Agent Provocateur Read online

  This is a work of Fiction. All characters and stories are fictional although based in historical settings. If you see your name appear 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

  Credits

  Thanks to: Jackson from J.W. Editing and Marketing Services who edits my books and puts up with my idiosyncratic style. My wife who is so supportive and believed in me. Last my dogs who watch me act out the fight scenes and must wonder what the hell has gotten into their boss.

  Contents

  Chapter 1 - Reading In

  Chapter 2 - A Change of Identity

  Chapter 3 - Ambush

  Chapter 4 - Betrayal

  Chapter 5 - Vengeance is mine

  Chapter 6 - Insertion

  Chapter 7 - Paris

  Chapter 8 - The best intentions

  Chapter 9 - Rumbled

  Chapter 10 - A Brief Respite

  Chapter 11 - Surprise Surprise!

  Chapter 12 - Crossing the Line

  Chapter 13 - The Madagascar caper

  Chapter 14 Finishing up

  Chapter 15 - Homeward bound.

  Chapter 16 - Into Insanity

  Chapter 17 – A Passage to India

  Chapter 18 – Stormed

  Chapter 19 Sleight of Hand

  Chapter 20 Every cloud . . .

  Epilog

  Author’ note

  Chapter 1: Reading In

  Newly commissioned Lieutenant Martin Stockley stood in front of a long mirror in his room at the headquarters of the Special Operations Flotilla, or The Farm as they called it, and admired the fit of the new uniform that had just arrived from his tailor in London. He was trying to decide whether to wear his silver buckled shoes or hessian boots when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  Will Barbour, their steward, entered and said,

  “Oh Sir, you do look proper good. Suits you to a tee. Mr. Armand said if you could hurry up as they is all waiting on yer.”

  Shoes it is then, Marty concluded and pulled on one of his three new pairs. The men had asked if they could celebrate his promotion with a dinner and ‘a few wets’, which meant they were in for a wild time this evening. Sailors seldom did just ‘a few wets’ and had a prodigious capacity for alcohol.

  The deal smugglers were ready to supply the best brandy and wines to them for free as the S.O.F. were their protection and the source of most of their wealth. Bill, their leader, and his lieutenants had been invited as well. This evening would be long, merry, and test the stamina of the strongest.

  Marty entered the large dining room to a roar of congratulation. He made a show of acknowledging the cheers then struck a pose. He waited until they quieted.

  “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he said to the left centre and right in turn as he looked around the room, registering the faces.

  “I understand that Monsieur Du Dumaine has taken over the kitchens for this celebration, so I am sure we will all eat well!”

  Another cheer!

  This would not go down well at the Admiralty! He thought, and he was right. The admiralty would have a very dim view of the familiarity between the men and officers. But this was the S.O.F. and things worked differently here.

  Let them enjoy themselves, he thought, I will break the bad news about the next mission later.

  The next morning, despite hangovers, they ordered the Lark and Alouette to be prepared for a six week voyage. They would go hunting neutral ships supplying goods to the French in opposition to any agreements their governments may have with the British.

  Marty left for the dock to check on progress and to read himself in as the Lark’s official commander. He was dressed in his best uniform and hat and wore the dress sword that the love of his life, Lady Caroline Candor, had given him. As he walked up to the dock, he thought it ironic that his cutter and the sloop moored next to her shared the same name in two languages at times. But this morning, the Alouette was called the Swan as she was in English waters.

  It was a fine morning, although very cold, and he enjoyed the short walk from The Farm to the dock on the river Stour where their three craft were moored. He soon warmed up, and his breath steamed. Blaez, his young Dutch Shepherd dog, trotted along with him checking out the verges for any trace of either intruding dogs or receptive bitches and marking his territory at regular intervals.

  He arrived at the dock to find it a hive of activity. Wagons were lined up, ready to unload food and other dry stores into nets which were hoisted aboard and down into the hold. This was faster and needed less men than forming chain gangs. Water barrels were being loaded into empty wagons to be filled from a spring a short ride away as the river water was brackish this close to the sea.

  He didn’t notice the elegant coach tucked away behind one of the storage sheds as he only had eyes for his ship.

  He walked up the gang plank on to the deck of the Cutter that was his first command as a lieutenant. She was a little beauty with her long, elegant bowsprit, which was almost half as long as her hull and single mast. She was normally gaff-rigged with multiple fore sails that gave her fantastic maneuverability but could carry a couple of square sails if she needed to swim downwind as well.

  She was armed with ten 24-pound carronades, which gave her a close in punch that was far heavier than anyone would expect. When she was fought in consort with the Alouette, they could give a nasty surprise to anyone who took them on. The advantage of the carronades was that they only needed four men each to man them or three in a pinch. But their short range could put you in trouble if up against guns with longer range.

  The men smiled at him as he made his way aft to the wheel, and Blaez greeted many of them with a headbutt and a lick. When he got to Tom, he reared up on his hind legs and planted them on his chest, looked him straight in the eye, and licked him from the base of his neck to the tip of his chin. Marty laughed at that and from the soppy look on Tom’s face.

  He beckoned Midshipman Campbell over and asked him to assemble the men on the main deck. When they had settled, he took out his commission and started to read.

  “By the Commissioners for executing the Office of the Lord High Admiral of Great Britain &c and of all His Majesty's Plantations &c.

  To Lieut. Martin Alfred Stockley, hereby appointed Master and Commander of His Majesty's Ship, Snipe.

  By virtue of the Power and Authority to us given, We do hereby constitute and appoint you Master and Commander of His Majesties Ship, Snipe, willing and requiring you forthwith to go on board and take upon you the Charge and Command of Master and Commander in her accordingly. Strictly Charging and Commanding all the Officers and Company belonging to the said ship subordinate to you to behave themselves jointly and severally in their respective Employments with all the Respect and Obedience unto you, their said Master and Commander; And you, likewise, to observe and execute as well, the General printed Instructions as what Orders and Directions you shall from time to time receive from your superior Officers for His Majesty's service. Hereof, nor you nor any of you may fail, as you will answer the contrary at your peril. And for so doing this, shall be your Warrant. Given under our hands and the Seal of the Office Admiralty, this 20th day of September in the one thousandth seven hundredth and ninety eighth Year of His Majesty's Reign.

  By Command of their Lordships”

  He reached the end and looked up. He was faced with a sea of smiling but expectant fa
ces.

  Oh shit they want me to make a speech! He thought in panic. His brain went into fast mode like he was in combat.

  “Looking around all your faces,” he swept his gaze over the men and stopped in astonishment. There dressed as a common sailor was Caroline?

  He coughed to cover the gap.

  “I see many who have sailed and fought with me in the past and some new ones.”

  He pointedly didn’t look at Caroline.

  “Well you old hands can tell the new hands what to expect. But one thing I will tell all of you is that you can all expect to continue doing the jobs that no one else wants, in ways no one else will. We are the S.O.F. We will bring pain and confusion to the French and anyone who sides with them.” He paused to look around again.

  “And if we are lucky, make a few bob for ourselves,” he concluded, causing a chuckle.

  He raised his hat to the men and stepped back, signifying he had finished.

  The deck erupted in cheers when someone who sounded very much like John Smith called, “Three cheers and a tiger for the skipper!”

  Marty waited until the cheers died down and then said, “Right, now get back to work, you idle lubbers. There is no excuse to be shirking!”

  To Tom he said,

  “And I want to see the sailor with the auburn hair and green eyes in my cabin as soon as you can find her.”

  There was no marine on duty outside his cabin as everyone was busy with the provisioning. So, there was no announcement. The door opened and in walked Caroline dressed in sailor’s slops with her hair hidden under a woollen hat.

  “The hat’s not right. No Navy man would wear one of those,” he said.

  “I’ll have to remember that when I stow away next time,” she said and pulled it off, allowing her lustrous wavy hair to tumble over her shoulders.

  “I didn’t want to miss you reading yourself in but didn’t want to distract you. You were very commanding.”

  “Who gave you the slops?” he asked.

  “If I told you, I would have to kill you,” she said and moved in closer.

  “I see. I will have to torture you for the information,” he laughed.

  “Ooh, I can’t wait!” She purred and moved in for a kiss.

  “Well, my little kitten,” he said and kissed her on the nose, “you will have to. We can’t be making that kind of noise here as the whole crew would be able to hear.”

  “You could always gag me,” she teased.

  Marty turned her around and gave her a whack on the backside as he pushed her towards the door.

  “Get thee behind me, devil woman,” he growled as the thought tempted him.

  “That sounds interesting,” she replied, giving him her best sultry look over her shoulder.

  “I’ll see you in a couple of hours at The Farm. I have a ship to get ready,” he said firmly and pushed her out the door.

  “Don’t forget the gag!” she called as she left.

  Tom came in almost immediately after with Midshipman Campbell.

  “Gag?” he said with raised eyebrows and a twinkle in his eye.

  “Don’t ask,” said Marty and sat down at his desk.

  He then looked at Campbell and said, “And you can wipe that smirk off your face if you don’t want to spend the next week scrubbing the bilges.”

  Campbell managed, to his credit, to put on a straight face.

  “You have something to report?” Marty asked him.

  “Oh yes. I mean, aye aye, sir,” he stammered.

  “Mr. Campbell, if I have to wring every report out of you, this is going to be a very long voyage for both of us,” Marty cautioned.

  “Aye aye, sir! I wish to report that we will be finished loading food in the next hour and water by sunset.”

  Marty looked at Tom, who was leant against the door frame, and raised an eyebrow in query. Tom gave a slight nod. Marty gave his attention back to Campbell.

  “We will sail tomorrow morning on the ebb tide. Let the men have a last evening in town. I want them all back on board by midnight. Anyone who isn’t will be docked a week’s pay and rum ration. Make sure they know it.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  There was a muffled cheer from outside. Marty looked up at the open skylight.

  “They probably know already, but we need to maintain some kind of chain of command,” he concluded.

  “Now, do you have all the store reports?”

  “Aye, sir,” Campbell replied and handed over a sheaf of papers which he pulled from his pocket.

  Marty sighed as he saw that he would spend the next couple of hours doing the bookwork.

  The problem with cutters is they don’t warrant a purser, he thought.

  Three hours later, he got back to The Farm. Caroline was reading a book in the common room while she waited for him. She put it down and rose to greet him with an extended kiss. Once they finished, he grinned and said,

  “What’s for dinner? I’m famished!”

  “Will has prepared some fresh sole in white wine and butter sauce. He got the recipe from Roland,” she replied.

  “Wonderful! What are you reading?” he asked and picked up her book. “The Abbess, by William Henry Ireland,” he read off the cover. “That’s supposed to be practically pornographic, isn’t it? If your chaplain catches you with that, you will be excommunicated!”

  Caroline laughed, gave him a wicked look, and replied archly,

  “Well, I thought it might give me some ideas.”

  “Well, they can wait until after dinner,” he said as Will knocked on the door to announce that it was ready.

  They retired to bed early and as they were the only ones there, it didn’t matter how much noise they made, and the gag wasn’t really needed. Although it did get tried… At least once.

  Chapter 2: A Change of Identity

  They were just getting ready to cast off the next morning when a rider galloped up to the dock and dismounted as soon as his horse came to a stop. The horse was covered in sweat and looked to have been ridden hard. He hailed the Lark and waved his messenger bag at the quarter deck, obviously relieved to have caught them before they left.

  The gangplank had just been pulled in, so Marty jumped from the deck to the dock and walked over to meet him.

  “I’m glad I made it in time, sir,” the messenger said. “I have an urgent change of orders for you from the admiralty. I will need a confirmation that you have read and understood them.”

  Marty took the package, broke the seal, scanned the contents, and signed the proffered receipt.

  “Walk that horse over to that farm,” he said and pointed him in the right direction, “Change him for one of ours if you need to get back immediately. Tell the marine that I said it was OK. Make sure you get some food and drink before you leave.”

  He then walked down the dock to the Alouette.

  “Armand!” He called, and Armand came to the rail “A change of plans. You are on your own. I’m ordered to go and annoy the Dutch!”

  “Pourquoi?” Armand replied.

  “Can’t say,” Marty said, looking around as if he was looking for eavesdroppers.

  “Oh, one of those,” Armand said with a grin, “Well, good hunting and be careful.”

  “You too!” Marty grinned back.

  They set sail on the ebbtide as planned and headed out into the channel. The Alouette headed for their hunting grounds between Roscoff and Brest, that being the most likely place they would find American blockade runners, and the Lark headed Northeast towards the coast of the Batavian Republic.

  Marty sat in his cabin in his one comfy chair and re-read his orders. Apparently, Jeroen, the agent he had worked with the last time he was there, had sent a message that there was a regular trade in flax running from Rotterdam down the coast to Calais. Within those cargos was hidden the tax revenue that the French were collecting as a war indemnity. The French figured that a cargo of such little value as flax wouldn’t attract attention from prize hungry
English captains.

  His mission was to disrupt that trade and to capture as prizes, or burn, any ships he could. A tough call if there is anything bigger than a flipping sloop as escort, he thought. He was to do it under a guise so they wouldn’t make the connection with an internal leak and the British Government. The orders didn’t say what nationality he should adopt.

  He thought about it for a while as he sat scratching Blaez’s ears. An independent with obscure origins, given that he had a mixed crew, would work. He could drop hints about having stolen the cutter and put a false name on the stern. Yes, the more he thought about it, the better it started to sound to him.

  “Call for midshipman Campbell, please,” he yelled up at the skylight. Two minutes later, Campbell entered after knocking on the door.

  “Yes Sir?” he asked, patting the dog on the head as it sniffed him in greeting.

  “I want a new name on the stern; the Louise, I think. Paint it to be hard to read, and make it look as old as the rest of the ship. Then get everybody into their privateer outfits and muss the ship up to look like she is privately owned. The crew know what to do, just tell them to do it.”

  “Aah sir, do I need to dress up as well?” Campbell asked.

  “Well, you will bloody well stick out like a spare prick at a floozy’s wedding if you don’t,” Marty responded with more than a trace of irritation.

  “This is one of those moments the admiral mentioned isn’t it? Where things aren’t what they seem?” Campbell asked, looking abashed. Marty relented.

  “Yes, Mr. Campbell, it is, and for the record, from now on while we are ‘in character,’ you refer to me as Skipper, and ask the men, not order them. This isn’t the Navy anymore,” Marty replied, thinking he couldn’t expect Campbell had done anything like this before.

  “Sit down for a minute and let me explain.”

  Campbell sat on the bench by the stern windows.

  “We have been ordered to find and either capture or destroy Dutch ships that are carrying bullion to pay the French their war tax. The information came from a trusted source within the Dutch government who took a huge risk to get us the information and must be protected. So, we don’t want the Navy to be seen doing this as that would point to the British government having someone on the inside,” Marty explained.