God of War, Part Two

Posted on Sun Jun 2nd, 2024 @ 2:32pm by Lieutenant Commander Matthew Foster & Lieutenant Roger Sea-Skunk

2,127 words; about a 11 minute read

Mission: The Trafalgar Roll
Location: HMS Mars
Timeline: 21 October, 1805, the morning before the battle

Matt sat in the chair in his cabin. He pulled on his boots. The lamp swung on its chain, causing the shadows to move uncertainly. He'd gotten used to the ship's motion so that he no longer noticed it except for the effect it had on the lighting.

He yawned. He hadn't slept well. The bunk hadn't been very comfortable, and his mind had been on the upcoming battle.

He had just finished stamping his foot into the second boot when there was a knock on his door. He rose and opened the door a crack.

"Yes?"

A volunteer waited outside. "Sir, with respect, the Captain wishes to speak with you at your earliest convenience," the young man said.

"Thank you. He's in his day cabin?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well. Carry on."

"Yes, sir." The volunteer scurried off to his next task.

Matt closed the door for a moment to don his jacket and grab his surgeon kit. He put out the lamp and left the cabin.

As he climbed through the gun decks, Matt noticed that the crew was already breaking down the cabin walls and moving furniture to clear the aft guns for action. The sun, just above the horizon, made long shadows along the quarterdeck as he made his way past the wheel to the day cabin.

Captain George Duff sat at his desk, in his shirtsleeves, writing on a sheet of paper. He was attended by a boy, about 12 or 13 years old, who bore a striking resemblance to the captain. The boy stood at attention, body held rigidly, only moving in response to the ship's motion. His eyes flicked to Matt for a moment in curiosity before returning to staring at the bulkhead on the far side of the cabin.

Duff finished writing with a rapid signature across the bottom of the page. He carefully folded the document, turned it, and scrawled a name on the back. He flipped it and sealed it with a blob of blue wax. He handed it to the boy, who tucked it away into his uniform shirt.

"Make sure your mother gets that letter, Norwich," Duff said with a hint of a Scottish accent.

"Yes, Father," Norwich replied.

"Very well," Duff said. "You have your orders for the battle. Dismissed."

"Yes, sir," Norwich said sullenly as he saluted and left.

Matt saluted and said, "Surgeon's Mate James, reporting as ordered, sir."

"Ah, yes, James," Duff said as he looked Matt over. "I do apologize that I haven't had the chance to speak with you until now. Torkington said that your work was satisfactory. It may please you to know that Mr William spent the night reinforcing the top main."

Matt nodded. "No apology necessary, sir. You're a busy man."

"Indeed," Duff said, running a hand through his short gray hair. "Do you have any children, James?"

Matt blinked in surprise at the question. "No, sir. I've yet to maŕry."

Duff nodded. "They are a blessing and a devilment. I have assigned Norwich to assist Torkington and yourself in the cockpit during the battle. He was none too happy about it. You know how boys are. Always eager to be where the blood is shed the hardest."

Matt wondered where the captain was going with this talk. He felt a sudden urge to maintain his disguise. "Surely, an officer in training needs to learn how to run a ship during battle."

"Naturally," Duff responded. "He'll have plenty of chances for that. He's only just started his career. It's also important for a young officer to see the consequences of fighting. What better place for that than in the cockpit?"

Matt could hardly fault that logic. "Yes, I see, sir."

"But Norwich is a headstrong lad. In that, I suppose he takes after me," the captain said, with just a hint of pride. "I doubt he'd disobey both his captain and his father. But I can't risk that. I want you, James, to make sure he attends to his duties."

"Understood, sir. I will keep him in the cockpit. Even if I have to tie him up and sit on him."

Duff gave a dry chuckle. "Good man. Dismissed."

Matt saluted and stepped out of the cabin. He wandered across the quarterdeck, deep in thought.

Was that why I'm here? he thought. To help Norwich survive the battle?

He knew that the young midshipman would make it through...in the history he remembered. He tried to recall what he knew about Norwich. The younger Duff would have a long and honorable career in the navy, eventually making admiral. There was something about the War of 1812, but Matt couldn't remember the details. He also couldn't think of any major contribution that Norwich would make that could disrupt the regular flow of history. Fortunately, he knew that Norwich would survive the upcoming battle, so that made his choice easy there.

But what about the men he treated? What if a sailor he helped got well when he shouldn't have, or vice versa? Matt supposed it would depend on whether or not his presence was a part of history. If it was, he didn't have to worry about disrupting the timeline. Everything he would do was part of what happened. On the other hand, if he wasn't, well, he had to be very careful to disturb as little as he could. And he had no way of knowing which was the case. No wonder time travel caused so many headaches.

There was one thing he knew for sure. He couldn't ignore the injured men when they started showing up in the cockpit. He would do his duty and hope for the best. It dawned him that one possible way to determine his historical status was to see how many casualties there were after the battle. Oh, what cheerful thoughts filled his mind.

"Oy!" The rough shout roused him from his musings. He'd nearly run into a sailor loaded down with bundles of rope. He blinked and looked around. He stood near the portside gunwhale, just aft of the catwalk that allowed movement between the quarterdeck and the foc'stle, along the waist of the ship, without having to drop to, then rise out of, the upper gun deck. He was surprised he'd gotten so far from the day cabin. It was not a good idea to get lost in thought while wandering the deck of a sailing vessel.

"My apologies, able," Matt said.

"You-" the sailor began hotly, then noticed Matt's uniform. "Ah, no, sir, 'tis I that do be sorry. 'Tis hard t'see wit' the-"

The man's gaze shifted to over Matt's left shoulder. He spat on the deck and said, "God in heaven!"

Matt turned just in time to see a huge splash in the water, about a hundred meters away. Before he could puzzle it out, an orca heaved themself out of the water. They arched to one side as they dropped back into the water with a huge splash. After a moment, the whale breached again. And then they were gone.

"Was that an omen, do ya think, sir?" the able seaman asked nervously.

"I don't know, sailor," Matt replied, barely containing his excitement. He had recognized the orca. He needed to get back to his cabin. "What I do know is that whoever sent for that rope is waiting for it."

"Eh?" the sailor asked, then remembered himself. "Oh, aye, sir!"

He scurried aft, while Matt hurried to descend to his cabin. When he got to the cabin, he secured the door. He dug his communicator out from its hiding place and tapped it.

"Foster to Sea-skunk, do you read?"

For a moment, there was nothing. Then, a crackly, tinny voice said, "Matt, is that you?"

"Yes, Roger, it's me."

"Thank goodness I've finally found someone!" Roger Sea-skunk's synthesized voice sounded relieved. "I've been tracking intermittent communicator signals for months now."

"Months?" Matt asked in surprise. "How many months?"

"About six, Matt," Roger replied. "I arrived near Iceland. I received the first signals shortly thereafter and have been tracking them ever since."

"I arrived yesterday," Matt said. "You've been tracking communicator signals?"

"Yes," the orca said. "Mostly from the British isles and continental Europe at first. But in the last couple of months, they began moving so that many of them are among this fleet. That's why I came here."

"I had no idea. Then again, I've only tried twice before this to contact someone," Matt said. "The connection doesn't sound all that good."

"From my end as well. I think there may be some sort of damping field."

A sudden shout drew Matt's attention back to the situation at hand. "Listen, Roger, the Battle of Trafalgar is going to start in a few hours. You should keep clear. I have duties to attend to. We can talk after the battle, assuming I survive."

"By the Ancestors, Matt, I wish you luck. I'll return at dusk. Sea-skunk out."

Matt returned the combadge to its hiding place. He slipped out of his cabin unnoticed. The shouting came from the companionway, where one of the officer's desks had been dropped, scattering its contents. The officer who owned it was berating the crew members as he gathered his spilled gear. Matt slid past them on his way to the wardroom to break his fast.

The meal consisted of slices of ham served with apples and onions fried together. There was freshly baked bread and a glass of claret for each ward officer.

"Captain's compliments," responded from the volunteer serving the food when asked. Matt nodded. A good, hearty meal, which could be the last time some of these men would ever eat. Again with the lovely thoughts.

Matt found that he didn't have much appetite. He picked at his food and half-heartedly listened to the conversation around him. Even as distracted as he was, he could sense the fear and excitement of the men around him. As the meal was winding up, Captain Duff and most of the officers entered the wardroom.

"At your ease, gentlemen," Duff said in response to the activity as most of the wardroom tried to come to attention. "I have come to be sure you all know your orders for the upcoming battle."

For the next hour, Duff went through his orders for every officer in the room. Near the end, he said, "One more thing. The admiral wants us to overtake Royal Sovereign."

A grumbling passed through the room. One of the lieutenants spoke up, "Sir, how can we possibly do that? Sovereign's just had her hull re-coppered."

Another man said, "And the whole fleet has been ordered to set every sail we have."

"Gentlmen," Duff said. "We shall endeavor to follow the admiral's orders to the best of our abilities. Remember that we fight for King and Country."

There were murmurs of "King and Country" among the officers as the meeting broke up. Matt had been assigned to make sure the ship's food supplies were secured against being contaminated during the battle. When he finished, he went up to the bow and looked out at the fleet.

He looked first to port, out across the ocean to the Western Column. There, at the head of the line of ships, sailed HMS Victory, the namesake of the Starfleet vessel that was hopefully still in orbit. He wondered briefly what Nelson was doing at the moment before turning his attention to the column in which Mars was currently third in line.

Belleisle, a third-rate 74-gunner like Mars, slid through the waves about 300 meters ahead and slightly to starboard. A few hundred meters beyond, Royal Sovereign, the flagship of the Lee Column, was slowly pulling away from the rest of the column. Her re-coppered hull made her the fastest ship in the fleet.

As he looked out beyond Royal Sovereign, Matt's hair suddenly stood on end. Near the horizon, he'd spotted the sails of the Franco-Spanish fleet. The enemy ships were spread out before him, with the northernmost being well to port of Victory's bow and the southernmost being to starboard of Royal Sovereign's bow. From the distance and speed of the fleet, it would be less than an hour before the battle would begin. It was time for Matt to get below.

To emphasize the point, one of the older midshipman bounded onto the foc'stle and said loudly, "The Admiral has sent a message to the fleet. He says, 'England expects that every man will do his duty'."

Matt nodded and headed down to the cockpit to await the start of hostilities.

 

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