Death Hulk

by Matthew Sprange

  Arms covering his head, Brooks tried to crawl for cover next to his gun carriage before he was hoisted to one side by Bryant. The gun deck was flooded with a dim light from open gun ports and gaping holes in the hull, dispersed by the smoke that hung still in the air. The smell of spent powder mixed with the almost overpowering stench of blood and sweat while everywhere men shouted orders or howled in pain as they clutched splinter wounds or stumps of limbs.

  The sights and sounds of battle terrified Brooks and he wanted to do nothing more than curl into a ball. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, he moved his hands to his ears but nothing seemed to shut out the terrible noise of explosions and men shouting as they fought.

  "Return fire, you British dogs!" Hague shouted through the din, straining to be heard.

  Hearing the voice of an officer, Brooks reacted automatically and tried to stand. Wide-eyed, he put a hand out to steady himself against the nearest rafter but then slipped, falling hard on the wooden deck. He was shocked to discover he was soon wet through then realised it was from the tide of blood that was slowly spreading across the floor. He became aware that Bryant had shoved a rope in his hands and was yelling at him to pull.

  "Come on, run out the gun lads!"

  By reflex alone, born from countless drills, Brooks braced himself against the side of the hull and pulled, sensing the heavy gun carriage rumble past before an immense crack thundered from the weapon, bathing him in smoke once more. Whimpering, he stayed motionless until Bryant hooked an arm under his and lifted him up once more.

  "Snap to it, lad," Bryant said. "Not long to go now, we have them on the run." He turned away from Brooks briefly to shout for powder and sighed with relief as a young boy, no more than nine years old or so, came scampering through the death and chaos to deliver a metal box of cloth-bound charges.

  "Reload," roared Hague. "Doubleshot!"

  Murphy scampered to Bryant to take the charges, instinctively keeping his head low, before springing back to the front of their cannon, beginning the process of swabbing it out to receive a new round. Bryant turned Brooks round to face him and, looking straight into the young man's eyes, sought to penetrate his fear.

  "Brooks, you hear me?" he shouted, trying to maintain an element of calmness in his voice. "There's no point trying to hide, lad - there's nowhere they can't get you. All we can do is make sure we fire faster than they do. You with me, lad?"

  With a slowness that seemed agonising to Bryant, Brooks blinked and looked back at him.

  "Stick by me, I'll see you right," said Bryant. "Now, grab the shot and help Murphy!"

  Casting a look around his feet, Brooks quickly found the stack of cannon balls in their brass stay and, lifting one out, carried it round to the front of the cannon, taking great care not to look at the massive French warship that loomed close outside their open gun port.

  Behind them, Hague wiped his brow, his silk handkerchief now ruined by sweat and powder. Seeing the gun crews remained more or less firm, he quickly trotted to the rear of the gun deck, taking care not to hamper the reloading of any of the cannon. Seeing Wynton at the top of the stairs on the main deck, he called for the older lieutenant's attention.

  "Four guns out of action!"

  He watched Wynton nod in understanding as the man turned back to relay this to Corbin. He then turned back to the gun deck and, on seeing the crews were completing their reloading cycle, looked out of the nearest gun port to check the position of the Elita. Seeing that it still sailed directly at their broadside and that the roll of the Whirlwind was just right, he barked the command.

  "Fire!"

  Hague had to brace himself against a rafter as the whole ship rolled to starboard from the recoil. Through the dirty smoke, he could see many of the crew on this deck were scared, but was gratified that towards the prow of the ship Jessop's team, at least, was alternating between whooping in triumph and cursing the ancestry of their French counterparts. Their attitude was beginning to become infectious and the neighbouring cannon crew had started to join in.

  "Reload!" He shouted. "Steady men, remember, that is only a French ship out there and any one of you is worth ten of them!"

  From the far end of the gun deck, Jessop's team responded with more promises of what they would do to the French and even some members of the other crews began to smile in a grim fashion.

  Brooks had slipped into automatic in concert with Murphy and Bryant as they cleaned their cannon, loaded it with charge and shot, rolled the carriage out and then fired, before pulling it back to start the process again. He glanced up once to see Bryant staring out of the gun port towards the enemy vessel.

  "How are we doing?" Brooks asked.

  Bryant hesitated before answering. "Looks pretty even at the moment. Keep firing, lad, that's the key. Those Frogs will soon give up if we can fire more often than they can."

  His overly confident words caused Murphy to flicker a questioning look at him. Bryant could only shrug. He knew that the Whirlwind had been hit hard but he also realised that while the Elita had suffered more crew and gun losses, she could weather the damage far better than they. Even though both ships had suffered in these exchanges, the Elita had started with more cannon and crew to service them and she still enjoyed that numerical superiority.

  Stunned for a few brief seconds, Havelock did not realise that he was being helped to his feet by Lieutenant Corbin. As soon as he saw he was being aided, he put a hand out, forcing the man to back away. It would not do for his crew to think he had been wounded.

  Comforted by the thunderous sound and rocking motion that signified the Whirlwind's guns had been fired once again, Havelock cast a look at both the Elita and his own ship. The French ship sported several holes in her hull from which cannon had been blasted from their carriages. Breaches lower down the hull had grown in number but, on the ship's present course, rode high enough out of the water not to cause any significant problems to her captain.

  Casting an eye to the Whirlwind, Havelock saw men lying on the deck and smoke rising up from open hatches. More critically, the top third of the foremast had been shot away, leaving the sail to hang down uselessly. That would cost him some speed and agility. He looked at Corbin.

  "Damage report?"

  "Complements of Mr Hague, we are down to seven guns against the French," said Corbin. "We are also beginning to take on water in the hold."

  "Get a crew down there to begin pumping it out," said Havelock. He thought for a second. "If we stay as we are, that ship will just overwhelm us by weight of guns. We need to break them, and quickly."

  "What are your orders?"

  "Get the gun crews to load the starboard cannon but tell them to keep the gun ports larboard open. I don't want the French getting a whiff of this until they actually see what we are doing."

  Corbin left Havelock's side briefly to relay the instructions down to Wynton and then returned, a question on his lips. "You are going to cut across behind them, Sir?"

  "It is worth the gamble. We trade the chance for a knock-out blow against the possibility of handing them the wind advantage." Havelock said. By making this manoeuvre, he would be placing his ship on the leeward side of the Elita, which he was well aware, might be a decision he regretted later.

  Looking back at Wynton, Corbin received a nod and reported to Havelock that the starboard guns were ready for firing. Watching the Elita intently, Havelock began timing their reloading cycle.

  "Let's see if we can catch them off balance," he said, as much to himself as Corbin. As the first French gun was rolled out, Havelock shouted his order.

  "Helm, hard to larboard! Bring us behind him!"

  Havelock instantly noticed that the Whirlwind was a little sluggish to respond, indeed, it felt as if the ship was lumbering as it made the turn. However, it was quick enough to put the crew of the Elita on the back foot, as they watched the Whirlwind make its harsh turn to sail behind them. Their gun crews were still running out cannon from the open ports on their st
arboard side, only to find the British ship had disappeared from their view.

  As the Whirlwind held its course, perpendicular to the Elita's, the range between the two ships dropped dramatically and, for the first time, the marines high among the masts found themselves able to target the crew on the deck of the French vessel. The crack of musket fire rang out time and again from above their heads, small puffs of smoke from the guns instantly dispersing in the wind. On the Elita, half a dozen men dropped to the deck, either dead or clutching at wounds, while others scampered for cover. To his credit, Havelock noticed, the French captain did not flinch, even though his quarterdeck was the main target area for the marines.

  Returning to a straight line course, the Whirlwind began to pick up speed again and her crew watched as they sailed within a stone's throw of the Elita's stern, her gold-etched name plate clearly visible to all. Havelock almost snarled his next order.

  "Mr Corbin, run out the guns. Crew to fire at will."

  He barely listened as his order was relayed to the gun deck but watched intently as the Whirlwind sailed past the French frigate. From prow to stern, his guns fired one by one as they lined up on the rear of the Elita, where she was most vulnerable. Havelock momentarily rued the thought that if he possessed heavier guns, his shots would be capable of passing right through the ship, smashing every deck as the shot travelled the full length of the vessel. However, he quickly put this idea aside as, over the course of twenty seconds, he watched his crew put the full weight of the Whirlwind's guns into the stern of the Elita. The deck below the elegant great cabin was wrecked almost instantly and everyone on board the British frigate heard the cries of the dying and wounded inside the French ship, even above the thunderous rumble of cannon fire. Havelock was particularly gratified to see the French captain dive for cover on his main deck when he realised just what the Whirlwind intended to do.

  Propelled forward a few steps by Bryant's heavy slap on his back, Brooks nevertheless managed to raise a smile as he looked out of the open gun port.

  "You see, lad?" Bryant said enthusiastically. "You can always rely on the Captain! Caught the Frogs completely off guard with that one!"

  For his part, Brooks was just as happy to now be working on the other side of the gun deck, where the devastation of smashed wood and broken bodies was far less apparent than his last station. However, Murphy was also jumping with excitement and the good humour of the pair was infectious.

  One of the last guns to fire in the volley that had wrecked the Elita's stern, Bryant had grinned as he closed the firing catch of his cannon. By the time the frigate had floated into view of his gun port, its rear quarter was already a mess, a tangle of wood planks and struts that veiled the destruction within. Knowing that the wreckage could provide little hindrance to his shot, Bryant was left to imagine just how much damage he had dealt to the internal structure of the ship.

  "Reload!" The inevitable order came from Hague, the triumph in his voice unmistakable. "We have them on the run now, men!"

  Rolling their gun carriage back, Murphy looked out of the gun port as they continued to sail past the Elita. When he saw the larboard side of the French ship, he smiled.

  "They still 'aven't rolled out their guns!" he cried happily. "We're goin' to mash 'em!"

  "They ain't turnin', either!" Brooks shouted back.

  "They ain't dead yet," said Bryant calmly. "But we are still better shots and we can still reload quicker than they can. Hop to it, lads, let's get ready to give them another taste of British metal!"

  Together, they worked in perfect synchronisation as they readied their cannon once more, even sparing a laugh for the news filtering from forward that Jessop's team had boasted they could reload quicker and shoot straighter than the rest of the gun crews put together.

  Having finished loading their cannon, the three of them ran the carriage out of the port and Murphy scrambled past the other two in order to poke his head out of the hatch. He stared at the French ship as it first sailed away from them and then began to turn.

  "Oh, she's comin' back for more!" he said.

  "Hold your fire!" shouted Hague behind them. "On the Captain's word and not before!"

  "She's in a bad way, Sir," said Corbin as they both watched the Elita begin to make its turn back towards them.

  "We are both in a bad way, Mr Corbin," Havelock reminded his lieutenant. "We are taking on water, have a damaged foremast and many guns on our larboard side out of action. We may have fresh guns on this side but then, so does she. I wonder... Oh! Did you see that?"

  Havelock's sharp eyes and experience at sea caught the odd motion of the Elita a fraction of a second before Corbin did. Coming about to match the Whirlwind's new course, the frigate heeled hard to starboard, the weight of its masts listing it heavily as the rudder steered it through the rolling water. It began the turn as smoothly as Havelock had come to expect but, suddenly, the ship seemed to catch something in the water and he saw some of the crew on board lurch forward as their vessel decelerated suddenly.

  "What was that?" Corbin asked. "Surely they could not have struck anything?"

  "They might as well have," said Havelock with a growing smile as the reason for the Elita's strange movement dawned on him. "We holed her on the starboard side, remember? While the wounds were above the waterline, as soon as she turned and rolled onto her side, they would have been underwater." He sighed. "Her captain won't make that mistake again."

  "Can we not use it to our advantage?"

  "She might be as slow as us now and will favour starboard turns. Still..." He thought for a second. "Mr Corbin, instruct the gun crews to check their fire. They are to wait for my command."

  Corbin was puzzled but obeyed without comment. "Aye, Sir."

  He looked quizzically at his Captain until Havelock noticed his attention. Havelock gestured to the Elita.

  "She has yet to run out her guns on this side."

  "Did we hit her harder than we thought?" Corbin asked.

  "I don't think so. Our guns are not that powerful, though I fancy her rearward cannon may not be firing any time soon. No. Watch what she does next."

  They both stared intently at the Elita as the frigate continued making its ponderous turn, swinging round until its prow faced them. Once the turn was complete, the ship righted itself and began to pick up speed, closing the distance between them rapidly.

  "She's going to ram us?" Corbin asked incredulously.

  "No, I fancy her captain intends to board us. I believe I can put a stop to that though!" Havelock said and raced to the stairs leading to the main deck, climbing down them two at a time. Maintaining his pace, he carried on downwards into the gun deck, where he acknowledged Lieutenant Hague with a nod.

  "Listen to me, men!" Havelock shouted to gain the attention of the gun crews. "That French ship means to board us! We have scared her crew with our fine shooting so much, they no longer wish to play!"

  He smiled openly as the gun crews cheered, some of them reaching through their open gun ports to shake a fist at the approaching frigate.

  "However," he shouted, regaining their attention. "We have better things to do than dally with French sword play! Stand to your guns and prepare to fire! On my word and not a second before!"

  The crew leapt to their feet, the gunners standing with a hand on the firing catch of their cannon, all eyes on their Captain. Walking smartly towards the nearest gun crew, Havelock stared out of the gun port, watching the Elita as she sailed closer, timing the motion of both the French ship and his own. He noticed the cannon's crew looking at him expectantly.

  "You've done well today, men," he said, congratulating them. "What is your name?" he asked the nearest.

  "Err, Brooks, Sir, err, Captain."

  "Well, stand easy, Brooks," said Havelock, keeping his voice even. "We are going to try a little trick the French often like to play here."

  The motion of the waves constantly rolled the Whirlwind slightly as it sped across the ocean an
d it was this movement that Havelock began to time. Satisfied that he had the measure of it, Havelock stood back.

  "Ready men, on my word and not a second before..." he said. "Ready... Fire!"

  His view instantly disappeared in a wave of smoke but soon cheers from the forward gun deck told him that the hit had been solid. A few seconds later, the stern of the Whirlwind had passed out of the cloud and he leaned forward across the cannon again to judge the results. He liked what he saw.

  The Elita had been hit hard but Havelock's timing had sent the full weight of fire into the frigate's masts and sails. Striking from the front, the combined shot had snapped the Elita's foremast like a twig, sending it crashing into the mainmast which now leaned precariously. With sails now tangled and out of trim, the French ship slowed noticeably, leaving the Whirlwind to skip ahead freely across the waves.

  Havelock put a hand on Brooks' shoulder. "That," he said, "is how we halt a French frigate! Well done indeed, lad!"

  The raucous cheers of the collected gun crews followed Havelock as he first shook Hague's hand and then returned to the quarterdeck. He found Corbin waiting for him there, a broad smile on the man's face.

  "A fine shot, Captain!"

  Casting a look back at the floundering French ship, Havelock had to agree.

  "Aye. It was. Thank you, Mr Corbin."

  Walking behind the mizzenmast, the two officers stood, arms folded, as they watched the Elita recede into the distance. By now its captain was not even trying to keep pace as the Whirlwind skittered away, instead taking the time to begin repairs to his masts and sails.