"Aye, sir," Barlet replied with a scowl on his ebon face. "I hate to give 'em the advantage, but if the curs follow their standard doctrine—and when did they ever do otherwise?—they'll start firing as soon they think there is a chance of hitting us. Then we'll have a hell of a surprise for them."
"Aye, Guns. Aye," said Melville with a confident grin and a slow nod. "For them doctrine is almost a religion, but for us doctrine is your starting point—and then you improvise! So they'll be out to slow us down enough for their friends to come gang up on us. They'll want to knock down our sails and rigging, but I'll be aiming to punch a ball into their Keel. We'll be going for the kill on this one. So be ready for me to come join you right after Cuddles here says her piece."
"Aye, sir," Barlet said with a salute as he departed.
Melville returned the salute and turned to his coxswain. "Ulrich, get me Elphinstone, Brother Theo, Valandil, Westminster, Asquith, and Broadax, asap. And the first officer and the sailing master as well."
"Aye, sir! Da skurgeon, da pursker, da rangersk, da earthwurm, da marine el tee, da firsk osskifer, and da skailingk masker, cumingk up!"
Cuthbert Asquith XVI had wandered to the lower quarterdeck, where he now stood beside Lt. Fielder. The little earthling's tension was almost unbearable as the Captain Melville completed his inspection tour and the Fang began to approach the first Guldur Ship.
The crew members were using this time to rotate into the "heads" where they could drop their body waste into two-space. Even veteran warriors were experiencing the "stress diarrhea" that almost always happened before combat, and they knew to take this opportunity. Otherwise, in the heat of battle it would turn into explosive stress diarrhea.
Asquith could not tolerate the long, companionable silences that were so common among the crew. He had to talk, and so he turned to Fielder. "I guess everyone must be eager to put all that practice at shooting to work now. Ready for more death-defying feats, eh?" he asked.
"You mean more not so death-defying feats," scowled the first officer. "We've lost a lot of good men in our past battles and more will die today. Sometimes death won't be defied. My Grandma BenGurata always put it this way. Take out a $50 gold piece."
The bewildered earthling put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.
"You got one?" Fielder continued grimly. "Good, good. Now let's make a bet. If I win, I get to keep all your money. If you win, you get to keep it. You like that bet?"
"No, no. I... I don't think so."
"Well, that is a gunfight. And that is combat. You risk everything, and you don't win anything. You just get to keep what you have. You can't win an extra life, and you might lose the only one you have."
Asquith was turning white with fear and Fielder was beginning to feel just a tiny bit better, so he continued in this vein. "I don't care what flavor of gun you have. I don't care how well trained you are. There is always a chance you will lose everything. That is combat. So avoid it, at all costs. But if you can't avoid it, then by God you better be good. And as warriors—sailors, marines, rangers—it is, unfortunately, our job to go in harm's way, and we would be very, very foolish warriors if we were not ready for the moment of truth. In the end, the steely confidence that comes with training, and a firm willingness to blow your potential opponent's brains into a fine pink mist will hopefully serve as a sufficient deterrent."
Fielder's brand of misery did love companionship, and the first officer continued with a grim smile. "This time deterrence didn't work. The enemy is attacking, and we don't have any choice except to fight. So we fight. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be able to keep our lives. Maybe. But if you are not lucky you'll be smashed into a bloody mass by a cannonball, or blown out into Flatland where you'll bounce once and then pop into interstellar space, to die a hideous, painful death in the cold, merciless vacuum."
Asquith looked like he was ready to vomit with fear and nausea, but Fielder was feeling quite a bit better. In the midst of his gloom, seeing someone who was even more frightened than himself always created a small sunbeam of satisfaction that was completely undimmed by any sense of shame.
Just then Ulrich came and stood at the foot of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. "Cap'kin says firsk osskifer an' da earthwurm ta repork ta him in da lower bow. Sir." Then he sketched what might generously be considered a salute as he turned to get the others that the captain had sent for.
"Well," said Fielder, not bothering to return a salute to Ulrich's rapidly departing back, "it looks like you'll have a front row seat for all the 'fun'... eh?"
"Shipmates," Melville began, "I've brought you here as witnesses that we did not start this battle. We will not fire until they fire at us, and if they do not fire we'll be perfectly content to go on about our business. If they fire—and I don't think they came out here just to give us a big wet kiss—then I would like to have you on hand to bear witness. An esteemed Earth ambassador," this was said with a respectful, open-handed gesture to Asquith, and the captain's demeanor coupled with his exaggeration of Asquith's position seemed to make the little man stand a bit taller and prouder, "a widely respected Sylvan surgeon," this was said with a slight bow toward Lady Elphinstone, and she nodded back with solemn dignity and perhaps a twinkle of humor in her eyes, "a man of the cloth," to which Brother Theo, their purser, gave a dignified nod with just a hint of self-mockery in it, "two members of the Regiment of Rangers, one of them a Sylvan," the two rangers nodded with wry grins, "and a lieutenant of marines who is also a Dwarrowdelf," at which Broadax exposed her teeth—in what could have been a grin or a snarl—and took a long drag on her cigar, "will all be able to testify that we did not fire first. And I don't think that there is anyone on Earth or all of Westerness who would dare to call you all liars."
There were nods and confirmations all around on this point, which was reinforced by the solemn nods of the monkeys that sat on their shoulders. Only Asquith did not have a monkey, and his repeated gulps and nods made up for the deficiency. Then Melville turned to his first officer and sailing master. "Mr. Hans, you will take over the upper quarterdeck. Lt. Fielder, you have the conn from the lower quarterdeck. Assuming that they fire, I plan to bore straight into them and sink them long before we have to pass, but if they're still afloat when we meet them, then let us attempt to pass with our redside facing them."
Fielder and Hans nodded, and then Melville continued. "Very well, any questions? No? Then if my witnesses will please stand in the fo'cs'l here, and Lt. Fielder and Mr. Hans report to your stations, I think it is about time to expect some incoming mail from our Guldur neighbors. God bless you all, my friends, and may God bless our Ship and our endeavors."
"Amen," said Brother Theo.
"Aye," replied Broadax. "An' God damn them Guldur bastards to suck vacuum an' freeze in hell!"
"Amen to that," drawled Westminster with a nod and a wink as Melville got into position to fire Cuddles.
The 24-pounders were the Guldur secret weapon, but the Guldur had not figured out how to fire these guns with any accuracy. With any pistol, musket, or 12-pounder in two-space, you fired the gun by sighting it, and then touching the glowing Keel charge at the base of the weapon when you were ready to fire. When you touched the weapon off, you were actually in empathic contact with the Keel, and a good marksman learned how to "tell" the gun where to shoot, in addition to physically aiming the barrel in the conventional manner. To aim a 12-pounder you stood well to the side of the gun and leaned forward to aim down the barrel, in an awkward, hunched-over position, so that when you touched the Keel charge the gun would not hit you as it recoiled violently.
The 24-pounders were so huge that you could not aim and fire them without being crushed by the recoil. The Guldur dealt with this problem by sighting down the barrel, getting the gun aimed at the target, then stepping back and touching the Keel charge at the base of the barrel. The problem was that this lost a lot of the accuracy. As their master gunner, Mr. Barlet, put it, "You're always f
iring from old data when you shoot that way. And you can't 'guide' the shot home, you can't 'tell' the gun where to shoot. I just don't know how else to put it, but the bottom line is that the Guldur are only getting about half the potential accuracy from the guns."
So Barlet designed something that was the Fang's ultimate weapon. They built a platform that went up and partially over the gun. The gun captain laid on this platform and sighted down the barrel, so that when he touched the top of the Keel charge it recoiled harmlessly beneath him. This truly was a "secret" weapon. The gunner's platforms had been struck down in the hold whenever they were in port, and the crew all understood the necessity of keeping this a secret from the Guldur.
By using this platform the Fang's gunners could fire their 24-pounders with a degree of accuracy that the Guldur never dreamed was possible. But the guns were even more accurate when the master gunner, Mr. Darren Barlet, fired them.
The 12-pounders had the intelligence of puppies and the 24-pounders were as smart as wolves—enraged wolves. Whether puppies or wolves, Mr. Barlet was their pack master, their alpha male, and they obeyed him. His men joked admiringly that they could lay him on a gun carriage and put a cannonball in his mouth, and he would command it to seek the enemy. The ball didn't dare disobey. In essence, that was exactly what he did: commanding the cannon to hit and making it obey, just as a good dog handler would command his dog.
When the captain fired the 24-pounders he placed one hand on the white, Moss-covered platform and the other hand touched off the Keel charge in the cannon, completing a circuit with his Ship to form a devastating, three-part "totality" of death and destruction that completely transcended anything that even Mr. Barlet could achieve. Barlet may have been the pack master, but Melville was the "husband" of the Ship herself—the only one with intimate relations. And when the Ship was channeled through Melville into the guns, it was as if some two-space demigod was telling the guns where to fire. No mere mortal could ever match that ferocious precision.
Now Melville was stretched out atop Cuddles' firing platform, ready to fire while her crew stood patiently by, prepared to reload and bring the gun back into battery. The gunport was off center, leaving the fo'cs'l (the area in the very point of the bow) free for the witnesses, who were all watching carefully, taking their responsibility seriously. Asquith tried to take his cue from the individuals around him. He felt that it was important not to embarrass himself among these people. In particular, he found himself concerned with making a good impression on the beautiful, alien Lady Elphinstone, standing so regally in her yellow dress. Out of kindness to the men who might soon be under her knife, she had left her starched white apron and cap in the hospital. No man wanted to disgrace himself before a beautiful woman, and Asquith found himself rising to new levels of self-control and restraint.
Although two-space was perfectly flat, it had an effect which gave the illusion of a curved surface—perhaps because the pull of gravity bent the light waves. Thus there was a real horizon, and distant objects could be over the horizon and out of sight, just like on a planet.
From the upper and lower sides of the Fang the view of the enemy Ships had been the same. At first the upper sails of the four approaching Ships were seen by lookouts from atop the mainmast. By the time Melville and Fielder had finished their discussion on the quarterdeck, the tactical situation had changed enough to be visible from the deck. The oncoming Guldur Ship's hull could now be clearly seen from the Fang's main deck, while the two Ships closing in from their flanks had nearly all of their sails visible. Due to the Fang's superior speed they were actually pulling away from the fourth Ship, which was directly to their rear and could not be seen from the deck.
For Melville it seemed like an age as he layed atop the great gun. It was a long, drawn-out moment of unmoving crystal clarity, almost like a painting. The enemy Ship framed in the gunport, a thing of breathtaking beauty beneath a pyramid of sails. The barebacked sailors crouching beside the gun with handspikes, their gun captain concentrating grim-faced beside them. The white glow of the Ship's exposed wood illuminating everything with sparkling beauty. And above all the beautiful purity of the stars and galaxies that hung above them, contrasted by the deep royal blue of two-space beneath them.
Then they saw the approaching Guldur Ship fire a shot from the lower bow gunport. Above them the ball made a series of popping sounds as it cut a perfect round hole through their spritsailtopsail, foresail, mainsail, and mizzensail, severing some of the rigging on the way.
"No one hit!" cried the bosun from the rigging. "We're already making repairs!"
From the upper quarterdeck a report was called down to Fielder through the voice tubes, and he relayed it to the captain in the bow. "They fired and missed completely on the upperside!"
Melville nodded and looked at his assembled witnesses. "My friends, do we have a consensus that they have fired, and that our response from this point on will be in self defense?"
There was a chorus of ayes, a "Damned right!" from Broadax, a solemn nod from Lady Elphinstone, and a gulp and a nod from Asquith. Then Melville looked down the barrel of his gun and said quietly, "Then you'd all best be off to your duty stations. Oh, and Brother Theo, please ask the first officer to note it in the log: the enemy has fired upon us, and we are returning fire in self defense. Mind the recoil as you leave." His monkey clung to his shoulder and stretched its neck out so that it could also look down the barrel.
Asquith started to wander into the recoil of the gun but the gun captain quickly herded him to the side with a few tut-tuts. "Ol' Cuddles'd smash ya like a bug if ya was to go over there, sir."
The young captain felt his heart pounding against his breastbone like a hammer. Sweat trickled down his back, but his mouth was bone dry. His hands were cold and clammy, as his body shut down the blood flow to the outer layer of muscles in anticipation of taking damage. This was known as vasoconstriction, and it was the body's method of preventing blood loss. But it also caused loss of fine motor control since the muscles weren't getting blood, and Melville began taking deep, controlled breaths to get it under control. He knew from experience that once the battle started he'd be fine, but the anticipation was hell and his combat breathing was the tool to get it under control.
Melville gazed along the barrel. The elevation was right: it had been carefully calculated ahead of time. But to point it true he made tiny jerks of his head to the men with the crow on one side and the handspike on the other. With these tiny, last-minute corrections complete, Melville kept his left hand in contact with the Moss on the platform, let out his breath in a sigh, and reached down lovingly, caressingly with his right hand to stroke the Keel charge of the long brass 24-pounder.
<
Melville and the gun's crew were scarcely aware of the enormous ringing crack, the flash of light, and the stink of ozone. Auditory exclusion shut out the sound of the shot, just as a hunter shuts out the sound of his shot when he drops a deer, and all the other violent manifestations were taken for granted. They rammed home a new ball and wad, and then ran the piece out again with a squeal like some huge hog going to its death and ending with a satisfying thump as the gun came into battery. The crew's motions, though extremely rapid, precise, and powerful, were so automatic that most of them had time to see the flight of their ball and the fountain of wood as it smashed a gaping hole low in the enemy's bow.
Melville paused just long enough to see the ball hit. Then he rolled off the platform, landed like a cat, and departed without a word, accompanied by his dog and a chorus of cheers. With his monkey clinging tightly to his back, he trotted to the hatch, slid
down the ladder into the hold, and landed with flexed knees in the 1.5 gees. He and Boye stepped quickly to the hatch that led to the upperside, dove head first into the open hatch, went up the ladder, and in a matter of seconds the captain and his dog (and their monkey riders) had gone from the lowerside bow to the upperside bow, where Sudden Death sat waiting for him.
Again he mounted the platform and took aim, with his monkey craning to look down the barrel as well. Again the huge brass cannon screamed, <
Both above and below, a hole was already smashed in the bow of the enemy's Ship. If he could put one of the 24-pound balls through that hole and into the enemy's Keel, the Ship and everyone aboard her would die almost instantly. Almost. There would be a few seconds as the horrible certainty of their fate sank in.
Of course, the same thing could happen to them. Melville and his crew, his friends, his family could also die. He had not asked for this battle. The enemy had sought him. They had hunted him down and they planned to kill him and his brothers. It was kill or be killed, and Melville was determined that it would not be him or his friends who died this day. Not this day.
Almost without thought he found himself back on the lower gundeck, lying atop Cuddles. <
The Guns of Two-Space Page 6