So here I am, crouched in the bottom boards, just trying to keep a running commentary going for as, long as I can, so I don't miss any of the colour. Only this looks bad, I mean really bad. That's the cox'n, yelling at the top of his voice so they don't shoot at us. Lots of boats get lost to friendly fire, blue on blue, from itchy gunners and we sure as hell don't want to join them. Just hope this is one of ours.
Just got to pull for it, and hope for the best. There's bits of wood and rope swirling all around us, and we're going to inaudible.
Oh this is so bad. Now the smoke is clearing, like someone just drew a great big curtain aside, and I can see the hull right on top off us. Hey, good old English warship oak all right, black and ochre. It's the Victory all right. What-- what? Collins, one of our midshipmen is tugging at my sleeve.
Paul's Cathedral. You ought to be ashamed of yourself for peddling such jingoistic rubbish when there are beggars starving on the streets of Southwark. While the recruits are caught in the SEALs high But now I can reveal that his master plan involves a fleet of invasion barges to carry his army across the Channel, and for that expedition to succeed he needs to dominate the sea. External Sites.
I can't hear him, but I think he wants to jump for the gun-port. I can see a scrambling rope, the cox'n's bringing us alongside now. I'm on my feet watching the pitch of the boat. Only a couple of yards to go, and I'm grabbing my stuff and thinking shall I jump for it? Weighing the odds. Old Harry's going to be proud of me if I make it this time. What the hell -- I'm going to jump…. SF: If you ask me the weapons of mass destruction malarkey is just so much horseshit whipped up by our lords and masters to keep the war going. I mean where's Napoleon going to get that kind of gear?
Nah, it's all a smokescreen so we can kick ass with impunity and keep the lumpen proletariat on side come the next election. Nothing like a good old WMD scare to stiffen the sinews. Only has old Boney got any - has he hell.
HO: Maybe we could get a colour piece from one of the boffins who was out there looking for 'em, you know the cloak and dagger crowd, see if we can flush out a whistle blower. SF: Could cost a packet if we try for a buy up, you know what they're like H, only one thing going to make a scientist put aside his scruples when he's sucking on the government's teat and that's a great big pay day, a sack-full of shekels, and you know what Big Billy said about buy ups. No Way. And that's come down on a tablet of stone, so you reach for the company chequebook and he'll have your balls on his watch chain.
SF: We're damned if we do, and we're damned if we don't.
You want my opinion, this whole WMD angle is a dead duck, we're never going to get to the bottom of it, not in a million years, unless something happens to change the picture, so I think we ought to just let it lie for the time being and see what turns up. I mean, when you come down to it, everybody knows the only real weapon of mass destruction out there is His Britannic Majesty's Royal Navy.
Projecting sea power, that's the name of the game, and any mug that gets in the way, blow him out of the water. HO: Maybe we could do something on that then, Britannia rules the waves or some such. We sure as hell could do with a good splash, you see the latest circulation figures, the old man blew a gasket, started bellyaching if we don't deliver the goods soon, heads will roll.
Hmm Nelson could be just the ticket, last I heard he was off to sunny Spain with the bit firmly between his teeth. Nice pics when he set off from Pompey. Yeah, the more I think about it, the more I like it. And not come half-baked stuff cobbled together from the PA. We need a good hard hitting incisive news feature, which will knock the socks off the red tops and put a smile on Big Billy's face. Who've we got with the fleet? We had to bung half the Admiralty to get him on board, he's been bobbing about on the ocean wave for the past couple of months.
HO: To loosen matelots' tongues. Shall I give him a bell; see what he can work up? Yeah, get Pretty boy weaving and I'll shoot a memo upstairs. Top of the morning shipmate. Out of your hammock, we need a thousand words for the leader page, Nelson and all that jazz. Make it good and hot, lots of colour.
[email protected] with Nelson's Navy - Roger Busby Embedded became a term shared by the media and the military to describe correspondents who. There's a certain intimacy about the word "embedded." I don't know who came up with it, but once it was in common usage, we talked about it endlessly in the.
Keep your head down and your powder dry and as they say on Star trek - make it so. File soonest matey and pick up the web traffic if you want to keep your job! Have a tot for me. Max Internet has scanned this e-mail for all viruses.
The service is powered by Ultra. Loitering off the coast of Spain under sun kissed skies and balmy breezes may seem like a holiday cruise, but here on the Royal Navy's most powerful warship, these languid days on patrol belie a much more serious intent, a deadly game of cat and mouse. For at any moment the lookout's cry of sail ho could send battle hardened sailors to their guns ready to fight to the death. Strange as it may seem in this tranquil setting of blue seas and endless sky, we are the last line of defence against a cunning and determined enemy pledged to put England to the sword.
Not that this threat lurking just over the horizon in any way dampens the spirit of the gun crew aboard HMS Victory, First Rate Ship of the Line and flagship of the British fleet. Pressed men, landsmen and veteran sailors alike go about their routine duties, dressing sails and working the ship as if they were all on that pleasure cruise. Men like boatswains mate Lee Miller squatting on the blanched deck of the forecastle splicing a hawser, the marlinspike dancing a jig in his hands.
This is the might of the Royal Navy personified in one man. And the crews of his fleet, from the career captains to the men so often snatched from the taverns of old England, the Kings shilling pressed into their palms, would follow him into the jaws of hell, so powerful is the myth and legend of this extraordinary seaman, this man of our time whose time has now come.
Dwarfed by the vastness of the C-in-C's stateroom, The Great Cabin with its sweeping seascape panorama, the diminutive figure of Nelson wearing his battle honours, eye-shade and armless sleeve, pores over a bundle of charts.
There was a time when I could have had him, he exclaims, the good eye sparking with intensity as he stabs a forefinger into the parchment. Only dammit, the old fox secured the weather gage and gave me the slip. He is referring to his archrival the French Admiral Pierre Charles Villeneuve who ducked and weaved and eventually succeeded in outmanoeuvring the Toulon blockade in March to escape through the Straits and strike out for the West Indies.
Nelson turns and leans on the chart-strewn table. Ah well, the word is his days are numbered, old Boney has lost confidence in his ancient mariner and plans to replace him with that popinjay Rosily, well time will tell, we've chased each other's tails half way around the world so I'll miss him when he finally swallows the anchor. Archived from the original on 28 September Retrieved 12 September In Harris, David J. The Nelson Society. Archived from the original on 24 March Retrieved 16 September Archived from the original on 19 September Archived from the original on 5 September Retrieved 7 August Retrieved 14 September Flags of the World.
Archived from the original on 1 March Bolton 14 June Archived from the original on 27 April Past and Present: Their Story and Associations. Frederick Warne and Co. A History of Signalling in the Royal Navy. Hyden House Ltd.
National Maritime Museum. Archived from the original on 30 September Greenwood Press. Vice-Admiral Horatio, Lord Nelson".