The three ship's dogs also served with distinction. Distracting, snarling, ripping, biting. In and out with lightning speed, they were as good as any man in the melee. Several marines went down in the midst of the swirling fight in the center. All three ship's dogs went repeatedly into their primary combat mode, standing over a fallen warrior and defending him with their lives.
Their efforts made it possible for several marines to get on their feet and back into battle. Still others limped or crawled back to medical support after a dog's assistance. The price they paid was two dogs who died instantly with tragic yelps of pain. One of the rangers' dogs also went down with a heart piercing yelp, battling at his master's side, his teeth clamped deep into the fish-belly white limb that pierced his lung.
* * *
The strangest event in the battle for the center was when unexpected allies appeared from above. The apes seemed naturally inclined to climb up the tree trunks and attack their opponents from above. They could launch themselves down with devastating fury upon the opponents below. This appeared to be their natural and preferred method of fighting.
One ape succeeded in reaching a tree and climbing with amazing speed five yards up the trunk to where the branches began. He leaped out on a limb and hurled himself down. The marine he landed on died instantly as all six limbs and a mouth simultaneously pierced and assailed his abused body. Several other marines were wounded before the ape could be dispatched with a bayonet thrust.
It's possible that the little company would have died to a man except that, after the first one, every ape who climbed a tree was instantly beset by a throng of little, brown, eight-legged "spider monkeys." From the very beginning of their stay in this world they'd seen these tiny creatures up in the trees of this little grove. They didn't seem to dwell anywhere else.
The servants of Westerness tried to treat them with dignity and respect, as they treated all living creatures. They gained a newfound respect for their upstairs neighbors when the little brown monkeys literally tore the large white invaders into tiny, bloody shreds. Shreds which showered down from above. Nearly a score of the apes died in this grisly manner. Many of the little spider monkeys also came down, hitting the ground with a crunch and a thump of dust.
In the center, where the final volley caused dying opponents to lunge into the line, there were gaps in the hedge of bayonets. Gaps which the enemy exploited. With deployment of the small reserve, at great cost of life and limb, and with a little help from above, the center of the line was stabilized.
Throughout history a hedge of spears or bayonets could generally be counted on to stop a cavalry charge. It's widely believed that no horse ever intentionally charged into a hedge of sharp objects, no matter how badly their riders might desire otherwise. Upon occasion a wounded or dying horse might crash into a line, creating a gap that could be exploited, but it is likely that no healthy horse ever willingly flung itself on a bayonet. The warriors of Westerness hoped the attacking apes would react the same, and they did.
Other than the fluke of creating a gap in the line with a dying horse, the primary way cavalry can defeat infantry is to use their superior mobility to swing around the line. This is what happened on the left flank.
The wings swung back according to plan, precisely as they'd rehearsed it. All battle movements were best rehearsed ahead of time. Even if you had only a short time to prepare, the one thing you always tried to find time for was rehearsing "actions on the objective." And Broadax had days to prepare the defense of this hill.
A navy petty officer and a marine corporal fell back behind each wing to control the movement. On the right, the west wing, Chief Hans kept everything perfectly under control. However, on the left end the line of warriors hesitated for an instant as it pulled back, and a swarm of reeking white apes poured around them. The apes swirled around the flank and over the Pier, like a flurry of snow around the end of a fence.
Private Jarvis was the last marine on the left flank. After him, the line was held by sailors. He had rehearsed this in simulators, but this was no simulation. Simulations could do a lot, but if he lived through this he'd be a real veteran.
His training failed him as the apes began to swirl around the left wing. He forgot to control his breathing. His heart pounded in his chest. He was "ham fisted" and clumsy as he tried to load his musket. Then the battle became a swirling maelstrom of white fur, and red and blue jackets.
Jarvis' tunnel vision was focused down to a "soda straw" as he thrust his bayonet at the ape in front of him. He didn't hear a sound. Cut off, he and the sailors to his left fought back-to-back. He didn't feel the ape's claws rake his shoulder, and he wasn't even aware of it when he wet himself and messed himself.
The only thing that saved Jarvis, and most of his comrades, was the fact that fewer apes were out on the flanks. Once a gap was created most of them ignored the warriors of Westerness and charged straight into the center of the perimeter. Some climbed the trees, where they died at the hands of their tiny cousins. A large group swung all the way around and reached the Pier, where the cutter, Lady Elphinstone and her helpless patient waited.
In the bowels of the beached cutter was Lady Elphinstone, their aid station, and their remaining water. Petreckski became aware of the threat when he heard Elphinstone's two small, single-barreled pistols fire to their rear. In a flash Petreckski turned, sheathed his blade, and picked up two freshly loaded pistols. The midshipmen had just finished ramming a paper cartridge down each barrel, cocking the two hammers and putting two percussion caps in place. He shouted to the middies, "Grab all the pistols! Follow me!"
Cutting through the woods he quickly got a line of fire to the cutter. From here it was still a fairly long pistol shot, perhaps twenty yards. At the east entrance to the cutter two apes had already been dropped by Elphinstone, but at least one other was inside the cutter where Petreckski couldn't get a clear shot at it.
Inside the cutter Lady Elphinstone knelt beside her only patient. He was Glyn Ramano, an unlucky sailor whose chest was crushed in their initial crash landing into this world. Fortunately, none of the wounded on the battle line had been brought back to the aid station yet. Elphinstone's two small pistols dropped the first two apes as they approached the eastern entrance, but now she held only a dagger as yet another came at her.
The ship's cat, perched on a beam above the intruder, launched himself at the ape. Landing on the beast's back, the cat scrambled around the neck to the left, beneath the slavering jaws on top of the head, sinking claws and fangs into the left eye as it peered out from behind the breast bone. Each facet of the compound eye burst wherever claw or fang pierced it, spraying a milky white fluid.
With a howl of rage the beast reached up with its two topmost arms and one additional left arm to impale the cat. "Mwrrarw!!" The cat squalled in pain and death.
Elphinstone lunged. Quick as lightning her right hand sunk the dagger under the creature's lower left armpit and she felt fetid air escape from its lung. "That should let some of the wind out of ye!" she shouted. She was slammed backward by the impact as the beast came forward to stand over her helpless patient. Almost casually, each of the two limbs on the ground pierced Ramano as he lay helpless.
Two legs were imbedded in the dying sailor, three were impaled in the cat. The beast's remaining arm slashed at her, but the Sylvan healer ducked under the blow and crouched back. There was escape available out the other side but she wouldn't take it, not while there was any hope that her patient might be saved.
She held her bloody dagger as the beast swayed, then the head lunged forward in a last, spasmodic death dive, jaws open wide. She leapt to the side and the ape's teeth sank into the cutter's timber. Outside a mass of other apes fought to enter the narrow way.
Petreckski stands holding a pistol in a two-handed grip. The monk's left foot and left shoulder are slightly forward. The enemy is clustered around the narrow east entry to the cutter, literally fighting to get in. He permits tunnel vision to
set in. All that matters in all the world is the entrance to the cutter, the ape closest to it, and the sights of his pistol.
"____!," "____!," both barrels fire, the lead two apes drop, but he hears nothing. Vision is the only sense required here, and his mind tunes out all other sensory input. Without forward momentum the apes die with a sudden splay of all six limbs, then collapse into a heap of stinking white fur.
Both of Petreckski's hands reach back. He drops the empty pistol from the left hand. A clever middy slaps a fresh pistol into his empty right hand.
Roughly twenty yards range. Each shot has to be carefully aimed from this distance. At very close ranges most modern warriors were taught to use "point" shooting. Look through the weapon, point and shoot. The physiological arousal of close combat often makes the eye incapable of focusing on any close-in objects, like pistol sights. This loss of near vision makes point shooting a viable alternative at very close ranges, if it is practiced long and hard enough.
But bullets are not magic. They don't hit their targets by themselves. The inverse square law applies, and the odds of missing your opponent increase exponentially as you move away from the target. At twenty yards the chance of making a kill with a hasty, unaimed shot is tiny. Remote. Miniscule. At this range it was vital that he take his time and . . . aiiimmm.
The key is to focus the eye on the front sight. Whatever the eye focuses on, consciously and unconsciously that is what your fine motor muscles will work to stabilize. Everyone has baited hooks, threaded needles, and cut with steak knives. Each time we focused our eyes on the end of the tool, and that was what we held steady. On a pistol the vital thing is to hold the front sight steady and on the target. If you do that, everything else will follow.
Petreckski was firing a SIG pistol, which was standard issue for the Westerness Navy. He'd been lucky enough to actually train at the SIGArms Monastery, under the supervision of Father "Bang" Miller and Brother Johan Pederson. Petreckski was a faithful servant of his God. As faithful as any flawed, fallen human can be. But Father Miller taught him that God would forgive him if, just for a moment, he worshipped at the Holy Church of the Front Sight. The alternative was the Discount House of Worship: pull, point, and pray. Petreckski was certain that God could do anything He chooses, but He most often chooses to bless those who practice and prepare.
The other part of the combat marksmanship equation was even older than the Church of the Front Sight. It was, "aim small, miss small." You must pick the smallest aim point you can discern. You don't aim for the ape, you aim for a specific spot on the ape, like the yellowish patch of fur under his armpit. That way even if you miss your mark by a little, you'll still hit your foe.
The front sight, a simple blade placed on the end of the barrel, comes into focus, superimposed over the white ape's armpit, which is out of focus. Every scratch, every mark on the little sight is in perfect focus. Two-handed grip. Breathe . . . front sight . . . squeeeeze . . . "____!" Don't wait for the target to drop, don't look at the falling foe, go on to the next. Pick your mark, front sight . . . squeeze . . . "____!" The middies look on in wonder as two more apes splay and drop.
Hand the empty pistol back with the left hand where it is snatched away to reload. Breathe. Simultaneously reach back with the right and a middy slaps a new pistol, cocked and ready, into his hand. Front sight . . . "____!" Front sight . . . "____!" Each time the lead ape falls. And again. And again. "Front sight, front sight," is his mantra. If he loses concentration and focuses on his target, he'll miss, and Elphinstone surely will die. The middies reload feverishly. Finally there are no loaded pistols left to slap into his hand.
Petreckski has fired twenty-four shots in as many seconds, and twenty-four apes join the two already outside the cutter. A swirl of red and blue jackets swarm over white fur. A flash of bayonets and swords, and the few remaining apes fall. Petreckski stands confused and dazed. He has been concentrating with superhuman intensity and when all his targets are gone he isn't sure what to do.
Suddenly, there is silence. No foe is left alive. The battle is over.
Lieutenant Melville looked out at the carnage. Heaps of reeking white fur were everywhere. He was stunned to realize that the battle didn't end until the last ape died. In real life no enemy ever fought to the end. A few always turned and ran, or surrendered, or committed mass suicide when defeat was imminent. Here was something truly different.
In the silence, Private Jarvis stood, dazed and staggering, clutching a bleeding shoulder with his hand. He looked with wide-eyed wonder at Sergeant Broadax and said, "Dear God, Sarge, they was brave."
"Aye, maybe they was, lad," answered Broadax. "Maybe. But as the great Dwarrowdelf general, Gzagk Pazton once said, 'Untutored courage is useless in the face of educated bullets.'"
Their victory was bitter bought. Six dead, eleven seriously wounded. He'd begun the battle with forty warriors, forty-four counting Elphinstone and the midshipmen. Now over a third of his men were dead or disabled. Not to mention over half his dogs and his one cat! And it had been so close, so very close.
Uninvited, a little ditty came to mind:
I never shall forget the way
That Blood upon this awful day
Preserved us all from death.
He stood upon a little mound,
Cast his lethargic eyes around,
And said beneath his breath:
"Whatever happens we have got
The Maxim Gun, and they have not."
Well, they didn't have Mr. Maxim's machine gun of yore. Its complex mechanisms wouldn't last an hour in two-space. But they did have "educated bullets," Westerness' finest double-barreled rifled muskets, and a company of stalwart hearts with steady hands that could load and fire four volleys a minute as they "stood upon their little mound." And that was sufficient unto the day.
Chapter the 3rd
Monkeys: Kindness in Another's Trouble
Question not, but live and labour
Till yon goal be won,
Helping every feeble neighbour,
Seeking help from none;
Life is mostly froth and bubble,
Two things stand like stone,
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.
"Man's Testament"
Adam Lindsay Gordon
<
<
The tap to their water barrel was above and slightly to the other side of where Aquinar was crawling. So the little middy couldn't be after their precious supply of water, which was barely enough to last another few weeks with careful rationing.
After the punishment Melville had administered to him for wasting water, and the boy's sincere repentance and remorse, Melville felt certain that young Midshipman Garth Aquinar would never again waste a drop of water. The day that the boy had spent without water was hard, but in the end it taught him a lesson that every sailor must learn. In the end it would be good for him. That is, if they lived through this. If their long overdue mothership ever came to rescue them.
Four times now Aquinar had made his little trip. His sailcloth pants and white cotton shirt made Melville think of the little middy as a dirty white moth, flitting quickly from the woods to the bones of the cutter. Then he moved slowly, ever so slowly back to the trees, like a grubby white inchworm.
Except for his one embarrassing slash on the buttock, Melville hadn't been hit in the battle, even though he was in the thick of it throughout. Yet his body ached from exertion, as though he'd been used as a punching bag by a whole family of six-legged apes. As though papa, mama, and little baby ape had all given him six licks each.
What does it matter
what some little boy is doing? thought Melville. We are going to die here. Our linkup with Kestrel is over a week late. We're almost out of water. Over a third of my company is dead or wounded.
<
Like the boy he was watching, Melville had an irrepressible, cheerful spirit. He possessed a few gifts that were unfolding in a satisfying manner. The voice of command and authority, something that many leaders never develop, was coming early for him. He had a knack for poetry that often provided the right Words at the moment of truth, and he had the ability to communicate them well. He was a natural at tactics and military history, and he was very good with a sword and a pistol. But perhaps his most important gift was his ability to live intensely in the present.
Most people live their lives in anticipation and dread of the future. Or they desperately cling to the past. They spend most of their energy thinking and worrying about what happens next or what just happened. The only time they really deal with what is happening now, is when they look back on it. And because of this, most people learn how to fear, dreading the future instead of living in the present.
Perhaps it was because he wasn't like this, because he lived so intensely in the present, that Melville was generally fearless. It was really nothing special. Most dogs can do it. That's why they're usually happy, and often so full of joy and glee. They never had to deal with the whole human angst business. Melville felt that people could learn a lot from dogs. They seemed to have things better worked out, dogs.
Two Space War Page 5