Two Space War

by Dave Grossman

  The gunner and his gunnery sergeant stood beside little Aquinar. "Mister Aquinar, find out where the captain's remains have been placed. Bring them, his hat and his jacket to the upper quarterdeck, immediately. Gentlemen, the rest of you come with me." Sergeant Broadax and Chief Petty Officer Hans were no gentlemen. They were NCOs. They grinned at each other with the superiority and confidence of career NCOs and began to saunter off in another direction. Melville stopped and turned to them. "That means you two as well. Broadax, you are promoted to lieutenant of marines. Hans, you are now the sailing master. You are now gentlemen . . . er . . . gentlefolk."

  The two ex-NCOs were dumbstruck. Their confidence, poise, and security in life revolved around being noncommissioned officers. Under ordinary circumstances they would have rejected a commission. In fact, they'd both done so repeatedly, scorning officers, their manners and their airs. Because, as one old ex-sergeant once put it, "When it's all said and done in this old world, after everyone panics, there's got to be an NCO there to pour the piss out of the boot." But now, with their Ship's current plight, they couldn't say no, and the joke was on them.

  Damn, Melville thought, it felt good to do that to them! There were times when it was good to be captain. He turned and dove back through the hatch and through the plain of Flatland, to the upper portion of the Ship. He strode up the steps of the ladder, two at a time, past the gundeck and onto the maindeck, followed by the others. They turned astern, through the waist, and up the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck.

  The helmsman was standing by the wheel with the old quartermaster keeping careful watch over him. Lady Elphinstone, Mr. Tibbits, and Midshipmen Crater and Archer joined them on the upper quarterdeck. Crater reported. "Sir, all the wounded have been evacuated onto Broadax's World."

  "Very good, thank you, Mr. Crater." Melville now stood on the quarterdeck as captain of his Ship. Lieutenant Fielder, the two rangers, and Brother Petreckski came to join them. Fielder looked angry, but given the Ship's mandate, it was clear that he wouldn't confront Melville's authority at this time.

  Aquinar stood at the foot of the ladder with their captain's remains. A bloody bundle wrapped in sailcloth. So little of the body remained that a boy could hold it in his arms. Atop the bundle rested the captain's second best blue jacket and gold braided hat. He'd been wearing his best uniform when he was blown to smithereens. Every eye was on the boy and the bundle.

  As Melville looked on his murdered captain's remains, words came to mind.

  I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

  I die by treachery;

  It burns my heart that I must depart

  And not avenged be . . .

  May coward shame disdain his name,

  The wretch that dares not die.

  He didn't speak these words to the crew; they applied only to him. It was he who must "dare to die." For them all. It was he who would have "coward shame disdain his name," if he did not.

  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 shipmates 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 Ship 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 bloody bundle.

  Melville looked over his shoulder at Petreckski questioningly. The purser had served nobly 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 assured 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 sunshine 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 Ship, 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 God, 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;

  No grime of smoke nor reeking blood hath smutched

  The virgin brow of this unconquered queen.

  She is the Joy of Courage vanquishing

  The unstilled tremors of the fearful heart;

  And it is she that bids the poet sing,

  And gives to each the strength to bear his part.

  "Courage"

  Dyneley Hussey

  Melville stood beside the quartermaster on the upper quarterdeck. A strange calmness was upon him as he maneuvered the Kestrel toward their foe. His eight-legged spider monkey clung to his back, peering cautiously over his shoulder. He stroked the monkey's little neck, and found himself completely resigned to the fact that today was a good day to die.

  He wasn't going to die easy. He had no death wish. The Mirror for Princes, written in Persia on Old Earth in the eleventh century, commanded warriors, "reconcile yourself with death . . . be bold; for a short blade grows longer in the hands of the brave." Melville was reconciled to death.

  Dag Hammerskjöld, a famous twentieth-century statesman, put it like this, "Do not seek death. Death will find you. But seek the road which makes death a fulfillment." All his life Melville had sought that road. Now he'd found it. He was on that road, and he was at peace with himself and the universe.

  Melville had read about military leaders who entered into this state. They weren't suicidal, indeed, just the opposite. But once the plan was ma
de, once all possible preparations were taken, and you're about to see how the dice settle, there can be an enormous peace.

  "We are going to attack and board the doggies," he'd told his officers. "Only they aren't 'doggies' any more. That's what we called them when they weren't our foe. I like dogs. The Guldur like to think of themselves as wolves, but they're nothing but curs. From now on that's what we will call them, and by the living God we'll neuter these curs!"

  Indeed, that was what the Guldur looked like. Huge dogs, giant mutts, standing on their hind legs. They had opposable thumbs on their paws, and were as varied in color and coat as the dogs of Mother Earth. It was strange, the power that existed in words. Calling them "curs" would make it easier to kill them, and some serious killing was now required.

  "In spite of what everyone seems to think, we will win. We are going to meet the enemy bow to bow on the red-side. The curs like boarding actions. Their honor and their doctrine won't let them deny us a boarding if we come at them with an equal force. They will also think this approach is advantageous to them. Boarding from this direction will bring their lower red-side guns dead against us. What they don't know is that they have already killed our Ship, so their guns can't do us much further harm, and we want them to board the lower side. Meanwhile, we'll all be in the upper bows, where their guns can't reach us. Then they will reap what they sow, as we leave them to die on the Ship that they killed."

  The midshipmen lay under a tarp in the upper bow of the Kestrel, nibbling on bits of ships biscuit. Beside Crater, Archer and Aquinar were the three other midshipmen who had remained on the Kestrel. The three who'd been part of the away party to Broadax's World all had their spider monkeys with them. The little creatures still refused to leave their newfound friends and there was no sense in leaving them behind on a dying Ship. Everyone who was adopted by a monkey worried that the creatures might get in the way in battle, but they didn't see any real choice. And there was something about the little monkeys and their past actions that led the crew members to trust them.

  Waiting with the six middies were Josiah Westminster, with the rangers' remaining dog; Brother Petreckski; and the vast majority of the crew. Melville offered Josiah and Petreckski an opportunity to remain on Broadax's world, since their duty as purser and ranger could be interpreted to give them an excuse for missing the battle.

  Melville smiled at Josiah and put it this way, "How about it, John Carter, you want to play with your Tarka friends some more?"

  Josiah grinned his mischievous grin and replied, "Throughout mah life I've never turned from the glory road. You sir, are on the glory road, and ah shall follow."

  Melville laughed aloud. He'd opened with Burroughs, and Josiah trumped him with Heinlein.

  When he put the matter to Petreckski, the purser simply replied: " 'Here I stand. I can do no otherwise.' " Melville grinned to hear the words of Martin Luther come out of the monk at this time.

  All the cutters were away under Lieutenant Fielder's command. In place of the cutter that usually filled the Kestrel's bow, a phony cutter of canvas and wood scraps had been constructed. Busted spars and tangles of rope and sail were artfully placed to make the area a confusing mess. Under this camouflage the crew waited patiently.

  Two 12-pounder cannon were also hidden here under a heap of dirty sailcloth, with a double load of grapeshot, poised to fire down into the enemy's deck. Gunnery Sergeant Don Von Rito lay between the guns with a few hand-picked gunners. Gunny Von Rito was a marine who was the gunnery warrant's senior NCO. These two 12-pounders would only get one shot before they recoiled back across the deck. Von Rito was determined to insure that this one blast of grape would get maximum "payback" for the cowardly, treacherous attack that had murdered their captain and first officer.

  The majority of their marines were under the command of Corporal Kobbsven. They were the only ones in view on the upper deck, crouching along the railing, looking like a "normal" boarding party.

  Their new captain had put it clearly. "Unless I specifically say otherwise, every swinging, living creature on this Ship, including the cook and her cat, will go across the upper red-side bow in the boarding party." Indeed, somewhere in the party was the one-eyed old cook, Roxy, her cat, all the other cats, and all the ship's dogs. Many of the crew lay on the maindeck, under artfully draped tarps or inside the phony cutter. Those who couldn't find room on the maindeck waited below, on the upper gundeck, ready to swarm out the for'ard hatch and join the boarding party.

  What was about to happen wasn't a boarding, but a mass exodus from a dying Ship. For all they knew, the ship's rats also sat poised to join them.

  Lady Elphinstone was one of those who waited below on the upper gundeck. Lieutenant Melville had offered her an opportunity to remain below, with the wounded, on Broadax's world. Her response was simply to say, "My duty is to tend our wounded. Where thou art going, there shall be wounded, and so I must go."

  She and her "lob-lolly girl," Mrs. Vodi, held their medicine bags. Their two medical assistants, or "corpsmen," Pete Etzen and Thadeaus Brun, stood by with even more medical equipment packed on their backs. Under ordinary circumstances Elphinstone and Vodi would never be in the boarding party. That was Doc Etzen and Doc Brun's job. But anyone who stayed behind on this Ship could expect nothing but certain death. The only hope of survival was in rapidly boarding the enemy's Ship. Something the curs were apt to violently resent and resist.

  A cloud of distraught, distressed cats milled around Elphinstone and Vodi. For many hundreds of years a systematic effort had been dedicated to breeding dogs and cats for intelligence. The cats and dogs assigned to the Westerness Navy were the cream of the crop of a centuries-long breeding program. The result was that the cats had some idea what was going on, and they didn't like it. Not one bit. The whole thing seemed completely beneath their dignity.

  The dogs also had a good sense of what was going on and, as usual, thought it was all a great, glorious game. "Fetch boy! Go get the ship!"

  Darren Barlet, the gunnery warrant, strode the lower gundeck. Black as a gun barrel, whipcord lean, with a ramrod posture and a shaven head, Barlet was a wizard at long-range gunnery. His men joked admiringly that if all else failed they could lay him on a gun carriage and use him as a cannon. All he had to do was put a cannonball in his mouth and command it to seek the enemy. His men were certain that the ball wouldn't dare disobey.

  "Switch guns to get as much firepower as you can up for'ard on the red-side, above and below," Lieutenant Melville had ordered. "Run painted logs out as Quaker guns to fill any gaps, so that the enemy won't know what we're doing. Load nothing but grape or canister in every gun."

  "Aye, sir," the master gunner replied quietly.

  "Your job is to suppress the enemy's guns. Every hit they get on us is another chance they might knock the Keel loose. Keep the pressure on them. Fire canister and grape into those big gun ports as long, as hard, and as fast as you can."

  "Aye, sir," again, quietly with a nod.

  "Guns, at first the danger will be from the bow chaser on the lower green-side. Focus our two lower bow chasers there. Then, as we close up, bow-to-bow on our red-sides, I want you to suppress those two guns on the lower red-side. On the upper side, have the bow chasers try to clear the ticks out of the rigging. No ball shot, you understand? You'll just damage our Ship, for that is what the enemy's Ship is. Our Ship by God. Aye, and the curs owe us one! As soon as we come alongside, give one or two last shots of grape into those lower gun ports, then all the gun crews race up and join the boarding party."

  "Aye. Oh, aye, indeed, sir." There was nothing but steely determination in those brown eyes. If anyone could pull this off, it would be his master gunner.

  Now Mr. Barlet and a few hand-picked crews stood ready to fire the guns that would come to bear in the coming battle. The rest of his gunners stood by with pistol, boarding ax, and the straight swords of two-space sailors, waiting beside the medics below the for'ard hatch on the upper side, or conc
ealed on the upper maindeck with the boarding party.

  Mr. Hans (no longer "Chief" Hans, much to his dismay), hung in the upper rigging beside Valandil, the Sylvan ranger. Each of them had a rifle cradled in one arm. When Melville gave Valandil the opportunity to remain below on Broadax's world, the ranger's answer was yet another literary quote, said with the barest twitch of a smile, " 'Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens.' "

  Hans' monkey scampered and frolicked next to him, apparently untroubled by the chill, and completely delighted by the quarter gravity of the upper rigging. Like the monkey, Valandil exulted in the dizzying heights and low gravity of this realm. The Sylvan race lived high in the huge trees of low-gee worlds. The ranger's skill in battle was superb in any terrain, but here he was a supernatural fighter, and the sailors were heartened by his presence.

  "I need a crack crew in the rigging, and your best quartermaster teams on duty at the wheel, above and below," Lieutenant Melville had told Hans. "They need to respond quickly, and bring us to a gentle stop right at the enemy's bow. The crew in the upper rigging has a special job. I want all of them to stay up high where the gravity is light. Swarm into the enemy's rigging as fast as you can, stay high, head to the enemy's stern, and drop down on their quarterdeck. Have sailors hidden in the crow's nests to reinforce this action. Cut through or bypass any pockets of Goblan resistance in the rigging. Meanwhile, all the crew in the lower rigging will come up as fast as they can and reinforce the boarding party."

  Newly commissioned "Lootenant" Broadax stood with a quarter of her marines in the bow of the lower maindeck, smiling, caressing her ax, and humming to herself. She wasn't sure about this "ossifer" business. Ossifers had to do a lot of talking and directing of folks, and she'd never been good with words. She always found it easier to hit people with something. But this battle now. This was something she could handle. Her monkey clung tightly to her back, making little squeaks of concern and protest.