Privateer (Alexis Carew Book 5)

by J. A. Sutherland

  He cut off and there was a heart-stopping moment where Alexis watched the image of Osprey, expecting it to disappear, as Osprey was the smallest of the private ships and most vulnerable.

  Then Kingston’s image came back, blocky for a moment, then clearing. His eyes were a bit wider than before and he gripped the plot edge, but straightened.

  “So they know we’ll not hesitate to wipe their … from the surface if need be,” he finished.

  Mongoose shuddered with what felt like a full broadside striking home, the off-gassing jets of vaporized thermoplastic from her hull acting like thrusters in their own right. The images of all the captains went blank.

  She spared a glance for the helm, but Villar was there with Layland, both doing what they could to jink and spin Mongoose out of the line of fire while keeping her on track to make orbit with the others.

  The images came back, all save Lawson’s.

  “We’ve a laser down,” Creasy said, “likely fused by that last.” He tapped at his console. “I’ll reroute through Osprey.”

  “— decided then?” Pennywell was saying. “Ah, thought we’d lost you for good, Carew.”

  “Very nearly, I think,” Alexis said. Villar had moved from the helm to Dorsett’s side at the tactical station, and Dockett was there as well now. The bosun’s face was grim as he nodded to something Villar said. “You were saying we’re decided?”

  The others nodded.

  “Let’s be about it, then.”

  The decision made, Alexis turned her attention to fighting Mongoose.

  Three, no four, of the pirates seemed to be concentrating their fire on her. Two gunboats and two of the merchant hulls — though the latter seemed to not be recent acquisitions, as they had more guns than she’d expect of a merchant.

  Luckily, at least for Mongoose, the second frigate had appeared at L4, far enough past Erzurum that it was no danger to her at the moment. The frigate in orbit had taken enough damage that she was firing only sporadically, and from fewer than half her guns.

  Another broadside from each of us and she’d have gone up like Hind, Alexis thought. Another broadside, another hour, a single bell more.

  She sighed. There was no use thinking what might be different with any of those things. What mattered was the action at hand.

  Mongoose shuddered again.

  “Roll and give that bastard two in his teeth,” she ordered.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The nearest and most aggressive of the pirates was striking them with nearly every shot, but he’d come from L5 and was nearly behind Mongoose. A gunboat trailed him, rolling out of his shadow now and then to fire, then back to the shelter of the other ship.

  Mongoose’s chasers were scoring, as well, but those lighter, fewer guns were a mere nuisance.

  “This will put us off our orbit,” Villar said quietly.

  Alexis nodded. Nearly every maneuver was putting Mongoose, and the other private ships, off their planned orbit and rendezvous, but there was nothing to be done about it. If they bore straight in, they’d be destroyed as they came on — and barely able to fire back, as the pirates were keen about keeping out of the private ships’ firing arcs.

  Already one of the merchantmen and a gunboat were in orbit around Erzurum, having come from the nearby L1 point and taken up a defensive position in reinforcement of the damaged frigate.

  The projection on the navigation plot, constantly updated as each ship maneuvered, showed their coming positions in orbit as more of a scattered handful of ships, rather than the neat, defensive formation they’d agreed upon.

  “Coming about,” Layland said, “rolling now.”

  “Fire as you bear,” Alexis said.

  Creasy passed the order along to Parrill on the gundeck. Hacking was on the bow chasers.

  Mongoose was turned nearly ninety-degrees to her course, stern engines off for a moment, rolling to target the trailing pirates. Each gun was locked down to the deck, its firing angle well-known to the ship’s computer, which was controlling everything but the loading of fresh shot.

  Her port broadside fired, each gun in turn, with minute adjustments made before each by the ship’s computer, a rolling barrage like fireworks, where the path of each shot itself was invisible and one could see only the effect.

  The pirate merchantman was bows on to Mongoose and so close that every shot struck home. Dorsett had laid the crosshairs on the ship’s image well, giving the computer a certain target — just to port of the angled bowsprit, at the very edge of the ship’s sail locker.

  The first shot fused the hatch shut, thermoplastic melting and flowing to seal the port edge. It would take a work crew hours to cut the hatch itself away, along with most of its frame, and install a new one.

  Perhaps less, as the next shot arrived and ensured they’d not have to cut anything away.

  The remainder of the hatch went, exposing the sail locker to vacuum — a tiny puff of air rushed out.

  The third and fourth shot arrived as one, those guns, through some quirk of their aim and the exact distance of the target, convincing Mongoose to fire them together.

  Furled sails, rolled tight and stored to either side of the locker, evaporated, their fine, metal mesh, infused with gallenium, shot of sparks and arcs of light as it went. What bit of the shots’ energy wasn’t spent on the sails made it to the inner hatch — thinner than the outer, meant only to contain vacuum, not the power of two ship’s guns, it went as well.

  Not into vapor, for much of the shots’ energy had been spent on the sails, but molten.

  The tough thermoplastic of the hull was meant to dissipate energy quickly, spreading it out across the thick, wide hull. The airlock’s inner hatch, though, had little enough depth, and what couldn’t transfer through its frame quickly enough sent drops and chunks of the hatch flying about. They cooled quickly, but not quickly enough.

  Men nearest the hatch, those on the foremost guns, died as bits of molten plastic holed their suits and bodies. The gun captains, standing more to the ship’s centerline, caught what remained of the lasers’ energy and were cooked in their vacsuits.

  The next of Mongoose’s guns fired, then the next and next, on down the line.

  The lasers, with nothing to impede them now, shot down the ship’s gundeck turning all in their path to slag or vapor. The thermoplastic of the gundeck’s bulkheads was colored black, as most were, the better to absorb any shot that made it within, but there were always bits.

  A worn hinge on a cot along the center line, showing brightly. A shot cannister on the racks, shiny from racking into a gun’s breach over and over again. A bit of metal on a vacsuit.

  Shot splintered — energy reflecting off those bits before they themselves were vaporized.

  Some splinters struck men, holing suits and burning flesh. Others struck the guns themselves, worst along the crystalline barrels, which splintered the beams even more.

  Mongoose’s guns continued to fire, one after another along the port broadside, turning the other ship’s gundeck into a foggy, melting charnel house.

  Then she rolled, thrusters firing, to bring her starboard broadside to bear.

  The guncrews’ cheers echoed over the quarterdeck speakers even as Mongoose rolled to present her starboard side.

  Alexis’ own smile was tight. They’d raked the bastard, bow to stern, and she could see jets of thermoplastic and even bits of guns flung out through the pirate’s own gunports. She shut down thoughts of what that gundeck must be like, and how many deaths she’d just caused — there’d be time enough for that when her own ship and crew were safe.

  Mongoose began firing again, and the cheers subsided as those guncrews went to work reloading the port broadside. Alexis caressed the edge of the navigation plot, eyes fixed on the target ship.

  There was this about a normal-space action, she supposed. In darkspace, the ship was steered from the helm, the gunners laid their guns, and the gun captains fired on her order. Here, with the ship
deciding the best maneuver, far faster than any of the crew could, it was almost as if the Mongoose herself was part of the crew — responding to her orders as best she could.

  I’ve a guinea for you if that bastard blows, Alexis thought, though what Mongoose might do with it was beyond her. Perhaps a bit of gilt, as a fine guncrew might reward themselves with earrings or new tattoos in port.

  The guns fired, thrusters flared.

  The pirate captain had ordered a turn — too late, and wrong, as well.

  The first broadside had come in along the port edge of the sail locker, traversing the gundeck at a bit of an angle, port to starboard.

  His turn was to port — perhaps he’d misread the angles, perhaps it was his normal evasion, perhaps he thought to bring his starboard broadside to bear on Mongoose and give her a taste in return. Whatever his reason, the turn reduced the oncoming ship’s angle to Mongoose to nothing, if only for an instant.

  Mongoose’s starboard broadside flashed out, gun after gun, thrusters firing in between to correct the angle. The rate of fire, and the thrust was far greater than before, as though the ship recognized there was an instant’s opportunity that might not come again. Perhaps she did, for the computer knew to calculate a target’s vulnerabilities as well as Alexis did.

  The crew stumbled, then again, as those thrusters fired at full power, overcoming the ship’s inertial compensators for a moment.

  Shot after shot lashed the length of the pirate’s gundeck, finding little to impede its path after the first broadside. Little until the aft bulkhead and the engineering spaces beyond.

  Unlike the Hind, this ship was dead on to Mongoose, and there were no clouds of vaporized thermoplastic to hide what happened.

  The ship’s stern expanded, the hull splitting, and then seemed to be sucked back in to a growing ball of fire. That fire raced forward, faster than the eye could really see, but the watcher’s minds filled in the bits that couldn’t be comprehended.

  In an instant, where before there was a proper ship and, perhaps, a hundred men, a miniature sun blazed for a time. Mongoose’s gundeck, ports open to vacuum, lit up and men flinched away even as their vacsuits’ faceplates darkened against the glare.

  Sixty-Five

  The guncrews were cheering again, even as they blinked to clear the afterimage from their eyes.

  Mongoose came back to her course, stern toward Erzurum and engines firing to slow her for orbit. The time to fire had taken a toll and the plot showed it, Mongoose would miss her planned rendezvous in orbit, overshoot the planet by a bit, and have to come back to meet it.

  It was worth it, though, to have done away with at least one of the enemy. Two, for a time, at least, as the trailing gunboat had put about angled away from Mongoose’s path, not wanting to continue pursuit so closely now that her larger consort had been destroyed.

  Alexis and Villar hunched over the plot.

  “Is there a way to correct, do you think?” Villar asked.

  Alexis shook her head. Even with every bit of thrust the conventional drive could manage, they were still going to overshoot the planet. Overshoot, out past the ships coming in from the other side, and be left amidst the pirates coming on from that direction, including the second frigate.

  “Loop here,” Villar asked, “around the moon and then back behind them?”

  Alexis frowned. The plot said it might be possible, just barely. But that would put them farther from the planet and the rest of the private ships — alone against whichever of the pirates might choose to attack them. It would also deprive the other ships of Mongoose’s boats and men in their attack on the surface, and that might make the difference.

  “No, we’ll have to accept being under fire for a time — the only hope the full force has is if we can take enough of the key bits on Erzurum to force the pirate force to back off. Without that, there’s little to bargain with and they’ll simply stand off and pound us all to bits.”

  Villar took a deep breath. “It’ll be a heavy pounding, with most of the crew off in the boats and not manning the guns.”

  Alexis nodded. “Creasy?”

  “Aye, sir?”

  “My compliments to Mister Dockett, and I’d admire did he speak to the Engineer about a bit more thrust to the drives.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “We’ll be the closest target for that frigate for nearly ten minutes,” Villar said.

  “Have the landing forces ready themselves and the boats. They’ll be off shortly.”

  In the end, it was not the second frigate that they were to worry about, but the first.

  Mongoose was ahead of nearly all the other private ships, set to flash by the planet, no matter the extra bits Dockett and the engineer had managed to eke from her drives.

  The first frigate, the one which had been in orbit all along and been battered to near submission by the private ships, came around in her orbit. Guns fired, taking aim at the nearest, easiest target.

  One found an engine nozzle, destroying it and throwing off Mongoose’s thrust, so that the ship’s course began to skew wildly. Another found a weak spot in the folded rudder, perhaps where a pirate gunboat had once done some damage and where the repair was weaker than the rest. The next broke through that spot, exposing the ship’s stern, and the rest, whether on target or only near misses, were enough.

  Mongoose’s quarterdeck went dark.

  Alarms screeched through the darkness for a moment before emergency lighting came on, dim and stuttering as the ship shook from hit after hit. The jerking about caused by the skewed thrust stopped, but that was no relief, for its end meant that there was no thrust at all. The darkness and alarms told the story.

  “Power’s out!” Creasy called. “Engineering’s breached.”

  “A report on the damage, Mister Villar!”

  “Aye, sir!”

  Villar made to dash off, lifted from the deck, and then grunted as Alexis grasped his arm and dragged him back down. With the ship’s power out, there was no artificial gravity and they were reliant on the magnets in their vacsuit boots to stay on the deck.

  Villar grunted again, this time pushing off properly and sailing toward the hatch. Layland went there as well, his own controls dead as the rest, to help Villar open the hatch by hand.

  Alexis glanced around. They were helpless, blind and helpless for the plot and all the quarterdeck consoles were dark. There was little she could do until she knew the extent of the damage, though. The engineer might restore power in a moment’s time if it were only cables cut and not a true SCRAM — a full shutdown of the plant. Or the plant itself might be breached by the next shot and they’d all become part of a miniature sun to echo that of the pirate they’d only recently dispatched.

  Minutes dragged on and Alexis followed Villar’s progress in her head. Down the companionway, then aft — there were three, no four, hatches before he made the hatch to engineering and the airlock there.

  Mongoose shook again as she was struck by fire. Not to the stern again, she thought, given how they all jerked about. The altered thrust must have set the ship spinning and that, at least, would keep her from being targeted there.

  The quarterdeck hatch slid open, long before Villar could have made it aft and back, but the sight of him there along with Dockett told her all the story she needed. Dockett must have met him midway with the news.

  “SCRAM,” he said.

  Alexis closed her eyes.

  “Get the men to the boats.”

  Most of the crew was already prepared to go aboard the boats for the assault on Erzurum, it was only a matter of passing the word to the rest.

  There was the emergency lighting, of course, which Creasy set to flashing in a way no spacer ever wanted to see, broadcast over suit radios that, thankfully, worked as they were in normal-space, but the word was also passed man to man. Each member of the crew passed the word, making sure those around him heard it, even as they headed for the boats.

  Some were tasked w
ith notifying the remoter areas of the ship, in case even the emergency power was out there and the suit radios didn’t reach. One to Merriwether and his loblolly boys in the orlop, another to the purser, Dursley, where he looked over the hold, to Isom and the other servants huddled near the magazine, and to those in the magazine itself where shot canisters’ capacitors were charged. Others had the chore of moving select supplies from the hold to the boats.

  Alexis stood near the hatch to her own boat, grasping arms and ticking off names in her head as her boat crew and others passed — Naval tradition of officers being first-on and first-off a ship’s boat told to bugger itself. She couldn’t be at every boat, nor search the entire ship herself, but she’d see those assigned here were all aboard.

  Nabb came to her side, not in line to board.

  “Have you seen Isom?” Alexis asked.

  Nabb shook his head.

  Alexis cursed under her breath. Isom and the other servants should have been aboard by now. They spent actions in a bit of the hold underneath the magazine. A tight fit, but it was safe — surrounded by the heavy bulkheads of the magazine itself, the engineering spaces aft, and any bits of the retracted keel forward.

  But she’d seen not a one of them.

  “Damn.”

  “I’ll go down to see about them, sir,” Nabb said.

  Mongoose shook and the line of waiting spacers braced themselves, then continued filing into the boat.

  “No,” Alexis said. “You stay with the boat and see everything’s stowed away properly. I’ll see to Isom and the others.”

  “Sir, I —”

  “See to the boat, Nabb!”

  Alexis launched herself away from the docked boat, letting her feet leave the deck and sailing down the companionway to the lower decks, then aft, through the maze of the hold. Midway through, the ship shook mightily and even the emergency lighting flickered for a moment. There was no way of telling where Mongoose was now, nor which of the pirate ships she might be in range of, but someone was clearly still shooting at her.