PART V: WAR
Chapter Thirty Two: Call to Arms
Robert was sitting at a table in the common room with Hermione. Across from them were Ron and Susan. Harry was sitting near the fireplace talking with Cedric Diggory about Quidditch. This weekend was supposed to be the final match of the year, between Gryffindor and Slytherin. He looked at Hermione with an amused thought. "You spend more of your waking hours here than in Gryffindor."
"Next year, you'll have to visit me all the time."
"Done and done," Robert said with a laugh.
"And now," Hermione asked, "do you know the answer? Which potion would you use?" She paused, then added, "It will be on the final exam."
"I am too busy thinking about Quidditch," Robert told her. "We should try studying on Monday, after the match."
A klaxon sounded in the common room, and throughout the school no doubt. Then Dumbledore's voice was heard. "ALL OF HIS MAJESTY'S OFFICERS ARE TO REPORT TO THE GREAT HALL IMMEDIATELY. IMMEDIATELY."
Robert and Harry looked up at each other, then both rose and left the common room running. Susan and Ron exchanged glances and got up to follow suit. Not to be left behind, Hermione rushed after them, to find Cedric Diggory on her heels.
Harry and Robert entered the hall to find Captain Grissom standing there with Dumbledore and Hagrid. Professor Quirrell was standing behind them. Harry paused to grin at what he saw. Hedwig was sitting on Hagrid's raised arm.
When Harry left the school to travel to the Empire with his brother, he gave Hedwig to Hagrid. Although Hagrid insisted he was only watching the owl for him, Harry knew that she now belonged to the giant. But that did not mean that his attachment to her was gone.
Colin Creevey came running in, almost bowling into the group that had followed the twins. Behind him, with little surprise to Harry, was Ginny Weasley.
Grissom smiled at the small crowd. "I only need Naval Officers. The rest of you need not have come." He gave Cedric Diggory a cheerful grin, knowing why he was here. If this was going to affect the upcoming match, he would want to know as quickly as possible. Grissom's grin widened when he saw Oliver Wood run into the hall.
"What happened?" Wood whispered to Diggory.
"Nothing yet," Diggory replied, and they both became quiet.
"My apologies to the Quidditch Captains," Grissom said, "but I have received orders. All officers are to report for duty immediately. All classes are cancelled for the duration."
"Us, too?" Ron asked, half hopefully, to receive a shake of the head.
Grissom handed an envelope to each of the Somerset twins, who opened them at once.
"The Caen?" Robert said in surprise. "A dreadnaught? Is the situation serious, Sir?"
"I have not been informed," Grissom said carefully.
"Sir?" Harry asked. "I have been assigned to Naval Intelligence in London. Is there a reason for that?"
"Aye, there is," Hagrid said before Grissom could answer. "We finally found somethin' those Empire folks can use." He petted the owl. "Are ye ready, Hedwig?" He handed the owl to Harry. "I explained to her the best I could. She seems willin' ta go."
With confusion and delight, Harry held out his hand to Hedwig, who gave him an affectionate nip on the ear.
"I hate to interrupt the reunion," Dumbledore said with a mirthful grin, "but I must ask for your wands." Harry and Robert handed them over, and Dumbledore put them somewhere inside his robes.
"Sir," Colin Creevey asked. "My orders?"
Grissom looked down at the small boy. "I am sorry, Lieutenant Creevey. I wanted to give you more time. You must choose now."
"Choose what?" Susan asked, to receive stern looks from both Captain Grissom and Dumbledore.
"Between magic and mayhem," Colin quipped.
Colin's thoughts were simple. I'm only twelve. It's an adventure. I've already had an adventure. But one thought was behind them all. I can't even say goodbye.
Colin Creevey pulled out his wand and handed it to Dumbledore. The headmaster took the wand with no show of the regret he was feeling and placed it with the other wands.
"Lieutenant Creevey," Grissom told the boy, "you are to serve under me as an aide. You will be given the appropriate title as soon as matters make themselves clear. Professor, we are ready."
With little ceremony, Professor Quirrell stepped forward, producing the control stone. The Captain and the three boys joined hands with him and promptly disappeared.
After a brief pause, Dumbledore sighed and his happy facade dropped away. "It is almost time for supper. We might as well stay here."
"Professor," Ginny asked with a shaking in her voice. "What just happened?"
"Miss Weasley, their world is about to go to war." Dumbledore turned with a pained look on his face and walked toward his seat at the teachers table.
"We'll lose the Quidditch match for sure," Oliver Wood said sourly.
"I know how you feel," Cedric said consolingly. "Let's just hope they come back."
"He said war." Ron's voice was filled with disbelief.
"It's an exaggeration," Oliver said. "They just want Hufflepuff to win the house cup."
Hermione was saying nothing. After Robert's close call, Hermione had dared to make a commitment to him. She had talked to her parents about it, and other things. They approved of him, and of the fact he understood that their daughter's schooling came first. Any commitment was for after graduation. She mimicked Colin in her thoughts. I'm only thirteen. I shouldn't have to deal with this. What if something happens. I didn't even have a chance to say goodbye.
Rear Admiral Sir Anthony Alexander Ashton looked over his notes as the cartographer adjusted the fleet's position on the map. In a few hours the fleet would reach the Bosporus. Tonight they would view the lights of the Capitol of the oldest existing empire in the world.
"Sir," the lieutenant said as he entered the cabin. "It is most urgent. Captain Jarvis requests that you join him on the foredeck at once."
"He does?" the Admiral said casually, but he had already sat down his notes and risen from his desk. As he followed the lieutenant to the main deck he asked, in the same casual voice, "Is there anything unusual?"
The lieutenant looked embarrassed. "There is an owl, Sir."
Ashton pushed past the lieutenant and made his way directly to the foredeck where the Captain was waiting. A white owl was perched on the railing beside him.
"It flew on board some fifteen minutes ago, Sir. It has a coded message addressed to you, and will not let any one of us touch it. Otherwise, the bird seems quite tame."
Admiral Ashton nodded. But a Snowy Owl, even a tame one, had never been seen in these waters before. He approached the owl which immediately held out its foot so that he could remove the message. The Admiral paused, then said, "Thank you." Hedwig hooted in response, then buried her head under her wing.
"Captain, find someone who knows what an owl eats and have food and water ready for it when it awakes." Ashton and Jarvis smiled at each other. "I think he, um, it will be staying with us for a while."
They saluted and the Admiral returned to his quarters to read the message. He sat the message down. "Mister Pelton."
"Yes, Sir," a young boy said as he ran in the room and saluted.
"Inform Captain Jarvis that I request his company in my cabin for morning tea."
"Yes, Sir."
"And Pelton."
"Sir?"
"Do not run."
The boy frowned, but saluted. He turned around and walked out of the cabin with an unsteady feeling, as though he was not used to moving so slowly. He delivered his message, and the Captain said he would be delighted. Then the Captain did a strange thing. He said he would tell the Admiral himself, as he had business in that direction.
Young Pelton, who was scarcely older than Colin Creevey, and having the same duties that Colin would, already knew the ways of the ship. He always ran with messages and ran back with replies. He did not know what was going on but he knew it was serious. Then he looked up and noticed the owl.
Captain Smollett looked up from his desk. "Lieutenant, takes these to dispatch and await acknowledgment."
Harry saluted and took the folder of papers. He walked briskly out of the room down the hall and into the dispatcher's office. Then he stood out of the way and waited. He hated his job. His only consolations were that he could wear his full uniform, and that he could go home at the end of every day. The dispatcher called out, "Lieutenant," and Harry took the folder back to Captain Smollett. Harry then went out into the hall and sat in his chair until he was called again.
"Harry," came the call, and Harry jumped. He had not heard his own name, except at home, since he arrived in London. Harry stepped into the office to see Hedwig. The owl gave a hoot and flew to his arm and nuzzled his check. Then she flew to the coatrack, making a perch out of it, and settled herself for a long needed nap.
"Captain," Harry dared, "May I ask?"
Smollett nodded. "The Admiral was correct in his assumptions." That was all he would say, and that would be common knowledge as soon as the word could be spread. But it was enough to cause Harry's heart to falter and to race. They were AT WAR. And he was a part of it. He dreamed and dreaded what things might come.
Lieutenant Lord Robert de Somerset was of mixed emotions. Because of the rush of circumstances, he found himself on board the Caen serving as a Lieutenant. True, he was listed as Eighth Lieutenant, which meant that every regular officer was senior to him, but it also meant that from now on he would always hold the active rank of Lieutenant. One other thing that it meant was that, at thirteen, he would be forced to perform the duties of someone who by rights should have at least two more years experience. If he failed, he would be set back. It would not be held against him because of his age, but . . .
"By the Captain's command, Lieutenant Somerset." Robert looked up to see a boy his age, the Captain's runner.
"Your message, boy," Robert said, trying to mean it, but both boys smiled at the effort.
"Call your men to order for inspection." The boy paused, then whispered "The blond man, Halperin, he's your gunner's mate. Good luck."
Robert nodded. "Inform the Captain we are prepared." As he turned to face the men in the gunnery crew that he commanded, Robert tried but failed at the moment to remember the runner's name. But he did remember the boy from his time on the Hermes.
"You are Halperin, gunner's mate," Robert asked and said.
"Aye, Sir."
"Help and prepare the men for inspection at the Captain's leisure."
"Aye, Sir."
The gunner's mate quickly gave directions to the crew, and the last minute work was finished quickly or hidden out of sight. Robert watched the crew as they worked together and tried to judge their strengths, an easy task when it is not required. When they were ready, the gunner's mate saluted and announced the fact. Robert did not hesitate in his reply. He was an officer. An officer must lead. He must always be sure of himself, even if it turns out he is completely wrong. Robert had prepared himself to reply.
"I may be new to command but I must commend you. My uncle could not have found fault with your preparations."
As Robert turned to face the approaching Captain, he noticed one seaman mouth to another the word, Bristol. By the end of the day, his crew would know who his uncle was, and hopefully apply some of that respect to him. They would be a better crew if they thought he deserved his rank than if they thought he was only a filler. It also helped that Robert had good advice on leadership from someone who was experienced. He may be a filler, but he would prove that he could fill the position.
"Captain on deck," Robert called, and everyone came to attention. The captain walked up to the crew and examined them in detail, then the gunnery. He nodded his satisfaction and told the ships clerk, "Note that everything in this section is in good order." He turned to Robert.
"You are Lieutenant Somerset?"
"Yes, Sir," Robert said even though he had met the Captain the day before at the officers briefing.
"You do not have your sword."
"This is my first commission, Sir. I did not have time."
"Someone did," the Captain said, and his lip quivered in amusement at Robert's surprise. "RUNNER."
The boy from earlier came running around the corner with a sword in his hand which he gave to the Captain. Then he stood off to one side to watch.
"It seems," the Captain said casually, "that someone wanted you to have a particular sword. And it falls to me, because of the shortness of time, to present your sword to you."
"I am honoured, Sir."
"As am I," the Captain said with surprising modesty. "I am proud to pass this sword to a new generation. As you receive honour by this sword, may you give honour to it."
Robert was surprised by the first line until the Captain held the sword out to him. He knew the blade well. It belonged to Lord James Cavanaugh, late Captain of the HRMS Bristol. It had somehow been saved and returned to his family. This was the sword that hung over the fireplace of his Great Uncle, the Duke of Cambridge.
"I will do my duty, Captain. I can do no more."
Robert took the sword, and he and the Captain exchanged salutes. Then the Captain departed to continue his inspection. Robert looked at the eighty-odd men watching him and ordered them to return to their duties. He then went to attach the scabbard to his belt.
"Let me help, Sir," Halperin offered. "You seem nervous, Sir, if I may say so."
"I am," Robert admitted with a light laugh. "I expected a sword, but never this one."
"Are you familiar with the guns, Sir? They are your command."
"Only on paper, I should say. I know what everything should do."
"It does," Halperin said with a laugh of his own, relaxing as he came to know the Lieutenant. Although he was a midshipman, he had the experience, while the young boy in front of him had knowledge. Halperin corrected himself. This was a young man in front of him, eager to learn and eager to succeed. He would grow into his position.
"Excuse me, Lord Somerset," the Second Lieutenant said as they passed in quarters. "I was told that you have a sword."
Robert dutifully took out his sword to show his fellow officer, albeit ten years his senior.
"A marvelous piece," the Lieutenant said. "With your background you should be Captain in a few years."
"You perhaps," Robert replied, happy for the complement, "but they will rank me later for ranking me earlier."
"Nonsense, there have been Captains younger than I. There was one ranked at sixteen, as you well know." He caught Robert's look. "You do not know? But your records show that he trained you?" The Lieutenant paused as his mind caught up with his mouth. He handed the sword back and apologized. "He clearly chose not to discuss the matter. I should not have spoken."
"It is my fault," Robert answered. "I should have known and never thought to ask."
Robert looked with admiration at his command. Six aft guns, 75 pounders, mounted on a rotating platform. He reviewed the men, eight to each gun, the runners, the mechanics, the firemen and the laborers. Then he conferred with the duty officers: The gunner's mate, the two gunner's assistants, and the eighth mate. It was with misgivings that he noted that the eighth mate was the only person younger than he was, but the position of mate was always a learning position. "It is what I should have had," Robert thought but dismissed the idea immediately. He was an officer, and he had to be one.
"I should ask, Mister Halperin, have the men exercised the guns at any time before my arrival?"
"Most have, Sir. Each crew has at least a couple of new men."
Robert nodded. Experienced men were being moved around to give each ship as much quality seamanship as possible. The Caen itself had not even been out of drydock a year, and any ships that were seaworthy was being fitted with all dispatch. In six months, there would be at least ten more dreadnaughts, although they would be older, reactivated, ships.
"We will put them through the paces, then. We shall see how well they run."
Robert tried to remember everything he had been taught about the firepower of a dreadnaught. He also made a point to relate any facts he remembered to the eighth mate. The boy could find himself needing that knowledge.
"Sir," the eighth mate, Marcus, called as he knocked on the door to Robert's cabin. Robert looked up from his bed and rubbed his eyes.
"We sighted Gibralter, Sir."
"Any sail or ship?" Robert asked at once.
"Three sail, one of the lieutenants said," Marcus answered, "but they fled upon sighting us."
"Or went to report," Robert said, and Marcus' grin faded. " Do you know where Mister Halperin is?"
"In his cabin I should think."
"Inform him to meet me on deck at his earliest convenience. I think we . . ."
Robert stopped as the call to general quarters was given. He jumped out of bed and began to dress. There would be no need to send any messages.
"Sir," the runner shouted. "The Captain's compliments. Prepare and ready your guns. Target them starboard when the ship begins its turn." The runner was gone.
"Prepare The Guns. Point to Starboard." Robert called out and the men rushed to their tasks. Out of habit, Robert pulled out his watch and timed them. With five seconds left to the regulation time the guns were loaded and raised. Then the ensorceled platform began to turn them to face the starboard. Robert started at a sudden noise and realized that the forward guns had begun to fire. Then he noticed the ship had begun to turn.
Perhaps a mile away another dreadnaught stood, firing in their direction. Robert pulled out his lensed scope. It had Byzantine markings.
"Number One, Mark The Range."
The first gun fired and everyone who could, watched its flight. It fell short but not by much.
"Raise The Guns Five Degrees. Prepare To Fire."
"Guns Ready," Halperin called out.
"Fire At Once."
The five remaining guns fired simultaneously. Robert smiled as three hit their mark although none seemed to be serious. He felt a small thrill of pride that his estimate had been correct.
"Reload And Fire."
Robert watched the Roumeleian ship as the second round was fired from his guns. A luck of timing had also sent a round from the guns midship as well and the enemy was faced with twelve shells racing toward it. An explosion jolted him so that he could not see the result. A shell had landed just aft of his position.
"Fireman, Check for Damages," Robert called out and turned back to his scope. At least one shell had struck home. There was a notable fire where one of the Byzantine's turrets had been. Also, another shell had struck just above the waterline. The Dreadnaught had already started its turn to retreat. Robert looked forward for other target and gaped. Their turn had brought the full enemy fleet into view.
"I count six Dreadnaughts, Halperin," Robert said as he handed his lense to the gunner's mate. "Not counting the one that is leaving. We have three, unless someone arrived in the night."
"He does, Sir. And a mess of smaller ships," Halperin replied. "Do you hunt duck, Sir?"
"I am London born and bred. Even my country house is still within the borders of the city, although barely."
"They spread out the Greatships but let the smaller ones hug the center. It would be like peppering a brace of ducks from a blind."
Robert grinned as he caught the midshipman's remark. "I may be showing my age, but if you had asked about marbles instead of ducks I would have understood at once. Are the guns ready?"
"Aye, Sir," the eighth mate said, happy to have something to do or say.
"Tell them to fire at will, between those two dreadnaughts." Robert grinned. When the small ships scattered, they would play havoc with the enemy's maneuvers.
A loud explosion was heard and felt, forcing Robert to the deck. He looked behind him to see the far right gun missing. An enemy shell, flying high, had caught the barrel of the gun and exploded. The gun reacted by tearing itself away and vanishing over the far side of the deck. The firemen were already pouring sand on the fires, and at least one other gun was damaged.
"Fire Your Guns," Robert called out. "Fire At Will."
Robert laughed at the results. As the shells landed amidst the frigates and barges, they began to scatter. Except for one which was hit directly amidship. It began to sink almost immediately. Then a second broadside hit the ships. Robert smirked. He was not the only one to think of it, but he was the first. He had to admit though that the other gun crew was better. At least two frigates were hit.
"Probably from the Ville de Paris," Halperin said, as though reading his superior's thoughts.
Robert nodded his agreement. "The Duke de Dauphin always pays for the best."
The Caen, and the other two dreadnaughts finished their turns. They were now heading away from the enemy fleet, but the fleet wasn't following. The sailing ships were crossing the paths of the dreadnaughts which couldn't pursue until they were clear. That meant that His Majesty's fleet had time to complete another turn, out of range, and head back fully prepared. Robert relaxed as he knew he had most of an hour to prepare his station.
"Cease Fire. Gunner crews, report all damage."
"Sir," the gunner's helper said. "Number one gun destroyed. Number two gun disabled. We are repairing now. Six men dead, eighteen wounded, two missing presumed dead."
The thrill of the action was gone and reality was in front of him. Robert nodded as he surveyed the damage, then turned to look at the disarray of the enemy fleet. He also wanted to hide his face. Then Halperin called. "Sir, you should see this."
Robert followed him forward and into a gangway out of sight of the crew. The gunner's mate was holding a bucket. Grateful, Robert grabbed the bucket and began to vomit.
