The Hellhound Consortium

by B A Simmons

  “You could drop us off and then—”

  “We’ll have ships full of new recruits. We can’t stop there on our way back.”

  Rob did his best to hide his disappointment. He glanced at Trina and was surprised to find sympathy in her expression.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll let Doctor Morris know.”

  Mark clasped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “There will be more time for your explorations after we’re free from the Falcon threat.”

  Rob nodded and forced a smile. Before he realized what was happening, Mark and Anna got up and left him standing there with Trina. She sat at the bar with a mug in her hand and a blank look on her face.

  “Er . . . I um, that is . . . well,” Rob faltered.

  Without a word or look, Trina stood up and walked away. Rob looked at his feet and let the feeling of failure settle into him. Behind him, he could hear Trina laugh and celebrate with the rest of the crew. It was all he could do to keep himself from heading for the door.

  “Hoy! Listen all!” Pete shouted.

  The din quieted some as accompanying shushes told the group this was something important. Pete stood on a chair to be able to see above the crowd and project his voice. He held a glass of wine in his hand, which he raised and lowered as he spoke.

  “You are all invited to join us at the docks at noontide, where our newest ship, the Old Man, will be christened, and her new captain, Tim . . . what’s your surname, Tim?”

  Tim blushed and answered, “Courtney.”

  “Her new captain, Tim Courtney, will take command.”

  Jacob raised up the cheer, “Hoorah for Captain Courtney!”

  The entire inn responded with a resounding, “Hoorah!”

  The christening went off without a hitch. As the recruits from Isle de James were divvied out to crew the two Falcon-built ships, Rob approached Pete. “Why call it the Old Man?”

  “Out of respect for our adversaries,” was the reply. “We must always remember that they are people, just like us.”

  “That and she’s an old ship,” Tim said as he passed by.

  “Wouldn’t that make her the old woman?” Rob asked sarcastically.

  Pete chuckled, “Doesn’t have quite the same ring to it. No, she’s a man. A man of war.”

  With just as many shouts and cries as they’d had in reunion, friends and family departed again. Four ships sailed into the dangers of the hostile seas from the safety of Port Edward. They did not note the presence of the Falcon ambassador who had watched their goings-on from his balcony overlooking the wharf.

  11 – Alimian Towers

  To test Doctor Morris’s idea about Pamela, Pete took the Alphina and Old Man west, toward Isle de James. Each day, they conducted combat drills between the ships. Evasive maneuvers, boarding tactics, and hand-to-hand combat became the regular curriculum for two days. They saw no ships following them.

  Then Pete ordered the pair of vessels to turn around and head back toward Copper Isle. Within a couple of hours, they spotted a small yacht. Once this new ship realized they were coming for it, she turned and sailed south. The Alphina and Old Man gave chase.

  After the second day, Jacob approached Pete at the helm. “You know, they may just think we’re pirates. It may not be a Falcon ship at all. They aren’t flying the imperial colors.”

  “I’ve thought of that,” Pete said.

  Jacob waited for something more, but it never came. The yacht was faster than either of their ships. It remained irritatingly out of range until their arrival at Alimia. As the island became the dominant feature on the horizon, the yacht veered around the east side. As she did this, she slowed enough for the Alphina to close in a bit. Through his far-see, Pete caught the name of the vessel—Occhio d’Aquila.

  Determined to catch her before she made it into the lagoon, Pete ordered both ships to make all speed down the eastern coast of the island. He brought the Alphina in as close as he dared to the shore, indeed closer than any other captain would dare, trying to lessen the wave resistance on the hull. Still, the yacht outran him.

  Then to his surprise, it turned starboard. It was such a sudden turn that even the deftly maneuverable yacht slowed considerably. With dread in the pit of his stomach, Pete realized his mistake. He had forgotten about the deep-water inlet on the eastern coast of Alimia. The yacht was not making for the lagoon, but for this port, a port guarded by a tower.

  To add injury to insult, the sudden slowing of the Occhio d’Aquila together with its starboard turn, had put it directly in the Alphina’s path. Pete’s first instinct was to veer sharply to port to avoid collision. However, a quick glance in that direction told him such a decision was folly. The Old Man was still making speed a few dozen yards off their port quarter.

  “Brace for impact!” It was Jacob who shouted it from the forecastle.

  Before anyone had time to react, Pete wrenched the tiller. The Alphina lurched hard to starboard. The crew flew sideways; a couple of them nearly fell overboard as the ship listed thirty degrees or more. The hull creaked loudly and the knots and sheets wailed in protest of the strain put upon them. Yet the feared impact with the Occhio d’Aquila did not come. The two vessels were mere feet apart. Members of both crews gaped at each other with looks of amazement transcending language. The Alphina was now staring directly into the inlet.

  At the far end, a short stone wall protected the approach inland. The stone tower on the north that Pete and the original crew of the Entdecker had seen under construction, was not only complete with cannon turrets mounted twenty feet above the shore, but it was also matched on the south side of the inlet by a second tower. The twin towers stood as visible menaces to Pete’s now vulnerable ship.

  The sudden turn had robbed them of momentum. They were on the leeward side of the island, where only a weak breeze struggled to catch their sails. And unlike the smaller Occhio d’Aquila, the Alphina had no oars to set her in motion again.

  Pete and his crew stared down the inlet, wondering which tower would open fire on them first. The north tower took the honor. A sudden distant boom sounded across the waves, accompanied at the same time by the splash of a stone ball in the water a few yards from their bow. A few moments later, the south tower fired its first shot. They heard the whizzing sound as the ball passed over them, puncturing the mainsail. Pete looked behind them, but there was nothing there but open sea. He briefly pondered the whereabouts of the Old Man, but his thoughts were rudely interrupted by the cracking of splintered wood. The third shot from the towers had struck a yardarm, sending bits of wood into the air and the three-foot end dangling from the sail.

  The fourth shot was worse. The ball snapped the sheets and stays along the port side before striking the quarterdeck footings. There it shattered, sending chunks of jagged stone into the faces of two crewmembers. Richard was quick to meet them and assess that their wounds, while painful, were not life-threatening.

  In a few seconds, Pete’s mind considered contingencies. He pondered the possibility that the Falcons would want to take back their ship, sending soldiers out in longboats to do so. He pondered the possibility of surrendering. Perhaps they would recognize the mercy he’d shown the crews of the two ships they’d recently taken. His mind quickly dismissed each of these, but the third idea struck a chord.

  “Prepare the launch!” he shouted. It was a moment before anyone comprehended the order. “We’ll tow ourselves out of range!” he explained to them.

  Bodies moved furiously and hands quickly unlashed ropes and prepared oars. At this moment, two large bronze hooks fell onto the quarterdeck. They were drawn back quickly and bit fast into the wood of the gunwale. Pete again looked aft, this time he saw the Old Man with tow cables outstretched. Tim stood on the quarterdeck shouting at the crew to keep her turned away from shore.

  As the fifth and sixth shots from the towers came flying at them, Pete winced as they struck the starboard bow. The shots bounced off the hull, leaving the wood scarred but
otherwise intact. A final shot from the north tower fell short and with sighs of relief from the crews of both ships, the bombardment ceased.

  A half-mile offshore, the Old Man released her hold on the Alphina. Tim brought his ship alongside her sister and again used a grappling hook to connect them. After crossing the narrow gap between their hulls, he approached Pete with some trepidation. Pete’s look was one of frustration and anger. It was a countenance so foreign to the young man that no one knew how to react to it.

  “We had to sail around and make another pass across the inlet before we could get those cables attached. We didn’t mean to leave you there so long under fire and all.”

  “It’s not your fault,” Pete said. “It was mine. I nearly got us killed.”

  “You made one of the most amazing maneuvers I’ve ever seen. A maneuver that saved your ship and crew from collision.”

  Pete sighed as he turned away from Tim. “I made a meecher of myself. I knew that ship was Falcon. Not just because it has an Iyty name. I just couldn’t let it go.”

  “Cap’n, there’s no need to beat yourself up about this. Your crew is alive with only minor wounds. The Alphina is fine—well, she needs a little repair, but it’s nothing we can’t take care of at Port Edward.”

  Pete lifted his head and looked again at Tim, his eyes burned with ferocity. “We’re not going back to Port Edward yet. We’ll repair her as much as we can out here. We’ve got plenty of line. We can splice the yard. Oh no, we’re not giving up yet. I’m going to get that ship and you, Cap’n Tim, have given me the idea of how to do it.”

  Tim thought for a moment the young Engleman’s mind had cracked.

  “Get Trina over here. We need to go over the plan.” He turned to a crewman. “Get that yard spliced and rig new sheets and stays, and do it quickly.”

  Tim was sure now. Pete had lost his mind.

  The mainsail yardarm of the Alphina was rigged to allow her to sail against the wind. With the Old Man close by to support her, she made her way north for some time to deceive the Falcons on Alimia. As night fell, both ships turned and sailed back down the eastern coast, anchoring a quarter mile from the inlet.

  According to the plan presented by Pete and refined by Jacob and Trina in council, a force of twelve hiked over the bluff on the north side of the inlet. Led by Jacob, this force carried with them four liter-size amphorae of lamp oil and half a keg of powder, along with an assortment of personal weapons.

  Crawling stealthily as they had done during their first raid on Alimia, they crested the bluff and looked down the steep, rocky escarpment at the deep-water port. Jacob cursed under his breath as he saw, by the light of the quarter moon, no fewer than three guards keeping watch. One on the docks and one atop each tower; all were armed with crossbows. Light emanated from nearby huts along with the muffled sounds of soldiers’ voices. The Occhio d’Aquila bobbed gently on the south side of the docks.

  Jacob knew that as soon as they began to assault the tower, they would not only have the attention of the south tower on them but also that of however many Falcon infantry currently inhabited those huts. He was prepared for a counterattack, but not knowing how many enemies were there always bothered him.

  Among the eleven others with him, there were only three who said they had some experience in fighting. The rest were all green recruits. While he’d been training them for a few days, he knew the great difference between practice and the real heat of battle.

  Below him, he could see a small ledge on the escarpment, and what was perhaps a game trail leading down to the tower’s base. It was hard to tell while lying on his belly, in the dark of night. He motioned to Yusef, one of the better potential soldiers from Engle Isle. He signaled for Yusef to shoot the guard atop the tower. He loaded his crossbow and took aim. Jacob trusted that with that guard out of the way, it was reasonable to think they could make it down that trail quickly, without being spotted by the guard from the south tower, and if they were lucky, the one pacing the docks.

  After waiting for a perceived eternity for Yusef to loose his bolt, Jacob turned with a look of frustrated impatience. At that same moment, the soft twang of the string sounded in his ears. Jacob flung his eyes back to the guard, except he was no longer there. Jacob looked back at Yusef with a look of perplexity. Yusef returned the look with a smile. He pointed at the tower. There, Jacob could make out the struggling arms of the guard as he tried desperately to get the attention of the men below him. His left arm waved frantically, while his right grasped at the crossbow bolt lodged in his throat.

  Jacob didn’t wait any longer. He signaled everyone to follow him as he slid down to the ledge and then galloped down the trail. As Jacob reached the bottom of the slope, he slammed hard against the stone wall of the tower. He felt Yusef copy his movements behind him, and a few tumbling stones were the only sounds from the rest of the raiders.

  The guard at the docks was calling out. His foreign words sounded out his tension. He had heard or perhaps seen something of their approach. This time Yusef didn’t wait for orders. He took aim and sent another bolt to its mark.

  Unfortunately for them, the mark was protected by a bronze breastplate. The bolt shattered against his chest, and his tense calls morphed into cries of alarm. Another bolt hissed out into the night air after him. Who shot it and whether or not it found its intended target did not cross Jacob’s mind. He was busy rigging the fuse into the powder. The stone tower’s only entrance was sealed shut by a large wooden door with heavy bronze braces and hinges. Once the fuse was in place, Jacob blew hard on his slow match to bring the ember to life.

  Just as the dock guard’s alarm was answered by men issuing forth from the huts, Jacob lit the fuse and set the barrel against the door. The entire assault group lined themselves along the east side of the tower, opposite from the door. The explosion echoed through the inlet and shocked the infantry so much that their quick response was suddenly halted.

  “Go! Go! Set it ablaze!” Jacob shouted at the four men who held the oil. He quickly tucked his slow match into his belt and drew out his falchion and club. Inside the tower, four men climbed ladders and poured oil over the timber beams that supported the platform above them. Atop that platform, they knew, sat one of the cannons that had fired at them earlier that day. The night crew could be heard there also, shouting confused curses in Iyty.

  Outside the tower, the Falcon infantry had regrouped and was marching forward in their traditional shield wall. Six men up front with overlapping shields painted white with the black double-headed Falcon emblem in the center. Six men behind them with spears peered over the formation to spy out potential targets. Jacob noted with pleasure that none of them wore armor, save the dock guard who had taken up a position on the left flank. He was their only archer.

  “Fire away!” Jacob called out. Four bolts shot out and two of the Falcons fell.

  Their march continued, now at a quicker pace. A bolt struck one of the raiders, a man named Randall, piercing his right shoulder. As the dock guard reloaded his crossbow, he was struck with two bolts, one of them shattered against his armor, but the other lodged deep in his thigh. The Falcon archer cried out and but for a moment looked ready to take a prostrate position. Then Jacob saw his teeth as he grimaced through the pain and dragged his wounded leg at a limp; he aimed his weapon and fired again. This bolt embedded itself into Yusef’s armored body. Yusef himself grimaced, but declared, “It’s only the point that’s in me!”

  “Keep up the fire on them!” Jacob called out and he motioned for two of the men to work their way around the right flank, while he and another raider, Jack, rounded the Falcon formation on the left.

  The maneuver produced the desired effect. The shield men split to meet the flankers, exposing the rear rank, as well as their own backs, to the raiding archers. Aimed shots that had been deflected by shields were now finding their mark with deadly results.

  Meanwhile, the four men from the tower had finished their pyric work, came co
ughing out of the blasted doorway, and drew their own weapons to join the fray.

  Jacob sent Jack after the wounded crossbowman while he engaged the three soldiers facing them. Three quickly became two as a bolt struck one of them in his unprotected spine. Realizing their mistake, the Falcons tried to reform their shield wall, but for as little time as he’d been with them, Jacob had trained his men well. The two former militiamen on the right flank had done well to avoid direct engagement, letting the archers do their worst to the enemy. One of them, Michael, had received a glancing chop to his sword arm and a Falcon spearman had managed to stab Yusef in the foot. Once Jacob had struck down the second of his opponents, the remaining Falcons fled.

  With smoke pouring out from the top of the north tower, Jacob felt their work was done. He knew that to try for more, as tempting as that unguarded yacht was, would be folly. The guard from the south tower loosed several ineffectual bolts in their direction and the cannon crew had abandoned their post and joined the remaining guards at their barrack huts.

  As Jacob was about to usher his men back up the trail, another explosion rocked the tower, blowing the top parapets apart. The fire had reached their powder stores. Jacob winced at the loss. However, an idea entered his mind. There was more powder in the south tower. Though between them and that tower he could see at least ten more Falcon soldiers, some were obviously suffering from the beating Jacob and his lot had just given them.

  Damitall, but I’ll be a meecher, Jacob thought. “Archers gather ’round Yusef! All you others on me!”

  He quickly organized them into a loose but effective formation. The archers in front, with poor Yusef, leading them while limping along as best he could. They formed two lines of three. After the first line had fired and while they reloaded, the second line stepped up and took their shots. Jacob and the others without crossbows paced the archers on the right, where the way toward the huts was open.