The call to engage
Title: The call to engage
Notes: Gen. AOS, Horatio and Archie, sort of. Usual disclaimers. All the blame on allegro_mnt Her idea.
This has been written most carefully, so that there can be no cries of ‘foul play’ afterwards.
“Gentlemen, I do not need to tell you of the importance of this engagement.” Sir Edward Pellew had addressed his men often when going in against the French, but this time the sense of awe and majesty he inspired was unprecedented. He was immaculate as always, not a speck on his coat, the buttons of which gleamed dazzlingly. “We have no alternative other than winning - England depends on our efforts.”
A murmur went around those listening, which the captain soon quenched.
“You know,” Sir Edward continued, “that we fight in what Mr Bracegirdle,” he smiled at his right hand man, “would refer to as the enemy’s back yard. That makes our task harder, but so much more fulfilling when we emerge victorious.”
Bracegirdle beamed in return. He recognised his leader was a brilliant tactician and, in his understanding of the strategies of attack, without peer. But Bracey himself was the man with the knowledge of defence and no matter how successful the ‘straight at ‘em’ approach was, without the proper degree of solidity behind, things could go badly awry. The plan for today was simple - an all out assault, to take the wind from the French sails, then sitting back and weathering the storm of resistance. A combination of boldness and backbone would win this day.
“Hornblower,” somewhere the customary Mr had been dropped, the closeness of the anticipated action affecting even Pellew’s normally immaculate manners, “you must lead by example. Dash and courage I expect you to deliver, ingenuity and élan I will be given no doubt, but it is above all inspiration the rest will want from you.”
Horatio eyed his leader keenly. Whatever Sir Edward sought after this day, he was prepared to deliver it and to ensure the rest of this motley crew did the same.
“Ripley,” Pellew addressed a huge man, built like the side of wall. Ripley was regarded by some as being a bit long in the tooth for his position, but his command of the big guns up front was without parallel. “This will be a victory that cannot just be achieved by firepower alone, but if we can win the opening exchanges then we are half way there. You must deliver for me on this - gain the upper hand.”
Ripley smiled. If Sir Edward wanted the flower of the French to be blasted away then he would have it; once the call was given to engage then they would feel the full force of the English.
“Kennedy.”
Archie was studying his boots. Only Horatio knew how important this encounter was for him. He’d been out against the French before, of course - the first time had been glorious and he’d come back bespattered with blood, although no-one knew if it belonged to friend or foe. The second time had been disastrous; he could still feel the scar on his head and bitterly regretted every moment of the two years he’d been out of the fray. Now was the chance to prove himself. He lifted his head, eyes steely blue and glinting with a hint of the steel in his soul.
“Kennedy, your role is vital; you are the link between my big guns and my marauders. Jack Aubrey says ‘Quick’s the word and sharp’s the action.’ I shall expect both from you.”
Archie faced Pellew and simply nodded. There was no more answer required.
The men rose as one, slapping chests and arms, huffing and puffing, gearing up for the ultimate test. Their leader had one last message to give. “Today is simple, gentlemen. Win and the Championship is ours; everyone will remember this day and your part in it. Lose and this season will all be forgotten. And you with it.” He stepped back from the door and let Hornblower lead them out as the Stade de France crowd began to sing once more.
Notes: Gen. AOS, Horatio and Archie, sort of. Usual disclaimers. All the blame on allegro_mnt Her idea.
This has been written most carefully, so that there can be no cries of ‘foul play’ afterwards.
“Gentlemen, I do not need to tell you of the importance of this engagement.” Sir Edward Pellew had addressed his men often when going in against the French, but this time the sense of awe and majesty he inspired was unprecedented. He was immaculate as always, not a speck on his coat, the buttons of which gleamed dazzlingly. “We have no alternative other than winning - England depends on our efforts.”
A murmur went around those listening, which the captain soon quenched.
“You know,” Sir Edward continued, “that we fight in what Mr Bracegirdle,” he smiled at his right hand man, “would refer to as the enemy’s back yard. That makes our task harder, but so much more fulfilling when we emerge victorious.”
Bracegirdle beamed in return. He recognised his leader was a brilliant tactician and, in his understanding of the strategies of attack, without peer. But Bracey himself was the man with the knowledge of defence and no matter how successful the ‘straight at ‘em’ approach was, without the proper degree of solidity behind, things could go badly awry. The plan for today was simple - an all out assault, to take the wind from the French sails, then sitting back and weathering the storm of resistance. A combination of boldness and backbone would win this day.
“Hornblower,” somewhere the customary Mr had been dropped, the closeness of the anticipated action affecting even Pellew’s normally immaculate manners, “you must lead by example. Dash and courage I expect you to deliver, ingenuity and élan I will be given no doubt, but it is above all inspiration the rest will want from you.”
Horatio eyed his leader keenly. Whatever Sir Edward sought after this day, he was prepared to deliver it and to ensure the rest of this motley crew did the same.
“Ripley,” Pellew addressed a huge man, built like the side of wall. Ripley was regarded by some as being a bit long in the tooth for his position, but his command of the big guns up front was without parallel. “This will be a victory that cannot just be achieved by firepower alone, but if we can win the opening exchanges then we are half way there. You must deliver for me on this - gain the upper hand.”
Ripley smiled. If Sir Edward wanted the flower of the French to be blasted away then he would have it; once the call was given to engage then they would feel the full force of the English.
“Kennedy.”
Archie was studying his boots. Only Horatio knew how important this encounter was for him. He’d been out against the French before, of course - the first time had been glorious and he’d come back bespattered with blood, although no-one knew if it belonged to friend or foe. The second time had been disastrous; he could still feel the scar on his head and bitterly regretted every moment of the two years he’d been out of the fray. Now was the chance to prove himself. He lifted his head, eyes steely blue and glinting with a hint of the steel in his soul.
“Kennedy, your role is vital; you are the link between my big guns and my marauders. Jack Aubrey says ‘Quick’s the word and sharp’s the action.’ I shall expect both from you.”
Archie faced Pellew and simply nodded. There was no more answer required.
The men rose as one, slapping chests and arms, huffing and puffing, gearing up for the ultimate test. Their leader had one last message to give. “Today is simple, gentlemen. Win and the Championship is ours; everyone will remember this day and your part in it. Lose and this season will all be forgotten. And you with it.” He stepped back from the door and let Hornblower lead them out as the Stade de France crowd began to sing once more.