7 Deadly Sins - Wrath by Latin Cat
AUTHOR: latin_cat
TITLE: “Battle-Fever”
SIN: Wrath
RATING: 12
PAIRING: Hornblower/Bush
WORD COUNT: 557
WARNINGS: Violence, of the shipboard battle kind.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, and never will be.
SUMMARY: Aboard the Renown, during the battle with the escaped Spanish prisoners.
”But Bush inflamed with a fighting madness was an enemy to be feared… He knew nothing, and during those mad minutes he thought nothing save to fight against these enemies, to re-conquer the ship by the strength of his single arm.”
'Lieutenant Hornblower’, p. 223
No one would have called William Bush a naturally violent man. He shouted a lot, he frowned a lot and was sure that he put the fear of the Articles into the hands and midshipmen; yet he was not a violent man. He had been careful to cultivate the belief amongst the lower deck that he could see through deck beams; that no misdemeanour could escape his attention and would therefore not go unpunished. Yet he was not a violent man.
All of this, his supposed ‘style of command’, he had worked on since he’d received his first commission on a King’s ship. It had worked for him, though with this commission on the Renown he had not needed to worry about conspiracy or misdemeanour - Captain Sawyer being obsessed with that, and the wrong kind of conspiracy, had been more than enough for one ship to cope with; but when Buckland took over command after the captain’s accident the Premier had been more than thankful that he had the support of a third lieutenant whom the men both feared and respected. But Buckland had also been grateful that, though often thought to be angry, Bush was not violent. The last thing he needed was the crew to mutiny due to swapping one sort of hard-horse for another.
And Hornblower knew that Bush was not a violent man. He knew the second lieutenant to be loyal, reliable and as capable of tender feeling as any human being. The kisses they had shared in quiet seclusion and the gentle rake of teeth across his bare shoulder had proved that much to him.
But Bush knew them to be wrong. He knew with absolutely certainly as he stood in the shadow of one of the Renown’s knees, as he cocked his pistol and prepared to deliver death to the seething mob that were the escaped Spanish prisoners, that he was a violent man - and any second now the madness of that violence would rise up like a great wave and possess him, body and soul. It would drive him on; drive him to kill, to scream and roar, to kill and kill until he was killed himself or there was no one left to kill.
And as he pulled the trigger and flint struck steel, he felt glad to be carried away in that madness. The Spaniards had thought to slaughter them all, to slit their throats as they slept perhaps and take the Renown for their own; maybe even laying on some further subterfuge to lure the accompanying ships and the good British sailors in them to similar, unsuspecting death. But Bush would stop them, now that open warfare was declared and the whole ship roused, hell-bent on victory. These Dons would feel the bite of Lieutenant Bush’s wrath.
For once he welcomed the hate, the simple primeval bloodlust that sent all of his malice and desire for revenge spinning along with the bullet to rip open a Spaniard’s throat. In this battle there would be no quarter, for the Spaniards would have shown them no mercy.
They rushed him screaming like wild animals; one of them wielding a belaying pin, intent on crushing his skull. His sword leapt from its scabbard as if of its own accord, the edge of the blade bright in the lamplight as it struck forward like the steel tongue of a serpent.
“Renowns! Renowns! Here, Renowns! Come on!”
He roared, and all was battle-fever.
TITLE: “Battle-Fever”
SIN: Wrath
RATING: 12
PAIRING: Hornblower/Bush
WORD COUNT: 557
WARNINGS: Violence, of the shipboard battle kind.
DISCLAIMER: Not mine, and never will be.
SUMMARY: Aboard the Renown, during the battle with the escaped Spanish prisoners.
”But Bush inflamed with a fighting madness was an enemy to be feared… He knew nothing, and during those mad minutes he thought nothing save to fight against these enemies, to re-conquer the ship by the strength of his single arm.”
'Lieutenant Hornblower’, p. 223
No one would have called William Bush a naturally violent man. He shouted a lot, he frowned a lot and was sure that he put the fear of the Articles into the hands and midshipmen; yet he was not a violent man. He had been careful to cultivate the belief amongst the lower deck that he could see through deck beams; that no misdemeanour could escape his attention and would therefore not go unpunished. Yet he was not a violent man.
All of this, his supposed ‘style of command’, he had worked on since he’d received his first commission on a King’s ship. It had worked for him, though with this commission on the Renown he had not needed to worry about conspiracy or misdemeanour - Captain Sawyer being obsessed with that, and the wrong kind of conspiracy, had been more than enough for one ship to cope with; but when Buckland took over command after the captain’s accident the Premier had been more than thankful that he had the support of a third lieutenant whom the men both feared and respected. But Buckland had also been grateful that, though often thought to be angry, Bush was not violent. The last thing he needed was the crew to mutiny due to swapping one sort of hard-horse for another.
And Hornblower knew that Bush was not a violent man. He knew the second lieutenant to be loyal, reliable and as capable of tender feeling as any human being. The kisses they had shared in quiet seclusion and the gentle rake of teeth across his bare shoulder had proved that much to him.
But Bush knew them to be wrong. He knew with absolutely certainly as he stood in the shadow of one of the Renown’s knees, as he cocked his pistol and prepared to deliver death to the seething mob that were the escaped Spanish prisoners, that he was a violent man - and any second now the madness of that violence would rise up like a great wave and possess him, body and soul. It would drive him on; drive him to kill, to scream and roar, to kill and kill until he was killed himself or there was no one left to kill.
And as he pulled the trigger and flint struck steel, he felt glad to be carried away in that madness. The Spaniards had thought to slaughter them all, to slit their throats as they slept perhaps and take the Renown for their own; maybe even laying on some further subterfuge to lure the accompanying ships and the good British sailors in them to similar, unsuspecting death. But Bush would stop them, now that open warfare was declared and the whole ship roused, hell-bent on victory. These Dons would feel the bite of Lieutenant Bush’s wrath.
For once he welcomed the hate, the simple primeval bloodlust that sent all of his malice and desire for revenge spinning along with the bullet to rip open a Spaniard’s throat. In this battle there would be no quarter, for the Spaniards would have shown them no mercy.
They rushed him screaming like wild animals; one of them wielding a belaying pin, intent on crushing his skull. His sword leapt from its scabbard as if of its own accord, the edge of the blade bright in the lamplight as it struck forward like the steel tongue of a serpent.
“Renowns! Renowns! Here, Renowns! Come on!”
He roared, and all was battle-fever.