The Wardroom - 17. Chapter 17

October 23, 1793

Granger climbed the side of the Victory and paused to catch his breath before following Nelson through the entry port. With Knight's animosity at bay, he was much less apprehensive about returning, but it was tough to leave the Agamemnon behind. Nelson, with his characteristic drive, not to mention winds made perfectly to speed Agamemnon along, had made it back to Toulon in record time. Granger allowed himself a sigh, and then strolled onto the Victory to find Captain Nelson waiting for him before heading back to Hood's cabin together.

“Welcome back Mr. Granger,” Knight said. “You're just in time. There's to be a conference this afternoon with the Spaniards.”

Granger smiled at him. “I was almost glad to be back sir.” Knight allowed himself a rare grin, then nodded, dismissing them to find Hood's cabin.

Every time Granger saw Hood, he seemed to be older. The pressures of this siege were slowly wearing the admiral down. Hood would be 69 in a few months, and this conflict was a lot of pressure for a man of his advanced years. If it would have been just managing the fleet, Hood could have handled it. But it was increasingly obvious that he was out of his depth in such a combined land and sea operation. The army had been slow to respond; more worried about snapping up French colonies in the Caribbean, so they didn't have adequate troops or an able military commander on the ground. That, and the fact that there were units from five different nations, all fractious, made for a tenuous situation at best.

“Welcome back, Captain,” Hood said to Nelson.

“Thank you my lord,” Nelson said simply.

“And welcome to you too, Mr. Granger. You have been missed,” Hood said. He allowed himself a slight smile. “But don't let that go to your head.”

“No my lord. I missed you too,” Granger said. He saw Nelson hiding a grin.

Hood looked up to the heavens in feigned frustration. “You brought your crew back with you?”

“I did my lord,” Granger said. “I also captured a prize on the way to Port Mahon.”

“Indeed?” Hood said. “Enough to buy some more wine to entertain my captains?” Hood, as the commanding admiral, would get an eighth of the prize money.

“I daresay my lord, although your lordship's wine is so good it must surely be prohibitively expensive,” Granger said.

“And the subject of wine reminds me I am being a bad host.” Hood motioned for his servant to bring Nelson and Granger each a glass.

“The vessel was a brig, carrying military stores, but there was a Frenchman on board. We found 1000 gold coins strapped to his body.” Granger pulled one out and handed it to Hood.

Hood and Nelson both grinned. It was a lot of money. “You certainly do know how to endear yourself to your admiral,” Nelson joked.

“I try to surprise his lordship from time to time,” Granger joked back.

“Sometimes the surprises are even pleasant,” Hood said smiling, unable to remain angry at having found himself substantially wealthier. “Have your men sent aboard Mr. Granger. We'll keep them here for special operations.”

“Aye aye my lord,” Granger said.

“I'll attend to that when I return to Agamemnon,” Nelson said. “Will you need the midshipman too?”

Hood stared at Granger, obviously waiting for an answer. “No sir, we can draw on Captain Knight's crew, or use Mr. Shafte, if we have need of a midshipman.”

“Then I'd like to keep him on board. I know his family, and he seems to fit in with the other young gentlemen. If that meets with your approval, my lord?” Nelson said.

“Arrange it as you like,” Hood said. Granger, recognizing that he was being dismissed, bowed slightly to Hood, and then turned to Nelson.

“Thank you for your hospitality sir,” Granger said.

“You are always welcome aboard Agamemnon Mr. Granger,” Nelson said with a smile.

Granger headed down to his cabin to find it pretty much as he'd left it. He'd arranged for Lefavre to be attached to him as an additional servant, so now he'd have a good cook in addition to Winkler. Lefavre was quite good. Granger thought about taking him back to London, and that thought made him homesick. Homesick for his father and mother, but mostly for Caroline. He hadn't even seen Brentwood yet. She'd work wonders with it, Granger was sure.

He collapsed onto his cot while Winkler finished unpacking, then he was gone, and Granger was alone, enjoying his rare solitude. Then the cabin door opened slowly and Shafte came in, his shy smile and gleaming eyes captivating Granger immediately. He put the door bar up and came over to Granger, who got up, almost jumped up, to greet him. Then Shafte was in his arms, his lithe, slim body molded to Granger's, his sweet, willing mouth welcoming Granger home.

Shafte moved his hand down to Granger's hard cock and rubbed it gently. “His lordship wants to see you, sir. No time for anything more right now,” he said. “God, I've missed you so much.” There was actually a tear in his eye.

Granger grinned down at him. “I missed you too, Julian.” Granger hadn't realized how much until that very moment, he'd forgotten how enamored he was of the young midshipman. He felt guilty then, guilty for being distracted by Chilton, guilty for letting Jeffers' nice cock keep him preoccupied. “We'd best not keep his lordship waiting.” He kissed Shafte again.

“Yes sir. You may want to spruce up a bit sir,” Shafte said, eying his uniform. “We're to have company. The Spaniards are on their way over.”

“Thank you Mr. Shafte,” Granger said, walking to the door and removing the bar. He caught sight of the wardroom servant. “Will you track down Winkler?”

“Yes sir,” he said, and dashed off. With Winkler's help, he was able to get himself into flagship-ready shape, then dash up to Hood's cabin.

“Ah Granger. The Dons are on their way over to bully me,” Hood said.

“Indeed my lord?” Granger asked. Hood only had ten ships of the line in harbor, while the Spaniards had 20. They were theoretically in a position to dictate to Hood, but no British Captain would think twice about those odds; two to one. The Spaniards built strong ships, but they were notoriously ill-manned.

“Yes, if you will look out those stern windows, you'll see the San Juan Nepocemo, in a position to rake us. And if you were to gander out that gun port, you'd see the Mexicali, broadside to broadside with us. And if you were to stroll up to the bow, you'd find a Spanish 74 positioned off the bow,” Hood said calmly.

“That would appear to be an attempt at intimidation. Perhaps they are here to acquire some of your lordship's wine?” Granger teased, understanding the admiral better than most.

“I suspect it's something more than that,” Hood said with a smile, “but I will offer them a glass nonetheless.”

“Shall we clear for action my lord?” Knight asked.

“No, they won't fire into us, and certainly not while their own officers are on board,” Hood said calmly.

General Langara and Rear Admiral Gravina entered the room along with some other officers. Langara was in charge of all Spanish forces here, while Gravina's role was uncertain. There were endless niceties and flowery politeness, until Langara finally got to the point.

“I have received orders from His Most Catholic Majesty appointing Admiral Gravina as the commandant of Toulon, with orders to assume command of all allied forces in the town and its environs.”

“It is unfortunate that I have received no similar instructions from my government,” Hood said calmly.

“My superiors have instructed me to inform your lordship that as Spanish forces comprise the majority of the landing force, and since the Spanish vessels in harbor outnumber yours by two to one, I am to insist that Admiral Gravina be installed in his position.”

Granger eyed Hood and could see the irritation behind his passive facade. “With no disrespect to you Admiral,” Hood said, bowing slightly to Gravina, “I cannot yield control of British and Neapolitan forces without direct instructions from London. And since I do not have such instructions, I cannot grant your request.”

“I am instructed to enforce my government's instructions using any means available,” Langara said, clearly furious at being defied. Gravina seemed more thoughtful.

“You must obey your orders, General, just as I must obey mine. However, what I can do is to instruct forces currently under His Britannic Majesty's control to work closely with Admiral Gravina.” Hood was clever, a stroke of genius Granger thought. He'd told the Spaniards “no” but given them a face-saving way out.

“Perhaps that will do, while we await further instructions from our respective governments,” Gravina said diplomatically. When Langara was done posturing, it would be Gravina's responsibility to work with everyone. Excess animosity would only make his job harder.

Langara glared at Gravina, then Hood, and then, accepting the inevitable, he bowed graciously to Hood, who returned his bow just as graciously. “That seems to be an acceptable compromise pending further instructions.”

“Excellent,” Hood said. “I must thank you gentlemen for your understanding. Would you accept my invitation to dinner?”

“Regrettably, we must return to install Admiral Gravina as commandant,” Langara said formally.

“Having your ships so close to us here, it would make me feel most remiss if I could not host you as soon as possible,” Hood said politely.

“Sadly, these vessels must move inshore to support our troops. They are here solely to convey us to this conference. I am sure there will be another opportunity,” Langara said. The admiral continued his polite demeanor as he led them to the entry port. Once Langara vanished over the side, he stormed back to his cabin, followed by his staff.

“Cavendish!” Hood said loudly.

“My lord?” he replied automatically.

“Inform our troops that they should cooperate to the degree possible with Gravina, but make it clear they are not under his command. Go do that now.” Hood commanded.

“Aye aye my lord,” Cavendish said, and vanished from the cabin quickly. There was a very unpleasant silence.

“You handled the Spaniards quite skillfully my lord,” Granger said.

“So you think Granger,” Hood groused. “If London, or Gibraltar, had given me more support, I could send the Dons packing. But I need them, and that makes them necessary. A damnable situation.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger agreed.

“And I don't even have naval superiority in this bloody harbor,” Hood said, starting to become really frazzled. “I am forced to dispatch my forces to escort reinforcements that never seem to materialize.” There were three battleships in Gibraltar as they spoke, just for that purpose.

“Surely London will realize how over-extended we are here, my lord,” Curtis said soothingly.

“You think so, eh? I do not. Dundas is so focused on capturing French colonies he is neglecting this excellent opportunity,” Hood replied. Dundas was the Secretary of War, responsible for the army. The old admiral sighed. “We shall succeed, nonetheless.”

“Yes my lord,” Curtis said.

“Then let us get to work,” Hood said, re-immersing his staff in the endless paperwork that crossed his desk. There was one piece of good news. Yule had passed his Lieutenant's examination, and Hood dispatched the result along with a request to grant his commission at once.

At the end of a very long day, Granger wandered below to the wardroom, to a late meal prepared for him by Lefavre. He was sad and depressed. He craved action, and being stuck here aboard a flagship, aboard this floating paper factory, was frustrating beyond belief. He analyzed his emotions, and decided that it was the taste of freedom his command of the Desperate and the Aurore had given him, the taste of freedom that had corrupted him. It was like a narcotic, an uncontrollable desire, and Granger knew now that until he had his own command, he would not be happy.

Winkler was there to help him once he reached the cabin, helping him strip off all of his clothes, and then leaving him standing there, naked and cold. Granger felt his mood change. From sadness and depression, to one of frustration, maybe even anger. He put the bar in the door and headed over to Shafte's cot.

“I was waiting for you,” Shafte said as he lay on his stomach, twitching his ass at Granger, inviting him.

“I need you,” Granger said. Shafte turned to look at him, and so familiar were they with each other's moods, with each other's bodies, he understood what Granger meant and smiled.

“I need you too, George. Take me,” Shaft said, spreading his legs, giving Granger unfettered access to his lubed hole. Granger lay on top of him and entered him roughly, then fucked him, fucked him hard. He targeted all of his rage, all of his frustration through his dick right into Shafte's nice little ass, slamming into him over and over again. Granger took no time to make sure Shafte was satisfied, took no time to notice him at all. Only after Granger exploded, a massive eruption, blasting his seed and his emotional dissatisfaction into Shafte, was he able to be tender and loving to the young man.

“I'm sorry, Julian,” Granger apologized.

“Sorry for what? That was magnificent,” Shafte said, smiling. He turned over and his cot was damp where he'd shot his own load. Shafte followed Granger to his cot and snuggled up with him for a brief but heavenly period, and then they separated and unblocked the door.

November 15, 1793

So much had changed, so much was different. They'd finally gotten some reinforcements, 1000 men and a British General, O'Hara, from London. O'Hara had taken over on the ground, and today the French had tried to assault Fort Mulgrave and were repelled with horrible losses. Things were looking up at last, or so it seemed. Granger paced the Victory's quarterdeck and pondered their fate.

“Signal from Vesuvius sir,” Humphreys said, interrupting Granger’s train of thought. “It says “need ammunition”. That's all sir.”

Granger smiled. Thirteen-inch mortar shells weren't easily acquired munitions. Travers had been supporting the British forces at Fort Mulgrave for quite a while now, and this last assault must have cost him the last of his shells. “I'll tell his lordship,” he told a relieved Humphreys. All of the midshipmen were terrified of the admiral, probably because he'd gotten crustier and crustier as this siege went on.

Granger entered the admiral's cabin without knocking, as was his right as a member of the admiral's staff. Hood was reading dispatches, and must have just come across one that infuriated him because he slammed it on the desk. “What is it?” he asked, almost yelled.

“We have a signal from Vesuvius my lord. Need Ammunition.”

“Does Captain Travers want me to drop everything and craft some mortar shells for him?” Hood demanded rudely.

“I don't believe that would be his expectation my lord,” Granger said, trying to cheer his crusty chief.

Hood rolled his eyes at him. “Travers is your friend?”

“Yes my lord. I was assigned to his division when I first went aboard Barracuda. He helped me transition into the navy, my lord.” Granger hoped that was all that Hood meant.

“I understand your father took him to court as well,” Hood pressed.

“Yes my lord. Captain Travers' father was a traitor, changed sides during the last war. It has been a tough stigma to bear, but he is determined to succeed in the navy and redeem his family name. My father wanted to give him a chance to apologize to His Majesty,” Granger said. So much in such a trite statement.

“He is a good officer. That was a good move on your father's part.”

“Yes my lord. Thank you my lord,” Granger said.

“Draft orders to send Vesuvius to Port Mahon,” Hood ordered. “I want you to go with them. I'll give you written instructions, but I want you to meet with the governor and see if there are any forces there he can contribute to the effort. We are left grasping for straws, but perhaps there are some of his militiamen that are willing to serve.”

“Yes my lord,” Granger said. “Thank you my lord.” He added the last sentence, recognizing that Hood was sending him instead of someone else as a personal favor.

“Friends are rare Mr. Granger,” Hood said philosophically. “Do not dally. We need you back here, and we'll need Vesuvius even more.”

“More than me my lord?” Granger asked, pretending to be offended.

“Unless you can fire thirteen-inch shells out of your ass,” Hood joked.

I can probably take a thirteen-inch cock up it, Granger thought to himself. “I'm sorry my lord, that is not a skill I've yet mastered.” Hood smiled at him, and then returned to his work.

Some three hours later found Granger sitting in the stern of the Admiral's barge as it maneuvered through the assembled ships, heading toward the outer harbor near Fort Mulgrave, where Vesuvius was on station. It took a bit of maneuvering, and Granger had to grudgingly admire the skill of the coxswain. Here they were, tacking perfectly between the stern of the 112 gun Salvador del Mundo, a three-decker more massive even than Victory, and the 94 gun San Fernando. Then he found a straight route inland and there, three cables off the starboard bow, was Vesuvius. The barge got to within half a cable's length before they were hailed. “Dispatches from the flagship!” shouted Granger.

The boat hooked on to the main chains and Granger hopped up spryly onto the familiar deck to find Travers and Victor there to greet him. Travers was trying not to grin too broadly, and even Victor seemed in good spirits. “It is good to see you, Mr. Granger,” Travers said.

“It is good to see you too sir,” Granger said, their eyes twinkling at each other.

“You have orders for me?” Travers asked.

“Yes sir. His lordship wants you to go to Port Mahon to resupply. I am to go with you to meet with the governor,” Granger said formally. Just then Winkler and Lefavre came aboard, with Granger's trunk following.

“Well that is good news. We fired away our last shell this morning.” Travers turned to Victor. “Call the hands. Weigh anchor.”

“Aye aye sir,” said Victor, and began shouting orders. The men poured up from below, a mass of men who flew on deck in chaos but settled down quickly, each man in his proper place. It was like some grand ballet, Granger thought, except ballet dancers didn't have to dance out onto yard arms.

Granger watched the evolutions jealously, wondering if he'd ever get off the flagship, if he'd ever get back to just being a sailor and not a politician or a clerk. He was about to get depressed until he remembered that his position as flag lieutenant was the reason he was here. Without that, he would be lucky to even see Travers again. The main sail billowed out, and the Vesuvius began to strain, tugging against her anchor cable.

“Anchor's aweigh!” shouted a midshipman from the bow. The change was immediate. The Vesuvius heeled over as the wind pushed her forward. The main topsail was sheeted home next, then the mizzens, taking advantage of the strong breeze to escape from Toulon and bondage to the fleet and the army.

“How does it feel to be back at sea?” Travers asked, joining him along the taffrail.

“Wonderful sir. Especially to be here.”

“I've missed you too,” Travers said cautiously. “I hope you don't mind joining my midshipmen for dinner. I invited them before you came aboard.”

“Not at all, sir,” Granger responded cheerfully. “I'm looking forward to meeting them.” They began to pace the weather side of the deck. “How are they working out?”

“They've been fantastic. And I think they enjoy being here. They're both really young. Pennel is 14, and Greene is 13, but close to 14. But they're bright and enthusiastic,” Travers said. His smile said how happy he was with them.

“They are too young even for you,” Granger teased, their conversation becoming informal.

“I've given up on liaisons with my crew,” Travers said firmly.

“Really?” Granger asked.

Travers nodded. “It's too big of a risk. First of all, it smacks of favoritism, and on a small ship, that would be deadly to morale. That's assuming the crew didn't find out, which would be a disaster, because it would surely ruin anyone's career. And if that isn't enough, it's distracting. Succeeding is so important to me. I can't entertain anything that will cloud my judgment.”

Granger pondered his words, silent as they paced up and down. This was the difference between a mature officer, like Travers, and a man-child like him, Granger thought. He raked himself over the coals for being overtly slutty, for fucking everything he could. The risks he'd run were even greater than Travers'. He didn't deserve command, at least not until he got his libido under control.

“That doesn't include you George,” Travers said gently, misinterpreting his silence as worry over whether they'd have sex.

“I certainly hope not,” Granger said cheerfully, trying to dodge the issue but failing. He sighed. “I'm just thinking about what a good officer you are, and how much growing up I still have to do.”

“You're a fine officer George,” Travers said, reassuring him.

“That's good of you to say, but I'm not. I've been careless with my liaisons, forgetting about my career and my family. It is idiocy, and it changes this minute,” Granger said. “My God, I'm going to be a father. What if someone exposed me? It wouldn't be just my shame; it would be my son's.”

“Kind of like what I had to deal with,” Travers said sadly. Granger felt bad then, bad for bringing up a touchy subject like that.

“You have redeemed yourself,” Granger said. “It's only a matter of time before you make post and get a bigger command.”

“What makes you so sure about that? There's no guarantee,” Travers argued.

“You don't have much faith in my family,” Granger said, grinning.

“Your family?” Travers asked. “What do they have to do with my promotion?”

Granger eyed him curiously. Could he be this naïve? “Appointments and promotions are made primarily through influence. You are my friend.” Granger looked around carefully. “You are everything to me. So they will help you because I want them to, and because you impressed my father.”

“Is that why I'm here, why I have Vesuvius?” Travers asked, seemingly angry.

“It helped. I don't know the details, but I'm assuming they helped. It's not like you didn't earn it John,” Granger said, stunned that Travers didn't know about the Earl’s influence, and even more stunned that it seemed to bother him. They paced in silence for a while longer.

“It seems we both had epiphanies here today,” Travers said, breaking the silence. “Thank you George. And thank your father for me as well.”

“You're welcome. It's not like he's not doing something that's in the best interest of the country and the navy. You're an amazing officer John.”

“You're biased,” Travers said, and almost looked shy. It was so cute Granger felt his hormones fly into overdrive and had to wrangle them back under control.

“I'm also experienced. I've been exposed to some of the best Captains, and you have the potential to be just as good as them,” Granger said. He wasn't sure if Travers could be as good as Nelson, but he figured that a little exaggeration wouldn't hurt.

“Thanks George,” Travers said again. “Who's the best one?”

“Besides you? Captain Nelson. He kept Chilton on board his ship, by the way,” Granger added.

“Indeed?”

“Nelson knows his family,” Granger said, as if to emphasize his point about influence.

“I hope Chilton develops more under Nelson,” Travers said sadly.

“I'm not sure that's possible. I'm not convinced he has the makings of a good officer, not that I'm an expert,” Granger said, worried that he'd seemed pompous.

“Me either, but I agree with you,” Travers said. He turned away from Granger and adjusted Vesuvius' course, then turned back to him. “Shall we see if your quarters are ready?”

Granger grinned and tried to keep from getting an erection. “With pleasure.” Once in the cabin, they made love, and even though it was fast and they couldn't really be intimate, to Granger, it was glorious.

Pennel and Greene sat nervously at Travers' table. Not only did they have to worry about the imposing presence of their Captain, they had to worry about one of the admiral's flag lieutenants, one with enough influence to have them moved from the Windsor Castle to the Vesuvius.

Greene was the taller of the two. His physique was impressive, definitely advanced for his age. In fact, he could easily pose convincingly as one of those ancient Greek athletes, with one exception. His face was scarred and pitted from the red acne sores that still populated his cheeks. They were so pronounced they extended down to his chin. Pennel, on the other hand, was small and slight. Even though he was older than Greene, it was questionable as to whether his boyish body had made much progress changing into a man.

“This food is excellent, sir,” Pennel said, his voice squeaking. That answers that question, Granger thought playfully. His voice was changing.

“Thank you Mr. Pennel,” Granger said politely. Lefavre had made dinner, much to the dismay of Travers' cook. “Lefavre was stowed away on the frigate Aurore. We found him there when we took her into service.”

“This sauce is amazing, sir,” Greene echoed, not wanting to be considered rude.

“It is, is it not?” Granger said. “The French are so good at that, at their sauces, and Lefavre has proven to be an excellent chef.” Travers just ate and watched Granger interact with them.

“Captain Travers says we owe our transfer to you sir,” Pennel said to Granger. “Thank you.”

“Well, I cannot take all the credit. You were not happy on the Windsor Castle?”

Greene frowned. “It was a good ship with a good captain, begging your pardon sir. It's just that we were the youngest mids. The next oldest was 17, and there were a few in their 20s.”

“Did they mistreat you?” Travers asked. It was amazing to Granger that he hadn't asked them about this before. Maybe Travers didn't want too much information about them so he wouldn't be tempted to get to close to them.

“No sir, I mean, no more than normal. They were actually nice enough. They were just a lot older,” Pennel chimed in. Granger could picture it now, a very competitive midshipman's berth, with many of the young gentlemen frustrated at not getting promoted yet.

“You seem to have settled in here quite nicely,” Granger said.

“Yes sir.” And with that they finished up dinner and vanished, as was fitting for midshipmen to do.

Winkler came in to help him get organized and to put his dress uniform away. Granger smiled at Travers, who nervously avoided taking off his own clothes while Winkler was in the room. That made for an odd scene; Granger in the room naked with Winkler and Travers fully dressed. Granger quickly got under the covers.

“Sir, would it be alright if I slept outside your cabin?” Winkler said, grinning. “That way I'll be close at hand if you need something.”

“That's fine,” Travers said, wondering why Winkler was even asking.

“He's trying to say that he'll guard the door,” Granger said. Winkler giggled, while Travers blushed three shades of red.

“Yes sir,” Winkler said. He stared directly into Travers eyes, a slight smile on his face. Then he left.

“Before you panic,” Granger said, “that direct eye contact he just did to you...that's his way of saying he likes you.”

“It feels wrong to have my door guarded so I can be with you,” Travers said, almost whining.

“John, it just means that instead of having someone barging in, we'll get a knock and 10 seconds to get into our own cots.” Granger got up and stood in front of Travers. His hard cock poked straight at Travers, begging Travers to touch it, which he did. Then their lips met, their tongues began the dance of love, and Granger took Travers' other hand and put it on Granger's ass. Any resistance Travers may have had broke down.

Then they made love, really made love, able to stretch their bodies together, maneuver to maximize their pleasure, to really taste and smell each other. And then best of all, afterward, they were able to just lie there, embracing.