The Gold Engine (The Gold Chronicles)

by D. Girard Watson

  "But sir," asked David, "What does that have to do with New New York?"

  The captain laughed. "That's where we went afterward to get drunk. We spent about a week on leave in Altima. Lots of pretty girls there. We were lucky. We had a tight group of sailors, and even though there was an inquiry, it was ruled an accident, so no court-martials"

  "What happened to Gillette," asked Lara.

  "That bastard?" snorted Gibson. "He's a port admiral in Jefferson."

  CHAPTER FIVE

  After the dinner, David pulled Lara aside in the corridor.

  "I was going to talk to McDaniels, but since you're here, maybe you can help me out?"

  "Yes?" she said, eyeing him coldly.

  "I occasionally get these migraines. There a terrible nuisance, but very debilitating." He rubbed his temples. "They're usually caused by bright lights or loud noises. I'm afraid the explosion we had in the engine room this morning triggered one."

  "Have you tried a cold compress?"

  "I have, but it usually doesn't do much. Our family doctor at home usually gives me a tincture of laudanum and that almost always does the trick."

  "That would work, I suppose. Come with me to the surgeon's bay, and I'll see what I can do."

  He had not had laudanum in several months, and as he felt the sweet, delicate wave of release sweep through him, he considered whether life in the Navy might not be so terrible after all. Lara had been very kind. Maybe he had misjudged her. Then again, it would be difficult coming up with repeated causes for his migraine, but he'd burn that bridge when he came to it. Was that the right metaphor? It didn't matter. He lay in his cot staring at the ceiling. He had not been this relaxed since... well, he couldn't remember.

  It was in this haze that he heard bells on deck. He did his best to ignore them, but even in his current state, they intruded into his dreams. He was groggy. He sat up to see what the noise was about.

  "All hands to battle stations!"

  His hands were clammy, his gut clenched, he couldn't breathe. They were under attack. He forced himself to get up and make his way to the engine room to report to his post. The shouts continued as he stumbled down the corridor. There were hands running past him down the passage. From bits and pieces of shouts, yells, and stolen conversations he learned that three frigates were on their way to intercept the Dakota and the Boggle.

  Once he arrived at the Engine Room, men were furiously shoveling coal into the furnace, fixing leaks of steam and water, and readying cooling tanks. Old Jebediah was shouting like a mad man. A ship under attack has to move quickly, nimbly. Because the ship's only source of propulsion was the Gold Engine, changes in direction and speed required constant changes in pressure and power, which put an enormous strain on the machinery. Jebediah was making sure everything was in order before they actually engaged.

  "Marr," shouted the old man, "Over here, lad."

  David trotted over slowly. He felt like he was moving through water. Jeb gave him a queer look. "Drink too much with the Captain? Well shake it off. I need your head square on your shoulders.

  "The biggest danger is overheating and fire," said Jeb. "Make sure that it doesn't happen. Take Franks, Jenkins, and Cole with you."

  David was relieved that his job was so simple. He was in no shape to do anything complicated, and it terrified him that all of their lives depended on his actions. It terrified him even more that his life was in any way at risk at all. What was he doing here?

  He pushed these thoughts aside as he directed the men under his command. They formed a chain, ferrying buckets of water to holding tanks in the engine that were running low. While the sailors were doing this, he made sure that the containment chamber temperature was stable. His tasks fully took his mind off of the fact that there were Spanish ships out there that wanted to see him and his shipmates dead. Was this a random patrol? Their ship was larger than any frigate, but three frigates could easily destroy them. Would they be captured? What about the Boggle and Waterhouse?

  Jeb was in constant communication on the sounding horn, presumably getting orders from the first lieutenant. He put the horn down and looked right into David's eyes.

  "Marr, I need you to..."

  An explosion. Stars. Silence.

  He was on the ground. He knew this because he could feel the pressure of the floor across his entire body. Other than that, his vestibular system wasn't giving him much of any feedback. He tried to stand, but found that his muscles wouldn't respond. He still couldn't hear anything, and it was pitch black. He opened his eyes and saw Harriet.

  She was standing over him. She looked concerned.

  He saw her lips moving but heard nothing. He shook his head at her. Or at least he tried.

  Slowly, time restarted. Sound was working its way back in, but there was still an overwhelming ringing in his head. He was standing and being shaken. Harriet was yelling.

  "....hear me? Are you in there?" She raised her hand to slap him.

  "Hold on!" he shouted raising his hands defensively.

  Her shoulders slumped.

  "Congratulations," she said. "You've been promoted."

  He looked around the engine room. He heard a terrible shrieking. He couldn't tell if it was mechanical or human. There were sailors on the ground. Some weren't moving. Some were trying to get up. Blood, oil, soot, and ash covered everything. The engine had suffered a great deal of damage. Steam was pouring out of holes in the piping. Gears where shattered. The bellows were limp. Jeb was running around, shouting orders, picking men up, shoving the dead out of the way.

  "We took a direct hit," shouted Harriet. "I came down to see the state of the engine since the sounding horns are down." She looked around. "We're going to have to use couriers to send orders down here."

  David was still dazed, not quite understanding. "Hit?"

  "We lost the 1st lieutenant and the boson. Come with me. We need you on the quarterdeck." Even as she said it, David could tell she didn't quite believe that last part. They were friends, but she had no reason to think he would be any help under fire.

  He followed her to the main deck. There were shouts throughout the ship. They sustained another hit. At least David assumed that's what it was. It knocked the both of them to the ground. He heard the deep bass of the cannons and distance rifle fire. Once they had made it to the main deck, the global situation was quite clear.

  There were three Spanish ships. One had captured the Boggle. The other two were chasing the Dakota, which was in the process of fleeing the theatre. Poor Waterhouse, thought David. What bad luck. He felt a tightening in his stomach.

  The state on deck couldn't quite be described as chaos, but it was something near to it. The hands were moving without ordered directions. The men at the aft guns were firing at the frigate at will, but no one seemed to be in command. Once they reached the quarterdeck, they found Tyrone. There was wild panic in his eye. He was speaking to Lara.

  "Status?" said Harriet.

  "Gibson and the 1st Lieutenant are dead, Ma'am," said Tyrone clearly in shock. "We put them over the side. You're in command.

  "Suarez!" said Harriet, "Why aren't you in the sick bay with McDaniels?"

  "He told me to aid the injured who couldn't be moved down there, Ma'am."

  "Get to it then," she snapped, "Marr, stay close. I'll need status reports on damage and the state of the engine room."

  "Aye, Ma'am."

  "Baker," she continued, "take command of the rear guns. Establish some semblance of order among the hands. Fire at will, but stop on my orders. You hear that? Be prepared to stop, even if they come at us with everything they've got."

  "Aye Aye, Ma'am," said Baker. He was visibly relieved that he was no longer in command of the quarterdeck.

  They were a few klicks away from the two frigates. They had clearly gained some distance, but after the damage to the engine, the distance between them had shrunk.

  "Mr. Simmons," she said. "Take use to one quarter speed."


  The helmsman's jaw dropped. He caught himself, "Yes, Ma'am."

  "Move erratically. Make it look like we've taken a hit to the engine, and we're having a hard time bringing her under control."

  David watched the distant ships creep closer. When they'd reached a little over a klick and a half away Harriet shouted, "Cease fire!"

  The men followed orders, but it was clear they weren't excited about it. There was grumbling, but they trusted her. They were still being fired upon and hot iron hit the quarter deck. It knocked both Harriet and David to the ground. Simmons was ripped in half.

  Harriet cursed loudly. "Ready the starboard, guns," she yelled to the gunner. She grabbed the wheel, pushing Simmon's torso off of it. The engines kicked on at full tilt, she pulled back on the yoke, and spun the wheel wildly to the side. The ship climbed above the incoming frigates. To David, it looked as if it was taking flight, moving up and away, while all the while twisting to its side, around and back, toward the incoming ships. It was disconcerting given that there was no acceleration and the direction of gravity remained constant the entire time. He started to feel sick.

  Harriet was nervous about the maneuver. It was a standard evasive action, and if the first incoming Captain expected it, the Dakota would be cruelly damaged. It really depended on how cocky the Spanish commanders were. Did they believe her ruse? Did they think she slowed the ship because they'd taken irreparable damage? If they did... if they were expecting to hammer her and then sink her or take her crew, she would have the advantage.

  As the Dakota moved into position to unleash a broadside, she could see from the movement on the deck of the first incoming frigate that they had expected nothing. Her gamble had worked. Of course, they now knew what was going to happen, and they were reacting as fast as they could. Sailors were running to the upper guns in order to load them, but by the time they did, it would be too late. This was not an experienced Captain or crew. Young and arrogant, this was probably his first command.

  "Fire!" she shouted.

  The slaughter was terrible.

  The sailors aboard the Dakota cheered. Although she had seen men running to position before they fired, she saw no one on deck now. The quarterdeck had been cleared. Bodies were strewn across the main deck. The ship continued on its course. It was out of play.

  Now the second ship. It was altering course to give her a direct broadside. In normal times, at full strength, the Dakota could have easily taken her on. She had more cannons, pound per pound. More men. Any direct exchange would have led to the frigate's destruction.

  Unfortunately, the Dakota was crippled. The hands were reloading, but the reality was that her engine was only at fifty percent, she'd lost a quarter of her men, and only about half of her guns were operational. The Dakota was at a distinct disadvantage. Another direct hit and the hull would crack or the engine might explode. Yet, she was in no position to flee. The only advantage that she had was her weight: her ship was much bigger than the enemy's.

  She set a direct course for the frigate.

  "Load forward guns," she said to the gunner. They were closing in quickly on the frigate. Their course was now perpendicular to that of the frigate's port side. "Fire."

  They fired, but she saw no real damage to the ship's hull. She saw puffs of smoke by the frigate, immediately followed by the high pitched whine of iron raking their deck. Screams. Shouts. Confusion. In the haze, she saw that most had survived the onslaught, but there were many more dead on deck. They were moving ever closer. If the frigate's crew was fast, it would take about three minutes to reload. The question was whether she had enough time.

  The minutes ticked by. As the three minute mark approached she yelled, "All hands below deck."

  They looked at her in confusion, but it soon dawned on everyone on the main deck what was about to happen. The sailors climbed over each other to get below deck, and just as the last hand closed the hatch behind him, Harriet shifted course and aimed the nose of the Dakota directly at the rear of the frigate.

  David, who had remained on the quarterdeck, despite her order, had been paralyzed by surprise and the lingering effects of the laudanum. When the Dakota rammed the rear of the ship, he held onto the rails of the quarterdeck with everything he had. The impact shook David's bones. They rode a wave of vibration and destruction, sailing into a cauldron of fire. He kept his face against the floor of the deck, covering his head with his hands.

  But soon, it was over.

  He was still alive. He looked at the frigate behind them. They had destroyed the frigate's gold engine. The frigate had no forward momentum and no artificial atmosphere to support life. Bodies floated lifelessly away from its hull. Somehow, the Dakota was still in one piece.

  Harriet was hanging onto the wheel, half-conscious. He helped her up and they both looked behind them at the frigate.

  "Over a hundred on board that ship..." She said, her voice cracking. It was too terrible for either of them to contemplate. "Give the order for the others to return to the main deck."

  The returning hands looked at both David and Harriet with awe. One of the hands pointed out the frigate, and they all began to cheer. Neither Harriet nor David shared their enthusiasm.

  "Everyone to battle stations," Harriet shouted. Despite being hoarse, her voice still had iron in it.

  There was still the third frigate. It was moving away from the Boggle and had set a course to their position. The Dakota was in bad shape. She yanked the levers that engaged forward thrust on the Engine. Nothing. The last frigate would arrive in about half an hour.

  "Marr, head to the Engine room. We've got no power. Let me know what can be done."

  David ran off.

  What would she do if she were the frigate's Captain? She turned to the nearest hand, "In my cabin, hanging above my cot are my sword and pistols. Bring them to me."

  "Aye Aye, Captain."

  "Prepare for boarding!"

  The reason for the ship's lack of power was soon apparent.

  Half of the engine room had been blasted by cannon shot that had penetrated the ship's hull. The half of the machine that was untouched had been knocked of its mountings. Scores of hoses had been knocked from their connections and they were flailing around wildly. Steam was shooting out from punctures in the holdings tanks from a thousand different directions. The engine could not be fixed. They were lucky to have any artificial atmosphere at all.

  There also seemed to be no one alive in the room to do any fixing. The entire engine crew was dead. Some had clearly died from cannon and grapeshot that had penetrated the hull. Others had been badly burned by exploding engine parts. Jeb was lying slumped against a holding tank. A disconnected hose was flaying the back of his head, taking pieces of scalp with it every few seconds until eventually, the back of his skull was visible.

  David's knees buckled under him. He fell. Vomit. His friends and mentor were all gone. If Harriet hadn't pulled him up to the quarterdeck, he'd be down here among them.

  By the time, he had gotten a steady hand on the wall, he was knocked to the ground again by a bone shaking crash. He made his way to a porthole. A ship was right alongside the Dakota. They were being boarded.

  He left the room, but was unsure where to head next. He'd be worthless in a fight.

  In the distance he saw figures approaching. Lara and Tyrone. Tyrone turned to fling his pistol behind him and kept running. In close pursuit were three Spanish sailors carrying swords and pikes, trying to make their way towards them through the narrow corridor as quickly as possible. One was carrying a pistol and fired it at the fleeing couple. Tyrone fell. David's heart dropped. The size of the wound in Tyrone's chest suggested that his death had been instantaneous. This was it.

  From nowhere came three shots. All of the men fell. Behind them came Harriet.

  In one hand, she had a pistol, smoke curling from its barrel, thin, silky, sensuous. In the other, she held a sword. It was covered in blood. Her eyes blazed with fire. David had never seen
anything quite like the intensity, anger, and excitement in her eyes.

  Harriet turned. Two men with swords were facing her. She parried a blow, kicking one of the men square in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. As the other raised his blade Lara barreled towards him, knocking him to the ground, forcing him to drop the blade. Harriet shot him in the head. The man who had been kicked yelped at the gunshot. He said something softly in Spanish, but was soon gutted by Lara, who had picked up the sword. He fell to his knees. He looked like he was praying for an instant. He looked at the sword that was in his stomach to the hilt and started to scream and cry. He looked about seventeen.

  "Mama, mama, ayudame, por favor. Ayudame!"

  They left him there.

  "Engine room," said Harriet. It was more a statement of will than a command. She set off. They followed.

  "I've destroyed the codebooks and the captain's log," she continued as they struggled to keep up.

  "Why not surrender?" screeched David. They all stopped. "They can't hurt us if we surrender..." It was not his finest moment, but he didn't care.

  "It's too late for that," she said. "We've killed several hundred of their compatriots. We might get a decent set of officers, but we might not. I'm not about to risk whatever they might have cooked up for us. They'll spare the crew, but the officers..." she trailed off.

  "If you want to surrender, you can. I won't order you to come with me." She turned to Lara. "That goes for you too. My plan is to make a barricade in the Engine Room. I don't want to die in some torture chamber."

  She headed off, not an ounce of doubt in her step.

  They followed her.

  Once they'd made it to the engine room, any plans to make a last stand there faded. Oil slicked the floor. There would soon be fire. David was certain of it.

  "Well," said Harriet, pulling out her sword. She was grim. "I'm heading back up. Better to die by the sword than by fire."