The Special Operations Flotilla: The Dorset Boy Book 2 Read online

  For the next few days they prepared for the voyage north. That time of the year they wouldn’t be faced with extreme cold but they were used to Mediterranean temperatures and the conditions in the Skagerrak would challenge them until they acclimatised. Now Marty knew why the Purser was looking for those winter jackets.

  August the 8th dawned bright and clear with a wind coming straight up the channel from the south, they could see a big bank of cloud to the west so expected it to veer more westerly later.

  The signal to make sail came as soon as the tide was right. They formed up in line astern, with the Falcon first, the Reunion second, Vestel third and Isis last, being the smallest.

  It seemed that all four ships were announcing their presence in the loudest possible way by holding live fire practice on the great guns for an hour a day. It was necessary on the Flacon as the new gun crews had to get to know each other as the 18s had a crew of ten. The Captain also practiced evolutions with the guns where he would randomly point at crewmen or a gun and declare them wounded, killed or out of action. The remaining crew were expected to adapt and make sure the broadside continued at maximum efficiency.

  14 days later they were approaching the mouth of the Skagerrak when the Mainmast lookout called out “Sail Ho!! two points off the starboard bow!” Midshipman Mulhoon was sent up as he had very sharp eyes and he soon announced that there were two ships that he could see from their Topsails and they were probably Frigates.

  Captain Turner said “Signal ’Enemy in Sight’ then ‘Two Frigates North Northeast’

  “Sir, Reunion signalling” cried Midshipman Clegg who was on signal duty. “Our Number”. A pause as he consulted the signal book. “Make more sail, Engage the Enemy more closely”.

  “HA! Make more sail he says” laughed Captain Turner “Let’s have as much canvas as she will bear Mr Hill. We have a clean bottom now so let’s see how fast she can go!”

  They soon slowly started to outpace the ships behind them as they homed in on the foreign sails and it wasn’t long before another hail came from the masthead. “Deck there! I can see three ships; two frigates and a cutter hull up. They have seen us, are turning away and making sail. Heading Northwest. I think they are Batavian”.

  Marty was at his Carronades so was well positioned to hear everything on the quarterdeck. “Master! The chart please” called the Captain and he and the master poured over it discussing in low voices.

  “They must be heading for Egeroe”, he finally declared “that’s a neutral Danish port and they can hide in there”.

  “Mr Hill how fast are we catching them?”

  Hill consulted a slate he had been calculating on. “At this range I can only estimate that we are gaining at around 1 knot” he reported. “We are logging 12 knots and a fathom right now Sir”

  “Wet down the sails and run out the stun sails. We will squeeze 13 knots yet” ordered Captain Turner.

  The time dragged by but eventually Mr Hill and the Master were able to take a sight off the top of the enemy’s mast. They could work out an exact range and by taking one sighting every 15 minutes they were able to calculate that the Falcon was gaining at just over 2 knots. As the rearmost ship of the enemy squadron was now hull up from the quarterdeck they all knew that they were no more than seven miles or about three hours behind.

  The crew were served lunch and then they went to action stations when they were about thirty minutes behind them. At just about four o’clock in the afternoon they were close enough to try the bow chasers. The Captain blew his horn, the hunt was on!

  “She is the Alliante Sir” reported Mulhoon after another trip up the mast.

  “Dutch built” said the Master “I seen her back in 1789 when I was in Amsterdam. She be a 36 with twelve pounders as her mains if I remember rightly”.

  “We should have the measure of her. We throw a greater weight of iron and I am sure we will have a greater rate of fire as well”, said Mr Hill

  “Indeed” said the Master “but them Dutch do make a strong ship”.

  The bow chasers fired for the third time and a rip appeared in the Alliante’s mizzen mainsail costing her speed.

  “She’s going to make a fight of it!” exclaimed the Captain as the Alliante took in her mains and reduced sail to fighting trim of Topsails and Royals only.

  “Reduce sail to Topsails and Royals” the Captain ordered “if they want a fight they can have it”

  “The rest of our ships are taking up the chase of the other two sir” shouted Cecil Braithwaite from the stern rail where he had been positioned to watch for signals.

  “Signal from Isis Sir, ‘Good Hunting’” reported Clegg

  “Make ‘God speed’ Mr Clegg” ordered the Captain and blew his horn.

  “Larboard guns ready Sir” reported Richard Dickey

  Here we go thought Marty as the Alliante swung he bow to starboard to bring her broadside to bear. For what we are about to receive…. and she fired.

  Let’s be honest here, thirty six 12 pound balls screaming across the deck, the Dutch had double shotted their guns, will either concentrate the mind or loosen the bowels and to their credit the Falcon’s crew Marty didn’t witness a single change of trousers amongst them. The Falcon’s guns boomed their reply, it was a quarter after four and the two ships were now broadside to broadside.

  Broadside after broadside was fired by both ship and soon the sea flattened and the breeze died, blown away by the concussion of the cannon.

  Marty’s smashers were in full cry and he was ordered to concentrate on the rigging to disable the Dutchman while the main guns did their deadly work on the hull. After 30 minutes the guns were so hot that they were jumping back on the recoil and the men had to be extra careful not to get caught by them.

  Men were wounded by flying splinters or shot. The number nine 18 Pounder suffered a direct hit with four of her crew injured and two killed. The men were loading and firing automatically too stunned by the noise and exhausted by the continual firing to do anything other.

  Then after an hour at a quarter past five the Alliante struck. Her Captain finally admitting that he was outgunned and outnumbered as the squadron were returning having given up the chase as the other Batavian Frigate and Cutter that had made it into the harbour.

  The butcher’s bill on the Falcon was 3 dead and 14 wounded with one of the wounded not expected to survive the night. On boarding the Alliante they found she had 9 dead and 27 wounded including a Lieutenant who was killed when an eighteen pound ball passed very close to his head and the shockwave just took his life without leaving a mark on him.

  The Dutch sailors were disarmed and imprisoned in the hold and cable tier. The officers either gave their parole, or were disarmed and imprisoned away from the sailors in the Brig.

  Captain Alms wanted all his frigates to continue the patrol so he created a prize crew from men from all four ships commanded by Lieutenant Hill of the Falcon. Dispatches were entrusted to Lieutenant William Huggell of the Reunion who joined the Alliante as super cargo. Marty was chosen from the Mids to go on the prize because his leadership qualities and independence made him the most useful to Hill. Unsurprisingly Tom Savage, John Smith the 4th and his four Basques all managed to finagle a way on to the prize as well.

  After repairs they left the squadron on the 25th August and headed back to Spithead. It was an uneventful 3 week trip, the Dutch prisoners were well behaved and were in turn treated well by the English sailors.

  On arrival in Spithead, Huggell immediately set off to the Admiralty and Hill waited to see what his orders would bring. He had hope that he would get command of the Alliante if she was bought in. The prize crew waited on board for a ship to come and take them back to the squadron.

  Chapter 3 Transfer

  Two weeks went by and November arrived with a winter storm that even effected the anchored ships in Spithead. It was still going strong after 2 days when a boat approached the Falcon with a very wet Midshipman in the stern. He managed
to board, without falling in despite the efforts of the choppy sea, with dispatches and a sea chest. He went straight down to the Captain’s cabin to Lieutenant Hill.

  Marty was surprised to hear a call for him to attend Hill in his cabin and hurried down to be announced by the Marine at the door. He was even more surprised when the wet Mid handed him a dispatch of his own, much to Hill’s obvious annoyance.

  He examined the seal and saw it had the Admiralty’s fouled anchor on it. He carefully opened it, it was a big occasion to get your first personal dispatch after all, and he was savouring every moment. He quickly skip-read the standard preamble to the heart of the message.

  You are hereby required to report to the office of Admiral Lord Hood at the Admiralty on the 10th November in the AM for assignment on a special duty. You will select 6 men from the crew of the Falcon to accompany you. These men to be fit for duty and rated able.

  “Well I’m damned” he said “and read it again to make sure he hadn’t misread it. He also noted it had been signed by the secretary to the First Sea Lord.

  “Well? What does it say?” demanded Hill. Marty told him and then handed over the paper for him to read.

  “Astonishing” said Hill, “I am instructed to return on the Derbyshire to the Squadron with the prize crew and Mr Stokes to replace you and you are ordered to London for a ‘special duty’. I don’t suppose you have any idea what it is?”

  Marty shook his head.

  “Well you had better get ready to leave. I don’t suppose I need to ask which six men you will take with you as your cutthroats are all on board”. Marty grinned at him as he took his orders back and folded them carefully. “Aye Tom Savage and the boys will be coming with me. I couldn’t stop them if I wanted to”

  Marty went straight out and told the six to get ready to leave. They were grinning before he even said anything and he saw their sea bags already stacked by the entryway. There were no secrets on a ship of war he figured. Somehow word went around a ship faster than a pistol ball. He carefully packed his chest and wrote a note booking rooms at a pub/lodging house he knew of near to the Admiralty. He would send that by messenger so it would arrive ahead of them.

  The trip ashore was, to say the least, damp and Marty took a couple of rooms at the George where he and the men could dry out and stay overnight. He then sent Tom out to find a coach and horses that could carry them all to London. When he returned he reported that he had gotten them a Park Drag and four and it would be ready to leave first thing in the morning.

  Marty offered to buy them dinner in the common room which they declined as the George’s common room was officer country and they would be well out of place. They said they would get a meal in a pub down the road and promised to be on their best behaviour.

  The next morning before dawn saw them loading up into the Park Drag which looked like what it was, a former mail coach. They could get all seven of them inside at a squeeze but John Smith and Antton decided they would rather ride on top despite it being a chilly frosty morning.

  The good thing was the ground was frozen so they could make better time than if it were muddy, but the bad thing was the ruts were hard and the ride was comparable to a small boat in a really choppy sea. So it was with some relief that they stopped to change horses at Petersfield and grab a pie to eat. Then it was back onboard for the next leg to Guildford and an overnight stop at the Angel Posting Inn. The next morning saw them start at dawn for the run in to London with a stop at Kingston for a last change of horses. They arrived at the Cromwell mid-afternoon on the 8th and settled in. The men shared two rooms and Marty had a suite to himself.

  Marty gave the boys some money and told them to get themselves some new clothes and anything else they needed. He warned them to watch out for pickpockets and not to get too drunk. He knew that letting loose sailors who had been cooped up on board ship for as long as these had was going to result in some wild behaviour, but all he could do was hope that they didn’t get into too much trouble. Tom grinned and told them that he knew a good clean house where they could all have some fun with ladies of the business persuasion, which made Marty blush. He knew what he meant but wasn’t quite old enough to want to explore that yet.

  The next day he visited the De Marchet family in Kensington and they were all happy to see him again. The Count was curious as to what this ‘Special Duty’ was and hoped it wouldn’t put Marty in harm’s way. Evelyn was friendly as usual but also a little distant and he couldn’t figure out why.

  All too soon he had to report at the Admiralty and he entered the waiting room at eight o’clock in the morning to find it already crowded with Officers and Midshipmen looking for berths. He went to the clerk at the desk who looked down his nose at him and just said “Yes?”

  “Midshipman Stockley. I have orders to report to Admiral Hood this morning” he said. The clerk’s eyebrows went up as he looked down at his ledger and confirmed that Marty did indeed have an appointment. He called over another man and whispered something to him. He gave Marty a quick once over and left the room.

  “Please wait here, you will be called when the Admiral is ready to see you”, he told Marty in a slightly less superior fashion.

  Marty looked around the room but there were no seats available and he was being looked at with curiosity by many of the occupants. He found a space by a wall where he could at least lean and waited.

  A Mid of around 20 years of age moved over to stand by him and introduced himself

  “Sam Granger” he said holding his hand out. Marty shook it and replied

  “Martin Stockley”.

  “Are you looking for a berth?” he asked.

  “No. I’m from the Falcon” Marty replied “I have to report to Lord Hood”.

  “Lucky you” Sam replied “I have been coming here for 2 months looking for a berth with no luck. Is the Falcon in port?” he asked hopefully.

  “She’s in the north on patrol” Marty told him “I helped bring a prize back to Spithead and then got orders to come here. No idea why” he said to fend off any more questions. To fill the time he told the tale of the battle and was just running out of conversation when the desk clerk called him over.

  The other man was waiting by the desk and led him out of the room. They followed several corridors and went up a couple of flights of stairs until they came to a large dark oak door that his escort knocked on and entered without waiting for a reply. Inside was a secretary’s office and Marty was handed over to a man in a civilian suit with a dour look. He led him through a door at the other end of the office into a large plushily outfitted room. In the middle of the wall was a grand fireplace with a wood fire burning in it. There was a large oak desk in the middle with Admiral Lord Hood sat behind it.

  “Midshipman Stockley m’Lord” announced the Clerk.

  Hood looked up and smiled and said “Welcome m’boy” and gestured to one of three chairs that were arranged in front of his desk. Marty bowed and sat where the Admiral had indicated and was just wondering who the other chairs were for when a door on the other side of the office opened and in walked Armand Clavelle and William Wickham.

  “Ahh good, we are all here” said the Admiral “You know these two gentlemen of course?” he asked Marty

  “Aye my Lord we have met” he replied and stood to shake hands with them.

  “Now Mr Stockley, Martin, I must impress on you that everything that is said in this room cannot be repeated to anyone outside of it” said the Admiral by way of introduction. “You are entering the world of the intelligence community and your very life will depend on your ability to keep a secret. Do you give your word of honour that whatever is said here will not be divulged to another living soul?”

  Marty was surprised but figured he had nothing to lose so said “Aye Sir, you do”

  Wickham looked up and said “The good Admiral here is one of the few senior officers in the Navy, apart from the First Sea Lord, who truly understands and supports the activities of the intelli
gence service and we are very grateful that he has taken our advice and enabled us to try and recruit you”

  What the hell!! Marty thought

  Wickham continued. “You may be young, just coming up to fifteen years old, but you have developed skills that will be invaluable to the service and can be developed further over time whilst you work with us.”

  At least he didn’t say for us, Marty thought

  The Admiral interrupted. “All the time you will be ‘working’ with these gentlemen your name will be on the books of a serving ship so you will not lose any sea time, and as you will undoubtedly be required to sail various vessels during this time you will gain experience as well”

  “Quite” said Wickham “We have need of someone who is young enough to be able to avoid suspicion, you have proven you can do that, and who can speak fluent French. Have you improved your accent?”

  Marty nodded and said “Pourquoi Oui, Monsieur, j'ai été en conversation avec nos membres d'équipage de Paris et Lyon”

  “Oh well done!” Armand said “an almost perfect Parisian accent. Did you bring those six ruffians that seem to follow you around with you?”

  “Aye I did, they be at the Cromwell last I saw them” Marty replied.

  “Good. Oh, just for the record, can you confirm that you are willing to work with us and undertake activities outside of the normal scope of Naval duties that could involve being required to go undercover into enemy territory?” said Wickham

  Marty looked at him, them at Armand and finally at the Admiral who said, “Saying no now, will not reflect on your career at all”

  Marty looked back to Wickham and said “What do you want me to do?”

  Chapter 4 A Golden Opportunity

  Marty steered the fishing boat towards the French coast in a fresh south-westerly wind and a nasty cross chop. It was a typical French built craft not unlike the ones used by the locals in Kent. Its name was the Ariadne which was far too grand a name for such a shabby craft. He had his crew, Tom, John, Pablo Antton, Garai and Matai and lastly Armand who was being noisily sick over the leeward side. He was aiming at the small fishing village of Wissant that was some 10 miles west southwest of Calais. The plan was that he, Armand, Tom, Matai and Pablo would go ashore there and Antton, John and Garai would take the boat back out to return to pick them up in 4 days’ time.