God of War, Part Three

Posted on Sun Aug 18th, 2024 @ 6:57pm by Lieutenant Commander Matthew Foster

1,364 words; about a 7 minute read

Mission: The Trafalgar Roll
Location: HMS Mars, USS Victory

"I said hold him, Norwich!" Torkington growled as he tried to control the struggling sailor. The young midshipman's pale features grew determined as he renewed his efforts to keep the injured man still. He ended up nearly sitting on the sailor. The surgeon nodded, "That’s better. James, the iron."

Matt, who'd been standing by next to a small brazier, removed a red-hot cauterizing iron and applied it to the sailor's left arm, which had been amputated at the elbow. Matt's nose wrinkled at the smell of burning flesh as Torkington directed the placement of the hot metal to seal the open wound. The sailor screamed and tried to throw Norwich off his chest. Young Duff clung to him, mouth set grimly. After a moment, the sailor passed out.

"Alright, James, that's good," Torkington said. He quickly dressed the fresh burn, then called, "Michael, help Norwich."

One of the other midshipmen assigned to the cockpit came over to assist Norwich in moving the unconscious sailor to the recovery area. The pair dragged him forward to place him among the other wounded crew members.

Matt stepped over to the table holding the medical tools and lifted his tankard half-full of watered-down grog. He took a long swig. Torkington nodded as he rinsed the blood off his hands.

"Aye, 'tis thirsty work," the surgeon growled, taking up his own mug. "Norwich, lay down some more sand. Michael, we need more seawater."

Matt listened to the sounds of the battle. The tumult of noise made it difficult to determine what was what. Only Mars' weapons could be singled out among the chaos. When the ship let loose a full broadside, the thunderous boom of 37 cannons firing at nearly the same time shook Matt every time.

He couldn't tell when the ship was hit and taking damage. Hull hits were hard to figure out. The sound blended with the general noise of battle. Damage to the rigging was easier to distinguish. Matt could hear the whiplash of sheets snapping or the rip of the sails. At one point, Matt heard glass shattering, which meant that the day cabin or wardroom had been hit.

During this lull between injuries, Matt began to tidy up their tools. An eerie quieting of the ship made Matt glance at Torkington, who gave a little shrug. Michael came pounding down the companionway, seawater sloshing in his buckets.

"Cap'n's been hit!" the midshipman said in a rush.

Norwich hopped up and started toward the companionway. Matt caught his thin arm and pulled him back.

"There’s nothing you can do him, Norwich," Matt said quietly. "If he's been injured, he'll be down here soon enough. And if he's been taken, you're only risking injury or worse for yourself."

"James is correct, young Master Duff," Torkington added. "The Captain gave you orders. Are you going to disobey them?"

Norwich looked paler than usual with a stricken expression on his face. But he shook his head. "I know my duty," the boy said stiffly.

Torkington nodded and poured a cup of the watered grog for the midshipman. As he handed it over, a ragged cheer rose from above them. Matt tried to imagine the scene.

Several members of the crew had picked up the body of Captain Duff and took it on an 'inspection' of the ship. The sight of the headless corpse rallied the crew. When they resumed fighting, it was with renewed vigor.

The day continued, with more injuries and deaths. By the time the last of the enemy ships had struck her colors, 29 crew members were dead, and 69 filled the sick bay, overflowing into the cockpit.

The sun had been below the horizon for nearly an hour and a half by the time Matt made his way up top. The wind has picked up and whistled through the wreckage that covered the decks. The foremast was missing entirely. Ropes and splintered chunks of yardarm had been hastily pushed aside to make aisles for the sailors busily making repairs. Some were among the shattered rigging, looking for salvageable things. Others were up in the remaining rigging, shoring up the heavily damaged main and mizzen masts.

Lanterns lit the efforts, and when Matt looked out to the rest of the fleet, it was as though the stars had settled onto the sea. Other ships were also under repair, be they the British fleet or the prize ships that had been captured. Ship's boats of all sizes moved among the floating debris to see if anything could be recovered to aid in the repairs.

A large launch pushed away from Mars carrying all the midshipmen. Matt could see Norwich sitting under a lantern at the bow of the boat, bundled against the chill, staring down at his feet.

"What's that about?" Matt asked a nearby junior lieutenant. The man glanced at the launch.

"Captain Blackwood of the Euryalus offered to take the young fellows back to Portsmouth."

"Of course," Matt nodded. "A ship under repair is hardly the place for the unexperienced."

"Aye, just so."

Matt found Lieutenant Hennah just aft of the main mast, issuing orders. As he walked up, Hennah was speaking to the carpenter and the sailmaker.

"The priority is to get a sea anchor rigged," he told them. They nodded and walked away together, discussing ways to solve the problem. "Ah, Mr James."

"Sir, I have the casualty list," Matt said with a salute.

Hennah gravely took the sheet of paper and looked it over. At length, he said, "Thank you, Mr James. You look like hell, man. Go get some rest. You've earned it."

"Aye, sir." Matt made his way to his cabin. He had to take a longer route since the most direct way was heavily damaged. When he arrived at his miraculously undamaged cabin, he sagged into the chair, too exhausted for the moment to do anything but sit.

Once he felt a little better, Matt dug out the communicator and tapped it.

"Foster to Sea-skunk, " he said. He hoped Roger had stayed clear of the battle.

"Sea-skunk here, Matt. I'm glad you survived."

"Me too, Roger," Matt replied wearily. "We need to get back to Victory. Any idea how?"

"I've been thinking about it, and I have an idea."

"That’s sound good. Are you going to need my help?"

"No, I'm all ready to try it whenever you want."

"No time like the present, Roger."

"OK, Matt. If I'm successful, you'll know."

"And if not?"

"I guess we'll have to try something else. I'm starting."

The communicator produced a high-pitched tone that moved up and down the scale. The piercing sound sent shivers down Matt's spine. He was reminded of an old expression 'like nails on a chalkboard.' Just as it reached the point where he didn't think he could stand it any longer, Matt felt the tingle of the transporter.

The next thing he knew, he was fully submerged. He had a moment of panic, then his sailor training kicked in. He relaxed and allowed himself to float. As he began to rise, something pushed him from below. He broke the surface with a gasp of air.

"It worked!" Roger said triumphantly.

Matt cleared his nose and wiped water from his eyes. "Where are we?"

"In the transporter room in Cetacean Ops," Roger replied.

Matt looked about, then swam to the side and hauled himself out of the water. "And you couldn't have put me on the dry pad?"

Roger chuckled, "No, it was an emergency beam-up."

Matt shook his head. "We're back, so I guess that's what counts. Check your section, and I'll see if anyone else is aboard. And I need some dry clothes."

"Aye, sir," Roger said, rolling and giving a playful splash with his flukes.

Matt sighed as the water dripped down his face. He stepped out of Cetacean Ops, stopped at the nearest wall panel, and activated the intercom.

"Foster to anyone who might be aboard. Roger Sea-skunk and I have just returned. Can anyone hear me?"

"Acknowledged, report to the briefing room immediately."

"On my way!" Matt grinned as he left a row of wet footprints on the carpet.

 

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