The Guns of Two-Space (67 page)

"I must say good night, my dear lady," said Fielder.

"It is more like good morning now!"

He kissed her hand, bending low and eying her décolletage, "You are a delight to see at any hour, madam."

She smiled demurely and replied, "I believe you have seen enough for one day, sir!" But the wink over her shoulder as she turned took away the potential sting of her words.

Melville shook his head in wonder.
What was it about Fielder that attracts the ladies so? Perhaps it's the same thing that makes women of that sort like cats...
 

It was well after midnight before the guests began to disperse from the party. Some of the officers were so inebriated that they had to be carried to their Ships. Others staggered out the door, glassy-eyed but unsupported, moving with the intense concentration of drunken men struggling to avoid disgracing themselves.

Others were stopping in the shadows to find their own brand of pleasure. Through a brief flicker of moonlight Melville saw a woman's body, naked to the waist, her arms wrapped around a navy officer's neck and giggling with enjoyment as he fumbled at her clothing.

It was at that moment, as officers were spread to the four winds, leaving and traveling to many destinations, with their crews mostly on shore leave, that the Crab attack hit.

Aboard the
Fang
Lt. Fielder had resigned himself to an evening of sorting out high-ranking drunks, ensuring the return of the command groups to the appropriate Ships, and all the other associated duties assigned to a man who had attracted the attention of the admiral in a most unfortunate way.

The
Fang
's first officer believed that any bad fortune should be shared with his friends. His brand of misery truly loved company. This philosophy, combined with his natural laziness and desire for assistance, had caused Fielder to coerce the wardroom into assisting him with his duties.

Normally, getting the
Fang
's officers to leave a party early would have been a task of Sisyphean dimensions. Luckily for Fielder, he had two things working for him.

First was the nature of an admiral's soiree. While junior officers could be made to attend, they couldn't be forced to enjoy it. And, to be honest, the
Fang
s were warriors, and had found themselves somewhat uncomfortable in the continued company of so many "sheepeople." Thus, the wardroom members were not entirely displeased to have an excuse to leave the party early. "Sorry, ma'am. Duty calls, don'cherknow?"

The other thing in his favor was his promise to take them out drinking the next time they were on liberty. The admiral had restricted Lt. Fielder's freedom, but there were still plenty of bars and clubs on the base where he could fulfill this promise. Knowing the capacity of his companions, he didn't think it would be cheap.

Asquith looked over at Fielder as they stared out at the spectacular panoply of two-space. The sailors and officers assigned to the shore patrol were out in force tonight. The officers and men aboard the
Fang
were standing in reserve, ready for any situation which needed a wise head or a firm hand to control it.

Fielder was thinking morosely about how much booze it was going to take to fill up this crew.
Damn,
he thought dejectedly,
I expected the wardroom to help out in response to my bribe. But most of the crew too? Damn, that's a lotta beer! But that's what I make the big bucks for, isn't it? To spend on wine, women, song, and friends—and to waste the rest reluctantly?
 

"Daniel," Asquith asked, "is it normal practice to have the first officer of a Ship assigned to help the shore patrol after an admiral's party?"

Fielder grimaced and then chuckled ruefully. "No, Bert, not really. It's a good idea, mind you. We have a lot of Ships in port to attend the soiree. Maybe to impress that Guldur admiral. From the admiral's point of view, assigning me to this duty is making a virtue of necessity. Remember the attacks on Show Low?"

Asquith nodded silently, and his hand reached down unconsciously to caress the two-space pistol holstered at his hip. Fielder noted the gesture and echoed it with a grin. Amazing how his friend had changed during their journey!

"Well, I guess it
could
happen again," continued Fielder. "So, keeping me off the streets reduces the probability of another attack by my dear old friend, Princess Madelia. Although I think the admiral was more concerned for the potential innocent bystanders than he was about me!"

Asquith murmured, "I can see why, after what happened on Show Low." This was punctuated by an emphatic "Eep!" from his monkey. Asquith reached up to scratch behind its ears gently. "But what about the captain, Daniel? Isn't he a prime target as well?"

Fielder snorted derisively. "Yes, there is that, isn't there? Which might explain why Ulrich and Grenoble are always with him." He continued softly, "But, Bert, I've noticed that he seems, at times, to..." He paused and then continued "not exult in violence, but since he bonded with the
Fang
, he appears to be more, well, comfortable where the action is hottest. I'm not sure how to describe it, but since the bonding, it's as if he has incorporated the Ship's eagerness for battle into his personality. So, I don't see him hiding from a fight."

Asquith was looking out at the field of stars above him and asked idly, "Daniel, were there any other arrivals scheduled today or tomorrow?"

"Not that I know of Bert, why?"

"Then what are those things out there?" he asked, pointing out toward a group of specks that looked like distant sails, but glowing oddly white, like the Moss on the timbers surrounding them.

"I don't know," replied Fielder, "but I don't think they were invited to the admiral's soiree." After a brief hesitation he called out, "Battle stations! Battle stations!" Then he quietly added to Asquith, making the little earthling snort with laughter, "All hands prepare to fend off party crashers."

Better safe than sorry was the motto taught to Baronet Daniello Sans Fielder on his Grandma BenGurata's knee. In all things
except
women.

The rapidly approaching vessels appeared to be small, one-masted boats. He couldn't tell much else about them, except that they were all distinguished by a large, glowing white sail on the single mast.

The leading Ship was suddenly punctuated by a flash as it fired a cannon from well outside the atmosphere of the Pier. The cannonball made no noise until it pierced the air cloud around the Pier with a shrill shriek, bounced through the plane of two-space and disappeared into the depths of space.

"Damn," said Fielder quietly. "What fresh hell is this?"

* * *

Eternal Father, strong to save,
Whose arm hath bound the restless wave,
Who biddest the mighty ocean deep
Its own appointed limits keep;
Oh, hear us when we cry to Thee,
For those in peril on the sea!
 

The man who knows only honor,
knows not the odds;
The man who knows only the odds
knows not honor
 

Phil Messina
ModernWarrior.com

Cries of alarm rang through the streets. "To your Ships! To the docks! We're under attack!"

At the admiral's party, and in the gardens around the admiral's residence, there was pandemonium.

The officer fumbling at his lady love's undergarments was luckier than most. He was able to get the word quickly and race to his Ship, pulling at his clothing. Others were either incapacitated beyond responding, or finding it difficult to run while pulling their pants on!

Melville had his clothes on, he was not drunk, and

he headed back to his Ship at a dead run without wasting a second to utter a word to anyone.

Like the rest of the wardroom, Hans had let himself be bribed by Lt. Fielder into leaving the admiral's party early. Not that it was much of a sacrifice. It wasn't really his kind of party.

Hans had the
Fang
's mooring lines singled up and ready for either the captain's arrival or for Mr. Fielder to assume command and take her out to engage their attackers. Not that he wanted Fielder to take her into combat, but it didn't look like any of those other idiots were going out to fight the enemy. Which left it up to the
Fang
and her crew.

The old sailing master gave a sigh of relief as he heard the lookout up in the crosstrees call out, "cap'n's coming down the Pier, sir! At the double, with Ulrich and Grenoble."

Heh, heh! Them Crabs'll be suckin' vacuum an' sayin' hello to the Elder King soon enough, now that our cap'n's aboard!
thought Hans.
Besides, they ain't seen a
real
crab until they seen my sweety when she's fired up!
 

"Inform the first officer!" said Midshipman Aquinar to the Ship's boy by his side. The boy was actually older than Aquinar, but he obeyed the tiny middie's command without hesitation.

"Man the side," continued Aquinar, in his clear, calm young voice. "Call the bosun." While her crack crew prepared the
Fang
to sail into combat, her marines moved quickly to form a row of crimson jackets and white cross belts against the luminous decks. As the captain came up the gangplank, the marines' double-barreled muskets cracked to present arms while the bosun's whistle shrilled its piercing salute.

"Come aft, Mr. Fielder," said Melville to his first officer as Boye and the dog's monkey greeted the captain's return with joyful barks and
eek
s. "A sharp-looking turnout," he said to Lance Corporal Jarvis as he walked past.

The compliment brought a tight, proud smile on the rigid face of the young NCO. The world had gone mad. Again. But all was well with the
Fang
: their captain was aboard.

All around them the fleet was in panic. The
Wordsworth
and the
Osprey
were already sunk, and the
Thomas Gray
was going down as Melville watched. Most of the Ships were dying at dock, and their crews were able to escape onto the Pier. But the loss of these noble, ancient old Ships pierced the heart of every watching sailor.

A few lines from Gray's "The Epitaph" came to Melville's mind as he stood on his quarterdeck and watched that great Ship go down.

Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth
...And Melancholy mark'd him for her own.
Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere...
 

"We commend thee to 'The bosom of his Father and his God,'" whispered Melville.

"Oh, God. Are we gonna die?" asked Asquith quietly, as he watched Ship after Ship disappear from two-space.

"Yep," replied Melville as he hurried to the quarterdeck. "Everyone does. But not today," he growled. "Not today, by God."

Due to her position at the military supply dock, the
Fang
was closer into the perimeter and was not in the fight yet. That was about to change.

"All the wardroom and all but a handful of the crew's aboard, sir," reported Fielder. "We're ready to fight."

"Good!" replied the captain. "Mr. Hans! Get us under way. Head straight out. Punch through and get some distance from the bastards. Give me all the speed you've got, as quick as you've got it."

"Aye, sir!"

"Mr. Barlet, give 'em a whiff of grape, all around!" Melville ordered. "I want those bastards to have something else to think about besides shooting at us. Have all guns fire for their Keels whenever you come to bear. They're flimsy little pockers! I think our 24-pounders will smash 'em to bits if we get a good body blow. Even the 12-pounders might, but the big guns will for sure!"

"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!"