Harry Turtledove - Alternate Generals

He relished the evident misery of his foe.

“We will see how qualified you are to command a ship-of the-line.”

He raised his voice once again.

“Pierre, sweep the deck with grape and prepare to board.”

This time Captain Gaspard did not hesitate. The marines stood ready, muskets and cutlasses in hand, while the starboard gun crews prepared to attack with pikes and boarding axes. Meanwhile, the larboard guns belched out a murderous swarm of grapeshot doing little damage to the Victory, but decimating the men on deck. The ships were now touching at the bows, and lines with grappling hooks were being cast and secured.

“One more round, double load,” roared the admiral.

“Then we board!”

The last blast was devastating to the English crew and Nelson saw Hardy go down. Then his men swarmed onto the Victory, screaming like the possessed. When they reached the enemy deck they fought ferociously, hacking, stabbing, chopping… But the men of the Victory were not ready to strike their colors. Their fighting was just as savage and the battle was yet to be decided. Nelson made his way forward, intending to join in the fray, when the captain stood in his path.

“Admiral, you are wounded,” Gaspard said pointing to Nelson s bloody right shoulder.

“It is nothing, Pierre. Get out of the way, now. I must join the men.”

“This is an order I cannot obey. Even if you were not wounded, I would not permit you to board that ship until the colors are struck. You may be the admiral of the fleet, but I am still captain of the Bucentaure. Come, now. I will take you to the surgeon.”

Nelson started to protest but realized that he was feeling very weak.

“Very well. I agree to stay out of the melee. But I will not go below until Victory strikes.”

“You are stubborn, my friend, but I will grant your wish.”

The two officers stood side by side, leaning against the rail, and watched the fighting rage back and forth.

Another English ship came up to help Victory but was engaged by the Redoutable and so Victory and Bncentaure were left to resolve their own conflict.

A musket ball struck the rail and sent a shower of small splinters into both men’s faces. They looked at each other, each thinking the other had been wounded.

“This is too warm work to last very long, Pierre.”

“Yes, Admiral,” replied Gaspard, then noticed how weak and pale Nelson looked.

“You are still bleeding badly. If you will not go below then I will bring the surgeon here.” Not waiting for a response, the captain hurried away.

Nelson felt his legs buckling under him and had to struggle to keep from losing consciousness. Maybe if I sit on the deck it will be easier to stay awake, he thought but the attempt left him lying on his back. As the light faded from his eyes he thought he heard his men cheering “They’ve struck! The Victory has surrendered! Vive l’Amiral Horatio Nelson opened his eyes and saw that he was in his cabin with Captain Gaspard bending over him.

“Pierre. Did we … ?”

“Victory, Admiral. Five of the English ships escaped, fifteen were taken, six went to the bottom. The Spanish did quite well, actually. As you know, in death, the Santissima Trinidad crippled three of the enemy. The rest were fought to a standstill and, with the aid of Captain Devereaux’s squadron, managed to capture or drive them all off. All of the escaping ships were from that engagement. Our triumph here was complete. Not one English vessel did we allow to break free. Your plan to cut off their lead ships was totally successful.

And your ingenious plan to ram the Victory …”

“That was no plan, Pierre.”

“Shhh, you are very weak. I know that. But the others think anything that worked so perfectly to disrupt the enemy must have been a plan. We will not spoil their enthusiasm. After all, even the great Napoleon benefits from occasional strokes of luck, no?”

At this point the surgeon came in.

“Do not make him talk too much. Captain, he has lost a great deal of blood and I do not wish for him to be weakened even further.”

Then he addressed the admiral.

“A musket ball passed through the axilla, the fleshy part of your armpit.”

“Well, Doctor,” Nelson replied.

“At least it is on the right side. I couldn’t bear losing my one good arm.”

The doctor loosened the bandages and examined the wound.

“I’m afraid there is still bleeding inside. A major artery may have been nicked. I would open you up but already you have lost too much blood. All I can do is pack it and hope.”

“I’m sure you will do your duty. Doctor.” Nelson turned back to Gaspard and smiled.

“So the Victory has struck.

I thought I might have been dreaming.”

“Oh yes. Admiral. But I did not accept the surrender.”

“Why not? You are the captain. The prize is yours.”

“I thought that this is an honor that you have earned.

But we will discuss that in a moment. First I must know your orders. As you know, the way is now cleared for the invasion of England. This, I’Empereur wishes to do as soon as possible. But many of our ships and most of the prizes are in great need of repair.”

“Pierre, listen to me,” Nelson pleaded gripping his friend’s arm with an air of desperation.

“You must anchor.

I feel a great blow coming on. All must anchor and batten down.”

“I will make it so. Now, if you will stay awake for a few moments I have someone who wishes to see you.”

Nelson lay there feeling his strength drain away and realized that he was having trouble breathing. His thoughts turned to Clara. His beautiful Clara. How she would grieve if he didn’t return. He also thought about the battle. To triumph was supreme, but did he really want to be instrumental in the invasion of his homeland?

What homeland? A homeland that had forsaken him.

Ah, well, it didn’t matter now. At least Hardy was dead.

“Admiral Nelson.”

Pierre’s voice brought him back. He opened his eyes and saw two shadowy figures standing over his bed.

“Is that you, Pierre?”

“Yes. I have with me the captain of the Victory who wishes to surrender his sword to you.”

“Hardy? I thought I saw you die.”

The other figure spoke.

“Not dead, Horatio, I just slipped in some blood. Here,” Hardy said in disgust and tossed his sword onto the foot of the bed.

“I feel no honor in surrendering to the biggest traitor in English history.”

Nelson gasped in a breath and coughed out, “Kiss my ass. Hardy.” Then he closed his eyes.

“But Admiral Dumanior, Admiral Nelson gave the order to anchor,” Captain Gaspard protested.

“Admiral Nelson is dead. Captain. Now I am in charge of the fleet. We are needed for the invasion of England. Do you think I will let the order of a dead Englishman interfere with the Emperor’s plans? Give the signal for all ships to sail.”

Pierre gave the order to his surviving lieutenant and noticed that the wind was picking up.

Sam hated the New York office, but it was better than being penniless and sober or, even worse, lynched in Missouri.

In his youth he had fantasized about the carefree adventures that he would enjoy as an adult, adventures which didn’t require a bankroll or public acceptance.

I was a damned fool back then, he mused to himself as he chuckled sardonically just like the rest of the whole human race.

The curmudgeon really had no cause to complain.

Things would have been much worse if James Gordon Bennett and the New York Herald hadn’t bailed him out of the financial catastrophes that had befallen him over the past few years.