Cold All the Way Through, But Warming

Rowan

Will was back onboard the Unicorn and bored beyond belief. Ana had written him a dozen letters about everything going on in both Southampton and New York, along with a very blurry picture of Nana's puppies. Rigel had met his progeny and behaved appropriately, and Ana was already trying to decide which one to send to her mother.

Will had requested an entire letter about her mother's reaction to her new puppy, at least then he could have something to laugh about.

Things up here were grim, and not just because of the weather. The men were restless, the fleet immobile, and the leadership recalcitrant. The only thing that was being accomplished was maintaining the blockade, which was down to a few groups of cruisers. Which left time for Admiral Beatty to indulge himself in the various delights of Edinburgh and time for Admiral Jellicoe to politic with First Sea Lord Jackson.

In the end it meant that he had a ship full of bored men who needed some distraction before they decided to break into the purser's rum stores and burn the ship to the waterline.

Will wrote leave for dozens of men each day, encouraged his officers to come up with ideas for some kind of competition and did his best to get Nettles off his back. He had been reading a letter from Ana when his second in command had come in, and while making small talk about the letter, Will had mentioned that Ana was going to be sending up something for his birthday. Nettles had latched onto that immediately, and after some prying, Will had admitted when it was.

Now Nettles kept asking for details on what Will would like his birthday party to feature and offered his own suggestions, each more elaborate than the last.

Will ducked his questions, gave him enough leave that he could go home and visit his wife, and when Nettles came back with a full list of questions from her for Will to answer, he assigned him to developing some competition for the damage control crews. Will had taken to hiding in his office, although he had to put in an appearance when Nettles had said his competition was ready to begin.

Will stood on deck in his greatcoat, a scarf around his neck and his hat pulled low as he watched a dozen men line up on one side of the deck. A dozen targets, taut paper with red bullseyes painted on it, were ranged across from them. The ship's master at arms waited with a chest of pistols, each loaded with six shots. A detachment of Marines was present, checking each gun that was given out and monitoring the men as they took their places. Will had no doubt they would intervene if any of them men took a fancy to the idea of taking a shot at any of the officers.

But the only thing the men seemed concerned with was joking with each other as they hefted their pistols, bets on drinks and good-natured cursing. Will also heard some complaints about the cold, and noticed that quite a few eyes were looking towards him. Even the shooters had paused, turning towards him, although they kept their guns down. Will stepped forward, clearing his throat. "This marks the beginning of the ship's marksmanship competition, the winner for this department will move on to face the other department's winners."

"What about the other ships?" A voice called out, although Will couldn't tell from where. The sudden movement in the crowd brought out a quick addition. "Begging your pardon, sir, we're just curious. Will the best shot onboard face a tournament?"

Will glanced to his officers, gesturing for them to relax at the break in discipline. "If they're willing to face him. It certainly would be something to do while we're all stuck in port." That brought forth a cheer, and Will gestured to the shooters. "Gentlemen, take your shots. The master at arms will determine the winner."

The sudden pops of pistol fire broke through the cold February day, each man drawing a bead and firing. Groans went up from the men when a shot went wide, and cheers when a shot was close to the bullseye. The bullets themselves would land harmlessly in the river, surprising no one but a few fish. Eventually the firing died off, each man squinting at the target across from him as the Marines collected the pistols and returned them to the master at arms. The man himself double checked that the pistol case was locked before striding across the deck to peer at the targets.