Two Space War Part 8

These words rang in his mind as he stood at the rail of the quarterdeck. His officers behind him, much of his crew before him. They looked at him with a frightening mixture of fear, dread, reproach, and hope. Melville understood that most of them believed he was taking them to their death.

It would be so very easy to bow to the desires of these men. It would be an enormous relief to escape to the world below with these s.h.i.+pmates whom he'd come to know and love. Even if his plan succeeded, many of them would die. If it didn't succeed, then probably all of them would die.

It was hard. So very hard. Truly he was, "One nameless, tattered, broken man." Who was he to send these men to their deaths? Who was he to lead this mighty s.h.i.+p into battle? To be a good leader you must love your men. To do your duty meant you might have to kill that which you loved. In the end, duty was a harsh mistress.

His men stood waiting for him to say something. He didn't disappoint them. "Mr. Aquinar, place the captain's remains atop the ladder." Every eye moved to the b.l.o.o.d.y bundle.

Melville looked over his shoulder at Petreckski questioningly. The purser had served n.o.bly once before. Did he have Words for the crew in this dark hour? His look asked the purser, but it was the purser's alter ego, Brother Theo the monk, who nodded calmly back. Being a.s.sured of the answer ahead of time, Melville formally asked. "Brother Theo, would you say Words for us, our murdered captain, and our fallen comrades?"

Petreckski nodded and stepped forward to the railing. Then he spoke to the crew, once again leading them in Words. In an ancient hymn that tapped deep into the roots, the common heritage of these men. A hymn that reminded them of dark days in eons past, and the Judeo-Christian ethos and the spiritual collective consciousness that had overcome and transcended such sad, dark times.

Once again Brother Theo began, in his clear, pure tenor, and the men joined in.

"Soft as the voice of an angel,

Breathing a lesson unheard,

Hope with a gentle persuasion

Whispers her comforting word:

'Wait till the darkness is over,

Wait till the tempest is done,

Hope for the suns.h.i.+ne tomorrow,

After the shower is gone.'

"Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,

Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice.

"If, in the dusk of the twilight,

Dim be the region afar,

Will not the deepening darkness

Brighten the glimmering star?

Then when the night is upon us,

Why should the heart sink away?

When the dark midnight is over,

Watch for the breaking of day.

"Whispering hope, oh how welcome thy voice,

Making my heart in its sorrow rejoice."

That was it. The funeral service for their fallen, the prayer for their success. Now it was Melville's turn to speak. To speak for their murdered captain, for their s.h.i.+p, and for himself. He looked his men in the eye and paced the rail as he said, "Oh yesterday our little troop was ridden through and through,

Our swaying, tattered pennons fled,

a broken, beaten few,

And all a summer afternoon they hunted us and slew;

But to-morrow,

By the living G.o.d, we'll try the game again!"

Then the young captain gave his orders, and hundreds of men swung into action. Kestrel was going forth to die.

Chapter the 5th.

Approach: The Joy of Courage

Alone amid the battle-din untouched

Stands out one figure beautiful, serene;