Mervis Castling, admiral of Iron Sun (Part 2 - The Galley)

Read part 1

By Alex Eldridge

Castling heads down to the galley, ignoring the semi-stunned looks his crewmen give him. The admiral rarely frequents this area of the ship. He is not much personally liked by his men but they respect him, even revere him. He was hailed as the great victor of the Battle of Wimplechester, a brilliant strategic victory so the headlines has said and this had won him acclaim and renown in the Tordassian empire. Really it had just been a bit of shock and awe and some blindsiding that had won the day though. Privately he was far more enamoured of his invasive action at Pround. A small victory to be sure, but significant and much more skilfully achieved. A real smash and grab manoeuvre that one had been.  You don't get to be admiral of a Tordassian fleet without dividing and conquering with style. Even an exiled fleet.

He is hunting for Bosun Briggs. The man can usually be found in the galley, playing gin rummy or poker. He's is a drunkard and a coward - you can see it in his piggy little eyes - but who isn't on this ark of the forsaken? Despite this, the bosun runs a tight ship. Literally. Castling has never seen so much as a loose lug nut.

He is at the table playing five card poker with three other brigands, one named Kanahn in a tank top and the others Castling is not familiar with.

"Throw it in now, Briggs," Kanahn brays in his thick Giltish accent, made thicker by booze. He grins, displaying square teeth too big for his gums, "What would yer wife think if yeh lawst it all fer a shite hand like that? She'd have yer balls for garters, I'd wager!"

Briggs looks out from red rimmed eyes. He is totteringly drunk, but since this is his default mode of operation it doesn't make much difference. "You are wagering my friend. That's the nature of the game," he says softly "And if you want to make a side pot over my balls I can save you the trouble and introduce you to a few friends of mine in 32F. I'm sure they'd be very accommodating to a big strong lad like you." This gets a chuckle but almost as an afterthought he throws down his cards. Four lions. Kanahn spits out the side of his mouth in disgust, chucks a few coins on the table and takes off into the dimly lit galley.

"Sore loser," Briggs says, possibly to himself.

"Bosun Briggs."

Without the slightest touch of surprise, the bosun swivels on his rear and grins up at his commanding officer. "Hello Admiral. I thought you'd like to see me take Kanahn to the cleaners."

"Briggs, I couldn't care less for whatever stupid games you play during your recreation. Walk with me."

The bosun complies, sighing as he shifted his weight off the small barrel and follows his stick thin commanding officer. “Another time boys, deal me out. We’ll square up tomorrow,” he says as he walks away. Then turning to Castling he says "In what way can I serve, my liege?" His tone is just shy of an of impudence that would have annoyed Castling but he too is concerned with other matters to notice.

"The bad news is we're walking into a trap. The good news is that we know about it. There's a valley coming up:  wide mouth, narrow exit."

“That’ll be an ambush."

"That's the technical term."

The bosun scratches his beard. "Shall I ready the men?"

"Most definitely. But not for this ship. I want you to take a garrison wide around both sides. They won't be expecting us tonight and the element of secrecy precludes much defensive posturing."

"You want to draw them into the mouth, and then retreat. Hem them in with a pincer."

"Worked in Sharmashglen."

The bosun chuckles.  "This is not Sharmashglen and Thousand Spears are not Glarshmen. That terrain was a darn side boggier and they didn't have cables to rappel from. It's..." he paused poring over his next word like a wine menu. "It's dicey, my esteemed overlord. If they pull up before you get a chance..."

"I understand, the consequences of failure. You don't get to be an admiral without appreciating risk, Briggs.”

"I presume most don't wind up trawling the sands of Korash in a dune frigate, either" the bosun sniffs. Immediately, he realises that he has gone too far, touched a wound too fresh and raw, "Forgive me, sir, that was… out of line."

Castling gives him a look that could wither steel. "Ready the troops," he breathes.

(to be continued...)