The Guns of Two-Space
Page 51
"Aye, sir!
In the midst of chaos, confusion, and fear, the Fang was the embodiment of competent, capable professionalism. The men aboard the other Westerness Ships had never seen war, and they had no idea what to do about it. Fang had seen more war than anyone in the galaxy, and her crew knew exactly what to do.
The enemy had a tiger by the tail, they just didn't know it yet.
"Damn, I'm glad you made it back before we got underway!" Fielder said urgently but quietly.
"Me too," said Melville.
The small enemy Ships were moving slowly and deliberately, using their bow-mounted guns to shell the helpless Westerness Ships that were docked there. The masts and spars of moored Ships partly blocked the view, but he could occasionally see the enemy craft as they moved.
The Pier's harbor defense 12-pounders were just now beginning to fire on the enemy. The moored Westerness Ships had nothing but their harbor watches aboard, and were apparently incapable of offering any defense.
"It's those damned 'Crabs' we've been hearing about, isn't it?" asked Fielder.
"Yep," replied Melville. "Those glowing sails fit the description to a tee, and I can't imagine who the hell else it could be!"
"Aye," agreed his first officer, soberly.
"Out of sheer morbid curiosity, Daniel, what were your plans if I hadn't shown up?" Melville asked as he watched the sailors taking in lines and adjusting sail to shove the bow out from the Pier. He glanced upward to verify that the topmen were standing by to sheet home the sails as soon as Hans ordered it.
Fielder answered grimly, "As soon as we had finished up the minimum necessary to get the Ship underway I was taking her out under my command to attack the bastards. I'm no hero, but given a choice between dying helplessly, or dying with a gun in my hand, I'll go down fighting every time."
"Hoo-yah!" replied his captain with a grin.
"Eep!" echoed his monkey.
"The cannons are double-shotted with roundshot and grape," said Fielder. "I figured we'd turn them into a crab hors d'oeuvres if we could get in close. Biggest problem is getting the angle to take out the crab-cakes without doing more damage to our own guys! If I was lucky, we'd destroy enough of them to bust out, and maybe even give our Ships a breathing spell. Hell," he concluded, waving at the Westerness Ships at dock, "some of those useless bastards might even get under way and actually join the fight!"
Then Fielder looked over at Melville with a grim smile and said, "Most of all, I figured if I was really, really lucky, you'd get your tail here before I got us underway. 'Cause, dammit, I'd rather give up my greenside testicle than take command of this Ship."
"Why so, Daniel?" asked Melville, as McAndrews and his monkey quietly poured, lemoned, and sugared a mug of tea. He took a sip and sighed in satisfaction, nodding thanks to his steward as his monkey craned its neck for a drink.
Fielder shook his head as the sails boomed and filled overhead and the Fang started to gather forward momentum. "We're on death ground here, Captain. Surprised, outnumbered, maybe outgunned, and it doesn't look like we're going to get any help from the rest of the Navy. At least for a while. We've got to move and fight, and that I can do. But to do it right, we've got to have Fang with us. And damned if I'll have that alien..." He paused to search for words and gave up quickly to continue "whatever it is, setting up housekeeping in my head and playing footsie with my mind!"
He shuddered and looked at Melville and continued quietly. "But I'd do it and be damned, before I'd let the Fang die without a fight at the hands of a pile of hyperthyroid escapees from a seafood buffet!"
Melville could sense Fielder's fear and sincerity through his link with the Ship. He felt Fang in his head as it commented in surprised approval, <
The captain looked at his first lieutenant. Fielder was secure and calm on the outside, but inside he was terrified of the possibility of linking with the Fang. Yet Fielder was utterly determined to do whatever was necessary for the survival of the Ship. Or at least his survival, and in this case they were one and the same.
<
"Well, Daniel, it just doesn't get any better than this! A beautiful day in two-space: the stars above, targets all around us, and we get all the fun to ourselves! What more could we ask? Well, maybe more targets. But hey, you can't have everything you want in life!"
Fielder snorted and shook his head. Melville was crazy as a besotted bedbug, no doubt about it. But sometimes you needed a madman. And this definitely looked like one of those times!
Melville considered the tactical situation. The military dock used for re-watering and re-victualing was a bit under a thousand yards from the main docks where the rest of the Ships were berthed. The entry point from the Fang's dock into three-space was also close to the party at the admiral's residence, so it had been fairly convenient for Melville to get back to his Ship. But the officers and crews whose Ships were berthed at the main military docks had a lot farther to go in order to get from the admiral's quarters to their Ships. Which meant, in essence, that those Ships were isolated and essentially unmanned for now.
Never thought I'd have a reason to be happy our water was contaminated, but if not for that, we probably would have been tied up outboard of one of the other Ships. Would have made us first on the menu for the Crabs!
The leading Ships of the attackers were cruising slowly past the Westerness Ships berthed at the main military docks, firing as their guns came to bear. The only saving grace was that the Crab cannons were fixed forward, which required the enemy to point their Ships at a target in order to hit it. This meant that after firing they had to put their helm over and circle out toward the main body of attackers in order to reload, and circle back to attack again. It might have been more efficient to simply sit dead in the water and pound the moored Ships, but even the most brain-dead sailor knows that a stationary target is a dead target!
The Fang had managed to get her crew aboard quicker than the other Westerness Ships. And she had the brief breathing period provided by distance from the main attack. Also on the positive side of the ledger was the fact that, although the Crabs had overwhelming numbers, individually their Ships were very inferior. Added to that was the fact that the Fang and her crew were seasoned warriors. Melville knew he could count on his Fangs to fight to the last. But he had absolutely no intentions of this being their last fight!
This combination of factors gave Melville a fair amount of confidence. A lot more confidence and hope than he'd possessed when he was racing to his Ship, or when he first came aboard and saw so many noble, ancient old Ships sinking all around him.
Fielder looked over at his captain, cooly holding a mug of tea in his hand and gazing thoughtfully at the enemy. The captain's dog, Boye, sat happily beside his master, echoing Melville's calm demeanor. The man doesn't even look worried! What the hell is wrong with him? Doesn't he realize we could all die here today? The damned poetry-prating fool is gonna get us killed! He shook his head and puffed air out through pursed lips. Of course, I thought that the last two or three times, too.
"Captain, I'm heading to the lower quarterdeck now," Fielder said. "Anything else?
Melville cocked his head to the side, and then turned and grinned at him. "No, Daniel, I'd say we both know what to do. We'll be going off to our redside, cutting through the enemy fleet wherever they look thinnest, and hitting them with both broadsides as we pass through. If they want to engage us in turn, then they'll have to turn to us and chase us, which'll keep them away from the rest of the fleet. Not much else we can do yet, is there?"
"Aye, Captain," replied Fielder. "One other point worth noticing. See those flags they're all flying? I think those are copies of our signal flags. Really a pretty good copy, once you notice it. If they are signal flags, what they s
ay is, 'No quarter.' See, the exact same flags are on all of them. Not too good as insults or threats go. But kind of scary, because it says they've been studying us!"
"Aye," said Melville. "They know our signal flags and we have to assume they know our language as well. This was not a spur-of-the-moment attack."
"Oh?" replied Fielder with his patented cynical smile. "You don't think all the little crabbies just got up one morning and said, 'Hey, let's all go out and have human for dinner tonight!'?"
"Nope," replied Melville, chuckling in spite of himself. "I think we have to apply Murphy's Law here, and assume the worst. They have been planning this for a long, long time, they know a great deal about us, and they are not stupid."
"Aye, Captain. And we know absolutely nothing about them. Our Ship has been dealt a few good cards, but overall I'd have to say that Mr. Murphy is alive and well today!"
"Amen," grinned Melville. "If you ever manage to kill that bastard Murphy, just hunt him down and kill him, you'd be my hero."
Fielder surprised himself with a laugh. "Yep, ol' Murph's got to go. But for now, we have a battle on our hands, and I for one intend to survive. So, God's mercy on us all, and it's time for me to head to the lower quarterdeck. I seem to recall a good recipe for crab salad, so I'll go round up the ingredients."
Boye, sitting beside them, echoed the laughter with an eager bark, while their monkeys chimed in with happy eeks.
The crew wasn't too sure what the laughter between Lt. Fielder and Captain Melville was all about, but they took great comfort in the fact that their Master and Commander and his first lieutenant could laugh as their Ship sailed into battle. That laughter did more to ease the minds and spirits of their crew than either of the two officers would ever guess. The Fangs weren't foolish enough to think that they were going to win without a fight. But if their leaders could joke and laugh, then they could win! And as leaders had observed over and over through the centuries, knowing something is possible, no matter how improbable, is the first step toward making it happen.
Aquinar, the midshipman of the watch, was standing by the upperside quarterdeck rail with Westminster and Valandil. The tiny middie was flanked by the two rangers, his chest barely coming up to the rail. Brother Theo walked over to him as the boy was staring at the Crab Ships pounding the vessels over at the commercial and military docks. The damage that the enemy guns were inflicting on their targets made it clear that the Crab gunboats were firing something quite a bit heavier than 12-pounders. After each cannon fired, you could hear the ball slam into a Westerness Ship like an ax into seasoned oak, crashing through the Nimbrell wood, and sleeting deadly splinters through the air to kill and maim any crew in the area.
The few sailors aboard those Ships had to be catching hell. From the damage the cannonballs were causing to the hulls, you would have expected the Ships themselves to look as if they were bleeding. It wasn't the first time the Fangs had seen Ships receive such a hammering, but it was the first time they had seen it happen to almost empty Ships.
There was blood, but thankfully not the quantities they had seen from a full crew taking the shattering storm of splinters and iron. And if the Fangs could divert the enemy's attention and turn them from attacking the moored Ships, then there was a chance that the crews could board and take vengeance upon their tormentors!
Staring over the little middie's head, Brother Theo watched the Crab gunboats in their attack patterns. Then he caught sight of Aquinar's face. It was set, grim, and serious far beyond his years. The boy was also white as chalk, telling Theo that he was frightened to the point where his body was taking involuntary action to help him survive.
When reacting to life-and-death situations the body pulls all the blood from the skin and capillaries, leaving telltale indicators like a dead white face. There are benefits to this physiological effect. The outer layer of skin and the extremities act as armor for the core organs, and blood loss from wounds is greatly reduced. With the blood trapped in the body core, the organs have energy and oxygen for important things, like staying alive. Adrenaline comes with this package, giving the muscles speed and strength to fight on, even when the body might not otherwise have resources to do so.
But there is also a price to be paid for this powerful survival mechanism. The shutdown of blood flow to the outer extremities means that the muscles are not getting oxygen and they stop working, causing a loss of dexterity and fine motor control. Blood flow to the brain is also reduced, so that the more frightened you become, the less rational you are. Basically, the only thing that a body can do well in this extreme fear state is to run away. And as any warrior can tell you, running away—turning your back on an armed enemy—is a very good way to die!
As Theo watched, he could see Aquinar begin to regain control. He listened to the lad breathing deeply, in the fashion he had taught them: in slow and deep, hold, out slow, hold, over and over, forcing his body to relax from the peak of hysterical response. The breathing was allowing Aquinar to regulate his body, allowing him to control his fear response. To use his fear, instead of being used by it.
Brother Theo placed a kindly hand on Aquinar's shoulder, hoping to comfort him. The startled lad whipped around and grabbed for his dirk, his pupils dilating with fear. This was accompanied by a tremendously loud fart.
"Oh," he cried, "I'm sorry, Brother!"
Theo laughed. "Not a problem, Mr. Aquinar, after all, I'm upwind."
"Well Ah'm not!" said Westminster, standing beside him. "Damn, son," he continued with a laugh that took the sting out of his words, "that's a potent one. Save it for the enemy, eh?"
"My fault for startling you," said Theo. "Just promise me that you'll stay away from Jones' bitterash noodles. The thought of your intestinal flora fueled by those abominations is enough to make my nostrils cringe!"
Aquinar responded shamefacedly, "It seems it's gotten to be a habit. Every time we go into battle I get horrible gas, and it's so..." He paused trying to find a word and was interrupted by Theo.
"So absolutely normal, lad! You know what's happening. You're going into battle, so your body is determining where it can preserve energy. 'Sphincter control? We don't need no stinkin' sphincter control here! Dump it and send the energy to the arms and legs!'"
"Okay! I got the picture already," broke in Aquinar, surprising himself with a laugh. "I understand it's normal, but it is embarrassing!"
"Aye," said Westminster, with a glint in his eye. "As the wise man said:
"Sometimes...
when you cry...
no one sees your tears.
"Sometimes...
when you are in pain...
no one sees your hurt.
"Sometimes...
when you are worried...
no one sees your stress.
"Sometimes...
when you are happy...
no one sees your smile.
"But fart! just ONE time...
And everybody knows!"
"Hoo-yah!" growled Lt. Broadax as she stomped up in a cloud of cigar smoke. "Wise wurds, indeed. Well translated frum the original Dwarrowdelf! An' now, if'n ye lazy rangers is ready ta do a mite o' work, them pockin' boats over there oughta be in range o' them pansy li'l rifled muskets ye boys got. So why don't ye try ta make yerselves useful?"
Valandil, as usual, said nothing, but Westminster drawled back at her with a grin, "Yep, Lieutenant, that's our plan. And Ah think the range might have closed almost to where our slings and arrows can bring outrageous fortune upon our foes."
Broadax blinked. "I di'n't say nuthin' 'bout no damned slings an' arrers. I want ye to use yer damned muskets!" Her monkey blinked at her in momentary confusion and then shook its head sadly as it blew a cloud of smoke up toward the rangers.
Westminster coughed and waved his hand in front of his face. "Damn, Lieutenant, I can't even see the enemy when I'm in the middle of this cloud bank. What in blazes did you soak them pieces of salvage rope in anyhow? A slop bucket? This last b
atch is potent, even for you!" He coughed again for emphasis and said, "Don't you be worrying your pretty little head over us, we'll be in range momentarily, and we'll do our job."
"'Pretty little head,' my hairy arse! Git to work an' quit tryin' ta butter me up. I'm already taken!" she growled to cover her chuckle as she headed back to get her marines ready to fire. The marines might not be as effective as the rangers at sniping, but sometimes quantity has a quality of its own!
"What ya think? The eyes or the mouth area on them oversized crawdads?" Westminster asked casually as he looked over at the closest Crab gunboat.
"Methinks the eyes," Valandil replied.
"Yup," said Westminster, deep in thought. "Their mouths keep closing, and at long range their shells might just stop a bullet. So eyes it is. Awful hard shot, though." He shifted into a stable position, kneeling down and bracing the double-barreled musket against the rail, looking downrange at the Crab cannoneer standing to the side of the bow-mounted gun as the loaders ran it back into battery.
"Nickel a shot?" offered Westminster with a grin.
"'Tis done," returned Valandil.
Westminster sighted, sighed, and slowly thumbed the white Keel charge on his musket. <
Valandil said, "Thou hast the range, but high and left. 'Tis a nickel thou owes me."
Westminster grunted, sighted again, and touched off the second barrel. <
"Hmmm. Not for long, if it takes thee two shots every time!" said Valandil as he raised his musket.
And the two rangers were off on their own private competition.