Immediately, several responses were flung back at Helmut from sailors. “What friendship? The only friend you had was Leo and the devil!” Another, “Ya caused your own predicament!” Another shouted out, “Ya deserve much less than being allowed to fight Klaus, ya filthy bastard!” Another sailor said, “What do you expect from us, Helmut? Pity and mercy?” And yet another, “Don’t compare yourself with us; you swine! You should have known better than to attack a fellow sailor and a young girl!”
Helmut expressed his outrage by spitting to the deck. “Bring dis boy on. I should have run him through when I had da chance on da beach.”
“Enough!” barked out Otto. “Your own peers have judged you guilty. Now face your sentence.”
“Gladly,” shouted out Helmut. “Never dreamt I’d have another shot ah putting da boy outa his misery. I thank our esteemed captain fo dis chance,” he stated scornfully.
Klaus had been worked up by Helmut’s infuriating words, and without the order given, started for him. “Come on an git sum ah me, boy!” prodded Helmut as he waved Klaus over. Having spanned the distance to the scoundrel, Klaus threw a punch, which Helmut effortlessly ducked and with a short right punched the lad in the ribs. Having punched nothing but air and then hit in the side, Klaus was slightly off balance and tried to throw a wild left, which also missed. The opportunity opened up and Helmut cunningly saw it. He clobbered Klaus with two fast and hard fists to the face, stunning Klaus. It was followed up with a vicious kick to the gut, and Helmut was not through. He sprang on Klaus who was crumpled over from the kick and with the lad already off balance with Helmut’s body weight; he went crashing to the deck, Helmut on top of him. Punch after punch was delivered with tenacity. Klaus was getting pounded again, and although trying to block and cover himself up, many of the blows found their mark, and they impacted severely. Klaus was in big trouble from the start. Helmut cursed loudly as he kept hitting and then began to scratch and poke at the eyes. Klaus just in time swung his head to the side and covered up his face with his hands or else he most likely would have lost his eyesight. Having failed to damage the eyes, Helmut shrieked like an angry banshee and kept punching away at Klaus with a vengeance. This could not go on before Klaus would succumb to unconsciousness unless he did something very soon.
As ferocious as Leo was, Helmut was even more, stronger and much more cunning. Klaus understood that reality as he was pummeled with numerous hard and painful strikes. He tried twisting his body around in hopes of getting up, but Helmut kept him pinned with his legs on both sides and began pulling at his hair and then his ears, ripping one earlobe before Klaus got a hold of Helmut’s hand and pulled it away. His brain screamed, “What am I to do to stop this madman?”
Helmut kept throwing fists and elbows everywhere he could find an exposed spot. Sounds of grave concern from the crowd arose, but the two battling on the deck didn’t hear as they were just way too busy. Helmut drew a knee up and drove it toward Klaus’s groin. Klaus had been thrashing around trying to find a way out of Helmut’s grasp, and his legs were moving enough that the knee strike missed and drove into thigh muscle instead, but ensued with great calamity. Klaus recoiled with the pain. His mind was screaming at him to end this torment. Helmut had punched, elbowed, scratched, poked, kicked, and kneed the boy and still, Klaus was still not subdued. For the first time, Helmut determined the boy was much tougher than he expected, but he was sure that he could handle him. In fact, he had so far commanded the entire fight, and it was only a matter of time now he felt that Klaus would succumb to the punishment he was inflicting on him. Another knee drove into the lad’s ribcage, and it just about took all his breath away as burning hot pain shot through his body.
Helmut had already decided he was not only going to beat the lad, but after seeing what Klaus did to his mate, Leo, he was intent on killing him. He now decided it was time and he again grabbed Klaus’s hair to pull his head up enough so Helmut could get his arm around his neck and squeeze the life out of him. He figured the boy must be so weak at this stage after having taken so much punishment. Grabbing the hair and yanking the head up, Helmut swung straight in and struck the nose. It snapped as it flattened against the face and Klaus howled in pain. A flurry of punches commenced to the face and then to the body as the lad tried to cover up. The older sailor would not let up his attack. Klaus’s brain yelled within him, “Enough is enough!” and fierce anger sprung up within him. He felt a surge of strength beginning from deep inside him and steadily building up enveloping his entire body. Enraged as hell, the power exploded from within and he lashed out with both fists upward in a series of punches that broke through Helmut’s attack. The powerful strikes unleashed took Helmut by surprise as he thought Klaus had nothing left to give. Blocking some of the punches, the sailor could not block all of them, and the brutal effect of the blows was taking its toll. He was losing control of the fight and knew very soon if he did not stop the lad’s punches, he would have to concede his hold all together.
With several more painful shots to the man’s body and head, Klaus felt Helmut weakening and now was the time to make his move. He twisted to his left with as much energy he could muster and moved Helmut half off of him. The sailor tried to push and wrestle him back down, which moved him off the lad’s legs, and Klaus quickly brought up his right leg and swung it around to the front of the man. With the leg leverage, he pushed Helmut entirely off and then rolled to his left away from him.
Springing to his feet, Klaus whirled around toward his opponent, who was just getting to his. Instead of rushing each other, both fought for breath separated by only a few paces. Despite the adrenaline rushing through their veins, both felt the agonizing affliction of the damage exacted on each other. The excruciating pain from his ribs told Klaus one or more were broken. Every movement shot sharp pain. His nose was a bloody mess and lips were pounded to a pulp. Helmut’s face was a bloody patchwork of cuts, bruises, and a swollen eye shut. His knees and knuckles felt numb and stiff from use on the boy’s body. While pain seared through both of them in their wounded condition, they faced off again. Helmut cursed himself for allowing the lad to escape his hold. The older man knew his energy would deplete faster than his younger opponent’s endurance. Bloodied but not beaten, they faced off while cautiously circling each other looking for an opening to attack. As much as he hated to admit it, he realized that Klaus was a worthy opponent especially due to his superb physical condition. Somehow though, he must devise a way quickly to beat the boy before he expended his remaining energy. He saw Klaus slightly favoring his left side where he had kneed him. He would have to target that spot even more. His eyes diverted for a moment from Klaus and settled on something beyond him that provided him an idea. It helped to be cunning after all, he told himself. As they went around, both still gulping down large mouthfuls of air, he backed off gradually bringing him ever so closer to the port side where he had stood waiting while Leo was fighting. He made his circle wider one more time around as men at the port side bulwarks moved aside to give them fighting room. The railing was not far off now when he abruptly whirled around, looked quickly for what he had in mind and found it. He reached out, grabbed it, took it in both hands and raised it above his head. Turning back to face Klaus, he stood with a glint in his eyes and showed a menacing grin as he held a four-foot handled spike ax.
Angry grunts and shouts of disapproval emanated from the sailors as they saw Helmut holding the weapon aloft and began to take several steps in Klaus’s direction. Helmut suddenly felt triumphant despite the pain. Now to finish off this young bastard boy that the captain is so fond of. Out of nowhere like a ghost, materialized a tall figure looming between Helmut and his intended target was …, Reiner Mannheim, blocking the way. Helmut halted his advance in astonishment; still holding the spiked ax by the long handle above his right shoulder ready to strike with it. And Reiner, the accomplished swordsman, was playing guardian angel or the consummate enforcer. Helmut noticed with indignation that Reiner hadn
’t even drawn his sword, but was only in a fighting stance with his hand on his sword grip. What arrogance, Helmut’s mind flashed in pure hatred. If I have to take him out to get to Klaus, so be it. Helmut barely started his swing of the weapon downward when Reiner’s hand and arm flashed incredibly fast for the eye to follow and in one smooth motion, his saber cleared the scabbard and stroked through the air cleanly slicing the wooden handle through and the deadly end dropped with a heavy thud to the deck.
Helmut looked as if he was caught in a bad dream as his mind was trying to catch up with his vision of seeing his weapon neutralized, and now was holding but a two-foot long piece of wooden handle.
“Finish the fight like a real man,” spat out Reiner with utter contempt, and moved aside. Agony turned into wrathful outrage in Helmut as he immediately charged at Klaus with the wood handle in hand. Klaus stood his ground and as Helmut arrived and swung the handle at his head, he just barely dodged it and countered back with a left elbow to Helmut’s still charging body, and drove a short right fist straight into his nose, smashing it as the cartilage snapped. Instantly stopped in his tracks with pain shooting through the older sailor’s face, the wooden handle dropped to the deck. Helmut was next punched in the ribs fracturing a couple of them and taking the air out of his diaphragm. Klaus next threw a series of pulverizing punches that totally impaired Helmut’s ability to strike back. It was amazing the man was still standing. One last ferocious right walloped into Helmut’s left cheek splitting it wide open to the bone, and Helmut collapsed to the deck out for the count.
The crew went wild with exhilaration and cheered and roared with ferocious bloodlust-like satisfaction. Those closest to him grabbed a hold of Klaus and lifted him on their shoulders in exultation for coming through and whipping the two miscreants. Klaus felt out of his comfort zone and was embarrassed by the hoopla they were giving him. What he did not realize until days later was that from that time on those sailors who had not as yet, accepted him as one of the crew with full-fledged regard. The spectacle of the men celebrating and parading Klaus around the main deck area, whooping it up, and chanting a tavern song caused Heinrich watching from the quarter-deck at the helm feeling a most profound proud moment for Klaus. The young lad had proved himself to the men and more importantly, to himself. The confidence builder would be priceless in his life to stand on his own two feet and make a place for himself among the others.
After Doc Strobel attended to Helmut, Reiner had two sailors pick him up and take him back to the brig for now until his future would be dealt with. Heinrich decided to allow the sailor to recuperate for only three days aboard ship. Leo’s body was wrapped up in old canvas and would be buried on the island that afternoon. It was an ultimate insult not affording the man a burial at sea for a life-long sailor.
Most of Helmut’s bruises would heal during that time, while his nose and ribs would take longer, but be in good enough condition to be marooned on the island and forge for himself. He already knew he couldn’t expect assistance from the villagers for they had been told of his plight and punishment by Heinrich. Drope had four sailors take Helmut to the island. From there, two armed sailors escorted Helmut up the mountain ridge that separated the villagers from the rest of the island. From there, they gave him enough food and water for a week and told the brigand to keep on walking as long as it took to put as much distance between the village and him. Only certain death awaited him if he ever returned to this part of the island. The two watched him go with a spyglass from on top of a ridge until they could no longer see him far in the expanse below having entered heavy foliage.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
BRITISH INTENTIONS
A platoon of red-coated naval marines was resplendent in full uniform attire on the stony field used for marching exercises. Overhead, the sun shone brightly and unmercifully as its rays reflected off the metal ornaments that the soldiers wore on their uniforms. In their hands, they cradled their Brown Bess muskets, crowned with long bayonets.
Beads of sweat formed on the forehead of the garrison’s commander, Colonel Trent Thomas, as he gazed out the window of his quarters watching the troops mustered under the blazing sun. He was certain the soldiers were thoroughly drenched in their sweat. His face was placid even while his thoughts were busy, as he went over a number of things that were on his docket for the day. He had been assigned to the stone bastion in Kingston, Jamaica for almost a year now. It was his first posting in the Caribbean, and it had taken him months to acclimate to the steamy weather. It was a far cry from English weather, to say the least. He couldn’t make up his mind which he loathed more; the dreary British Isle or the sweltering Caribbean conditions? He had hoped for a temperate-climate Mediterranean assignment. Alas, here he was, far from the regions he preferred. Such were the trappings of military life.
He constantly reminded himself that not all was intolerable. On the occasions he had time to himself, he would dress in clothes much more conducive to the scorching sun and ride to the island’s highlands, they were lush, green, and a tad cooler. There were plenty of streams and waterfalls that were rather scenic, and he was fond of dipping into the cool water ponds, which rejuvenated his sun-stroked body if only for a time. These jaunts were a most pleasant break from the boredom of his posting, which was largely filled with writing embellished reports to be sent back to the naval headquarters in London to impress his superiors.
Although this was a remote outpost considering the distance from most established and cultured populations, the British considered the Caribbean as an important region worth much in new territorial claims along with its natural resources to forge new markets. Thus, the posting was another feather for Colonel Trent Thomas in his quest up the ladder of command.
When he could, he made it a habit of asking one of the younger English ladies to accompany him. Most of these were married women; wives of English administrators and traders who accompanied their husbands to this remote part of the world. Their husbands were all too busy to keep an eye on their spouses with the rigorous work the government assignments and private businesses required in a region so young and new. With nothing on the island to entertain them and keep their interests busy, it did not take long for the women to yearn to be back in England. With the scarcity of social activities, they were all too used to, the women craved company. There were enough of these bored ones to seek interest elsewhere. This played right into Colonel Thomas’s keen interest. Their boredom and idleness led to devious pleasures. Many of the women wantonly chose the amorous dalliance with the colonel for his handsome features. And along with his high posting came the extra benefits of social activities he would regularly host for the settlement of this colony. For the colonel’s outings to his highland getaways, they rode in a posh open carriage shaded by the parasols they carried.
Thomas’s aim was to climb the promotion ladder as rapidly as he could, and he knew the best tactic was to be in the midst of the action. Somehow, he always managed to be at the right place at the right time, thus catching the eye of a superior officer and perhaps even better, a member of Parliament, to help drive his career to lofty positions. It was sheer philanthropy on his part acted out with an innate sense of timing on the battlefield and summarized in boastful terms in after-battle reports exaggerating his valor. Therein he was gifted with cunning and cleverness.
If blood had to be spilled, so be it, just as long as it was the other man’s blood. He was acclaimed as a man of action after earning his advanced ranks on the abhorrent battlefields of the last two years of the American Revolutionary War and in battle campaigns of the French Revolutionary Wars. He had claimed participation in numerous conflicts commanding his troops from fields of battle. He was able to combine an uncanny shrewdness, showing just enough gallantry to ensure a façade of courage was noticed by his superiors, all the while ready to run for protective cover if need be. After all, an officer made sure the men he commanded were apparatuses he could utilize to keep him safe.
&nb
sp; This was the strategy he applied with all the cunning he could muster to advance his career. Oh, there were times he stood on the battlefield in the midst a skirmish, sword in hand, looking like a dashing young leader that his superiors would remember as courageously facing the fierce enemy while singlehandedly leading his troops. His stature had risen due to a penchant to be where the action was. Little did they know the timeliness of the opportunistic moments in these instances he utilized to look like an inspired figure of command; usually during the confusion of battle when the opponents were busy between cannon volleys or his charging troops providing him safe cover.
Since his superior officers were the ones who wrote the critical reports, Thomas became quite competent at portraying a valiant image. He had learned long ago that image was rewarded with merit, especially if victory was achieved, and not many times were the British failures. So, he advanced up the ranks in short order and gained a reputation as an officer who was, gifted, loyal and command material. His star shone brightly among the rank and file. As far as he was concerned, that was what was commendable to those higher up in decision-making positions. He made sure the reports contained a meretricious account of his service outlining with distinction his accomplishments, which other men had won for him and plenty had died for him as well. And although many of the soldiers knew his true nature, character, and leadership qualities, they were not in a position to speak ill of him. Subsequently, his stature rose through the disingenuous chronicles allowing him to climb the rungs of authority.
Thomas had come from a family steeped in a legacy of military service. His father was a retired Major General who ended his active career commanding the much-vaunted Scottish Highlander regimental troops who had a history of being ferocious combatants. This heritage did wonders for the younger Thomas; he was able to advance his career without the typical stepping stone path due to his father’s distinguished tenure. It was a misconception that went back centuries surmising that a descendant of one so illustrious would automatically fall close to the base of the family tree. Had those in positions of authority always thought that it was a natural descend? It was foolish to think so, yet it was the bane of those with clout. In any case, it had worked for one Trent Thomas.
Winds of Fury Page 43
