Man Of War Ch 08

Year 2183 of the Empire (since Foundation Year)

Year 979 of the Third Era of Empire (Dragonheart Line)

Martis, the thirteenth day of First Seed

Mid-morning

The number thirteen has always been considered an unlucky number, and to a superstitious sailor, extra prayers are sent to every god imaginable to keep a sailor safe whenever the date turns thirteen. And before the date hit thirteen, our moods were always low. On the ninth day of First Seed, Saturni, the weather took a turn for the worse. We had experienced storms at sea between the coast and the reef.

A storm while journeying across the ocean was a thing unimaginable. The barrelman at the crow's nest was the first to call out the warning of the incoming dark clouds. A few of us gathered at the bow, watching the grey near black clouds approach. "The gods are angry," I heard Pressly mutter.

There was no time to waste. This looked like it would be the storm to end all storms. "Batten down the hatches. Secure the rigging and sails. Anyone not required on deck, get them below," I ordered, turning towards my officers, "You know your jobs. Get the

Normandy

secure before it arrives. This is going to get nasty."

The whole lot saluted and hurried off to their stations. I could hear orders being yelled, but it wasn't just the yelling that captured the attention, I could hear the concern in their tones. I didn't blame them one bit. Already the ocean was starting to swell, a sure sign that the sea would soon turn rough, and only the skill of sailors and the will of the gods would see us through.

When it arrived, the storm battered us immediately. I stood at the bridge and would not move until we were through, or until I was so thoroughly exhausted, I would need carrying to quarters. Moreau had roped his hands and arms to the wheel, insisting he would remain too. Master Pressly looped rope around his waist and then to the quarterdeck railing. The one main fear any man on deck had was of being swept overboard. If that happened during a storm, the only outcome was death.

The Ninth of First Seed was our worst day at sea so far. Waves towered over us, covering the deck in saltwater, throwing our ship around as if it was weightless. The wind was relentless, though it was not a cold wind. The water was cool but the wind surprisingly warm. That might help the crew not suffer the after effects of being soaked for hours on end.

By the Thirteenth of First Seed, we were all exhausted on our feet. Barely any of us had slept since the Ninth. Apparently the decks below were covered in vomit as even the hardiest of sailors had to give in. The only words muttered by any man by now, whether officer or enlisted man, was of a prayer to the Five, to keep us safe, to keep us alive, to get us through the storm.

The bravest man on the

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was the barrelman high above us. There was no chance we could hear a word he said, so he was given a red cloth so we could see it against the white sails or black sky. He was given one instruction. To wave that cloth if he saw clear skies anywhere around us. For four days now, we had not seen that red cloth.

We were all drenched. Tired. Irritable. Hungry. But we ate little food. Many of us would just throw it up again later. As captain, I should remain calm and in charge at all times, but even I was irritated by now, my orders short and curt. The men and women below me would understand. They were suffering even more than I. But tiredness was the main problem. Sailors hated sleeping during the storms. If you were asleep and the worst happened, the chances of getting out were slim. More than one boat of the Empire had sunk during a storm, and it was fact that the lower the deck, the less chance of survival. Being a sailor was a brutal life at times, the chance of death sometimes high, and the way one could die could be utterly horrific.

The angles at which the

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was riding the waves defied belief, and I could only hope everything below my feet was secured. I know stewards immediately secured everything in the officer's quarters. Cannons would be wheeled and held by rope in a fashion which would hopefully stop them rolling back and forth, gods forbidding if the rope snapped. I'd heard more than one story of men being crushed by out of control cannons.

Standing on the quarterdeck, feeling the

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plummet down a wave as if falling down a mountain, only to immediately rise up and climb as if climbing that same mountain. The incline was sometime so steep, I was sure we would capsize. But Moreau had kept us safe so far. He knew exactly what to do. Never turn on a wave, except if our angle was so steep, we'd roll over. But a line of men remained on deck, shouting what they could see around us, hoping to guide us towards still water. There was no real such thing during a storm. It was more in hope than expectation.

I checked my pocket watch. It was now mid-afternoon. All I wanted was sleep. I don't think that was too much to ask. I was thankful I didn't feel too cold, though I wanted out of my wet clothes. Once the storm past, and I had a chance, I would strip until I was nude and walk around my cabin that way until I felt dry once again.

"Sir!" Pressly called out, "The flag! The flag!"

I looked up to see the barrelman waving the red flag, almost in desperation. Through the wind and the rain, it was impossible to hear his shouts. I'm sure he could barely see me. I took out my white handkerchief and signalled him in return. Incredibly bravely, he climbed out of the nest and clambered down the rigging. More than once he lost footing, and I was sure I was about to see him plummet. But he made it to the deck and ran towards us, stopping to salute. "Daylight, sir."

"Which way, sailor?"

Pressly called him to the compass and gave him a very quick lesson. The sailor understood and managed to relay what he thought. He turned and pointed. "That way. You should see the first blue sky in minutes."

"Moreau, turn twenty degrees to port immediately." Pressly then looked at me as this would be my decision. Slow and careful or hard and fast?

"Boatswain, hoist the sails and unfurl the spinnaker. We're getting the hell out of this storm!"

"Aye-aye, sir!"

Turning to the barrelman, I said, "Head below decks, sailor. Send your replacement up."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

With the wind at our backs and the sails now billowing, the

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surged forward. The sea was still treacherous, but knowing that daylight beckoned, and hopefully calmer seas, after four days of it, everyone would have happily taken this chance to escape. I had no idea what speed in knots we were soon doing. I wasn't concerned about that. I just wanted out of the damned storm. The ship still rode the waves, but with each passing minute, at the speed we were now surging, we could feel the swell of the waves drop, each ride taking less time and nowhere near as steep.

It was dark by the time we'd escaped the worse, and I wasn't the only one to feel a sense of relief when the clouds above us started to part, and for the first time in days, we could see the stars and faint moonlight. Moreau, who'd barely left the wheel the entire time, practically slumped against it, Pressly and I immediately grabbing him, untying the ropes that had cut into his wrists and arms, and we helped him back to his cot, where he'd built himself at least a cover from the worst of the weather.

"Call the night helmsman, Mister Pressly. But give it another couple of hours, and we're going to drop anchor and clear up. We all need a rest."

"Aye, sir. I'll pass the word."

I looked down to see Moreau was already asleep. I had nothing dry to cover him with but at least the rain had stopped, and it still wasn't cold. I figured he should be okay.

Gathering the officers around, I stared issuing orders. Damage assessments and conditions of the decks. Conditions of the men. Prepare the doctor's for an influx of patients. I asked Leliana to head down the next morning to help out. Once the sun rose the next day, we'd check the sails and send men over the side to assess any damage to the hull. It was doubtful, but better being safe than sorry.

I ordered anchor to drop once the ocean felt calm enough. Glancing back from the stern, it was clear even to me that the storm was heading away from our position. Walking to the bow, there was nothing but clear night sky. I couldn't help lean forward, hands against the side of the ship, the tiredness near enough overwhelming me.

"Are you okay, sir?"

"I'm fine, Lieutenant. Like everyone else, just a little tired and worn out." I turned back to Miranda, who looked very pale in the moonlight. "How are you?"

"I think my stomach is still doing loops, and I could sleep for a day."

"We'll get the ship in working order first, then I'll give everyone a chance to relax and recover. Hopefully the sun comes out and we can dry ourselves out at the same time."

She groaned. "I haven't even looked at our wardroom yet."

"The floor will be wet, but as long as everything was secure, it should be fine."

Wandering back to my quarters, Jeeves and a couple of sailors were helping return my cabin to normalcy. I'd barely been inside it during the entire storm, sleeping for no longer than an hour or two at a time. My bed looked warm and inviting, but first I needed something to eat, then fill in the official log and write in my diary. Jeeves offered me a drink, which I declined, though asked for a little food to be brought in.

Thankfully my cabin was relatively dry, the windows and doors being shut to keep the worst of the weather out. The floor was a little wet, but that was simply part of life at sea. Everything got wet eventually.

Jane returned a couple of hours later to report. "Apart from everything being rather wet and out of position, I think we managed to get through it relatively unscathed. There are a dozen injured sailors requiring immediate medical treatment, two quite serious. One sailor had both legs broken by a loose cannon, another has a broken arm from falling badly."

"Prognosis for the sailor with broken legs?"

She blanched slightly. The news was obviously going to be horrible. "Double amputation, sir. The bone has come through the skin."

"Shit..." His days as a sailor were well and truly over, and that's if he survived the amputation. "The broken arm?"

"That can be reset, sir."

"And the others?"

"Some major bruising and some cuts, but nothing a little bedrest won't help fix." I sighed with a little relief. It could have been a whole lot worse. "We've dropped anchor, sir?"

"We could keep sailing, but considering we're alone in the middle of the ocean, we can take a little time to get the ship back in order. The Night Watch should be on shift now, Jane. Take some time to relax and get some sleep."

She didn't salute and leave immediately, so figuring we were alone, I got to my feet and gave her a hug. She wasn't frightened or scared. She was exhausted, out on her feet, and simply wanted her big brother for a moment. I heard her yawn as she rested her head against my chest, so I figured she'd be in bed within minutes of returning to the ward room. "Thank you for getting us through all that, Captain."

"Give thanks to the Quartermaster in the morning, Jane. He's one hell of a pilot."

"I'll make sure I do that," she said, making sure she kissed my cheek before disappearing.

Returning to the main room of my cabin, the table and chairs were now back in place, taking a seat at the table. Within a couple of minutes, Jeeves had a glass of brandy placed in front of me. "You look like you need a drink, sire."

"Thank you, Jeeves."

"My pleasure, sire."

"Will you have one later?"

"As soon as this place is ship shape again, I will join you, sire."

I sipped at the brandy as officers occasionally walked in, offered a salute, then reported the condition of the ship and crew. The best news? Our stores and supplies were absolutely fine, being as they were far below. Losing food and water can send a shockwave of worry through a crew. The worst news, apart from the injured men, was that a number of sails had torn and would need mending or replacing, while some rigging was completely ruined, ropes in such a mess that it was quicker just replacing it rather than trying to unknot it all. So it was luck that we were now at anchor and we could start repairs the next morning.

Taking a last wander outside, I stood on the quarterdeck and looked up at the heavens. The cloud was continuing to thin out and ever more stars were appearing. After the previous three or four days, the immediate sense of calm was overwhelming. The peace was only broken by the loud snores of Moreau, who had more than earned his rest. He was the type of sailor every officer loved. Work hard and give his all while on duty. He would certainly be rewarded upon returning to port.

"A beautiful night," an accented voice stated quietly beside me.

"I don't think I'm the only one who's prayed for it." I glanced at her, though it was darker than normal, so I couldn't see her face as well. "How are your quarters?"

"Better than I imagined they would be. My bed is dry, at least. I'm still, well, damp."

"It's something you do have to get used to. If the weather is fine, you'll be dry. But once you hit a storm like what we've just experienced, it takes days for everything to dry out. Surprisingly, it does the boat a world of good." Though we conversed quietly, it was overshadowed by the continued loud snores, noticing Leliana slightly lean forward before having a quiet giggle to herself. "Gods, I'm glad none of my fellow officers' snore that badly."

I offered my arm and escorted her back towards my quarters. "Did you hold evening prayers tonight?"

"No. The men are too busy getting the ship back in order."

"We can pray together in here. I have a small statue to Venti in my quarters."

"I've noticed it before." She lowered her head to loop the necklace off. "And I can add my necklace for Dibella."

After grabbing the statue, I placed that on the desk near the windows. She looped the necklace around the statue, and after grabbing a blanket to protect our knees, we lowered ourselves down. Leliana grabbed my hand as we prayed, giving thanks for our survival and asking for good weather again going forward. At least, that's what I prayed for. I'm not sure what she prayed for. One never asked. Faith was mostly a private affair, and prayers were not usually shared.

We had to admit exhaustion once we were done. I was barely able to open my eyes once we were finished, Leliana yawning more than once. Returning to the wardroom, her fellow officers had made a start on getting it ship-shape, but it was no surprise most had already turned in for the night. I escorted Leliana all the way to her small cabin. Turning to face me, we shared an all too brief but wonderful kiss, though I wasn't thinking of anything except the warm bed waiting for me upstairs. If it wasn't for the fact I was so damn tired, I'd have offered her to join me. But I think we both just needed sleep, and lots of it.

Back in my private quarters, I undressed, grabbed something to wipe my down to at least feel slightly dry, before sliding under my blankets for the first time in days. My book remained untouched, instead blowing out the candle, and I'm sure I passed out immediately.

*****

Year 2183 of the Empire (since Foundation Year)

Year 979 of the Third Era of Empire (Dragonheart Line)

Veneris, the sixteenth day of First Seed

Mid-morning

The

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suffered its first loss since leaving Arcturus. The young sailor who'd broken both his legs died during the amputation procedure. It was always a risky operation. The doctor's naturally blamed themselves for losing their patient, believing that they could have done something else. I naturally absolved them of any responsibility, stating the young, brave sailor had instead been called by the gods, for him to join at their side.

All deaths were commemorated the same way. The body would be wrapped in a sail, usually one that had been torn and would not be used again. The body would be placed on the deck, officers and enlisted men lined up. Leliana gave a speech, speaking grandly about the bravery of sailors facing the elements and how, in death, we all return to the sides of the gods, or we would find ourselves in Elysium, where we would join the heroes of the Empire.

Six sailors would lift the plank of wood on the body was placed, and the entire ship would salute as the body was carried to the side of the ship. The board on which the body was carried would then be lowered over the side, and the body would be dropped into the water. Most sailors were aware of what happened to the body afterwards, though we would find comfort in the lies we told ourselves, that Neptune, the God of Water, would carry our spirit to the gods.

Funerals were always sombre, solemn affairs, though after each one, the captain of the vessel would award a doubling of the rum ration. Though work was still to be completed, the sailor would have had many friends within the rank and file, and a period of remembrance and reflection should always be given.

It was also a reminder of how harsh life at sea really was. The young man had been unlucky to find himself crushed by a cannon, but each man knew how lucky that it was not them instead. The gods had no plans for us. Some simply believed it was fate, otherwise believed it was luck. I merely wanted lessons learn from any death. No death should be senseless. There was a host of bad luck in the fact the rope holding the cannon in place had snapped, but next time, the sailors would use two ropes to hold them in place. If there was one thing a ship had an abundance of, it was rope.

Leliana held her regular evening service on Veneris, and she eventually needed to hold three that night. One for all the officers, commissioned or not, and then two for the enlisted men and women. She spoke wonderfully, bringing more than one of my fellow officers to tears, as the words flowed. She held not a book. It was simply from her heart and mind. Death always stalked us, though it was not something anyone dared speak of. But the way she spoke of it, of the young man who had joined the gods, or was now in Elysium, my admiration for her, for her faith as well as her love for the common man, only increased.

By the time she'd finished her third sermon, she was mentally drained and emotionally exhausted. She immediately came to me in my quarters, and once she was in my arms, burst into tears. How she'd held it together since the funeral service earlier that day, I'm not entirely sure. "Your words were beautiful, Leliana," I said quietly, stroking the back of her head as she buried it into my chest.

"I've never done something like it before," she admitted, "It was so difficult seeing their faces. Watching these hard men, many who had probably been sailing all their lives and seen their share of death, shed tears of hurt and pain as they said goodbye to one of their companions..."

"We have been fortunate so far."

"There'll be more?" she asked quietly.

"Honestly, I'll be surprised if there isn't many more considering the journey we're on."

She remained silent for a couple of minutes before nodding against me. "I can do it, Shepard. It is my responsibility, my role on this vessel. I will ensure their spirits are prepared to meet the gods."

"And my admiration for you increases again."

That made her giggle. "Only admiration?" She lifted her head from my chest and looked at me. Tears still looked ready to fall, though I wiped her cheeks with one of my thumbs. Then she kissed me. She kissed me hard, almost catching me by surprise. I just pulled her close as possible and held her tightly as we did. I'm not sure how long we kissed for. Long enough that by the time we broke apart, I think we were both looking rather flushed. "Can I stay in your quarters tonight, Shepard?"