Odyssey - 29. Chapter 29

October, 1797

“Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to host this dinner before we implement our plans to confound the Spanish,” Granger said jovially. “I thought I would make sure you are all aware of our plan now, before you have emptied my stores of wine.” That got a collective laugh.

“We will just have to capture some more, my lord,” Eastwyck said, being cheeky.

“Indeed, although that is not our prime objective for the next few days. Tomorrow morning, Bacchante and Saphiro will separate. Saphiro will maintain station off shore, as if still searching for us. Bacchante will close with the shore and land our invasion force, along with our Mapuche allies.” Granger nodded to de Arana, who was looking at Granger while listening to Gatling furiously interpret quietly into his ear. “Bacchante will then return offshore, and wait until the following morning, at which time she will pretend to chase Saphiro into Valdivia.”

“A bold plan, my lord,” Somers said.

“A plan is bold when it is successful,” Granger joked. “If it is not, it will be considered foolhardy.”

“How could it be not be successful, my lord?” Somers asked, being cocky.

“There are any number of things that can go wrong with this plan,” Granger said seriously. “Our party sent to capture the fort could find themselves captured instead, or even if they aren’t, they may be unable to capture the fort. But the reason that I am willing to risk half of our crew is because these two plans, while they complement each other, are not reliant on each other.”

“I don’t understand, my lord,” Broom said.

“If we do not capture the fort, Mr. Calvert will still attack the Santa Clarita. He will still cut her out. It just means that he will probably receive some additional iron fare-thee-wells from the Spanish on his way out.” That got a chuckle. “Conversely, even if Mr. Calvert is unable to capture Santa Clarita, our assault on the fort will go on as planned.”

“What is the purpose of attacking the fort, my lord, if not to support Mr. Calvert?” Weston asked.

“Because that is purportedly where the British and American prisoners are being held,” Granger said. “And in addition, we have promised to try and find some arms and gunpowder for Señor de Arana and his noble warriors, so they may more forcefully resist Spanish tyranny.”

“It makes sense now, my lord,” Weston said, smiling. “Thank you for explaining it to me.”

“That’s quite alright, Mr. Weston. I have become used to educating His Majesty’s officers,” Granger joked, getting a laugh.

“Who is to command the party going ashore, my lord?” Robey asked hopefully.

“I am,” Granger said firmly. His eyes weren’t on Robey; they were on Calvert, because they’d had a number of unpleasant discussions about that already.

“Is it wise to risk your life on such a venture, my lord?” Andrews asked. From anyone else, that would have been annoying, but Andrews’ question inadvertently showed Granger that he cared about him, and that was a bit touching.

“It is important that I am there to coordinate our efforts with our allies, that I am there to address any rescued prisoners personally, and that I am there to interact with our Spanish prisoners.” That last phrase got a chuckle. “I am going to take Mr. Eastwyck with me, as well as Mr. Kingsdale. Mr. Gatling is going with Mr. Calvert, as is Mr. Scrope.”

“With the exception of your lordship and Mr. Calvert, I can’t see that having the others gone will make much difference,” Andrews joked, getting a laugh from all of them, and frowns from the midshipmen he’d referenced.

“Our mission to Amboyna is largely a diplomatic one,” Granger said, getting serious. “If Mr. Calvert and I should both fall, then Captain Somers will take overall charge of the mission, while Mr. Robey will command Bacchante.”

“So I get to be the captain, but he gets to be the admiral, my lord?” Robey joked. “Bloody hell.”

“And like most admirals, I will probably spend my days reclining in that chair,” Somers said, pointing at one of Granger’s leather chairs. “While lamenting your loss, of course, my lord.” Granger laughed. He was so glad to see them all in good spirits.

“I have tried to leave you a solid core of officers and men to navigate the ship safely to Amboyna, Mr. Robey. If you need additional crewmen, you may consider recruiting some of Señor de Arana’s people. Our orders are to eliminate the French privateers that prey on our whalers. It is up to you as to whether you feel able to complete that mission.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Robey said. After that, the conversation became jolly, but Granger had achieved his goal. He wanted all of them to understand not only his battle plan, but also to understand what was to happen in case he and Calvert were killed. He didn’t want to leave a power vacuum behind. He had labored over the division of command. It was not usual for a marine officer to find himself in a position to command a ship. But Granger knew that the situation in Amboyna was full of pitfalls, and he didn’t think that Robey had the political instincts that Somers had, or the ability to divine the evil motives lying beneath the surface. In the end, making Somers the mission commander while giving Robey command of the vessel seemed to be a good way to sort things out.

They finished dinner, and Granger had intended to provide a musical interlude, but found he was too inebriated to participate, so they settled for a serenade on the pipes by Kingsdale, and a song by Weston, who had a marvelous, deep voice.

“I have the watch, my lord,” Robey said, finally breaking things up. Granger was sad to see them go, because he had enjoyed himself and because he was pretty drunk, but then his eyes met Calvert’s and a whole new feeling filled his head, and his loins. One by one they left, at a maddeningly slow pace, until only Granger, Calvert, and Somers were left.

“I hope you will pardon me for being impertinent, my lord, but as we three are to be parted, I am wondering if you had given any thought to my proposal.”

“I have definitely thought about it,” Granger said with a leer.

“As have I,” Calvert said. Granger looked at him and raised his eyebrow, while Calvert gave the slightest of nods.

“Winkler!” Granger called.

“My lord?”

“I am not to be bothered for any reason, but if I must, it is to be only by you.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” Winkler said with a smirk.

Granger pulled his uniform coat off, a signal to the other two men to do the same. They disrobed quickly, until they were standing in front of each other, stark naked. Granger admired the two men in front of him: Calvert with his lithe body and auburn hair, and Somers with his solid build and reddish blond coloring. Not surprisingly, it was Somers who took the lead. He dropped to his knees and absorbed Granger’s dick into his mouth, eliciting a moan in response.

Calvert held Granger so their sides were together, both of their dicks aimed at Somers, who sucked one, then the other. The two lucky recipients of Somers’ oral skills were joined at the mouth, kissing passionately, and occasionally chuckling when Somers made one or the other of them moan. Granger felt Somers’ hand exploring his ass, probing gently, so he spread his legs to give him more room.

Somers grabbed the lanolin and lubed Granger up liberally, and Granger anticipated that the next thing he’d feel was Somers’ cock sliding into him. Instead, Somers pulled Calvert down to the carpeted deck, making him lie on his back, and then guided Granger on top of him. Granger lowered his ass down onto Calvert’s long, thin cock, the one he knew all so well. He began to undulate up and down, thoroughly enjoying himself, when Somers’ cock appeared in front of his face. Granger sucked it willingly, his body fueled by the stimulation of being fucked by Calvert while blowing Somers, and smelling Somers’ pungent but erotic body musk with each thrust. Calvert craned his neck up and started sucking on Somers’ balls, so Somers obliged him by lowering himself down to make it easier. Granger’s drunken mind was crazed with lust and desire, as he all but hopped up and down on Calvert’s cock while sucking on Somers.

“I am wondering if you have room for another cock?” Somers asked. Granger stopped sucking him and looked up, and the thought so intrigued him that he stopped moving up and down on Calvert. “It was just an idea,” Somers said, mistaking his reaction.

Somers had a pretty thick cock, but Calvert did not. Calvert was longer, but that didn’t really factor into the equation right now. Granger caressed Somers’ dick, and while it was thick, combined, their dicks were probably no bigger than Holmquist or Jardines, both freakishly huge men whom Granger had managed to absorb. “I think it might be well worth a try.”

Somers smiled and moved behind him while Granger leaned in and started kissing Calvert again. He felt Somers’ hand putting more lube on his ass, felt it probing him, and then he felt something else, something more insistent pressing against his already stretched ring. Granger moaned, both from excitement and pain, as he leaned forward and buried his mouth in Calvert’s neck. He felt his ass being pried open as Somers pushed in, but he didn’t cry out in pain, even though every fiber in his body screamed. “Oh yes,” Somers said.

“God, George, I can feel his hard cock sliding against mine,” Calvert said, and moaned loudly. Calvert had largely been passive when Granger had been fucking only him, and now he resumed that same role, letting Somers drive into Granger, savoring the feel of Somers’ rock hard cock as it rubbed against his with each thrust. Somers was feeling the same thing, only it was compounded by having Granger’s tight ass throbbing around the part of him not in contact with Calvert’s dick. And all of that was augmented by the feeling of Somers’ balls brushing against Calvert’s with each thrust. But the man who was totally and completely enthralled was Granger. He moaned and whimpered as Somers plowed into him, and got even more animated when Calvert’s own excitement led him to make small thrusts as well. The stimulation was almost overwhelming, both physically and mentally. The thought of having these two men that he loved, both ramming their cocks into his ass, was erotic in the extreme. And the sensation was almost indescribable. What made it all the more intense was that there was just enough pain to keep Granger from reaching orgasm, so for him, it was just one long fuck.

Somers was the first of them to cum. With a muted roar he jammed his dick as deep into Granger as it would go, and remained almost still, just moving slightly, as he blasted his wad into Granger’s bowel. Even though the stimulation was slight, the feel of Somers’ cock swelling and throbbing as he reached orgasm was enough to trigger Calvert’s own ejaculation. The two men moaned and writhed, directing all of their pleasure into Granger’s stretched out ass. When they were done, Somers gently pulled out, but held Calvert in place, letting Granger adjust to the loss of one big cock. Then Calvert pulled out, his dick followed by a not inconsiderable amount of semen. Granger collapsed, panting, on top of Calvert, while Somers grabbed a rag and cleaned them all off.

“That was magnificent,” Granger said. He was amazingly horny and aroused, yet his dick was limp. It was one of the stranger sexual sensations he’d experienced.

“I have to agree,” Somers said. “Thank you both for sharing.”

“It was certainly my pleasure,” Calvert said, grinning like a young boy.

As euphoric as Granger had been the night before, so now was he less happy with his evening. It wasn’t the sex, because just thinking about it put a smile on his face and a tent in his trousers. As long as he didn’t spend too much time sitting down today, that would not bother him. It was the copious amounts of alcohol he had consumed, and the resulting headache he was nursing that were causing him some regrets. Then something worse happened. He was on deck, where Calvert and his men were preparing to make the transfer to Saphiro, when the nausea hit. “I will be right back,” he said to Calvert formally. He strode confidently down the ladder, and past the sentry, but once in his cabin, he put all the niceties aside and charged for his privy, where he vomited his guts out. He vomited and vomited, cursing himself for drinking so much, and then waited, knowing there was yet one more retch left in his stomach. When that finally emerged, he composed himself, rinsed his mouth with perfumed water, and returned to the deck, looking as calm as he ever had.

Calvert gave him a worried look, because he knew Granger so well he had guessed what happened, but when he saw Granger scowl, he wiped that expression off his face. Calvert knew that the last thing Granger would want was sympathy over a human weakness like vomiting. “I am ready, my lord,” he said formally.

“Good luck, Mr. Calvert,” Granger said just as formally. He extended his hand and Calvert took it, the electricity flowing between them. Granger wondered briefly if this would be the last time they would see each other. They were going off on dangerous missions, both of them. He pushed that horrible thought aside and released Calvert’s hand.

“Good luck to you as well, my lord,” Calvert said. Their words were formal, but all that needed to be said between them was communicated by their eyes. Granger nodded, and Calvert descended into the boat. Granger watched as it rowed over to Saphiro, and then waited for it to return even as Saphiro spread her sails to put some distance between her and Bacchante. Their plan would largely fail if the two ships were sighted together.

Bacchante turned away from Saphiro and tacked on canvas, making her way toward a small bay just north of Valdivia. They spent the day maneuvering into position, but staying out of visual range from the shore. As soon as night fell, Bacchante hurried toward the shore. Nights were short this time of year at these latitudes, so they had to make haste to land Granger and his party and then retreat back out of sight.

Granger stood on the quarterdeck as the men were loaded into the boats. They had 25 of Bacchante’s men, along with 75 natives that they’d taken aboard a few days ago. They’d recruited these warriors when they’d visited de Arana’s home village. They’d been easy passengers, confining themselves to the main gun deck, although they weren’t the neatest of fellows. Granger decided with a rueful grin that Robey would probably have to spend the better part of a day getting that deck back to the standards Granger demanded.

“Captain Somers, Mr. Robey, you gentlemen have your orders. If all goes well, I will see you tomorrow morning in Valdivia. If not, you will know how to proceed.”

“Good luck, my lord,” Robey said, shaking his hand.

“I am personally hoping for your safe return, both you and Mr. Calvert, my lord,” Somers said with a grin that was almost a leer as he shook Granger’s hand.

“I am sure that your good wishes will carry us through,” Granger said. He nodded to both men and descended into the boat. As soon as he was aboard, they cast off and set the lugsail. It was an easy boat trip to the sandy beach they’d selected. Granger embarked handily, as did the other men, and they watched as the boat returned to Bacchante. Granger felt detached, cut adrift, but shrugged that off and focused on the business at hand.

“This way,” de Arana said. He led them up a steep and winding path that led to the top of the cliff. “We will hide here,” he said, pointing at a wooded area.

“Alright men,” Granger said. “We’re going to give you some time to relax and enjoy yourselves.” That got a chuckle. “These woods are our home for the time being.” They fought through trees and rough brush until they found a pretty little creek, where they set up a temporary campsite.

“I have sent out scouts, and we are contacting the other tribes that live here,” de Arana said. Granger just nodded: He didn’t like being dependent on other people, being reliant on their timely cooperation, to make their operation successful. De Arana had wanted to disembark only British men on the shore and then draft local warriors for the assault on the fort, and had been annoyed by Granger’s blatant refusal to consider such a plan. Instead, Granger had disembarked the minimum number of Mapuche men he’d needed from de Arana’s people, so he knew that force was armed and ready for their assault.

“Nice place, my lord,” Eastwyck said conversationally. He and Granger walked down to the creek and indulged themselves in the fresh drinking water that flowed past them.

“It is indeed,” Granger said, although he was too keyed up to truly appreciate the beauty of these virgin forests and creeks. He was bored and impatient, and desperately wanted to walk about, but that would show the men that he was anxious, so he remained largely stationary.

An hour after they had arrived, a somewhat breathless de Arana rushed up to him. Evidently he had no qualms about not remaining stoic. “The scouts have returned. The gates are closed. They are locked down.” To de Arana, this was a disaster, but Granger had quite frankly expected it.

“I am not surprised,” he said to de Arana, who looked shocked at Granger’s complacency. “They know we are in these waters, which is why they sent the brig to look for us. They will be on alert.”

De Arana looked at him, and then nodded, as that slowly made sense to him. Granger had noticed that de Arana, while quite the leader, had not yet developed the art of learning how his enemy thought. He would need to do that if he were to outfox the Spanish. “So what will we do?”

“You said there was a trail up the cliff to the battery?” Granger asked.

“There is, but it is steep and treacherous,” de Arana said.

“My men can climb it,” Granger said. “If you will provide us with some guides, we will scale the cliff and sneak into the fort. We will endeavor to open the gates, at which point you can enter with the rest of the men, and whomever else you can assemble to help.”

“You can do that?” he asked.

“I can,” Granger said confidently, even though he wasn’t entirely sure that he could. “But you must be ready to storm in once the gate is opened. Otherwise, we will be slaughtered.”

“I will be there to support you,” de Arana said, more of a pledge than a statement.

“Then let us be off. We will plan to assault the fort at dawn tomorrow morning.”

De Arana motioned a young man over. “This is Cobao. He knows the trails as well as his face, and he speaks Spanish. There are five others who will go with you, all who speak Spanish as well. He will do as you command.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Cobao,” Granger said in a friendly way. He wasn’t tall or broad, but for some reason even with his thin and lanky body, the young Chilean seemed very powerful.

“The pleasure is mine, lord,” he said, smiling pertly.

“We will see you tomorrow at dawn,” Granger said to de Arana. “Mr. Eastwyck, assemble the men.”

“Aye aye, my lord.” The men from Bacchante gathered around him, while Cobao and the five other scouts mingled in.

“Men, our plan was to storm through the open gates of the fort. Unfortunately, just knowing that Bacchante is in the Pacific has frightened the Dons so badly they have locked them.” That got a chuckle, and then frowns as the men got worried that their mission may not be successful. “So that means that we must scale a cliff, storm through the fort, and open the gates to let everyone else in.”

“Sounds to be an easy bit of work, my lord,” Eastwyck joked. “At least for this crew.” Granger paused to note what an easy style Eastwyck had, and how he used that to be a very effective leader.

“My thoughts exactly,” Granger said, grinning at him. He turned to Cobao. “Lead off,” he said in Spanish. And so began their trek. They took footpaths that were rarely used, if their condition was any indication of the traffic they bore. Slashing at branches, dodging around trees, it seemed to take forever for them to make any progress at all. Toward evening, they stopped to eat dinner, consuming the provisions they’d brought with them, while Cobao led Granger to a clearing. There, in front of him, was the town of Niebla, with the fort in the background. It was an imposing structure, made primarily of masonry, with almost 20 cannon aimed to command the passage to Valdivia. The guns were not encased; they were out in the open, behind embrasures. And just as the scouts had reported, the gates were firmly shut.

“We go that way,” Cobao said, pointing to a trail at the other end of the clearing.

“We must wait until nightfall to get there,” Granger noted. If they tried to traverse this piece of open ground during the day, they would surely be sighted. “Can you lead us in the darkness?”

Cobao gave Granger his trademark grin. “I work best at night.”

“Excellent,” Granger said. They went back to the camp, where Granger told Eastwyck they’d have a couple of hours before they moved again. Most of the men took the opportunity to take a brief nap, but Granger went back to study the fort, and its layout.

When darkness approached, Granger gathered the men together and addressed them. “We are going to climb down to the beach, and up the cliff to get to the seaward side of that fort. Once we are there, I will need four men to go ahead of us and neutralize the sentries. I require men who are stealthy, and can kill silently. This is the point where some of your criminal pasts may be useful.” That got a chuckle.

Lamb, a man who Granger knew to have those traits, volunteered, as did a few others. It was fascinating to watch the men vet them, to decide who would be best. While they were doing that, he explained his plans to Cobao. “I will go with them as well,” he asserted.

“Excellent,” Granger said. Cobao led them across the open field, and even though it was dark, they stooped down to prevent their silhouettes from showing up against the moonlit sky. Granger allowed himself a soft sigh of relief as they arrived at the opposite end of the clearing, seemingly unspotted.

Then the work really began. They descended down a treacherous path, with Granger, Eastwyck, and Kingsdale pausing to admonish the irrepressible sailors and marines who wanted to exclaim every time they stumbled. They finally reached the beach, only to find that they had to wade knee-deep through surging surf in some places to get around the massive rock formations, remnants of the cliffs that had fallen into the sea. They finally arrived at a small beach, and Granger gave them a few minutes to rest.

“This is the trail to the top,” Cobao said. “It is treacherous.”

“Worse than the last one?” Granger asked.

“It is worse,” he nodded.

“Warn the men that this next trail is worse than the last one,” Granger said to Eastwyck. “And tell them to keep their mouths shut. Any noises from them will probably get us all killed or captured.” He nodded and passed the word. That seemed to have a sobering effect on the men. Granger was going to look at his watch, but there was no light, so he used the position of the moon to gauge the time. “Let’s be at it,” he said to Cobao. “Alright men, we’re moving. You four go ahead of us,” Granger said in English, referring to the four men of his stealth squad.

The trail that Cobao referred to wasn’t really a trail at all; it was merely a series of outcropping, where they stepped from ledge to ledge in the darkness. At first, Granger had feared they’d left the beach too early, but as they progressed, he was worried that they wouldn’t make it to the top by the time the sun rose. Fortunately, the men were sure-footed. He’d selected mostly topmen for this mission with just this eventuality in mind. If these men could walk across a yardarm one hundred feet in the air in the middle of a gale, they could scale a Chilean cliff.

They got to the top and huddled in the shadow of the walls, waiting until they were all assembled. Granger could hear the plodding feet of a sentry quite close to them as the unfortunate man walked his guard. “Alright. Take out the sentries,” Granger said to Lamb. The five of them vanished over the walls. Granger waited, listening intently for a sound, but heard nothing.

“All’s clear, my lord,” Lamb whispered.

“Let’s go. Quietly!” Granger admonished. He climbed through one of the embrasures and almost stepped on the body of the dead sentry. Cobao was there to lead him through the fort, away from the huge cannon, past the commandant’s house, and over to the gate. So far, everything had gone according to plan. That ended when they reached the gate.

A sentry had been evidently napping off to the side and he woke abruptly to find a party of men seizing his gate. He shouted, and did something much worse. He fired his musket. He was dead almost immediately after he did, cut down by one of Granger’s men. “Damn,” Granger said. “Mr. Kingsdale, get that gate open! Mr. Eastwyck, assemble some barricades, anything we can use to forestall the garrison.”

They rushed off after acknowledging his order. “Lamb, you men and the marines will have to hold them off as best you can.”

“Aye aye, my lord,” he said dubiously. Time seemed to go in slow motion, when in fact, it was screaming ahead at a furious pace. They had ten muskets, and along with five they were able to steal from the slain guards, that gave them enough of a force to hold off the garrison for a few minutes anyway. Bugles blared, and he saw the sleepy Spanish soldiers assembling. There had to be fifty of them at least.

“My lord!” Kingsdale shouted. Granger turned to look at him, then beyond the gate, and beheld disaster. There, advancing at a quick march, were another fifty Spanish soldiers. And there was no sign of de Arana. Granger felt the reality of defeat breaking over him, knowing that there was no way his thirty men could hold off one hundred Spanish soldiers. Then he got an inspiration. “Close the gates, Mr. Kingsdale.”

“My lord?”

“Close the gates,” Granger snarled. In the midst of action was not the time to question orders. Kingsdale and his men abruptly shut the gates in the face of the advancing Spanish.

“Now it is thirty to fifty,” Granger said to Eastwyck. “Those are good odds.” He raised his voice so his men could hear. “Those Don soldiers are going to advance on us. We’re going to pick off a few, and then we’re going to rout them.” The men raised a cheer, and that seemed to give the Spaniards some pause, but they formed ranks and began to advance.

“Ready men,” Granger said. “Fire!” The shots flew from their line, smashing into the Spanish, and downing five of the unfortunate blokes. Granger’s men ducked quickly behind the barricades and reloaded, but the seamen weren’t all that fast, so by the time they were ready to fire again, the Spanish were upon them. The Spanish muskets seemed to go off at the same time as the English ones, leaving more dead and more carnage. “At 'em lads!”

The British and Mapuche men surged at the Spanish, using their cutlasses to slash at the bayonets aimed at them. One determined soldier lunged at Granger with his bayonet aimed at Granger’s heart. Granger parried it aside and slashed the man’s face with his razor-sharp sword. The man screamed in agony. Granger had no time for such worries, as he found himself face to face with an officer, a man who wore the uniform of a major. The man bowed to Granger, a chivalrous gesture which Granger returned, even though it seemed madness in the height of battle.

“Let us fight this between us, Señor,” the Spaniard said in French.

“That is agreeable,” Granger said. “Stand down,” he said to Eastwyck. The major issued the same order in Spanish to his men. All around them the fighting stopped, as the Spanish, British, and Chileans stared at the two commanders. A battle between just the two of them would decide the outcome of this skirmish, without any more of their men losing their lives.

Granger and the Spaniard assumed fencing positions, touched their blades, and began their duel. Granger had learned the art of using a sword as a boy, and practiced from time to time, but he found himself facing an opponent who was clearly more advanced. Granger reasoned that he would not be able to win based on sword-play alone, so he had to out-think his opponent. Granger focused on parrying the man’s thrusts, trying to maintain the status-quo, while evaluating his opponent’s strengths and weaknesses. He took no aggressive action, merely parried the man’s assaults. He could feel the frustration in his opponent, and in his own men, as he appeared to do nothing more than beat off the man’s attack.

Granger watched the man, watched the arrogance and cockiness take over his thinking. He had found the man’s weakness. The major had decided Granger was no match for him. Granger feigned defeat, allowing the man to drive him back further and further toward the wall, pretending to be exasperated by the man’s skillful maneuvering. Anyone watching them would think Granger was beaten, and merely backing away to avoid the inevitable. Then, when the man thrust forward a little too boldly, Granger sprung into action, parrying the man’s thrust and driving forward on his own, burying his sword into the man’s abdomen. He removed his sword, ignoring the blood on it, as the Spanish major collapsed to the ground.

A collective gasp rose up from the Spaniards, but Granger ignored them. Instead, he knelt next to the wounded, and dying, man. “I am sorry, Señor,” Granger said in Spanish.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Lord Granger, captain of His Britannic Majesty’s ship Bacchante,” Granger said.

He coughed and gasped. “You are Granger?”

“I am,” Granger affirmed.

“Then I have succumbed in battle to a worthy foe,” the man said.

“You fought with honor and bravery,” Granger said. The man looked at him and smiled slightly, and then he died.