Mamelukes

by Jerry Pournelle

  Baker frowned, then looked at Warner.

  “Did you understand that?” he demanded.

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “Good. Explain it to Captain Oranato. Then you can have a go at explaining it to Leftenant Cargill, if you will. I’ll just listen in to be certain you get all the fiddly bits right for him.”

  Warner grinned.

  “Of course, Sir,” he said, and his grin grew wider.

  * * *

  It took half an hour to accomplish the maneuver. By the time they were headed for the enemy fleet, the two lead pirates had lowered their sails and were barely a kilometer away. Their oars moved gracefully in full sweep, and they were closing fast on Baker’s ship. The Roman marines, dressed as merchant sailors, gathered on the forecastle, readying the ballista which had been hidden under a tarpaulin. They were careful to not look very professional while they did, and the Gurkha riflemen stayed out of sight, clustered just forward of the oarsmen. Their rifles were still cased and they lay back on the deck, hands clasped behind their heads, chattering among themselves as the fleets closed.

  Captain Oranato shouted orders, and his sailors began hauling in the lateen sail to the big yardarm, then lowered the yard until it rested on supports. The oarmaster increased the pace of his hammering, and the oar strokes became more rapid. The two lead pirates slowed their forward pace.

  “Got too far ahead of their pack,” Baker observed. “They’ll pay for that.”

  “Bit surprised they don’t just turn and head back until their friends catch up,” Warner said. “They’re faster than we are, and if the three ships I was chasing suddenly turned on me, I think I’d start wondering if something was going on that I didn’t know about.”

  “We’re merchant ships; they’re warships. Well, pirate ships, at any rate.” Baker shrugged. “They’re certain to have bigger crews than any merchant vessel, as well, but we do outnumber them three-to-two. Probably think we’ve decided our best chance is to try to overwhelm them before their friends arrive, but I doubt they’re overly concerned about the outcome.”

  “Likely the best ships they have, too,” Warner said. He scanned the approaching ships. “They’re crawling with armed men, Major. They think they’re ready for us.”

  “I’m sure they do.” Baker nodded with an unpleasant smile. “But whatever they’re ready for, it’s not us.”

  The ships drew closer together and Baker took out a whistle and sounded it for attention. The Gurkhas looked in his direction, and he pointed at the oncoming pirates.

  “All right, lads! Make ready for volley fire!” he ordered, and the Gurkhas uncased their rifles. Warner glanced at the other two ships and their riflemen were doing the same.

  The pirates came steadily closer.

  Duck and cover? Or stand here like I’m brave? Warner thought.

  The Roman marines had their artillery ready, a spear-sized bolt in the catapult and a dozen cocked crossbows to support it, but they remained seated on the forecastle while the Gurkhas knelt on one knee behind the ship’s bulwarks. Warner could see archers on the pirate ships, and he and Baker and Warner were the only people—which meant targets—visible to them at the moment. Not a pleasant thought.

  “They’re upwind of us,” he said nervously.

  “Bit out of range for arrows, surely.” Baker sounded infuriatingly serene as he studied the lead pirate through his binoculars.

  “Closing, closing . . . make ready to fire,” he said conversationally to his men. “We will fire in volley at one hundred meters range. Your aim point is the forecastle of the lead ship. Take your aim—now!” The Gurkhas rose higher on their knees, swinging their rifles over the top of the bulwark, as Baker put one hand on the mast while he felt the timing of the ship’s roll. A moment passed, and then—

  “In volley, fire!”

  The twenty rifles crashed in what seemed like one long shot.

  “Change your aim point to the oardeck!” Baker shouted. As he did, there were two more volleys, one from each of the other navibus onerārius in their flotilla, and suddenly the forecastles of both approaching pirate ships were littered with bodies.

  “No archers standing!” Warner reported, and Baker bared his teeth.

  “Piece of cake,” he said, and turned back to his men. “New aim point, change targets! The port oardeck is your aim point! Take your aim, in volley, fire!”

  The rifles crashed again, and Baker paused to assess the damage.

  They were nearly abreast of the pirate ship thirty yards to their port. Most of the oars were unmanned, and there seemed to be chaos on the enemy ship.

  “Good enough. New aim point. Change your aim point to the steersman. First section, make ready. First section only, fire at will.”

  There were several shots with no effect, then the enemy steersman doubled over. Warner heard cheers. Then the Roman officer on the forecastle shouted orders, and an arbalest bolt penetrated the pirate ship just aft of the mast. There were more cheers, although Warner didn’t think they had hit anyone, and the Roman officer pointed to his firepots.

  “No, dammit!” Warner shouted. “We want that ship, Centurion! Not a burned hulk.”

  They passed the pirate ship at a distance of twenty yards. Someone had taken the steersman’s place, and shouted orders could be heard. A few pirates had bows, but the Gurkhas were both faster and more accurate. As they swept past there was more individual rifle fire, and again the pirate ship had no steersman.

  “Now, Mr. Warner,” Baker called. “Let’s see about that fellow.”

  He pointed at a third pirate ship, a thousand yards or so behind the two leaders, that was suddenly backing oars as their quarry turned on them.

  Warner shouted to Captain Oranato, who grinned widely and gave orders to the steersman. The oarsmen on the deck below were cheering.

  Warner looked southeast. A dozen sails had appeared over the horizon, and he touched Baker’s sleeve and pointed.

  “Colonel’s coming up.”

  “Yes, we’ll let him deal with those two.” Baker raised his voice. “Stand by to engage,” he said, then thumbed his radio to the general channel. “All units, this is Rabbit One. We’ll cripple the third enemy and see if we can catch any more of them. Once we’ve hit this next ship, leave these for the main fleet to deal with. We will then engage the next three pirate ships in line. I note that the trailing ships have slowed their pace, I believe they may try to run away. Acknowledge. Over.”

  “Rabbit Two, aye, aye,” Martins said. “Well done, Skipper! Over.”

  “Rabbit Three, aye, aye. Over,” Cargill said.

  The third pirate ship tried to turn away at the last moment, but its captain had left his decision too late, and Warner cheered as Sagitta bore down on the galley.

  “We’ll rake him, by God!” Baker shouted. He grinned at Warner. “Well, that’s what they say in the Hornblower novels. Make ready for volley fire. Your aim point is low on the steering deck. Keep it low. Stand by . . . take aim. In volley, fire!”

  Five minutes later the third pirate’s sail fell.

  “The rest of them are running away,” Warner said. “They’ve seen the fleet, I think.”

  “Or what happened to their companions,” Baker said. He shrugged. “Either way, we aren’t going to catch them. They’re pulling away from us now.” He frowned. “Waste of ammunition to fire on them at this range. All right, Sergeant Major, you can have the lads put their weapons away. This job is pretty well done.” He thumbed the talk button. “Mission accomplished, Colonel. What’s next?”

  “Stand off until we bring up the fleet,” Rick said. “We’ll get things—uh—ship shape. Then we’ll take the fleet to call on Nikeis.” Rick’s chuckle came through on the radio. “After you transfer back to Ferox, we can send your merchant captain on ahead to tell them what he just saw.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  MEETINGS AT SEA

  Nikeis lay ahead to the north, bright in the noon of the True Sun. A blustery wind
out of the northeast raised whitecaps and the Roman quinquireme tossed unpleasantly as the oarsmen kept it stationary against the wind. Rick stamped impatiently as a smaller boat approached the fleet from the channel entrance to the Nikeis harbors.

  Captain Pilinius scanned the approaching boat with Rick’s binoculars.

  “Galliot,” he said. “Not a threat.”

  The Roman reluctantly gave the binoculars back to Rick, as careful as Rick was in removing the strap from around his neck and using both hands to hold the optics. His expression was close to pure envy.

  “I expect that’s just the point,” Rick said. “They want us to know they’re no threat. I’m sure Captain Oranato’s put the fear of God into Their Serenities or whatever the hell they call them.”

  “The Signory,” Warner said helpfully. “Colonel, I expect your very polite letter saying that you expected to be met by Clavell and Harrison as well as their officials probably scared them more. I liked the tone you used.”

  He turned his own binoculars onto the southern entrance to the Nikeis island complex a mile to their north.

  After a moment Rick did the same. The channel entrance was guarded by twin stone fortresses, each over fifty feet high, standing over a complex of walls and low wooden houses. The channel turned sharply right a hundred feet past the entrance forts, winding its way through mud flats punctuated with other tower fortresses until it reached the main island complex. About two miles from here, Rick thought. A mile of mud flats, and those odd shaped towers.

  He’d been told the northern entrance to the Nikeis complex was more open and less easily guarded, but he couldn’t see that because of the city itself.

  No city walls. The main defense of the city would be on water. If a hostile army landed there would be street fighting, and whoever won, it would be bloody. He began visualizing an invasion of ten thousand troops. How many could Nikeis turn out to oppose the invaders? Where would they make a stand? The upslopes of the main islands’ steeply sloped spines would be hell on an attacker, but everything of value lay on the flats below them, and—aside from the population, at least—it couldn’t be moved. If they didn’t want their entire city looted or burned, that meant fighting on the low ground.

  He scanned the island complex. The southern entrance channels seemed to be protected by tower forts, but it was hard to tell which of those forts was manned, or what they would be manned with. Not cannon. Not yet, but now that Nikeisian troops had seen the Great Guns in battle, it couldn’t be long before Nikeis had some too.

  Presumably there would be chains across the harbor entrances, but Rick saw no signs of them. Probably they were lowered now. But aside from raising the chains, just how did Nikeis intend to defend itself against an invading fleet?

  And the tide was coming in. Even as Rick watched some of the mud flats vanished under water. It was difficult to estimate the depth, but it seemed evident there must be new, unguarded channels to the city itself. Defense of that harbor would be complicated.

  The inner lagoon and its central island complex were no more than twenty miles square, and probably a good bit less, with the higher island system an irregular blob some three to four miles wide. Rick frowned. Ten thousand men might very well take the city, and hold it if organized resistance collapsed. But first they’d have to get ashore onto the actual city islands.

  “Hail,” someone called from the oncoming galliot.

  “Looks like Clavell and Harrison, Colonel,” Warner said. “I think they took your suggestion seriously.”

  “As they should have. Who’s that with them?”

  “Black man,” Warner said. “In what looks like civilian survival gear. Earth man, I’d say. And three official-looking guys in robes and fancy hats. Signory, for sure. Damned if I know about any Black men, Skipper.”

  “There were rumors of a Black star man,” Rick muttered. “Well, we’ll know soon enough. Bring up Major Mason and Major Baker, and ask Major Baker to stand twenty of his Gurkhas armed at attention along the stern rail. Might help if we have to negotiate.”

  * * *

  Clavell and Harrison were brought aboard by Roman marines, then led aft to the quarterdeck where Rick waited. They were not alone. The Black man and three expensively robed Nikeis officials followed them at a discreet distance and stood on the main deck as Clavell and Harrison climbed the stairs—ladder, Rick told himself—to the quarterdeck where Rick waited. Baker and twenty Gurkhas stood at attention along the stern rail with bayoneted rifles at order. They looked uncomfortable on the pitching quinquireme, but that only made them look more grimly dangerous, and Rick suppressed a grin.

  Just what I wanted. The Signory must have heard what those rifles can do.

  Clavell and Harrison obviously hadn’t suffered at the hands of the Nikeisian Signory. They were both clean and looked to have been well fed, Harrison perhaps more than was good for him. Clean clothes and a steady gait, Rick thought. I doubt I’ll be hearing any complaints.

  Clavell wore what Rick would call local finery. Harrison wore star clothes, camouflage battle dress. Both had .45 Colt pistols in shoulder holsters, and in addition Harrison had an H&K battle rifle slung over his right shoulder. When they reached the quarterdeck they snapped to attention and saluted.

  “Sergeant Clavell and Private Harrison reporting, Sir!”

  Rick returned the salute.

  “Welcome aboard. It’s been a while since we heard from you.”

  “Yes, Sir. I sent you reports, but I reckon they didn’t get through,” Clavell said.

  Cheerful enough, Rick thought. No sign of discomfort. Glad to see us. Not sure Harrison is, but Clavell’s all right. He’s looking for orders, doesn’t have schemes of his own. Of course I’m guessing.

  “Get through or get out, Sergeant?”

  “Don’t reckon they got out, Colonel,” Clavell said. “I don’t think the Signory have been letting my messages get out. I expect they still have them all.”

  “I’ll ask,” Rick said. “Were you mistreated? Imprisoned?”

  “No Sir,” Clavell said. “Only complaint I have is not being able to get messages in or out. Well, that and the fact they lied to me about not having a ship available to get us home before you locked up with the Fivers. They were making damned sure nothing they wanted to sit on was gonna get to you any earlier than they could help. ’Side from that, Colonel, we were treated like royalty.”

  Rick nodded satisfaction. “I’ll get your full report later. At ease, men. Good to see you again, Harrison.”

  “Glad to be back with the outfit,” Harrison said.

  Sure you are, Rick thought. Sure you are. Harrison had a wife and children at Armagh. They’d been moved to Chelm when Rick withdrew the mercenaries from Armagh, but Harrison wouldn’t know that. And didn’t seem to care. Still— “Your family was well, the last time I saw them,” Rick said. “I moved them to Chelm for safety, but they ought to be on the way back to Armagh by now.”

  “Safety? Sir?” Harrison frowned.

  “There was a bit of a flap when the Five Kingdoms marched south, but that’s all settled now. Armagh is safe, and so is your family.”

  “Thank you, Sir.” Harrison nodded, his expression unreadable.

  So that’s that? Rick thought. I don’t know enough about my troops. Are they divorced? Is Harrison keeping a mistress? I don’t know much about his wife—southern girl, no family came up with her that I know of. Don’t know how many kids, either. Elliot would know.

  “Begging your pardon, Colonel, but who the hell are those?” Harrison asked, pointing at Major Baker and his Gurkhas.

  “Reinforcements,” Rick said. “We’re short on time just now. Mr. Warner will bring you up to date as soon as we get a chance.” Rick nodded towards the Black man who stood with the robed Nikeis officials. “Sergeant, who have you brought with you?” he asked, and noted that Clavell looked to Harrison before answering. Not sure which is the real leader, here, Rick thought. “Should we invite him up?”r />
  “Yes, Sir.” Clavell said. “Sir, he’s from Earth.”

  “Recently from Earth?”

  “Yes, Sir, couple of weeks here, he reckons maybe three months in travel. There’s three of them. Colonel, there’s so damned much, this place, everything happening—”

  “I know, Sergeant,” Rick said. “Anything I have to know before I meet him?”

  “Not that I know, Colonel. He seems a pretty straight-up guy to me.”

  “Good. Ask him to join us.”

  Clavell nodded.

  “Yes Sir.” He turned towards the mid deck and waved, and the Black man came up onto the quarterdeck. “Colonel, this is Cal Haskins. From San Francisco,” Clavell said. “Cal, Colonel Galloway.”

  “An Earthman, I see.” Rick extended his hand. “And what brings you here, Mr. Haskins?”

  Cal Haskins’ grip was firm, and he looked Rick directly in the eye as he shook his head with a faint smile.

  “Corporal Haskins, US Army, as was, but that’s a long story, Colonel. Sure you got time to hear it all? Them Gurkhas look a bit seasick.”

  “You know about the Gurkhas?” Rick demanded.

  “Not a thing, Colonel. Seen Gurkha uniforms before, and the Major is clear Brit, easy to see that, and after the stories about brown star men and the pirates it wasn’t hard to figure. Easy to see they don’t like being on this boat, too.”

  Rick nodded; Haskins had a point.

  “Major Baker, you can have your men stand at ease. Or sit down, if they prefer.”

  “Sir.” Baker gave quiet orders. The Gurkha troops sat cross-legged, their backs to the bulwark.

  “No, we don’t have a lot of time at all,” Rick said, turning back to Haskins.

  Clavell nodded vigorously.

  “That’s what that merchant captain said. Shouted it out to everyone in the Palazzo. Pirate fleet coming, he said. Same as what the Nikeisian scout patrols say. Big pirate fleet coming, a hundred ships, maybe more. Two hundred. Maybe five hundred. Gathering in the mainland harbors, getting ready to sail against Nikeis. Pirates, Riccigiona, and Five Kingdom regulars coming to kill us all, coming soon, soon. We’d heard some of that before, but that guy you sent in made sure everybody in the Palazzo heard. Like he didn’t trust the Signory to tell everyone. He also said you were coming, with a Roman fleet and star weapons to help Nikeis, and that got cheers, I can tell you.”