HMS Aurora: A Charles Mullins Novel (Sea Command Book 3) by Richard Testrake Page A
Book: HMS Aurora: A Charles Mullins Novel (Sea Command Book 3) by Richard Testrake
Read Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Testrake
Ads: Link
vicious recoil, and the rock split. Intrigued, the general aimed the other pistol at one of the halves, and that piece was turned into so much gravel. Bonaparte returned the emptied guns to Dooley, pronounced his satisfaction with Dooley’s account and ordered his freedom.
Chapter Eight
Dooley stood there, embarrassed and astonished that he was still alive and not restrained in any way. He watched General Bonaparte and his staff trot off to look over the encampment. From his position, he could see this was a more than a mere coastal gun battery. Men were swarming like bees now behind the sea wall, clearing land from trees and brush. Several buildings were being erected, and this looked very like a permanent installation.
To the rear, some low-lying structures had been erected that he had seen before. Dug into the ground, with mortared stone foundations, these looked very like gunpowder magazines. Many were seemingly empty, with others still under construction. A cluster of six structures by themselves however, had a guard in front who looked as though he took himself seriously.
Dooley, realizing he was going to look foolish if he returned after all of his talk without having so much as laid a finger on Bonaparte. Perhaps, if these magazines were stocked with munitions, he could at least make a little noise.
Since the general had waved him off, no one had paid any attention to him. He felt that was sure to change in the near future. Guards and sentries abounded and details of infantry troops patrolled constantly throughout the encampment.
Approaching the nearest magazine, he noticed the sentry had entered the building. After waiting vainly for the sentry to emerge, he decided to see if he could bluff his way inside. The agent casually went to the entrance as though he had business and stepped down into the dark interior. The place was dimly lit by a single lantern set into a recess in the stone wall, behind a glass window.
The interior of the structure was packed with small, oaken barrels of gunpowder. The guard formerly stationed outside, was seated on one of the kegs, leaning back with his eyes closed, comfortably smoking his pipe. A freshly opened bottle of wine sat on a keg by the sentry. Amazed that any sane person would smoke and drink in the midst of these explosives, Dooley pondered his options.
A few pieces of discarded lumber littered the floor, some of them being used to keep the full kegs off the ground. As he watched the sentry take a pull from his wine bottle, he realized the soldat had no idea of his presence. Bending over slowly, he picked up a length of lumber. An oaken two by four, it felt heavy in his hand and he knew it would make a serious dent in the guard’s head.
When the guard’s pipe went out, he arose and lit a splinter of wood from the wall lantern to get the tobacco burning again. While on his feet, he stood against the wall, relieving himself against the stone. While he was so engaged, Dooley crept up from behind and smashed his head with the club.
Retrieving the guard’s fallen pipe, he extinguished the embers, not wanting to have a premature explosion. While engaged in that, a shadow darkened the interior as someone stepped through the entrance. Caught by surprise, Dooley snatched up the only weapon he could see, the guard’s Charleville Pattern musket.
As the newcomer called for the guard, Dooley cocked the weapon, not knowing whether it was loaded or even primed. From the dim light, Dooley could see this was a junior officer, probably not old enough to shave yet. While he had no serious compunctions about killing any enemy soldier, he realized he would prefer not to seriously injure a lad as young as this one. This officer carried no weapon save for a straight sword on his side.
Holding his finger in front of his lips, he gestured for the man to keep his silence. Addressing the officer in French, he asked him to identify himself. The man replied in a
Chapter Eight
Dooley stood there, embarrassed and astonished that he was still alive and not restrained in any way. He watched General Bonaparte and his staff trot off to look over the encampment. From his position, he could see this was a more than a mere coastal gun battery. Men were swarming like bees now behind the sea wall, clearing land from trees and brush. Several buildings were being erected, and this looked very like a permanent installation.
To the rear, some low-lying structures had been erected that he had seen before. Dug into the ground, with mortared stone foundations, these looked very like gunpowder magazines. Many were seemingly empty, with others still under construction. A cluster of six structures by themselves however, had a guard in front who looked as though he took himself seriously.
Dooley, realizing he was going to look foolish if he returned after all of his talk without having so much as laid a finger on Bonaparte. Perhaps, if these magazines were stocked with munitions, he could at least make a little noise.
Since the general had waved him off, no one had paid any attention to him. He felt that was sure to change in the near future. Guards and sentries abounded and details of infantry troops patrolled constantly throughout the encampment.
Approaching the nearest magazine, he noticed the sentry had entered the building. After waiting vainly for the sentry to emerge, he decided to see if he could bluff his way inside. The agent casually went to the entrance as though he had business and stepped down into the dark interior. The place was dimly lit by a single lantern set into a recess in the stone wall, behind a glass window.
The interior of the structure was packed with small, oaken barrels of gunpowder. The guard formerly stationed outside, was seated on one of the kegs, leaning back with his eyes closed, comfortably smoking his pipe. A freshly opened bottle of wine sat on a keg by the sentry. Amazed that any sane person would smoke and drink in the midst of these explosives, Dooley pondered his options.
A few pieces of discarded lumber littered the floor, some of them being used to keep the full kegs off the ground. As he watched the sentry take a pull from his wine bottle, he realized the soldat had no idea of his presence. Bending over slowly, he picked up a length of lumber. An oaken two by four, it felt heavy in his hand and he knew it would make a serious dent in the guard’s head.
When the guard’s pipe went out, he arose and lit a splinter of wood from the wall lantern to get the tobacco burning again. While on his feet, he stood against the wall, relieving himself against the stone. While he was so engaged, Dooley crept up from behind and smashed his head with the club.
Retrieving the guard’s fallen pipe, he extinguished the embers, not wanting to have a premature explosion. While engaged in that, a shadow darkened the interior as someone stepped through the entrance. Caught by surprise, Dooley snatched up the only weapon he could see, the guard’s Charleville Pattern musket.
As the newcomer called for the guard, Dooley cocked the weapon, not knowing whether it was loaded or even primed. From the dim light, Dooley could see this was a junior officer, probably not old enough to shave yet. While he had no serious compunctions about killing any enemy soldier, he realized he would prefer not to seriously injure a lad as young as this one. This officer carried no weapon save for a straight sword on his side.
Holding his finger in front of his lips, he gestured for the man to keep his silence. Addressing the officer in French, he asked him to identify himself. The man replied in a
Similar Books
