Union Forever

by William R. Forstchen

  Smoke was pouring out of their gunhouse, and a side port was open, a wounded man crawling out.

  For a brief instant he saw the hole they had punched in, twisted metal torn away from the wood backing. Horrible screams echoed from inside the ship, and then they were past, the wounded vessel turning across the stem of the Suzdal.

  Andrew uncorked the speaking tubes to the gun deck and engine room.

  "You've knocked one out! Good shooting!"

  Ramming, as Bullfinch had said, was a hell of a lot harder than one would think. At least from his side it was most likely going to be gunfire that decided it.

  Drawing a deep breath, he looked out over the ocean.

  Directly ahead, his own galleys were cutting through, coming in around him. The main action was now farther out, nearly a mile from shore, where the Cartha galleys had sliced in and were cutting into the left flank. Explosions echoed across the water as gunboats seemed to have paired off, circling each other, trading shots. Even as he steamed back eastward the battle was drifting down toward him.

  Several dozen galleys were bobbing in the water around him, their captains turning them about.

  "Get a bugler up here!" Andrew shouted. "Engine half speed!"

  A moment later the hatch popped open and a young Suzdalian boy wearing the blue uniform of the 35th climbed up beside Andrew, looking fearfully at the blood-splattered interior of the pilothouse.

  "Get out on top!" Andrew shouted, ducking away from the hatch.

  The boy started to say something, his features gone white.

  "Get up there, boy, I need you!"

  The boy looked up at the open sky above and then scrambled up the ladder and out onto the deck. Andrew stuck his head up beside him.

  "Now blow recall, and make it loud!"

  "Cut through their galleys!" Tobias shouted, looking over at the pilot. "Run down anything in your path!"

  "What about their ironclads?" Hulagar shouted, trying to be heard above the yelling crew struggling to run their guns back out.

  "My own gunboats have them occupied. These fifty-pounders loaded with grape will slaughter them. We've got his whole army out on the water now—let's finish the job."

  "Sir, we've got another gunboat coming up out of the east."

  Tobias stepped up to a viewing port and looked out.

  "It's just another ship—we'll finish him later."

  Turning to look back forward, he saw the ocean covered with ships circling each other, smoke drifting across the water, boats going down.

  "Let's get in there!"

  "They're surrendering," Marcus cried.

  Revolver long empty, Vincent continued to push forward with spear lowered, driving the enemy back. Cartha sailors were leaping into the water, pouring over the sides.

  "Finish them!" Vincent screamed.

  Suddenly he was at the end of the ship, the enemy crew on their knees, arms outstretched. Terrified of what he was, yet losing himself in it, he started to raise his spear up.

  A heavy hand knocked him aside.

  "It's enough!" Marcus roared, looking into his eyes.

  Struggling for control, Vincent looked back at the terrified men in the stem. With a gesture of contempt, he threw the spear down.

  "Someone who speaks Cartha, tell those bastards to get the hell off this ship and swim for it," Marcus shouted. "Twenty men as a prize crew, row her into shore and beach her. The rest of you back with me."

  The deck of the ship was a charnel house. The devastating effect of rifle fire had simply shattered the sides of the enemy vessel. Below his feet, in the slowly rising water, Vincent barely noticed the dozens of dead and wounded, the water in the bilge pink with blood.

  Joining in the push, Vincent went back over the corvus and aboard the Roum. The battle was now forward and several hundred yards away. Around him was nothing but wreckage, sinking vessels, and those struggling to get back into the fight. An ironclad was steaming back around, and with a sigh of relief he saw it was the Gettysburg, its gunhouse scarred from a glancing hit.

  "Are we winning?" Vincent shouted.

  Marcus looked around and then back at his friend.

  "Who knows? But I don't have much hope with that thing out there," and he pointed to the Ogunquit, which was bearing straight down in their direction from half a mile away.

  "Hoist the corvus!"

  The prize crew, armed with axes, spear points, and iron bars, slashed around the edge of the plank. With a groaning shudder it broke free.

  "All oars, battle speed!"

  "Engines all ahead full. Bugler sound charge!"

  With nearly thirty galleys spread out around it and two ironclads falling in with the advance, the Suzdal surged forward, pressing straight into the middle of the melee, the calls of the bugles sounding across the water as the attack group swarmed into the fight.

  Half a dozen enemy galleys came out of a bank of smoke, angling to strike the group on the right. Four-pounders snapped off, spraying the water with shot, striking one of the enemy ships. Still they pressed in. Several of Andrew's group turned off to meet them, and the farthest enemy out was slammed into amidships. A corvus rang down, catching the Cartha ship before it could withdraw, while another galley swung up alongside, the crew dropping oars and raising their muskets to rake the enemy ship.

  Three Cartha ironclads started to cut in front of the group, gun ports opening, revealing their weapons shifted amidships.

  One after another the guns let off. The deck beneath his feet jumped, a spray of iron rising up in front. The bugler dived down by Andrew's side.

  "Gun deck!"

  "Couple of men wounded, bolts getting driven clean through, one man dead, but we're still working!"

  "Hold your fire till we're on top of him!"

  O'Malley fired at the nearest enemy ship, less than a hundred yards away, the shot disappearing into the smoke.

  The enemy gunboat turned its stem to the Suzdal, the water foaming beneath its bow, leading them straight into the melee.

  Onward they pushed, oared ships shooting past. A galley in flames slowly rolled over, men leaping into the water. Horrified, Andrew watched as one of his ships, riding low in the water, banked hard into a turn. Water lapped up over the gunnels, and the ship kept going right on over, turning turtle in the water. A shot came skipping out of the fight, splashing into a cluster of men holding a plank, lifting bodies into the air. His galleys now slightly ahead seemed to slash straight into a wall of ships. Corvuses slammed down. Clusters of vessels, some up to half a dozen in number, were locked together, men fighting, musket shots ringing out. The sound of wood smashing into wood and iron against iron thundered across the water. Through the confusion he saw the Ogunquit cutting through the heart of the fight.

  "Engine room, helm to the left!"

  As if bent on suicide, a Cartha galley shot in front of the Suzdal as it turned. The iron prow slammed into the boat, and a shudder ran through it as it sliced the enemy vessel in half, scattering wreckage across the water.

  Pushing in to the heart of the melee, Andrew aimed straight at Tobias's ship.

  "Fire one off and clear that gun, O'Malley."

  A second later the deck rocked again. The shot screamed over the struggling galleys, slamming into the side of the Ogunquit and shattering.

  "I want an extra pound of powder in that bore, and load one of the wrought-iron bolts!"

  "Colonel, she hasn't been proofed for that kind of load!" O'Malley shouted back.

  "Do it now!"

  “ ‘Look out for the gunboat!" Vincent shouted, pointing straight forward.

  "What the hell do you think I'm doing? We're going to board her!"

  The enemy ironclad continued its turn, coming about to face the line advancing back in from the east.

  "Pull harder!" Marcus screamed.

  The galley seemed to leap forward, gaining on the ship.

  "Corvus now!"

  The board slammed down, striking into the stern of
the ship. The iron spike skidded across the enemy deck and then snagged on a torn-up section of metal.

  "Let's go, riflemen, everyone!" Marcus roared, leaping onto the plank and running forward.

  Vincent leaped up to follow him. The men struggled across the swirling gap of water.

  Leaping off the corvus, he skidded on the deck of the ship, struggling to stay afoot.

  "The damn thing's covered with grease!" Vincent roared.

  Stunned, Marcus looked about, trying to gain a foot and pushing forward.

  More men climbed aboard.

  "Look out!"

  From across the bow of the ironclad a Cartha galley cut in hard, slamming straight into the side of Marcus's ship, pushing the galley around in a pivot on the corvus. From the far side of the enemy ironclad a line of galleys bore down, and suddenly it seemed as if the sea was aswarm with ships, musket fire rattling, light field guns booming off, men screaming. A Roum ship smashed into the side of the Cartha galley that had destroyed Marcus's ship, driving it up against the side of the ironclad, which was still steaming forward.

  Another Roum ship swung up on the opposite side of the ironclad, dropping both corvuses. In an instant, men swarmed down, hitting the deck, slipping and sliding, even as the corvus skidded across the iron-backed surface of the ship.

  "Now what the hell do we do?" Vincent shouted.

  "The engine-room hatch!"

  Marcus slid over to the door, grabbed hold of the iron ring, and pulled.

  "They've bolted it shut."

  "Well, of course they would, goddammit!" Vincent roared, feeling foolish standing on the deck of the ship with no way to get in.

  The aft gun port of the ironclad suddenly swung open.

  "Vincent!"

  Sliding across the deck, Marcus pushed him into the water, even as the gun exploded.

  "Fire when she bears," Andrew shouted, "then run the gun over to the right side. I'm swinging in parallel to her."

  "I hope this works," O'Malley shouted.

  The gun kicked off with a thunderclap boom. A hundred yards away he saw the shot slam into the side of the Ogunquit, and an iron plate spun up and away from the side of the vessel.

  "Engine room, bring us around to a heading of due north!"

  Five gun ports opened and the long barrels were run out.

  Remembering the bugler who was kneeling up on the deck, Andrew reached up, grabbed him by the collar, and ducked down into the pilothouse, dragging the boy in head first.

  A crash snapped through the Suzdal, echoed by a high piercing scream below.

  Pulling open the hatch, he stuck his head in to look. The room was filled with smoke and dust.

  To the right of the forward gun port the side of the ship was buckled in, the railroad crossties fractured, fresh wood showing where splinters had been ripped away. A man lay on the deck writhing in agony, a jagged hunk of wood sticking out of his arm.

  Andrew slammed the hatch shut and stuck his head back out.

  "Helm steady! We're running alongside!"

  The Ogunquit looked like a monster riding low in the water, not thirty yards away. Behind him the Constitution, its forward deck furrowed from one end to the other by a shot, was keeping formation. The General Schuder was cutting in ahead, trying to cross in front of the Ogunquit.

  Andrew spared another look around. They were in the middle of the galley fight. Most of the ships were locked together, corvuses linked to Cartha galleys. He suddenly felt a surge of hope. Out of all the maddening confusion he saw that wherever ships were hooked together, the musket fire of his Rus troops was overwhelming the Carthas, who had gone in expecting maneuver and ramming to be the key. Even when they had successfully rammed, a corvus was still dropped, hooking the two together in a death grip. Once ships were hooked together, rifle fire was reducing the enemy ships to splintered hulks filled with bodies. They had been totally unprepared for the corvus, the same way their ancestors had been caught, he realized, over two thousand years before.

  Their only hope was to outmaneuver him, but in the square mile of ocean in which the battle was now spread out, there was precious little room. The fight had degenerated into an uncontrollable brawl without any semblance of formation, each ship a miniature battlefield unto itself.

  "Gun ready!" O'Malley cried, and without waiting for Andrew's reply, the deck below snapped out another round. At such close range there was no way to miss. The wrought-iron bolt slammed in, slicing through the iron plate with a sound like a hundred great bells striking at once, punching a hole clean into the side of the ship.

  The Constitution fired off, striking the vessel astern, slicing off a section of armor near the top of the gun deck, sending a spray of fragments heavenward.

  Andrew looked forward. They were going to have to turn—the shoreline was racing up less than a quarter mile away. Right under the bow of the Ogunquit the General Schuder opened its gun port.

  There was a thunderclap explosion. For a second he thought the gun inside the Schuder had burst. The gun deck seemed almost to lift off its foundation as a section of wall several feet across was crushed in like a rotten shell. Lengths of rail iron went spinning into the air, and the entire ship seemed to slide sideways from the impact. "My God, what does he have forward?" Andrew gasped.

  Horrified, Tobias looked back down the length of his gun deck. The first shots that had struck had slammed in hard, cracking some timbers but nothing more. But the last three had hit with devastating effect. A dozen men were down, blood streaming from their splinter-torn bodies. A section of wall had buckled clean in, and a heavy timber snapped off and slammed against the other side of the deck.

  Yet what he had done forward had somehow recovered him. The hundred-pound shot had punched right through the side of their ship.

  He still had the edge.

  "The battle with the galleys is going against us. They're using planks to hook the ships together," Hulagar shouted, trying to be heard above the screams of the wounded and the shouts of the port and starboard gun crews, who were running their weapons back out.

  "When we finish the ironclads off, we can turn on the remaining galleys!" Tobias snapped.

  "Helm hard to the right!" Andrew shouted. "O'Malley, run your gun over to the left side!"

  Even as they started to turn, the Ogunquit's gun ports swung open again. He continued in on the turn, coming straight in toward the stem of the enemy ship.

  A tower of flame shot up across the water. A Cartha ironclad seemed to lift straight out of the water, rising into the sky, splitting in half.

  The guns on the Ogunquit snapped off, and a geyser of water sprang up off his left side, drenching him and the side of the ship.

  The Ogunquit, continuing forward, started to turn as well, its stem shifting around.

  Andrew looked straight over at the aft gun port, which now swung open.

  "Jesus, that's no fifty-pounder!"

  The gun cut loose, the round screaming past him, slamming into the stem of the Constitution, slicing through the armor protecting her paddle wheels. A confetti of wood shot out the back of the ship, and instantly it slowed.

  Andrew looked around for support. In less than a couple of minutes the Ogunquit had smashed two of his precious ships.

  A quarter mile away he saw half a dozen ironclads slugging it out, their decks nearly touching. One of them, whose he couldn't tell, was pushing a large wave before it, its deck under the water, the stem already lifting into the air.

  The Ogunquit continued its turn to the east, cutting straight through the galley battle.

  "Helm steady, continue running east!" Andrew shouted.

  He shot through a tangle of ships that seemed anchored together like a floating island. In the middle of the fight were two of his own, hooked to each other by corvuses, the men ringing the sides of the floating fortress pouring out volleys of fire into the Cartha vessels around them. A Cartha vessel lay low in the water, its side holed by a four-pounder shot.

/>   "Bring us a couple of degrees to the left."

  The Suzdal edged over, slamming into the stern of the Cartha galley and snapping it in half. The crew threw down their oars and leaped into the water.

  The ocean was carpeted with struggling forms, hanging on to wreckage, swimming toward shore. On the beach he saw hundreds of exhausted men, wearing the white of Rus and the varied clothing of Roum and Cartha. They were already grouping together, but the fight seemed out of them as they stood along the shoreline, sometimes within feet of each other, watching the struggle still going on out at sea. It appeared that there was almost a truce on land, as if the shipwrecked men, having survived the madness out in the ocean, saw no further sense in trying to kill each other.

  At least the frenzy hadn't gone that deep yet, Andrew thought, knowing that if it were humans and the horde fighting like this there would be no quarter, on sea or on land.

  The starboard gun ports of the Ogunquit swung open. He suddenly felt naked—there was only one ship running alongside of her. For a brief instant he looked around as if hoping to find another ironclad to somehow hide behind and to take the horrible punishment for him.

  He ducked down into the pilothouse.

  A crack snapped through the ship, followed an instant later by two more hammer blows. The second one knocked him across the pilothouse and into the bugler, who shrieked with pain.

  His head ringing, Andrew scrambled back. The boy looked up at him white-faced, holding his side.

  "Get below, son!" Andrew shouted, even as he stuck his head back up out of the hatch.

  A twisted section of rail stuck straight up in the air beside him. From below he could hear more screams.

  An instant later the deck rocked beneath him and a wrought-iron bolt snapped out, slamming into the side of the Ogunquit, tearing off another section of armor.

  A high whistle sounded, followed seconds later by the second one from the engine room.

  "Engine room, colonel. We're taking water," Ferguson shouted.

  "How bad?"