Spy Book Exclusive:
HORNBLOWER AND
THE MAD BOMBERS
Editors' Note: Feeling overwhelmed by all of the horrible news about the collapse of American democracy? Us too! To provide some welcome diversion from the real world around us, the Spy is proud to present an exclusive excerpt from the latest adventure of famed British Captain Horatio Hornblower, the intrepid British sailor who roams the world thrashing the heathens in the service of His Majesty.
Chapter XXII
A well-lubricated encounter
Captain Horatio Hornblower paced the quarterdeck of the HMS Faded Glory, a magnificent 72-gun frigate of the Royal Navy. Its magnificence was only slightly tarnished by the Admiralty's budget constraints, which left the vessel with only 12 guns and 60 logs painted black pointing out of the sally ports.
Hornblower scanned the horizon of the brilliant blue sea. His second in command, Lt. Bush, stood by his side ready to assist his Captain, as he had on so many other occasions.
“I say Mr. Bush, what is that vessel approaching us?”
Bush raised his spyglass and noted the vessel's massive American naval standard: a portrait of King Donald parting the waters while holding a bucket of fried chicken.
“I believe it is an American naval vessel of some sort,” Bush replied.
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| Hornblower greeted the Americans |
Damnation! Not the Americans again, Hornblower thought. Who knew what was on the mind of these uncouth savages who couldn't tell the difference between a mizzen mast and a swizzle stick?
Hornblower allowed himself a small sigh. “What are their intentions, Mr. Bush?”
The alert Lieutenant noted that the American vessel had launched a small lighter with several officers headed in the direction of Hornblower's vessel. “They appear to be seeking a parley, Sir,” Bush said.
“Very well, Mr. Bush. Prepare to receive our American visitors and lay out some simple but adequate refreshment.”
Bush nodded, but he realized that the request was not as simple as it appeared, as the Faded Glory was at that moment receiving a supply of victuals and spirituous refreshments from a small supply craft that had tied up along side. He watched as the crew unloaded the various items from the local merchants, including, to Bush's satisfaction, several live sheep, who would supply copious amounts of food and recreation for the weary crew, not necessarily in that order.
Just then, Bush's thoughts were interrupted by a loud crash of an incoming projectile landing just off the port quarter.
Captain Hornblower picked himself off the deck and growled “What was that, Mr. Bush?”
Bush looked over the rail and saw immediately that the supply vessel had been smashed to pieces and its crew either blown to bits or wailing desperately for help. Bush ordered the bosun's mates to organize a rescue of the shocked survivors under the direction of the ship's surgeon. “My God, what a bloody mess!” Bush ejaculated. At least the sheep were safe, he saw.
“The supply tender was attacked. I can only assume it was a shot from the American vessel,” Bush informed his superior.
“I shall certainly remonstrate severely with those Yankees!” Captain Hornblower replied.
With the efficiency for which the Royal Navy was famed, the crew had soon cleared the blood and body parts from the decks and prepared to receive their American visitors.
Captain Hornblower had never seen such a rum lot of naval officers before. Even the Spanish had a more military bearing.
The Americans, their jackets gleaming with medals of uncertain origin, each carried a variety of weapons, including what appeared to be machine guns and grenades. They eyes were hidden behind sunglasses and instead of proper military uniforms, they wore green camouflage fatigues, useless on the open seas, and red caps emblazoned with the curious letters “MAGA”
“Do you think that's the name of their vessel?” Bush asked.
“D-----d if I know, Mr. Bush, ” Hornblower replied, irritated by the lack of decorum shown by the oddly-attired Americans. He awaited a request from their leader to board the Faded Glory.
None came. Instead the Americans clambered out of their boat and onto the mighty British warship.
One of the Americans snapped his chewing gum and said, “Who's in charge here, Pops?”
“Captain Horatio Hornblower, at your service.”
“Hornblower – that's a stupid name,” the American replied.
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| The Americans seemed to enjoy the Royal Navy's hospitality |
“And whom do I have the honor of addressing?” Captain Hornblower replied politely, inwardly incensed at the cavalier attitude of his visitors.
“I am Lord High General and Admiral of the United States Pete Hegseth. Now drop and give me 20!”
Captain Hornblower was nonplussed by the incomprehensible greeting from Hegseth, who appeared to be tottering from side to side That gave the resourceful King's officer an opening.
“May I interest you in a bit of spirituous refreshment, Lord Hegseth?”
The cheeky American sat at the Captain's table and pounded it with his fist. “Jaeger Bombs all round. And be snappy about it!”
Hornblower's eye fell on one member of of the American party. “Any may I suggest that your sepoy join our other ranks below decks, so that they may entertain him properly?”
Hegseth appeared puzzled but said, “That is not my sea boy. That is General Patel, our nation's leading crime fighter, and he will join us.”
“My apologies,” Hornblower responded. He nodded at his manservant, who promptly brought out glasses and a large flagon of Royal Navy rum. The able seaman poured healthy glasses for each member of the party.
“Where's the pineapple juice and maraschino cherries? This isn't a real Scorpion Bowl, ” muttered General Patel.
“I'm afraid that in the King's Navy we take our rum neat. Cheers!” Hornblower replied.
After all had downed the first ration of grog, the mood in the Captain's quarters lightened considerably.
“May I enquire as to the purpose of your delightful visit today, gentlemen?”
“May I inquire as to why my cup is empty?” Lord Hegseth responded brightly.
With a barely perceptible nod, Captain Hornblower summoned his steward to refill the pewter cups.
After draining his second ration of rum, Lord Hegseth ran his hand through his oiled hair and banged the table with his fist. “We're here to find out why you English cowards are not sending your warships to open the Strait of Hormuz.”
Captain Hornblower raised one eyebrow. “Indeed?”
“F***in-A indeed. We bailed you out of two world wars. You owe us this one,” Lord Hegseth responded, slumping down in his chair.
“I have no orders from the Admiralty to engage Iranian forces,” Hornblower replied equably.
“D**n your Admiralty,” Lord Hegseth shouted. “Now get your ships to the Strait right after you buy us another round.”
Hornblower nodded to his faithful retainer again, and once again the cups were filled. “I shall be glad to seek instruction from the First Sea Lord and will revert to you promptly when I receive a response.”
Lord Hegseth downed his third cup and let out an audible belch. “And how soon will you hear?”
“I think we should be able to get a response in three or four months, depending on the wind, ” Hornblower replied.
“Speaking of wind – ” General Patel said with a peculiar gleam in his eye.
“Not now, Kash!” Lord Hegseth thundered. “My King will not be pleased by your response, I warn you.”
“I am most sorry to hear it,” the imperturbable Hornblower said.
To break the ensuing silence, the British Captain ventured a question of his own: “Was that an American shell that destroyed the supply tender whilst it was provisioning my ship?”
General Patel ejaculated: “That was a boat full of narco-terrorists, according to our intelligence.”
With a scornful glare at the swarthy American, Hornblower replied, “Those were unarmed merchants. Don't you know anything about the laws of war?”
The General muttered, “S--- happens.”
Lord Hegseth then rose suddenly, turned on his heel, and tripped over his chair, falling flat on his face. He lay prone on the deck, moaning softly.
Captain Hornblower turned to his servant. “Tell the bosun's mate to escort or carry our guests back to their lighter,” he ordered.
Once the guests had been escorted out of the room, Captain Hornblower turned to Lt. Bush with a mischievous gleam in his eye and said, “Now let's inspect those sheep, shall we, Mr. Bush?”
The loyal Lieutenant allowed the wisp of a grin to play over his weathered features. “As you wish, Sir!”
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