Times of Destiny by Geoff Cumbley

Author:Geoff Cumbley
Language: eng
Format: azw3
ISBN: 9781504934909
Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
Published: 2017-05-29T04:00:00+00:00

The captain of the Royal-Louis put an extra man on the helm, but the time he had wasted was paying dividends for the Royal Navy ship. There was no escape. The ship with no name passed the French at ideal range, and each cannon fired as it came to bear on the enemy’s stern. A cannonball found an ammunition storage area. The explosion blew the back of the ship away, bringing her rear mast crashing down and intense heat to some men aboard the Royal Naval vessel. The bow of the stricken ship rose as water poured into her.

Screams of pain and terror came to the ears of Captain Peters’s crew. It being their first experience of war, the young midshipmen suffered from shock, their faces drained of any colour.

The Royal-Louis sank fast, taking many of her crew with her. Survivors treaded water; many bodies floated around them. Captain Peters summoned the marine commander Captain Latimer to the quarter deck.

“There are to be no witnesses to what happened here,” Captain Peters said. “We have no room for prisoners. You understand me, Captain?”

Latimer hesitated. “Yes, sir.”

“Ireton, put your best men aloft. We cannot afford to be surprised ourselves.”

The bosun nodded and chose the men himself.

Peters watched as Latimer spoke to his men. Their faces registered disgust, but they appeared to come to terms with the order. The vessel circled the men in the sea. At first the shooting was heavy, but as the death toll mounted, it naturally became sporadic. The men in the water dived deep, but shortage of breath forced them back to the surface and their inevitable fate. The English ship fired on pieces of wreckage that might have people clinging to them. This disagreeable situation lasted for an hour before Peters ordered the ceasefire. Everyone looked at the carnage: bodies and debris floated everywhere; there was no sign of life.

“Take us home, Ireton.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Matthew Peters went to his cabin. Alone, he opened a bottle of whisky. Little of its contents remained after only a short time, and he noted his hands were shaking.

“Damn war,” he muttered.

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