The Guns of Two-Space (71 page)

They all understood that if they could entice the Crab fleet to pursue them it would eventually turn into a short-range slugfest, as the faster Crab Ships caught up with the
Fang
. But before it came to that, they'd have the chance to even the odds with their broadsides and then whittle the enemy down with the stern chasers.

Midshipman Palmer looked over at his captain. "Sir, what happens if they don't change course to attack us?"

Melville smiled at the midshipman. Palmer was a deep-voiced lad who was huge for his twelve years. He had served with great heroism and intelligence as a Ship's boy and had been promoted to midshipman shortly after they had captured the
Fang
. He had great potential as an officer and it was always good to develop the tactical knowledge and experience of the next generation.

"Well, Mr. Palmer, what do you think would happen?"

The middie thought for a second. "Well," he rumbled, "I figure that if they don't change course or attack, then we can cruise down their flank and pound the hell out of 'em with our broadside, then come behind 'em and romp across their rear and beat hell out of 'em with even
more
broadsides! An' since their guns are fixed forward, they won't be able to shoot back! Somewhere in there they oughta start changing their mind about ignoring our Ship!"

Melville nodded. "Not bad for a first pass, Mr. Palmer. Of course," he added with a grin, "whenever they
do
turn on us, we'll be in the midst of a swarm of Crab gunboats, like a crocodile intruding into a piranha-infested river."

Palmer shivered as he considered the idea.

"Just remember," continued the captain, "this 'croc' eats schools of piranha for lunch! Our big advantage is that we don't have to face our opponents to shoot them, but they do."

"Aye, sir," said Palmer. "Plus our 24-pounders appear to have a slight range advantage.
And
the incredible accuracy we have when you're firing the guns, if I may say so, Captain."

"Aye! So for now we have two tasks. We must fight them,
and
we must lure them away from the Pier so the fleet can get underway. Given our altered appearance and the fact that we are apparently running away, we should be downright irresistible."

"Aye, sir!" growled Palmer. "Like a doddering old drunk, just asking to be rolled for his wallet. But when the robber rolls
this
drunk over, he'll find out we're faking, armed, and pissed-off mean!"

Barlet interrupted him. "It looks like it's about that time, sir. Their last shot entered our air bubble. Which isn't good. Their guns must be about 18-pounders. And 18-pounders against our 24-pounders isn't all that unequal a contest," he concluded soberly.

"No, it isn't," Melville replied as he climbed up onto the aiming platform above Sudden Death. "Especially when there's so damned many of them. So we better get started evening the odds."

There are things of which I may not speak;
There are dreams that cannot die;
There are thoughts that make the strong heart weak,
And bring a pallor into the cheek,
And a mist before the eye.
And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."

"My Lost Youth"
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

Midshipman Anthony Hayl stood behind Deep Doo-Doo, Sue-Sue, and Bad Ju-Ju in his capacity as the upper redside battery commander. Malicious Intent had been moved to her position in the stern, ready to fire at the Crabs who would be chasing them if the captain's plan worked out.

Their initial battle with the Crabs had been frightening, but it had all happened so quickly that Hayl didn't have much time to think. This battle was going to be a
lot
worse. And he had plenty of time to think about it.

In all of his creative, optimistic, youthful imagination, young Hayl could not conceive of any way that they could survive. He had seen too much battle, too much death to have any illusions left. They were dead. They were all
dead
. There was no avoiding it, no way around it.

He had eagerly sought the opportunity to be a midshipman with the great Captain Melville. He had had such incredible dreams. Such feats of valor and triumph had filled his head. None of his daydreams included the nightmares that still visited his sleep upon occasion.

Hayl thought he was brave, but he felt his knees weaken and the blood drained from his face as the reality of this battle loomed before him. Then he felt the Keel charge in his new arm begin to <> and he felt a piece of
Fang
's fierce spirit surge through him. He started his breathing routine and began to get his body under control. But it was so much harder to rein in his
imagination
.

Then Grenoble, the captain's Sylvan bodyguard, walked up beside him companionably and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Art thou frightened, son?"

"Aye, sir."

"Use thy breathing, lad. Control thy body, and have faith in thy comrades, thyself and thy training.
The Mirror for Princes
, written in Persia, on Old Earth in thy eleventh century, encourages warriors to 'reconcile your heart with death. Under no circumstances be afraid, but be bold; for a short blade grows longer in the hands of the brave.' Five hundred years later, an earthling named William Makepeace Thackery said that 'bravery never goes out of style.' 'Tis not easy, lad. Few are born with it. But try with all thy might to nurture courage. Then thou shalt never be out of style."

"Aye, sir. I'm working on it."

"'Tis all that anyone could ask, and 'tis the path of wisdom. 'Fear tastes like a rusty knife and do not let her into your house.'"

* * *

And the words of that fatal song
Come over me like a chill:
"A boy's will is the wind's will,
And the thoughts of youth are long, long thoughts."
 

* * *
 

Captain Thomas Melville layed on the firing platform of Sudden Death and considered the coming battle. Cutting across the front of the attacking fleet at this angle meant that a portion of their leading Ships could always bring them under fire with those bow-mounted cannon. But only a portion. For the entire Crab fleet to bring effective fire on the
Fang
they would have to shift course, and essentially start chasing her.

And that, unfortunately, was exactly what Melville was trying to force them to do. Just escaping the battle would be fairly straightforward. If he simply ran for the eastern horizon, Melville
might
be able to save the
Fang
and her crew. But he would be doing so at the cost of the utter destruction of the Hero Cluster's fleet. A cost that was totally unacceptable to the captain and crew of the
Fang.
They would die before they would let that happen.

So their mission was to entice the Crabs in, like a mother duck luring the predator away from her nest, with the age-old wounded-duck routine. It was one of the oldest tricks in the book. Would it work on the Crabs?

Melville watched over Sudden Death's sights as his first target slid closer and closer into his line of fire. He felt the ferocity of the 24-pounder beneath him: a chilling bloodlust to smash, rend, and kill raged through him, an emotion that had come to feel comfortable next to his soul. And from
Fang
herself he felt the anger and the urge to fight, to destroy these intruders—an urge that snuggled in tight to the other side of his soul.

These combined emotions roared back and forth between the three of them, as they jointly considered the target, watching while it slid under its single, glowing sail, closer and closer to its doom. They ignored the occasional 18-pound cannonball fired by one of their target's many mates, although those shots were getting more accurate with each passing moment.

The prey slid inexorably closer until, finally, the three (the gun, the Ship, and her captain) decided as one that it was theirs! The cannon growled its hate and loathing for the attackers, and belched forth its iron ball. <> it said in his mind.
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> screamed out the cannon and Melville watched as the shot traveled out... and slammed into the bow of the small Ship, smashing it like a firecracker set off in a child's model, sheering off the bow, and snapping the Keel like a toothpick as the Ship twisted and disappeared from two-space.

Midshipman Palmer screamed out, "Yes!" and pumped a fist into the air, as his monkey screeched out in agreement and waved its belaying pin in the air. "Hot damn, sir! Ya got 'im!" He continued more quietly but no less enthusiastically as the gun team rapidly reloaded the cannon for the next shot. "On the first shot! Just smashed 'im to pieces!" Sudden Death was one of the guns in his battery, and he took a great degree of ownership and satisfaction in "his" gun's accomplishment.

Melville nodded briefly, still focused on the tactical situation. He moved over to Cold Blooded Murder, the other 24-pounder on the upper green battery. As he layed down on the aiming platform he said, "Mr. Barlet, I'll be..." He broke off and involuntarily ducked as a ball found the forward rail and smashed into it, slashing the air with splinters and other debris. Luckily, the splinters and other shrapnel failed to find a home in flesh, but it was sobering taste of things to come.

The captain raised an eyebrow and drew up one side of his mouth in a lopsided grin. "As I was saying, I'll be going back and forth between the 24-pounders on the upper and lower greenside for the first few rounds. You and Gunny Von Rito will engage with the other guns as they bear. This will rapidly become a target-rich environment. So as they close, shift to rapid fire on all guns using the gun captains. Let no target go unserved!"

Barlet shook his head and grinned back, watching as the sailors and marines moved up to clear away the damage in the bow. "Aye, sir! Too bad we only have one broadside engaged. All the poor boys on the redside are going to feel ignored and unloved!"

Melville replied with a thin smile as he aimed Cold Blooded Murder toward his next target. "Don't worry, Mr. Barlet. They'll have their chance. Soon enough."

He touched off the next round, not lingering to see if it hit (it did) and scarcely waiting for the gun to finish its recoil before he dove through the hatch to the lower gundeck. His monkey screeched with joy as they slid headfirst down the line strung between the two levels.

Boye and his monkey couldn't follow their master's slide down the rope, so they had learned to take the long way round. The dog raced pell-mell down the ladder to the hold, dove through the hatch to the other side, scrambled out, thundered up the ladder to the deck, and joined his master with a happy bark. Boye's monkey sat astride the dog like a rider at a steeple chase,
eek
ing merrily throughout the trip.

Melville alternated quickly from one 24-pounder to another, bouncing from the lowerside to the upperside as needed, firing any gun that was loaded and could bear on an enemy Ship. Sliding from one 24-pounder to the next he engaged an unending supply of targets that quickly grew closer and closer to the
Fang
. Grenoble stayed constantly behind the captain, while Ulrich reluctantly gave up his bodyguard role to supervise the lower stern guns.

He rolled off of Rabid's firing platform and was momentarily startled when the flanking 12-pound cannon fired for the first time in this battle. As he looked out over the side he was startled by the
whip-crack
of a cannonball going overhead, followed by a rustling crash as part of a yardarm and its attached canvas and rigging came down on the net overhead.

"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.