The Trojan Horse

by Christopher C Tubbs

  Grabbing the dead man’s left foot, Marty tried to push it through the left stirrup so the iron was around his ankle. It was a struggle but with Chin’s help, he managed it. Then they turned the horse back toward the way from which it came and slapped it on the rump.

  The horse started out with the rider dragging beside it, which spooked it into a gallop.

  “It probably won’t stop until it gets back to his barracks,” Antton observed wryly as he got some brush and swept out their tracks, leaving just the horses. “Do you think his foot will stay attached all the way or break off?”

  “He had good boots, so I bet it makes it back to the barracks with what’s left of him still attached,” John quipped.

  Marty chuckled, the dark humour of his men lightening the moment.

  They returned to the village and told the old lady that Gabrielle wouldn’t be bothered anymore. They didn’t tell her what had happened as what she didn’t know couldn’t hurt her. She told Gabrielle, who embraced each of them and when she kissed Marty on the cheek, she told him that now Jean’s unborn child would be safe.

  Jean returned from his trip and talked to his mother as he unloaded his catch.

  “I would be pleased to take you,” he told them, and after grabbing a meal and some provisions for the trip, they set out to find the fleet. He was a good boy and always did what his mamma told him. The smell of the boat, a mixture of fish and rotting seaweed, evoked memories of the early days of the Flotilla when they smuggled spies in and out of France.

  They sailed down the coast, staying out beyond the reefs for around four hours before they saw sails on the horizon. As they got closer, they saw that they were frigates. As they closed even more, Marty recognized the Formidiable and directed Jean to take them to her.

  Before he climbed the side back onto his ship, he gave Jean some silver coins, which he tried to refuse saying that his mother told him they had already paid her. Marty pressed the coins into his hand and told him it was a present for his first child, which, with a nudge and a wink, he was sure wouldn’t be long in coming.

  “Please join me in my cabin, Wolfgang, and bring me up to date,” Marty instructed as he gave Troy a head rub and a, “who’s a good boy, then!” in greeting.

  He stripped off and sponged down to clean himself as Wolfgang gave his report.

  “The boat that was supposed to pick you up was accidentally run down by one of the East Indiamen. Two crew were lost, but the rest were picked up. It was partly their own fault as they were resting in the middle of the bay instead of closer to the shore.”

  “That nearly cost us our lives. Have you talked to the man in charge of it?”

  “Oh yes, and so have some of the others, I believe,” Wolfgang smiled grimly.

  “Then I don’t need to. Carry on,” Marty commented as he sponged his armpits.

  “We had gotten all the ships away and were admiring the fireworks displays when we realized what happened. I recalled the Bonne Marie and went to Grande Porte as planned. Wilson wanted to wait for you, but I thought you would try and get to the blockading force once you realized the boat wasn’t coming. Once we got here, I sent the prizes on to Cape Town escorted by the Marie with Mr. Fletcher on board to make sure we don’t get swindled out of our money.”

  Marty had moved on to shaving and looked at Wolfgang in the mirror.

  “Very wise, the salvage money will be substantial.” He wiped his face down and reached for the fresh shirt that Adam, his steward, laid out for him,

  “Sam was shot and captured. They will be taking him to Íle Bonaparte to be interrogated by the Department,” he explained using their shortened title for the Département de la Sécurité Intérieure, the French version of British Military Intelligence.

  “He is being held on a forty-four, and to all accounts, treating his wound himself.”

  “A forty-four? One of the new ones? The commodore told me there were a couple of those out here. They are supposed to have a couple of carronades mounted by all accounts as well as eighteen pounders,” Wolfgang exclaimed.

  “Well this one is new, very pretty and shiny, and her captain is an arse. I have met him; he likes to throw his weight around with those who can’t hit back.” Marty gazed out of the stern windows for a moment as he shrugged into a uniform jacket.

  “I wonder if he has the balls to take Sam himself?”

  Marty had to pay his respects to Commodore Rowley, who was in charge of the blockade and as usual, had to show him that he had independent orders from the Admiralty and, no, he couldn’t be absorbed into the blockade squadron.

  That out of the way, he ordered the Formidiable to set course for Grande Baye to see if all the French ships were still there. His guess would be that they would move Sam in their own good time, probably during a scheduled visit to the other island. He wasn’t senior enough to warrant special treatment. His other worry was because of his colour, they would just sell him into slavery.

  Grande Baye emerged from the morning gloom and their appearance caused a rush of activity around the battery on the point. The lookouts got a good view into the bay before the French gunners got their act together and let of a ragged salvo, which was also informative as it looked like they were missing some guns.

  “Looks like our bombs did some damage. The boys planted them in the carriages so when they went off, there was a chance that we could disable a gun or two,” Marty told Wolfgang as the two stood watching the puffs of smoke.

  “They must have brought powder from the ships as we blew up all they had on shore,” he concluded as he watched the shots fall short and wide.

  “What do you see?” Wolfgang called up to the masthead.

  “A seventy-five and a forty!” the lookout called back.

  “Damn, they’ve left already!” Marty cursed; things just got more complicated.

  “Get us under way, Wolfgang. We need to go to La Possession.”

  Chapter 18: Deception

  The Formidiable was sailing as close to the wind as she could and was making excellent time, but they were having to tack to make progress against the prevailing wind, so the one-hundred-and-sixty-mile trip became a two-hundred-and-sixty-mile trip. It would take them almost a complete day to make the crossing, but the good thing was that in the winter, the chances of a monsoon storm were slight.

  It was shear and utter chance that they tacked just at the right time to spot the Fore heading back to Íle de France.

  “He has the wind gauge,” John Smith observed from his position at the wheel.

  Marty was tempted to make a sarcastic comment but something in the way the French ship was behaving caught his eye.

  “Bugger me!” he exclaimed. “He is running away.”

  “But he’s bigger than us and has the advantage of the wind,” second Lieutenant Phillip Trenchard, who had the watch, confusedly commented.

  “He’s shy, probably worried we might scratch his paint,” John replied with a smirk.

  Marty was silent and deep in thought.

  “Set a course to intercept. I want that ship,” he ordered, coming to a decision.

  “But what about Sam?” John Smith blurted out in surprise.

  “They will let him stew for a couple of days before they start working on him, now set the course,” he snapped.

  It wasn’t often that Marty showed his temper and it was an indication of the strain he was under and the conflict between what he knew he had to do and what his emotions were screaming at him to do. He took a deep breath and focused the energy into doing what was needed now as it was the best way to help Sam in the long run.

  The Fore swung more to the North, putting the wind on her quarter, her best sailing position. Marty was hoping the captain believed the Formidiable had a filthy bottom when in reality, it wasn’t that bad. In any case, the next hour would tell him if they stood a chance of catching them or not.

  The Fore was heading Northeast and was Northwest of the Formidiable, which was tacking to th
e Northwest when they saw her. They steered in an arc to bring them on the same heading as the Fore about two miles behind and slightly south of his track.

  Marty thought that at some point, his prey, as he thought of him, would try and break for the Íle de France and safety as the further he went on this heading, the harder it would be to get back to Grande Baye. He edged a little further South to narrow the intercept angle for when he did.

  They had closed to a mile and he was contemplating letting the fore chasers have a go when the lookout cried,

  “THEY’S GETTING READY TO TACK.”

  Marty was pleased. He spent many hours teaching his lookouts to watch for indications that ships were getting ready to change course. Early knowledge of what they were intending was enough to give him the edge a lot of the time.

  “Get the ship to quarters, Phillip, if you please,” he ordered. Wolfgang came on deck, looking around to check all was in order. Satisfied, he left Trenchard in command for the moment while he went to talk to Marty.

  “Chasers?” he asked after glancing at the closing angle between the two ships as the Fore turned towards the Southeast.

  “I think so. We will cut the corner and be within four or five cables soon,” Marty replied.

  “Mr. Trenchard, I have the deck. Please attend the chasers and give our friend over there our best greetings,” Wolfgang ordered calmly.

  Phillip called for the chasers to be readied as he walked the length of the deck, and by the time he got there, they were loaded and ready. He was excited. He had been studying gunnery under Wolverton, their misshapen master gunner, and this was his first chance to put his knowledge into practice in anger.

  Marty watched from the quarterdeck. The Fore was about to cross their bow, and he started to turn so he would come astern of her and bring his starboard fore chaser in line.

  The guns had notches filed in the barrels to aid sighting, and Phillip bent to the starboard gun and lined his eye along the barrel. He had judged the distance to be around eight-hundred yards and ordered the barrel elevated accordingly. Fine adjustments were made with jack staves to the direction and he was ready.

  He stepped back until the lanyard was taut, and as the ship started its up roll, jerked it to fire the gun. Through the cloud of smoke, he watched the ball arc through the air dead in line with the Fore’s stern.

  “Got him!” he yelled and urged the crew to reload while he ran to the larboard gun. They closed another fifty to sixty yards, and he set the elevation to be the same as the other gun as the last ball had hit quite low on the Fore’s stern.

  BOOM! The second gun fired and again, the ball arced away and for a moment, he thought it would pass over the deck. But it hit the stern rail, sending a shower of splinters across the quarterdeck.

  “He’s a natural,” Marty smiled to Wolfgang as they watched their protégée move back to the starboard gun. They were expecting him to be able to fire at least a couple more shots before the Frenchman struck when the Fore started to reduce sail to a fighting configuration.

  “What the hell! He wants to make a fight of it,” Marty barked in surprise as he saw them take in their mainsails. “Larboard battery double shot, carronades grape,” he ordered.

  Wolfgang was already bellowing orders to reduce sail, and the marines were rushing up to their positions in the tops.

  Marty did not want to get into a long pounding match. He didn’t have the time to spend days on repairs. He planned to get in close and board after a couple of broadsides. What he didn’t understand was how he underestimated the Flore’s captain; he was sure he was the type to fire one broadside for honour then strike.

  They came up abeam, and both ships fired almost at the same time. Chain howled through their rigging as the French sought to dismast them. Marty found himself bowled to the deck when Wolfgang knocked him down as the French carronade sent a hail of shot across the quarterdeck. He picked himself up and saw Troy crawl out from behind the quarter deck starboard carronade where he had been lying in the shade. He didn’t look happy and his hackles were up.

  The Formidiable’s gunners aimed at the Fore’s gun ports, and the big eighteen-pound balls smashed star shaped holes in her hull, sending deadly splinters spinning across her gun deck. Blood ran from her scuppers.

  The Formidiable’s well-drilled gunners had their second broadside ready in a little less than half the time the French were taking, and it roared out in almost perfect unison.

  “Bring us alongside, John. Wolfgang, prepare to board,” Marty ordered.

  “Grapnels ready!” Wolfgang shouted and men manned the swivels pre-loaded with hooks and lines.

  “Carronades, clear their deck!” Marty shouted as he took his place at the rail. It felt strange having Troy beside him and not Blaez. He was also missing Sam but Matthew, one of Sam’s brothers, appeared and stood at his shoulder armed with one of their short, broad-headed spears.

  The ships were just thirty feet apart and Wolfgang, who had his zwiehaender out and ready, gave the order to fire the grapnels as soon as the carronades had sown their deadly seeds. The marines in the tops were keeping up a steady rate of fire and as the hulls ground together, Marty called,

  “AT THEM BOYS!” and launched himself over the side where he was immediately faced with several angry Frenchmen. He engaged the closest, and Troy launched himself at the same man, dragging him to the floor. Marty skewered him through the throat and moved on to the next, who was thrusting a boarding pike at him. He knocked it aside and shot him with the pistol in his left hand.

  Troy was ready. He sensed the tension and wasn’t fazed by the gunfire at all. They had put a different collar on him, which smelled of Blaez. He kept close to the boss, instinctively knowing he had to work with his Alpha.

  They leapt the rail almost together, and he focused on the man directly in front of Marty. He leapt grabbed his arm and pulled him down. The Alpha killed him, and they moved on to the next. The boss took care of him but there was another moving in from the side.

  He leapt, going for the man’s face and felt a blow on the collar, which he ignored. Something stung his thigh, but now he had his teeth around the man’s throat. He bit down and shook his head at the same time. Ripping flesh, he tasted blood, bit harder, and shook again, causing even more blood to gush.

  He heard the Alpha telling him to let go. He obeyed and looked around. There was no more fighting.

  Marty accepted the surrender from a lieutenant. The ship was theirs and the French crew was throwing their weapons to the deck. Some looked in horror at the blood-soaked dog at the officer’s side. Others were too shocked to react.

  “Where are your captain and first lieutenant?” Marty asked.

  “Killed when a ball hit the rail at the stern. A piece of rail hit the lieutenant and pierced him through the stomach, and the ball cut the captain in half,” replied the young lieutenant.

  “You took command?” Marty asked, not unkindly.

  “Yes, the coward was about to strike. You killed him just in time. We have lost with honour not as craven dogs as he would have made us.”

  Marty looked around at the dead and wondered at the cost of ‘honour’. He didn’t need to give any orders. His lieutenants knew what to do, and soon the ship was secure in their hands. The dead of both ships were buried at sea with all due ceremony. The Formidiable had only lost two. The rest were all French. Marty saw no reason not to respect men who fought and died bravely.

  Troy had a cut on his thigh which Shelby treated once the men were taken care of, he was now a blooded warrior and seemed to walk a little prouder.

  Because the Formidiable was overmanned as usual, they had no problems in crewing both ships. Marty’s problem was that if his plan was to come off, he needed to get rid of the French sailors. Marty, Arnold Grey, and Wolfgang examined a chart of Íle de France with a magnifying glass, concentrating on the coast. What they needed was a beach or inlet with enough depth of water to get in close enough to boat the French
ashore. It also needed to be far enough away from any of the ports to give them time before the French found out that the Fore had been taken.

  “There,” Arnold said, pointing to a spot on the West coast. “Tamarin has a beach and enough depth.”

  “Looks ideal, set a course,” Marty ordered.

  The offloading of the French went smoothly. The presence of the marines ensured there were no last-minute heroics. Then life got entertaining for many of the crew.

  “I want the Fore’s stores gone through and every spare item of Navy issue clothing brought up on deck. Paul, I would be obliged if you would take my steward and go through their wardroom and cockpit and find any spare officer’s uniforms.”

  A thorough search produced a pile of clothes, cloth, shoes and uniforms. It also turned up three men hiding in the hold. They all looked like Indians.

  “Who are you and why were you hiding?” Marty asked after they were dragged up on deck.

  They looked at him blankly, so he tried again in the Hindi he learned in India. That triggered a torrent of Indian from all three men, and once he got them to speak slowly and one at a time, he found that they were lascars who were captured by the French when their ship was taken. They were given the option of being thrown to the sharks or joining the ship.

  “Sign them up, Wolfgang. They look fit enough but get Shelby to check them over just in case.”

  “Now I want the majority of the crew transferred to the Fore and dressed as French sailors. I will command her as a lieutenant, and you will command the Formidiable as a prize. Make her look as if she lost a fight.” He looked at his officers, who were all beginning to grin as they understood what he was going to do,