Alternate Generals (31 page)

"
Fire!
" Lieutenant Gaither screamed, and whistles shrilled and
Torbay
heaved like a terrified animal as her side erupted in thunder.

"That's the best I can do
here
, Captain," Doctor Lambert said pointedly as he tied the sling. The implication was plain, but Paul ignored it. A French Marine's musket ball had smashed his left forearm, and he feared it would have to come off. But for now the bleeding had mostly stopped, and he had no time for surgeons with three of
Torbay
's seven lieutenants dead and two more, including Gaither, wounded.

At least Lambert is a decent doctor—not a drunkard like too many of them
, he told himself as he waved the man away. The doctor gave him an exasperated look, but he had more than enough to keep him occupied, and he took himself off with a final sniff.

Paul watched him go, then looked along the length of his beautiful, shattered ship. It wasn't like the French to force close action. They preferred to cripple an opponent's rigging with long-range fire, but
these
Frenchmen seemed not to have known that.

Darkness covered the carnage, but Paul knew what was out there. De Grasse's northern column had sailed straight into his fire. Some of its ships had closed to as little as fifty yards—one had actually passed between
Torbay
and
Prince William
before letting go her own anchor—and the furious cannonade had raged for over four hours, like a cyclone of iron bellowing through a stinking, blinding pall of powder smoke. At one point both of
Torbay
's broadsides had been simultaneously in action with no less than three French ships, and Paul doubted that all of the survivors of his line together could have mustered sufficient intact spars for a single ship.

But we
held
the bastards
, he told himself, standing beside the stump of his ship's mizzen. It had gone over the side just as the surviving French finally retreated to lick their wounds, and he made himself look northward, despite a spasm of pain deeper than anything from his shattered arm, to where flames danced in the night beyond
Prince William
. HMS
Serapis
was still afloat, but it was a race now between inrushing water and the fire gnawing towards her magazine, and the boat crews plucking men from the bay looked like ferrymen on the seas of Hell against the glaring backdrop of her destruction.

But she would not go alone. Two French seventy-fours had settled in the main channel, one the victim of
Torbay
's double-shotted guns, and Paul bared his teeth at them. Their wrecks would do as much to block the channel as his own ships—probably more, given his command's atrocious casualties.
Torbay
had over three hundred dead and wounded out of a crew of six hundred. Neither the wounded's heartbreaking cries nor the mournful clank of her pumps ever stopped, and exhausted repair parties labored to clear away wreckage and plug shot holes. It was even odds whether or not she would be afloat to see the dawn, for she had been the most exposed of all his ships and suffered accordingly.

Prince William
was almost as badly battered
,
and Captain Forest was dead. But his first lieutenant seemed a competent sort, and
Triumph
, despite heavy damage aloft, had suffered far less in her hull, while the ancient
Panther
had gotten off with the least damage of all. If he could only keep
Torbay
afloat, perhaps they could still—

"Sir! Captain! Look!"

The report was scarcely a proper one, but the acting second lieutenant who'd made it had been a thirteen-year-old midshipman that morning. Under the circumstances, Paul decided to overlook its irregularity—especially when he saw the French officer standing in the cutter with a white flag.

"Do you think they want to surrender, sir?" the youngster who'd blurted out the sighting report asked, and Paul surprised himself with a weary laugh.

"Go welcome him aboard, Mr. Christopher," he said gently, "and perhaps we'll see."

Christopher nodded and hurried off, and Paul did his best to straighten the tattered, blood- and smoke-stained coat draped over his shoulders. He would have sent his steward for a fresh one if any had survived the battle . . . and if his steward hadn't been dead.

The French lieutenant looked like a visitor from another world as he stepped onto
Torbay
's shattered deck. He came aft in his immaculate uniform, shoes catching on splinters, and enemy or no, he could not hide the shock behind his eyes as he saw the huge bloodstains on the deck, the dead and the heap of amputated limbs piled beside the main hatch for later disposal, the dismounted guns and shattered masts.

"Lieutenant de Vaisseau Joubert of the
Ville de Paris
," he introduced himself. His graceful, hat-flourishing bow would have done credit to Versailles, but Paul had lost his own hat to another French marksman sometime during the terrible afternoon, and he merely bobbed his head in a curt nod.

"Captain Sir John Paul," he replied. "How may I help you, Monsieur?"

"My admiral 'as sent me to request your surrender, Capitaine."

"Indeed?" Paul looked the young Frenchman up and down. Joubert returned his gaze levelly, then made a small gesture at the broken ship about them.

"You 'ave fought magnificently, Capitaine, but you cannot win. We need break through your defenses at only one point. Once we are be'ind you—" He shrugged delicately. "You 'ave cost us many ships, and you may cost us more. In the end, 'owever, you must lose. Surely you must see that you 'ave done all brave men can do."

"Not yet, Lieutenant," Paul said flatly, drawing himself to his full height, and his eyes glittered with the light of the dying
Serapis
.

"You will not surrender?" Joubert seemed unable to believe it, and Paul barked a laugh.

"Surrender? I have not yet
begun
to fight, Lieutenant! Go back to the
Ville de Paris
and inform your admiral that he will enter this bay only with the permission of the King's Navy!"

"I—" Joubert started, then stopped. "Very well, Capitaine," he said after a moment, his voice very quiet. "I will do as you—"

"Captain!
Captain Paul!
"

Excitement cracked young Christopher's shout into falsetto fragments, and Paul turned with a flash of anger at the undignified interruption. But the midshipman was capering by the shot-splintered rail and pointing across the tattered hammock nettings into the night.

"What's the meaning of—" the captain began, but his scathing rebuke died as he, too, heard the far-off rumble and strode to Christopher's side.

"See, sir?" the boy demanded, his voice almost pleading. "
Do you see it, sir?
"

"Yes, lad," Paul said quietly, good hand squeezing the youngster's shoulder as fresh, massive broadsides glared and flashed beyond the capes.
My God
, he thought.
Hood not only believed me, he actually attacked at
night!
And he caught the Frogs just
sitting
there!

He watched the horizon for another moment, and then turned back to Joubert.

"I beg your pardon for the interruption, Lieutenant," he said, taking his hand from Christopher's shoulder to wave at the growing fury raging in the blackness of the open sea, "but I think perhaps you'd best return to your own ship now."

Joubert's mouth worked for several seconds, as if searching for words which no longer existed. Then he shook himself and forced his mind to function again.

"Yes, Monsieur," he said, in a voice which was almost normal. "I . . . thank you for your courtesy, and bid you
adieu
."

"
Adieu
, Monsieur," Paul replied, and then stood watching the lieutenant and his boat disappear into the night.

Other voices had begun to shout—not just aboard
Torbay
, but on
Prince William
and
Panther
and
Triumph
as well—as what was happening registered, but Paul never turned away from the hammock nettings. He gripped them until his hand ached, listening to the thunder, watching the savage lightning, knowing men were screaming and cursing and dying out there in the dark. A night battle. The most confused and terrifying sort possible . . . and one which favored Hood's superbly trained ships' companies heavily.

And then the cheering began. It started aboard
Prince William
, and his heart twisted at how thin it sounded, how many voices were missing. But those which remained were fierce. Fierce with pride . . . and astonishment at their own survival. The cheers leapt from
Prince William
and
Panther
to
Torbay
and
Triumph
, and he knew the same bullthroated huzzahs were rising from
Russel
and
Charon
and the batteries. The deep, surging voices tore the night to pieces, shouting their triumph—
his
triumph—and he drew a deep, shuddering breath.

But then he thrust himself upright and walked to the quarterdeck rail, and the cheers aboard
Torbay
faded slowly into expectant stillness as the men still standing on her shattered decks looked up at their captain.

Sir John Paul gazed back at them, good hand resting on the hilt of his sword, exhausted heart bursting with his pride in them, and cleared his throat.

"All right, you idle buggers!" he snapped. "What d'you think this is—some fine lord's toy yacht? This is a
King's ship
, not a nursery school! Now get your arses back to work!"

Admiral Nelson stood on his quarterdeck and brought the spyglass up to his one good eye. It had taken a great deal of practice learning how to adjust it with one hand, but he finally became quite adept and could now focus instantly. As the diminutive sea warrior scanned the horizon, he could barely make out a distant sail.

"That's it, the enemy fleet," he commented, almost to himself. "Give the signal for all ships to form line of battle. And add that I know each man will give his all."

The tall, handsome man standing next to him stood for a moment staring at his close friend, as if wanting to say something. The two looked at each other, then the taller one nodded and replied. "Yes, my admiral. I will make it so."

Nelson watched his friend, the captain of the flagship, as he walked away. There is a good man, he thought. I'm glad I have so many good men. Then he turned his attention back to the fleet he was about to attack. They, too, have so many good men. Thank God there are so many fools commanding them. Now, with His help, I will achieve a great victory. This last thought filled him with the familiar thrill of anticipation he had become addicted to. Each battle, for him, whether it was ship to ship, fleet to fleet, even man to man, was a door to that world of glory. But this time there were other emotions interfering with the purity of his bloodlust. How did this happen, he asked himself. His mind started to drift, pondering the irony of the situation.

A particularly violent heave of the ship jerked the young officer out of his fevered sleep. "Damn, this bloody ship," he gasped. "And damn the swab who named her the
Dolphin
. With all this heaving she should be called the
Swine
."

"Well, well," said a man in a gentle voice with a French accent. He was middle aged, his grey hair balding, with a spectacular white beard that framed an eternal smile. "The little lieutenant is awake and feeling spry enough to curse the ship that saves his life. You are ready for some broth, no?"

"God, no!" Nelson replied. His body was racked with pain and he felt too weak to sit up. "If it is the ship that saves my life, then I curse it doubly. This fever will take me soon, I can feel it. I just wish death would not wait and prolong my agony."

"No, my friend, you will not die. Unless you will it so. These last few days the fever has lessened. But come, you must take some of this. You need your strength."

"You are wrong, doctor. My time is over. But I am not afraid to die."

"
Mon Dieu
, you are stubborn! It is life that you are afraid of. Have you no sense of duty?"

Nelson looked into the surgeon's eyes and detected no deceit. He took a deep breath and spoke. "Very well. I will be a hero and brave every danger." He forced himself to a sitting position and began to sip the soup.

As the weeks went by, the lieutenant slowly recovered his strength. Soon he was able to sit for long periods and looked forward to talking with the doctor. "Tell me, Doctor Dupres," he asked, "what draws you to the sea?"

"Please, we are friends now. You must call me Claude. But as to your question, it is the best way to study the earth and its wealth of life. I am also a natural philosopher and, for an opportunity to sail around the world, even an English ship such the
Dolphin
is acceptable. On this last trip to India I discovered three new species of rat and a subspecies of cobra. But now, like you, I long for my home. I miss my little girl. It has been three years since I have seen her. You, also, must miss your family. Are you married?"

Nelson blushed slightly. "No. I'm not married. I miss my sister, mostly. But Norfolk is very beautiful in the summer."

"If you wish to see beauty, my friend, you must visit me in Paris. Yes, I insist. The first chance you get after you return home, you will come and stay with me. After all, you will need time to recover. Doctor's orders!"

The admiral was brought back from his reverie by the ships moving in place. He felt the light westerly breeze as it cooled his face and smiled. A firm hand gripped his shoulder and he turned to see his friend grinning back at him.

"I am happy to see you smile, Admiral. Your demons have fled, no."

"Yes, Pierre. This light breeze will work in our favor. You were wondering why I gave up the weather gage. It's because I know Collingwood. Old Cuthbert will never attack without the weather gage and, with this small wind, most of his advantage will be lost."