.”

“Aye sir. That you can.” Then Granger got out of bed and Winkler started laughing at him all over again, at Granger's erect cock sticking straight out. He left the sleeping cabin still chuckling.

Granger heard the dull thud of a gun off in the distance and hurried to get ready and head up on deck. “Frenchies rebuilt their batteries sir,” Carslake said, pointing over to the hill where they'd destroyed the two batteries 48 hours ago. That French Captain must be quite the energy dynamo to have recovered from that defeat so quickly and gotten his batteries back into action. It was a bit disheartening, to think that their smooth operation had only bought them two-days' relief.

“Signal from the flag sir,” called Chilton. “Our number and Vesuvius'. Captains to repair on board.”

“Very well. Call away my boat. Mr. Carslake, we'll have high tide in six hours. I suspect we'll be in action again today.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Granger found himself climbing up the sides of the flagship once again, only this time he'd beat Travers to the punch. He waited for him, and they went back to the Admiral's cabin together.

“Well, it seems the French have rebuilt their batteries,” Hood said, frustrated. “We'll need you two to work your magic again.”

“Yes my lord,” said Travers, answering for both of them as the senior officer. Granger realized that was all, short and to the point, so they took their leave of him and headed back to their ships.

Once again the two ships approached the batteries, only this time they saw smoke rising from them. The French were heating shot. “Mr. Fleming! We'll need to reduce your crews to five guns. Mr. Wilson, I want you to organize a fire control team.”

They rigged the pumps and had buckets handy. A red hot shot had only to spend a few seconds in Aurore's tinder-dry timbers to ignite them on fire. And fire was the sailors’ biggest nightmare. Everything on board, or so it seemed, was flammable.

They drew closer and closer, just like last time. Granger saw the shots flying from the battery, thankfully aiming at them again, and felt one hit below decks. The fire party sprang into action, dousing the ball with water. Granger could hear the hissing from below, and could smell the burnt timbers. The next shot that hit them miraculously plowed right through the starboard side and landed harmlessly in the water. Then they stopped firing.

“What are they waiting for?” Chilton asked.

“They're waiting for us to get closer,” Granger said apprehensively. Then two balls flew through the air and slammed into Aurore. He heard yelling below, and saw smoke rising from the main hatch.

“Mr. Granger!” Wilson yelled. “We need more men sir! We've got a fire started up forward and we're working on dousing a ball below.” Another ball slammed into the Aurore, and Granger saw flames rising from the deck below.

“Mr. Carslake, port your helm and take us out of range.” Granger yelled.

“Mr. Fleming! Cease fire! All men on fire squads!”

“Aye aye sir!” he heard Fleming reply.

“Mr. Chilton! Signal Vesuvius. Hang out the recall!” That was Travers' job to order it, but he didn't have three balls smoldering in his timbers, and a full on blaze in his forecastle.

“Smoke from Vesuvius sir,” Chilton called. Granger aimed his glass at the bomb ketch and saw smoke rising from her as well, showing that she'd taken at least one heated ball. Another ball slammed into them below. Granger wanted to go below and direct the firefight, but knew his place was on the deck.

“Mr. Carslake, call those men down from the yards!” Granger ordered. “Take them below and help with the fires!”

“Aye aye sir!” he said. And then it was just Granger, Chilton, and the helmsman on the deck. He could see the flames still licking up from the forward hatch, and could hear the hissing of water hitting the hot iron shot.

“Mr. Chilton, run below and get me an update!” Granger ordered. He looked back at the batteries and relaxed, knowing that they were at least out of range. He watched the smoke billowing up from Aurore, and turned to see Vesuvius seemingly safe and sound, her fires out.

“All of the fires are out except the one forward sir,” Chilton reported. “Mr. Wilson thinks they'll have it out shortly.” He saw smoke pouring up now, but not flames, as they slowly extinguished the fire.

It took two hours to extinguish all of the fires. The damage to Aurore was not fatal, but she'd need a refit to be battle ready. The men had poured up on deck after fighting the fires, their faces black with smoke and soot, coughing so hard Granger feared they'd bring their lungs up.

“Signal from flag sir,” Chilton said. “Our number and Vesuvius' number. Captains repair on board.”

Granger looked at the weary men around him. Vesuvius was close by, so he hailed Travers and asked to ride in his boat. He wasn't sure he could assemble a boat's crew from this lot, so tired were they.

“Mr. Carslake, give the men some rest, feed them, and then get them to work repairing what damage you can. I'll be back shortly.”

“Aye aye sir,” he said. Vesuvius' boat came along and Granger descended into her.

“Anyone lost?” Travers asked.

“No sir. Just some smoky lungs. But the Aurore won't fight again without a refit.” Granger looked at her as they rowed toward the flagship. Her damage was internal, so there was no sign of the fire on the exterior.

“We had a small fire below, took two shots,” Travers said. “We need to replace a few deck beams.” Granger could read his eyes, the concern, the fear he'd had that something had happened to Granger. It was tough to love someone in a cruel service like the Navy, especially when they were at war.

They mounted the side of the Victory and headed straight back to Lord Hood's cabin. Captains Knight and Curtis, along with Cavendish and Shafte, were waiting for them. He saw Shafte look at him, his eyes sparkling.

“There appeared to be a bit of smoke from the Aurore, Mr. Granger,” Lord Hood said, a question.

“Yes my lord. It appears they set a trap for us. We ran into light fire until we reached a spot approximately ten cables away from the batteries. Then they fired heated shot at us.”

“Did you have fire crews ready Mr. Granger?” Knight asked gently. His manner shocked Granger, as if he was trying to help guide his statement, not set him up for a fall.

“Yes sir. As soon as we saw the smoke from their furnaces I pulled our number six gun crew and set them up as a fire squad. I have to commend Mr. Wilson sir. He and his crew did a great job of setting up the fire-fighting equipment. Without that, we wouldn't have been able to contain them.”

“Go on,” Hood said warily.

“We took two hits, and had them under control, but then we took two more hits simultaneously, and another shortly after that. I ordered the crews to cease fire and directed the crew to fight the fires. We were able to douse all of the balls but one, and that caused a fire forward.” Granger paused for breath. “The ship sustained some holes above the waterline, my lord, which will be repaired by tomorrow. The fire damage forward has charred her gun deck. She'll need to have a good amount of her timbers there replaced.”

“Captain Travers?” Hood asked.

“We took two hits, my lord. We managed to extinguish them pretty quickly. We'll have the damage repaired in two days time. I'd like your lordship's permission to access the dockyard here for spare timbers.”

“You have my permission,” Hood said.

“My lord,” Knight said, “it sounds like Mr. Granger ran into pre-positioned guns.”

“I believe you are right, Captain Knight,” Hood said. “We are facing a wily and energetic foe. The same trick obviously won't work twice with him.”

“I met the artillery commander, my lord,” Granger said. “When I went to see General Carteaux under the flag of truce. A young captain named Buonaparte.”

“Indeed?” Hood asked.

“Yes my lord. He seemed remarkably energetic, and there was a ruthlessness about him, in his eyes, begging your pardon my lord,” Granger said.

Hood stood up and walked to the stern windows, gazed out for a few moments, then turned back. “Mr. Travers, we cannot afford to repeat that maneuver. You will be returned to assist the military around Fort Mulgrave, or wherever you're needed.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Travers said.

“Mr. Granger, I want you to take Aurore to Port Mahon. We'll get her repaired properly, at a British yard. You can return to the fleet in whichever ship puts in there for re-victualing. I'll give you orders to that effect, to get you back here as soon as possible. You can take your current crew with you, including Mr. Chilton. Make sure to bring them back with you.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said. Then, realizing the interview was over, he strode out of the cabin and headed back on deck with Travers.

“A moment Mr. Granger,” Captain Knight called. Granger left Travers and went over to see Knight.

“Sir?”

“You may need some extra hands. Try recruiting a few of the French sailors, those who stayed. There's a good number of them at the dockyard.”

“Yes sir. Thank you sir,” Granger said, smiling.

“I didn't treat you fairly after that affair with Mr. Shafte. I apologize for that,” Knight said. Granger just gaped at him. Senior post captains like Knight didn't apologize to mere lieutenants.

“It was a tough time for all of us sir, a time best forgotten,” Granger said.

“Maybe, but the way you risked your life for Carmody, I felt that earned you a second chance in my book,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you sir. I'll try not to bungle things up again then.” Knight smiled and shook his head, then turned to pace his quarterdeck.

“What was that all about?” Travers quizzed him as they rowed back to Aurore.

“He apologized for being an asshole,” Granger said. Travers stared at him, amazed, and Granger just shrugged his shoulders.

They approached the Aurore and Granger turned to Travers, trying to keep his expression neutral. “Good luck Captain,” Granger said, shaking Travers hand. “I hope to see you soon.”

“Good luck Mr. Granger. Sorry you're to lose your command,” Travers joked. “Maybe you can keep some of the furniture.”

“We shall see,” Granger said, and climbed up the side. It was almost dusk now, and the men were sitting around on the upper deck, wolfing down their dinner. They made to get up as he arrived, but he held up his hand.

He strode down to the deck, amongst them. “Gather round men,” he said. He saw them grinning at him, at seeing a King's officer unbend like this. “You all fought well today. You saved this ship. Lord Hood wants us to sail her to Port Mahon for a refit. Now, we can take her ourselves, or if you want, we can draft some of the loyal French sailors to help us out.”

Carslake looked at him, surprised. Then Granger smiled at him, and he smiled back. Discipline had to be more lax in smaller ships, Granger thought.

The men talked among themselves briefly. “Begging your pardon sir, but we'd just as soon go as we are,” said the bosun's mate.

“Very well,” Granger said, smiling. He went back to his cabin and sent for Winkler and Lefavre. He gave them a handful of guineas and told them to go over to the port and stock up on decent food, or at least what they could find, first thing in the morning. Then he pulled off his clothes and went to sleep, exhausted.

September 28, 1793

Granger woke up in the morning on his own, since Winkler was ashore with Lefavre. He munched on one of the loaves of bread he'd managed to save, then went up on deck.

“Mr. Carslake, rig the wash deck pump. Mr. Wilson, do we have any extra canvas on board?”

“I think we've got a bit sir,” Wilson said. Carslake was already off getting the pump ready.

“Excellent.” Granger looked up at the sky. It was clear, another beautiful day here in the Mediterranean.

“Pump is rigged sir,” Carslake reported.

“Very well. Call the hands aft.” Carslake bellowed for the men to assemble.

“Men,” Granger yelled. “We'll be sailing soon. Before we do, we need to wash all of this soot off. I've rigged the wash deck pump, so we'll all take a shower under it. Mr. Wilson has broken out some canvas, in case any of you need to repair your clothes. We'll have make and mend until noon, and then we'll get underway.” He looked down to see their smiles.

Granger headed back to his cabin and stripped off his uniform, then put on his dressing gown and headed back onto the deck. The men stared at him, interested. He tossed the gown off, now stark naked, and ordered the men at the pump to spray him down. The seawater was cold, real cold, and the pump sprayed it so quickly it stung his skin, but he danced around under the pump, soaping himself, and finally rinsed off. He grabbed his dressing gown, shivering.

“Who's next?” he demanded. Then the bosun came forward and stripped off and basked under the shower. Next up was the coxswain. He was a tall, hulking man, reminding Granger a bit of Roberts. He tossed off his clothes, exposing his massive physique. Apparently he was a bit of an exhibitionist too, because being naked in front of everyone made him hard as a rock. Granger tried not to gape at his huge dick. It had to be bigger than eight inches, but not too thick. He glanced over and spied Chilton staring at him too, probably doing the same thing Granger was doing, trying to imagine how good that long dick would feel fucking him.

He headed back to his cabin to get dressed, and came out in time to see Chilton pivoting under the spray. His body was exquisite. He still had the body of an adolescent and not a man, his only body hair being under his arms and on his groin, oblivious to his own beauty as he danced around happily in the water. His red hair looked golden in the sun, his face cherubic as he smiled while he washed off. Granger felt his cock starting to rise, but repressed his desires long enough to head back to his cabin and take matters into his own hand. He couldn't fuck Chilton, could he?