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in
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"The Devil's Arithmetic" (Hornblower, PG)
By Lokei
Rating: PG
Universe: Hornblower
Characters: Pellew
Disclaimer: I would not presume to the ownership of Captain Sir Edward Pellew or any of his crew. I just like borrowing CSF’s universe and taking it for a sail.
Author’s Note: A belated birthday present for
romanticalgirl.
= = = = =
The nib scratched the page in its usual manner, heedless of its wielder’s mounting frustration as he tallied kegs of powder used in the action, ship’s cannon left behind but rendered unfit for use by the enemy, marines injured or killed, and the assumed destruction of the entire French Royalist military force.
At the end of the list, Pellew sighed and wiped his ink-besmirched fingers on his handkerchief before applying them to his temples. Disaster made for a devil of a tally to send off to the Admiralty, and he doubted a single one of them sitting comfortably in their marble halls would take more than a cursory notice of the reproachful column of numbers. Pellew envied them their white-wigged blindness: to him the even black figures were a merciless reminder that all this mess could have been avoided had they not decided to conceal the fact that the mission was compromised from the start. He flexed his fingers and took momentary pleasure in the pain in his palms: the blisters from his unexpected bout as an oarsman were healing nicely, and did much to absolve his conscience for sending his men into certain defeat with little more than a strongly worded warning.
He had, after all, gotten the Indefatigable to the right place at the right time to prevent a total loss, and that was the first mark in the infinitely preferable “recovered” column. Recovered: all three of his officers, most of his crew, as well as the majority of Major Edrington’s men. Though the state they were in…Pellew frowned. Yes, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Bowles, and Mr. Hornblower had all survived their ill-fated excursion onto French soil, but at least one of them was bearing the scars of loss even without visible injury.
Pellew was not certain he wanted to know the particulars of the unfortunate death of this female civilian as hinted at by Major Edrington, but he could guess enough. Young Hornblower took the loss of each individual life hard-Pellew had noticed that from the beginning. A difficult way to go through life when your life was so wrapped in the business of war, but a valuable one. The passion with which Hornblower had attempted to get medical attention for a member of his gun crew in his very first battle had attracted Pellew’s eye from the start, and each successive attempt the young midshipman turned lieutenant made to redeem or rescue another-the miserable Bunting for instance, or even young Mr. Kennedy-proved to the captain that this was a man who understood the value of each person under his command. Eventually Hornblower would make an impressive officer with such an attitude.
Sadly, to make a truly estimable officer, Hornblower would also have to learn a certain level of detachment, to keep himself sane if for no other reason. And speaking of detachment, Pellew suspected that was a lesson hard learned for young Mr. Kennedy as well. Perhaps he would be the one to help Hornblower through this-Pellew’s own guts and duty speech but a few minutes ago had been a start only.
He folded up his report for the moment and called for the marine stationed outside his door. “Pass the word for Mr. Kennedy, if you please.”
The acting lieutenant appeared in his doorway with a commendable promptitude and a respectful ‘sir’ that did nothing to conceal the strain around his eyes.
“Mr. Kennedy, your report on the situation just past, if you please.”
Kennedy looked surprised. “Sir?”
“You are an officer of this ship, are you not, Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I expect your report on the action recently undertaken in France.”
“Yes, sir.” Kennedy paused and raised his chin-a mannerism Pellew very much suspected might have been unconsciously borrowed from his friend Mr. Hornblower. “The French leadership was preoccupied with repossessing the town, we were left to guard the bridge and Major Edrington’s forces at the ford. Despite Mr. Hornblower’s efforts to engage our French allies in support of our mandate, they persisted with their own concerns and after sporadic fire, we were overwhelmed. We blew the bridge and retreated to the beach.”
His eyes remained curious. “I believe this tallies with the reports given by Mr. Hornblower and Major Edrington?”
“Yes,” Pellew agreed slowly. “But each person’s report is colored by his own…preoccupations, was the word I believe you used?”
“Mr. Hornblower’s attempts to persuade Colonel Moncoutant were necessary. It was unfortunate that they were also unsuccessful.” Strain in Kennedy’s eyes again, and Pellew doubted very much that the acting lieutenant knew just how much his own preoccupations were showing in that exchange.
“But he did succeed in winning some…sympathy among the townsfolk which was eventually of aid, did he not?”
“He did.” Kennedy’s lips were thin and his face carefully blank. Yes, Mr. Kennedy had learned a certain amount of detachment-if one cannot be entirely detached, one can preserve the appearance of it. In Pellew’s understanding, wartime prisons were excellent schools for such things, and Kennedy had certainly seen enough of those.
“Our Mr. Hornblower is taking the losses of this debacle too much to heart,” Pellew startled the young lieutenant with his sudden switch to the warmth and geniality of two adults sharing worries over a fractious child. “I know you have great influence with Mr. Hornblower, and I am hoping you will be able to help him put the past few days in perspective.”
Kennedy blinked for a few minutes. “I shall do my best, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. That will be all.”
As the door closed behind the exiting lieutenant, Pellew allowed himself a small smile. One lieutenant chivvied back to confidence and another given back a sense of importance and self-respect in the doing of it-he’d take those kinds of numbers any day.
Now all he had to do was finish the damnable report.
Rating: PG
Universe: Hornblower
Characters: Pellew
Disclaimer: I would not presume to the ownership of Captain Sir Edward Pellew or any of his crew. I just like borrowing CSF’s universe and taking it for a sail.
Author’s Note: A belated birthday present for
romanticalgirl.
= = = = =
The nib scratched the page in its usual manner, heedless of its wielder’s mounting frustration as he tallied kegs of powder used in the action, ship’s cannon left behind but rendered unfit for use by the enemy, marines injured or killed, and the assumed destruction of the entire French Royalist military force.
At the end of the list, Pellew sighed and wiped his ink-besmirched fingers on his handkerchief before applying them to his temples. Disaster made for a devil of a tally to send off to the Admiralty, and he doubted a single one of them sitting comfortably in their marble halls would take more than a cursory notice of the reproachful column of numbers. Pellew envied them their white-wigged blindness: to him the even black figures were a merciless reminder that all this mess could have been avoided had they not decided to conceal the fact that the mission was compromised from the start. He flexed his fingers and took momentary pleasure in the pain in his palms: the blisters from his unexpected bout as an oarsman were healing nicely, and did much to absolve his conscience for sending his men into certain defeat with little more than a strongly worded warning.
He had, after all, gotten the Indefatigable to the right place at the right time to prevent a total loss, and that was the first mark in the infinitely preferable “recovered” column. Recovered: all three of his officers, most of his crew, as well as the majority of Major Edrington’s men. Though the state they were in…Pellew frowned. Yes, Mr. Kennedy, Mr. Bowles, and Mr. Hornblower had all survived their ill-fated excursion onto French soil, but at least one of them was bearing the scars of loss even without visible injury.
Pellew was not certain he wanted to know the particulars of the unfortunate death of this female civilian as hinted at by Major Edrington, but he could guess enough. Young Hornblower took the loss of each individual life hard-Pellew had noticed that from the beginning. A difficult way to go through life when your life was so wrapped in the business of war, but a valuable one. The passion with which Hornblower had attempted to get medical attention for a member of his gun crew in his very first battle had attracted Pellew’s eye from the start, and each successive attempt the young midshipman turned lieutenant made to redeem or rescue another-the miserable Bunting for instance, or even young Mr. Kennedy-proved to the captain that this was a man who understood the value of each person under his command. Eventually Hornblower would make an impressive officer with such an attitude.
Sadly, to make a truly estimable officer, Hornblower would also have to learn a certain level of detachment, to keep himself sane if for no other reason. And speaking of detachment, Pellew suspected that was a lesson hard learned for young Mr. Kennedy as well. Perhaps he would be the one to help Hornblower through this-Pellew’s own guts and duty speech but a few minutes ago had been a start only.
He folded up his report for the moment and called for the marine stationed outside his door. “Pass the word for Mr. Kennedy, if you please.”
The acting lieutenant appeared in his doorway with a commendable promptitude and a respectful ‘sir’ that did nothing to conceal the strain around his eyes.
“Mr. Kennedy, your report on the situation just past, if you please.”
Kennedy looked surprised. “Sir?”
“You are an officer of this ship, are you not, Mr. Kennedy?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then I expect your report on the action recently undertaken in France.”
“Yes, sir.” Kennedy paused and raised his chin-a mannerism Pellew very much suspected might have been unconsciously borrowed from his friend Mr. Hornblower. “The French leadership was preoccupied with repossessing the town, we were left to guard the bridge and Major Edrington’s forces at the ford. Despite Mr. Hornblower’s efforts to engage our French allies in support of our mandate, they persisted with their own concerns and after sporadic fire, we were overwhelmed. We blew the bridge and retreated to the beach.”
His eyes remained curious. “I believe this tallies with the reports given by Mr. Hornblower and Major Edrington?”
“Yes,” Pellew agreed slowly. “But each person’s report is colored by his own…preoccupations, was the word I believe you used?”
“Mr. Hornblower’s attempts to persuade Colonel Moncoutant were necessary. It was unfortunate that they were also unsuccessful.” Strain in Kennedy’s eyes again, and Pellew doubted very much that the acting lieutenant knew just how much his own preoccupations were showing in that exchange.
“But he did succeed in winning some…sympathy among the townsfolk which was eventually of aid, did he not?”
“He did.” Kennedy’s lips were thin and his face carefully blank. Yes, Mr. Kennedy had learned a certain amount of detachment-if one cannot be entirely detached, one can preserve the appearance of it. In Pellew’s understanding, wartime prisons were excellent schools for such things, and Kennedy had certainly seen enough of those.
“Our Mr. Hornblower is taking the losses of this debacle too much to heart,” Pellew startled the young lieutenant with his sudden switch to the warmth and geniality of two adults sharing worries over a fractious child. “I know you have great influence with Mr. Hornblower, and I am hoping you will be able to help him put the past few days in perspective.”
Kennedy blinked for a few minutes. “I shall do my best, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr. Kennedy. That will be all.”
As the door closed behind the exiting lieutenant, Pellew allowed himself a small smile. One lieutenant chivvied back to confidence and another given back a sense of importance and self-respect in the doing of it-he’d take those kinds of numbers any day.
Now all he had to do was finish the damnable report.