GUNBOAT NUMBER 14

Jens Kuhn

Gunboat Number 14

Copyright ©Jens Kuhn 2009

This book may be copied and distributed freely in digital form for private use only.

In print or for commercial use all unauthorized copying or distribution is prohibited.

All rights reserved.

Cover picture by Jens Kuhn

Second edition 2010

Published by Lulu.com

ISBN 978-1-4452-6151-5

For Helena

and Pickles

I would like to thank Ken Powell, UK for his useful comments, as well as his stoic acceptance of my American spelling. Also the members of the Sailing Navies forum for some tips about the terminology used on rowing vessels and British ships in the Baltic at the time. And finally my wife, Helena for her faith in me. She actually wants me to write another book...

Jens Kuhn is a journalist. He lives with his wife and cat in Stockholm, Sweden. During the summer months he sails his small yacht in the same waters where the action of this novel takes place.

Preface

May 1808

Lieutenant Johan Kuhlin stood at the window and looked down on the big inner harbor of Stockholm. It was crowded with ships and boats of all kinds. Most were smaller merchant vessels, waiting to bring supplies to the army which fought for its survival more than defending the Eastern part of the Swedish kingdom – Finland. Only a few weeks before, the big fortress at Svensksund had surrendered to the Russians and the whole Finnish gunboat squadron with it. Now only the little Stockholm squadron stood between the Russian inshore fleet and the Åland islands, let alone the Stockholm archipelago and Swedish capital. Sure, the high seas fleet had managed to blockade the bigger Russian ships in Estonia, with some help from the British Royal Navy. But there were enough galleys, sloops and gunboats left to worry about. Especially now, with the Finnish squadron added to the enemy’s forces. And those were the best and newest boats.

Kuhlin thought about the commander of that fortress – the traitor as he already had been named by quite a few – Carl Olof Cronstedt. Kuhlin had met him once, long nose and quite small mouth. Aristocratic of course. But a coward nonetheless apparently. If he at least had burned the gunboats before surrendering to the Russians. More than 70 galleys and gunboats had fallen into Russian hands, which was more than the Stockholm squadron could muster altogether. And that did not even include the original Russian boats.

He turned his head and looked to the right. In the distance he could just see the navy yard, where gunboats were built and repaired at this very moment. But the boats were not all. The inshore fleet was formally an army unit. Its primary purpose was to support the army by covering its seaward flank. Thus, while the boats were commanded by navy officers like himself, the rest of the crew was army. An army officer commanded the guns and the men at the oars were all new army conscripts with very limited seagoing experience. He did have a bosun, though, who was a real sailor and would no doubt be extremely useful.

Talking about guns, Kuhlin thought. His boat would have two real guns, a 24 pounder in the bow and one in the stern. Then there were four small swivel guns, two in the bows and two aft. Kuhlin actually never had commanded a gunboat before, or any vessel by any means. He had been a second in command on a navy brig at most. The transfer to the inshore fleet was really Charlotte’s fault. She wanted him to be near her home at Stockholm and not to be away for so long periods as was customary in the navy. Of course he had wanted it too, newlywed and all in love. But then, the war had come and now he wasn’t so sure anymore. Maybe blockade duty off Estonia was better than fighting the Russians in what was essentially a big rowboat. There were two masts with lateen sails alright, but the rig was intended to be taken down during battle. And there wasn’t even a cabin to sleep in!

Kuhlin heard a faint sound behind him and turned around. Charlotte, his wife, was still in bed, awake now, however, and looking at him. At least the boat was his own command, he thought before moving towards the bed and sitting down on the edge beside his wife.

“Good morning, darling,” he said and kissed her softly.

“Won’t you come back to bed?” she asked, lifting the sheet to invite him in. Of course this exposed her naked body. Kuhlin tried to resist, although he couldn’t avoid looking at her shapely breasts, nipples perkily stiffening in the chilly morning air.

“I don’t have time, really,” he tried. But Charlotte took his hand and placed it firmly over her left breast.

Chapter 1 -Taking Command

Lieutenant Johan Kuhlin was half an hour late when he arrived at the quay below the heights of Södermalm. And now he needed a boat that could take him to the navy yard on Djurgården Island. The only problem was that the quay showed a complete absence of the small ferry boats that normally plied the busy waters of the harbor. Something was keeping them busy somewhere else, he thought. Maybe one of the bigger merchantmen was about to leave. Suddenly he saw a small rowboat approaching the quay. An old woman was handling the only pair of oars and as he shouted to her she turned around and waved in acknowledgement.

Kuhlin took up the canvas bag with the few belongings he had decided he would need on his voyage and stepped into the dangerously rocking boat. There was no cabin on a gunboat, only some big lockers along the gunwales, the most aft ones big enough for a man to lie down in and sleep, quite like in a coffin. Three of those were reserved for the commanding officer, the gunnery officer and the bosun, while the rest of the crew slept on the thwarts or wherever they could find space. Originally, the gunboats were intended to be moored somewhere during the nights and the crew would then sleep in big canvas tents. This was of course not always possible during wartime use of the boats. Even if long overnight passages were relatively uncommon, they had often to be in a state of alert with crew at their stations. If it was quiet enough, the boat could be covered by the sails to protect the crew from rain and cold.

Kuhlin sat down in the stern of the boat. “To the galley wharf if you please,” he told the woman.

“You on one of those gun shallops? Bloody uncomfortable things I hear. Dangerous as well, not worth much in a gale are they?,” the woman conversed gruffily. “Son of a neighbor of mine was on one of those over at Svensksund. Not heard from him since the...”

“Yes, yes. Hurry up will you?” Kuhlin wasn’t in a mood for talking. He was well enough aware of the disadvantages of a gunboat in a gale. He thought about his canvas bag. He had taken only one extra uniform to be kept clean and used for special occasions. A blanket, his tobacco pouch, a bottle of brandy and the little book his wife had given him. Some poems or something. And his diary of course, which probably would double as a log, or were the gunboats provided with real log books, like real ships? Well he would find out shortly.

The woman had stopped talking and rowed quietly and slowly between the moored ships in the harbor. They were now passing the fort on Kastellholmen with its bare flag pole, indicating that the country was at war. Sailors were exercising on the quay below the fort. Not real sailors, new conscripts without even proper uniforms. They looked more like peasants, which was probably exactly what they were. His own crew would also be made up of these unfortunate souls. Well, it was his duty to weld them into a working crew. If he failed, none of them would stand a chance to get home alive.

The galley wharf had gotten its name from the galleys that originally were built there. Bigger than the gunboats but not as heavily armed, they looked very much like the old galleys from the Mediterranean. There were still a few in service in the inshore squadron, but now they were mostly used as command posts or support vessels for the much more effective gunboats. Right now only one galley was in sight, moored to the wharf and with her masts taken out she was probably about to be fitted out. The rest of the shoreline was occupied by gunboats in different states of completeness. Some were newly built and still unpainted and without guns. Some were of the older type with the gun mounted aft on a field carriage in order to be able to be put ashore easily and used as a land battery. This was the type of gunboat that their designer Fredrik Henrik af Chapman had used in 1776 to convince King Gustav III to have them mass produced. Most modern boats had the gun in the bows, some even had two big guns, one forward and one aft. 24 pounders mostly, except the older field guns who were only 12 pounders.

Even the rigging was different. All boats had two masts that could be stepped or taken down without the boat having to be moored or anchored. In fact, the crew had to be trained to take down the masts very quickly as the boats were not designed to use their big guns while under sail. Instead, the guns were hauled down into the bottom of the boat to act as ballast and improve its ability to sail to windward. Which was bad enough to begin with. As for sails, the boats had either lug sails or lateen sails. Kuhlin preferred the lateen rigged boats. They looked better and would at least theoretically stand a chance to be able to go to windward.

Kuhlin paid the ferrywoman and stepped ashore. The shoreline was bustling with workers and sailors, most of the latter being in the same sorry state as those he had seen at Kastellholmen. Looking around he found a young man in a sub-lieutenant’s uniform and hailed him. “Any idea of how to find Number 14?”

“Not sure, Sir, but if she’s supposed to be ready for sea she’ll be over there.” Pointing to the far side of the wharf.

“Thank you kindly,” Kuhlin replied and moved on. He soon came to a part of the wharf where boats were moored bows-to the quay. Dockyard workers where busy loading them with supplies of all kinds. The quay was littered with crates, barrels and boxes. Heaps of sweeps, spars and rigging completed the picture. Suddenly Kuhlin saw his boat. She was empty except for two men who were working on the aft gun. One of them wore the uniform of an artillery officer and the other one wore a sailor’s rig. That would be the bosun, Carl Tapper, and the officer would be Eric af Klint, the gunnery officer. Kuhlin looked down on the men who would be the perhaps most important part of his crew. Tapper was small and sturdy but looked like a competent sailor. Af Klint, on the other hand, was an aristocratic looking thin figure with a nose that looked like a bird’s beak.

Suddenly the bosun looked up and saw Kuhlin standing there. “Can I help you, Sir?” he asked.

“I think you can,” Kuhlin replied. “I am supposed to take command of Number 14.”

“Oh, lieutenant Kuhlin, Sir. Welcome aboard,” Tapper came to attention and saluted.

“At ease, bosun,” Kuhlin stepped down into the boat and held out his hand. Tapper shook it, then turned to the gunnery officer who had stood silent. “That’s our artillery man, af Klint.”

“Welcome, Sir,” said af Klint.

“Thank you both. Now when do we expect to get any crew?”

“I have no idea,” Tapper replied. “But there is a letter for you, Sir. I put it in your chest aft.”

Kuhlin thanked him and started to make his way aft. His chest, or built-in locker was the aft-most one on the starboard side. He opened it and found the letter on top of some blankets. Sitting down on the aft gun mounting he opened it. The letter contained, as he had expected, his orders. He was to take his boat to Vaxholm Castle in order to meet with two more gunboats, numbers 34 and 35 as well as a supply boat. Taking command of this little squadron, he was to proceed over the sea of Åland to the Finnish archipelago and the main base there. Further orders would be issued after his arrival. Very well, thought Kuhlin. If he only had a crew. He looked up at the sky. It was overcast but would not rain for a while. There was not much wind, but he was sure there would be once they got out into more open water.

“Bosun!” he called. Tapper came aft and saluted. “Yes, Sir?”

“Try to send a messenger to Kastellholmen to find out if our crew is there. I saw some fairly new conscripts there on my way here...”

“Aye,” Tapper replied and turned.

“And Tapper! What’s wrong with the gun forward?”

Tapper hesitated. “I’m not really sure, better ask the gunner!”

Eric af Klint crouched over the gun mount and poked at it with some kind of knife. Kuhlin could not see anything that looked amiss with the piece, but he was no gunner, af Klint was.

“What’s wrong with it?”

Af Klint stopped poking. “It’s dirty like hell, won’t slide down as easily as it could, Sir,” he replied. “Also the gun tackles do look like they have been there since the last war. I would like to have them replaced.”

“Then why don’t you?”

“They won’t let me have any cordage, Sir. Claim there is a shortage and everything they have is reserved for masts and rigging.”

“Oh, I see.” Kuhlin hadn’t expected it to be that bad. But with all the Finnish squadron gone and new boats under construction on literally every boatyard in the country, it probably was right to hold back on the stuff.

“But will it shoot?” he asked.

“It will shoot alright and maybe a few rounds fired will burn away the dirt and let it slide more easily. But I still would want to change the tackles, Sir.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile let’s hope we’ll get our crew soon. We are off to Vaxholm as soon as they are here.”

The crew however, did not arrive until early next morning. The bosun’s messenger had not returned until late that evening, and drunk as well. Apparently, the conscripts had tried to delay their departure in order to wait for the uniforms they had been promised. Now they would have to go to war in their own clothes. Kuhlin was just as angry about that as they were themselves, but he could not do a thing about it. The uniforms, so he was told, were ordered but hadn’t been delivered in time. And yes, they would be sent after them to Finland one way or another. Kuhlin wasn’t so sure about that, but he had told his crew nothing about his doubts. They were a sorry enough lot as it were, having been marched from the inland villages around the capital for days and weeks, without being properly fed just in order to start rowing the gunboat without even any proper training. But they would learn on the way. Fortunately, between Stockholm and the Åland Sea lay one of the biggest archipelagos in the world. Thousands of islands and skerries sheltered it from the swell and winds of the Baltic Sea and made it into an easy enough training ground for the new oarsmen. Or so Kuhlin hoped.

Chapter 2 - The crew

“Let go forward,” ordered Kuhlin. “Haul in on the kedge.” Slowly gunboat no 14 moved away from the quay, stern first. 56 men where seated on the thwarts, 28 to each side, two at each of the 14 sweeps that would propel the boat while under oars. Between them the two masts and lateen yards were lashed in place above the guns that had been hauled down into the bottom of the boat in order to serve as ballast when under sail. Kuhlin stood in the stern of the boat next to the bosun who had the tiller as long as they were in confined space – or at least until he had trained someone else to act as coxswain. Two men where heaving on the stout line that was connected to the kedge anchor.

“Easy on that line,” Kuhlin ordered when the boat was getting close to the anchor. He didn’t want her to overshoot the kedge, risking making a mess of anchor line and sweeps while in sight of everyone ashore.

“Kedge is up and down,” the bosun reported. Tapper stood, supervising the handling of the anchor, while controlling the tiller with his right foot.

“Haul in the kedge. Ready by the sweeps,” ordered Kuhlin.

Although most of the men never had been aboard a gunboat it had been explained to them by Tapper what was expected of them. Many also had some experience in rowing fishing skiffs or the like. About a dozen men had served on gunboats before, and Tapper had tried to place them as strategically as possible in order for them to be able to help the landsmen. Kuhlin looked around. The kedge was up and currently being stowed in its locker. Fortunately no other boats were around. They might as well give it a go, he thought. He raised his voice.

“Easy now, slowly and one thing at a time, men!”

Then: “Out sweeps.”

Slowly and carefully, like a cat that stretches its paw after a good nap, the long sweeps moved outwards.

“Down sweeps.” The blades dropped into the water. “Give way together slowly!” This was the most difficult part. When rowing a vessel with many sweeps everything depended on the movement of the oars to be simultaneous. If one or several sweeps moved out of stroke they could collide with others and the whole symmetry would be destroyed, the boat would stop moving and in the worst of cases, sweeps could break. Thus every pair of oarsmen had to time their strokes with one specific sweep, normally the aft-most one on each side as the oarsmen sat with their backs to the bows of the gunboat. While they rowed they had to keep their eyes on those leading sweeps and all they had to do was keep the same beat.

Slowly the sweeps started to move and gunboat no 14 started to make way through the water.

“Hard a starboard,” ordered Kuhlin. Tapper moved the tiller and the boat moved away from the shore.

“Midships. Keep her along the shore.”

When underway inshore between the islands and skerries, compass courses normally were not used. It was much easier to order the coxswain to steer by sight.

This was going quite well, Kuhlin thought. Surely, the rows of sweeps did not look like anything that would impress an admiral, but they would certainly get better. Number 14 was now slowly moving along the coastline. When they passed the island of Beckholmen his nose was filled by the strong smell of tar. It was here most of the famous Stockholm tar was produced. Or had been, as the tar came mostly from Finland and with that part of the country now threatened by Russia the supplies had started to dwindle. The boat now turned to larboard, into more open water. Time to try the men some more.

“Oarsmen firm up,” Kuhlin called. The sweeps started to move faster as the men leaned into them with a will. At least they had gotten a decent breakfast. A gunboat was not a fast vessel. Under oars their speed was between two and three knots. Still that was much faster than the old galleys which were happy if the could make one knot at all. Of course the gunboats could be rowed faster, but only for short periods of time. Kuhlin hoped they would be able to sail later, when they got into more open water. Under sails they would both be faster and more easy on the crew. On the other hand, pulling kept them warm and occupied so they did not have time to worry about what lay ahead of them. Kuhlin sat down on the starboard locker, pulled out his notebook and started to write his log.

In the bows, gunnery officer Eric af Klint stood and smelled the fresh air. The boat was moving at about three knots, still under oars and they were now halfway between Stockholm and Vaxholm Castle, their destination for the day. Af Klint was still not satisfied with the bow guns sliding carriage. It had been freshly greased and the gun moved nicely enough when it was stowed in the bottom of the boat before they cast off. But something was not really right with that gun. Still, he could not find out what it was.

He heard some shouting and moving behind him and turned. The crew had stopped pulling and was about to stow the oars. Bosun Tapper and two other men where fiddling with ropes and sails. Apparently, the commander had decided to try out the sails.

The gunboat was not a very good sailer, due to its shallow draft and lack of proper keel. However with the guns below it was stable enough to carry a considerable amount of sail on the two masts that were about to be raised by the crew. The rig was designed to be taken down or raised by the crew alone, at sea. As number 14 carried a lateen rig, the masts were quite short, in fact the main yard was longer that the main mast was high. This made rigging quite easy.

Kuhlin stood next to the tiller and watched the masts which now had been raised and steadied by shrouds and, as far as the foremast was concerned, by a forestay.

“Yards ready to hoist,” the bosun announced.

“Hoist main yard! Let fall mainsail.”

The big yard slowly rose up the mast and was secured. Then the big sail unfolded and caught the breeze.

“Haul tight sheets and braces,” Kuhlin ordered. The sail steadied and the gunboat started to move. Soon even the smaller foresail was set and the boat moved along nicely in the southwesterly breeze.

“That worked quite well, bosun,” Kuhlin remarked.

“Thank you, Sir. She is moving along nicely now.”

“She is indeed. Let the men have something to eat and drink, we still have a few hours to go, and I am sure they will have to pull again as soon as we are near the castle. The winds always are very fluky in that anchorage.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” Tapper moved forward and ordered two of the sailors to follow him. Gunboats did not carry a proper galley, which meant there could be no hot drinks or meals at sea. Provisions were carried for two weeks to be cooked ashore, or else there were special supply boats attached to every three or four gunboats. As number 14 still was on the way to her squadron only cold food could be served: salt herring, hard bread and brandy. The men, however gulped it down with a will. Pulling was hard labor and could make a man eat almost anything. Now they rested, with full bellies while the boat was under sail. Some of the men took out tobacco pouches and simple pipes, carved of wood. Others just sat and talked. Some of the conscripts knew each other, although people from the same village were divided between different boats in order to make it less hard on the communities if one of the boats should be sunk.

Gunboat number 14 neared the narrow channel which formed the entrance to the big lagoon-like anchorage off Vaxholm. The lagoon looked like an hourglass with the big castle on its own island in the middle of the waist, protecting the anchored fleet from any attack. Now there were not many ships at anchor. Most of the high seas fleet were away blockading the Russians in Estonia. There were, however a few smaller ships there, mostly unarmed transports, or, as Kuhlin hoped, supports for the gunboats. Hopefully his supply boat would be amongst them.

The wind increased and shifted dead astern as soon as they were in the channel. The gunboat sailed very well, thought Kuhlin, at least with a following wind. However, as soon as they were though the channel the wind would drop to almost nothing and they would have to take out the oars again.

“Tapper,” he called “have the masts taken down as soon as we are through. I don’t want to have to fiddle with the rigging while trying to find our squadron.”

Half an hour later, number 14 was moving slowly under oars towards the castle. Kuhlin searched the castle walls for any sign of an officer who could tell him where his squadron was. He did not have to wait long. As soon as they were in shouting distance a midshipman appeared and shouted his instructions.

“Lieutenant Kuhlin of number 14? Your squadron is just around the headland there, in Rindösund! I’ll send a boat for you later, the castle commander invites you to dinner!”

“Thank you, I am very much obliged,” replied Kuhlin. “Tapper, you heard him, Rindösund it is.”

Chapter 3 - Out to sea

Early next morning, three gunboats left the sheltered cove at Rindö and moved slowly north. It was a calm, misty spring morning which promised a sunny day. There would be no wind, though, at least not until the sea-breeze set in in the afternoon. So the men had a hard day’s pulling ahead of them. At least the work would keep them warm in the chill of the morning.

Lieutenant Johan Kuhlin stood on his little afterdeck and looked astern. His boat was leading the squadron with the two others following close behind. As they cleared the headland and moved towards the narrow channel called Kodjupet - “Cow Deep” he saw the little schooner Amelia weigh anchor. Amelia was to be their supply vessel. She was loaded with food, brandy, powder and shot for at least a month. She had only a small crew and could not be rowed, which meant they would have to wait for her somewhere in the norther archipelago before they would venture out to sea together in order to cross to Åland and the Finnish archipelago. Where the Russians were waiting.

The other two gunboats, number 34 and 35 were quite new boats, with lugsails instead of his own boat’s lateen rig. Otherwise they were of the same construction, armed with two 24 pounder guns and four swivels. They were commanded by sub-lieutenants who looked very young and inexperienced, thought Kuhlin. They had all met the evening before at the camp site that had been set up for the crew at the little cove on Rindö. Kuhlin did not, however have time to speak to them very much as he had been called away to the castle for dinner. Which had been an altogether boring affair. The commander of the fort had been drunk from the beginning and most of his men looked like they had not been working physically for a decade. In fact the fort had not really been needed since the Russian’s failed attack in 1719. No enemy had since even come close to it. However this might very well change now. If Russia took Finland the archipelago might easily be in reach for their galleys again.

Kuhlin made himself stop thinking along that line. Finland was not lost yet. Sure, the Russians were advancing steadily and Sveaborg had surrendered, but the inshore fleet was just assembling and with a little luck they would be able to cut off the Russian’s supplies and set ashore troops to halt them. He thought about his orders again. He was lucky to have his own squadron, instead of just being one boat in a long line, mostly occupied with holding his station and not missing any orders or create a mess that could be taken advantage of by the enemy. Still, he wondered what he would have to do, if he was capable of it and if the commanders of his other boats would be of any use.

Suddenly he realized that they had passed through the channel and were in more open water for a while. He might as well put those subs through a little drill.

“Tapper”, he called, “signal the other boats to take station in line abreast. Then let the men ease up to give them a chance to get in place.”

The three boats performed formation drill for during the best part of an hour. They formed up in line abreast, stopped, advanced together, turned in formation, split up and formed again. With only three boats these maneuvers were not especially difficult, but the crews were new and the commanders of the other two boats were not very experienced yet. However, eventually Kuhlin was satisfied that they were able to do as he wished. Now only one thing remained to make this first co-ordinated drill complete. He ordered the boats to close up and called to their commanders.

“Gentlemen, we will advance together and attack that little island over there. We will fire live shots, main guns and swivels alike. Three rounds each. Let’s see some action!”

In the bows of Number 14, the gunnery officer ordered his men to get the gun ready. In order to be fired it had to be hauled out of the bottom of the boat up on its sliding carriage, secured, loaded and run out into the firing position. Eric af Klint was still unsure about the gun carriage. He watched the men hauling on their tackles and the gun sliding up into position, ropes straining and wood creaking when the load shifted. When the gun was loaded and hauled into position he raised his hand to Kuhlin who ordered the attack to begin.

The island, not more than a skerry with a few trees on it was a little more than a cable length away when the boats stopped oars still in the water like giant water spiders. As the guns were fixed the whole boat was moved to train them left or right.

“Fire at will,” Kuhlin ordered. Eric af Klint looked along the barrel one last time, then nodded to the gunner who lowered a glowing piece of slowmatch into the touch hole. The gun went off with a boom. Af Klint watched the cannonball bounce off the water about 300 yards away and then crash right into on of the trees on the island, taking down several branches. Shortly after the other boats shots joined in. Two minutes later the guns boomed out again.

“They are a trifle slow at reloading,” remarked Kuhlin. “Two shots every three minutes is the least thing to expect. We have fewer boats than the Russians, so we must compensate it with a higher rate of fire.”

Tapper nodded. “Yes, Sir, we will have to train more.”

“Indeed. Now secure the guns and let’s make way. We have still some more miles to go until the evening.”

They stopped for the night in an anchorage north of Furusund. From here they would start the passage over open water to Åland. As soon as the weather permitted. They would have to wait for the Amelia though. Kuhlin wanted to do the crossing in company with the supply ship. It would enable them to get a good meal when they arrived instead of the simpler provisions the gunboats carried themselves. Also, if they went over together they could protect the unarmed Amelia in case there were any Russians cruising out there. There should not be any, though, with most of the Russian high seas fleet blockaded but one never knew if some corvette or brig had been able to slip out.

The passage across the Åland Sea is about 25 nautical miles of open water. At three knots it would take the gunboats a little more than eight hours – if they could follow the direct route. Of course, if the winds were favorable the boats could sail faster. If they turned foul, however, the passage could take much longer. The gunboats were not very good at going upwind and in open water they were not easily rowed either, if there was any swell at all. Fortunately the prevailing winds this time of the year were southwesterlies, at least until the sea breeze got up in the afternoon and turned them into southerlies or made them die completely on the Swedish coast. Until then, however, the boats would be well out to sea and on the other side the sea breeze would add to the prevailing winds, making them stronger instead. On warm summer days thus near gale force winds could easily appear in the afternoons without any apparent warning.

When Kuhlin gave the order to step the masts and set out to sea, the winds were still light between the islands. He had ordered two of the gunboats to tow the Amelia out of the protected waters in order to keep his little force together. As soon as they reached open waters, the tow was cast off, sails set and the squadron started to sail on an easterly course towards Åland. In fact the real course would rather have been east by northeast, but the gunboats made so much leeway that they would end up farther north anyway.

For the crew this was easy work. They relaxed on the thwarts or with their backs against the gunwales, blinking into the sun and soaking up the warmth of the late spring morning. Kuhlin stood aft, on his usual place besides the tiller and watched the rigging and the sea around them. It was empty, not even a fishing boat was to be seen. Perhaps the fishermen were all afraid of Russian patrols. Or they had all been drafted into the gunboats, he thought.

Two hours later, the wind had picked up some and the boats creamed along nicely. Amelia, who was a much better sailor still had her mainsail reefed to slow her down but Kuhlin was satisfied. If this wind held, they would arrive well before dinner.

“Sail ho! Right on the starboard bow!” A shout from the bows disturbed his thoughts.

“Tapper, get a man up the mainmast,” Kuhlin ordered.

“It’s a ship” a new voice shouted. “Looks like a man of war. One row of gunports, may be a frigate.”

Chapter 4 - The Russian Brig

Lieutenant Kuhlin ordered his gunboats to form a screen between the Amelia and the approaching frigate. Of course three gunboats could not do much against a frigate in open water and with a decent breeze blowing, but he had to try nonetheless. If the frigate was Russian at all. He desperately wanted to see her for himself as he did not trust the man in the mainmast did know very much about frigates and their origins. Not even Tapper would be of much help in this case.

He got his glass and went forward into the bow of the gunboat. Bracing himself against the foremast he tried to focus on the distant ship that now showed most of her masts. Shortly the hull would be visible as well. The frigate was coming from the southeast, sails sheeted in hard to make the most possible way to weather. The gunboats, however, had the wind on their quarter and were sailing in relative comfort. From time to time spray came up over the bows and drenched Kuhlin, who, cursing for himself, had to wipe his glass clean. After a while he was sure enough and went back to the tiller and bosun Tapper.

“She is British, alright. We will alter course a trifle to the south and see if she has any news,” he told him.

Half an hour later, the three gunboats and Amelia lie hove-to in the lee of HMS Tartar, 32 guns. Kuhlin had been collected by one of the frigate’s boats and was now seated in her spacious cabin. Her captain’s name was Baker and he was one of the younger commanders in the squadron that blockaded the Russian fleet in Estonia.

“I am basically patrolling the entrance to the Gulf of Finland,” Baker told him. “Sailing between the Estonian coast and the Åland islands, back and forth.” Baker took a sip of the port they had been served and Kuhlin forced himself to do the same, gulping down the sweet wine he never had developed a liking for.

“Now, yesterday we sighted this brig, Russian of course. She was trying to sneak in between the islands but we cut her off and chased her for a while. Unfortunately she got away at last. Sailed into waters too shallow for us to follow. Still I think she is just hiding there in order to come out again tonight. She is clearly bound east.”

Kuhlin nodded. “There are supposed to be Russian troops and gunboats on several of the eastern islands. Maybe she is carrying supplies to them?”

“Perhaps so. Anyway we stayed close but then our lookout spotted your little squadron. You are just what we need. Do you have any orders preventing you from going in after her? Like a ferret..ha ha. Baker laughed.”

“Well, I’m on passage to my fleet, they are in the islands so I think it would not make a big difference if I took a somewhat more easterly route.”

Baker smiled. “Agreed then, you just try to rattle the cage, make her come out and I’ll finish her off. No unnecessary risks, she does carry some guns you know.”

“How many do you think?”

“A dozen or so. But not more than six pounders I would guess.”

“Good, that means I won’t even need to get into their range.”

The gunboats, of course, had only three real guns that could be used at the same time, but they were 24 pounders. Those had a far greater range than the Russian brig’s so Kuhlin in fact had an advantage. He also had three boats and a lot of crew, while the Russians probably were thinly manned, at least if the brig really was a supply ship.

When Kuhlin had returned to his boat he ordered Amelia to stay with the British frigate while the three gunboats sailed towards the group of islands that lay scattered to the southeast of Åland itself. Somewhere between them the Russian brig hid, waiting for the short period of darkness. Kuhlin had to find her before then, if she got out when visibility was bad, she could escape the frigate and the gunboats were far too slow to catch them on their own. Everything depended on the timing. Were they able to find the brig before darkness?

Kuhlin looked at the chart. These waters were not very well charted. Normally, ships used marked channels in order to safely navigate the archipelago. Only local fishermen knew the waters well enough to sail them freely. Kuhlin wondered if the Russians had better charts. Or if the Russian captain had a local pilot. Kuhlin had to rely on his boat’s shallow draft and maneuverability. Normally shallows that posed a threat to the gunboats could be spotted by a man in the bows. Also, with their slow speed grounding often did not damage the boats very much.

About half a mile offshore he ordered the masts to be taken down and the boats made ready for action. The guns were hauled into position and loaded, as were the swivels. Kuhlin ordered the other boats alongside and talked to their commanders.

“We will split up and enter the islands through these three channels here. There are really not too many places where a brig can be, considering she draws clearly more water than we. We’ll check all the coves deep enough. Then we will meet here. Do not attack the brig on your own if you see her – try to sneak in undetected if you can, but in any case, if there is an attack, we’ll do it together.”

Gunboat Number 14 slowly felt her way through the shallow channel. The islands on both sides were not very high, mere skerries, but they were covered by trees and bushes which made it impossible to see over them unless from a masthead. But the gunboat’s masts were taken down and stowed. This was usual procedure when the boats were cleared for action, but in this case it filled another purpose as well. Without masts the boats were so low they were hard to spot. In fact, Kuhlin hoped the Russian brig’s high masts would give her away before the boats even had open view of her.

These outer islands were uninhabited. They may have been used by the occasional fisherman for shelter in sudden change of weather, but now, during wartime, there were no fisherman in these waters. There was quite some wildlife though. Seagulls were screeching away as they told each other were fish was to be found. Cormorants were sitting on the rocks, wings stretched out to dry. And they had seen seals on the barren skerries offshore.

Gunnery officer af Klint was in the bows, together with his crew. The big gun was loaded as well as the two swivels and now the men were keeping lookout. For many of them this could very well be the first sight of the enemy. Eric af Klint himself had seen them before, during peacetime when he had visited Saint Petersburg together with his father. They had watched Russian artillerymen exercising in a field outside the town. This had been one of the reasons why he had chosen to join the artillery and not the horse guard like his father. Somehow the big guns made him feel important, or so he thought. After all, what would this boat be without them? A rowing barge, nothing more.

“Hard to larboard,” Kuhlin ordered. Number 14 had passed through the channel and was now in somewhat more open water. To the left of them was another channel, somewhat wider and probably deep enough for a brig. On the other side was some kind of anchorage, according to the chart. Suddenly one of the men in the bows saw a dark shape below the water.

“Shallow ahead!”

“Hold water! Back of all,” Kuhlin ordered directly. But it was too late. The gunboat slowly slid her bow up the uncharted underwater obstruction and stopped. Kuhlin went forward where af Klint already was peering down into the bottom of the boat.

“No water, doesn’t look like there is any damage,” he commented.

“Shouldn’t think so. We were going slowly enough. Now let’s have a look at that shallow.”

Kuhlin looked over the bows and examined the underwater skerry they had hit. It was about twenty yards wide and only two feet below the water. Fortunately it was flat and sloping so instead of striking it head on the boat had slid up onto it like onto a beach.

“Lets try to get her off. Back of altogether,” he ordered. The men pulled with a will, but the boat would not move.

“Af Klint, take your gunners back into the stern and take the first three rows of men with you.”

With the weight of the crew shifted aft, he ordered the rest of the crew to pull again. This time the gunboat slowly moved. They were off the shallow. Kuhlin went aft and marked the obstruction on the chart while the crew started to pull slowly ahead, now giving it a wide berth.

For two hours the boat continued to creep between the islands and skerries, checking possible anchorages. They went aground once more and spotted three more unmarked obstructions.

“Like doing a survey, Sir,” remarked bosun Tapper. Kuhlin nodded. This was not what he had thought of doing when they started to sail this morning. By now he had imagined them safely tucked up in an anchorage alongside Amelia, eating a good meal.

“It will be getting dark in a few hours. If we don’t find her soon, we’ll have to break off and explain our delay to someone, I’m afraid.” Kuhlin had an independent command, but there were still orders to follow and at the local base they were probably wondering were he was.

“Gunshot, Sir,” Tapper said suddenly. Kuhlin had heard it as well. “Sounded like a light gun, but not a swivel. Could be the brig. Were do you think it came from?”

“Hard to say, Sir.”

“There is another, it seems to come from the south, maybe from behind that island over there,” Kuhlin pointed. “We’ll take a look. Hold water. Back of larboard, give way starboard, rudder hard to larboard!.”

With the rudder hard over, oars on one side backing and pulling forward on the other, the gunboat almost turned on the spot. “Give way together. Firm up!” The boat started to move faster. More gunshots where heard but then the firing stopped. Hopefully the reckless gunboat had backed off out of range of the Russians guns.

When they rounded a headland they suddenly spotted Gunboat Number 34. It was laying stopped right in the middle of a bigger cove. Further in was the Russian brig. Her guns were run out and men were swarming up the rigging to make sail while others were heaving on the capstan to haul up the anchor. Kuhlin smiled. “She won’t get away in this wind. It’s far too little and we have bigger guns.”

“Af Klint! Open fire when ready!”

The big 24 pounder roared. They could see the ball bounce off the water and smash right into the Russians decks. Immediately the crew started to reload. Now the other gunboat opened fire as well. Her shot missed by a few yards and threw up a great spout of water.

The Russian six pounders replied, but all shots fell short. They just did not have the range. In the meantime the gunboats continued to fire, two shots every three minutes. With the brig stationary almost all shots found their targets. Splinters flew from the Russian bulwarks and holes appeared in her hull. Men were screaming. The sails were in disarray and the capstan had stopped clicking. Apparently the crew was not obeying orders, or maybe most of them were dead or wounded.

“Cease firing,” Kuhlin ordered. The cove fell silent, only the smoke and smell of gunpowder remained. “Give way together,” he ordered, taking his boat nearer the enemy and into the range of her guns. Kuhlin doubted she would, or could use them though. Even the Russian commander must realize that they had no chance.

“Why won’t he strike his colors?” he wondered.

“Perhaps he rather wants the ship destroyed then let it fall in our hands?

“Lay us alongside, Tapper! I will board her with a dozen men. Keep us covered with the swivels.”

Kuhlin, cutlass in his hand stepped though the brig’s entry port onto her deck, closely followed by his men. But there was no resistance. A few Russians sat on the deck, looking bewildered. Others were tending wounded.

“Where are your officers?” Kuhlin asked. He got no answer. “Search the ship, and signal number 34 to get here and prepare a tow.” Kuhlin looked around. The brig was not too severely damaged, but there was a lot of broken cordage. He would not dare to set sails until those were repaired. And anyway he doubted he had enough people in his crew who could sail a ship of this size, let alone command a prize crew. Also, there was the English frigate. Better tow her out to open water and leave her to the English, hoping their captain would recognize their effort and give them a share of the prize money.

“The captain is dead, Sir. She seemed to have been commanded by a lieutenant who died from a splinter wound and two midshipmen. They are down below with the rest of the Russians.”

“Very well, keep them there. Leave six armed men aboard, the rest goes back to the boat. 34 will tow her until we meet 35. We will keep station on her quarter and cover her with the swivels.”

It was nearly dark when they reached open water. Both 34 and 35 were towing the brig, while number 14 kept a watchful eye on the procession. As soon as they were visible from seaward, HMS Tartar came tearing down onto them, signals flying. Captain Baker was extremely pleased.

“Kuhlin, this was very well done. Even if I’m a bit disappointed to have missed out all the action. But I see I wasn’t of any use in there.”

“Thank you, Sir and yes, this was definitely a gunboat job. That’s what we are best at.”

“Yes yes. What do you say about staying for dinner? We could celebrate your victory, surely?”

“I would love to, Sir, but my men have basically not left their thwarts since we departed from Sweden this morning. They need a rest and to be fed. So I think we will go right back to that anchorage, taking our Amelia with us and make a camp.”

“I see. Very well then, all the best and good luck to you and your boats. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

Chapter 5 - Orders

Sottungarna is a group of small islands and skerries, forming a sheltered anchorage to the East of Åland. The anchorage had been used as a stop-over for boats and ships bound for Finland for centuries. During the summer of 1808, Sottungarna was the inshore fleet’s forward base. Dozens of gunboats, several galleys, supply ships and hospital ships crowded the anchorage. On the islands, gunboat crews lived in tents.

It was midsummer time, and as usual the June solstice caused unstable, windy and wet weather. Lieutenant Kuhlin’s squadron of three gunboats had been here for three weeks now, essentially doing nothing. The crews lived in their tents ashore and had a relatively easy time, except for the occasional patrol, looking for Russian gunboats. There were rumors of a Russian supply convoy trying for Turku, which had been occupied by the Russians earlier. It would have to be stopped of course. There was a relief plan for Turku, but nobody knew when enough troops would be ready. In any case, they would have to be put ashore from ships, and the gunboats would be used to protect them.

Kuhlin sat in the cabin of the old galley Småland. Slower and more lightly armed than the gunboats, the galleys where mostly used as flagships. They had real cabins aft, something Kuhlin by now had come to envy immensely. After several weeks of sleeping in his coffin like chest or ashore he longed for a real ship with a real galley and a warm cabin.

“Ah, Kuhlin, here you are!” A captain had entered the cabin. Kuhlin did not remember his name, but he knew a member of the staff when he saw it. The captain looked healthy and well fed.

“Keep your seat by all means,” he continued.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Now, Kuhlin, I have orders for your little squadron. As you probably have heard we suspect a Russian supply convoy on its way to Turku. We are not really sure, though, which channel it will be coming through, so we have to keep a good lookout.”

“I see.”

“The thing is, the Russians have put troops on quite a lot of the islands between here and the main channels. Several of our patrols have come under fire from ashore, without even seeing any Russians. And this is not acceptable. You will take your squadron and rout those Russians out. I want them off those islands.”

“Aye aye, Sir.” Kuhlin, knew that the task was no easy one. His crew was not exactly trained in land fighting, and the Russians would see them long before he would see the Russians.

“Sir, do you know if those Russians have any field guns?”

“Probably not, but you never know. All our ships that have come under fire report only small arms. Which is bad enough for open boats.”

Kuhlin left the galley with some new charts and a bunch of intelligence reports about islands on which Russians had been seen. However, he suspected the Russians would probably change their positions from time to time. This would not be an easy task at all. He almost hoped the rainy weather would continue, bad visibility was the only advantage he had. Of course he could move at night, but navigation was always a problem in these rock infested waters, and darkness did not make it easier.

It had started to rain again when Kuhlin came ashore and walked to the tents where his crews were living. During the stay at Sottungarna even the officers lived in tents. Dripping wet, he entered the tent where the commanders of his other two boats were drinking together with their bosuns and gunnery officers. Tapper and af Klint were present as well.

“Welcome, Sir, you look like you need a drink,” sub-lieutenant Dahlberg, commander of gunboat number 35 filled a mug with the strong spirit that was liberally provided to the officers and men of the inshore fleet.

Kuhlin accepted the drink and took off his dripping wet coat. “Gentlemen, I just come from the flagship. We have orders to sail tomorrow morning!”

“Finally,” Tapper said. “We’ve been rotting here far too long. The crew is more drunk than alive most of the time.”

“I know. Now we will send word to the Amelia to make us the most opulent dinner they can provide. For she won’t be with us on this patrol.”

The men knew what that meant. They would have to live on the meager provisions the gunboats could carry themselves. Mostly salt herring, hard bread and porridge. Eaten cold more often than warm as the boats did not have any galley. Warm food or coffee for that matter required them to go ashore on some island to make a fire. And as they were moving within Russian occupied territory this wasn’t going to happen very often. Also they might have to be careful with smoke giving their presence away to the enemy.

“How long is this patrol supposed to last?” Sub-lieutenant Gran of Number 34 wondered.

“Nothing was said about that. We are to rout out those Russians and I guess we will go back when we have done that, are being recalled or run out of food.”

“Ten days then, food won’t last longer than that.”

“Unless we can relieve the Russians of some of their supplies.”

The men laughed.

Chapter 6 - The Cottage

It was still raining lightly when the three gunboats slipped their lines and slowly moved out of the anchorage the next morning, Kuhlin’s boat in the lead, followed by Gran and Dahlberg. The crews were dripping wet and most of them had a heavy head from the night’s liberal use of liqueur. Still, they were pulling with a will, thus at least keeping warm. Kuhlin himself stood in the stern of gunboat 14, shuddering in his boat cloak. He had ordered the swivel guns to be loaded with grape shot to be prepared for any sudden encounters with the Russians. The big guns were hauled up and in place, but not yet loaded. Kuhlin would not trust the powder could be kept dry in this weather and the big guns were a nuisance to worm out and reload in case of a misfire.

There were hundreds of islands in the Finnish archipelago, but Kuhlin had received reports as of from which Russian troops had been firing on passing vessels. These he would have to check out first, although he was aware that the Russians could have been moved long since. They would need boats to move them though, so there could very well be Russian gunboats in the area. Thus he was quite satisfied with the bad weather. At least the visibility was bad as well. The gunboats, low in the water, would not be seen easily between the islands.

A light flared up in the bow. That idiot af Klint was lighting his pipe. Kuhlin shrugged. They would either learn to be more careful or be dead soon enough. For now he couldn’t bring himself to reprimand the gunnery officer in front of the crew. It could be bad for morale. Instead, he took another look on the chart which he tried to keep out of the rain by placing it inside his chest. He lifted the lock and compare the small drawn shapes of islands on the chart with what little he saw though the mist.

“Ease up,” he ordered, slowing the boat down. Then he turned to Tapper. “We’ll turn to starboard after that headland over there. I’ll have number 34 set a party ashore and search the island while the rest will continue slowly enough for them to catch up,” he explained.

“Aye aye, Sir.” Tapper peered through the mist until he saw the headland, a vague shape about two hundred yards away. “I wonder if we’ll get any lunch,” he thought.

Sub-lieutenant Gran hated walking around on damp islands, looking for Russians. This was the third one and he was already wet to the bone. Although it wasn’t raining much his clothes were soaked through and having to make his way through bushes and all kind of wet vegetation, he could of course not wear his boat cloak. He swore when another tree decided to empty a cascade of big wet drops on him.

Gran was leading six men, armed with muskets and cutlasses, while he himself had two pistols and his sword. Which wasn’t of much help either cutting his way through the vegetation, he’d rather would have had a cutlass himself.

The first three islands they had searched had proved to be completely devoid of Russians and signs there had been any around lately. In fact, they did not find any evidence of human activity whatsoever. However, this island was somewhat bigger and according to the chart there was supposed to be a cottage on it, perhaps a fisherman’s or some farmer’s who put sheep or goats ashore here during the summer. It was on the other side of the island, near a small cove, and for some reason, lieutenant Kuhlin had ordered him to get there over land, while the other two gunboats would wait out of sight, but ready to enter the cove if required. Kuhlin seemed to expect there would be some Russians this time, alright. But Gran had his doubts. They had not seen any boats around lately and how were the Russians supposed to get here in the first place. In fact, Gran suspected that there hadn’t been any Russians on any islands around here. It could very well all be a rumor, started by some supply ship’s captains to get themselves escorted by gunboats. Those merchant sailors could be a little wary plying front line waters unescorted, not that he couldn’t understand them.

“Halt!” he ordered his men. They were nearing the other side of the island now and it was time to take at least some precautions. “We continue the approach as silently as possible. No slashing out at branches and keep your ears open!”

The men continued carefully. They had come to the top of a ridge, below which the vegetation was merely high grass and bushes. The trees had apparently been cut down to build the cottage down there. It was quite small, probably a fisherman’s cottage after all. There was a small jetty extending a few yards into the cove and next to it a construction of piles and ropes was apparently used for drying the fishermen’s nets. Gran ordered his men to stop and looked around the place.

“Seems nobody’s here does it? Well, we split up into pairs and approach from three directions.” He and two men waited while the other pairs made their way around the perimeter. Then they started down the slope towards the cottage, muskets at the ready. Still, it was completely quiet when they all rejoined at the cottage. Gran, pistol in hand, opened the door.

The cottage was simple, with only two rooms. The door opened into a big room that was sparsely furnished with a big table, some chairs and an earthen cooking place. Gran examined the cooking pot. “There is some soup here, it’s still a little warm. This fire has been out for only a few hours.”

His men gathered around the soup. “You mind if we have any?”

“Maybe later. Now I want you to search this place. Also I want two lookouts, one keeping a eye on the cove and the other up the forest.”

Gran turned towards the door that led into the other, smaller room and opened it. This was apparently where the fishermen slept. Two simple beds with straw mattresses and a big trunk were the only furniture. The room smelled faintly of tobacco and something else which he could not make out exactly. Maybe sweat? He turned around and started to leave the room when he changed his mind and took a closer look at the trunk. It was about five feet long and three feet wide and the lid was locked down with a crude leather strop that went around an iron nail at the front side. Gran stepped forward and undid the strop, then started to lift the lid. Curled up, inside the trunk was a beautiful girl.

Sub-lieutenant Gran was only twenty-three years old and had been in the inshore fleet for too long to have any extended experience of the female part of the human race. Chocked, he did not know what to do. He didn’t even know if the girl was alive at first, but then he saw that she was breathing, her breasts heaving lightly under the torn dress that barely covered her. Gran softly touched her head, tried to wake her up perhaps, but then he realized that she must be unconscious. He lifted her carefully out of the trunk and placed her on one of the straw beds.

She really was beautiful, with almost white skin, albeit badly bruised at some places. One of her firm breasts was visible where her dress was torn, with a small pink nipple atop of it. Gran felt a little aroused looking at her, but then he took himself together, took off his uniform coat and covered her with it. He took one last look at her face, then left the room and closed the door. This was too much for him to decide, he needed to get lieutenant Kuhlin over here. Gran took out his pistols and fired them into the sky, one at a time.

Chapter 7 - The girl

It was a beautiful morning. The rain had finally stopped and the sun was blazing from a clear sky while the water in the cove was perfectly still like a mirror. This time of the year dawn came still early this far north and most of the men were still asleep. Two of the gunboats, Number 14 and Gran’s 34 were moored bows to the shore next to the cottage and their crews had pitched their tents on the beach. Dahlberg was less lucky. His boat was anchored in the mouth of the cove as a sentry. Its crew was aboard but mostly asleep as well, wherever they could find space to curl up like cats or dogs. Only a couple of men were awake, sitting around the big bow gun.

There were sentries on the island’s highest rocks as well, so they would get some warning if the Russians would approach. Still the night had been quiet and the men had gotten the rest they so desperately needed. They even had hot food for dinner, thanks to the facilities in the fisherman’s cottage.

Sub-lieutenant Gran had been watching over the unconscious girl most of the night, but finally fallen asleep on the bed next to the one where she was lying. He wondered who she was. Something told him she wasn’t a fisherman’s daughter or wife left behind on this island. If that was the case, for sure she would have a small boat with her. There was no sign of a struggle either, so if she had not been alone, nobody seemed to have tried to defend her. Most probably she had been dumped here by the Russians for some reason. Which then had left after eating that soup. Suddenly Gran realized that the girl was stirring.

Lieutenant Kuhlin woke when he heard the scream. He lifted the lid and climbed out of his coffin-like bunk. Putting on his coat while he made his way towards the bows of the boat he jumped ashore and started to run towards the cottage. When he arrived, the screaming had stopped and the anchorage was again quiet except for the odd bird that had been scared into flight by the sudden disturbance.

When Kuhlin opened the bedroom door he saw Gran and the girl sitting next to each other. The girl was draped into Gran’s big uniform coat, her long hair all over the place, looking utterly vulnerable and helpless in this environment. Seeing Kuhlin enter, she looked up and lifted a hand to wipe away some tears from her face. Gran, who held her other hand, introduced Kuhlin.

“Lieutenant Kuhlin, our squadron commander, and this is Miss Eleonora. I am sorry for the disturbance, Sir, but when she first saw me she thought the Russians were back.”

The girl blinked towards Kuhlin but said nothing. Kuhlin was eager to interview her about the Russians, but realized it would probably be better to leave this to Gran as he looked like having succeeded to make some connection with her already.

“Well, I am glad to meet you, Miss, eh, despite these unfortunate circumstances... I will have some food brought to you shortly and, eh some coffee if there is such a thing on this island...” He broke off. “Ah, and Gran, I trust you will take care of...eh Miss Eleonora for the time being...”

“Aye, of course, Sir.”

Kuhlin surely had enough on his mind already. Still, he hoped the girl would have some useful information for them. The Russians had clearly been here and he was eager to find out where they had gone. Or if they would come back. He decided to make a round of his troops and makeshift defenses here. Also, he would have to replace the gunboat off the cove, its crew desperately needing some rest after a whole night in the crowded boat. He started to climb the rocks.

Sub-lieutenant Gran wondered if there was any way to find some decent clothes for Miss Eleonora. Surely she couldn’t wear his coat in the long run. Maybe one of the bosuns was a good enough sailmaker to mend her torn dress, maybe with the help of a little canvas from one of the boats. Then he realized that the girl was looking at him, her eyes much brighter, almost smiling a little. “You look completely occupied by your thoughts,” she said. “What is it that bothers you so much?”

“Oh, eh...” Gran blushed. “I was thinking about your clothes...I mean...my coat...”

“You want it back?” She started to lift her arm to remove it.

“No, no!” Gran took her arm to stop her. “I mean, your dress isn’t...eh...please, keep the coat...I was thinking if I could find someone who could mend your dress....”

Eleonora almost laughed now. “Yes, that would be very kind. Even if I like the coat. It is very warm and quite soft...”

Gran was saved from another blushing by a knock on the door. “Enter! This must be your breakfast, finally,” he declared. “I hope there’s something for me as well, I am starving, in fact I am.”

The view from the highest point of the island was amazing. The sea was glittering in the morning sun, and all the way to the horizon there were islands of different shapes and sizes. Far away to the south he could see a three masted vessel, probably a frigate, patrolling the edge of the archipelago. She was probably British, perhaps even the HMS Tartar, the one they met weeks earlier. Kuhlin realized that they had been in these waters for more than a month now, but the brief encounter with the Russian Brig was still the only clash with the enemy so far.

To the Northeast the horizon was broken by hundreds of small islands and skerries. The Russians could be hiding behind any of them and have troops entrenched onto them for that matter. Kuhlin wondered how he ever could rout them out with only three gunboats and less than one hundred and fifty men. Most of which were not even real soldiers. Still he would have to try. Kuhlin started to climb down the hill again.

He found sub-lieutenant Gran outside the cottage.

“How is Miss Eleonora?”

“Oh, quite well, considering the circumstances,” Gran answered. “She had some food and coffee and is now asleep again. Poor girl.”

“Did you have a chance to speak to her? Does she know where the Russians are?”

“Well, she is from Sandö, which is quite far inshore. Her father is the owner of the farm there. But that wasn’t where she was taken. She was out with her brother in some kind of a fishing boat or something. In fact they were on their way to find us.”

“Why?”

“She doesn’t really know. Something her father only told her brother.”

“What happened to him?”

“The Russians killed him. They were sailing right into them. Gunboats.”

“What kind of gunboats? Does she know?”

“Well, she doesn’t know much about gunboats of course, but she told me the Russians were putting guns ashore from them, so they must be of the early type?”

Kuhlin nodded. “What happened then?”

“She doesn’t really like to talk about it, but it’s not hard to imagine. The Russians killed her brother and took her with them. Then they came here and had a party, so to speak. Eventually she fainted and they pulled out leaving her in the cottage.”

“So she does not know when they left?”

“No. She was unconscious at the time. But it must have been at dawn yesterday? Surely they won’t pull around the islands at night?”

“Probably not, but you never know. Did she ever count them?”

“Sorry, count what?”

“The Russians, the gunboats? Would be nice to know who we are up against, would it not?”

“Yes, Sir, but I don’t think she really knows.”

By lunchtime, Kuhlin had made his decision. He would leave Gran and a dozen men on the island, together with Miss Eleonora. The rest of his squadron would then proceed towards Sandö in order to find the Russians.

Gran was happy to stay behind and guard the girl, as he expressed himself. However, he was worried to be without a boat.

“We will be marooned here, literally. If the Russians come back we cannot escape, Sir.”

“I know. But there is no other way. I cannot leave a whole gunboat here and we have no smaller boats. You may have two of your boat’s swivel guns though, if that comforts you. If the Russians come, make noise, smoke or whatever signals you find appropriate. And wait for help.”

“Aye, aye, Sir.”

The gunboats left in the early afternoon. Sub-lieutenant Gran was reasonably satisfied with his situation. He had picked a dozen of his crew, men he could rely on, or at least thought he could. Unfortunately he could not keep his bosun as he was needed to command the gunboat in his place. He did have two swivel guns, though and enough powder and shot to hold off a small Russian force for at least some hours. He also had muskets and cutlasses for all his men. What he did not have was a boat. On the other hand, he probably would not have had use for one really, if the Russians came they would come by boat and chances were really slim he would be able to escape unnoticed in a boat with twelve men and a woman passenger.

The girl. Gran had been too busy to think very much about her these past hours, but he would pay her a visit as soon as he got his defenses sorted. He called for two of his men.

“We’ll have one of the swivel guns on the other side of the cove here,” he ordered. “The other one we will keep here at the cottage. Also I want two sentries, one at the cottage here and one on top of those rocks.”

They would have a tent for the men to sleep in as well. Gran himself would use the kitchen, maybe one of the beds could be moved there, or else he would cope. Anything was more comfortable than the gunboats. They could even have a fire if it started to rain again.

Lieutenant Kuhlin stood in the stern of Gunboat Number 14 and looked aft where his other two boats were following at a cable’s length behind. It was late afternoon, but there were still several hours of light left and he wanted to make use of it as long as possible. Also his men were well rested after the night on the island. He wondered how sub-lieutenant Gran would cope on the island, with that girl. Kuhlin thought about his wife. He had not met her since that last morning in Stockholm, when he had taken command of his boat. So the plan had not worked. He had joined the inshore fleet to see more of his wife, but instead he had been pottering around in Finnish waters all these months with no shore contact at all. He could as well have stayed in the navy proper. At least he would have had a real cabin, warm food every day and parties on big ships of the line. It would have been more comfortable altogether. But he would not have had his own command, let alone a squadron of three. Even if it was mere gunboats.

Miss Eleonora von Sparre, as was her full name, was sitting on her bed, the sub-lieutenant’s coat around her shoulders like a blanket. She was shivering slightly, not really from cold, but from the memory of what she ha been through these past days. Sometimes she wished the Russians had killed her as well, like her brother. But now, after she had been rescued, she wasn’t so sure anymore. There may just be a ray of light on the horizon still. If she only could fix up her dress a little, surely a lady could not walk around in an officer’s coat all day.

She rose and walked to the trunk that stood in the corner of the room. There may just be something in the way of clothes in there, she thought. A knock on the door interrupted her.

“Enter!”

Sub-lieutenant Gran was glad to see her up.

“Miss Eleonora! You are awake! I....eh, never mind that trunk there is nothing in it..!”

“How do you know?”

“Eh...well, I checked it when we arrived here. You see...then it wasn’t empty...”

“It wasn’t?”

“No...eh...I found you inside.” Gran blushed.

“Oh. Well, I thank you for finding me...and...”

“No, it was my pleasure....eh...sorry I did not mean it like that.”

Eleonora moved towards him and touched his arm. “I know what you mean.”

She almost had smiled. Gran felt awkward when he was with her, clumsy and insecure, but at the same time he enjoyed it. She made him feel very much alive. He had finally managed to ask her to remove her dress (after he had left the room of course) and while she was cloaked in his uniform coat he had given it to one of his men, who had some sailmaking skills. An hour later he had presented her with a patched up dress which, while it may not have passed at court, in fact did look quite acceptable. He then had invited her to have dinner with him in the kitchen.

Kuhlin’s boats did not encounter any Russians that day either. When it finally got dark they anchored behind the nearest island, ate some cold food and slept on the boats in order to start moving again at first light.

Chapter 8 – In a hurry

It was raining again and in the rain it was cold. The crew of the three gunboats were drenched to the bone. Still, the physical work of pulling kept them reasonably warm. For the officers it was worse. Kuhlin was standing aft and shuddered in his boat cloak, water dripping down his hat. They had been on their way for two days now and were closing in on Sandö, the island where the girl and her brother had come from. There was supposed to be a farm there, one of the richer ones, with a two-storey main building, painted the classic way with red copper paint and white corners, windows and door frames. If it still was standing. If the Russian hadn’t burned it down.

The bosun was at the tiller. Now he looked up to Kuhlin meaningfully. “Approaching now, Sir.”

“Yes, it’s time to prepare for action. The Russians simply must be here, it’s directly on the support line to Turku and if they want to bring their supplies by sea they must pass here. And the narrow passage is the perfect place for an ambush on their boats, so they would want to hold the place. Even set up some guns perhaps.”

“Maybe they already have?”

“Maybe, Tapper. We will have to find out. At least the visibility is bad.”

Half an hour later, Kuhlin ordered the boats stopped. He would approach with only Number 14 from here on, slowly and carefully. If the Russians were here he’d rather not have them know too early how many gunboats they had against them.

“Move her in, Tapper, but silently,” he ordered. The men pulled carefully in order to keep the creaking from the sweeps down.

“Up sweeps,” Kuhlin ordered when they were about hundred yards from the shore. The boat glided towards the shore, making no sound at all except the ripple of the water along its hull.

In the bows, gunnery officer af Klint peered into the mist. He saw a rocky shoreline, lined with trees and bushes. A gap in the vegetation then, a small clearing, probably the end of a path or something that led inland from the shore. He beckoned the small party of a dozen men waiting behind him, armed with muskets and cutlasses. Then the bows touched the rocks and af Klint and his men jumped ashore, some making it on the rocks, others landing in knee deep water.

“Down sweeps, back your sweeps,” Kuhlin ordered the boat to back away just enough to have some room to maneuver. “Hold water, and keep your silence.”

Eric af Klint’s party clambered through the vegetation, along the path, but not on it. This took longer, but he wanted his party to stay hidden as long as possible. After ten minutes they reached the farm. There was a light burning inside the main building.

“Doesn’t look like there are any Russians here,” he muttered. “At least not yet. “No sentries, nothing.”

He had his party search the area, without any success. Finally he ordered his men to keep a sharp lookout and approached the door. It promptly opened before he even had the chance to knock.

“Come in and dry off, good man, my name is Wetterstrand.” The man was clearly a priest. Black frock coat and white collar, short and big bellied.

“Eric af Klint, Royal Artillery, from the inshore fleet. Thank you, father. But is Master Sparre not here?”

“Oh yes, yes, he is having his coffee. Please come in to join. And please, let your men dry up themselves as well, I will have some hot drink sent to them, they can use the barn over there.”

“You are sure there are no Russians on this island?”

“Yes, yes. There have been, though. But they didn’t stay long. Master Sparre will tell you everything.”

Eric af Klint entered the building after having given the order to his men. They were allowed to use the barn, but two sentries had to keep watch. Wetterstrand ushered him into the salon where the farmer was sitting at a coffee table.

“Ah, the navy is here at last,” he cried. “Please sit down and have some coffee. Cakes?”

“Ehm, thank you, but actually I’m artillery. I’m only commanding the landing party, the boat is standing off, waiting for our return.”

“I see, sorry about that. Now do you have any news? How is the war going.”

“Ah, well, it is mostly going on ashore as far as I know, and we are not getting very much news either. Here in the archipelago we are looking for the Russians, but there are none to find.”

“They have been here for sure!”

“Tell me all about it, please!”

“Well, there were gunboats about a week ago. About ten, maybe a dozen. They were coming through the sound here, sending people ashore on several islands. They were here as well, a young officer, quite polite actually. I offered him coffee... as being civilian? What should I do?”

“Yes, of course. Did he say what they were doing here?”

“No, not directly, and I did not dare to ask. But one could see plainly enough. They were surveying. Looking for places to put ashore guns, I guess.”

“Hmm, yes I think you are right. But they went away again?”

“Well, yes. After he had his coffee he left and so did his boat. But they were around a while longer. And they send our priest here away from his island.”

“Ah. They did?”

“Yes.” Wetterstrand joined the conversation. “You see, I have this little summer cottage on the island right across the sound here. When the Russians came they told us to leave. Me and my daughter that is. My wife died several years ago.”

Eric af Klint hesitated. Should he tell the farmer about his children? He supposed he’d have to. But Master Sparre didn’t give him a chance anyway.

“So I sent my son and daughter in a boat to find you. I guess they did – that’s why you are here isn’t it?”

“Well,” af Klint coughed. “Yes, sort of. We found your daughter and she is safe with us. But your son... I am afraid the Russians caught them....”

Lieutenant Kulin shuddered. Why should this take so long? Surely af Klint must have reached the farm by now and as there hadn’t been any shots fired he probably did not find any Russians. But they would have to be somewhere, wouldn’t they? And they had been here. If it only could stop raining.

Eric af Klint said goodbye to the two men and walked out into the rain. When he approached the barn he heard one of the sentries giving a yell of warning. He startled? What were they up to now? He quickened his pace and moved towards the door. Opening it he couldn’t believe his eyes. There, on a bed of straw was a girl, naked to the bare flesh, in the process of copulating with one of his men, while others stood in a circle around them, watching.

“Stop this nonsense!” shouted af Klint. “This is no bawdy house for Christ’s sake. The Russians could be here any minute and you are all a’whoring!”

The men moved away giggling, one of them buttoning up his pants, disappointedly. The girl, obviously the priest’s daughter, however, just looked at him, her eyes glittering. “What about you, officer?” Smiling again, big white breasts, gleaming wet with perspiration. He had to force himself to look away. He coughed.

“Nonsense...now gather up men, we are going back to the boat.”

And so they walked away, af Klint still thinking of the white flesh and her smile. “A priest’s daughter for heaven’s sake,” he muttered to himself.

Sub-lieutenant Dahlberg saw the Russians first. His boat, Number 35 was cruising slowly up the sound, men observing the islands on both sides closely. Then he saw it. Something was moving in between the trees on the nearest island.

“Look out, starboard side,” he cried. But he was too late. Suddenly the tree line erupted in smoke, small arms fire popping and bullets hitting the water only a few feet away.

“Swivel guns, starboard side! Grape shot, fire at will!” The more hoarse popping of the gunboat’s two swivels now. Still the Russians kept firing, well hidden behind the trees as they were.

“Hold water, “ he ordered, “starboard side back your sweeps, port side give way!”

The gunboat almost turned on the spot. As the bows came round the big 24 pounder’s muzzle was pointing towards the shore. “Forward gun, round shot, fire!”

The gun belched, smoke erupted and then the crash of wood. At point blank range the cannonball had cut through the vegetation like a knife through butter. Another crash. Gunboat Number 34 had closed up and joined the fight.

Lieutenant Kuhlin heard the gunshots shortly after he had re-embarked his landing party. While af Klint told him about his encounters on the farm, the boat backed away and made her best speed towards the battle. However, when they finally arrived, the firing had stopped. He moved his boat alongside Number 35 where Dahlberg was assembling a landing party. Spotting Kuhlin he shouted over the water.

“They are retreating into the woods. Quite a few of them, about 30 I would guess. We got a few with the swivels, but the rest got away inland.”

“We will pursue. A dozen men from every boat will suffice. I’ll lead myself. Well done, Dahlberg.”

Ten minutes later the landing party was thrashing its way through the forest. There was no real path, but the Russians had cleared the worst of the branches and trampled down most of the bushes. Thus, the Swedes could advance unhindered and soon they reached a clearing. A small cottage, clearly the one priest Wetterstrand had used as a summer house, was surrounded by a low wooden fence, marking the border of the small garden where the priest and his trampy daughter grew some potatoes. And behind that fence, the Russian soldiers had taken up their positions. Kuhlin signaled his men to stop their advance. As soon as they would leave the protection of the woods, the Russians had a clear line of fire, and he did not want to risk a frontal attack. He called to the bosun from Number 34.

“You will take up position here and fire at the Russians from the protection of the woods to attract their attention. I’ll take a dozen men and try to get at them from the other side.”

“Aye aye.”

Kuhlin led his party around the clearing, taking good cover. If the Russians saw him, the whole maneuver would be in vain. Now there was musket fire, the crackling sound giving him extra cover in case one of the Russians had better ears than eyes. Then they were on the other side. Kuhlin gave the order to advance.

They reached the cottage unseen. “We’ll split up here and go around the cottage on either side,” he ordered. Walking closely to the wall they soon were upon the Russians. Kuhlin pointed his pistol and fired. His party’s muskets crackled. Then they advanced, cutlasses in hand, all while the rest of their men were charging from the woods.

The fight did not last long. As soon as the Russians realized that they were surrounded, they threw their weapons to the ground and surrendered. Kuhlin approached a man who he thought must be their officer. He had been wounded in the leg and was sitting down, back towards the fence. Kuhlin introduced himself in French.

“Lieutenant Kuhlin, inshore fleet. Now please do tell what you are doing here and where your boats are.”

The Russian smiled wryly. “Our boats will soon be here,” was the only thing he said.

Eric af Klint was sure he knew what the Russians were doing and had told Kuhlin so. “They are preparing to set up a gun battery here. Why else would they be so many on this little island. And send away the priest?”

Kuhlin nodded. “But what did they do all the way back to where we found the girl? Surely they cannot plan to put guns there either?”

“No, but an observation post. In order to get early warning in case our boats are coming out from Sottungarna.”

“That means they will have people on their way there right now. And Gran is sitting there with a dozen men, a girl and no boat.”

Kuhlin made his decision. They would have to split up. Number 35 would stay here and try to spot the Russians, hold them off if possible. Number 34 would go straight to Sottungarna to warn the fleet and get reinforcements. Maybe they would be able to put guns of their own ashore here, turning the table on the Russians. And his own boat would try to relieve Gran and the girl. If it wasn’t too late. There was not a minute to be lost, thought Kuhlin.

Chapter 9 - Trapped

Sub-Lieutenant Gran sat outside the little cottage which had become his temporary home. He had moved one of the two straw beds into the kitchen, while Miss Eleonora used the other room. His men had pitched their tent on the beach, about fifty yards away. They had a quite comfortable time of it, thought Gran. The food was good and hot now they had a real kitchen so they could have as good a dinner as could be had. If they only had a boat there even could have been some fish. And a way to escape if the Russians came.

Gran wondered about the girl. She had recovered quite amazingly, considering the circumstances. Sometimes she almost was a little flirtatious, or so he thought. Or she was simply thankful that he had rescued her. They had talked quite a lot during the day, about her family, the farm on Sandö and her brother. Only then had she become quiet and shed some tears. Gran had taken her hand into his to comfort her, and she had squeezed it a little.

Afterwards, they had walked on the beach together, silently, each thinking about their own problems. But there still had been some sort of connection. And once, when she had stumbled over a rock and almost fallen, he had caught her around the waist and put her back onto her feet. That waist. It was so delicate, firm yet soft under his hands through the fabric of the patched up dress. Then one of his men had called to him and duty took his mind away from her. Which was just as well, he thought. There was no time for sentiments like this. After all there was a war on.

In the afternoon it had started to rain again. Gran had seen to the swivel guns, which he had placed in the woods on each side of the cove, so they could cover the beach as well as the cottage and the water. In case the Russians approached, they would retreat into the woods and hide unless they were spotted, in which case they would fight. Gran wasn’t quite sure, however, how they could signal to Kuhlin if they were in distress. Wouldn’t the Russians see the signal as well? Kuhlin was probably too far away anyway.

Dinner that evening was rabbit. One of the men had managed to shoot three of them with a musket, which, in any case had to be considered a great achievement considering the inaccuracy of the smooth bore gun. Or maybe the man simply had been lucky. The animal was cooked over an open fire on the beach and the whole crew had sat around it and had a good time. Including Miss Eleonora. There had been quite some drinking as well and Gran felt not quite himself when he escorted the girl back to the cottage. He left her in her room and went outside again for a final round of the premises. The night was quiet and cool and he stood a long time on the rocks, thinking. If there only wasn’t this war. Sub-lieutenant Gran returned to the cottage and went to bed.

That night she came to him. Gran had just started to drift into sleep when her door opened and she walked towards him silently, almost cat-like. When she reached his bed their eyes met. Eleonora slipped out of her gown and stood naked in the dim light of the Nordic night. Still without a single word she slipped into his bed.

The next morning she was gone. Gran almost thought it had been a dream, if not her scent still had lingered on him. And of course it had been real. The love-making had been careful at first, not that she had hesitated a bit, she clearly did know what she wanted and Gran of course did want it, too. Still it was like they did not really believe it to happen here and now. But later they had become more passionate, their bodies moving together like they always had done this, like they belonged together naturally. When it was over, she had snuggled into his arms, his hand on her breast, just savoring the closeness. But they had not talked.

Gran rose and put on his clothes. He then moved over to her door, opened it carefully and entered. Eleonora was still in her bed, but awake. She looked at him and smiled, eyes glittering.

“Miss Eleonora, I....eh...”

“Don’t say anything. Just come here and kiss me.”

Gran sat on her bed and took her head between his hands, kissing her softly.

“Eleonora...I cannot promise you anything.”

“I know. I don’t want any promises. I just want you.”

“But surely...”

“You definitely do think too much.” She put her arms around him and pulled him down on top of her. Gran felt her body, still naked under the sheet and his desire rose again. Hungrily she received him, making him stop worrying at least for a while.

“I have to check on my men,” Gran said afterwards.

“Of course. You are not to forget your duty, sub-lieutenant. Go now and let me get decent and I will make all of us some coffee.”

Gran left the cottage and started to climb the rocks, his heart light with what probably would have to be called happiness. Or so he thought. But when he reached the top of the rocks his heart sunk. The sentry was fast asleep back rested against a big rock. And from the East he could see gunboats approaching. There were at least six of them and they were definitely Russian.

Half an hour later two of the boats detached and made for their cove. Sub-lieutenant Gran was trapped on his little island, together with a beautiful girl and and dozen men. Two Russian gunboats, that meant at least 80 men, Gran thought. There was no real point in fighting, but there was no way he would let them have Eleonora again.

Miss Eleonora had been afraid of course, when he told her. But she had not despaired. She knew he had a plan and would do his very best to protect her. Especially now.

“If the worst happens, I’d rather be dead,” she had told him. Then she had asked him for a pistol.

Gran had given her one of his and explained how to use it. Then he had gathered his men.

“You know what to do. We will split up and retreat into the woods. One swivel gun to each group, but you are not to use it until you see me use mine. And remember, don’t shoot too early, the later you fire, the more effect it has.”

With a soft thud the two Russian gunboats run their bows ashore in the cove. A group of men jumped out and made their way towards the cottage, while others rested on the thwarts. In the stern of one boat an officer lighted a pipe. After a short while the men returned from the cottage and started to discuss something with the smoking officer who now made his way forward and followed them to the cottage.

Sub-lieutenant Gran watched the scene from inside the woods. Close to him crouched Eleonora, one hand clasping his arm. He felt her tremble lightly. Surely, she understood what was going on as well as he did. These Russians had been in the cottage to look for her. Not finding her in the chest the man had returned to the boats and were now discussing the consequences of their discovery. Fortunately the Russians did not seem to be especially concerned. They had not even posted sentries. Clearly, not finding any boats around they were assuming the girl had been rescued and moved from the island. If there only were a way to alert Kuhlin and his boats. But there was no way to do this without alerting the Russians as well.

One of his men was nervously moving the muzzle of the swivel gun back and forth. “Could we not just open fire with these, Sir?” he whispered?

“No, we’d not kill enough of them and the rest would still outnumber us. We will only fire if we are discovered.”

The Russians started to gather ashore without any apparent order. Soon there was smoke coming from the chimney. They were preparing a meal. Gran was relieved that they had not set out to search the island. Maybe they were able to stay hidden after all. But how long would they have to stay here in the wood? He was thinking of moving his group over the ridge and to the other side of the island. But then they would not be able to watch the Russians easily. And the guns may be too heavy to be moved that far.

It was a long wait. While the sun slowly lowered itself towards the sea the men and Eleonora watched the Russians eat, get drunk and fall asleep on the beach. Not all of them, though. The officer walked restlessly along the beach, pipe between his teeth. After a while, he called to a group of men and beckoned to the top of the rocks, where Gran had stood when he first spotted the Russian gunboats. Three men started to make their way up the rocks.

“What are we going to do?” asked Eleonora suddenly. Gran looked at her a long time. Then he made a decision. “We need to get someone on those rocks as well. Down here we can’t know if there are other boats around, perhaps even Kuhlin returning.”

“But what about the Russians up there?”

Sub-lieutenant Gran shrugged.

Chapter 10 - Night action

Slowly Gunboat Number 14 moved through the night. Lieutenant Kuhlin had only given his men enough time to rest for a meal on a small island in the late afternoon. Then they had taken their places at the sweeps again. Exhausted though they were, they all understood the importance of making all possible haste towards Gran and his party. Although they did not know how much of a head start the Russians had, they were sure they would not sail at night. These waters were difficult enough to navigate in daylight. Now, fortunately it wasn’t that dark, but with the skies overcast still after the rain, visibility wasn’t exactly good.

Kuhlin stood next to the bosun, who was at the tiller himself. They were not moving very fast, so if they’d ran aground the boat probably would not be holed. Still, Tapper wanted no one else to be responsible. Kuhlin, on the other hand, could not be expected to helm the vessel himself, being an officer. It was the naval way it was done. Kuhlin had all the responsibility but was not allowed to do the work himself. He was only to command. On a bigger ship this was alright, but on a gunboat? Kuhlin sometimes wished he just could take the tiller and steer the thing himself. At least it would do away with the delay that involuntarily came with helm orders.

“Two degrees to starboard, Tapper,” he said instead.

“Aye, aye, Sir.” Tapper moved the tiller to the left, swinging the rudder the other way, thus turning the boat to starboard. This was only a minor course change, but if they had to turn more quickly, they would stop the men pulling on one side as well, or even have them back their sweeps, making the turn yet faster.

Kuhlin tried to make out the chart in the dim light. Essentially he was just trying to reverse the course they had come days before. Still there were lots of islands around and he needed the chart to find the channel. It was a little lighter now, with the moon showing between clouds once in a while.

On the island, sub-lieutenant Gran prepared to make his move. He squeezed Eleonora’s hand and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

“Please be careful,” she whispered. Gran nodded and started to make his way through the woods towards the rocks. Trying to make as little sound as possible, he took his time. It was dark enough, although the moon was out frequently and silhouetted the rocks above him. That was good, he thought, he would see the Russians clearly while approaching them from the darkness. He clutched his cutlass, moving upwards.

Soon he could see the Russian sentries. They did not look particularly vigilant as they sat with their backs against a rock. Gran made his way around them and hid behind the very rock they were leaning against. From here he had a good view over the surrounding sea.

At first he saw nothing but glittering water in the moonlight. Down in the cove, the two Russian gunboats were partly beached, men around them, sleeping. Two sentries did look a little more alert. They were standing next to the boats, talking. Gran wondered if the Russian discipline really was this bad or if it just was another way of dealing with things, and there was a way to get those unorganized men up and fighting in a minute. Somehow he doubted it, but this was not the right time to find out.

He looked out over the sea again. There was something moving far in the distance. Surely it wasn’t an island? No, it was moving. Gran could almost sea a glittering wake. It was clearly a boat. But was it Russian? Or one of Kuhlin’s boats? If it was the latter, then the Russians could not be allowed to see it. But if it was Russian it was better to leave the sentries alone. Even if he could disable them silently they would be missed soon. And then the Russians would know they weren’t alone on this island.

“Tapper, look there is the island.” Lieutenant Kuhlin was relieved they had finally made it. It had been a hard pull and he was not sure if the men were fit enough for action still. He decided to let them have half an hours rest.

“Then we will prepare for action and move in on the cove.”

Gran stared at the faint dot on the sea. There was no more glittering wake now and nothing was moving. Maybe it hadn’t been a boat after all. Or did it just stop? He was confused. In fact, he didn’t have a clue what he should do now. Should he take out the Russian sentries? Could he even do it without them making enough noise to alert the others? He shifted his body closer to the edge of the rock in order to find out what the Russians were doing. One of them was now standing at the edge of the rock, looking towards the dot that was – or was not – a boat. Then he said something to the other Russian who rose and started to climb down to the beach.

Now it was too late. The sentry had clearly decided that the dot was a boat and sent his companion down to alert the troops. Gran cursed for himself.

Gunboat Number 14 was moving again. In the bows, gunnery officer af Klint was peering into the darkness towards the island. He could just see a faint glow over it, probably from a fire on the beach. He was sure the Russians were there. Probably lying drunk around that fire. He only hoped they did not catch Gran and his party. And the girl. Particularly not the girl. Having been in Russian captivity before, she really did not need this. He wondered how many boats the Russians had in that cove.

Down on the beach the Russians were now stirring. The officer, pipe in hand, shouted orders and the men were gathering, forming some sort of orderly group next to their boats.

Sub-lieutenant Gran had been climbing down and made his way back into the woods. He still wasn’t sure if the boat was friend or foe, but he had to risk it. Surely the Russian officer did not expect it, otherwise he would not have started this commotion.

Once back in the woods Gran instructed his men. This was their chance to alert the gunboat off the island and at the same time spread confusion amongst the Russians.

The Russians were just about to climb aboard their vessels when Gran’s swivels opened fire. Completely taken by surprise the shots did confuse more than hurt the Russians. Not knowing exactly who fired on them and from where, they stopped in mid-motion.

“Gunfire ashore,” shouted af Klint, immediately feeling stupid as everybody else would have heard the shots as clearly as him.

“Firm up together,” ordered Kuhlin. “Pull as fast as you can!”

In the woods, Gran’s men reloaded as fast as they could in the dark. Soon the swivels were barking again. Now Russians were falling, while others tried to find cover down the water’s edge. The officer was still standing, shouting orders. Some men had made it into one of the gunboats and were manning the sweeps, others were hauling at the kedge.

“Muskets, fire at the men in the boat,” Gran ordered. But he simply did not have enough firepower. The boat was afloat now, pulling slowly out of range, while men were working at its guns. Soon they would be under fire themselves. Some Russians were forming a line along the beach, bayonets ready, muskets lowered. They fired blindly at the woods without doing any real damage. Advancing now.

“Hurry up or they’ll get us,” Gran hissed towards the swivel crew. In the last moment the gun fired, cutting down three Russians, causing the others to stop, then retreat towards the boats.

Then the Russian boat gun joined in. The first shot from the main gun was high, whining through the trees, cutting down branches. The next one was short, the shot crashing into the pebbles, showering the men in the woods with small stones and dust.

“Move back, into the woods,” ordered Gran, grabbing Eleonora’s arm and dragging her unceremoniously with him. As soon as they had left their position the Russian gun belched again. A big hole emerged where they had been only seconds ago.

The Russian soldiers started to advance again. More confident of their own firepower now, they soon entered the woods, slowly but resolutely. Gran’s party had to abandon the swivel guns in order to be able to move more swiftly. Now, they only could hope that the darkness would keep them hidden until help arrived.

Gunboat Number 14 was rounding the headland. Eric af Klint finally had a clear view into the cove.

“Gun crew, on the nearest gunboat, fire as you bear!” The boat was still swinging round. Slowly the Russian gunboat came into the sights of the gun. Then it fired. The shot was in line, but too short. It bounced off the water several yards in front of the Russian vessel and flew right over it, although creating some confusion on the beach.

“Reload!”

Lieutenant Kuhlin was now essentially under af Klint’s command. In close battle the whole boat had to be moved to train the gun sideways, while the boat had to be kept on station otherwise in order not to throw off the gunner’s aim. Kuhlin could see men on the Russian boat running towards the aft gun. Then their own gun fired again, followed by an unusual crash. Someone was screaming in the bows. Eric af Klint was swearing.

“What happened?”

“The sliding carriage broke! I did tell you I didn’t like it didn’t I?” The gunner was making his way back towards Kuhlin while others were dragging away one of the gunners, whose leg had been crushed by the gun.

“We’ve to turn around, use the aft gun! Starboard, back your sweeps, port give way together. Hard a starboard, Tapper.”

“Load aft gun!” shouted af Klint.

Gunboat Number 14 was turning on the spot. Kulin looked at the Russian gunboat. Men were still working at the aft gun. Just when their boat was broadside on to it, the gun fired. The shot bounced overhead. Now the turn was complete. The aft gun fired almost immediately, its shot striking the Russian boat’s bow with a crash. Splinters flew like dust around the gunboat. Then it began to settle by the bow, slowly sinking.

“Shift aim to the other boat,” af Klint shouted.

“Belay that!” Kuhlin ordered. “Prepare to board her, boarders to the stern! Back your sweeps together!”

Sub-lieutenant Gran held Eleonora close to him. They were crouched behind some bushes deep inside the woods. Now he lifted her head and looked her into the eyes. “I think we made it, darling.” The Russian troops had hastily retreated as soon as the big boat gun had announced Kuhlin’s appearance in the cove. Being trapped between enemy lines they clearly had realized that their future was with the boats, not the party in the woods.

Eleonora’s eyes were wet with tears, but now she smiled. “I like it when you call me darling,” she whispered.

On the beach, the Russian soldiers were now advancing towards the water over exactly the same ground they only half an hour before had fought for in the opposite direction. Their aim was clearly the second gunboat which not was being boarded by Kuhlin’s men. They made their way forward in order to man the sweeps and pull the boat off the beach. But they were soon under fire from the Russian muskets. Kuhlin ordered his own boat backed away a few yards in order to be able to use his swivels against the troops ashore.

“Fire swivels!”

The guns barked. Russian soldiers fell, but others were soon upon the men trying to get the boat afloat. Eric af Klint, who commanded the boarding party, swore. This wasn’t going as well as it could. Although they had taken the Russians by surprise they still were greatly outnumbered. This mess was almost as bad as the incident with the priest’s daughter, he thought. Rising his cutlass he swept away a Russian bayonet while shooting the soldier with his pistol at the same time. Then he saw the Russian officer cutting down one of his men with his sword. Eric af Klint slashed his way towards the man. If he only had one more pistol, he would not have to dance around here like in a fencing lesson. He raised his cutlass and stroke out, but the Russian parried. His sword was slightly heavier, not as good a weapon at sea, but on a beach, where there was more room to move, it was an advantage. Still, af Klint held his ground. He heard another swivel gun bark in the distance, then the Russian came at him again and forced him to back towards the boat’s bows. This may not work so well, he thought. Then he felt pain in his side and stumbled. He saw the Russian officer raise his sword again, but then there was a crash and everything went black.

Chapter 11 - Recovery

Gunboat Number 14 lay moored alongside the supply vessel Amelia at the temporary base at Sottungarna. Most of the crew were resting ashore, but bosun Tapper and a few men were busy repairing damage to the boat. Most of it was superficial and could be fixed easily. Worse, however, was the damage to the bow gun. Tapper was not sure if he could fix it without help from af Klint, who after all was supposed to know most about the guns. But he was wounded aboard the Amelia and not expected to be fit enough for duty for at lest several days. Well, he would have to try and fix the darned gun himself, maybe with some help from one of the other boat’s gunners.

The action had been intense and not only had the boat been damaged, but they had also lost three men dead and several wounded. For a while it had looked like the Russians would be able to overpower them. But then their commanding officer had been struck by a swivel blast just in time, and that had been the end of it. Without their leader, the Russians had faltered and fled back into the woods. Lieutenant Kuhlin had managed to take the second Russian gunboat into tow and finally made it back to base. Now he was making his report aboard the flagship.

“...well and now we are here, Sir,” Kuhlin finished his report. The Captain who had been listening to him was the same one who had sent him on this mission in the first place. He still looked well fed and content, but there was a slight air of worry about him now.

“I presume you will need a while to repair your damage,” he said. “A pity. We are currently assembling a force at Sandö in order to stop the Russians there. Your other two boats are with them, of course. I had to appoint someone else to Number 34, Gran being absent...”

“I see.”

“So your force will be a little smaller. Still, I’ll get you the Russian boat you captured. Gran can have it. We may have to struggle a little to find enough crew though...may have to take a few from yours...”

“Yes, Sir.”

“In any case...you will probably miss the action, if there is any... But there will be more I am sure. Landing operations are being planned currently to relieve Turku.”

Eric af Klint hallucinated. He was back aboard the Russian gunboat, in the middle of the fight. The Russian officer was standing over him, his sword ready to strike. But suddenly it wasn’t the Russian officer any more but the priest’s daughter, her heavy breasts hovering over him. Eric af Klint moaned and opened his eyes. But he still saw the priest’s daughter. Se was besides his bed, a glass of water in her hand. At least she isn’t naked, he thought.

“Hello, officer, you are awake? Do you want some water?” She smiled at him.

“What...are you doing here? Where is your father?”

“He is here as well. We are...trying to help out. We had to leave Sandö, with the Russians all over the place...” She moved her free hand behind his head, steadying him, while holding the glass of water to his lips.” He drank carefully. She really had big breasts.

“My name is Anna,” she said then. Stroking his face. “Does it hurt much.”

“Eh...well, yes....” It did now, af Klint realized. But he hadn’t even thought about it before she asked.

“You are quite a good nurse, Anna.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes, you take away the pain...someway...” He coughed.

She smiled at him again. “I know. I do have a certain effect on men.”

Eric af Klint let his head fall back onto the cushion, sighing.

“You know, lieutenant,” the Captain said, hesitating. “The king himself is coming here to supervise the landings. Although I doubt he will be able to pull it through.”

Kuhlin nodded. In fact, most officers already had accepted that Finland was lost. The regular army had fought, well, pretended to fight mostly, a retreating battle and was now far north, almost at the Swedish border. And the Russians were still in pursuit. There had been some successes, from time to time still. Sandels elite troops had inflicted some damage, but he was never allowed to take advantage of the breaches he had managed to create in the Russian lines. Field marshal Klingspor’s orders were always to retreat, to save the precious Finnish army for the counter offensive everybody knew would never come. And the Russians got reinforcements all the time.

Now, these landing operations in order to relieve the Finnish capital, Turku, weren’t a good idea either. They may have had a chance if the northern army had not retreated that far, or if there were decent troops available down here. But that was not the case. The troops were mainly untrained and reinforced by armed peasants, the king’s loyal favorites, but worthless as a fighting unit as they did not follow and barely understand the meaning of orders.

In fact, the main concern now should be to prevent the Russians from attacking the Swedish mainland. Still, the king was not prepared to give up Finland and would not listen to his military expertise. In fact, he never had. His actions were mostly motivated by his hatred for Napoleon and unwillingness to have anything to do with peace talks with his allies. Worse, yet, for the most part he was concerned with the design of new uniforms for his officers, while his fighting men did barely have uniforms at all. Not to talk about boots.

But that, Kuhlin knew, could not be helped. He had heard, for sure, about conspiracies to overthrow the king, but that wasn’t anything he would ever be part of. Or could, by the way, a mere gunboat commander had no influence on those things anyway. For him, the only thing that counted was to do his job and help finish this war as soon as possible. And get home to his wife.

Gunboat Number 14 and Kuhlin’s new Russian boat had not been ready when the bulk of the gunboat fleet left for Sandöström, where they were to stop the Russians’ access to the vital inshore supply route. This was important to protect the planned landing operations outside Turku. Suddenly the base at Sottungarna went very quiet. Kuhlin and his crew enjoyed the respite. Most of the wounded had been transferred to several hospital ships, in fact not much more than old cargo ships. Their cargo holds had been cleared and covered with straw for bedding. Here, the wounded lay, only superficially attended by the surgeons, who often were not better than butchers. Ventilation was insufficient and the stench was awful. Thus it was no surprise that many eventually died from infections. Still the situation here was far better than for the troops on land.

Down there, father Wetterstrand and his daughter Anna did what they could to help. He mostly by words of encouragement and the attempt to turn the poor men’s eyes towards heavenly rewards, she by distributing water and reinforcing the men’s will to live by giving them a good peek at her bosom.

On the Amelia, Eric af Klint was a little more comfortable. Also, he was quite confident he would survive. His wounds had not become infected, probably thanks to the care he had received from Anna, the voluptuous priest’s daughter. He had to admit he was quite impressed by her, albeit very confused by her behavior. She seemed to be a nice girl altogether, no uneducated farm girl at all. Yet she was a’whoring with the simple sailors and did not seem to have any shame about it. Eric af Klint had to admit that she aroused him, too, even if he never would even think of actually becoming physically involved with her. Or maybe just think of it.

Most comfortable of all, however, was sub-lieutenant Gran. His boat was almost ready for sea, but as he had to wait for the repairs to be finished on Number 14 as well, he did not have much to do. Instead, he could be together with Eleonora, who, waiting for a transport to the Swedish mainland, was staying in a cabin on Amelia. There the young lovers had all the time in the world to get to know each other. Gran still was not convinced that they would have a future together, but he tried not to think about it too much. Eleonora was sure her father would approve of him, if he was alive at all. He had refused to leave his estate on Sandö together with the Wetterstrands, stating that he did not have any problem with the Russians who were behaving quite like gentlemen, despite confiscating all his livestock and most of his horses as well. But that was only to be expected after all.

“You see,” father Wetterstrand had told her, “this estate is all he has after all and it seems he would rather be dead than having to live as a refugee in Sweden.”

Eleonora did understand this, of course. But after what she had gone through, she could not think of returning to Sandö as long as there were Russians around. So Gran had proposed she could go to Sweden and stay with his parents until the war ended.

“And perhaps after the war...”

“Yes,” she had breathed as she leaned into his embrace.

Chapter 12 - Tidings

Dahlberg’s Gunboat Number 35 almost didn’t make it. When he returned to Sottungarna together with the rest of the surviving gunboats he had lost five men injured or dead. His boat had been hit by Russian round shot three times, two of which below the waterline. Dahlberg’s bosun had been able to patch the holes with plugs of canvas and oakum, but the crew had to bail continuously non the less.

“We were lucky the Russians were such bad gunners,” he told Kuhlin. “They had at least twice as many boats and batteries on shore as well. Yet we stopped them twice, until they finally got through.”

The battle of Sandöström had been a Russian success in the end. Now they had control of the important supply routes to Turku. The cost had been 22 gunboats lost or damaged. The Swedish side had lost 12. Thus, in sheer numbers one could have argued that the battle had been a Swedish victory. But Sweden needed every single boat, while the Russians had so many that they could afford losing quite a few. Also, the tactical objective had not been achieved.

The king, who had arrived in the archipelago, was still convinced Turku could be relieved, though. He was assembling an army on Åland, 10 000 men or more, to be landed somewhere near the city. And the gunboats would have to protect the transports. But first they would have to be repaired.

Eric af Klint was recovering fast, partly, as he reluctantly had to admit, thanks to Anna’s care. When he finally was prepared to resume his duty on Gunboat Number 14, he told her so.

“You have been very kind, Anna.”

She looked straight into his eyes. “I know.” Smiling slightly.

“Eh, well, I wish you well. You are, eh.. one of a kind I dare say.”

Anna touched his face slightly with her hand. “I will see you soon,” she said. Then she turned and left the room quickly.

Kuhlin wasn’t on board when af Klint returned to the gunboat. Instead, Tapper welcomed him back.

“Good to see you back, Sir. The boat is all ready and I have tried my best with that forward gun.”

“Oh, the gun, yes.” Eric af Klint was still thinking about the priest’s daughter. What did she mean? He made his way forward and looked at the gun. Tapper had completely rebuilt the sliding carriage.

“You replaced the tackles as well! Were did you find the ropes?”

Tapper grinned. “Took them from the Russian gunboat we captured. Its lockers were full of all kinds of useful stuff.”

“I see. Where is the lieutenant?”

“Seeing the commodore. We may be off soon, I think.”

“Well, Kuhlin,” the captain said. “As you know, the king is still going to land troops. I cannot tell you where, though as it is supposed to be a secret. Nor the date, as it is not set yet. We will have to wait for the boats to be repaired. And new boats from Stockholm, nine of them are said to be on their way.”

Kuhlin nodded. “That’s a relief, Sir.”

“Eh, yes. Well kind of. Still too few boats. Always too few.” He looked worried.

“Anyway, while we wait, we have some scouting to do. Put some people ashore to find out things.”

“Spies?”

“Eh. Well. This priest, Wetterstrand. He has volunteered. Thinks he can make his way into Turku unmolested. Find out a few things.”

Sub-lieutenant Gran held Eleonora’s hands firmly and looked into her deep blue eyes. As blue as the Baltic in summer, he thought. He saw that she was fighting back tears.

“Please don’t. This will only be a short trip and we will soon see each other again.”

She sighed. “But what if I get passage to Stockholm before you return? What am I to do..?”

“You know what you should do. You will be taken care of, I promise. By the way, there are no ships going that way, and if any, they will be occupied by sick and injured. I am sure you will still be here.” He took her in his arms.

The Wetterstrands embarked early the next morning. In order to make the passage a little more comfortable, Kuhlin had reluctantly ordered the aft gun to be removed and the space decked over by a makeshift canvas tent. In there the priest’s and his daughter’s belongings had been stowed as well as benches constructed on which the passengers could rest.

Eric af Klint felt uneasy about the whole thing. He was not really sure why, though. Of course this was dangerous, but why did he care. He was thankful for the care Anna had given him during his recovery, but that surely could not motivate this uneasiness. As the priest had put it, this was not very dangerous at all. If they only could be landed unseen, nothing would be suspicious about a priest and his daughter traveling to Turku to meet relatives. The clergy was not considered to be part of the war, even less than the peasants who could be drafted, or even engage in spontaneous riots, as had happened on the Åland islands when the Russians had tried to land there earlier this year. Still, af Klint did not like this. Not in a general sense, and particularly not because Anna was involved in it.

He did not talk to her about it though. In fact, he had not tried to talk to her at all since she had come aboard the gunboat, feeling a little awkward about the whole thing. After all, some of the crew had been involved in this incident in the barn. She did not look like she was bothered by it though. Quite the opposite, she occasionally smiled at some member of the crew. And at him. Clearly this girl could not be helped at all, he decided.

Chapter 13 - Preparations

Clouds hung threatening over the Finnish archipelago when Gunboat Number 14 quietly left the base. Lieutenant Kuhlin was glad to be able to avoid the drizzling rain by standing under the aft-most part of the canvas tent, only occasionally peering over its top towards the barely visible islands around them. Still, he’d rather get wet than having only one gun, he thought.

“Don’t worry about the gun, Sir,” bosun Tapper said suddenly. “On this mission one gun more or less wouldn’t save us anyway.”

Kuhlin grunted, wondering if his bosun suddenly had become psychic. But he was right. They were on a scouting mission, about to set ashore people covertly, without the Russians noticing. Using guns was the very last thing they were supposed to do. But still...

“Just let’s hope this weather holds,” he said finally.

At least Gunboat Number 14 would not be completely alone on this mission. Sub-lieutenant Gran’s boat would follow her about halfway and then patrol further offshore in order to watch their backs. Or lure away Russian patrols if they encountered any.

Eric af Klint sat next to his only remaining gun, apart from the swivels of course, his boat cloak tightly wrapped around him to keep him warm. August was supposed to be the warmest month of the year out here, but today it did not feel warm at all. Probably because everything was wet. He envied the Wetterstrands their canvas cover. Why did not all the boats have them? Of course he knew the answer. Canvas and gunpowder did not mix very well and the few boats who had some form of permanent shelter aft did have to make do with only one gun. He remembered the last battle, when the bow gun had broken down and they had been able to turn the boat around and continue to fight. So there were two sides to everything.

That made him think about Anna. She did have two sides as well, he thought. Involuntarily he blushed, thinking about her naked body in that barn. What made her do this? And why was he so intrigued by it? She wasn’t even pretty. But there was something about her that attracted him strongly. He had to admit it. Perhaps it was her carelessness, that she did not seem to bother what people thought of her. He wondered what her father thought of her. Did he even know?

About noon, Kuhlin ordered the boat to be stopped at a small island in order to prepare some hot lunch and give the crew some rest. This was partly due to the fact that they carried passengers, of course, who were not accustomed to the very simple creature comforts aboard a gunboat. But it wasn’t the only reason. The other was the weather. The rain had stopped and the sun was now shining brightly. Kuhlin did not want to move too near the Russian held coast in bright daylight. So in order to arrive there during the next night they had to take it slowly in the beginning. Thus they would make a night camp on another island about half way to their target, and then make a dash for it whenever the weather was bad enough. If they had luck it was raining during the next day, if not, they would have to take it slowly for another day.

“I understand your concern, but I really would appreciate getting there as soon as possible.” Wetterstrand was impatient. Which was not a good thing for a spy to be, Kuhlin thought. But he did not say it. Instead he chose a slightly different approach.

“It would do no-one any good if you got there fast but ended up dead.”

“Nobody would hurt a priest!” Wetterstrand was self-confident. But Kuhlin wasn’t so sure.

“Not even if they saw you disembark from an enemy gunboat?”

Wetterstrand hesitated.

“Maybe they would not kill you, father, but surely they would not allow you to report back anything to us. And you have to think about Miss Anna as well.”

Wetterstrand merely grunted.

Eric af Klint sat on a rock, absent-mindedly looking towards the islands around them. They really all looked the same. As an artilleryman, piloting boats at sea was not his strongest capacity and he held quite some admiration for the seamen who could find their way around here. He blinked into the sun, enjoying its warmth after the damp chill of the forenoon. His mind wandered towards Anna again. Why did she follow his father on this mission anyway? Surely spying wasn’t a woman’s job?

“He would not be able to find out a thing without me, you know.”

He turned around and saw her round face, eyes bright, almost glittering in the sunlight. He rose, standing in front of her.

“Eh, I did not hear you coming.”

“But you were thinking of me, weren’t you?” Smiling now. Eric af Klint blushed. What was it with this woman.

“I do admit being intrigued by you, Anna.”

“I know.” Still smiling, she sat down on the rock, leaving him standing, now with a formidable view into her cleavage. Eric af Klint swallowed, then sat down next to her, a little apart in order not to touch her, although he wanted to. He cleared his throat.

“What do you mean?” He hesitated. “Why wouldn’t your father be able to find out anything?”

“Because he is too honest. If anyone asked him why he wanted to know, he’d just tell him that he was gathering information for the enemy.”

Eric af Klint looked into her face. But she looked dead serious.

“So you mean...”

“He is just the cover. You know, a woman cannot travel alone as easily.”

He could understand that part.

“And if someone asks you why you want to know....these things?”

“I’ll make them think of something else.” Smiling again. Eyes sparkling. Her bosom heaving with every breath.

“I do not doubt it for a minute.”

Now she laughed. And Eric af Klint laughed with her, laughed until he felt a sting of pain in his recently healed wound. He flinched. Anna stopped laughing directly, instinctively putting her hand where the wound had been. Leaning towards him, her hand only a few inches above his hip, her face only inches from his.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed quietly, almost whispering. “Does it hurt much still?”

Eric af Klint needed all his strength not to pull her towards him and do something he surely would regret. Instead he straightened up and gently pushed her away.

“Not any more, thank you.”

“Of course.” She almost giggled.

Two hours later they were under way again. This was an open stretch of water and the wind was favorable. For the first time since they had crossed the Åland sea, Lieutenant Kuhlin ordered the masts to be stepped and sail to be set. With the crew resting on their seats, or on the floorboards between them, the gunboat sailed towards the distant line of islands off the coast of Finland proper.

“How does she handle?” Kuhlin asked bosun Tapper who was at the helm, moving the tiller cautiously, feeling the boat react. Surely without the aft gun the boat would be less stable, more difficult to handle?

“A little more weather helm than usual, perhaps, and she does heel a little more, Sir. But nothing to worry about in this wind.” Tapper grinned.

“Good. Very good.”

Kuhlin ducked under the canvas cover and descended into the makeshift cabin where the priest was sitting over a book.

“I’m sorry father, but I was looking for Miss Anna.”

“Ah, lieutenant. Well, she has gone forward I think, now that it’s possible...with the men not rowing...”

“Of course. Eh. Never mind.” Kuhlin turned in order to leave.

“You do know, don’t you?” the priest suddenly asked.

Kuhlin stopped.

“Know what?”

“That I’m not the real spy.” Hesitating.

“Yes, the commodore told me.”

“Good.” The priest seemed to be relieved.

“I cannot really understand that you are letting her do this though.”

“There is nothing I can do about it.”

“Why? Surely you could tell your daughter not to....ah.” Kuhlin suddenly saw it.

“She is not my daughter, lieutenant. Do you really think I would let my daughter behave like she does? I am a priest, Sir!”

Kuhlin felt a little embarrassed.

“Yes, I should have seen that. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be embarrassed about, Lieutenant. I am quite surprised that people do not see the obvious here.”

Kuhlin did not really know what to say.

“Well, let’s hope the Russians are as easily fooled then.”

Kuhlin made his way forward. Miss Anna was standing in the bows, looking forward, her hair trying to escape the ribbon that held it in place. Next to her, af Klint was sitting on one of the chests that held his precious cannonballs, looking at her back. He turned when he heard Kuhlin approaching.

“Nice day for sailing, Sir.”

“Yes, af Klint. Finally.” Kuhlin answered lightly. As a former navy man he did not give much for this rowing business. He continued forward until he stood next to the woman. She turned to look at him and smiled.

“Hello, Lieutenant?”

“Miss Anna. I’d like to talk to you for a minute, please?”

“Alright.” Her smile fading as she realized that Kuhlin had not come to socialize.

“I was wondering about where to put you ashore. Do you have any...eh...preferences?”

“Not really. But it would help if there was a track or road nearby. I’m not that good at finding my way through a forest.”

“Ah.” Kuhlin tried to imagine the chart of the coastline.

“Hm. Well, if there is a road, there may be Russians on it, Miss.”

“I am aware of that, Lieutenant.” She smiled again.

“Very well. We will try to put you ashore near a road then. But you will have to walk through some forest first. We cannot simply let you off at an ordinary landing stage.

“I know. I’ll manage.”

“I’ll give you an escort of course. Until you are on the road.”

“That would be nice.” She shot a glance at af Klint.

Chapter 14 - Dangerous impulse

Eric af Klint ordered his men to stay behind at the beach. This one he would have to do alone. He did not even know why he was doing it, it wasn’t covered in his orders and probably stupid as well. He continued to walk slowly through the forest. It was just after midnight, but not completely dark, thanks to the almost full moon and a clear sky. Still, he had to move carefully in order to avoid the small branches that tried to whip his face and hands. He silently cursed the sound his boots were making on the ground. If there were any Russian sentries nearby, they surely must be able to hear him, with not even a breath of wind disturbing the silence.

But he encountered no-one. Suddenly he reached the road. Looking carefully to either side, still seeing no enemies, he made his way east along the road. He knew from the map that this was where they were headed, towards Pargas, a mere village, but a good first spot to get some inquiries about what the Russians were doing. It had been three days ago he had escorted the Wetterstrands here, and two nights he had been waiting for them to return. Now it was the last night they would wait, and if nobody came, they would assume the Russians had discovered them.

But af Klint could not just sit here and wait. Not this time. Instead he continued along the road, carefully watching for any movement. The road was not exactly straight, more like a drunken path through the forest, probably following some now dried out riverbed he could not see in the dark. When he saw the buildings, af Klint stopped and retreated into the forest. Fifty yards further to the east the forest had been cleared to make room for a farm. The fields were unplowed, overgrown and unused, probably because of the war. There was a medium sized farmhouse, in the classic Swedish style, just like the one on Sandö, where he had met the Wetterstrands for the first time. Where he had met Anna. There were some outhouses as well, a barn, something he guessed was a stable. Horses were tethered outside, he counted at least a dozen, maybe more. There was light behind some of the windows on the top floor of the farmhouse, candles burning probably.

Eric af Klint waited. He did not really know what he should do. After all, he was not supposed to be the spy here. But the horses could only mean one thing: Russian officers. And where there were Russian officers there probably were Russian soldiers as well. Sentries. Guards. He could not see any, though. Maybe they were all asleep in the barn or something. He had seen the lack of discipline in the Russian lines before.

Suddenly, there was something moving. Two people. They were coming down the road, straight at him. Eric af Klint moved further back into the woods. The ground was sloping here, probably the riverbed. A grassy slope. Bushes to hide behind. He tried to breath slowly, evenly, keep his pulse down. If they were coming down here they would not be able to see him, but his heart was pounding so hard he wondered if they might hear it.

They were coming down, clearly. One of them was a young Russian officer, he still looked like a boy. Fancy uniform, some kind of aide to a staff officer perhaps? The other one was a woman, her arm on his, smiling at him. Anna. Eric af Klint almost forgot to breath.

The young Russian said something to her, his mouth close to her ear, his arm now around her waist. They left the road and moved into the woods. The boy looked much smaller than her, he wasn’t even as tall. He had his arms around her now, reaching up to her neck. But she pushed him away, gently now, whispering something. The boy hesitated for a second, then started to undo his hanger, taking off his short sword. Anna smiled at him, admiring the weapon apparently, holding it in her hand now.

Then everything happened very quickly. She hit him over the back of his head with the hanger, the boy staggering, knees weakening, surprise and disappointment in his face. But he did not go down directly. Still some strength in him, he gripped the sword and held on to it. Struggling now, his head clearer again for every second. He could not be allowed to win, af Klint thought. Because then he would kill her.

Leaping forward, his own sword in his hand, af Klint tackled the Russian from behind. Then he hit him hard in the head with the hilt of his sword. The boy lay still now. Eric af Klint sat next to him on the ground, looking at the girl.

“Oh,” Anna gasped.

“He is just unconscious. I did not know if you did want him killed.” Adrenaline still flowing, af Klint breathed fast, his heart beating heavily.

“Oh,” she said again. Then she smiled and moved towards him, came down to him, her dress rustling. Looking into his eyes, a serious expression on her face now, her face close to his. He almost forgot to breath again. Inhaling heavily. She smelled like a picnic in summer, he thought, of warmth, flowers and a faint scent of red wine. Then she kissed him, softly first, then more hungrily, moving on top of him at the same time. Her body was very warm, af Klint thought, while he was kissing her back eagerly, without even thinking about it. His hands explored the soft skin of her neck, traced downwards over her shoulders, down her arms, taking the rustling fabric of her dress down with them.

She was still kissing him, her lips moving softly over his face. Her arms were out of her dress now, her hands moving over his shirt, unbuttoning it, while he caressed her breasts, pushing down the dress further, exploring more warm soft skin and the roundness of her body. Then her face was moving downwards, her lips on his throat, on his chest. One hand was further down, still unbuttoning, expertly, he had to admit. He felt her hand then, directing him, her face in front of his again, her eyes glowing, her lips parted. And then he was inside her, filling her, feeling the warmth. Anna was moaning now, moving slowly against him, deliberately, making him grow still, wanting him to fill her completely.

“How do you do this?,” he asked afterwards. She was still on top of him, resting now, her face snuggled under his chin. He was stroking her back.

“Do what?” she whispered.

“I don’t really know how to explain. You are not like other women I met...”

“I just do what feels best. Explore things.”

He laughed. “You are amazing, Anna. And I didn’t even like you at first.”

She sighed.

“What?”

“Nothing. It’s just that men usually don’t like me. They just want me.”

“Oh. I think I like you, though.”

“I know. That’s why I wanted you.” She lifted her head and kissed him again, softly.

“Also I think you saved my life just now.” She shuddered. “It was careless of me to think I could knock him out myself, just because he looked like a boy. He is quite strong actually.”

“Why did you try to knock him out at all? I thought you’d seduce him in order to get some information out of him.”

She frowned. “You think this is how I work?”

“Eh, yes I thought so.”

She stroked his cheek. “You may be right, perhaps.” Smiling mystically. “But I already know all I need to know. They just won’t let me go.”

“Ah. I see. So what’s the news?”

“Later,” she said softly, starting to kiss him again. And af Klint responded, suddenly realizing that he was still inside her as he stiffened again.

Half an hour later they were on their way through the forest. It was lighter now, dawn approaching fast. Eric af Klint hoped there would still be time to do something at once. Of course this was Kuhlin’s decision. Suddenly, he remembered something.

“Anna?”

“Yes?”

“What happened to your father?”

“He’s not really my father, you know.”

“Ah. Well. But anyway?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure.”

“What do you mean? Weren’t you supposed to, eh, operate together?”

Anna stopped walking and looked into his eyes.

“I am not really sure of him.”

He understood her then.

“You mean he may be a traitor?”

“If you want to call it that. There are quite some people in Finland who do not like the Swedish king much more than the Russian czar.”

Eric af Klint considered that. “Well I suppose they even might have a point.”

Anna giggled and pinched him in the back. “Let’s go to your boat.”

They walked silently for a while. When the forest finally started to give way and they heard the sound of the water lapping at the beach she stopped again.

“Eric?”

He felt his face blush when he heard her say his name. Was she even supposed to address him like this? Still, after what had happened. And then again, she wasn’t even a priest’s daughter. In fact, he didn’t know a thing about her. There was so much he wanted to ask her. Instead he turned to her, lifting his eyebrow in question? Her arms went around his neck, her body close to his. She kissed him deeply, but not hungrily this time. The feeling was something else entirely.

“Thank you,” she breathed. Then she let go of him and stepped out on the beach, starting to walk towards the bows of the gunboat.

Chapter 15 - Daring enterprise

“I do not think we can manage it all by ourselves....” Lieutenant Kuhlin was sweating under his coat, despite the early morning sun having disappeared behind the clouds of yet another rain front passing from the Southwest. Anna looked at him, calmly.

“Of course it’s your decision, lieutenant. It’s just that these opportunities are... well, very rare.”

“I know that, Miss Anna.” And surely she would know everything about taking opportunities. He did not say that, however, feeling awkward in the presence of the female spy. He wondered what had happened to af Klint, he was different in some way. Maybe it was just the possibility of action that made him glow like this. He realized that they all were looking at him expectantly. Eric af Klint, Tapper, and Miss Anna, of course.

“And you are really sure, it is him?” he asked her for the third time.

“General Fredrik Vilhelm von Buxhoevden, the Russian high commander. His staff. And a guard of 30 men at most,” she nodded patiently.

Kuhlin sighed. He did quite like the power of command, especially on independent missions like this. But this was just a little too heavy for him. If he at least had his other two boats. But Dahlberg was still at the base making repairs and Gran was patrolling some miles further to the southwest, keeping an eye on Kuhlin’s back.

“If we could send for Gran somehow...,” he pondered. They would have almost a hundred men then. But with only one boat?

“We can muster 45 men, if we leave a minimal guard at the boat,” Eric af Klint suggested. “That should be enough. With the element of surprise on our side?”

Kuhlin wasn’t sure. “Will there be surprise? Would not the young gentleman you knocked out raise the alarm?”

“Well...”

Anna put her hand on af Klint’s arm. “I don’t think so, Captain. He never saw Eri...your officer. And surely he would never admit he’d been knocked unconscious by a woman.”

Kuhlin considered that. It might just be true.

“Thank you for the promotion, Miss,” he said to gain some time.

She laughed. “You are not as easily affected as most.”

Kuhlin couldn’t help laughing as well, despite the lump he felt in his throat. He swallowed.

“Well, then. This is how we do it. We’ll take 35 men. You, af Klint and myself. Tapper, you will take fifteen men and the boat and go to find Gran. It will be a hard pull, being so few but it cannot be helped. I wish we had a jolly boat or something, but unfortunately we do not. Oh, and Miss Anna stays on the boat.”

“No I won’t.” Her voice was very strong now.

“Please, Miss. I won’t endanger you again.”

“I want to find Wetterstrand,” she explained. “By the way I quite like to be endangered.”

Kuhlin and af Klint sighed simultaneously.

Half an hour later Gunboat Number 14 had disappeared round the headland to the South, looking for Sub-Lieutenant Gran’s gunboat. Kuhlin reckoned that they would have to pull hard into the wind for at least three hours. Maybe, if the wind shifted into the West they might raise some sail. If they found Gran at once, they then would need about two hours back, now with more men, being able to row faster. Five hours.

Eric af Klint had taken a small detachment into the forest in order to keep an eye on the road. There were no movements at all. Of course, he couldn’t see the farm where the Russian high command had set up its temporary quarters. He heard something rustling behind him. Anna.

“Eric?” she said in a low voice, aware that he might not want his men to hear her addressing him so intimately.

“Hm?”

He did not like her to be here. Well, he did, but he did not want her to be involved in this operation. He knew that she was supposed to be some sort of spy, used to these things. But she also was a woman, and she had become dear to him.

“Eric?” she said again, almost whispering, her face close to him now. Looking into his eyes, sensing that he was uncomfortable. “I want to ask you for a favor.”

He swallowed.

“Could you get me a pistol?” She saw the shocked expression on his face.

“Please?” Her lips almost touching. Eric sighed, pulling one of his pistols out of his belt, handing it to her.

“I suppose you know how to use it.”

Anna giggled. Then she placed the lightest of kisses on his lips. “Thank you. I’ll go now. Don’t worry.”

“Anna...”

But she was already out of the forest and on the road, walking towards the farm, clearly visible for everyone.

Kuhlin had agreed to give her a two hours’ head start. In fact, he still wasn’t completely convinced that this endeavor was a good idea at all, but now things had gotten so far that he felt committed. Without the boat, it was far too late to pull back out anyway. They could just as well try to decide the outcome of this war.

“Let’s go!”

They moved out in two files, one under the command of Kuhlin himself, the other under af Klint. Moving along the road in a quick march, their plan was to get to the farm as fast as possible and take the Russians by surprise. Of course, a surprise attack in mid-daylight couldn’t directly be called a military textbook operation. Everybody knew that surprise attacks are to be conducted at first light, and rather from some less obvious direction than the coastal road.

However, Kuhlin and af Klint had agreed that there really were no other options. They did not know how long the Russian high command was supposed to stay at the farm, nor if or when their guard would be reinforced. With the priest unaccounted for and Anna having gone missing from the Russians they could very well be at some state of alert, despite Anna’s confident assurance that the young Russian officer never would tell his superiors that he had lost her.

Eric af Klint had his own thoughts. While still trying to get a grip on his newly developed feelings for the woman, he wasn’t really sure if he should trust her. He wanted to, of course, but her behavior did not make that very easy for him. At the end of the day, af Klint did not know a thing about her. And while he did understand that, as a spy, it was important for her to keep her secrets to herself, he did not like to rely on other people’s judgment. There was, after all, no proof for her suspicion that it was Wetterstrand who was on the Russian side. In fact, it could just as easily be the other way around.

When they arrived at the last bend of the road before the farm, Kuhlin ordered his men to slow down. Muskets at the ready, they advanced. As soon as they had passed the barn, they split up, Kuhlin’s party continuing along the road towards the main building, while af Klint and his men turned right in order to move around the barn and towards the farmhouse from the other side.

He saw no movement. The horses, af Klint had seen tethered in front of the stable during the night were gone. In fact, the place did look utterly deserted. Did the Russians leave already? He halted his men and looked towards the road to check on Kuhlin when the air suddenly erupted in gunfire.

Lieutenant Kuhlin saw the windows on the upper floor of the house burst open, the muzzles of muskets appearing.

“Get cover!” he shouted to his men, but there was really no time. The muzzles flashed orange, followed by the popping sound of the muskets being discharged. Somebody screamed.

“To the door!” Eric af Klint ordered, taking his men forward, rather than trying to retreat over the open area between the buildings where they would be perfect targets. He hoped that there weren’t too many Russians in that house. But they did not even make it half way towards the door until it burst open, revealing more muskets.

Eric knew that he only could do one thing and that was to continue forward, hoping that his men would follow and that the momentum of the attack would carry them through this. If the men broke now and fled, he would not be able to organize them to make a stand again, soon. After all, they were not regular trained troops, but conscripted hybrids between sailors and soldiers. They did not even have proper uniforms, for Christ’s sake.

“At them!” he screamed, running towards the door, discharging his pistol at the opening. Packed with bodies as it was, he was satisfied to be sure that the bullet would hit somebody at least. He heard his men screaming behind him, so apparently they were still following. And there was more gunfire now, Kuhlin was returning fire from the road. Maybe they still had a chance to pull this off.

Chapter 16 - Disaster

Lieutenant Johan Kuhlin cursed under his breath. He should have know this from the start. This so called opportunity just had been too perfect, and now it was starting to turn into a formidable disaster. He had ordered his party to take cover, as little cover as there was to be had, in a ditch on the other side of the road, from where they now were returning fire. Still, the Russians, shooting from the windows on the first floor of the farmhouse, had a far better angle of fire, and better protection yet.

Fortunately they were bad shots, and his men were reasonably safe so far. Being even worse shots themselves, however, this exchange of fire seemed fairly pointless. It was also an utter waste of the precious little ammunition they carried.

“Cease fire!” he ordered, risking to lift his head a little in order to get a better view of the house. He wondered what af Klint was doing. Last he had seen him he was taking his party in some kind of heroic dash towards the main entrance of the house, despite being under fire from the very door itself. Kuhlin wondered if this really had been a smart move at all. But af Klint was, after all, a land soldier to the core and not a sailor like himself, so he guessed the gunnery officer knew what he was doing.

Eric af Klint himself was standing with his back pressed tightly to the front wall of the farmhouse and tried to make out how many men he had lost. The Russians had retreated into the house for the time being, knowing too well that they now would risk their heads if they stuck them out of the door. In that respect, af Klint’s daring dash could be called a success. He was no more under fire and held a strategically some more favorable position, at least compared to Kuhlin’s party over there in that ditch. But it had come at a cost. He could see at least five men lying on the ground in front of the house, dead or severely wounded he did not know. Others had been wounded more lightly and, while still able to fight, they might very well become a problem later. He still had a reasonably strong party, though, standing or crouching along the wall next to him. At least they had stood fast and not broke, af Klint thought.

“Gunner, are you alright?” Kuhlin shouted.

“Yes, Sir,” he heard the answer, immediately followed by another volley of musket fire from the upper windows. Kuhlin wondered if he should ask af Klint for any suggestions, but decided not to. He still was the commanding officer here, sailor on dry land or not, and having a shouted tactical discussion surely would not strengthen the confidence of his men. In fact, there wasn’t too much to discuss in the first place. He had only two options: to continue the attack, or to retreat to the beach, waiting for the gunboats to come back and pick them up. The question was, however, if the Russians would pursue if they retreated. Or if there were any reinforcements on their way.

What is Kuhlin doing? Eric af Klint wondered. Surely, he could not stay in that ditch forever. They still had a chance, here. If Kuhlin advanced now and drew the Russian’s attention from his own men, he might fight his way into the building. On the other hand, there were really no guarantees that the enemies’ high officers still were there. With the horses absent now, it was most likely they were not. In which case there was no real point in taking on a house full of Russian soldiers just for the sake of it. If not, he suddenly thought, Anna was in there as well. If she was right and Wetterstrand was a traitor, he could very well still be there, in order to sometimes return to the Swedish lines and continue his subterfuge, or whatever he was up to doing. And Anna? If she had confronted him, she could very well be dead already. Eric shuddered.

“I’d like to know who is in this house,” he said lowly to no-one in particular.

On the other side of the road, lieutenant Kuhlin was just about to give the order, albeit reluctantly, to once again advance towards the house, when he heard the sound of horses coming down the road from the direction of Pargas. And from the sound of it, they were quite a few.

“Cavalry! Retreat to the barn. Now!” He shouted, hoping af Klint would hear the order as well. The men stumbled out of the ditch and ran, more or less orderly, towards the barn. Of course, the Russians immediately fired on them, fortunately not taking their time to aim, thus hitting no-one.

Eric af Klint, who had heard the order as well as the horses approaching, ordered his men to the barn, too, utterly reluctant, but aware that he’d never be able to take, let alone hold, the farm house against whatever was coming for them down the road.

Luckily united again and covered from the enemy’s fire by the bulk of the barn, the two officers watched the Russian cavalry arrive.

“How many do you think they are?” Kuhlin asked.

“Two dozen at least, Sir.”

“Well, then we’ll retreat.”

“Yes, you do, Sir. I won’t. With your permission I’ll stay behind and try to find out some more.”

“Never in life, Eric!” Kuhlin’s use of the gunner’s first name surprised them both.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, you will, because you are coming with me. You are starting to talk like that darned girl spy, you know...”

“Sir, please listen for a moment. We need more information. And I can get it while you retreat, fighting a delaying action.”

“What information, Eric?”

“Well, if the Wetterstrands are still around, for starters.”

“Eric, you are dazzled by that woman, are you not?”

The gunnery officer blushed, but held his ground.

“It is in our orders, Sir. We are to take the Wetterstrands ashore and collect them again after they have done their thing. That’s what we are here for. So we should not leave without them.”

“You have a point there, I’ll give you that. But there is nothing to be gained by your risking your life in some kind of one-man rescue mission. We will retreat, all of us, fighting a delaying action.”

“But...”

“That’s an order, af Klint. We will be returning later, though, to see if we can find our precious spies.”

Eric af Klint shrugged but said nothing in reply.

Fighting a delaying action against cavalry was of course more easily said than done. To begin with, they could hardly make any stand against them in the open field. If they had been regular troops, with bayonets and proper training, they might have stood a chance, even though only a slight one. But as it was, they had to fire at the Russians from under cover. Retreating along the road, but not on it they split up into four parties of a dozen men each, two of which firing at the Russians from the woods, while the other two made their way to the next defensive position.

The Russians advanced, not only on horseback, but also the infantrymen who had hidden in the house, the original guard of thirty men or so. Outnumbered and outgunned, Kuhlin’s men did essentially the same thing the Swedish army on land had done most of this war, they fought and fled, fought and fled, slowly making their way back to the beach, not knowing, however, if they would find rescue there in time.

When they finally were near the beach, four hours had passed since they left this very place. It was now late afternoon and the first party arriving at the beach, under command of af Klint himself, did not see any gunboats at all. In some way, this was not exactly a disappointment, as they had reckoned the boats to be needing at least five hours to return, but then again, one could always hope.

“We’ll make a stand behind those rocks over there. Keep well hidden and do not fire until ordered,” he told his men.

There was no musket fire now, as the Russians finally had to leave the road, and their horses, in order to follow them through the forest. Until then, the Russians had tried to outrun them on the road, trying to fall upon them from behind, but in effect they never succeeded, instead the Swedish muskets had taken down quite a few of them. The Russians apparently were afraid of having to fight hand-to-hand in the forest, where their horses would not have been of any use, and scarcely their superior numbers either. But now they had to enter the forest after all, advancing carefully, in two lines abreast, like some sort of hunting party. The cavalrymen, now without horses, making awkward progress, slashing away at bushes instead of human heads with their frightening sabers.

Lieutenant Kuhlin was relieved by the slow progress of the Russian troops. His own men, by now quite at home in this forest, had not suffered any further losses, although, unfortunately those of af Klint’s men who had been wounded severely at the farm had to be left behind. His own party of men made up the rear now, and when they finally reached the rim of the woods, he ordered them to the rocks, where the other troops had dug in.

“No sign of our boats,” he remarked unhappily.

Eric af Klint nodded. “We will be able to make a stand here for a while though. Without their horses, the cavalrymen will not be as efficient and there is enough distance between us and the forest to give a good field of fire.”

“What about ammunition?”

“That’s a problem. We do not have enough powder and shot to sustain a continuous barrage for very long. I’d give my left arm for a swivel gun or two...”

“Let’s just hope for the boats to arrive soon.”

Chapter 17 - Subterfuge

“I really would like to know why you are doing this,” Anna wondered. There was no reply though. Squeezed tightly between Wetterstrand and the very same young Russian officer who had been knocked out by af Klint the day before, she was seated in a carriage, on its way to Turku, the former capital of Swedish Finland. At least she guessed that was were they were headed, from the general direction of it as well as from the fact that the road was getting better, the ride less bumpy, as time passed. She tried to ignore the young Russian’s hand on her left thigh, where it had been for a while, exploring, but not quite succeeding to reach more exquisite parts of her lower body.

Wetterstrand, on the other hand, was utterly silent and seemed quite uncomfortable. He had been avoiding looking at her all along, staring out of the window instead. Still, he held the pistol Eric had given her in his hand, muzzle pointed at her ribs. She tried again: “Are you really a priest.”

“In fact I am,” he answered unexpectedly. “And you are nothing but a sinner.”

“I know I am. But then again, I always have been. You, however, have now become a sinner as well, a traitor and an aide to murderers.”

“Oh rubbish. There is a war on, you know. A war that is already lost here. So why not try to make the best of it and get us reasonable conditions from our new master?”

Anna considered this for a while. “I guess you might have a point. What do you think those conditions would be, then?”

Wetterstrand did not answer. He did, however, turn his head and looked at her. Suddenly he shifted into French, addressing the Russian officer.

“Young man, could you please keep your hands to yourself, at least until we arrive? You are not alone in here you know.”

The Russian took away his hand, blushing deeply. Anna smiled at Wetterstrand. “Thank you.”

Wetterstrand turned away his face, saying no more.

“I am sure that you are aware of the peasants being afraid of enslavement,” she tried again after a while.

“There will be no serfdom in Russian Finland!” Wetterstrand almost shouted.

“Oh.”

“Yes. We have been assured so.”

“I see.”

Anna did say no more. She did know enough now. Clearly, Wetterstrand wasn’t just a spy, he was part of something bigger. Distractedly, she laid her head against the young Russian’s shoulder. “You can put your hand back there now,” she whispered in his ear. The boy complied eagerly. They were so easily manipulated, these men. Anna softly nibbled at his ear, listening to his heart beating faster, while thinking of the handsome gunner. Eric. She hoped he would be okay, despite the ambush Wetterstrand had laid upon them. Had used her to lay upon them. She should have known better than that, of course. Perhaps she had been distracted by the feelings she clearly was developing for af Klint. Feelings she did not wish to have, at least not right now, in the middle of this war, while she needed her assets for herself. All of them. And her body, after all, was her greatest asset.

Sub-lieutenant Gran wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. It wasn’t especially warm, in fact, there was a nice breeze from the southwest, now propelling both gunboats, all plain sail set, at what probably was their maximum speed. Twenty men were pulling at the sweeps as well, in order to give them some extra knot. Time was of the essence, and everybody aboard knew it.

Bosun Tapper stood in the stern of Number 14, smiling. He could not deny for himself that he felt like a captain on his own ship, even though it was a temporary affair. He had received some extra men from Gran’s boat, making up for parts of the landing party. Still, although now evenly manned, none of the boats was at its full complement. It would have to do though, and as long as there were enough men to man half the sweeps and all the forward guns, they would still be a force to be reckoned with. He only hoped they would be there in time.

The two gunboats were now essentially racing against each other. Number 34 being much newer, as well as rowed by crew already accustomed to each other, was leading, while Number 14 did its best to give her an even match. Until, one hour later, they fell foul of the weather. A huge black thundercloud had been building over the islands ahead for a while, but now it had finally decided that it was big enough for the assault. It descended upon them with heavy rain, gusty winds and almost no visibility at all, forcing them to take down the sails and continue under sweeps alone, slowly and carefully, barely able to make out the nearest islands. Still they carried on, as fast as they could under the circumstances.

Far away to the east, off the Sottungarna base, Eleonora Sparre looked longingly towards the shore from a navy brig, carrying despatches, wounded men and herself, towards the distant and peaceful capital of Stockholm. Eleonora sighed, thinking of her beloved sub-lieutenant, and the unsure future that awaited her on the mainland. She had a letter with her, of course, introducing her to Gran’s parents and begging them to take care of her until he would return home himself. She also had another letter, from lieutenant Kuhlin himself, to be delivered to his wife Charlotte, who had, after all, some right to know how her husband was faring and who had gotten precious few letters from him so far.

Eleonora did see the distant thunderclouds for herself, from the security of a real sailing vessel’s poop deck. Thinking of how it would feel to be in that weather aboard one of the small gunboats, she had become far too acquainted with, she shuddered, turned around and walked towards the ladder that would lead her down towards the cabin, and dinner.

Finally, the carriage came to a rest and Wetterstrand, who really was a priest, got out first, holding out a hand to help Miss Anna down, while still holding the pistol in his other hand. Anna however, frowning, did not take his arm but descended for herself, glad to be in the open at last, and able to stretch her muscles after the long ride.

“I won’t run from you, Wetterstrand, you don’t need to point that gun at me all the time.”

Wetterstrand shrugged, but kept the gun where it was. On the other side of the carriage the young Russian had descended as well. Having joined them, he reluctantly led the way towards the nearest building. It was an inn, or some kind of boarding house. Apparently, they were in the outskirts of Turku itself, somewhere near the water as well, judging from the smell of fish and brackish water that saturated the air. Two Russian soldiers stood guard next to the door, curiously examining her and apparently liking what they saw. She smiled at them and followed the Russian boy in, sensing Wetterstrand and his pistol closely behind her.

The Russian stopped in order to talk to some other soldiers, then continued up a flight of stairs, with Anna and Wetterstrand in tow. He opened the door to one of the rooms and held it open for her to pass through. Anna entered and turned around just in time to see him start closing the door. Giving him her most inviting smile, she saw him blushing, and then the door was shut and locked, before the two men could clearly be heard descending the steps. Anna was alone.

She moved towards the window, which could be opened easily, but was situated exactly above the guards at the door. The room itself was furnished, if the term even could be applied here, with a wooden bed frame, a straw mattress and a blanket, as well as a small table and a chair. On the table was a bowl of water for washing and under the bed was a bucket. For a prison cell, Anna thought, this was not so bad.

Chapter 18 - Evasion

Lieutenant Kuhlin was worried. Another hour had passed without any gunboats showing, and they were almost out of ammunition. The Russians had attacked twice and both times been repelled before they had gotten near enough for hand-to-hand fighting. He knew that, if they managed to come that far, they would probably win. His men did not have bayonets, only cutlasses, and those were not too efficient against a closed line of infantrymen with bayonets. Let alone against the sabres of the cavalrymen, which posed a severe enough threat even without their horses. Being outnumbered on top of that, they could as well give up themselves once they’d gotten out of ammunition. Kuhlin turned to his second in command.

“How many more of these attacks do you think we can withstand, Eric?”

“Not more than one,” af Klint answered. “Perhaps not even that. I have been wondering why they don’t simply charge us. These slow advances are beyond me.”

Kuhlin nodded. “Maybe they are just cautious.”

“Well, they’ve no reason to be.”

Kuhlin once more looked at the water behind him. The weather was deteriorating, a thunderstorm clearly approaching. Soon it would be raining and the visibility would be bad out there.

“Keep your powder dry, it is going to rain!” And so it did. The clouds emptied themselves with great fury, drenching the men to the bone in minutes. They tried to shelter their muskets with their bodies, knowing that they were their only protection from the onslaught that was clearly to come. Surely, the Russians could not stay in the shelter of the forest, while the rain gave them a perfect advantage to press home a final attack.

And of course, the attack came. The Russians moved slowly, in two orderly lines abreast, with the cavalrymen at their wings, sabres drawn and pistols at the ready. The infantrymen approached steadily, their muskets held at an angle, with bayonets already fixed.

“They are not going to stop and fire,” af Klint commented. “This will be a cold steel attack only.”

Kuhlin nodded. “Hold your fire and keep the powder dry. We will not fire until they are much closer.”

The men crouched behind the shelter of the rocks and waited. When the Russians were about a hundred yards away there was some sort of slight hesitation in their line. Eric af Klint knew that this was the point where they’d expect the command to charge. He looked at Kuhlin, who nodded.

“Now! Take your aim! Fire!”

The volley crackled raggedly, a few muskets misfiring because of the rain.

“Reload!” Kuhlin ordered.

The Russian line staggered, but then moved forward again. An officer shouted an order. And then, the enemy started to charge.

“Fire at will!” Kuhlin ordered. There was no time for a concentrated volley now, they would have to fire as fast as they could reload. He saw af Klint aiming his pistol, discharging it then throwing it away in order to draw his sword.

The Russians were about 50 yards away when the beach around them exploded. Sand and gravel pierced the air, then there was another impact further up the beach. The Russians were still unharmed, as the round shots had landed too far up the beach, but still their advance was halted and the soldiers looked bewildered, then realizing what had happened, they turned and ran back towards the shelter of the forest.

“Take cover” Kuhlin shouted. “Don’t follow!”

There were popping sounds from seaward now, then a whining in the air, when the case shot from four swivel guns pierced the air and descended on the fleeing Russians. A louder bang again and another round shot landed between them, throwing up pebbles that cut down men like musket balls. Looking towards the sea the bows of two gunboats emerged out of the rain, slowly moving towards the beach. Then it became all quiet, except for the screams of wounded men on the beach.

As soon as the bows of the two gunboats touched land, Kuhlin gave the order to embark. The men hurried aboard and the boats backed off, before the Russians had time to organize themselves. As they finally did and sporadic musket fire started to erupt from the forest, the gunboats were already well away. Later, they stopped and lay abreast in order for the officers to hold a council of war aboard Gunboat Number 14.

“You saved us at the very last minute,” lieutenant Kuhlin told Gran when the three officers, had gathered under the canvas cover in the boat’s stern.

“I’m sorry, Sir. We moved as fast as we could, but in this visibility...”

“Never mind, Gran. It would have been worse, if you had run aground, would it not?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Now, we have escaped at last, but our mission has become quite a failure. Perhaps, we should never have attempted this snatch party endeavor, but we did and face the consequences we must.”

“Yes, Sir. Eh...,” af Klint tried to word carefully what he was about to say. “Do we not stand a better chance...I mean, would we not face less blame, if we at least accomplished our original mission, Sir?”

Kuhlin shrugged. “I guess so. But, the fact is, we have no idea at all where to look for the Wetterstrands, which is what I assume you are referring to.”

“Well, yes. But I still think we should try.”

“Having missed most of the action, I happily volunteer to try, Sir,” Gran added.

“Is this a mutiny?” Kuhlin said but could not resist laughing. “Very well, never you fear, I agreed to giving it one more try and one more try it will be.”

Eric af Klint felt relieved. Still, the biggest problem remained: they had no idea how to find the Wetterstrands, how to find Anna. They did not even know where to look. He was thus quite surprised when Kuhlin actually had an answer.

“So, gentlemen,” he proclaimed. “We will go and find us a fishing boat.”

“What?” Gran exclaimed.

“Well, I think the most probable place to look for them is the city of Turku itself. If they are alive, and whatever their status may be, as for loyalty or... eh ... clandestineness, they will have made their way, or been taken, into the capital.”

“I am sure you are right,” af Klint said happily. Of course they would be there. Anna, whose loyalty he did not doubt at all, would have followed the priest there, or if she had been captured, they would have taken her there in order to be questioned. Or held captive until whatever subterfuge the priest was planning had been completed.

Of course, entering the occupied city with two gunboats was impossible. Even though many Russian ones did look exactly the same as, or were, in fact, captured Swedish boats, they would never be able to pass the crew for Russians. For starters, the Russian crews actually did wear proper uniforms. They also, more importantly, obeyed orders given in Russian, and orders would clearly have to be overheard if a gunboat was to be maneuvered at all. So they would try to find and borrow, or steal if need be, some sort of small sailing vessel, which could enter the capital covertly, manned only by two officers, clad in plain clothes.

Sub-lieutenant Gran, who eagerly volunteered for the task, however, was turned down.

“I must do this myself,” Kuhlin said. “The whole mission is my responsibility altogether, and if there is any chance to turn this into somewhat less of a failure, I must take it. And I need you to command the boats – a most important task, as you need to understand.”

The boats were to be hidden in a small cove, Kuhlin pointed it out on the chart. They were only to move if there were friendly forces approaching – after all, landing operations had been planned and might be carried out soon, or if Kuhlin’s party returned.

“If you meet a landing force, you are to seek out its commanding officer and warn him about the possibility of treachery that may lie ahead.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Anna lay on her back on the bed, her eyes closed, but she did not sleep. She was covered only by a blanket, slightly shivering in the occasional gust of breeze from the open window. Her dress was folded neatly over the back of the chair next to the table. The stage was set, and she was waiting. She hoped, this was not going to get too complicated. Although she had done things like this many times before, and in fact she did quite enjoy it most of the time, she felt slightly troubled. Thinking about this gunner far too often. She knew, that she could not let her feelings for him soften her, this was the way she fought this war, and it was the only means she had. Involuntarily, she moved her right hand softly over her breasts, then further down over her belly. Her heartbeat increased and she felt her face blushing. She did not shiver anymore.

There was no knock at the door, before he entered. The young Russian officer closed the door behind him and stood, watching her carefully. Anna smiled and lifted her blanket slightly, to show him a glimpse of her naked body, invite him in.

“No tricks, this time, Nikolai,” she said in a low voice.

She wondered how old he might be. Merely a boy, definitely less than twenty years old. She might very well be the first one for him. He hesitated, watching her, but then decided that there wasn’t anyone trying to knock him out this time, or if it was, then it probably was worth it anyway. He took off his hanger and put it carefully on the table, moved over to the bed and sat down next to her.

“I’m all yours if you’ll have me.” Anna lifted her hand and stroked him lightly over the face, looking into his eyes. Passion overwhelmed him then, and he threw himself over her, oblivious of anything else, except her scent, the taste of her lips and her soft flesh, her delicate movements against him, and the sensual moans and sighs that escaped her throat.

Later, they lay close together, resting, his slim body following her curves, his face buried between her breasts.

“Darling,” she whispered then. “Will you tell me something?”

The boy sighed, burying his face yet deeper into the bliss of her flesh.

“Please?”

She lifted his head gently with her hand, made him look at her.

“I’m not really supposed to tell you anything, you know.”

She kissed him softly. “I won’t ask you to betray any of your countrymen, my dear. It’s the priest I want.”

The Russian hesitated, looking down, trying to evade her gaze. Then he gasped, when Anna put her other arm around him, and pulled him more tightly towards her body, one hand against the hollow of his back. She felt his body tremble in response as she parted her legs, moving against him. When he entered her again, she knew that she would get her answers.

However, being in possession of the intelligence itself wasn’t of any use as long as she was held captive. Anna’s next move had thus to be escape from the Russian held town. She doubted that she was able to persuade her young Russian lover to help with this endeavor. He was clearly only prepared to aid her up to a certain degree, and physical actions of any kind was not inside his comfort zone. He was comfortable enough by now to tell her all he knew about the Russian defenses, and more importantly, the role Wetterstrand played in that context.

But how was she to get out of here? The house where she was held captive, was mostly used as a temporary dwelling for Russian officers on the move. It was not extremely well guarded, but well enough for her to not even consider escape by force. There were always two guards at the main door, and the only other exit could only be reached through the main dining room and the kitchen. And the dining room was almost never empty, with always some officers having arrived late, or making an early start. Anna had asked Nikolai how long he thought she would be held here, and the answer had surprised her. It had been in the morning, and he was already dressed and about to leave.

“Until the Swedish landing force is repelled.”

“Oh. And how long will you be here yourself?”

He had looked at her then, his eyes almost a little moist, his voice unsteady. “Do you really care?”

“I do, a little,” she had said softly. And it was true, this young man quite affected her, he was so innocent and passionate with everything he did. He had smiled at her then, before opening the door to leave. “A while longer, I think.”

Chapter 19 - Resolve

The small sailing boat ghosted quietly up the Aura River, towards the city of Turku. It was a dark night for once, the moon only temporarily visible behind the low clouds that announced yet another rain front from the southwest. The air wasn’t warm any more either, it being September. Still, at least the nights were longer now, making covert operations like this one easier.

Lieutenant Kuhlin wrinkled his nose. The boat was reeking of fish and the coat he wore did not smell much better. They had found the boat abandoned, near a fishing cottage on one of the smaller islands off Turku, while they had borrowed their coats from some of their own crew, men who were not at all happy to give up the only warm garment they possessed, even though it was temporary. Both Eric af Klint and Kuhlin had only changed their coats, keeping the rest of their uniforms on underneath. In case of being discovered, they would at least still be able to claim that they were officers and had to be treated accordingly. As for weapons, they had a pistol each, and a heavy seaman’s knife. Fishermen did not carry swords, so those had to be left behind. In any case it wasn’t likely they would have to do much fighting, deep inside enemy territory they would have no chance of winning anyway.

“Where do we start searching, Sir?” Eric af Klint looked warily around, not seeing very much in the dark.

“At the docks. We’ll try to find some cheap inn, ask some questions...try to get some grip on the situation here.”

“Oh well. It’s not much of a plan is it, Sir?”

Lieutenant Kuhlin shrugged.

On both sides of the river the docks were littered with Russian gunboats, galleys and other kinds of small warships. There was not much activity around them at this time, though. Some fires were burning ashore and they could see the movements of some guards, but most men were probably asleep after a good meal and a reasonable amount of vodka.

“Do you think we should try counting them?” Eric af Klint wondered.

“I don’t think so, Eric. It’s too dark really.”

“It’s a lot of ships.”

Lieutenant Kuhlin grunted in reply. Sure, there was a lot of boats. The Russians had had the advantage of numbers all the time since the fall of the fort at Svensksund. And even though most shipyards on the mainland now were building gunboats as fast as they could, there would still not be enough by spring to even out the numbers completely. But then again, it wasn’t at all sure that there would be anything left of Finland’s archipelago to defend the following summer. The gunboats would then have to protect the Swedish side of the archipelago instead, the entrance to the very capital itself. Stockholm. Kuhlin thought about the beautiful city, built on several islands just where the Baltic Sea meets the freshwater lake Mälaren. Where his wife lived, Charlotte. He wondered what she was doing now. Sleeping of course. Hopefully, he thought.

They went ashore on the northern riverbank, just a little outside of the city center. There were some inns here, but most seemed to be closed and those that were not seemed mostly be frequented by Russian sailors. The two officers moved carefully towards the first of the bridges connecting the two parts of the town. Halfway across they encountered a half-drunk man who was leaning over the edge. Fortunately he was Swedish and eager to volunteer information as for places where a visiting priest might stay.

“I thought it a good idea to go for Wetterstrand first,” Kuhlin explained later. “If we are lucky, Miss Anna will be somewhere near him, and if not, he still might know where she is.”

Eric af Klint agreed reluctantly. For his own part, he was not very interested in Wetterstrand’s whereabouts, but he realized that they would have to find them both anyway, and it was probably easier to find him. As a priest, he would certainly move somewhat predictably, something that could scarcely be said about the woman.

“Nikolai, darling,” Anna said softly, her mouth only inches away from his ear. “Have I not been exceptionally co-operative, do you think?”

The young Russian officer moved slightly against her body, his eyes closed.

“Hmm.”

“Never tried to escape, and have I not fulfilled your every wish?”

Nikolai sighed. She was right of course. She had been very complaisant indeed, satisfied him completely in every way. Of course, he knew why she did it, initially at least, and he had not cared to think about it. However, lately he had sensed some change in her attitude, an ever so slight change, but still a change. He knew that he probably was wrong, there was no reason why she suddenly should actually like him. He opened his eyes and saw her looking at him questioningly?

“What?”

“I was wondering what you were thinking about. You had this expression...like you were concentrating so hard.”

“I was trying to make sense of you, Anna.”

She laughed. Nikolai tightened his arms around her and pulled her closer.

“Don’t laugh at me. I really don’t understand you any more.” His mouth was on hers now, feeling her lips part willingly when he kissed her almost desperately. She was so responsive to every single one of his body’s moves, it really felt like she wanted him as much as he wanted her. But could it really be true?

“Anna, what are we going to do?” He caressed her back, while her head rested on his chest.

“There are some things I can imagine.” She sighed.

“Like what?”

“Like us taking a walk downtown in the autumn sun...”

“Oh, that would be nice.” Nikolai saw the picture clearly in his head. Walking with her on his arm, like a real couple. Like lovers. His heartbeat increased with the thought.”

“You do like the idea,” sensing his excitement. “We could just do it?”

“I don’t know. I am to guard you, remember?”

“I won’t run away, Nikolai.”

He really wanted to believe her.

By dawn, Kuhlin and af Klint had checked several boarding houses which looked promising enough. Most had Russian guards outside, one or two of them, almost asleep on watch. Vigilance was not very high over all in Turku, but that was not surprising considering the Russians having won most battles during this war and the nearest regular Swedish army hundreds of miles away to the north. Of course there was the threat of landings being planned, and Wetterstrand would have told the Russians everything he knew about them by now. Kuhlin wondered how many Russian troops were garrisoned here and around the town. In any case they were regular troops which the Swedish ones to be landed were not. They were also well trained and had been in battle before. He shuddered. The Swedish conscripts were of no use against regular troops. His own crew had done well enough alright, back at the farm, but it had not been their first fight, and if sub-lieutenant Gran and his boats had not arrived in time, they had never withstood the Russians in hand-to-hand combat.

They stood in a doorway across the street from another inn, when the carriage arrived. Three Russian officers emerged and walked to the door. They were high ranking according to their uniforms and they looked like they were on their way to a meeting. One of them wore a naval uniform, while the other two were land soldiers, probably cavalry and infantry.

“Interesting,” Kuhlin said. “We’ll stay here for a while and see what’s happening.”

Anna had her breakfast in her room, as usual. It was brought up by one of the guards who glanced at her cleavage as he usually did, but said nothing and left the room quickly. Anna had been thinking of trying to seduce him, but sensed that Nikolai had made it clear to him that he would at least lose his head if he as much as talked to her. She smiled for herself. Nikolai was clearly learning the game. Not fast enough, though. Poor boy. She had taken a liking to him, admitted it freely now. She might actually have become far too emotional for this kind of game lately. It was of course Eric’s fault. He had softened her considerably, almost to such a degree that she could not rule out the possibility of being in love. Which was a concept utterly strange to her. She had never wanted to be that dependent on a man. But then again, she had never felt so empty when she wasn’t near him.

Nikolai was a completely different matter of course. She did not love him, but due to her softened state of mind, she had opened herself to admit that she liked him. And that made it yet easier to lead him into the direction she wanted, because he felt her affection and, being in love with her, he chose to feel loved back. On the other hand, she felt a little guilty because she knew that she finally had to disappoint him. And that was a new feeling for her as well. She had never cared very much about how the men she used felt afterwards.

Thus, she wasn’t very surprised when he came back a few hours later, in order to take her for a walk. She had promised him yet again not to run away, sealed it with a kiss even. Then she had opened the parcel he had brought with him.

“Oh!” She exclaimed when she saw the dress. “Where did you find this?”

“Never mind. I can’t have you walk with me in that torn dress of yours, can I?”

She threw her arms around him, kissing him again. “You are so sweet, Nikolai.”

“So put it on then.” He smiled, making no move as to leave the room or even turn around. Anna giggled, then took off her dress slowly.

Half an hour later they were walking towards the center of the town, indeed looking like a pair of lovers. It was a sunny day at last, albeit not as warm as only a week before. Anna savored the fresh autumn air, while Nikolai mostly was peering at her, at least when he wasn’t smiling proudly at everyone they met.

“Where do you want to go, Anna?”

“I don’t know, we can just walk for a while, can’t we? I have not stretched my legs for so long.”

“I think you have,” he winked at her.

“You know what I mean.” She laughed, punching an elbow into his ribs.

“By the way, do you know where Wetterstrand might stay?”

“Yes, I do. But I don’t think we...”

“Oh, I don’t want to go there, Nikolai.”

He sighed. “He isn’t at home anyway, you know. They are all at a meeting this morning. That’s why I could take you out. They are all occupied, in that inn over there.”

“Oh.”

Chapter 20 - Escape

“Look, there she is!” Eric af Klint exclaimed. “Walking with that Russian boy!”

“They look like another happy couple,” Kuhlin could not resist. “Keep calm, Eric!” He added, when af Klint was about to move impatiently. “We must wait and see what happens first.”

The gunnery officer’s heart was pounding heavily. He wanted to run towards her and knock that grinning Russian out once again. Why did she look so happy with him? Was it a game? Or was it he who had been fooled all the way? Kuhlin drew him deeper into the doorway, to keep him out of sight.

Suddenly the door across the street opened and Wetterstrand emerged, walking right into Anna and Nikolai. Eric saw the priest stagger at the sight of the girl.

“You?” He shouted. “Why are you here?”

Anna looked at him coldly. “I could ask you the same. At least I am not betraying my country.”

When af Klint saw the pistol appear in Wetterstrand’s hand, he started to run. Kuhlin gasped, but, unable to stop him drew his own pistol and ran after him. Both officers knew they would never be able to get to Wetterstrand in time, and shooting at him was far too dangerous with him standing so near Miss Anna. So it was Nikolai who saved her. When he saw the pistol in Wetterstrand’s hand, he instinctively drew his sword and ran the priest through before he even could touch the trigger.

With Wetterstrand dead at his feet, Nikolai turned and saw two men in dirty coats running towards him. He pushed Anna behind his body to protect her and raised his sword again. At the same time he called to the Russian guards, who still stood in front of the inn, looking bewildered.

“Anna!” Eric af Klint shouted. She looked at him uncomprehendingly at first, but then she recognized his face. She started to move, but Nikolai caught her wrist with his left hand, shoving her back behind him. Kuhlin had his pistol up now, aiming at one of the approaching guards. He pulled the trigger, the shot went off and the Russian fell. The other one still ran towards them, but af Klint had gotten his pistol out as well and fired, hitting him in the head.

Nikolai still stood with his back to Anna, sword ready for the two Swedish officers, who came at him with their fishermen’s knifes. He slashed out at af Klint who was first, but missed as the gunner ducked under his arm, hitting him in the belly with his left fist. Gasping, Nikolai bent double, trying to keep his sword up to meet Kuhlin. Anna suddenly realized that the restraining grip around her wrist was gone. Still, she stood dazed, could not move at all. She saw Nikolai thrust out with his sword at Kuhlin, who backed away. But the Russian did not think of af Klint who was coming at him from the right, knife ready in his hand.

“Eric, please don’t,” Anna yelped. Looking at her quickly, Eric complied, hitting Nikolai with the back of the knife on the head instead. The boy dropped his sword and fell.

“Run, Anna!” Eric shouted, gripping her by the wrist and dragging her with him. Then they ran as fast as they could and as long as their strained lungs would let them. Finally safe, at least comparatively, in a backyard near the docks, they sat down on the ground, gasping for air. Eric held Anna closely, his face against her head, inhaling her lovely scent. When they had regained their strength, Anna looked into his eyes and smiled.

“Darling, you smell like a barrel of rotten herring.”

Eric laughed. “But you will kiss me anyway.” He lowered his mouth towards her parting lips.

They stayed in the backyard until dark just to be safe. Kuhlin was sure that there would be search parties out, looking for them. Anna did not agree at all, but had difficulties to convince the lieutenant. In fact, she was almost certain that Nikolai would tell his superiors a completely different story.

“You see, lieutenant, he loves me. Even though he will be devastated that I have fled with you, he knows that if we are found, we would probably be killed. And whatever he feels right now, he does not want me killed. So he’ll probably tell them that Wetterstrand attacked the guards and that he ran him through, tripping over in the process and hitting his head on a rock. He’d not even tell them I ever left the room I was held prisoner in.”

Kuhlin grunted. He didn’t believe it. “Surely the Russian’s sense of duty will prevail in the end.”

“Perhaps in the end. But not now. He’ll buy us some time.” The affection in her voice made af Klint look at her, his eyes aglow with what only could be jealousy.

“If he is so loveable, then why did you come with us at all?” He immediately regretted that he had spoken his thought. But Anna did not even blush. Instead she put her hands around his face, speaking softly. “Because I love you more, Eric. Much more.”

Eric gasped, blushing. “You do?”

Anna nodded. “I’m sorry, I should not have said so.” She was whispering now. “I know that I am completely out of place. But it’s how I feel.”

Eric af Klint pulled her closer to him, saying nothing at first, his heart racing. “You are dazzling me again,” he said finally. She opened her mouth to say something, but he was there, silencing her with a kiss. Johan Kuhlin sighed, rolling his eyes.

As soon as it was dark enough, the three of them moved to the waterfront and found the fishing boat peacefully moored where they had left it. Kuhlin climbed down and steadied the boat against the dock, while af Klint helped Anna into it.

“Sorry about the dress.”

Anna laughed. “Never mind the dress, I am sure you will hide me below those fishing nets in a minute.” She wrinkled her nose. “The smell is even worse than your coat.”

Kuhlin chuckled. “You know it’s not a bad idea actually, hiding you under that net. It might just be a trifle suspicious with a girl in a fancy dress riding down the river in a simple fishing boat.”

Anna sighed and winked at af Klint. “I told you so.”

Sub-lieutenant Gran stood on a rock, looking over the sea towards the east. Two nights had passed since Kuhlin and af Klint had sailed into the enemy held town in their little fishing smack. Gran had not thought it to be a very good idea, but being the junior officer he had not said anything. Instead he had patiently waited here, observing and thinking of his beloved Eleonora. Not that there had been too much to observe. Once, he had seen two Russian gunboats, apparently on patrol off the estuary that marked the entrance to Turku port. He was sure that they had not seen him, tucked away in this little bay on the northwest side of the island. He thought about his crew. At least they were enjoying it, having nothing much to do, getting fed regularly and being allowed to sleep in their tents.

Talking about the food. If they were to stay here several more days they would have to cut down on rations, or even start fishing. The gunboats carried only supplies for ten days, usually relying on supply ships. But there was no such vessel here, hadn’t been for over a week in fact and supplies were now dangerously low. Gran looked across the water one last time, before he started to walk back towards the beach. Suddenly he hesitated. Hadn’t there been a movement far away? He stepped back on the rock and looked again, concentrating now. Yes, there was definitely some movement.

“Tapper,” he called down to the beach. “Get me the lieutenant’s glass, will you?” He knew that Kuhlin had a neat little telescope which he probably got when he was in the proper navy. Usually, the inshore fleet did not supply their officers with such luxuries, but now it would come in very handy indeed.

Tapper appeared with the glass, standing next to the sub-lieutenant while he scanned the islands on the other side.

“Seems like they are coming out in style,” Gran said, “have a look for yourself.”

Tapper took the telescope and put it to his right eye. What he saw made him shudder. There were gunboats appearing between the islands. Many gunboats. They approached slowly, one after another, just like pearls on a string, Russian battle ensigns were flying at their sterns. Tapper stopped counting at thirty.

“Quite some sight,” he said, giving back the telescope to Gran.

“Indeed. Well, we’ll let them come a little closer in order to count them properly. Then I’ll leave and warn our fleet. You are to stay here, waiting for the Lieutenant. Keep your boat well hidden, Tapper.”

“Aye aye, Sir,” Tapper replied, his throat dry.

“I think you should put to sea now.” Bosun Tapper did not like this at all. In his opinion, sub-lieutenant Gran should have left long ago in order to warn the Swedish landing forces. There was no real point in counting every Russian vessel in the approaching fleet, for a fleet it was and it was powerful enough even if you did not know its exact numbers. But Gran was a thorough man, and he wanted to provide his superior with the best possible intelligence. So he had waited until the last Russian ship had emerged from the sound. 90 gunboats and galleys, not counting some smaller vessels.

“Alright,” Gran agreed finally. “You know your orders, Tapper. Good luck to you.”

“It’s you who’s needing the luck, Sir.”

Gran smiled warily and turned to walk down to his boat. As soon as he had climbed aboard, the crew bent to the sweeps, and the boat started to move out of the cove and towards the headland that would lead them into open water – and make them visible to the Russian fleet.

Gran had ordered only the aft gun to be hauled up into firing position, hoping that the forward gun would add enough ballast to set some sail as well, if the winds permitted. Which, at the moment, wasn’t the case. He stood next to the tiller and looked aft at the Russians. Surely they had seen the gunboat by now. The question only was, what they would do. A big fleet of gunboats required some complicated co-ordination in order to be an effective fighting force. That actually gave him and his men a slight chance of escape. The Russians would have to detach one or several boats to chase him as they could not just have the whole fleet move faster in pursuit. Or if they would, they would never catch them, as the fleet could not go faster as its slowest boat.

But if the Russians detached some boats to go after him, he had a somewhat better chance of outrunning them, as they still would have to keep a formation. And even if they caught him, he might be able to fight them off. If he was lucky. He wondered if Eleonora still was at the Sottungarna base, or if she had left for the mainland on a transport at last. Even though he missed her desperately, he almost hoped she had. If there was to be a big battle, there would be misery at the base, whatever the outcome, and that was nothing he wanted her to witness.

There was something happening in the Russian lines now. The boats had been sailing in three columns abreast for a while. But now there was some movement in the middle column. Yes, three boats were leaving the formation and gathering speed.

“Firm, up lads, they are trying for us now,” he called to his crew. Gunboat Number 34 picked up yet another half a knot of speed.

“Ready at the aft gun and swivels!” Gran concentrated on the enemy boats. Unfortunately it seemed like they were gaining.

Chapter 21 - Battle

Sneaking out of Turku had been comparatively easy due to the fact that there were almost no Russian troops left. Not only had most of the gunboats disappeared, there was even an almost complete lack of soldiers ashore.

“I wonder if the landing operations have started at last,” Kuhlin speculated. “So all the troops and ships are away fighting off our poor conscripts”.

“In which case we will be too late,” af Klint added. He was sitting in the bows of the boat, Anna at his side now that they had left the city behind and were sailing well out in the estuary. “And our mission was utterly pointless”, he added. Anna turned to him, her checks beautifully colored by the chilly wind.

“Not at all, Eric. We did a nice job, getting rid of that traitor priest. And you did a nice job, getting out your favorite spy.” Her voice softened. “I don’t know how to thank you enough.”

“Oh, I am sure you do know very well how to thank me.” Eric smiled at her. Was she really blushing?

It was a tedious beat against the wind. The fishing smack, while definitely a much better sailer than a gunboat, still didn’t go to windward especially well. Thus, it took them half the day to tack themselves out of the estuary and into the archipelago proper. During all this time they sighted scarcely a boat. Lieutenant Kuhlin wondered where the Russian gunboat fleet had gone. As far as he had been taken into confidence at all, the landing was to take place north of Turku. However, half of the landing forces would come from the north, while the rest came from the southwest and the Sottungarna base. As the Russians knew that it was there the Swedish gunboats were based, they would probably head southwest first, in order to take out the gunboats. Thereafter they could attack the troop transports from the rear unopposed, cutting off the landing force’s retreat. Anyway, they would have to join forces with Gran and Tapper first. If they had not seen the Russian fleet and sailed to warn the base.

When bosun Tapper saw the fishing smack, he immediately ordered Gunboat Number 14 out to meet it. Kuhlin, af Klint and Anna climbed over into the gunboat, which then took the fishing smack in tow.

“Where is Number 34?” Kuhlin asked.

“Gone off to warn the base. We saw the Russian fleet come through right here, a frightful lot of boats, Sir”.

Kuhlin nodded. “How long ago was this?”

“Three hours ago, Sir. They were all headed southwest, pulling right into the wind.”

“Very well. We will do the same, Tapper.”

“Aye, aye, Sir. Ready at the sweeps. Give way together!”

The Russian gunboats started to fire when they were three cables away. They had been gaining slowly but steadily, and Gran knew that he probably would not make it. Tapper had been right, he should not have waited so long.

“Aft gun, train on the middle one, fire at will!”

The gun roared and a spout of water rose up fifty yards in front of the leading Russian gunboat.

“Reload, keep firing.”

It was the only thing he could do, keep pulling, keep firing and hope that they would hit something vital on one of the Russian boats.

“Gunfire, Sir”. Kuhlin had heard it himself. It was far away though, could easily have been mistaken for a distant thunderstorm. But the sky was clear and with the wind from seaward, any thunderstorm would build to the east of them and not over open water.

“Sounds like three or four boats firing. Perhaps Gran is being chased. I think, we will prepare the boat for action.”

“Haul out forward gun! Load and prime swivels.” While af Klint gave his orders and took his position at the big gun in the bow, Miss Anna retreated to the stern, where the canvas cover was taken down.

Bosun Tapper looked at the fishing smack that was still trailing behind the gunboat.

“Sir, what about the boat, shouldn’t we cast it off?”

Kuhlin hesitated. “No, we’ll wait. It might come in handy later.”

“Sir! Gunboats ahead!” Sub-lieutenant Gran turned around at the shout from the bows. With the three Russian boats now only 200 yards away, he had not paid too much attention to what lay ahead of them. But there they were, formed up in a fighting line abreast, blue battle ensigns flying – the colors of the Swedish inshore fleet. Gran felt new hope. They were not so many as one would have wished, but they were deployed and ready, and they might just give him a chance to escape after all.

“Thank God,” he sighed. Then the Russian round shot hit the ammunition locker next to the aft gun and Gunboat Number 34 vanished in a bright orange flash.

To the men and the woman aboard Gunboat Number 14 the explosion was only another distant rumble. But the spouting black cloud afterwards clearly told them what had happened. Kuhlin took off his hat.

“What is that?” Anna asked, a frightened look on her face.

“A boat blew up. It happens sometimes, when a gunshot hits a powder keg.”

“The crew...?”

“Normally there are no survivors.”

“Oh.” Anna turned to look away, feeling unsteady.

There was no big sea battle that day. The Russian gunboats, upon sighting the Swedish line, did only advance very cautiously, deploying themselves slowly during the rest of the day. Thus, both Swedish and Russian crews had to spend the night aboard their gunboats, in great discomfort and not little fright, due to the close proximity of the enemy. This deteriorated further, as the night not only brought darkness, but also a moist fog that made men shudder and threatened to render gunpowder wet and useless.

For Lieutenant Kuhlin, however, the fog brought salvation. Still practically behind enemy lines, Gunboat Number 14 used the night to move outside the islands that defined the battlefield to be, pulling very slowly and quietly, feeling its way along the contours of the islands, barely visible in the fog. By midnight, he had placed his boat off the Swedish fleet’s northern flank, protected by a small island from the view of both sides. He knew that he could not join the Swedish line until morning, the risk to be taken for a Russian scouting party was far too great in this visibility – and both side’s boats did look very similar anyway. So he ordered food to be handed out, cold food of course, and just a little light beer with it, and then rest, waiting for the arrival of dawn.

At five in the morning the fog lifted, and the Russians advanced. One hour later they were in range of the Swedish great guns and swivels and the battle began. Having ordered to wait until the last moment in order to be able to use his guns to the best effect, the Swedish commander had gambled high, but he had gambled right. The Russians, despite being almost twice as much in numbers, did retreat and the first part of the battle was a Swedish victory.

Lieutenant Kuhlin was standing on top of the island that sheltered his boat and watched the Russian lines. There being a lull in the battle right now, he could take his boat and join his countrymen now, but something made him hesitate. There was a movement in the Russian lines, on their northern flank, that worried him. The very fact that he had been able to take his boat here, and stay here unmolested during the better part of the morning, actually meant that the northern flank of the Swedish line wasn’t very well protected. And the Russians might just have guessed as much.

Then the Russians moved, this time to the north, trying to outflank their enemy. This was exactly what Kuhlin had been expecting.

“Tapper,” he called. “You will take Miss Anna into the fishing smack and sail away to the northwest.”

“Aye aye, Sir.”

Kuhlin had half expected Anna to refuse, but apparently she still remembered what happened to Gran’s boat the day before and followed the bosun willingly. Only the worried glance towards af Klint showed her real feelings. Then they were off, and Gunboat Number 14 prepared for action.

The Russians came in force, and there was, of course, no way for Kuhlin to stop them. Instead he ordered af Klint to open fire very early, hoping for a round shot to find its mark by accident. When firing at long range, the gunboat’s cannonballs did bounce of the water like a pebble thrown from a beach. It was not unknown for round shots to bounce three or four times, every time increasing the range. Accuracy was a different matter though. But against a great mass of boats, chances were actually quite good of hitting something, better, in fact, than the Russian’s who only had a very small target.

Soon enough, Russian round shots were landing all around them, and Kuhlin ordered the oarsmen to back away the boat slowly while still firing at the Russians. By now, the Swedish line had realized the danger they were in and had started to strengthen its northern flank. This, however wasn’t to any great avail. The Russians were far too many and by nine in the morning the whole Swedish line, Gunboat Number 14 now included, started to retreat into open water on the other side of the sound. There, another stand was made in order to prevent the Russians from leaving the sound. This succeeded temporarily, but eventually even this position had to be given up and the Swedish gunboats retreated into the protection of another group of islands, Grönvikssund, further to the west.

Here, the Russians did not immediately follow. By next morning, the weather had worsened and severe gales from the southwest made crossing the stretch of open water between the groups of islands impossible the three following days. In fact, Grönvikssund became the inshore fleet’s stronghold for the rest of the season, which, in any case, did only last a few more weeks. At least for the Russians. Their gunboats retreated to Turku for the winter in the first week of October. The Swedish boats, however were a very long way from home still and the winter did come early in 1808.

Chapter 22 – Storms

Charlotte Kuhlin stood at the window of her home, looking over the harbor. It was blowing a northerly gale and cold rain with some snow in it slashed at the glass. She shuddered as an icy gust penetrated the leaky wooden frame of the window and chilled her body. She crossed her arms in front of her to hold her dressing gown closer together. Tried not to think of how the weather was out at sea right now. The fighting was over, so much she had read in the newspapers, but the inshore fleet was still out there, kept by bad weather from returning to its home port.

From her husband she had not heard very much. The occasional letter had come, of course, but mostly in the beginning of the war. Lately there were few ships returning and most of them carried wounded soldiers. There was a knock on the door, and Charlotte turned and walked to answer it. Opening the door, she looked at Eleonora’s face and knew that there had been bad news.

When Eleonora first had come to Stockholm, with a letter from her husband explaining her situation, she had done what she could to help her. She had helped her find sub-lieutenant Gran’s parents who had welcomed her, but as they lived very crowded as it was, Eleonora had wanted to find some work and set up her own place. Not having had much work experience before, it had not been easy, but finally she had found a place as a governess.

Eleonora’s face was all wet and streaming, mostly from the rain, but her red eyes told that there was something more.

“Come in, please, dear,” Charlotte took her hand and led her into the room, closing the door behind her. Turning towards Eleonora she looked into the young woman’s eyes, which were again streaming with tears.

“He is dead!,” Eleonora yelped. Charlotte reached out to her, steadying her, then taking her in her arms. A hot ball of fire was suddenly in her stomach.

“Who?, she asked hastily, hoping that it would not be her husband, at the same time feeling bad for wishing it’d rather be Eleonora’s beloved sub-lieutenant.

“My darling....oh...what do I do...?”

Charlotte, feeling a little relieved, albeit still ashamed, led the wretched girl towards the sofa and placed her there. Sitting down next to her, she held her hand.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. How do you know? What happened?”

Eleonora wiped her face with the back of her hand. “I got this letter...,” she searched the folds of her dress, finally producing a wrinkled sheet of paper.

“Here...it’s from the high command of the inshore fleet...,” she began to read “We deeply regret...,” then her voice faltered. Charlotte took the paper from her and read it herself.

“Oh...lost with all hands?”

Eleonora gulped. “Blown up...he told med it could happen...but was very rare...Oh, why had it to be him? What am I to do?”

During the last weeks the waters between Finland and Sweden had become gray and cold. Strong winds produced white capped waves that made the gunboats with their low gunwales very uncomfortable indeed. Frequently, spray came over the bows, drenching the crew to the bone. Many were sick by now, mostly because of the cold and wet weather, combined with lack of fresh food and insufficient clothing – most crewmen were still in the same clothes they had on them when they joined the squadron in the spring. The promised new uniforms had never come. In fact, the situation was so bad that most boats had lost half their crews sick and quite a few dead.

Apart from being the humanitarian catastrophe it was, this also meant that maneuvering the boats had become awkward and slow. Yet, the fleet had managed to sail from Grönvikssund back to Sottungarna and then to the South coast of the Åland islands themselves. There, however, they had become stuck for several weeks. An attempt had been made to cross the Åland sea, but the boats had encountered strong headwinds and were forced to turn back from about half way over.

Lieutenant Kuhlin’s little command, now only his own gunboat Number 14 and Dahlberg’s captured Russian boat, were holed up together with their support vessel, the schooner Amelia, in a small cove, waiting for better weather. Mostly, the officers stayed aboard the Amelia, together with the sick and Miss Anna, who yet again had become many a sick man’s only reason to stay alive. Those of the crew who still were fit for duty lived in their tents ashore, trying to keep warm by burning driftwood and the few bushes and trees on the island.

In the cabin, Kuhlin, af Klint and Dahlberg were discussing the situation.

“Anna thinks we should send the Amelia ahead with the sick,” af Klint said. “And I think, she is right. They will surely die very soon if they don’t get ashore.”

Kuhlin sighed. “Yes, but if we let them go, we might as well die the rest of us. The Amelia is the only way to get out of the weather and prepare some warm food at least. And more people will probably get sick. We cannot have them just lying on their thwarts, can we?”

Eric af Klint nodded reluctantly.

“What about a tow?” sub-lieutenant Dahlberg offered.

Kuhlin looked at his sub-lieutenant questioningly.

“Well, Sir. Could not the Amelia tow the boats over the sea? With minimal crew in the boats to steer and most of the men below and dry?”

Kuhlin considered it for a moment. “It might work. We’d need a few men to bail if the sea is rough, but we could relieve them every few hours. Yes, I’ll go over to the flagship in the fishing smack and ask for permission to proceed independently.” He left the cabin, calling for Tapper.

The next morning there was still snow in the air, but the wind was a little weaker, and had veered into the northwest. A sea forward of the beam promised a wet ride for the gunboats, but for a real sailing vessel like the Amelia it was a piece of cake. Bosun Tapper had prepared two towing hawsers of a hundred yards length each, one to connect Gunboat Number 14 to the schooner and the other between Number 14 and the Russian prize. The fishing smack they decided to leave behind this time.

Tapper, who had volunteered to stay aboard Number 14 for the first watch together with four men waved to Kuhlin, standing on Amelia’s poop, to indicate that the tow was all properly set up.

“You may proceed, skipper,” Kuhlin told the commander of the supply vessel. The skipper was not a military man himself, but merely a hired merchant, who in peacetime used to transport timber from the Northern parts of Sweden to the capital. The man nodded and ordered his crew to halyards and sheets.

“Hoist mainsail and inner jib!”

The crew started to haul at the ropes and slowly the big mainsail climbed up the mast. The jib followed more quickly. With the wind filling the sails, Amelia leaned slightly over to leeward, gathering speed. The towing hawser creaked, its bight lifting out of the water. A sudden jerk could be felt when the tow started to move.

“It seems to be holding,” the skipper commented.

“Aye.” Kuhlin was relieved. With just a little luck they could be under the protection of the Swedish islands by late evening.

Charlotte Kuhlin heard the news when she went out for a walk. The rain had stopped for the time being, and the sky was reasonably clear. As soon as she reached the waterfront, she heard everybody talking about the gunboats finally being on their way home. Most were already on the Swedish side, but holed up on the coast of Roslagen in order to wait for the slower galleys. But some where on their way and the first ones had already passed Vaxholm Castle.

Charlotte walked down the quay, looking towards the harbor entrance, feeling an unexplainable sting of excitement in her stomach. The air was still cold, even though the wind was much less now and there was even a glimpse of the sun. Then she saw the boats. First was a schooner under full sails, moving gracefully, almost hiding the two small gunboats that followed her, sweeps moving steadily. They looked a little like giant water spiders, Charlotte thought. Of course, she did not know that it was her husband standing in the sternsheets of the forward boat, it was still too far away. But she could not tear her eyes from the view nonetheless.

Suddenly she realized that the boats would not come here at all, but turn right to the galley wharf. Now she was in a hurry to find a boat that would take her over to the wharf. Yes, it was probably foolish, but she just had to be there when the boats arrived, just in case. She sat in the boat, her heart beating wildly, watching the gunboats come closer. Then she saw him. Her heart almost bursting she stood up in the boat, waving frantically.

“Johan. Oh! Johan!” she cried, tears now in her eyes, rocking the boat dangerously in the process, upsetting the old woman who operated the oars.

“Now, Mistress, please sit down or you’ll drown like a dog in plain view of him!”

Lieutenant Kuhlin did not see her at all. He was terribly occupied with piloting the boat in these confined waters, giving orders that were carried out sluggishly by the weak and tired crew. Still, finally he had Gunboat Number 14 against the dock, stern lines fast to mooring piles and gave his last order.

“Stow sweeps. Crew muster to be dismissed.” He was too tired for any speeches, just told Tapper to take care of the rest and climbed up to the dock, more or less directly into the arms of his wife, who he at last realized had been standing there all along.

Eric af Klint was feeling bewildered. He was watching the boat from the Amelia moving towards the shore. Anna was sitting in the sternsheets, a big scarf wrapped around her head, protecting her hair and covering parts of her face against the cold air. When the boat touched the dock he stepped forward. Then she was standing in front of him, with a severe expression on her face. Her eyes were very light blue in the winter sun, almost translucent.

“What will you do now?” Eric hesitated. “You know, we could...eh...”

Anna smiled at him. “Eric darling. I am not really your kind of woman.”

“I don’t really care...”

She put her hand to his face touching him gently.

“I know you don’t. I’m just not sure if I could live like that...”

“But you won’t have to...”

“I think I would want to, Eric.”

“You could try? There’s is not much spying to be done during the winter, anyway...” He offered her his arm. Anna hesitated only for a second. Then she took his arm and lay her head against his shoulder.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I hope, it will be a long and cold winter.”

Afterword

This tale is of course fiction in the sense that it’s not a true story. However, it has been composed of fragments that more or less did really happen. Most of these fragments come from a wonderful little book, published in Swedish with the title “Dessa oändeligt förbannade sluparna” (“Those eternally damned gunboats”). The book contains a collection of letters and diaries from actual people serving on those boats in 1808 and 1809. And the characters of lieutenant Kuhlin and his men are very much inspired by those men, and a certain woman.

This woman, Miss Anna, deserves a special comment. There was indeed a priest’s daughter who was observed participating in certain sexual activities with members of the inshore fleet. And while there is no proof that she was involved in the intelligence business in any way, I chose to use her to not only spice up my novel, but also make a certain point about women not only being of second hand importance for the effort of the war. There were quite a few women involved in this particular war, some disguised as men, but some openly accompanying their spouses and working on supply ships. One of them is very rewardingly depicted in Björn Holm’s “Affairen vid Ratan”, a novel about the last battle of this war, in 1809.

As for the action itself, it’s mostly fiction. Some cornerstones of the plot, however, are true. HMS Tartar was in the Baltic at the time, and her captain’s name was Baker.

There was indeed a chance for the Swedes to capture the complete Russian high command, but unlike Kuhlin they never tried.

The final battle, where Gran’s gunboat gets blown to pieces, took place at Palva Sund on September 18th, 1808. The tactics of this battle are accurately described, but the Russians did in fact come from the south, not the northeast and I have boldly moved the place itself a few miles further to the southwest. This little geographic alteration was necessary in order to help poor Gran find his destiny more easily.

The political background is also quite accurate. It is always difficult to describe people’s feelings during a completely different period of time, but historians do quite agree that the Finnish War was fought half-heartedly at best. On land, the Swedish army was conducting some sort of fighting retreat most of the time. Many people did not like the king, as well in Finland as in Sweden. Especially in Finland, many thought they’d at least not be worse off with the czar.

On the water, the war did go a little better. The navy had the Russians blocked in with British help and the inshore fleet fought well. It had, however, depended very heavily on the sea forts, especially the one at Svensksund, which was treacherously given up early in the war, together with a squadron of the most modern gunboats. This did definitely have an enormous impact on how the remaining inshore fleet could act. Considering this, they did very well. And in 1809, at Ratan, the very gunboats saved the army from complete defeat. But that’s another story.