Capítulo 3: 0003 Sea drills and urgent messages
"Drop! Drop!"
"Run up, run up, boys!"
"You are honorable Plymouth Cadets, destined for greatness! Destined to be extraordinary! Doomed to die at sea! Doomed!"
"Doomed!"
"Long live Great Britain!"
"Long live our King!"
A tiny Gallant ship anchored offshore in calm Plymouth Bay, with countless teenagers selling out on deck, shrill whistles and shouts of desperation going straight through the clouds.
This is HMS Heirloom, the Plymouth Naval School's training ship, Captain Billy. Sir Billy Layton, a meritorious captain in the Royal Navy and the Naval School's most famous devil instructor.
Lorraine is none other than his student ...
Fifteen year olds began their daily drill and training at dawn, running around the deck, fighting, climbing sails, sliding down the cable from the lookout, and then leaping into the sea on the bowsprit to qualify for lunch from a buoy five kilometers away, and then swimming back.
After lunch, they were to begin the comparatively lighter firing drill, which consisted of handling the guns, manning the guns, pushing the heavy cannons back and forth across the deck, jumping over the gangplanks, diving, and picking their way through the iron rings of the anchor chain to qualify for supper.
Nor could they rest after dinner; as sailors on board, they had to scrub the decks, tie sailor's knots in every cable, and furl and mend the sails, even if the Heir's sails never had holes in them.
And then can we go to sleep?
Theoretically, it could be, as long as Sir Layton didn't lose sleep and dream about the ship catching fire.
Once he dreamed it up, the lads had to spend half the night splashing water towards the immaculately clean deck, and the second half of the night drying off the water marks for the next day's weekly training.
"The life of 007 is so much more fulfilling than 996 ..."
Standing on the high lookout, Lorraine looked emotionally at the distant shadow of the British Isles, violently unwrapped her hood around her palms, and with a clench of her teeth, she climbed the cable and leapt down!
Wow!
Half an hour later, a wet Lorraine wobbled and crawled back onto the deck, snapping a thin strip of parchment onto Sir Layton.
Jazz put down his pocket watch in disgust, "42 minutes and 16 seconds, young Drake, you're another minute slower than yesterday, didn't is sleep well?"
"Thanks to you, sir, the men on this ship have had less than two hours of sleep for two days in a row. If your nightmares continue tonight, I think I'll probably die suddenly in my cabin."
"Don't even think about trying to put words in my mouth, Ghostbuster!" Jazz laughed, "Your classmates are still in the water, so you have a half hour break."
Heavenly music ah ...
At the first sound of the sky, Lorraine snapped and pounded her feet on her chest, "Thank you, sir!"
"You deserve this, just remember ..."
"I'm not targeting the classmates around me, it's friggin' Rayshawna. Nelson." Lorraine turned her back and raised her hand, "Say the same thing three times a day, sir, it's time to cure your insomnia."
...
It's late at night and people are not quiet ...
In the days of sail battleships, sailors had always been poorly accommodated.
Because space on a battleship is limited, most of their bedrooms were arranged on the gun decks where the guns were stowed in order to conserve space.
Hundreds of men clustered in cramped cabins bunking on the floor, surrounded by tens of thousands of pounds of artillery.
Once the chock wheel on the gun mount slips or breaks off due to the rocking of the ship, the consequence ... is an accident.
But that's exactly why honors students have the right to sleep in rope beds.
Simply set the bib net toward the hook and they are high above the human cannon, rocking and rolling.
Lorraine's bed was the rope bed, and it was also a VIP seat with one end attached to the gunnel and the other to the outside of the cabin, so that she could escape with a flip.
He lay with his arms resting on the net, his ears listening to the assortment of grinding and grunting beneath him, his eyes staring out through the tiny gun portholes into the deep, hellishly dark night beyond.
Without realizing it, six months have passed since the sea drill.
Lexington's gunfire came as promised.
In Virginia, in Massachusetts ... on the entire east coast of North America, the militia of the future United States charged fearlessly like stragglers against the colonial garrisons of Great Britain, with no visible intention of retreating, even at heavy losses.
Nearly 100 soldiers were martyred in just a few months, and such a huge loss finally alerted London.
A month and a half ago, HMS Lion broke off sea trials and was officially delivered to the Royal Navy.
Arya rushed to Devonport and announced her arrival for duty the day after taking over the new flagship.
Based on the time the fleet had left England, by this time, he had probably seen the coastline of Kingston.
The problem is that Lorraine still hasn't convinced him ...
The atmosphere at the few father-son gatherings in Devonport couldn't be described as good, and Lorraine tried reaching out to her older brother, Shak, who also served in Devonport, and, as a result, even Shak came over to Arya's side.
On how to persuade a group of stubborn and loving English noblemen ...
Lorraine was helpless.
Even though the sea drill would be over in six months, and even though he was about to be given a formal position as a good officer in the Royal Navy, he was still under eighteen.
The law in England considers every young person under the age of eighteen to be in need of guardianship, and every life decision requires the signature of a guardian; leaving a job happens to be one of them.
So in all likelihood, Lorraine would have to serve in the military until he was eighteen, and wait until he was legally of age before he could depart and start chasing the life he wanted.
Two more years needed ...
With a broken greeting about the laws of England, Lorraine rolled over and got ready for bed.
He suddenly saw the sea light up with wobbly light signals, three shines long and one short.
Emergency communication from the Sea Cadet?
Puzzled, he closed his eyes and fell into sleep with his questions in his mouth.
He didn't know how long this sleep lasted, and the third mate called him up before dawn.
"Little Drake, get out of bed silently and report to the Captain's room immediately."
"Sir?"
For some reason, Lorraine thought of that emergency communication before bed ...
"Commander of the Heir Raider, Staff Sergeant Cadet Lorraine. Drake reporting for duty!"
"Enter."
"Yes!"
Outside the towering transom cabin, Lorraine checked her attire one last time.
The bindings were tightly tied, the buttons buttoned solidly, the turban, the matching sword, and all the attire on the body was in order, and there were no visible creases in the uniform or the shirt.
He took a deep breath, pushed the door, and entered the cabin.
Sir Layton was sitting frowning at his little drinking-table with his pipe in his mouth and a small half-glass of brandy and a roll of parchment sealed with fire-paint in front of him.
He exhaled the smoke softly, "Little Drake, do you know why I called you here?"
Lorraine stood straight, her eyes unblinking, her voice high.
"The third mate didn't say anything, so the students don't know anything!"
Jazz nodded in satisfaction, "Guess what."
"Students are soldiers, and soldiers don't guess!"
Growing more and more satisfied, Jazz smiled, "And what did you observe?"
"Urgent communication, sir! It was between 2200 and 2230 hours at night, as it coincided with a shift change, and Judea's classmates greeted your mother as they got up!"
It's not snitching.
Lorraine's expression was formal, so formal that Sir Layton couldn't tell whether Judea was scolding him or Lorraine was scolding him.
Those who don't know are not to blame. Sir can't identify a suspect.
He pushed the parchment roll in front of him with his pipe, "An urgent letter from the Sea Cadet, naming you to read it."
"Aye! Sir!"
Lorraine snapped her legs together and picked up the roll of paper with the driest of movements, first checking that the fire paint was intact, then holding the roll in both hands and stowing it at her waist.
"May I ask if I need a student to read it out? Sir!"
"Sea Cadet orders, and it's up to you to decide whether or not to tell me, and how much to tell me."
"Aye! Sir!"
The doubts are growing.
With many doubts, Lorraine gently removed the fire paint and unfolded the paper scroll.
After a few breaths, he looked up slightly apologetically, his voice going low for a moment.
"Sir, I may have to disembark early ..."
Sir Layton's brow furrowed violently into a frown.
"Get off the ship early?" His voice held all but undisguised displeasure, "You only have six months left in your sea drill, if you get off the ship early, your grade in this subject will be nullified and your official service will be delayed until the year after next! Staff Sergeant, I need a reason."
"My father ... The Lion was caught in a storm while sailing to the New World, her main mast snapped, and the Governor of the New World Fleet, Vice Admiral Elijah . Drake ... was martyred."
Lorraine's voice trembled slightly, and the roll of paper in her hand clenched unconsciously into a ball.
"My father is dead, and the family wants me to terminate my studies immediately and return to Tavistock to ... take care of the aftermath."
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