"Damn!" he yelled as a chunk of spar settled down, bouncing immediately over his head. "That was just a wee bit close for comfort!" Melville said with a grin to Rabid's gun captain.
"Aye, sir!" he yelled back, as he and his gun crew continued their dance, loading the cannon and heaving it back into battery.
Melville scrambled back to the hatch between the upper and lower gundecks, stepping over foot-long splinters, cordage, and a bleeding wreck of a sailor being tended by a corpsman.
The Crab cannons continued to flail at the Fang as she crossed the front of their formation. Between her speed and her angle, and the fact that the Crab fleet was maintaining the course for Hector, the Fang was still catching only occasional hits. But when an 18-pound ball hits, it does so with authority. Authority that translates into splintered wood work, smashed equipment, and—saddest of all—shattered crewmen.
Melville assessed the tactical situation. The Crab Ships had closed to the point where they were in effective range of both the 24-pounders and the 12-pounders. This meant that, reluctantly, he had to admit to himself that his job as cannoneer was over for now. Much as he wanted—nay, yearned!—to keep personally killing the enemy, it was time for him to look after the Ship as a whole.
Asquith and Lt. Fielder were watching from the lower quarterdeck as the range closed enough for Fang's 12-pounders to enter the fray. Gunny Von Rito was allocating targets and making sure the gun captains were concentrating on different Ships. They were close enough now that Melville had stopped firing individual guns, turning them over to the gun captains. Even without the captain's supernatural accuracy, they were near enough that the 24-pounders were killing with practically every shot.
The combination of Melville, Fang, and the vicious 24-pounders had destroyed dozens of the Crab gunboats, and now they were killing the Crabs with even greater intensity and efficiency. Yet they had only managed to destroy a slim fraction of the vast enemy fleet, and in spite of all their efforts, the Crabs didn't seem to have any inclination to change course and pursue the Fang.
All their efforts seemed to be without effect. It was as if they were trying to stop a tsunami with cannon fire—a veritable glowing white tsunami of Ships.
"You know Bert, this might be a good time to see if we can goad them a bit," Fielder commented. "The captain said he wanted to get them to chase us. So let's see if they can read flag signals!"
"Signalman, hoist the flags for 'We will accept your surrender.'"
Asquith turned to him as the signalman hoisted the flags and said, "Surrender? Isn't that perhaps a wee bit premature, Daniel?"
"No, Bert, the intent is to piss them off. If they can read the flags—which is a big if, by the way—then it might anger their admiral or whoever's in charge. In which case we may be begging them to come try and spank us." He laughed sardonically. "If they do, it'll get ugly. But dammit, it's going to take a lot more that they think to spank the Fang."
The Princess looked at the enemy Pier as it began to come into sight to their south. TheFleet was ready to kill. One damaged enemy Ship had escaped Her vanguard, and it was doing a surprising amount of damage to theFleet as it fled. Through the Hivemind She felt the unease of those who were taking fire from the lone enemy Ship. The Hivemind <
Her noble consort preened and watched Her proudly. He was yearning to mate with Her. The little attendants proudly groomed his sperm sack as it became swollen and distended—creating delicious pain!—in response to his powerful urge to cross his genes with one who has made such a killing!
<
TheFleet could only do one thing at a time. First they must take out the big target. There would be much blood and joy. The enemy would suffer every flavor of despair! Then She could send a swarm to destroy this one, slow enemy Ship that thought it could escape the wrath of Shewhomustbeobeyed!
On the upper quarterdeck, the two rangers were taking occasional maximum-range potshots with their muskets whenever an enemy Ship drew near enough. As they watched the fleet close with them, Westminster suddenly reached out and touched Valandil on the arm. "Aubrey! Look over there, at that Ship toward the center of the Crab fleet. Follow my sights," he said as he took careful aim and then cocked his head to the side, so that his partner could sight down the barrel. "Look carefully. Do you see? All the Crabs on all the other Ships keep facing that way and turning those eye stalks in that direction. And word has it that their royal caste is bigger, right? Well they're so far away that it's hard to tell for sure, but Ah'd swear that Ship has two really big crawdads, lots bigger than the rest. Ah do believe they might just be royalty!"
Valandil sighted down Westminster's musket, ignoring the crash and slam of the continuous firing of the cannons. "Aye, 'tis so," replied the Sylvan ranger, in his typical, laconic fashion.
"They're a damn sight bigger than the rest," said Westminster. "Not too smart either. If they had any sense they'd stay out of sight. At least, that's what Ah'd do if Ah was them. Ah wonder if taking them out will get their attention. Knocking out these piss-ant gunboats sure doesn't seem to be distracting them.
"Messenger!" Westminster called to the Ship's boy assigned to the upper quarterdeck.
"Aye, sir!" chirped the boy eagerly.
"Son, Ah need you to pass the word to the captain, asap. We've spotted a Ship that looks like it has Crab royalty that we can invite to dinner. Ask the captain if he thinks they should be the entree for the next course!"
"Damn, sir," said little Aquinar, who was the upper quarterdeck officer and had been listening carefully. "How many courses does this meal have?"
Westminster looked the boy in the eyes. He saw innocence and frustration. Fear and perplexity.
But not naiveté.
"Until they've had a bellyful of shot and steel, son," said the big ranger. "Until they've had a bellyful."
Melville got the message as he was returning to the upper quarterdeck. Standing on the quarterdeck, Westminster again put the Crab royalty in his sights and cocked his head aside so the captain could sight down the barrel at the Ship.
"Yep, Josiah, it looks like I need to take one more potshot!" He grinned to himself at the thought.
Through his contact with the Moss he asked Fang, <> He felt eager, bloodthirsty agreement back from his Ship.
"Royalty, eh?" he continued to Westminster. "Let's take 'em out. Maybe that'll get their attention!
"Mr. Barlet!" he called over the quarterdeck rail.
The master gunner came up to him quickly, reluctantly leaving the greenside battery as they blasted away at the enemy fleet.
"Sir?" Barlet shouted above the din.
"I'm about to take down a Ship that looks like it has a few Crab royalty aboard," said Melville. "It may be their flagship. If this attracts their attention we'll have a lot more company coming to this dance. If they all close in on us, shift back to double-shotting the guns. Pass the word to the lowerside as well. We'll need all the help we can get if they come at us full bore.
"Mr. Hans!" the captain called up to the sailing master who was standing on the mizzenyard overhead, supervising repairs.
"Aye, sir! I wus lis'nen. Wackin' wog royalty, eh! By the Lady, I'm all fer that! Heh, heh!"
"If this works," said Melville, "it might be a good idea to head dead away from the Crabs to start making them chase us. They're faster, but a stern chase will give us more time to pound them before they get here."
"Aye, sir!" replied old Hans as he and his monkey cheerfully launched dual streams of tobacco juice over the side.
"So prepare to cut away the bad canvas," Melville continued, "and get us ready to make maximum speed. Our new course wil
l be hard to the redside and due east."
"Aye, sir!" Hans nodded in understanding as he sent messengers up into the rigging to prepare the topmen for the next phase of the engagement.
Melville scanned the area of two-space near the Ship with the larger Crabs—the ones that were probably royalty. He looked to see if there was other potential "royalty" nearby, but he could only see the one Ship with the larger Crabs.
He was on Cold Blooded Murder's firing platform, looking down over the sights while he signaled for the gun crew to adjust his point of aim. With one hand on the 24-pounder and the other on the Fang, Melville completed the circuit, acting as the biological equivalent of an AI targeting system. He could feel the anger and the bloodthirst of Fang as well as the yearning to mangle, maim and murder that emanated from Cold Blooded Murder. He felt these urges mingle in the deepest recesses of his own psyche and his lizard brain screamed out its need to fight and kill these intruders. All three of them intermingled into a lust to kill, until the shot was perfect. The cannon belched out a wave of force carrying hate/anger/bloodlust wrapped up around one 24-pound cannonball. <
Melville lost track of the cannonball in the air, but it was obvious when it hit. The 24-pound ball smashed directly at the base of the Crab's mast, sheering through the Keel, sending bodies and splinters into the air. Then the Ship turned turtle and twisted back out from two-space into the interplanetary depths of the Hector system.
Suddenly, he was HewhocommandstheFleet!
Just an instant before he had been just one more HewhocommandsaShip, receiving soothing messages from their Princess, Shewhomustbeobeyed, and now the Hivemind had settled on him, the largest and most mature male, to take charge!
Shock!Horror!Despair! He began to gnaw on one of his foreclaws as he tried to send feeble messages through the Hivemind.
TheFleet was in complete panic. There were collisions. Ships were being damaged! Some were even sinking! And it was all his responsibility!
Almost half theFleet was running away, headed back to the Hive, toward the nearest known Royalty!
But the portion of theFleet that had the hated RoyalslayerShip in sight responded differently. After a brief period of confusion, their response was to avenge the slayer of their Princess!
Not knowing what else to do, HewhocommandstheFleet snatched up a crewman and began to gnaw on the creature's head, sucking out its neural matter and sending out a weak signal to the Hivemind. It was hard to get through all the death cries and anguish of those who were perishing, but HewhocommandstheFleet sent his message, to the best of his ability. And that message was: <
Melville rolled off the aiming platform and headed for the upper quarterdeck when he heard old Hans exclaim from the rigging overhead, "Bugrit!"
"Eep!" echoed Hans' monkey, emphatically.
The captain stopped and looked up at the old sailing master who was staring at the fleet of small Ships. Then he turned toward the Crab fleet. The closest elements of the enemy swarm were just a long musket shot from Fang's bow and closing fast.
Melville had accomplished his mission. The enemy was now well and truly pissed-off, and they were coming at the Fang. But all he could think was, Damn, those little bastards are fast! How in hell do they get that much speed from a single sail? Melville felt Fang's curiosity mingling with his.
Every single one of the Crab Ships that he could see was changing course and headed toward the Fang in a vast, converging, chaotic mob. Fang's cannons continued to fire, adding to the confusion as the Crab Ships veered toward them. In the midst of the turmoil many of the Crabs were colliding, and some were even sinking.
"Mr. Hans," Melville said, "I think we have attracted sufficient attention now. If you would, cut hard to our redside, due east—a little south of east if you need to—and straight away from the Crabs. And get some proper sails up again!"
"Aye, sir, an' with pleasure!" said Hans as he quickly passed on the command.
Melville continued wonderingly, "I guess the doctor was right when he said they had some sort of hive mind. It must've given them one helluva of a headache when I hit that Ship with their royalty on it. I don't think these damned oversized appetizers are gonna give up and go home now."
Hans slid down a line to join his captain. Already the Fang was on her new course and good canvas was being unfurled. "Aye, sir," he laughed bitterly. "They looks like a beehive that a kid whacked with a stick. An' they jist figured out where the stick came from."
"Okay," said Melville. "The good news is that they're breaking off from targeting the Pier and coming for us. So," he added with a grin, "I guess we've got 'em right where we want them. We'll lead 'em on a merry chase and hammer them with our stern guns."
"An' when they catch up with us?" asked Hans.
Melville shrugged. "Then maybe we'll turn on them and bust through with all guns blazing. Somewhere in there, Admiral Middlemuss and the fleet should come join the party!"
"Deck there!" came a call from the lookout high above. "About half those bastards is goin' the other way! The ones you can't see, they's all runnin'!"
There was an enormous cheer from the Fangs. Suddenly there was hope. Half the enemy had been defeated in a single stroke. Of course, there were hundreds more to go.
Melville's mind spun. He and his Ship worked together as a biological AI, studying all available data and looking at the situation from every angle, striving to leave chance with few places to hide.
"Mr. Barlet! I want you to personally take charge of the 12-pounder stern guns up here. Have the Gunny do the same on the lowerside. The Crabs have a speed advantage, so put paid to any bastard that tries to follow us. I'll take the stern 24-pounders. When they catch up with us, the broadsides will be handled by their gun captains, as they come to bear."
"Aye, sir," replied the master gunner. "Those bastards won't know what hit 'em!"
HewhocommandstheFleet scuttled up behind HewhosteerstheShip. He ripped off one of HewhosteerstheShip's back legs, and began beating him with it.
"Slow down! Hold back. We need to stay back to signal the cowards who are retreating, and we don't want the enemy to single us out to be destroyed. TheFleet cannot stand to lose another leader!"
Then he turned to use the leg to beat on Hewhosendsthesignals. "The Hivemind cannot hear my commands! Send signal flags! All Ships attack the RoyaltyslayerShip!"
The Fang's guns were recoiling more unevenly now. Their crews were tiring, stunned and exhausted by the constant thunder and crash.
The stern chase had not lasted nearly as long as Melville wanted it to. The rear guns didn't get a chance to take out much more than a dozen Crab Ships each before the enemy's superior speed allowed them to begin to swarm around the Fang. Now every gun was in play, lashing out death and destruction to the enemy in all directions.
Gun captains raised a fist to signal when their gun was ready, their faces rigid with concentration. Quick as the fist was raised the order was given to fire. The blasts of the mighty 24-pounders were like huge spitting tongues of flame and light, leaving a powerful tang of ozone in the mouth. The double-shotted cannons smashed into the enemy boats in an explosion of splinters and Crab appendages. High up in the rigging, the topmasts shivered with each blast of Fang's big guns.
The deep, bass blasts of the 24-pounders were accompanied by the metallic bangs of the 12-pounders and the sharp cracks of the muskets, and above and around it all were the screams of the dying and wounded, and the singing of the rigging. The deck bucked beneath their feet with every blast of the guns, and periodically there was a ringing, wooden gong sound as Fang's hull took a hit from one of the enemy's 18-pounders.
Then there was a crescendo of tortured, splintering wood as Fang smashed into a hapless Crab Ship, sundering it in two and sinking it almost instantly. As their atmospheric clouds came together, the Fangs could hear the death cries of the Crabs in the shattered Ship, their screams cut sho
rt as they sank into the icy grip of two-space.
It was an insane symphony of death and destruction, a nightmare chorus of torment.
"Keep double-shotting the guns!" bellowed Mr. Barlet as the master gunner rallied his gun crews. "It's just what the bastards need up close and personal like this!" Then Barlet saw his captain striding across the deck. "A target rich environment, sir!" he shouted with a snarling, feral grin on his face. In the midst of the battle's madness the Fang's master gunner stood lean, dark, and hard, like a teak sword.
Melville could feel the madness surge through him like a fever. It was infectious. He could see it in the faces marred by sweat and blood, Guldur and human alike, poised over hot guns like half-naked alien demons. Even the humans seemed alien, and the Guldur looked like fiends from hell.
"I don't know if they scare the enemy," muttered Fielder as he stood on the lower quarterdeck beside Asquith, looking out at the gun crews, "but by God they scare the hell out of me!"
Above them the protective nets jerked and twitched with falling debris, flying splinters, and the occasional body. A yardarm punched through the net, gouging into the planking next to Asquith. Then a body slammed into the netting and rolled through the gap. Asquith helped catch the hapless sailor, and began to drag him to the surgeon. Amazingly the man appeared to be unharmed, his fall having been broken by the net. He staggered to his feet with a nod of thanks and scrambled back up into the tattered rigging.
"Huh," said Fielder calmly. "I guess those nets were a good idea. Chalk another one up for the captain. Dammit, he'll be insufferable if we survive this."
On the upper quarterdeck Midshipman Palmer looked down at his hands, holding the end of a shard of glowing white wood protruding from his chest. His monkey had blocked a small forest of splinters, but it couldn't stop them all, and the little creature sobbed softly as it stroked the boy's pale cheek.
The Guns of Two-Space Page 54
