The Trojan Horse
Page 1
This is a work of Fiction. All characters and stories are fictional although based in historical settings. If you see your name appear in the story it is a coincidence.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form by any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purpose of review, without the permission of the copyright owner
Credits
Thanks to Allison from Allison Leslie Editing & Coaching who edited this book, and to Dawn Spears the brilliant artist who created the cover artwork. My wife who is so supportive and believes in me. Last my dogs Blaez and Zeeva and cats Vaskr and Rosa who watch me act out the fight scenes and must wonder what the hell has gotten into their boss.
Illustration of the Basque Roads courtesy of
PHGCOM - Own work by uploader, background file File:Oleron SPOT 1251.jpg
Copyright© 2019 Christopher C Tubbs
THANK YOU FOR READING!
I hope you enjoy reading this book as much as I enjoyed writing it. Reviews are so helpful to authors. I really appreciate all reviews, both positive and negative. If you want to leave one, you can do so on Amazon, through the website or Twitter.
About the Author
Christopher C Tubbs is a descendent of a long line of Dorset clay miners and has chased his family tree back to the 16th century in the Isle of Purbeck. He left school at sixteen to train as an Avionics Craftsman, has been a public speaker at conferences for most of his career in the Aerospace and Automotive industries and was one of the founders of a successful games company back in the 1990’s. Now in his sixties, he finally got around to writing the story he had been dreaming about for years. Thanks to Inspiration from the great sea authors like Alexander Kent, Dewey Lambdin, Patrick O’Brian and Dudley Pope he was finally able to put digit to keyboard. He lives in the Netherlands with his wife, two Dutch Shepherds and two Norwegian Forest cats.
You can visit him on his website
www.thedorsetboy.com
The Dorset Boy, Facebook page.
Or tweet him @ChristopherCTu3
The Dorset Boy Series Timeline
1792 – 1795 Book 1: A Talent for Trouble
Marty joins the Navy as an Assistant Steward and ends up a midshipman.
1795 – 1798Book 2: The Special Operations Flotilla
Marty is a founder member of the Special Operations Flotilla, learns to be a spy and passes as lieutenant.
1799 – 1802Book 3: Agent Provocateur
Marty teams up with Linette to infiltrate Paris, marries Caroline, becomes a father and fights pirates in Madagascar.
1802 – 1804Book 4: In Dangerous Company
Marty and Caroline are in India helping out Arthur Wellesley, combating French efforts to disrupt the East India Company and French sponsored pirates on Reunion. James Stockley born
1804 – 1805Book 5: The Tempest
Piracy in the Caribbean, French interference, Spanish gold and the death of Nelson. Marty makes Captain.
1806 – 1807Book 6: Vendetta
A favour carried out for a prince, a new ship, the S.O.F. move to Gibraltar, the battle of Maida, counter espionage in Malta and a Vendetta declared and closed.
1807 – 1809Book 7: The Trojan Horse
Rescue of the Portuguese royal family, Battle of the Basque Roads with Thomas Cochrane, and back to the Indian Ocean and another conflict with the French Intelligence Service.
Contents
Chapter 1: Family time
Chapter 2: From Russia with . . .
Chapter 3: Lisbon End Game
Chapter 4: A different Bonaparte
Chapter 5: Escape and Evade
Chapter 6: I am a mole and I live in . . .
Chapter 7: The best laid plans
Chapter 8: Convoy
Chapter 9. Mongat
Chapter 10: The Battle of the Basque Roads
Chapter 11: What a whitewash!
Chapter 12: An explosive encounter
Chapter 13: Cleaning up
Chapter 14: Rescue and Reunion
Chapter 15: The Doldrums
Chapter 16: The Trojan Horse
Chapter 17: Run Rabbits Run
Chapter 18: Deception
Chapter 19: Extraction
Chapter 19: Recall
Chapter 20: Viscount Wellington
Epilogue
An excerpt from book 8
Chapter 1: Family time
Marty lay in bed, tracing the scar that ran across Caroline’s ribs with his fingertip, and marvelling that she already started to recover her figure after the birth of the twins.
He shuddered at the memory of Shelby stitching up the wound, which was the result of a close encounter with a splinter in a Caribbean sea battle. An inch further and it would have killed her.
It was dawn on a wet November morning in Gibraltar and Marty was relishing the quiet. None of the children were awake yet, and Blaez slept peacefully in his place at the foot of their bed. The only sound, besides Blaez’s gentle snoring, was the rain on the window.
The previous month, the French signed the Fontainebleau Accord, which committed them both to kicking the legitimate rulers of Portugal out and dividing up the country between them. Marty’s friend, Rear Admiral Sir Sidney Smith, was given command of a task force by the Admiralty. He could either blockade the Portuguese port of Lisbon or destroy their fleet to prevent it falling into enemy hands. The Flotilla was being attached to the expedition in the hope that Marty could act as a moderating influence on the mercurial Smith.
But today was for his family. Marty promised to take the children to his ship for the morning. Beth and James were both excited and he knew that his followers, the Shadows, would spoil them rotten.
He leaned forward and kissed Caroline on the stomach. She opened her eyes and reached for him, a smile on her face that promised much. Just then, the door burst open and in rushed Beth and James like a tornado, which only settled as they climbed in bed. Timing is impeccable, he smiled ruefully and grabbed his daughter, tickling her and making her giggle.
The Formidiable was tied up at the dock and had a faint smell of sawdust, paint, and tar hanging over her as they just finished repairing the damage caused by their encounter with the Viala, a French seventy-four. Sir Sidney arrived just in time to win the battle after the Flotilla mercilessly harassed her to stop her running away.
Marty carried Beth and Caroline, James, while Mary had the twins in a pram. Wilson, a six-foot eight giant of a man and one of the Shadows, strode down the gang plank and walked over to Mary. The big man looked shy and quietly offered to help her get the pram onboard.
Caroline exchanged a knowing look with Marty. They knew Mary was seeing someone on her evenings off, but now they thought they knew who! Mary giggled at something he said, then he picked up the pram and carried it up the gangway.
“Uncle John!” Beth cried as she spotted Marty’s quartermaster standing on the deck and struggled in his arms to get down. Marty laughed and put her down so she could run over to the laughing sailor brandishing her favourite toy, a wooden sword.
They spent a pleasant morning sitting under an awning out of the steady rain. Caroline took over caring for the twins so Mary could spend some time with Wilson. At the end of the morning, Wilson approached and asked permission to have a word with Marty.
“Well, what can I do for you?” Marty asked with a glint in his eye.
“Well, Captain, it’s like this: I been walking out with Mary for a while now and I find I have a real care for her.” He blushed and wrung his hands before he continued, “We have talked, and we would like to get married if that’s alright with you, of course.”
“You don’t need my permission, Wilson, nor does Mary but I will give you my blessing. I think you will make a wonderful couple.” He shook hands with the big man and clapped him on the back; he couldn’t really reach his shoulder. The two joined the ladies, who were already hugging in celebration.
After the rain stopped, they started to walk the half mile to the house and were about halfway back when a man stepped out from behind a tree and confronted them. Marty saw the blunderbuss he was carrying swing in his direction, but there was nothing he could do as he was carrying James and couldn’t get to his weapons!
Caroline was walking hand in hand with Beth and saw the man step forward. He was focused on Marty and was swinging the massive, brass, bell-mouthed gun towards him. Marty turned so his back was to the man, protecting James from harm.
The world slowed down.
Her vision zoomed in on the man’s face as it contorted and he shouted something in French.
She let go of Beth, and her hand flew to the muff she wore suspended around her neck.
She knew it would take too long to pull the concealed gun out and cock it, so she just pushed it through the cloth tube and drew back the hammer with her left hand as it cleared the material.
The pistol, one of a pair that were a gift from Marty, was a fifty calibre, rifled, four-inch barrelled Manton that was the preferred weapon for ladies as it was easily concealed. It packed a punch and she was an expert shot even hampered by the muff.
The pistol fired, and the bullet smashed into the man’s chest, dead centre through his sternum. The force of the impact knocked him backwards as he pulled the trigger of his weapon, which was held at waist level, jerking the barrel upwards.
The enormous spread of deer shot flew high, missing Marty’s dipping back by scant inches. However, because he ducked, he exposed Mary, who was walking behind him pushing the pram with the twins in it. A single piece of shot on the edge of the spread sliced through her scalp above her right eye. She dropped to her knees blood pouring from the wound.
Caroline stepped over to Marty and reached under his coat. She pulled out his fighting knife and turned to the prone man who lay groaning on the floor. She stepped over to him, knelt, and placed the knife on his throat.
“Who are you?” she asked.
The man looked up into the coldest grey eyes he had ever seen. There was no mercy, just cold beauty.
“A patriot,” he replied as blood dribbled out the side of his mouth.
“Why?” she asked, her head cocked slightly to one side.
“He killed my love,” he gasped as the life started to fade from his eyes.
“Claudette?”
“Yes,” he sighed with his last breath.
She turned back and saw Marty kneeling over Mary, who sat on the floor going into shock. He was holding what looked like a spare nappy to her head, which was soaked in blood. Beth was crying, and James stood, looking at Mary, not understanding what happened.
The dead man was forgotten as Caroline went to care for her family.
“That was a bloody good shot, all things considered,” Marty told her as they sat together in the drawing room that evening. Shelby, the physician from the Formidiable, examined Mary and pronounced that it was just a flesh wound. A deer shot parted the skin on her scalp, which bled profusely, but hadn’t done any more damage than that.
“I have been practicing,” Caroline replied offhandedly. Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Did you leave any more of Claudette’s lovers behind you?”
“This one slipped through the net; we didn’t identify him during the investigation,” Marty replied thoughtfully. “I can’t honestly say if there are any more out there. She was pretty prolific.”
“If they can’t get to you, they may try and get to you through us,” Caroline stated, causing him to frown in thought.
“Maybe you should take the children back to England,” he suggested.
“That’s not happening,” she replied determinedly. “Can you spare some marines for a security team? Just until we are sure?”
“Of course, I will talk to Paul,” he assured her, knowing it was useless to argue.
Marty was summoned to a meeting with Collingwood and Smith and, after arranging a security detail of marines with Paul for his family, reported aboard the Flagship with all due ceremony. He was ushered into the main cabin, and after formally greeting Sir Sydney and Admiral Collingwood, settled into a comfortable chair for the conference.
“First of all, Captain Stockley, we would like to congratulate you on making post,” Collingwood opened, and Marty realised it was three years ago he was made; the time flew!
Both admirals congratulated him, and the steward served port for them to toast his elevation to the vaunted rank. He would have to get his tailor to add an extra epaulette to all his uniforms.
“As you are well aware, the French and Spanish are preparing to invade Portugal, oust the legitimate rulers, the Bragança family, and carve up the country between them. Sir Sidney has been tasked to lead an expedition to blockade Lisbon, and if all is lost, to destroy the Portuguese fleet,” Collingwood stated by way of introduction. “Captain Stockley, your Flotilla is assigned to the expedition as scouts and pathfinders.
The French, under Junot, started entering Spain in mid-October before the treaty of Fontainbleau was signed, and as far as we know, number some twenty-five thousand troops and cavalry. They are already marching on Portugal backed up by another twenty-five thousand Spanish troops. We do not expect the Portuguese to put up any kind of resistance.”
“The Portuguese Queen mother is insane,” Sir Sidney contributed, “the Regent, Prince John, is a spineless ninny as is his government. They declared war on us at the end of October to try and appease Napoleon and a fat lot of good that did.”
Collingwood coughed to hide a smile at this rather blunt assessment and said,
“The Prince is inexperienced and is more interested in trade than martial activities. He refused to close his ports to the British and to obey Napoleon’s edict that no one in Europe trade with us. Napoleon is using that as an excuse to invade.”
Marty smiled at the different views and contributed his own,
“Napoleon also gets a large standing army on to the peninsula without firing a shot. I will put fifty guineas on his taking over Spain next.”
“Exactly!” agreed Collingwood. “There is an added complication that there is a Russian squadron in Lisbon. They are now allied with France under the Treaties of Tilsit and could cause a problem.”
“So, what do you want us to do? We can’t stop Napoleon with a hundred marines.”
“We need to eliminate French interference with the Royal family and get them to at least mobilize their forces to defend against the invasion. Once Portugal falls, which it will, we want you and that fellow Ridgely to help the Portuguese loyalists organize a counter revolution,” Collingwood replied. “I won’t tell you how to do that as you are the experts in that type of game,” he continued with a look of distaste.
You might not like the taste, but you will eat the fruit if it suits you, Marty thought, don’t want to dirty your hands with it though.
“I understand, Sir. I will take care of it, quietly of course,” he stated with a slight bow.
“We sail in two days; I trust you can be ready by then?” Sir Sidney enquired.
“We are always ready to sail with one day’s notice,” Marty answered, “I will have my Marines polish up their uniforms; we will need them to liberate the British merchants held in port.”
“Excellent. Then we are ready to go. Now I would be delighted to entertain you both for lunch,” Collingwood said in closing.
Chapter 2: From Russia with . . .
They sailed on the morning of the 19th of November with the intention of arriving at Lisbon sometime on the 21st or 22nd ahead of the fleet. They had over four-hundred and eighty sea miles to cover and the cumbersome fleet led by Sir Sidney would only average s
ix knots beating against the wind. If the weather turned against them, it could take longer.
As it turned out, the conditions were fair for the season. They made good progress, and the Flotilla arrived off Lisbon on the morning of the 21st. They hove to in the mouth of the Tagus near to the decommissioned fort of São Sebastião de Caparica bypassing the fort of São Julião da Barra that was situated on the Northern entrance to the estuary.
Even though the Portuguese had declared war on Britain, not a shot was fired, nor challenge made, so Marty took the Formidiable and Hornfleur further up into the natural harbour and anchored. He examined the forts he could see on the North shore and came to the conclusion they were either abandoned or more likely just used as residences.
“Set a lookout to watch those Russian ships. I want to know if they prepare to sail,” he instructed his first lieutenant, Wolfgang Ackermann, indicating the half dozen Russian warships anchored together near the town. “I think we can ignore those fortifications as the Portuguese don’t seem to have bothered arming them.”
He climbed to the topsail yard and scanned the whole of the natural harbour. He could see that there were shipyards on the North shore with extensive dry-docks and slips where there were a couple of hulls under construction that looked as if they could be frigate size.
Scanning along the shore, he could see there was an extended dock front where merchant ships were loaded and unloaded, consistent with Lisbon being a major trading centre. There were a number of merchant ships tied up, all flying the Portuguese flag.
He looked for the Portuguese fleet and spotted them moored in front of what looked like a military installation by the town of Almada on the southern shore.