The Special Operations Flotilla Read online

  This is a work of Fiction. All characters and stories are fictional although based in historical settings. If you see your name appears in the story it is a coincidence.

  Copyright© 2018 Christopher C Tubbs

  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

  Contents

  Chapter 1 Back to the mast

  Chapter 2 The Danish patrol

  Chapter 3 Transfer

  Chapter 4 A Golden Opportunity

  Chapter 5 Heist the sails

  Chapter 6 The S.O.F

  Chapter 7 Smuggling and other services

  Chapter 8 A Cutting trip

  Chapter 9. Horse Trading

  Chapter 10 A Little Bird

  Chapter 11 A Question of Honour

  Chapter 12 Lost Innocence

  Chapter 13 Puppy Love

  Chapter 14 Undercover jinks

  Chapter 15 A little bit of breakin’ and enterin’

  Chapter 16 A Sea Chase

  Chapter 17 The Hunt is on

  Chapter 18 Make the most..

  Chapter 19 Escape

  Chapter 20 Homecoming

  Epilog

  Chapter 1 Back to the mast

  Martin Stockley, Midshipman on His Majesty’s Ship Falcon, a sixth-rate frigate currently completing her refit in Portsmouth, stepped off the Post Chase from London and took a deep breath of sea air. It was late June 1795 and it looked to be shaping up into a pleasant summer. Portsmouth smelled far better than London even with the docks pervading the air with the scent of rotting garbage and other unspeakable things that people thought if they threw it into the water would just disappear. All that happened in reality is all the garbage just washed back and forth on the tide and didn’t go anywhere.

  He retrieved his sea chest and paid a porter to take it to the George Hotel, where he would stay until he could re-join his ship in a couple of days’ time. She was currently having her masts re-stepped and once that was done he would boat over and take his place back in the cockpit with the other Mids.

  His time in London had been spent in the London home of the Count De Marchet and his family, who were refugees from the French Revolution. He had been instrumental in their escape from Toulon just before the city was overrun by the revolutionaries and was treated as a favoured nephew. The Count’s daughter, Countessa Evelyn, and Martin were firm friends. He had felt attracted to her in a way that threatened to go beyond friendship as she was becoming a beautiful young woman but he wasn’t ready for that just yet.

  He had also run into Armand, a French Navy officer and spy, who he had accompanied on a secret mission in Marseille. He had introduced him to William Wickham who was someone important in the English Security Service. They had talked about his adventures in Marseille and Toulon, and talked in French. They had complimented him on his mastery of the language but said he needed to work on his accent as he had a definite Basque twang.

  Wickham had asked him what he thought of the experience and he had answered honestly that he had found it exciting but was frustrated he couldn’t have been a more active participant. The two men had laughed at that and exchanged a knowing look.

  He arrived at the hotel and entered the common room which was full of Naval officers waiting to join ships, or looking for a ship to join. He had sent a message ahead to book a room. So when he arrived he just announced his arrival to the nearest member of staff, waited to receive his key and arranged for a servant to take his chest to his room.

  He was about to go up to it when he was hailed from the bar. His fellow Midshipman Patrick Mulhoon was calling him over to a group of Mids stood at the bar drinking beer. Mulhoon was seventeen years old and one of Martin’s best friends on the Falcon.

  “Gentlemen” he said in his soft Irish accent “may I introduce Mr Martin (Marty to his friends) Stockley a shipmate on the Falcon and a proper fighting sailor” He grabbed Marty by the arm and drew him into the crowd.

  “So you are the famous ‘Marty’” said a tall lad of around 18 years old with a refined accent who pronounced Marty ‘Martee’ in a French accent. “James Hepworth, late of the Victory and now of the Frigate Surprise.” He introduced himself and held out his hand, which Marty shook as he blushed bright pink.

  “We had the pleasure of the Count De Marchet and his delightful daughter on our voyage back from Gibraltar. We were all smitten and trying to woo the beautiful Countessa,” he added with a sly wink. Marty bristled but then James continued, “but to no avail as she had already been smitten with her ‘hero Martee’. Who had gallantly and singlehandedly rescued the fair maid not once, but twice!” He grinned at Marty who stammered that it wasn’t singlehanded and he was sure she exaggerated it all . . . . really …..

  The boys laughed and slapped him on the back. James ordered him a beer and asked him

  “What really happened then?”

  Marty started telling his version but Patrick took over saying he was being too modest and gave an exaggerated and extremely blood thirsty account dwelling on the knife and tomahawk killings. After that he had to show them his Bowie knife and let them hold it. A young mid from the Circe even managed to cut himself on it much to everyone’s amusement.

  Later, alone in his room looking out over the harbour with a swimming head from a couple of beers too many, Marty wondered why there were so many Frigates in port at the same time. They were the workhorses of the fleet and there were never enough of them. So why were they here? The papers had been full of the Battle of Genoa where Admiral Hoffam and elements of the Neapolitan fleet had defeated a French fleet capturing two French ships. In his opinion he agreed with Nelson that it was a bit of a nothing battle and an opportunity had been lost for a much bigger victory.

  He woke up with a headache, “serves you right” he said to himself in the mirror as pair of red rimmed, bloodshot eyes looked back at him. He dressed and went down to the common room for breakfast and as he entered he saw a familiar face at a table by the window. “Hello Richard” he said to Lieutenant Richard Dicky, fourth Lieutenant of the Falcon, “didn’t know you were staying here”.

  “I’m not” he replied rising and shaking Marty’s hand “I’m berthed on board. I came ashore to find you and Mulhoon. Our schedule has been brought forward and the Captain wants you onboard. As the breakfast here is one of the best in Portsmouth I decided to take advantage and get one in. Join me.”

  They settled down to a large breakfast from a buffet set up on the bar. They filled their plates from a selection of kippers, kidneys, devilled eggs, fried eggs, lamb chops, sausages, mashed potatoes, bacon, bread, butter, honey, jam, marmalade, tea and coffee.

  As only young men can, they chowed down and cleared a prodigious amount of food. After about an hour they exchanged belches and Marty asked the hosteler to rouse Mr Mulhoon and to have both of their sea chests brought down as they had to join their ship immediately.

  Mulhoon sat beside Marty in the middle of the gig with his head in his hands and groaned. He hadn’t had the benefit of a huge calorie laden breakfast or copious amounts of coffee so he was getting the full effect of mixing beer and brandy the night before. Richard Dicky took great delight in steering the boat over the worst of the waves in a way that caused it to rock and pitch to make him feel even worse, but they eventually arrived at the Falcon and jokingly asked him if they needed to get a chair rigged to sling him onboard. Mulhoon manfully stood and climbed the batons up the side to gain the deck, but his misery didn’t stop there.
The ship was a mass of shouting, hammering, sawing, swearing and worse the smell of paint and tar. It even made Marty wince.

  The First Lieutenant, Mr Hill, approached, took one look at Mulhoon and told him to get below and report on deck when he was able to work. He then cast an eye over Marty seeing the bloodshot eyes but noting that he stood erect and wasn’t too green around the gills.

  “Get into your slops Mr Stockley and take charge of your division. They are helping erect the rigging on the foremast. We want this ship ready to sale in record time.” He looked along the deck then back at Marty “Are you still here?” Marty snapped a salute and said “No Sir” and ran for the ladder down to the cockpit.

  His division looked pleased to see him. They had been under the command of a boson’s mate who was a meddler. He didn’t let them get on with their work, which they all knew how to do but kept stopping them to describe the next step of the operation. Marty asked the mate what was the task and then told him to ‘go find something else to do as he would take care of it now’ and ‘thank you for your efforts’.

  He looked at his men and said “Now will you men get on with raising that cathead up to the top of the mast, or am I going to have to call the steps?”

  “We be on it Mr Stockley!” shouted John Smith the 4th (John Smith the third had ruptured himself and had to be put ashore so John had gone from the fifth to the fourth now).

  The ships fiddler was grinding out ‘Jack’s the Lad’ from atop the capstan and the men picked up the beat to coordinate the heave. From then on, the work went easy. Marty told them what he wanted doing and they did it, unless of course none of them had done it before and then they would talk it over with Marty or he would consult with a mate or another officer if necessary. Marty watched and learned. He didn’t assume he knew better than the men just because he had a higher rank.

  A week of hard work saw them ready to bring the guns aboard. The Falcon’s hull had been strengthened with new Knees and re-enforcements to the gun deck and was being rearmed with 26 new eighteen pounders rather than the 28 nine pounders she had before. They were also fitting long nine’s as bow chasers and four six pounders on the quarterdeck making her up to a 32-gun ship. That of course didn’t include the 6 thirty two pound Carronades, two at the bow on the fore deck and four on the quarterdeck that gave her an awesome close in punch. Marty made sure his beloved Carronades were installed correctly and that their gun crews took personal responsibility for their installation. The Falcon now had one hell of a punch and a full 250-man crew.

  In the evenings when the work stopped, Marty found Roland Du Demaine, engaged him in conversation and he in turn pulled in the other Frenchmen. They talked, Marty’s vocabulary increased and he learnt to speak with not only a Parisian accent but the one from Lyon as well. Quite accidently he also absorbed information about the home towns of the three Frenchmen and lots of little facts about the way of life in France.

  After all the guns were installed they started provisioning the ship. The First Lieutenant and the Captain were carefully planning the location of the stores so that not only was the ship trimmed perfectly when she was fully laden but as the stores were used the trim would be maintained. Marty oversaw the stores coming onboard and kept a record of what and how many that would be passed to Mr Evans the Purser.

  The Falcon was lucky they had that rare bird that was an honest purser who was actually liked by the crew. He was making a fair profit but he didn’t rob them blind or cheat them in the process. When the salt beef and pork was delivered Evans inspected the dates and condition of every one of the casks. He rejected out of hand a complete delivery where the casks were dated 1767. He wasn’t having nearly thirty year old salt beef on his ship! That caused a visit from the provisioning officer who came prepared to read the riot act to Evans but for some reason walked away without saying a word when Evans said something quietly in his ear just after he boarded. Marty strongly suspected Evans knew something the Provisioning Officer didn’t want made public.

  Next came the water hoys and the taking on of tons of fresh water stored in casks that were brand new and had been commissioned by the Capat his own cost. Personal stores and livestock came onboard last.

  They warped the ship out of the dock and towed her over to the powder dock. This was the most dangerous part of the whole provisioning as they hoisted a full load of powder down into the magazine. No naked flames, absolutely no smoking and all metal objects that could cause sparks put away. The deck was sanded and wetted to catch any stray powder grains that may have leaked and thoroughly washed down afterwards.

  After that they went for a short shakedown cruise to check that nothing fell off or broke and that everything worked as it was supposed to. They even fired off the guns to check the tackles worked just so. When they returned to Portsmouth Captain Turner reported them ready for sea in all respects.

  Typically, they heard nothing for almost a week.

  Chapter 2 The Danish patrol

  A boat with a midshipman onboard approached the Falcon on Tuesday June the 16th with dispatches. After he left, Captain Turner called his lieutenants to his quarters for a briefing. When they came out the First started preparing the ship to sail and Marty got a chance to ask Richard Dicky where they were going

  “The Downs.” Was the reply

  “The Downs??” Said Marty

  “Yes, The Downs. We are to proceed there with all dispatch and we will receive new orders when we get there. Damn strange if you ask me.” Replied Richard. “We are to meet the Reunion, Vestel and Isis there and place ourselves under the command of Captain James Alms of the Reunion. That is all I know”

  Marty had to go down to the hold and was passing through the Orlop deck when he bumped into Evans the Purser.

  “Are you going down into the hold Martin?” asked Evans

  “Aye Mr Evans. I’m to inventory the shot store” Marty replied. It wasn’t a glamorous job but needed to be done.

  “Then I will accompany you as what I need to check on is in that area as well” said Evans

  As they made their way forward holding Lanthorns for light Evans asked.

  “Did you get to see your family while you were on shore?’

  “Aye I did. Pop died before I got back but mum is fine and I got to see the new babies of my brothers and sisters.”

  Evans put his hand on his arm to stop him and looked him in the eye.

  “You don’t have much in common with them anymore do you?” he said

  “No, everything’s changed. Well they’m the same but I’m different to them now” he said sadly.

  “Well now that’s as maybe son, but family is forever and they will be as proud as punch of what you be doing. Don’t stay away from them no matter what happens as they be the only family you will ever get!” Marty realised that had been just what he had been thinking of doing as he had felt so – separated – that was the word – from his family. Everything had changed and he didn’t know how to deal with it.

  “You be right” he told Evans “I can’t expect them to understand how I’ve changed or why but damn it they be mine own”

  “Good lad” said Evans “Now let’s get down into that hold.”

  Marty got on with his inventory while Evans rummaged around searching for whatever he had come down for.

  “Marty” called Evans “can you give me a hand getting this crate open?”

  Marty noted where he had got to and made his way to the glow of Evan’s lanthorn. He found the Purser tugging at a large crate trying to get it out into the space between the stacks. Marty took the other side of it and heaved it clear and then got a prybar and levered off the lid. To his surprise it looked like the crate was full of fabric.

  Evans reached in and grabbed the top item and pulled it out. Once he had unfolded it he could see it was a heavy sailor’s jacket. What the hell do he need those for it be just coming in to summer thought Marty.

  “Thank you, Marty. This is what I was looking for”
said Evans and shooed him back to his work.

  They got underway on the afternoon tide and that evening at dinner all the talk in the cockpit was about the upcoming voyage. They all knew they were going to The Downs. But they had to explain to the youngest mid, Cecil, that the Downs were just off the east coast of Kent near Deal. The speculation ranged from attacking Amsterdam, as the Dutch republic had succumbed to the French in the winter and was now known as the Batavian Republic, to sailing into the Baltic and patrolling there.

  After dinner, as none of the Mids were on duty, Bob Graveny got out a guitar and started to play well known songs that they could all sing along to. Simon Clegg pulled out a flute and played along most competently to the surprise of all the other Mids. Marty contributed a bottle from his store of wine and they all had a merry time.

  It was a pretty boring trip round the coast to The Downs and when they got there they found the other three frigates already there. They came to anchor and Captain Taylor was taken across to the Reunion. When he returned he called a conference to tell his officers what they were about to embark on.

  “Gentlemen” he said once they were all gathered in his cabin. “We are to be part of a squadron formed by the Reunion, Vestel , Isis and us that will patrol the Danish Norwegian coast to ensure that our supply lines from the Nordics are kept open. This is vital to the Fleet as this is our main source of Stockholm Tar and Timber. Our patrol area will be the Skagerrak, which for those unfamiliar with the Nordics is a strait running between the southeast coast of Norway, the southwest coast of Sweden and the Jutland Peninsula, which is part of Denmark Mr Braithwaite.” The Mids and younger Lieutenants laughed at that and the Mini-Mid, as he was known, blushed furiously. “We will leave on the 8th August weather permitting. I want all of you to familiarize yourselves with the charts of the area and the capabilities of Dutch warships. We’ve not come across them before. Our mission is important, our Navy depends on it”