Their Lordships Request: A Harry Heron Adventure

by Patrick G Cox

  "From where I stand it is yourself to blame for that," Tom retorted. "I warned you, did I not, the Captain would not stand for the tricks you used in our last ship?" He frowned, "Falsely accusing a man of theft is hardly the way to win respect. You brought us all into disrepute with that folly. What were you thinking?"

  "None of your business, it is a family matter. Mark my words, Heron will pay for it and so will that man of his. Scum the lot of them – and the O'Connors worst of all."

  -

  Chapter 6 — 2202AD: An old enemy; a new guise

  "Richard," James Heron greeted his newly arrived Executive Commander. "Welcome to the shambles!"

  The newcomer smiled, accepting the proffered handshake. "Thanks, sir. I must say she's impressive even in this incomplete state. When are they likely to allow us to take her out on trials?"

  "No fixed date yet, but the estimate is around six more months. Then we'll have about eighteen months of trials and training to get through before she's ready to undertake any missions."

  "Well, plenty of time to get her absolutely right then. Who else have we got onboard, I've seen the Command Team list and I must say I'm looking forward to working with them. I know Valerie of course, we were in the same year at College and Nick was a term behind. Ben Curran was in my Class and I know Fritz by reputation. Mary Allison as well – it's an impressive list. Whose arms did you break in the Appointments Office?"

  Captain Heron laughed. "Actually it wasn't that hard. She is the first of class and so has lots of innovative features, not to mention a whole ship full of untried tech – it just made sense to pull in a team that includes most of the people who have a hand in its development." He waved a hand at a shelf with a collection of models – only one of which looked anything like the ship now under construction and added, "She is as much a technological leap forward from anything we've built before as the first armoured dreadnought type there was from the ship Nelson knew or the nuclear submarine there was from the dreadnoughts. We are going to have quite a learning curve I think. Not least with the computer system which Fritz tells me is self-aware, though just how much so no one actually knows."

  Richard Grenville's eye rested for a moment on the exquisitely created model of the earliest Vanguard, a seventy-four-gun 'ship of the line', once the flagship of the great Admiral Nelson. "I wonder what Nelson's people would think if they could see our ships," he mused, then returned to the task in hand. "I've scheduled a meeting with all the key Warrant Officers and Heads of Departments so I can get to know them and they get to know me. I've already seen the Chief Master Warrant and gone over his present Watch and Station bills. He's identified the key personnel we need to get at each stage of the roll out and, if Drafty plays ball, we should have the full crew aboard and ready to begin training up as soon as the final trials begin."

  "Excellent. Have you got the schedule for the training simulations to get used to the new Command displays? Good, I've done several runs on it now and I must say once you get used to standing at the centre of a globular display its fantastic; you have a 360 view in all directions. It is a bit distracting at first, but it's probably the nearest thing we'll ever get to actually being able to stand on a deck and see what is happening around us."

  "Yes," the Commander nodded. "And I've done the introductory run in the Training suite at Woomera Base. As you say, it's quite an experience."

  "Better and better. As you know, we have some concerns regarding the political scene and some of the intel from the colonies suggests that there is some sort of threat to the democracies developing. The World Treaty Organisation is struggling to keep things stable. Fleet Intelligence suggests that there is an organisation actively working to undermine the treaties and destabilise elected governments."

  "I've seen the assessments. It's worrying."

  "With everything else we have to do the last thing humanity needs now is a war, yet it looks as if the Eastern Powers, particularly the Sino-Asian Imperium are looking to expand their territorial claims and to take a bigger share of global resources. There is a lot of concern about it all and the Admiral has indicated that our working up successfully is expected to send a warning signal to some of the more ambitious ones."

  "I wondered," the Commander said. "OK, I'll make sure the team know what's at stake and that everyone is on their toes. We can't afford any sabotage either and there will be those who may be tempted in that direction."

  "I'll keep you updated on developments," the Captain nodded. His comlink chirped. "Never stops. OK, Richard, I'll let you get on." He answered the link and listened to the request to attend a meeting in the Chief Constructors office immediately. He acknowledged the message and said to the Commander, "I wonder what disaster they plan to spring on me now. If you have nothing scheduled for the next hour, I'd appreciate your company. It'll give you an introduction to the daily struggle to stay on track."

  ***

  The Chairman of the Consortium, Ari Khamenei, leaned back in his chair and contemplated the progress made to date on his – and the Board's – plans to achieve control of government in several key democratic states and increase their influence in several more. In some areas progress was swifter and easier than anticipated, in others obstacles had to be cleared so further progress could be made. One such obstacle was the Independent Fleet Commission. All efforts so far to gain control of any seat among the commissioners had failed. True, the acquisition of WeapTech, the now privatised weapons and systems development arm of the Fleet brought with it the ability to cream off lucrative developments and remove them from the military – diversions that benefited the Consortium's Security forces and left the military vulnerable in any future conflict. And conflict was something he was sure would have to come.

  The Chairman looked up as a man entered the office in a uniform not unlike the Fleet's. He carried the rank markings of an Admiral and accepted the greeting and the proffered seat carefully. "What news?" the chairman asked.

  "Good progress has been made on the four ships we are rebuilding as starships; they will be ready within months. And work has started on the first of our new class of those," the Admiral replied. "I have only one concern. If news of this project were to reach the Fleet they could demand its handover to their control. It is, after all, being paid for out of money loaded onto the projects your surrogates are building or refitting for them."

  -

  Chapter 7 — 1802: Sea, sky and stars

  As if Cape Tourino was some sort of line in the sea, the small convoy now found itself making slow progress southward in milder air and under easy canvas. The stormy weather north of the Biscay area seemed to have given way completely to lighter winds and warmer air. Harry found a way to escape the constant aggression of Eamon Barclay. He took to spending at least some of his off watch periods in the Dog Watches in the Foretop. From which position he had a wonderful vantage point to study the sea, sometimes distant glimpses of the coast and to contemplate the stars spattering the heavens. He also took his sketchpad with him and spent time sketching the men as they worked; the rigging and, occasionally, the scattered ships they escorted.

  "You'm quite the artist, sor," a seaman engaged in splicing a new eye into a rope end remarked as Harry put the finishing touches to his sketch of one of the swivel guns mounted in the fighting top. In his sketch he included the pair of Bullocks who would normally serve the gun in an engagement and the result was a very accurate record of how the gun and its crew would appear in such a battle.

  "Thank you, Yates. It makes a record for my family of how we go on." He smiled. "Though I fear my mother will worry at the thought of our being in danger of attack."

  "Aye, sor," Yates grinned a broken toothed response. "Though the Froggies and the Dons ain't like to stir it fer a bit an' not where we'm bound."

  The strains of a fiddle drifted up to the top and Yates glanced down. "Sounds as if yon lad Fergie 'as 'is fiddle out. Lad plays a fine tune 'e does."

  "So he does," smiled Harr
y. "I could wish I had his talent for the music." This was a genuine wish on Harry's part. Music was his way of calming down when his temper was pushed almost to break point; it was a joke among his family that Harry's temper was the most dangerous in a family of strong tempers and it was one thing he often struggled to control. His rigid control of himself often made him appear aloof and sometimes so 'controlled' he was considered too much the perfectionist.

  " 'e tells us'n 'e be frum t' same place as 'ee, sor, an' ye wuz nippers together." Yates risked being over familiar he knew, but Harry was somehow different from most of the other Midshipmen, a 'real gent' as many on the lower deck put it, young, but sharp and quick witted.

  Harry glanced at him sharply, but recognised only an honest interest. "So we are. Ferghal has been my friend these many years, though why is beyond me." Harry laughed. "I think I have been responsible for almost every scrape he has been a party to – not least our present place in this ship."

  Yates studied the young midshipman in a sidelong glance for a few minutes, then chuckled. "Aye, sor, so 'e tell'd us." He finished his splice, whipping the tails neatly and then binding the whole tightly in twine. He looked up to see Harry's pencil busy recording the work, little annotations marking each part of it.

  Harry caught the surprised glance. He grinned, "One never knows when such knowledge may be useful." He indicated the sketch, "I shall include this in my Journal – who knows? Perhaps even an Admiral may need to study it someday so he may replicate it."

  The sun was now almost half below the horizon and the chiming of the bell in the fo'c's'le belfry warned it wanted but another hour before Harry must report himself on the Quarterdeck for the Evening Watch. He carefully packed his pad and pencils into a satchel he kept by him and gazed at the early stars. Almost to himself he mused, "I wonder if mankind will ever walk among the stars? See? The moon is a body which could easily be large enough for men to walk upon. And beyond it – Venus is bright in our skies, but through a telescope has clouds and must surely have water and land much like our own."

  Yates stared at the moon for a moment. "Not fer the likes o' us, sor. This earth be havin' enough t' keep the likes o' us' busy – 'oo 'ud want to go ter places like that? It be bad enough in Noo Suff Wales an' Van Diemen's Land wi'out lookin' ter go ter places like as the moon, begging yer pardon, sor."

  Harry laughed at this. "I expect you're right, do you think we shall see any fabled beasties in the South Sea? I hear the Great Southern Ocean is desolate with only the great wandering albatross alive upon it – and the great leviathan within it."

  "If'n it's the whales you'm lookin' ter see, sor." Yates grinned. "Ye'll see plenty o' they as we goes southerly."

  The stars were now gradually filling the sky overhead, the great blaze of the Milky Way forming an almost solid bar across the heavens and Harry sat enthralled as the light faded in the West and the moon took her place in the night sky. He barely noticed as Yates took his leave and descended and he reached the Gunroom himself almost too late for his supper, though, by some miracle, Ferghal managed to keep enough aside for his young friend's appetite.

  ***

  The Classroom was hot and stifling as Harry and the other younger midshipmen sat in the cramped confines. The Parson, Mr Bentley, had a very soporific voice and manner of speaking, what Harry considered to be a 'Parson's voice'. It was an almost sepulchral delivery which could turn the liveliest subject into pure purgatory – especially in the overcrowded and overheated classroom. He droned on, while his charges struggled, some unsuccessfully, to remain at least attentive and awake.

  His lesson today was on the subject of mathematics, a subject Harry excelled at, though now he was struggling to follow the trigonometry as explained by the Parson.

  "I can scarce follow this," whispered Kit Tanner. "He confuses me – or the air in here is so stale my wits have taken leave of me."

  "Both I think," replied Harry. "I need to recall what Mr Carrigan my tutor taught on this or I will not understand it at all."

  They were spared a few minutes later when the cry filtered down to them of; "All hands, all hands, to make sail!"

  The pipes twitter was almost drowned by the rush as the midshipmen hurriedly packed their slates and rushed to respond, relief at their release and the prospect of some fresh air on deck making them boisterous.

  Mr Bentley sighed and mopped his brow, he did his best, he really did, and some of the boys responded well. Others, in his view, were blockheads who would never grasp anything esoteric or scientific. He tugged at his neck cloth, perhaps if he could persuade the Captain to allow them the use of a cooler space in the ship as a classroom. He had to admit he was struggling in the close confines of this space and the heat was oppressive. He would apply to the First Lieutenant and see what could be done.

  ***

  On deck Harry hurried to his station and reported himself to the Lieutenant. The fresh breeze was a delight to his senses as he watched the bustle about him.

  "Make the most of your escape from the classroom, Mr Heron." The lieutenant's voice startled him, "I imagine it must be pretty warm below decks now."

  "It is, sir," Harry grinned, "I think many of us are almost asleep in it."

  "Aye, the Parson has that effect even in the open and when you're stood up." The officer laughed. "What is he teaching at present?" He paused to call to a Master's Mate, "Take care there – take that man's name, that halyard is not properly secured."

  "Trigonometry, sir," Harry replied as the lieutenant turned back to him, "A favourite of mine, though I confess I am now somewhat confused and must consult my text book to see where I have misunderstood Mr Bentley's exposition."

  "Ah, well I am not surprised. Have a word with the Master; his mathematics is of the practical kind, not the pure scientific stuff Mr Bentley teaches." He turned away again, "Make all secure and …."

  The voice of the First Lieutenant cut across their conversation. "Mister Heron, lay aft if you please."

  ***

  Ferghal, with his red hair and pale skin, was suffering in the constant sunshine. Even though he was used to the outdoor life, the harsh glare from the sea and the brilliant sunshine gave him and a large number of others, including several of the Midshipmen, bad cases of sunburn until the older hands showed them how to protect themselves with fat from the cook, tallow and broad brimmed hats.

  The surgeon complained in the Wardroom, "These men are fools – they see no harm in exposing themselves to the sun in this manner and several are burned badly enough to warrant a spell in the sickbay." He snorted, "And some of the young 'gentlemen' are no better, I caught young Houghton without his hat at midday! As a result he needs lotion for the burn to his face and his eyes are affected too. Have they no sense at all?"

  "You cannot blame them entirely, Mr Spenser," Thomas Bell remarked, "Many have not enjoyed such warmth or sunshine in their lives thus far."

  "Aye, I'll grant you that, Mr Bell," the surgeon said. "But if they do not take care it will be the death of them. Some have burns such as I would expect from a flame – and suffer for it."

  "Well I shall rely upon you to ensure we do not lose any men or boys. As it is I am sore tempted to visit the prison ships again with a call for hands. Some, I am sure, will be eager to escape the holds of those floating hellholes."

  ***

  At Cape St Vincent the convoy swung South and East sighting the great port of Cadiz in the early dawn. Mister Bell remarked casually, "It seems strange to pass that place and not see activity as they despatch some vessel to attempt to hinder our passage." He turned as the Captain stepped on deck. "Cadiz, sir. I thought you would wish to be on deck when we detach the brig and the colliers for the Rock."

  "You are very right, Thomas," the Captain responded, his telescope to his eye. "With our flock, beating out of the entrance to the Mediterranean would be difficult. We will wear ship and shape our course to the south-westward once Cap Trafalgar is abeam. Pelican and the colliers may contin
ue from there, I do not think the Dons will interfere though there are several ships ready for sea in the outer roads I see."

  "Shall I signal our intention to Pelican's commander, sir?"

  "In due time Thomas, I shall breakfast first I think." The Captain swept the convoy with his glass noting, with annoyance, the Maid of Selsey was lagging badly and seemed to be pumping her bilges yet again. "I begin to think that transport's master is determined to irritate me. I have not met so truculent a man in these many years – nor one who cares so little for the fabric of his ship!" He snapped at the signal party, "Signal her to make more sail and keep proper station on the convoy."

  Even as the flags soared aloft a cry from the masthead reached the deck, "Deck there, ship in sight – on the Starboard quarter."