The Island Read online

  Also by Derek Gunn:

  NOVELS

  Vampire Apocalypse Series

  (From Black Death Books)

  A World Torn Asunder (2006)

  Descent into Chaos (2008)

  Fallout (2009)

  The Estuary (2009)

  (From Permuted Press)

  Gemini (2011)

  (From Aldergun Books)

  The Gatekeeper (2011)

  (From Aldergun Books)

  NOVELLAS

  The HMS Swift Adventures

  (From Aldergun Books)

  The Diabolical Plan (2011)

  The Island (2011)

  Vampire Apocalypse

  (Aldergun Books)

  A Prelude to the Vampire Apocalypse (2011)

  www.derekgunn.com

  A Derek Gunn book published by Aldergun Books

  Second Edition October 2011

  This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

  The HMS Swift Adventures: The Island Copyright 2009 Derek Gunn

  All Rights Reserved

  Cover art: Alice Collins

  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author and publisher.

  The HMS Swift Adventures

  “The Island”

  Dedication

  To my wife, Alice

  - Who never stopped believing.

  Foreword

  The book you now hold in your hands is the beginning of a series of stories set in the uneasy peace before a period of almost sustained conflict that reigned across Europe between 1792 and 1815. It was a time that would see men made into legends and countries tear themselves apart.

  Into this maelstrom of conflict I wrote a short story, The Diabolical Plan, which was published in an anthology a few years ago. I do not write many short stories, though those I have written have usually found homes. The characters and the setting were of particular interest to me from my years of reading Alexander Kent, Patrick O’Brien and others and it was with a heavy sigh that I left this subject behind to concentrate on other writing projects.

  The story received a lot of praise though and I kept thinking that it would be a shame to let the characters simply fade into obscurity. The years before the war and the early conflicts of that time, lent themselves perfectly to a crew of maverick heroes that faced more unusual enemies than recorded history has documented. I had so many ideas and storylines that I would love to investigate but, alas, historical supernatural stories are not too prevalent on the shelves at this time.

  However, my wife loved the story and convinced me to write another one. Initially I had planned to write one more short story and see if I could continue the story line as a series of shorter stories. But the story kept growing in length as the characters began to evolve and grow. Finally I finished it and, at over twenty thousand words, I was left with a story that was difficult to place anywhere. It was too long for a short story and too short for a novel.

  Not to be put off (and of course eager to please my wife who wanted yet another story), I began to plot out a longer story that I had hoped to incorporate into the novella and build a story that was novel length. That new story grew - do you see a trend here? – And soon I had a full length novel on my hands with no room for the previous novella.

  This was a time of superstition. A time when the world was still being discovered and new islands and fantastic creatures were being unearthed. If you read history you will notice many references throughout the ages of seemingly impossible feats of achievement, as if something otherworldly may have happened but had never been accurately recorded for obvious reasons. This is the fringe in which the crew of the HMS Swift find themselves time and again as they fight to save their world. They encounter many strange and terrifying creatures and phenomena and their tales of heroism and sacrifice will continue, whether they are published or not.

  For the history buffs among you I have tried hard to keep the stories within the actual historical timeline so the dates and many of the events are real, I leave it to you to spot the ones that are not. I do reserve the right to take a certain license and embellish some of these to better suit the story. This is fiction after all.

  The HMS Swift is a Class 5 Frigate in the service of His Majesty. She runs one hundred and thirty seven feet along the lower deck and one hundred and thirteen feet at the keel, although the exact measurement included a few more inches if one was to be entirely accurate and Mister Moon, the Master, was always convinced that these extra few inches were critical to the ship’s performance.

  The deck stretches to thirty eight feet in width and she was ported for twenty six cannon on the main deck, though, with the extra armament on the forecastle and quarterdeck, her full compliment was closer to forty.

  The second of these stories is The Island (The first is The Diabolical Plan). I hope you enjoy it!

  Derek Gunn

  The Island

  Chapter 1

  Captain Thomas Butler shielded his eyes from the harsh glare of the rising sun as he studied the island. The inlet was sheltered from the worst of the retreating storm but the rolling, grey waves still pitched the frigate to and fro as if the storm was reluctant to let them go completely. He heard the bustle on the deck as men moved to the myriad tasks that were required of a King’s ship when approaching anchor but he trusted the smooth running to his capable first officer, confident also that his own senses would alert him if something out of the ordinary were to intrude.

  Above his head the rigging hummed as men fought to fold the soaked canvas of the sails which had become heavy and unwieldy with water from the storm. The wind danced among the men as they ran, cat-like, up the ratlines. The sails snapped and thundered in protest but the topmen had their measure and slowly tamed the flapping canvas. They seemed oblivious to the wind as it tore at them relentlessly and threatened to snatch them from their precarious positions and hurl them to their deaths.

  Butler sensed the frigate move restlessly as it pitched in the calmer waters, as if impatient to return to the violence and exhilaration of the storm, and brought his telescope to his eye again. The island was small; relative to the many land masses they had passed on their way here, but served as an important stop-over for ships that must re-supply on their way to the profitable markets in the East Indies. There was an elevated plateau at either end of the island, they couldn’t really be called hills as their gradient was too slow and meandering, and this gave the island the appearance of a bowl. Thick forest covered the majority of the land mass and vicious, sheer rock faces ensured that the small, natural harbour they were now approaching was the only safe landing point.

  Butler scanned the small village that dominated the shore-line. Two long outcroppings of land jutted out into the sea on both sides and formed a natural inlet, leaving a relatively calm area within its protection. Small wooden forts were situated at the furthest point of each promontory and Butler shivered as he imagined the terrible toll the heavy calibre cannons that lay hidden in those structures would inflict on any enemy ship that came too close. The village comprised of a number of huts, some thirty or so, each made from mud and protected from the weather by a thatch of reeds.

  The huts were organised in a semi-circle around the centre of the inlet and Butler could see a small wooden pier at which bobbed a few small boats. A large, unfinished stone building, crude and ugly in design, sat above the small village and dominated the view entirely. Butler smiled to himself as he imagined the ego of the man who could insist on such a monstrosity and decided that the man in question more tha
n deserved his reputation.

  Butler had spent the last few days cursing that same man and found nothing in what he now saw to revise his initial impression. Sir John Milton. Lord of the realm, son of a vice-admiral, Governor of this island and the reason Butler had lost three of his crew to the storm on their way here.

  Butler itched to be back in Europe. It was already late December and Europe was close to war. Louis XVI’s death had shocked many of the monarchies and the new Republic was already extending its borders along the Rhine and into Belgium. The violence of the revolution had stripped away France’s ruling class and a more deadly enemy had risen from the mayhem.

  At home in England many were already calling for war to be declared. They used the pretence of regicide, but it was clear for everyone to see that their real goal was to check the growing strength of the Revolutionary regime. This was the time to strike at a weakened France while her navel personnel were being decimated by the Revolution and her fleet was rotting away at their moorings.

  Although, Butler mused, England’s own Fleet was not in much better condition, with most of her officers beached on half pay since the American Revolution. It was a time of turmoil and a time when he could secure his own commission by being in the right place at the right time. And instead he was sent to play nursemaid to the spoilt son of a Lord.

  He had received orders two weeks ago that had instructed him to leave his patrol around Toulon. The air had been charged with expectation all along the coast. The last thing he had wanted to do was leave his station and any hope of being involved in the skirmishes that were bound to spark. But his orders were specific and the seal on those orders left no room for argument. He was to make his way to this island with all due haste. As usual, the seal on his orders depicted the strange amalgam of an eagle and a lion that he knew came from the same source that had ordered him on his previous missions.

  Despite his best efforts he had been unable to discover the identity of the man who had summoned him to a small room in the Admiralty upon his return to England. And yet, his seal was instantly recognisable to any clerks or supply officers he had shown it to when refitting his ship. Many of them seemed to over-react and go out of their way to ensure that he had everything he needed. This was certainly not behaviour he was used to, most supply officers did their best to cheat the ships of their supplies so they could sell the surplus on the black market.

  It was almost impossible to prove, of course, but most good quartermasters counted their supplies a number of times before they were finally loaded onto their ships. Even then, it seemed that it was not unusual for certain supplies to simply disappear. This time, however, his supplies had arrived in record time.

  He had been left with no doubt at all after that meeting that any orders which contained that seal, whenever they came, were to be carried out immediately, even over those of the Admiralty themselves. As usual, there were few details within the orders themselves; other than a vague reference to missing islanders. Butler cursed this misuse of a King’s ship and the lost opportunity of being on patrol in the thick of the action.

  Sir John Milton may be out of favour; the extra pages he had found with his orders had laid out quite a detailed description of the man’s recent behaviour. It seemed that he had had a brief, but unwise, dalliance with the King’s niece which had left the girl pregnant and the King unwilling to allow a convenient marriage. The result was that Sir John had been packed off to the back of beyond. However, a Governorship of an important, though remote, colony served to sooth his well-connected father’s ruffled feathers.

  Remote he may be but he was still not without some measure of influence. The redirection of a King’s ship is by no means a small feat at the best of times but, in a time when war was so close, was surprising indeed. However, Butler mused, his influence is not without limit. The redirection of his ship was merely a stroking of powerful egos. His orders were explicit in their tone and clear in their meaning even though they were somewhat vague in their detail. He was to anchor, make a fuss of the Governor and then return to duty as quickly as good manners would allow.

  What this might have to do with his ‘special activities’ Butler had no idea but he had no choice. Maybe this time it was just his turn to be sent on a normal, useless mission. He doubted it though. If it was a normal mission it was unlikely that his orders would have come from his mysterious superior. He would have to be open-minded about these missing islanders.

  ‘The gig is coming around now, sir,’ Butler snapped his head around to the source of the strong, deep voice and nodded to Lieutenant Peter Fowler. The young officer had been his first lieutenant for just over a year and, with war looming, would soon command his own ship. Butler would miss the Yorkshire man when that happened but that was the way of the Navy. His loss would be His Majesty’s gain. He looked at the young officer now and saw the familiar unruly blonde hair sticking out in a rebellious tumble from under his hat.

  He knew that his first lieutenant had tried everything to force his hair to remain in place. He smiled as he remembered an incident where Fowler had poured wax on his hair. Unfortunately it had been far too hot and the resultant red burn mark that had adorned his forehead for a week after the incident had caused him no end of ribbing from his fellow officers and more than a few smiling faces along the deck. Fowler’s aquiline nose protruded from a thin face and made him appear quite sombre but, once he smiled, his face seemed to fill out and he assumed a boyish look that belied his age.

  ‘Thank you, Peter,’ he replied. ‘I’ll take four marines, including Captain Purcell. It can’t harm to roll out the big guns.’ He smiled as he watched the small 21 foot craft appear around the stern of the ship and line up for its passengers at the entry port.

  ‘Very good, sir. Will you be taking Mister Hackett, sir?’ Fowler remained impassive, as if his question was entirely innocent. Butler forced his face to remain equally expressionless, although the temptation to laugh was almost too much. Mister Stephen Hackett was their new Midshipman. He had come aboard just before they had set sail and had announced his presence from the first as he had tripped over his sword upon disembarking from the small jolly boat that had brought him to the HMS Swift. His subsequent tumble into the bottom of the boat and the loud crack of his sword breaking had sent an amused snigger through the crew.

  Hackett was fifteen and would have an uphill struggle to command men up to thirty years his senior if he failed to win their respect. A number of similar amusing incidents on the way here had further tarnished his reputation.

  ‘Yes,’ Butler enjoyed the small flicker of surprise that crossed Fowler’s face. ‘I think a jaunt ashore would do him the world of good.’

  ‘I’ll warn… I mean, inform, the men, sir,’ Fowler threw the comment as he saluted and turned to supervise the organised chaos of the busy decks.

  Chapter 2

  Lieutenant Peter Fowler watched the small gig move rapidly towards the shore but soon had to turn away from the sun’s blinding reflections off the water’s surface. He knew his captain was livid about being pulled away from almost certain action off the French coast to nursemaid a fop. He smiled as he recalled Butler’s reaction to his orders. He had been surprised at his superior’s outburst. Captain Thomas Butler rarely lost his temper, especially not in front of the men, but it was understandable in the circumstances.

  England had been at peace for a long time and her once proud navy had been left to rot in harbours and ports around the country. Her proud crews, including many of their officers, had been beached for so long that the call back to arms that was beginning to happen was a welcome event for the majority of them, even if such a call were to mean their deaths.

  The Swift had been luckier than most in that they had remained in service for the past year, however, being used to investigate phenomena that were becoming increasingly more incredulous and strange by the day was hardly a fitting use of such a fine ship and her crew. News of the unrest in Europe had reached th
em intermittently on their commissions but still they were sent to the far reaches of the known world.

  They heard sketchy reports of minor skirmishes with the French but the majority of the French fleet were still in harbour, where their captains were still deciding whether they would support the new government or not. After a year now of being sent investigating the unknown, many of which had failed to yield anything, the whole crew were itching to be involved, despite the danger that this represented, in a ‘normal’ battle. Finally, orders had arrived. They had been called to patrol the waters along the French coast.

  Fowler had watched the men walk with renewed pride as they set sail for their new station off Toulon. At last they would be back in the action. When they had arrived on station a cheer erupted from the crew and they moved into position with a precision that belied their ship’s size. They had spent a whole week in the company of their fellow ships and had just begun to feel part of the fleet again when the orders had come again.

  The crew had been crushed but had faced this new mission with a grim determination that made Fowler proud. His Captain, however, was another matter.

  It was obvious to Fowler that Captain Butler blamed himself. Butler was not like any officer Fowler had ever known. Fiercely loyal to King and country, and especially to his men, he had a habit of becoming involved in strange and out of the ordinary events. His orders did not always come through the usual couriers either. Sometimes they were delivered by odd individuals that looked more like criminals than official representatives of the King, though the seal of the Admiralty was always present on these orders, along with another curious seal that meant nothing to Fowler.