"Mr Corbin!" he said. "A moment more of your time, I think."
There was something in Havelock's tone that made Corbin frown with curiosity, and he marched briefly back to learn what the Captain had now concocted.
"A slight change in plans, Mr Corbin, a little addition, if you will permit me," said Havelock, beginning to relish his new thought.
"Sir?"
"Ready the boats, prepare to drop them over starboard. Make sure there are enough ropes to get men to board them quickly when I give the word. Then assemble everyone. The guns will fire once, then their crews will join us. I don't want anyone below decks after the volley."
"I understand, Sir, but what are you saying? We should abandon ship? The hulk will just chase us down in our boats."
"Ah, but therein is the beauty of it," said Havelock, smiling broadly now. "There is one more task I would like you to perform. See to it personally, I don't want any of the crew to see what we are doing until there are zombies swarming all over us. You see, I have had an idea..."
CHAPTER TWELVE
Havelock gave the oncoming hulk one last, disparaging look before he turned to the main deck to set his plan in motion. Corbin had already retreated below to fulfil his duty, though the Lieutenant had looked at Havelock with incredulity as he explained what was required. Corbin had looked set to argue but seemed, at last, to realise that they had few choices left and the unthinkable might be their only salvation, even if it could claim the life of every man on board in the process. Some of the crew, at least, might have a chance of survival.
"Mr Kennedy, my side, if you please."
The Bosun threw the ropes he had been wrestling with to a nearby sailor as they began hoisting one of the boats up into the air in preparation to lower it into the sea. He bounded up to the quarterdeck at Havelock's call, eager to hear the full extent of his Captain's plans. He was to be disappointed.
"Mr Kennedy, I would like you to remain here on the quarterdeck until the Lieutenant returns. He is... completing a special task for me."
"Aye Sir, as you say," said Kennedy. He cast a glance at the hulk, now just a hundred yards away. "Might I be enquirin' as to your intentions, Cap'n?"
Havelock smiled evasively. "Why, Mr Kennedy, I mean to give that unholy ship a damned good thrashing! Now, quick to it, she closes. Give me full sail, Mr Kennedy, I want every ounce of speed we can wring from this fine vessel."
"Full sail? Cap'n, the mainmast is cracked, she won't take much."
"She won't have to, Mr Kennedy, I assure you. But right now, I need speed!"
Without further comment, Kennedy nodded and shouted down to the main deck, where sailors scuttled to do his bidding, racing up the masts to unfurl canvas while others pulled hard at the rigging. Sails dropped down rapidly, the mainmast creaking ominously above the ship as the wind caught the Elita and the sheets billowed forwards. The frigate increased in speed noticeably and Havelock walked to the side of the helmsman as he turned his attention back to the Deja, now barely forty yards away. Again, its crew seemed to swarm over the hulk's deck, brandishing rusting weapons or vicious claws as they mimed what they intended to do to each and every crewman on board the Elita.
"She's goin' to run us down," said the helmsman under his breath.
"Steady, man," said Havelock in reply. "We will snatch the initiative here. Hold her steady for just a moment more, make them think we are ready to meet our fate... "
The Deja ploughed through the waves then, with just thirty yards to go, her prow picked up in its characteristic way as the massive ship laid on its unnatural burst of speed. It was what Havelock had been waiting for.
"Now, helmsman," he said. "Hard to larboard! Cut across her path!"
Nearly caught off guard, Kennedy bawled instructions down to the sailors working the rigging, getting them to adjust the sails to the new course as the Elita lurched round. Its speed and sudden movement carried it past the prow of the hulk, and a collective howl erupted from the zombies on board, the sound chilling the hearts of even veteran sailors, as they realised their quarry was escaping. Watching his broadside line up on the Deja, Havelock grinned as he gave his next order.
"Mr Kennedy, fire!"
A few critical seconds passed as the order was passed down to the gun decks and then the cannon roared, chugging out both smoke and metal as the hulk was pounded. The Elita, leaning hard away from the hulk in its turn, fired its cannon at an inclined angle, discharging its anger directly across the deck and masts of the Deja, just as Havelock had planned. Corpses, now finally having the life blasted out of them, were hurled clear of the ship in pieces, their limbs and heads scattering across the sea. The Deja's foremast lost a yardarm but Havelock now had few illusions that it actually required sails to move across the ocean. His intention was to do anything he could to end the existence of as many of its crew as possible before the next stage of his plan.
As the Elita passed abeam of the Deja on its larboard flank, Havelock smiled grimly as he saw none of its gun ports were open, and he felt a little gratified that Dubois did not have all the answers, that he could be surprised by a sudden and unexpected move. This would prove to be vital if Havelock were to triumph over the undead Captain.
The Deja, its prey running, began to slow down to more normal speeds and began to turn towards the frigate, intending to follow it. However, it still carried a great deal of momentum, and the turn was shallow, making Havelock think that, perhaps, the loss of its rudder did have an effect after all.
"Helmsman, hard to starboard," he said. "Bring us right around - reverse our course!"
Though the expression of the man at the giant wheel seemed to flicker between desperation and despair, he followed his Captain's orders with automatic obedience. The sails reset for this manoeuvre, the Elita began to turn in the opposite direction, again leaning hard over.
A mighty crack, like thunder, resounded across the Elita's deck and Havelock looked up in alarm to see the top length of mainmast begin to sag under the weight of its sails. The fracture running up its height had widened to four or five inches in places and he could see the two pieces begin to move against one another. The mast began to lean forwards noticeably but then checked its movement, and Havelock realised it was being held in place by the rigging and little else.
"Lord, spare me that mast for just one more minute," he said under his breath.
Sailors still working high on the mainmast looked at one another uncertainly for a brief moment and then began scuttling down to the perceived safety of the deck. Others gave it nervous glances as they worked, fearful that the mast would topple at any second on to them.
Emerging from the lower decks, Corbin reappeared, his face grim, followed by the gun crews. He cast an appraising look at the damaged mainmast as he marched to the quarterdeck to join Havelock, shuddering at the damage the frigate was taking.
"You could really feel that break below decks," he said, nodding to the mast. "Will she hold?"
"I pray to God she will - for just a little further," said Havelock. "Is everything set below?"
Corbin gave him a meaningful look. "Aye Sir. It is alight now, four minutes by my reckoning."
"Very good, Mr Corbin."
"Sir, if there could be another way... "
Havelock shook his head. "You said it yourself. We cannot kill her crew; this is all that remains." He slapped Corbin on the shoulder. "Be of good cheer, Mr Corbin! We may yet escape this and send that damned hulk to the bottom of the sea!"
The mainmast once again groaned ominously, but Havelock ignored its underlining of his words. The Elita carried through its tight turn and every sailor on board watched the Deja as they circled round until, finally, it was dead ahead of them.
"Straighten her up helmsman, steady as she goes," said Havelock. "Then lash the wheel and join your shipmates on the main deck."
The sailor gave Havelock a fearful glance as he began to realise what the Captain intended to do but obeyed without argument. K
ennedy frowned as he looked to the helmsman, the Deja and then back at Havelock, it slowly dawning on him too what was going to happen. Corbin just looked sick.
"Mr Kennedy, prepare the men to receive boarders, but keep them away from the forecastle. It won't be safe up there."
"Cap'n," said Kennedy in protest. "This is..."
"You have your orders, Mr Kennedy. I would be obliged if you follow them."
The Bosun gave a quick look at Corbin, who refused to meet his eye. Finding no support, he had little choice but to do as Havelock had instructed.
"Aye, Sir."
The Deja, going too fast to turn quickly and being too large to slow down in time, had been out-manoeuvred by the nimbler frigate. After passing broadsides, the Elita had managed to turn a complete half-circle inside the hulk's own turning radius so that the frigate was now thundering over the gentle waves at full speed straight towards the Deja's side, a reversal of what Dubois had planned for Havelock earlier.
"Come, Mr Corbin," said Havelock, unbuckling his sword belt and letting it drop to the deck as he drew his blade. "It is time to join our crew."
Leading the way, Havelock descended the stairs to the main deck. He began to focus his attention on the fast approaching hulk, not seeing the salutes of his crew or their well wishes. He no longer thought of duty, or his career, or the court martial he would face for losing two ships on this mission. All that mattered now was the final confrontation with Dubois, and being able to look into those cold, dead eyes as the French Captain realised the tables had been turned and that it was he who was doomed.
The Elita sped towards the hulk and several sailors cried in dismay as they saw its gun ports open and cannon rolled out. On the hulk's deck, zombies gathered in a throng at the railings, waiting for the chance to leap onto the frigate's deck and begin rending its crew. For their part, the British crew dove for the deck, trying to find any scrap of cover behind the mainmast or coils of thick rope as the Deja unleashed the full weight of its broadside into the Elita's prow. Only Havelock and Corbin remained upright, the latter out of an officer's duty, the former more from a belief that fate would not snuff his life out just yet.
The upper half of the prow was turned into matchwood in a second, though this did little to slow the metal shot as it blasted the Elita's forecastle apart and then sped onwards across the main deck. All around, the air was filled with a deafening howl, flying splinters and the cries of men who lost limbs to the speeding metal. Wails of pain soon gave way to those of terror as sailors saw shipmates decapitated or torn in half by the attack, drenching the living in hot blood.
Corbin was one of the first to die, a heavy 36 pound shot moving at terrible speed catching him in the chest. Mercifully, he felt no pain as his life was snatched away, his body thrown backwards to be pulped by the wooden structure of the quarterdeck in the blink of an eye. To anyone watching, he seemed to simply disappear, leaving a thin red mist of blood which quickly fell to the deck.
Another shot found its mark squarely at the base of the mainmast, severing it in two instantly. No longer having any support within the wooden shaft itself, the rigging gave way and the mast toppled forward, hitting the foremast with a terrible crack. This too snapped like a twig, dragging canvas and rope onto the deck. Lucky sailors found themselves having to fight their way clear of the entangling sails and rigging, while others were crushed by the masts themselves.
His attention so rigidly fixed on the Deja, Havelock did not notice any of this, missing even the disappearance of his Lieutenant. He had the presence of mind only to grab a railing as the Elita closed the remaining yards to the hulk and smashed into it with an horrendous splintering of wood that seemed louder than even the Deja's guns.
Every man on the frigate was hurled forward by the impact as their ship came to a sudden and abrupt halt. The Elita had carved its way through the hull of the Deja so that what remained of its prow was rooted deep within the lower decks of the hulk. The two ships were locked firmly together, with only the Deja holding the frigate upright instead of listing to one side after the terrible pounding it had received. For a few seconds, everything was quiet, with only the lapping of the sea and the grinding of wood upon wood filling the air. Then, a dreadful, inhuman cry came from the hulk as swarms of zombies, hundreds of them, began to throw themselves onto the deck of the frigate in search of the living.
The Elita's crew, stunned by cannon and the sudden ram, were slow to respond at first and those furthest forward died cruelly with no chance to retaliate. Others, galvanised by the sight of their shipmates being torn apart, quickly stirred to action. Several, fearing for their lives and believing all was lost, threw themselves overboard, even as Kennedy began shouting at a small group to lower the boats over the side. The rest grabbed whatever weapon lay closest to hand and prepared to fight for their lives.
Canvas shredded and men screamed as they died as the horde of the walking dead poured onto the Elita in a seemingly never-ending stream. The sailors were soon driven back into a tightly packed mass around the ruined stump of the mainmast, huddling together for mutual protection as zombies threw themselves into the fray, sweeping round the sides of the main deck to begin encircling the living. Now cornered, a palpable change began to stir in the hearts of the British. Trapped, with nowhere to run, they developed a terrible vengeance, beginning to fight like demons, almost eager to wrench the limbs off one zombie or slice clean through another. Some limbless corpses, still twitching with unnatural life, were hurled high into the air to land in the centre of the sailor's group, where they were torn apart by those not yet pushed to the front line of battle.
"Dubois!" Havelock shouted as he strode forward, separate from the rest of his men. He hacked to all sides with his sword, laying zombies low with each strike, the dead no longer holding any fear for him. He searched for his counterpart, the rotting French Captain whom he had sworn to lay to rest. One zombie, its legs torn free by an enraged sailor, crawled along the deck and grabbed for his ankle. Havelock spat at it and brought his heel down hard on its skull, splitting it open with ease. Grey pulp sprayed across the deck, but Havelock had already moved on to send another zombie's head spinning with one strong swing of his sword. The blade quickly became sheathed in grey skin and flesh, tattered remains of the enemies he had dispatched.
"Dubois!"
One immensely tall zombie, close to seven feet, bellowed as it charged the sailors, determined to force their tight unit open, leaving them vulnerable. Heaving a massive wooden plank, perhaps torn from the ruined prow of the Elita herself, the creature smacked aside a cutlass raised to parry the blow, sending the weapon spinning across the deck. The now defenceless sailor tried to back away but could take no more than a step before being pushed forward again by the men behind him. He raised his hands in a desperate attempt to ward off the coming blow that would crush him like an insect.
Havelock cut downwards into the knee of the zombie and it buckled instantly, falling to its hands. Another blow severed its head but before the sailor could stammer his thanks and grab another weapon from a shipmate, Havelock had already turned and once again resumed cutting his way through the mass of zombies.
"Dubois!"
More zombies clawed at his face, losing limbs to his sword in the process, before they parted at some unspoken command, intentionally stepping aside before continuing onwards to slaughter his men. Looking forward towards the hulk, Havelock caught a glimpse of the dirty French Captain's jacket as he jumped down to the deck of the Elita. He grinned wolfishly. Casting a quick glance back at his men, Havelock, for the first time, saw how precarious their position was and also realised that Corbin was no longer with him.
"Mr Kennedy!" he called to the Bosun, who was at the forefront of the British sailor's mob, keeping zombies at bay with broad sweeps of his cutlass. Already a small mound of still corpses lay at his feet, causing those behind to stumble on the uneven pile and then fall prey to his attacks. Briefly, their eyes met.
> "Get what men you can to the boats!" Havelock said, straining to be heard above the noise of battle. "Your duty here is done."
Without waiting for a reply, Havelock stalked forward, sword at the ready, as he marched to confront Dubois. No zombies made a move to harm him. Behind Havelock, a few men bolted as soon as they heard their Captain's order but, once alone, they were quickly surrounded and torn apart by the zombies.
Seeing Havelock disappear into the fray, Kennedy took command of the sailors, organising them to move, slowly but with determination, towards one of the boats. Taking the lead in guarding the backs of the retreating crew, Kennedy shouted for those nearest to start lowering the boat to the water while he fought to drive the pursuing zombies back, anxious to give his men as much space and time as he could. He heard the distant splash as the boat was dropped into the sea and was soon aware of men leaving his side to dive overboard, before heaving themselves into the small craft. A quick rush of zombies, perhaps stimulated by the sight of living men escaping, caught Kennedy by surprise and he gave a sharp cry as one got under his guard and sank its remaining teeth into his shoulder. He struggled to force its head back but the distraction was all its fiendish companions needed as they bowled the Bosun over, dragging him to the deck. Once pinned under the weight of several moving corpses, Kennedy found himself unable to even raise his arms as claws and teeth started to rend his flesh. His cries of agony were quickly silenced by a large axe splitting his skull in two.
Finding an area of the deck relatively clear of debris from the masts or the battle, Havelock waited calmly for his enemy to join him, confident that none of the zombies still climbing down from the hulk would trouble him. They raced past to catch any crewman still remaining on the Elita, any who were too slow in abandoning the ship. Dubois then approached with a limping gait Havelock had not noticed before, his appearance all the more hideous in broad daylight. Havelock did not even bother to salute with his sword, merely holding it at a slight angle, ready to either strike or parry any sudden lunge from the creature that had robbed him of two ships.
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