Grantville Gazette 38 gg-38

by Коллектив Авторов

  The bosun brought the junk in slowly, giving everyone on shore a nice long look at it. The captive Swedes paused in their work for a moment, while their captors gaped at the brightly painted boat approaching . The captors had set up a grass-roofed rest area in the middle of the long dock; several sailors loafing there began making their way out to the T-shaped end they were pulling up to, pointing their bow to the left, with their right side facing the shore. This position gave the deck gun a range sweeping the entire dock as well as most of the anchored warship's side. Pam saw that Annalise and Ide were still anchored out, well away from easy reach by any would-be escapees. The bosun, silently guiding the crew manning the sheets with gestures alone, skillfully piloted Second Chance Bird up against the dock with a light groan of timber.

  He had wisely chosen their position, lateral to the shore. This move gave them a big tactical advantage, their hidden deck gun as well as their Chinese cannons had a clear sweep of the entire dock and shoreline, including the warship tied up stern out to their right some twenty yards inland. At last they could read its name, the Effrayant. Tied up just past its bow, the much smaller and badly damaged Muskijl floated, mostly hidden behind Effrayant's massive bulk. Hopefully, if cannon fire started, her crew was imprisoned aboard that vessel rather than the enemy's. Down the left side of the dock the slave-master's menacingly graceful lateen-rigged crafts were tied up in a line, looking like a scene from out of the Arabian Nights. All their guns would have a lovely, clean shot at them, Pam smiled to herself.

  Five sailors, who Pam noted were armed with what looked like flintlock side arms, had arrived at the end of the dock and were shouting at them. Pam was pretty sure they were ordering them to leave and smiled to herself again, because that was not going to happen. Several of the African slave-masters began to venture towards them from the beach but the sailors waved at them to stay back. The Africans were obviously very curious about the newcomers, and did so reluctantly. It was now completely clear as to who was running this operation, and the guilt fell on the renegades.

  Not for the first time, Pam felt sickened by the horrors mankind could inflict on each other for a profit. She knew there had been slave-owners in her own ancestry, amongst the Virginians on her mother's side; the very idea disgusted her, but she still tried not to think of these men as monsters. These were terrible times she had been thrust into. She knew that she would likely have to do things on this day and in the days to come that would have utterly appalled the old mild-mannered Pam Miller; there was nothing for it but to accept that, and act as she thought best. She would try to minimize loss of life on all sides, but deep down in her gut she laughed at her own naivete. You're a killer now, Pam Miller, and you're gonna do it again! Admit you like it, you love the power! an inner voice teased her. She shook her head sharply , almost dislodging the ridiculous turban nesting there. Exercising another new trait, a surprisingly strong force of will-power, she made herself concentrate on the events unfolding in front of her. There would be plenty of time for probing self-analysis of the demons she had let loose in herself later; right now she was too damn busy leading a hostage rescue mission, thank you very much! I'm one of the good guys damn it, just let me work!

  The men of the Second Chance Bird remained stoically silent as the sailors noisily gesticulated at them. It was agreed that Gerbald would do all the talking and that time hadn't come yet. Completely disregarding the protests of the lowly dock crew, Gerbald waved his hand lazily, signaling the disguised Swedes to throw lines at the surprised sailors, who now found themselves tying the junk up to the dock despite themselves. Now, Gerbald regally motioned that he was ready to disembark. Two of their strongest men climbed over the rail and waited on the dock, ignoring the confused and increasingly nervous sailors gesturing frantically at them to stay on-board their vessel. The palanquin was lowered gently into their care, passed down by two more men stationed on the junk's narrow step-ledge halfway between the rail and the rough-hewn, uneven planks below.

  Watching the scene unfold as scheduled, Pam fingered her pistol in the leather holster Gerbald had made for it, hidden under a sash at her hip, awaiting the worst. She had tried to make Gerbald give it to one of the men going onto the dock, but he had insisted, saying that she was a better shot than most of them and it was best she have it just in case things went badly. She prayed fervently that it would not prove necessary. That new and rather disturbing part of her that had appeared in recent days was darn glad to have it. Pam rolled her eyes to the heavens, thinking that it was bad enough to be going into a conflict without being conflicted about it to boot.

  Now, the disguised Swedes had begun passing the various prepared offerings down to the dock. This caused the sailors to cease their frantic fussing and become very interested in the arriving packages accompanying their bizarre visitors. They whispered amongst themselves loudly, pointing at the brightly-colored wooden boxes. They were especially interested in the barrels and casks, perhaps they had run out of whatever rotgut a sea-dog prefers?

  Once the entire shore party was assembled on the dock, Gerbald harrumphed loudly for attention. He pointed at the sailors and commanded in a deep, resonant voice, "Sous Capitan!" The sailors just stood there staring at him, wondering what they should do, and not even quite sure that they had just heard the leader of these strange folk say something in French. Gerbald repeated the order forcefully and added a jabbing pointing finger. "SOUS CAPITAN!" Then, with a sweep of his arms to their "gifts" he said "Sous Capitan!" in a cordial tone, while smiling graciously. Acting as if everyone had understood him perfectly he clapped his hands twice and folded them across his chest, waiting expectantly for the men to get moving.

  A brief discussion followed, after which the fellow who was apparently the highest-ranking of the group shook his head in resignation, and sent one of his men to go find their captain. Seeing this, Gerbald let out a loud grunt and the palanquin began following the messenger, the rest of the men gathering up packages and following. This caused a fresh hail of protests from the sailors, but they didn't reach for their guns, and now found themselves reluctantly escorting the determined strangers toward their own ship.

  Pam started to laugh at their consternation, a kind of giddy, hysterical laugh, but forced herself to stop.

  "Thank God, it's working so far. Please let us pull this off, please!" she prayed under her breath, joined by Dore doing the same in German. Pam looked over to see the bosun standing by the men assigned to man the gun on the foredeck. If that kind of shooting started, Gerbald's group had orders to hit the deck and hope the cannon shot sailed safely over them. The fancifully high decks of the junk looked tall enough, but Pam really didn't want to put that to the test. She hunkered down behind the rail, and used her scope to see what was going on ashore.

  Up on the hillside she could see women working in the fields, while their men were busy constructing the town and fortress walls growing along the beach. Apparently, the renegades and their allies intended to make this a long term base, and why not? They had free labor and plenty of supplies from the captured colonists. This would be a golden opportunity for an enterprising corsair to create a little kingdom here. During her research for the journey Pam had read about pirate havens sprouting up on Madagascar and Isle St. Marie off to their west in the century to come. She wondered now if rather than being a plot of the hostile French government, perhaps up-time tales of lucrative piracy in the 1700s had inspired this bunch to start the game on their own a century early. "Well, here comes a little wrench in that plan, mes amis," she hissed, scowling coldly.

  The palanquin was now a few yards away from the Effrayant's long, steep gangplank. The procession came to a stop at The Great Khan Gerbald's raised hand. They wanted to be close enough to storm the enemy ship if they must, but still have some room to duck if it came to cannon fire. Gerbald waited with an impatient expression as several officer types emerged from a shady spot on the ship's main deck and began yelling at the men on the dock below. T
hese yelled back, again with much gesturing, recounting the story so far. After a minute, the yelling stopped and the original welcoming committee stepped quietly back, relieved that their superiors were coming to deal with the problem. Gerbald took this opportunity to announce his intentions to the officers. "Sous Capitan!" he bellowed in a voice full of generosity and good cheer, sweeping his arm extravagantly toward the enticing boxes his servants bore.

  After another long moment of consternation, one of the officers nudged another, likely sending that one off to fetch the captain. The man had a decidedly unenthusiastic expression on his face, which Pam thought probably spoke volumes about the personality of the captain. After a few minutes, and a bit of angry shouting emanating from the captain's cabin, a grouchy looking fellow came swaggering out to the rail with an expensive looking sword at his belt and a many-plumed fancy hat on his roundish head. He looked annoyed, but couldn't hide some interest as he squinted at the odd-looking envoy assembled below. The officer who had stayed at the rail announced with proper respect, if little love, "Capitan Leonce Toulon de Aquitane!" while the sour-faced man paused in what he must think was a heroic pose. Pam thought he bore more than a slight resemblance to your average Hollywood Captain Hook, and fought back a snicker. Sometimes it all just seemed unreal to her, and she had to remember that their lives were very much in danger, even from such an unlikely looking character as this.

  "Capitan! Gerbald exclaimed with glee "Por vous, pour vous! Mon ami! allez, allez."

  Pam silently thanked whatever accident of the cosmos had ensured that a citizen of Grantville was in possession of the complete Hogan's Heroes on VHS when they got sucked through the Ring of Fire, thus allowing the voice of Corporal Louis LeBeau to emanate from another universe. Gerbald's fractured Francais was outrageously funny to hear, plus it was working.

  The captain cocked his head at the insistent potentate who had so unexpectedly appeared, but favored him with a thin smile. Giving those gathered a curt nod, he stalked down the gangplank, followed by his chief officers. Pam whistled softly in relief, so far so good. Dore frantically took hold of one of Pam's shaking hands, pushing all the blood out of it with a single squeeze. The men of the Second Chance Bird stood perfectly still, a set of bronze statues in the late afternoon sun.

  The sneering officers, certainly no real gentlemen, but pirates through and through, stepped primly onto the dock. They sauntered confidently over to Gerbald and his men, all of whom bowed deeply in unison at Gerbald's unspoken cue. This pleased the officers greatly. They smiled and chuckled to themselves, smug in their superiority. Gerbald the Great Khan graciously swept his arms once more toward the gathered gifts. With an openly condescending nod of acceptance to Gerbald, the captain bent down to open one of the boxes. This was filled with some of the treasure they had found aboard the junk, and a gleam of avarice came to the captain's scheming eyes. His officers bent down as well, opening up other boxes to find more of the same. As they became engrossed in the windfall the odd- looking visitors began to surround them, cutting them off from the nearby sailors.

  Chapter Forty-One: All Hell Breaks Loose

  One of those sailors realized what was happening, and pushed the nearest visitor out of the way as he tried to rejoin his captain, one hand on the back of the disguised Swede's neck. His hand slipped off the sweaty skin and with an expression of astonishment he held up his palm to show that it was stained the same shade of orange-yellow. There was a moment of silence as everyone stared at him.

  "The jig is up," Pam sighed to Dore, her heart sinking.

  The man with the stained hand began to shout at the top of his lungs, presumably to rouse reinforcements. Pam realized the Swede he had pushed was actually Lojtnant Lundkvist. Thanks to their disguises it was hard to tell them apart at this distance. The Lojtnant calmly produced a very sharp sword from within his loose silk cloak and stopped the shouts by slicing the man's throat wide open. He pushed the corpse backward to fall into the other sailors who had started to follow him. These now hesitated at the sight of so much blood. Even so, it was too late. An alarm bell began to sound on the Effrayant. Within moments, around forty surly-looking marines surged onto the deck from various quarters, all armed to the teeth. The Swedes were now well outnumbered.

  "Christ, they have a freaking army with them!" Pam exclaimed. She thought fast, ignoring her terror.

  "Carronade! Sweep that deck," she screamed at the top of her lungs. Her men were ready for that signal and all of them dropped to the deck. Gerbald leaped from his palanquin, and knocked over the captain on his way down, it having been decided they wanted to keep that one alive if they could. The other officers, realizing what was happening, flung themselves down to the deck as well. The bosun swept the cover off the carronade and aimed it directly at the marines heading toward their gangplank. Not a second later its load of anti-personnel shot sprayed death across the Effrayant's deck. At least half the enemy fell dead or dying to the deck, their moans of agony awful to hear. Still, that left at least twenty, who hurried across the gang plank or swung to the dock on ropes.

  Knowing it would take time for the bosun to reload, Lundkvist and his Swedish marines, who had mostly been stationed near the front of the procession, leaped back to their feet and opened fire on the advancing soldiers, along with any sailors who had dared to draw their arms. Pam gasped as a musket ball hit the Lojtnant, shattering half of his left knee in an explosion of blood and white bone chips. He started to fall but was held up by two of his men, who continued to fire their uptime-make pistols into the charging soldiers even as they dragged him backwards to the line the men around Gerbald were forming. Stunned by the amazing rate of fire, the soldiers quailed long enough for the Lojtnant to reach safety before finding their courage and mounting a charge. The marines swiftly closed with the Swedes, who were making a stand, and the dock rang with the clang and crash of close quarters sword fighting.

  Meanwhile, Gerbald had pulled out his Snake Charmer, and had the nasty little shotgun pointed directly at the captain's head. The rest of the palanquin bearers had their swords and pistols aimed at the prone officers. The prisoners were quickly relieved of their weapons while the Swedes tightly bound their hands behind them and tied their ankles together; they wouldn't be going anywhere for a while. The captain was pulled roughly to his feet by the Swedes, the double mouths of Gerbald's shotgun-pistol jammed into the back of his neck. This group fell all the way back to the Second Chance Bird with their captives. Pam could hear Gerbald loudly taunt the captain over the din of combat.

  "Surprise, surprise, surprise!" Gerbald exclaimed cheerfully in his best Gomer Pyle imitation, the skill of which would sadly be lost on the captive captain. "I'll bet you speak English better than I do French, eh, mon capitan? Well, don't you?" Gerbald gave the trembling man a little shove against the cheek with the barrels of his weapon. "Speak up, quickly! German will also do," he added in his native tongue.

  "I speak English. What do you want, you stinking buffoon?"

  Gerbald smiled broadly at the insult, respecting the man's courage for uttering it before slapping him so hard across the face that the man fell to the ground and had to be lifted up again. Now Gerbald brought his face within a few inches of the captain's, and his voice turned as cold as Germany's winter skies.

  "Call your dogs off, now! If they don't surrender immediately I will take great pleasure in killing you, you son of a jackal. I may yet. It's best to do as I say. Understand? Now tell them, tell them if you want to live!"

  Pam suppressed a groan, she could hear The Terminator loud and clear in that last line. We really do need to get him an acting job someday, he has truly missed his calling.

  "Yes, yes, I will do it," the captain cried, cowed by Gerbald's menacing presence. With panic in his eyes he began to scream orders. Some of the enemy paused at the sound of his words, but the battle continued. Pam saw to her horror that two Swedish marines had fallen to the dock's knotted planks, undoubtedly beyond help. Even so,
their side's weaponry was superior. The dock was littered with renegade corpses, rivers of blood running off the edge to make crimson waterfalls, expanding into billowing red clouds in the clear waters below. The captain continued to order his troops to stand down and slowly the combat ground to a halt.

  Pam had been so caught up with the action nearby that she had completely forgotten about the colonists. She looked to the shore to see that they had another problem. Two dozen of the African slavers had arrived, each wielding a nasty looking scimitar. They were running down the dock, straight toward Second Chance Bird.

  "Gerbald, look!"

  "Tell them to stop!" he ordered the captured captain. The captain shouted hoarsely at the charging men but they ignored him, blood-lust flashing in their dark eyes. The Swedes had formed a circular line around Second Chance Bird's lowest point and were reloading their weapons. The men at the carronade were frantically trying to do the same, but were having some kind of trouble with the weapon. As usual, Murphy's Law was in effect. The bosun's curses echoed loudly around the bay. The enemy marines started to advance again but the terrified wail of their captain made them stop. Never taking their eyes off their first foes, the Swedish marines rejoined the rest of the men, and made ready to resume fighting. Obviously against their will, the enemy fighters were backing away toward their own ship, disgusted with their leaders for getting captured so easily, but unwilling to sacrifice them for a certain victory, either. They stepped silently aside as the slavers trampled past them, whooping an eerie war cry.