Two Space War Part 23

Although it was still a comparatively young colony, Ambergris was already a major world with two large Piers, one above the plain of Flatland and one below. As the world spun, these Piers slowly s.h.i.+fted in relations.h.i.+p to each other in Flatland. On the world itself the Piers were hundreds of miles apart on opposite ends of a vast mountain range. But in the condensed, compressed environment of two-s.p.a.ce you could sometimes see them both from the same s.h.i.+p, the Upper Pier from the upper deck and the Lower Pier from the lower deck. Most of the rest of the world was dominated by oceans, archipelagos, and swamps, the kind of world that the Stolsh loved. Given a few more centuries they would build it into a rich, heavily populated planet.

Melville cut a course for a point between the two Piers, trying to discern the status of the Guldur invasion. As he drew closer he could see only Guldur s.h.i.+ps cl.u.s.tered around the Lower Pier. Around the Upper Pier the scene was a s.h.i.+fting, swirling ma.s.s of sails, some Guldur, and others clearly Stolsh and Sylvan. Faintly, over the endless, distant music of two-s.p.a.ce, they could hear cannon fire coming from that location. They changed course and moved toward the sound of the guns.

On board Fang the scene was the same on both the upper and lower decks. First the crew was well fed. Then they beat to quarters, a daily ritual that the crew had performed countless times in the past, but this time it was for real. The men of the gun crews, supplemented by a sprinkling of Guldur, crouched motionless. Each gun captain lay over his gun on a platform, glaring down the barrel. At each gun the muzzle-las.h.i.+ng was coiled exactly and made fast to the eye-bolt above the gun port lid. The mid-breeching was seized with precision to the pommelion of the cannon. Handspike, crow, ram, bed, quoin, train tackle, round shot, canister and grape were all neatly arranged. "Slush," the fat carefully collected from the cook pot, was applied to grease the path that the gun recoiled back onto. A small bucket of slush was held in reserve beside each gun. Swords and pistols were in racks close to hand. The guns were organized into four batteries, consisting of the two 24-pounders and two 12-pounders on each side. Each battery had an officer or mids.h.i.+pman as battery commander. The gunner, Mr. Barlet, stalked the gun line on the upper deck, checking his guns and their crews. Gunny Von Rito did the same on the lower deck.

Behind the gun crews, the officers and mids.h.i.+pmen acting as battery commanders were exactly s.p.a.ced. The decks were cleared for action. Everything that could be disa.s.sembled was struck down into the hold. Scuttleb.u.t.ts full of fresh drinking water were centrally located with dippers hanging from them. Roxy, the one-eyed old cook stood by with her mates, ready to refresh the scuttleb.u.t.ts and to act as litter bearers. The upper and lower cabins were stripped of internal part.i.tions and furniture so that the two 12-pounders in each cabin could be manned without obstruction.

High up in the rigging, the topmen stood with pistol and sword at their hips, ready to adjust sails, repel boarders, or attack the enemy rigging. On the upper side old Hans stood with the topmen. On the lower side the bosun did the same. Marine sharpshooters manned the crow's nests. Gathered aft and beside the upper quarterdeck, Lieutenant Broadax and the remainder of her marines served as a ready reserve. In the same location on the lower side, Petreckski and a handful of purser's mates stood with the two rangers, forming an additional reserve.

Their surgeon was moved down into the hold. The operating table, consisting of sea chests lashed together and covered with tightly drawn sailcloth, was centrally located beneath an expanse of radiant white ceiling. Dressings and coil after coil of bandages sat beside the leather-bound chains sometimes required to lash down patients. An array of grim saws, retractors, scalpels, forceps, trephines, catlings and other mysterious torture instruments were arranged with loving care by Mrs. Vodi. Elphinstone and Vodi both wore starched ap.r.o.ns, bib and sleeves, and white caps over their startlingly different dresses. one b.u.t.tercup yellow and one drab black. Buckets and swabs waited in the corner. Buckets full of water to swab the decks when they became b.l.o.o.d.y, buckets full of sand to spread on the slick wet decks, and, most ominous of all, empty buckets to hold amputated limbs and body parts. Etzen and Brun, their two corpsmen, stood at the upper and lower hatches with their heavy aid bags, ready to provide immediate, lifesaving medical attention, and to direct the evacuation of the wounded.

Deep in the hold the carpenter and his mates formed a damage control party, standing by to provide repairs to the precious Keel, brace up structural damage, or to sally up and a.s.sist Hans or the bosun with repairs to masts, yards and spars.

By now almost every crew member, and most of the dogs, had a monkey. And most of the monkeys held a belaying pin. Even some of the Guldur crew members had been adopted by a monkey and they delighted in the little creatures, finding them to be in every way the opposite of the hateful little Goblan they'd been forced to carry into combat. The process of monkey procreation and reproduction was still a mystery, but everyone was happy to have them on board. The little spider monkeys all chittered apprehensively to themselves as combat approached, with heads pulled in and eyes peering out anxiously. Except for Broadax's monkey, which chittered and screeched excitedly in a cloud of cigar smoke atop her helmet, flailing its belaying pin in intricate figure-eight and cloverleaf patterns with such speed and power that it hummed and whistled as it sliced through the air.

The dogs were excited and happy, pacing the decks like an eager bird dog that sees its master pull the shotgun from the rack on a crisp fall morning. The puppies were all gathered into the surgery, out of the way, but they looked for any opportunity to escape and join the fun. The cats also lingered in the hospital, curled up in corners or peering out from beneath bunks. They had absolutely no intention of joining in the dogs' fun. An old, one-eyed, three-legged cat, down to his last life and his last ear, sat at Vodi's feet and loudly, plaintively made the position clear. If the enemy boarded, and if they brought vermin with them, and if said vermin made it to the surgery, then and only then would the cats deem it their responsibility. They'd already partic.i.p.ated in one boarding action, thank you very much, and that was enough for all nine of their lives.

During combat Melville's place was on the quarterdeck with his c.o.xswain, a quartermaster and two mates. Hargis, Melville's clerk, was also there to time and record the battle, and little mids.h.i.+pman Ngobe served as a runner. On the lower quarterdeck Fielder commanded with his own quartermaster team, a clerk's mate, and a mids.h.i.+pman. If anything happened to Melville, Fielder would take over. If both quarterdecks were wiped clean, Hans would drop down and take command until one of the lieutenants in command of a gun section could join him.

Prior to combat, as he was trying to a.s.sess the situation, Melville went up in the foremast crosstrees with Hans, where they engaged in quiet discussion and contemplation. It was bitter cold up at this height, and they were refreshed periodically by the devoted McAndrews, who came aloft carrying a stained tin pot of coffee slung from his teeth by a loop of cord. McAndrews' monkey gripped his shoulder with six hands and carried the cream and sugar in the other two. " 'Offee s.h.i.+r," said McAndrews through the cord as his head came up level with the crosstrees. Both he and his monkey were rolling their eyes in mute terror at the fall beneath them, and at the glare from Melville's c.o.xswain.

Melville's new c.o.xswain stood beside him in the crosstrees, balanced like a cat on the slim yard with one hand up in the rigging. a.s.signed to Melville by Hans, up until now the captain and his c.o.xswain hadn't worked together. The c.o.xswain was a petty officer with other duties, who was pulled out to command the captain's boat crew as needed, to serve as the captain's personal bodyguard during combat, and to accept other duties as the captain saw fit. An ill-tempered, ill-faced, shrewish man named Ulrich, he was quick as a gra.s.shopper and mean as a mantis. A perpetual suspicious expression was as much a part of his equipment as the pistols, knives, and a wicked little short sword that hung from his belt.

In private Hans confessed to one of his old petty officer cronies that, "I've never known a real rat-pizzened, murderous little killer of a hater who would talk like 'at man, think like 'at man, move like 'at man, even shoot like 'at man. 'E's tailor made ta save our innercent young captin's life, dam me if 'e ain't."

Melville was convinced that Hans had inflicted Ulrich on him as punishment for promoting the old CPO to "ossifer" rank. There were many angry men in the world. Fielder was angry when the world didn't go his way, which was most of the time. Broadax was angry at the enemy, and let them know it. But Ulrich was just flat p.i.s.sed at everybody and everything, and was itching for the opportunity to let the world know it. Fielder would run from a fight if he could. Broadax would run toward a fight whenever she could. Ulrich was the fight, and now he belonged to Melville, like a pet pit bull who couldn't be trusted around the children.

Like the rest of the crew, Ulrich carried a monkey, but it seemed to be a mangy, discreditable, sullen example of the species, always looking suspiciously over its shoulder. His monkey carried a wooden belaying pin, which was now standard-issue. But this was the only monkey to also wield a small dagger, carried in one paw with an air of casual insolence that seemed to reflect its master's att.i.tude perfectly.

As they approached, they could see a widely s.p.a.ced ring of Guldur 24-pounder frigates, Fang's sister s.h.i.+ps, firing into the melee from a distance. On the Guldur side the main battle was being conducted by a fleet of the curs' 12-pounder frigates, which were poorly constructed versions of their old Kestrel. They were mixing it up with a combined Sylvan and Stolsh fleet defending the Pier. Once the defending fleet was finished, the 24-pounder frigates could move in and eliminate the 12-pound guns on the enemy Pier with impunity.

"Aye, Hans," said Melville, handing his coffee cup down to be refreshed by McAndrews and sweetened by the steward's monkey, "there is one serious battle brewing out there. We'll cut through the gap between those two 24-pounder s.h.i.+ps. I'll delay raising our flag as long as I can. Once they fire at us we'll hoist the Westerness flag and we'll play long bowls with them. When we cut into the main battle I don't think we can avoid a close-in exchange with those 24-pounder frigates that are engaging the Sylvans and Stolsh." He flashed a feral grin as he continued, "We'll see how they like those 24-pounders at close range. So, as soon as they open fire we hoist the colors and put up all sail."

"Aye, sir," said Hans, mirroring his captain's grin. "As soon as they fire, we hoist the flag and hang out all the laundry. Win I do that, y'll see my 'p.i.s.s da resistance' y'will, sir. I been savin' it, I 'ave."

"Good." The cold caused steam to waft up from the fresh hot coffee in his mug. He breathed the warm steam in deeply as he lifted it up for a sip and then continued, "I'll go down and have one last talk with Fang, and then we're as ready as we can be." As the young captain headed down, Hans began to relay the orders through the foremast speaking tube that ran from the upper crosstrees to where the bosun waited at the lower crosstrees.

So it was that the entire s.h.i.+p stood ready. Even the few remaining much-persecuted and oppressed mice, rats, roaches and other, more exotic, vermin knew that something was afoot. Through the white Moss that coated most of the s.h.i.+p's wood, every creature could feel the eagerness of their s.h.i.+p to be at battle.

They approached the battle around Ambergris' Upper Pier, pulling between the two distant 24-pounder Guldur frigates. Melville had all the gun crews run their pieces in and out a few times to loosen their muscles, and then they waited to see what the Guldur would do. They didn't have to wait long. The flanking s.h.i.+ps both ran up a recognition signal consisting of two red flags, combined with firing a single gun. The response was probably some combination of flags and guns, so Melville had their signal yeoman act as though the lines were fouled, a stratagem to buy them a few more minutes.

When no responding flag came up, both enemy s.h.i.+ps fired another gun for emphasis, but still no response came from the stranger in their midst, except for more fussing with the lines. The tension built as they pa.s.sed the nearest point between the two s.h.i.+ps, hoping they wouldn't fire on a s.h.i.+p that was so clearly one of their own, even if it didn't know the recognition signals. But the Guldur were slaves to a harsh master, and they would gun down a fellow s.h.i.+p if that was what their orders said to do. Suddenly the s.h.i.+p to their right fired in earnest, and two 24-pound b.a.l.l.s came at them, one above and one below the plane of Flatland, which was now a swirl of green, blue and white from the world beneath them. Then the enemy s.h.i.+p on their left did the same.

The enemy had run two guns to the forward ports, and two guns to the rear, covering all bases, as it were. In this way they could bring two of the big 24-pounders to bear, one above and one below, in every direction. The enemy's forward guns had been taking longshots at the melee in front of them.

Everyone aboard Fang watched the two enemy s.h.i.+ps fire at them with a careful eye, especially Mr. Barlet, their gunner. He looked with scorn and disgust as the two upper-side b.a.l.l.s went wide. Word came through from the speaking tube that on the lower side one round had torn through some lower-side rigging, doing minimal damage, and the other had been a clean miss. As soon as the enemy fired, the flag of Westerness, a brilliant pinwheel galaxy on deep blue, was run up the main.

McAndrews, his steward, had found some tea and some lemon on Pearl, bless him. So Melville was now standing on his quarterdeck with a steaming mug of hot tea in his hand. "Fire as they bear, Mr. Barlet!" called the captain. They were out of range of the 12-pounders, but a deliberate broadside from their 24-pounders erupted from each side. If four guns per side, two above and two below, qualified as a broadside. > "Cha-DOO-OOM-OOM-OOM!!" > and a flas.h.i.+ng stab came from each gun combined with the concussion, the shriek of the deadly recoil, and a smell like ozone in the air as though they were discharging lightning bolts, accompanied by a copper taste in the mouth. The crews, most of them stripped to the waist, many with kerchiefs around their heads, remained intent on the loading, not watching the fall of the shot. It was deadly serious business. Checking the recoil, ramming home the new ball and running the ton of wood and metal back up against its port with a "blam!" while the gun's captain followed the strike of the ball and aimed the gun for the new strike. Throughout it all, the shrouds vibrated and the decks trembled with fierce joy.

Everyone who wasn't intent on loading guns or rigging sail cheered as they watched their b.a.l.l.s. .h.i.t home. At this range the gun captains weren't able to direct exactly where in the enemy s.h.i.+p the round would strike, but hanging over the gun on their platforms they were able to aim with deadly accuracy, and they were well enough bonded with their guns to mentally a.s.sist in directing the strike of the shot. Every 24-pound ball hit the enemy. Most punched through the enemy's sails and rigging. A few hit their hulls, causing the s.h.i.+ps to shudder and sending a cloud of debris into the air.

At the same time, Hans and his topmen hung out all the "laundry." Fresh unbleached white studdingsails, royals, and spritsail-topsail bloomed into position beside the other, yellowed, older sails. His "p.i.s.s da resistance" was a set of royal studdingsails, and then a handkerchief-sized moonsail above the royals. Which may have been a bit "over the top," as Melville observed, but surely stirred the heart of any creature that ever sailed the endless seas of Flatland. The s.h.i.+p surged forward with the kind of speed the curs never imagined it could achieve, just as Fang's second broadside cut loose from each side.

> "Cha-DOOM-OOM-OOM-OOM!" > Again the 24-pound b.a.l.l.s sunk home, only one from the red-side missing, as rigging and masts began to tumble and collapse on the enemy s.h.i.+ps. Melville called over the speaking tube to Fielder on the lower quarterdeck, "Mr. Fielder! How do they fall?" and then put his ear to the tube.

Faintly he heard Fielder in a tone he'd never heard from the sour first officer. "Ha! Take that you sons...o...b..i.t.c.hes! Play long bowls with us, will you! Ambush our s.h.i.+p will you!"

Melville grinned grimly and repeated into the tube, "Mr. Fielder! How do they fall?" and again put his ear to the mouthpiece.

"One miss from the red-side on the first broadside, looks like one miss from the green-side on the second. The curs have masts and rigging falling like rain around their ears!"

"Good!" They were pulling quickly away from the two enemy s.h.i.+ps as Melville ordered, "Give them one more, then rest the crews and direct your attention to the front."

"Aye, sir!"

One last volley, again mostly striking home, with no response from the enemy. They were moving far enough ahead that the guns could not swing back to bear on the enemy, so Melville called out, "Avast firing," as the last gun fired. "Load and run them up. Now take a breather. Well done, s.h.i.+pmates!" The quartermaster immediately relayed each command through the speaking tube to the lower side quarterdeck.

Men and Guldur all straightened, grinning at each other. The humans glistened with sweat, the Guldur's tongues hung out as they panted. Most went to the scuttleb.u.t.ts for a long, gasping drink.

They watched as the enemy s.h.i.+ps desperately slacked sail to balance the thrust from above and below. Both s.h.i.+ps were dead in the water as their crews scrambled to make repairs.

Melville continued, in a voice suited for the battle deafness of the hands, "Now s.h.i.+pmates, here is the real test. We are going to cut through that ma.s.s of s.h.i.+ps before us, cutting straight for the Pier and firing at every Guldur s.h.i.+p that comes in range."

"Dear G.o.d, there's a lot of Guldur s.h.i.+ps out there," muttered Melville's clerk beside him.

"Aye," replied Melville, then, to himself, and to the quarterdeck in general. . . .

"Shall I retreat from him, from clash of combat?

No, I will not. Here I'll stand,

though he should win; I might just win, myself;

the battle G.o.d's impartial,

dealing death to the death-dealing man."

That drew grim smiles from his men, and they sailed on, into the ma.s.s of Guldur 12-pounder frigates that were battling the defenders on the Pier and the small Sylvan and Stolsh fleet that was a.s.sisting in the defense. These few defenders were all that protected the citizens of Ambergris from the brutal tyranny of the Guldur.

On high-tech or mid-tech worlds an invading force, with its technology limited by the strange dynamics of Flatland, could seldom do more than occupy or destroy the Pier. But Ambergris was a thriving low-tech world, with two major cities centered around the two Piers. The invading force already controlled one Pier. If they conquered the second Pier, the people stood little chance against the Guldur's mighty armada and its countless troops.h.i.+ps. The enemy would also have secured an important base of operations close to the major Sylvan world of Osgil.

The 24-pounder Guldur s.h.i.+ps they'd engaged were already within range of the battle, and now so was Fang. But at this distance Melville couldn't discern friend from foe in the swirling ma.s.s of s.h.i.+ps in front of him, and he wanted to give his men a breather. Best to use this time for planning and coordination, rather than fire blindly into that mess.

He called out from the quarterdeck rail, "Gun captains, battery commanders, and sailing master rally on me! Lieutenant Broadax, you too," he said, looking down to his left where the marines waited in reserve. "Quartermaster, relay the command to the lower side, and ask the bosun and the first officer to come as well." As an afterthought, remembering that Petreckski was in charge of the lower reserve he added, "And the purser also."

"Aye, sir, gun captains, battery commanders, bosun, purser and first officer to the upper quarterdeck."

"Good. Mr. Ngobe," he continued, turning to the mids.h.i.+pman by his side, "Go quickly to the carpenter and ask him to come to the upper quarterdeck."

"Aye, sir," replied the boy with puppylike eagerness. His excitement and pleasure at their success was infectious, and brought a smile to Melville's lips.

Within minutes, his key leaders were present with him on the quarterdeck. "Just at the outer limit of 12-pounder range is when we will open fire." He was speaking to the leaders, but he knew that many others were listening. "From that range every 24-pounder should be able to get solid hits on their hulls, and even have a fair chance of hitting their Keel and sinking them, like they almost did to our Kestrel."

He continued with a feral grin, "My friends, we are entering into a 'target-rich' environment." That brought a lot of smiles. "In the absence of any other instructions, you're free to fire at the closest enemy in your sights, and keep on firing. Be sure they're enemy, and then hammer them mercilessly."

He continued, looking at Hans and his bosun, "I intend to yaw to bring the red-side to bear first, then the green-side. I want a spanker and a jib ready to aid in rapid movement." That brought a grin from old Hans; he loved nothing better than fancy sailing. Melville smiled back. "We'll use them to bring our broadsides to bear as needed. With our superior guns and superior aiming, we should be able to sink several of the enemy s.h.i.+ps. We will repay them, manyfold, for our Kestrel!" That got a cheer, then he concluded, "Quickly now, back to your stations, and when we open fire the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds won't know what hit them!"

Minutes later everyone was at their stations. The swirling confusion of battle began to sort itself out into individual s.h.i.+ps as they drew nearer. Melville could see two Guldur s.h.i.+ps directly in front of him, their flanks exposed, sending thunderous broadsides into a Sylvan s.h.i.+p. Hans gave him a thumbs-up to indicate that the topmen were ready, and Melville gave the command to yaw to the green-side, his left, in order to bring the red-side batteries to bear on the enemy.

Suddenly, above and below, a jib and a spanker appeared. These were sails that ran roughly parallel to the main axis of the s.h.i.+p, directing their thrust to the side. The spanker extended out from their rear and was oriented to catch the downward "wind" of two-s.p.a.ce to pull the stern to the red-side, Melville's right. The jib extending out to their front was oriented to pull the bow to the green-side, or Melville's left. The result was a rapid "left turn," combined with considerable slowing of forward motion.

"Fire as they bear!" called Melville. The quartermaster echoed his command into the speaking tube, and the 12-pounders came on target first as the s.h.i.+p spun. His command was answered by a steady, > "CHOOM!" > and > "CHOOM!" >, from the smaller cannons, and then > "Cha-DOOM!!" > and > "Cha-DOOM!!" > from the great guns.

She reached our range. Our broadside rang,

Our heavy pivots roared;

And shot and sh.e.l.l, a fire of h.e.l.l,

Against her sides we poured.

The men cheered as two 24-pound b.a.l.l.s punched holes in the enemy's hull, sending a cloud of debris into the air. One of the two 12-pounders, firing at the extreme end of their range, also made a hit on the enemy's hull. Through the speaking tube the lower side reported similar damage to the enemy.

"Bring the green-side to bear!" shouted Melville to Hans. Then, to the gundeck, "Green-side batteries serve the same s.h.i.+p again, I want to sink the b.a.s.t.a.r.d!"

Again the quartermaster echoed his command into the speaking tube, the s.h.i.+p spun, and once again the guns rang out with joy and malice, above and below. Somewhere within the enemy s.h.i.+p the bracing for the mainmast gave way, and it began to fall, slewing the enemy s.h.i.+p around and bringing her dead in the water. She wasn't sunk yet, but it was time to deal with the other.

This time they were slightly closer, as they took a series of slow "S" curves toward the enemy. Their cannonb.a.l.l.s wrought even more damage on the enemy, sending two of their cannon flying like matchsticks and dropping masts and rigging around their heads. But now the Guldur were returning fire, and a few of the enemy's 12-pound b.a.l.l.s were punching through Fang's sails and rigging. One punched a hole in the green-side upper bow.

The red-side came to bear again, making a shambles of the same enemy, but still the Guldur fired back. The Sylvan s.h.i.+p the enemy had been attacking was now relatively free from fire and they rapidly moved out of harm's way, traveling in a wide arc and scrambling to make repairs as they went.

Now the green-side hammered the enemy at close range, close enough that the enemy was able to get a volley of canister into them at the same time, dropping several of Fang's crew members from their guns and bringing several sailors plummeting down from the rigging. But this was the volley Melville had been waiting and hoping for. Through some combination of luck and skill Fang sent a ball straight through the enemy's Keel. Almost instantly the s.h.i.+p began to "sink" into Flatland, entering inexorably, silently into the cold hard vacuum of s.p.a.ce. The only sound was the bloodcurdling, horrifying screams of the doomed crew.

Now the enemy s.h.i.+p that they'd wounded first was regaining headway and sending fire into their red-side as they progressed toward the Pier. The red-side batteries gave this s.h.i.+p their undivided attention. The enemy s.h.i.+p spun around, out of control and unable to bring any guns to bear.

Now, for the first time, Melville's four 12-pounders in the stern, two above and two below, could come to bear. They began to hammer the enemy as Fang drew away. The Sylvan s.h.i.+p they'd rescued came around in a long arc, firing at the enemy s.h.i.+p as they went, and then joined in behind Fang, forming a two-s.h.i.+p line of battle.

"Mr. Ngobe!"

"Aye, sir," answered the eager mids.h.i.+pman.

"Run down to the carpenter, and ask him for a report on the condition of our Keel, and the bracings for our masts." These were the foundations of the s.h.i.+p, hidden below decks. Their condition was an important factor in his coming decisions.

"Aye, sir!" said the boy over his shoulder as he scampered down the quarterdeck ladder.

Now there were two cl.u.s.ters of s.h.i.+ps slugging it out in front of them, one to the left and one a little farther to the right. Melville charted a course between them and began to fire on the enemy as they came to bear. In a few minutes they'd sunk another enemy s.h.i.+p and crippled two more. They had also picked up another allied s.h.i.+p in their ad hoc line of battle. But the enemy was pounding them hard, and the Guldur s.h.i.+ps kept trying to come around to engage in boarding actions.

Finally, one enemy s.h.i.+p bore down upon them with relentless fury. The red-side gun crews had taken a disproportionate number of casualties, so Melville swung Fang's green-side to fire at the approaching s.h.i.+p, whose prow was filled with eager boarders. The green-side gave a volley, but the enemy came on undaunted.

On, on, with fast increasing speed,

The silent monster came;

Though all our starboard battery