Everyone who wasn't intent on loading guns or rigging sail cheered as they watched their balls hit home. At this range the gun captains weren't able to direct exactly where in the enemy ship the round would strike, but hanging over the gun on their platforms they were able to aim with deadly accuracy, and they were well enough bonded with their guns to mentally assist in directing the strike of the shot. Every 24-pound ball hit the enemy. Most punched through the enemy's sails and rigging. A few hit their hulls, causing the ships to shudder and sending a cloud of debris into the air.
At the same time, Hans and his topmen hung out all the "laundry." Fresh unbleached white studdingsails, royals, and spritsail-topsail bloomed into position beside the other, yellowed, older sails. His "piss da resistance" was a set of royal studdingsails, and then a handkerchief-sized moonsail above the royals. Which may have been a bit "over the top," as Melville observed, but surely stirred the heart of any creature that ever sailed the endless seas of Flatland. The ship surged forward with the kind of speed the curs never imagined it could achieve, just as Fang's second broadside cut loose from each side.
<
Faintly he heard Fielder in a tone he'd never heard from the sour first officer. "Ha! Take that you sons-o-bitches! Play long bowls with us, will you! Ambush our ship will you!"
Melville grinned grimly and repeated into the tube, "Mr. Fielder! How do they fall?" and again put his ear to the mouthpiece.
"One miss from the red-side on the first broadside, looks like one miss from the green-side on the second. The curs have masts and rigging falling like rain around their ears!"
"Good!" They were pulling quickly away from the two enemy ships as Melville ordered, "Give them one more, then rest the crews and direct your attention to the front."
"Aye, sir!"
One last volley, again mostly striking home, with no response from the enemy. They were moving far enough ahead that the guns could not swing back to bear on the enemy, so Melville called out, "Avast firing," as the last gun fired. "Load and run them up. Now take a breather. Well done, shipmates!" The quartermaster immediately relayed each command through the speaking tube to the lower side quarterdeck.
Men and Guldur all straightened, grinning at each other. The humans glistened with sweat, the Guldur's tongues hung out as they panted. Most went to the scuttlebutts for a long, gasping drink.
They watched as the enemy ships desperately slacked sail to balance the thrust from above and below. Both ships were dead in the water as their crews scrambled to make repairs.
Melville continued, in a voice suited for the battle deafness of the hands, "Now shipmates, here is the real test. We are going to cut through that mass of ships before us, cutting straight for the Pier and firing at every Guldur ship that comes in range."
"Dear God, there's a lot of Guldur ships out there," muttered Melville's clerk beside him.
"Aye," replied Melville, then, to himself, and to the quarterdeck in general. . . .
"Shall I retreat from him, from clash of combat?
No, I will not. Here I'll stand,
though he should win; I might just win, myself;
the battle god's impartial,
dealing death to the death-dealing man."
That drew grim smiles from his men, and they sailed on, into the mass of Guldur 12-pounder frigates that were battling the defenders on the Pier and the small Sylvan and Stolsh fleet that was assisting in the defense. These few defenders were all that protected the citizens of Ambergris from the brutal tyranny of the Guldur.
On high-tech or mid-tech worlds an invading force, with its technology limited by the strange dynamics of Flatland, could seldom do more than occupy or destroy the Pier. But Ambergris was a thriving low-tech world, with two major cities centered around the two Piers. The invading force already controlled one Pier. If they conquered the second Pier, the people stood little chance against the Guldur's mighty armada and its countless troopships. The enemy would also have secured an important base of operations close to the major Sylvan world of Osgil.
The 24-pounder Guldur ships they'd engaged were already within range of the battle, and now so was Fang. But at this distance Melville couldn't discern friend from foe in the swirling mass of ships in front of him, and he wanted to give his men a breather. Best to use this time for planning and coordination, rather than fire blindly into that mess.
He called out from the quarterdeck rail, "Gun captains, battery commanders, and sailing master rally on me! Lieutenant Broadax, you too," he said, looking down to his left where the marines waited in reserve. "Quartermaster, relay the command to the lower side, and ask the bosun and the first officer to come as well." As an afterthought, remembering that Petreckski was in charge of the lower reserve he added, "And the purser also."
"Aye, sir, gun captains, battery commanders, bosun, purser and first officer to the upper quarterdeck."
"Good. Mr. Ngobe," he continued, turning to the midshipman by his side, "Go quickly to the carpenter and ask him to come to the upper quarterdeck."
"Aye, sir," replied the boy with puppylike eagerness. His excitement and pleasure at their success was infectious, and brought a smile to Melville's lips.
Within minutes, his key leaders were present with him on the quarterdeck. "Just at the outer limit of 12-pounder range is when we will open fire." He was speaking to the leaders, but he knew that many others were listening. "From that range every 24-pounder should be able to get solid hits on their hulls, and even have a fair chance of hitting their Keel and sinking them, like they almost did to our Kestrel."
He continued with a feral grin, "My friends, we are entering into a 'target-rich' environment." That brought a lot of smiles. "In the absence of any other instructions, you're free to fire at the closest enemy in your sights, and keep on firing. Be sure they're enemy, and then hammer them mercilessly."
He continued, looking at Hans and his bosun, "I intend to yaw to bring the red-side to bear first, then the green-side. I want a spanker and a jib ready to aid in rapid movement." That brought a grin from old Hans; he loved nothing better than fancy sailing. Melville smiled back. "We'll use them to bring our broadsides to bear as needed. With our superior guns and superior aiming, we should be able to sink several of the enemy ships. We will repay them, manyfold, for our Kestrel!" That got a cheer, then he concluded, "Quickly now, back to your stations, and when we open fire the bastards won't know what hit them!"
Minutes later everyone was at their stations. The swirling confusion of battle began to sort itself out into individual ships as they drew nearer. Melville could see two Guldur ships directly in front of him, their flanks exposed, sending thunderous broadsides into a Sylvan ship. Hans gave him a thumbs-up to indicate that the topmen were ready, and Melville gave the command to yaw to the green-side, his left, in order to bring the red-side batteries to bear on the enemy.
Suddenly, above and below, a jib and a spanker appeared. These were sails that ran roughly parallel to the main axis of the ship, directing their thrust to the side. The spanker extended out from their rear and was oriented to catch the downward "wind" of two-space to pull the stern to the red-side, Melville's right. The jib extending out to their front was oriented to pull the bow to the green-side, or Melville's left. The result was a rapid "left turn," combined with considerable slowing of forward motion.
"Fire as they bear!" called Melville. The quartermaster echoed his command into the speaking tube, and the 12-pounders came on target first as the ship spun. His command was answered by a steady, <
e great guns.
She reached our range. Our broadside rang,
Our heavy pivots roared;
And shot and shell, a fire of hell,
Against her sides we poured.
The men cheered as two 24-pound balls punched holes in the enemy's hull, sending a cloud of debris into the air. One of the two 12-pounders, firing at the extreme end of their range, also made a hit on the enemy's hull. Through the speaking tube the lower side reported similar damage to the enemy.
"Bring the green-side to bear!" shouted Melville to Hans. Then, to the gundeck, "Green-side batteries serve the same ship again, I want to sink the bastard!"
Again the quartermaster echoed his command into the speaking tube, the ship spun, and once again the guns rang out with joy and malice, above and below. Somewhere within the enemy ship the bracing for the mainmast gave way, and it began to fall, slewing the enemy ship around and bringing her dead in the water. She wasn't sunk yet, but it was time to deal with the other.
This time they were slightly closer, as they took a series of slow "S" curves toward the enemy. Their cannonballs wrought even more damage on the enemy, sending two of their cannon flying like matchsticks and dropping masts and rigging around their heads. But now the Guldur were returning fire, and a few of the enemy's 12-pound balls were punching through Fang's sails and rigging. One punched a hole in the green-side upper bow.
The red-side came to bear again, making a shambles of the same enemy, but still the Guldur fired back. The Sylvan ship the enemy had been attacking was now relatively free from fire and they rapidly moved out of harm's way, traveling in a wide arc and scrambling to make repairs as they went.
Now the green-side hammered the enemy at close range, close enough that the enemy was able to get a volley of canister into them at the same time, dropping several of Fang's crew members from their guns and bringing several sailors plummeting down from the rigging. But this was the volley Melville had been waiting and hoping for. Through some combination of luck and skill Fang sent a ball straight through the enemy's Keel. Almost instantly the ship began to "sink" into Flatland, entering inexorably, silently into the cold hard vacuum of space. The only sound was the bloodcurdling, horrifying screams of the doomed crew.
Now the enemy ship that they'd wounded first was regaining headway and sending fire into their red-side as they progressed toward the Pier. The red-side batteries gave this ship their undivided attention. The enemy ship spun around, out of control and unable to bring any guns to bear.
Now, for the first time, Melville's four 12-pounders in the stern, two above and two below, could come to bear. They began to hammer the enemy as Fang drew away. The Sylvan ship they'd rescued came around in a long arc, firing at the enemy ship as they went, and then joined in behind Fang, forming a two-ship line of battle.
"Mr. Ngobe!"
"Aye, sir," answered the eager midshipman.
"Run down to the carpenter, and ask him for a report on the condition of our Keel, and the bracings for our masts." These were the foundations of the ship, hidden below decks. Their condition was an important factor in his coming decisions.
"Aye, sir!" said the boy over his shoulder as he scampered down the quarterdeck ladder.
Now there were two clusters of ships slugging it out in front of them, one to the left and one a little farther to the right. Melville charted a course between them and began to fire on the enemy as they came to bear. In a few minutes they'd sunk another enemy ship and crippled two more. They had also picked up another allied ship in their ad hoc line of battle. But the enemy was pounding them hard, and the Guldur ships kept trying to come around to engage in boarding actions.
Finally, one enemy ship bore down upon them with relentless fury. The red-side gun crews had taken a disproportionate number of casualties, so Melville swung Fang's green-side to fire at the approaching ship, whose prow was filled with eager boarders. The green-side gave a volley, but the enemy came on undaunted.
On, on, with fast increasing speed,
The silent monster came;
Though all our starboard battery
Was one long line of flame.
"Yes, Mr. Ngobe?"
"If you please, sir, Chips says . . ."
"What was that, Midshipman?"
"Beg pardon, sir." He responded, smiling, buoyant and eager-eyed, completely undaunted by his captain's best reproof. "Mr. Tibbits says that ever'thin's sound as a pound!"
"Good," said Melville quietly, "because we may be in trouble here."
The red-side was reloaded now, so they spun to bring its guns to bear. The aftmost 24-pounder, right in front of Melville, was almost completely depleted of crew. Their captain was being evacuated down to the hospital.
The dead and dying round us lay,
But our foemen lay abeam;
Her open portholes maddened us;
We fired with shout and scream.
Melville dropped his empty mug, stripped off his jacket, and called out to Broadax and her marines for assistance as he leapt down to captain the gun. Ulrich, his coxswain, worked beside him with diligence and professionalism.
And when a gun's crew lost a hand,
Some bold marine stepped out,
And jerked his braided jacket off,
And hauled the gun about.
As he climbed up on the platform to aim down the barrel of the gun, Melville thought about Mister Barlet and felt a renewed appreciation for the sighting system his master gunner had devised.
Now was the moment of truth. His reserves had been deployed. On the lower side, Petreckski and the two rangers were also manning a gun beside a bunch of cooks and purser's mates. He was the final reserve, and now he was committed, up on the platform, leaning over the 24-pounder in an exposed position as Ulrich and the marines shifted it in response to his hand signals.
* * *
From captain down to powder-boy,
No hand was idle then;
Two soldiers, but by chance aboard,
Fought on like sailor-men.
When Melville judged the gun to be on target, he reached out to touch the Keel charge that would set it off. Suddenly, something remarkable happened. His left hand reached back and down, making contact with the Ship's Moss that had recently grown on the platform. His right hand was in touch with the Keel charge of the 24-pounder. He "felt" Fang to his left, like a deep, powerful entity; like being in the mind of some vast, intelligent, feral warrior. He also "felt" the Keel charge to his right, like being inside the mind of some savage, vicious, slavering beast, straining at the leash in its lust for blood and death. He was in touch with them both, and through him they were in touch with each other.
The cannon delayed firing for an instant that seemed like an eternity to Melville. He could feel Fang rejoice as it was able to directly take part in the killing, but this was a calculated, deliberate malice. For an instant the three of them became one. One being, with one intent, to throw a 24-pound cannonball through the enemy's hull and directly into their Keel. To sink the enemy and send them into oblivion, into hell where the murderous bastards belonged!
<
Remember, said a little voice, remember that they would have killed us, and all that we love, without remorse. . . .
Melville came up in shock, as from a plunge under cold water, as from a deep sleep, as from death. Death of being. Death of individuality. The pure, feral joy of battle and killing was still si
nging through his veins, and he looked for another enemy to kill . . .
Over and over again they screamed together as one, <
Melville captained the 24-pounders throughout the rest of that famous run to the Upper Pier of Ambergris. A run that will be recorded in the annals of warfare, to be remembered for as long as there are minds to recall and hearts to inspire. He found that the 12-pounders wouldn't perform in the same way. They were perfectly willing to hit the enemy, to harm the enemy, but they didn't have the same feral, malignant urge to kill as the 24-pounders. Nor did they have the ability to punch straight through to the Keel for the killing blow.
Melville realized that here was a unique combination. Westerness ships were products of civilized minds. No other ship of their navy could desire, could yearn to kill like his feral, vicious Fang. Fang, combined with these cannons, under his control, formed a team unlike anything ever seen. Somewhere in him there was a kindred spirit, a killing spirit, guided and shaped by a steely resolve to do his duty.
So he sought a gun, any 24-pounder, whichever one was loaded and ready. Acting as a human conduit between the awesome computing power of his ship, and the feral killing power of his cannons, Melville became an avatar of death. He willed the gun to strike the enemy Keel, and it did, each time taking hundreds of lives with it. He sailed into a vast forest of Guldur masts, followed by an ever-growing tail of allied ships who picked off the few enemy ships he only maimed. If it had been a fleet of enemy 24-pounder frigates he might not have survived, but against their 12-pounders he was like a lion among wolves. Everywhere he went he killed and he killed. His cannonballs ran true and straight. His gun captains willingly ceded their guns to him, watching in awe.
Two Space War Page 25