For the Honor of the Flag: A John Phillips Novel (War at Sea Book 2) by Richard Testrake

a helpless man’s mouth, and saw that many of the men wandering aimlessly on deck were in the latter stages of intoxication. He turned to his messenger, a thirteen year old midshipman on his first cruise, clutching his dirk, as though ready to take on the whole French navy.
    “Mister Henderson, I would like it if you returned to the ship and told Lieutenant Mullins what you have seen here. Tell him I need more people. When our doctor finishes treating our own people, I wish him to come over here. Go as fast as you like, sir.”
    The Marine sergeant had his men herding the crew of the ship below, leaving the dead and wounded where they had fallen. Phillips went below, escorted by half a dozen Marines. Hundreds of French sailors were milling about below, most of them already drunk. One boy, dressed as an aspirant, the French version of a midshipman, came up to him and introduced himself in good English. He reported he was the only officer alive aboard, save for a few other aspirants younger than himself. The captain and all his lieutenants had perished in a big fleet battle earlier.
    Are there no other officers at all aboard older than yourself?
    “Le médecin, peut-être.” (The doctor, perhaps.)
    “Very well, let us go see him.” Captain Phillips, and a squad of Marines were led by the boy to what amounted to the ship’s hospital. Horribly wounded men lay about, many of them dead. No assistance was being provided to anyone, and the only uninjured person was drunk. This man sat on a chest, his back against a bulkhead, his clothing clotted with old blood. The aspirant explained this unconscious man was the ship’s doctor, but that he had prescribed himself too much brandy and laudanum to function any longer.
    Needing to discuss matters with some responsible member of the ship’s crew, Phillips approached the man and tapped his shoulder. The man groaned, but remained still. He pushed him a little harder, and the man started. Suddenly his head was up, and a large pistol was wavering in his hand. Phillips was unable to retreat because of the Marines behind him. They in turn, alerted by the weapon, found it hard to protect him since their captain was between them and the threat.
    As everyone started to scramble to get clear of the pistol, the thing fired. The flash from the pan nearly blinded everyone in the dim light, and he felt something slam into his upper arm. It felt like a blacksmith had swung his hammer against him. As he fell to the floor, the corporal behind him shouted, “Bastard’s shot the Cap’n, nail him.”
    T
     
    here was a scramble in the close quarters as the Marines made room to level their muskets. Unabl
    e, one of the Marines smashed the sitting drunk with a butt stroke of his musket. There was a stutter of musket shots as the others found room to fire and three of the massive three quarter inch diameter lead balls smashed into the French surgeon. There was clothing scattered about the place, and muskets were thrust through some jacket armholes to make a rude stretcher to strap him to with musket slings.
     
    By now, the numbness of the original impact had subsided, and excruciating pain ensued. As he was hoisted up on deck, the ship’s doctor from Courageous appeared alongside. As it happened, there were really very few wounded aboard his own ship, and after initial treatment, he felt comfortable leaving his patients in the care of the sick berth attendants, one of whom had been a cow leach in civilian life. At Mullin’s request, he had grabbed a bag of instruments and was down the side of the ship like a monkey. One of the Marines aboard the French man of war called down that the captain had been shot, and was dying.”
    The doctor was up the side of the third rate almost faster than he had descended the frigates. Phillips was in shock and unconscious, but the doctor thought there might be an excellent chance of saving the arm. A quick view of the carnage below took away any thoughts he may