“No sir,” Greely replied. “Oh, he said McClatchey should be over the fumes now, and his ribs are cracked. It seems the old Jackie fancies himself a doctor, sir.”
“Captain Shearer was once in the medical corps,” Maxwell replied shortly. His tone signaled the end of the conversation. Kearsarge’s nose plunged again, blanketing them all with spray. Greely staggered away from them towards the ladder.
Andrew glanced at Maxwell. Then at Audacious. Then back at Maxwell. Maxwell wasted no motion, and said no unnecessary words. They were under attack by a British ship, and Maxwell was asking about the British Captain in his brig. There was obviously a connection, but Andrew had no idea what it might be.
“Captain, may I ask what your plan is?” Andrew asked.
“There’s no plan, Andrew,” Maxwell replied quietly, turning the wheel, keeping his eyes on the sea which was thundering around his battleship. “There is only action and reaction.”
So Shearer’s response via Chief Greely wasn’t what Maxwell had hoped to hear. That was not encouraging. Also, this sort of non-answer was becoming a more and more common occurrence from Maxwell to Andrew. It both confused and disheartened Andrew.
“But Captain,” he said, “you had a plan with the Lion, and it worked out well.”
Shells from Audacious slammed into the ocean a quarter mile to starboard, throwing plumes up to the tops of Kearsarge’s cage masts. The ocean screamed like the Kraken.
When Maxwell finally replied, he sounded as if he’d lost his mind.
“Listen to me, Andrew. If you forget everything else I’ve told you, remember this. The sea is treacherous. The only way to survive her is to become the same. That is the true game we play. It is never captain verses captain. It’s two men, each trying to woo the sea into letting them live another day. The first Captain who forgets that is the first Captain she kills.”
Maxwell let go of the wheel so he could turn to Andrew. It curdled Andrew’s blood. Maxwell was unmasked. He was feral, cold, relentless, and a dozen other contradictory things at the same time. And he was smiling. It looked to Andrew as if the man was devolving, breaking down into a creature of instinct, or maybe even further than that, into a force of nature.
“Know who you are before the sea,” Maxwell said. “That’s all that matters.”
He turned back to the tumultuous ocean before him.
“Let the fools come,” he said.
W
“You don’t know that!” Garret argued. “You’re just gossiping, like some old spinster!”
A wave raked down Kearsarge’s flank, spraying water through the crevices around Nancy’s port cover.
“Lover Boy,” Velvet protested. “Twitch never told us why he got busted back to basic with us.”
“He tried to save Charlie’s life,” Garret argued.
“And Charlie died anyway,” Velvet replied, but softly.
Curtis appeared and set a crate of water canteens down beside Nancy’s blast shield. It was their battle water ration. It hadn’t been brought to them. Curtis had had to go get it.
“Twitch did save Minnow’s life,” Fishy put in speculatively, setting down the first aid kit, which he’d also had to go get.
“I can’t believe you’d all just turn on Twitch like this!” Garret barked more harshly than he’d intended. They recoiled a bit. Burl, who was wiping Nancy’s sites with a Vaseline rag, cringed. Curtis stood by, watching the argument. He didn’t seem to know which side to take.
“Nobody’s turnin’ on him,” Pun’kin offered. “But what Velvet’s sayin’ makes sense. Twitch knows a lot.”
“He knows everything,” Garret said, trying to soften his voice. Then it slipped out, “What happened to Charlie isn’t Twitch’s fault.”
They looked as if Garret had punched each of them in the stomach. Burl shied away. Theo, who had been filling Nancy’s recoil cylinders, set the big glycerin cannister down and tried to hide behind it.
Fishy’s eyes were wide. He held up his hands. He had to clear his throat. “Lover Boy, nobody’s blaming that on Twitch.”
“Then don’t say things like that,” Garret said. Curious faces were poking around the blast bulkhead between Nancy and the next gun down.
Then, much to Garret’s surprise, Curtis took his side. “He’s right. You shouldn’t say things like that if you don’t know for sure. He’s one of us.”
Garret built on it. “If Twitch hasn’t earned your trust, then maybe that’s your fault, Fishy.”
Garret rounded on Velvet.
“I’ll thank you to keep that shit to yourself from now on.”
“I didn’t say he did it on purpose,” Velvet protested, abased.
Before Garret could reply, Chief Greely appeared around Nancy’s blast shield, carrying a pail. He held it out, grimly. “Take a handful,” he said. “Scatter it on the deck.”
Garret’s vision was greying out and his hearing was sharpening. He had to get away from them before his eyes began to change color.
They were all too upset with each other to ask the Chief what the hell he was talking about. One at a time, they just grabbed a fistful of sand out of the bucket, Garret last.
“Cinch up your belts, men,” Greely said sternly. “Remember your training. Make me proud.”
“What training?” Fishy muttered too low for the Chief to hear.
They scattered their sand on the deck, some of them with more force than was necessary. Garret just stuffed his sand in his pocket.
“Also,” Chief Greely sighed. “I’m sorry men, but we need two more for the next fire shift. We’ve almost got it beat. It probably won’t be a whole shift, just another thirty minutes or so.”
Unsurprisingly, nobody volunteered. Then slowly, little Theo, who was still pale, emerged from behind his glycerin can and raised his hand a bit. “I’ll—” he began.
“Oh no you won’t!” Curtis roared. He wasn’t angry, only protective. “I’ll go, Chief.”
“Me too,” Garret said wearily before Theo could volunteer for the second position.
The Chief exhaled, then nodded. “Alright then. Let’s go.”
“You’re coming with us, Chief?” Curtis asked.
On corner of the Chief’s mouth quirked up in a fleeting smile. “Did I say two? I meant three. Let’s get moving.”
“Chief,” Fishy protested reasonably. “How are we going to run the gun if we’re down two men?”
“Your gun captain is pretty sharp, I’m sure he’ll figure something out for you. Oh, and by the way,” he stopped and turned back to Fishy, Velvet, and the others. “They’re right.” He indicated Garret and Curtis. “I’m disappointed that you’d pass rumors about your friend. It stops right here. That’s an order.”
Velvet protested. “But Chief, we know that he—”
The Chief fixed Velvet with a steely eye that would probably have stopped a thirteen inch shell. It certainly stopped Velvet. “I don’t care if he did,” the Chief said. “It’s in the past, and if he got sent back to basic, then the Navy has dealt with it. That’s good enough for me, you, and everybody else. Got that sailor?”
They all nodded.
“I’ve never seen him treat you bad. I’ve only see him work his ass off trying to get you trained. He’s your family, whether you like it or not.”
Velvet was nearly in tears with humiliation. “Chief I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”
“If you’re sorry, then show me, and him. You and you,” he pointed to Garret and Curtis as he headed for the nearest ladder. “Double time, we’re late.”
W
Seventy-three. Seventy-four. Seventy-five…
Up on the flying bridge, Andrew was soaked to the bone. He was counting in his head, driving himself crazy, but he couldn’t seem to stop. Every one hundred and twenty seconds, the Grim Reaper stood up above the waves and swung his scythe at the Kearsarge. The passing ticks were like the creaks of the Reaper’s
skeleton, bone grinding against bone as he drew back for the swing.
Seventy-nine. Eighty. Eighty-one. Eighty-two…
Despite the fact that Audacious was trying to kill them, Andrew couldn’t help but admire her crew and the officers who had trained them. Though the storm had created the worst possible firing conditions, each salvo from the big dreadnought was off the two minute mark by no more than two or three seconds. If everyone on Kearsarge died, their deaths would be timed as nicely as a German train schedule.
A fresh torrent of rain drenched Andrew, and the ocean flung foam up as high as the flying bridge. The deck was awash most of the time now as Kearsarge rose and plunged over the swells. Kearsarge’s low freeboard, how close her main deck sat to the waterline, made for very bad seakeeping. When (or if) Mr. Sokolov managed to fix the rear turret, the water rushing over the deck and into the thirteen inch turrets would make the turret crew’s lives into a living hell. They would be trying to load monstrous guns with electrical rams while six inches of water ran back and forth around their shins. It would be pouring down the ammo hoists, fouling the machinery, and soaking the powder bags to uselessness if it even touched them.
Behind them, HMS Audacious had closed another hundred yards. She rode over the swells, disappearing and reappearing like a predator, slipping from tree to tree. Ninety. Ninety-one. Ninety two…
Andrew was frightened as he hadn’t been since he was a boy, cornered in the back of the barn while his family’s enraged bull tried to gore him. He could still see its mad, red little eyes and the thick cords of muscle in its neck. It inspired a helpless kind of fear, humiliating in its intensity and simplicity.
Andrew loved his Captain. He trusted him. And neither of those things were going to matter.
One hundred seventeen, one hundred eighteen, one hundred nineteen—
W
Garret was deep in Kearsarge’s belly in the coal bunker, so he felt it all around himself when she shuddered from stem to stern. Creaks ran through the bulkheads and groans through the stanchions. A salvo from Audacious had hit the water near enough that Kearsarge grunted when the shells detonated. He felt it in his body, but his sluggish mind only registered it vaguely.
Garret shoveled coal and choked on the air. He was down at the bottom of the hole they had dug in the coal pile. The air wasn’t circulating at all now. They must have battened the hatches to the main deck to prevent the storm from flooding the ship. He had no idea where they were hauling the coal buckets.
The fumes from the burning coal swirled around his neck and face like a scarf, intent on smothering him. He didn’t know where Curtis and Chief Greely were. They’d been separated as soon as they’d arrived. Garret drove his shovel into the coal. He tossed the black lumps into the bucket behind him. He wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing. The other guy who was filling the same bucket had to tug on the rope to have it hauled up. Garret just kept flinging coal. He flung coal in and around the bucket when it was there, and he flung coal where the bucket was supposed to be when it wasn’t.
He shoveled and gagged on the poisonous air. He shoveled and fought against the agonizing pain in his back and legs. The coal was rolling back and forth above Garret, shifting with the motions of the ship in the storm. It was hot. So hot and dark. He was trapped at the bottom of a pit of burning black coal. The only light was provided by the flames that licked out between the lumps of coal, or the reddish glow from the embers down near the bottom. Smoke and steam from the water hoses filled the air, filled his lungs, filled his mind.
The Kearsarge’s up and down motions were becoming more extreme. The storm was worsening. Coal began to rain down around Garret from the edges of the pit. He stopped shoveling and watched uncomprehendingly as a small avalanche of coal slid down in front of him, burying his feet.
Men were yelling at him.
What are they… saying?
It was his last thought before the sides of the pit collapsed, burying him beneath the crushing weight of tons of coal.
W
Andrew had to do something. He had to assist in the shipwide efforts to save all of their lives. Standing on the bridge and getting shot at was driving him mad. According to procedure, he wasn’t supposed to be by the Captain’s side anyway. That made it too easy for both the first and second in command to get killed in one shot. But of course Maxwell paid no mind to such quibbles.
“Captain!” Andrew yelled over the storm. “Permission to assist with turret repair!”
“Stay here, Andrew,” Maxwell said. Anyone else would have had to scream it. Not the captain. The storm allowed him to speak in what was nearly a normal tone. Or maybe he could yell without looking like he was yelling. Again nailed to the deck, Andrew gripped the rail with white knuckles and tried not to piss himself. It wouldn’t have much mattered if he had, though. Andrew’s wool uniform was saturated, and still the water came on, bucking Kearsarge beneath them, and pouring from the heavens above.
Eighty-five. Eighty-six. Eighty-seven…
Andrew glanced from his captain to the enormous warmachine behind them. Her bow was just breaking a swell, sharp and blade-like. A giant, dark headsman’s axe, come to part their souls from their bodies.
Ninety-two. Ninety-three. Ninety-four…
It was like being tied to a chair, forced to play Russian roulette, but over and over again. He couldn’t even scream for help. There was no one to help on the empty, stormy sea. There was only the Audacious, which stood behind them in the darkness, holding the gun.
Gun barrel pressing to your temple, the small, cold circle of steel.
Audacious spins the cylinder. You hear it whirring. Whirrrrrrrr.
Slowing down. Whi-r-r-r-r
Slowing. Whi—r—r—r
When it stops she will pull the trigger.
Click.
The hammer fell on an empty chamber. You survived? Then we go again.
Whirrrrrrrrrr-r-r-r—r—r—r
Click.
Survived? Let’s go again.
Whirrrrrrrrrr-r-r-r—r—r—r
There is only one way this ends, you know. Sooner or later, you die.
“Where is Sokolov on those guns?” Maxwell roared at a runner who was struggling off the ladder onto the heaving flying bridge.
One hundred ten. One hundred eleven…
Andrew craned his ear for the runner’s answer. Kearsarge’s thirteen’s were old and inaccurate, but still powerful. If the electrician would fix the damn motor, they could at least stand up and fight like men, fling some steel back at the British bastards. Put that new Krupp armor to the test.
One hundred seventeen. One hundred eighteen. One hundred nineteen…
Anything would be better than just standing here waiting to die.
W
Garret came to, groggily. He was on Kearsarge’s steel protected deck on hands and knees. Around him, coal heaped up high. Instead of dull red embers, it was burning brightly, roaring with flames on all sides. The heat was so intense that Kearsarge’s deck beneath his hands was beginning to glow cherry red. Garret should have been screaming in agony. He should have been dying as his skin and muscles popped, sizzled, and blackened.
But he wasn’t. He could feel the heat, feel it in all its intensity, but it did not harm him.
He wasn’t breathing either. His lungs were closed, his throat filled as if with packed cotton. His body begged for air. The air itself wavered and warped with such heat that it appeared the coal and even the bulkheads were dancing around him, a mesmerizing mirage of the underworld.
But Garret was not alone. As he crouched there, his body weakening, he felt them coming. Garret knew the feel of their presence and the sound of their hearts, just as one canine always knows another. It had been more than a year since he’d felt their presence, but they had come for him at last.
He should have known they would come. After all, he had killed one of their own.
He
raised his head on weakening neck muscles, and through the smoke, their eyes began to appear. Orange orbs, two at a time, here and there among the black coal and the smoke. The eyes moved towards him, coming through the blazes. They were slow, careful, but fleet as swallows.
Gradually, their bodies took shape as they neared him. They coalesced out of the dark coal and the dark corners as if assembling themselves out of the few shadows that had managed to hide from the light of the fire.
They were hounds, great and gaunt, made of wisps and shadows that trailed behind them and fluttered as they moved.
And buried in each of their shadowy chests, their hearts burned, darker yet hotter than the flames around them. Lit in the heart of the underworld.
Garret dropped his head and gave himself up to them. He would not shift, not this one last time. He would die as a man, even if he didn’t deserve to. In a blur of motion that Garret didn’t quite see, the hellhound to his right pounced on him, closing its great muzzle around his left forearm.
It sank its teeth into his muscle and tendons, but his instinctive struggles failed as its teeth found the cold iron wire in his arm. The hellhound’s bite tugged on the wire, and Garret’s heart stumbled, faltered. He collapsed on the red hot floor. He felt nothing but the teeth in his arm, grinding against the cold, cold wire to his heart.
His lungs opened and he screamed.
W
Andrew’s fear was subsiding to a hollow resignation. Behind them, Audacious had swelled to a horizon-blotting monolith. Her forward gun barrels protruded from her turrets, both of them, as if reaching for the old Kearsarge.
One hundred seventeen. One hundred eigh—
The four muzzles of Audacious’s forward turrets disappeared under a detonation flash, thunder, and a rolling gout of cordite smoke. At what seemed like the same instant, Andrew was deafened by the invisible freight train that had just blasted past him at the speed of sound. There was a high ringing sound in Andrew’s left ear, and no sound at all in his right. Directly ahead of the Kearsarge, four shells hit the ocean and detonated, gutting the Atlantic and throwing up geysers that showered Kearsarge’s bow.
Ironclad Page 38
