by James Axler
Techman Rood had been triangulating too. Ryan had asked the ship’s techman when he expected the Glory to raise the Sabbath fleet. Rood had said within one to four hours. Ryan flicked a glance at the sun. That had been an hour ago.
Jak shouted from the tops. “Sail!”
“Two sails!” Ricky called. “Four points to starboard!”
Ryan and Loral snapped out their spyglasses. The Cific was a glassy, purplish blue with too much low-lying haze to the west. The Sabbaths came knifing out of it barely two miles away. Ryan had wanted to spend at least a day playing games with them and give them a long stern chase, eating J.B. and his crews’ nine-pound stern chasers. Ryan took in the sleek white sails of the Lady Evil and the hideous, black sails with white spines of the Ironman, their vector, and knew he couldn’t evade them before nightfall. He grimaced and snapped his longeyes shut.
“Miss Loral!”
Loral shouted, “Captain on deck!”
Ryan spun. Captain Oracle had appeared on the quarterdeck like a magic trick. He looked wasted and gaunt, but he stood straight and wore his full uniform. He’d tucked his single-shot blaster and a wallet of ammo in his gold sash. A short, heavy, recurved kukri knife hung at his left hip. “Miss Loral, all hands on deck, if you please.”
“All hands on deck!”
The Indonesians pounded their hand drums and the crew boiled up top like ants. They were something to see. The crew bristled with extremely hostile implements of iron, steel and wood of every description. Oracle walked to the rail overlooking the main deck.
His broken-slate voice thundered. “Officers and crew of the Hand of Glory, now is the time of battle! Now is the Sabbaths’ time of reckoning!”
The crew shouted and cheered.
“They have every advantage—ships, weight of shot, weight of blasters and hordes of men! We are outnumbered. Outgunned. Outmanned. And we must fight both sides of our ship while they only have to fight one.”
The crew was very well aware of that, but their captain didn’t seem to care, and they bellowed out in defiance of the odds. Oracle’s voice dropped. “I will tell you something else you know.” The captain held up his horrible prosthesis. “All men of the sea know a monkey’s paw will give a man three wishes. And all men of the sea know those wishes come at a terrible price—wrack and ruin upon the wisher and upon all around him as the price!” The crew stared in superstitious awe. “This cursed paw, given onto me by my enemies! I call upon it now! I claim my three wishes. I wish the good ship Glory to win this battle. I wish she and her crew survive to sail the Seven Broken and Boiled Seas. And third...” Oracle lay his right wrist upon the binnacle. Crewmen shuddered and gasped as Oracle drew his kukri. Grown men screamed as the captain severed his mummified ape hand with a single blow. Oracle stabbed his knife into the rail and held up the orange-furred monstrosity as his stump bled. “If a price must be paid for it?”
The crew recoiled as Oracle tossed the simian horror to the deck below him. He suddenly took up his knife and smashed the glass dome of the binnacle. The embalming fluid cascaded to the quarterdeck. The captain held up the skeletal hand. “But all sailors know the power of the Hand of Glory! By the power of this hand, by my third wish, let that price be paid in full, by me!”
Oracle dropped the bones over his bleeding stump and the skeletal fingers clenched around it. Ryan’s skin crawled. The captain leaped on top of the rail and grabbed a shroud with his good hand. “Glory be the name of this ship! Glory be her destiny!” Oracle pivoted on the rail and whipped his right arm astern. Blood flew, and the bone-thing clutching his wrist extended its forefinger at the sails chasing them. “I say glory lies that way!”
The crew erupted in an orgy of cheers, roars and war screams.
Oracle exploded like an angry god had put its fist through his chest. Blood, flesh and bone chips fountained over the first few rows of crew. The sonic boom cracked like a whip a second later as the projectile continued across the deck and back out to sea. The captain fell shredded to the deck below. The bony hand fell limp from his still bleeding wrist like a dead spider and curled. The crew’s jaws dropped as a unit. Wipe’s moan cut the silence and one by one more joined it.
For one second the Glory and her fate hung on a precipice.
Ryan stepped to the rail, usurped command and roared with a confidence he did not share. “You heard the captain! You want to live? You want to see the soft shores of Molokai? You ever want see the Carib again? By paw and hand the captain just paid your jack!” Ryan didn’t wait for an answer. He turned to face the stern and the enemy sails in the distance. “Mr. Manrape!”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Turn this tub due east. Start the stern chase!”
“Aye!” Manrape spun the wheel.
“Miss Loral!”
Ryan was relieved she didn’t challenge him. “Aye!”
“The bridge is yours.” Ryan strode to the sodden, formaldehyde-smelling binnacle. He saw no cannon smoke on the horizon. At this range, the only explanation was the enemy had an antimaterial longblaster or a small-caliber auto-cannon with an optic sight. Ryan took out the Longbow blaster and the handful of remaining shells. He slung his Scout also.
“I’m going to take a shot or two from the stern.”
“You heard the man!” Loral shouted. “Action stations!”
No cheers or shouts greeted the order, but the crew went obeyed. Ryan shouted down the main hatch. “Mr. J.B., bring up your spotting binoculars!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Aboard the Ironman, Emmanuel Sabbath leaned back in the yokes of the smoking 20 mm Oerlikon cannon. The automatic feed had failed long ago, and the weapon had to be loaded awkwardly by hand one round at a time. It had a crack in its hundred-year-old optical sight, but it was still hell for accurate. Pleasure was not a usual expression on Sabbath’s face. Relief was even rarer. Only Kang and the ship’s masterblaster, Narl, saw the captain’s hand shake.
Sabbath wiped his brow and smiled. Oracle was dead and had lost both of his right hands in the bargain. The doom Oracle had pronounced was dead with him. Sabbath grinned savagely and savored his victory. “Let’s see that doomie bastard come back from that.”
Kang grunted and lowered his binoculars. The giant Korean had seen Oracle’s torso burst like a balloon. For a split second Kang had seen daylight through Oracle’s body before he fell. “No come back. He dead.”
Narl nodded eagerly at the Oerlikon. Firing it was one of his favorite things. “Another?”
Sabbath considered his precious and dwindling supply of 20 mm shells shining in their crate. Oracle was dead. This was the day to make taking the Glory a certainty.
Sabbath stepped back to let his masterblaster enjoy the task. “Two shells, Narl. Make them count. Take out his stern chasers. Whoever is left in command, his only hope is to draw this out.”
Narl happily loaded a round, closed the breach and leaned into the yokes. Narl suddenly flew backward in a slightly less violent but still spectacular imitation of Oracle’s extinction. Blood sprayed like a fountain. Kang hugged the deck. The second shot sent sparks shrieking off the action of the Oerlikon and the cannon spun like a top on its pintle. A third heavy-caliber bullet smashed into the besieged cannon and sent it spinning in the opposite direction. Sabbath looked up to see his cannon’s action torn open and, with Narl dead, far beyond repair.
Sabbath’s eyes suddenly flared. “Ammo! The ammo!”
Kang lunged to shove the ammo crate off the keg it rested on. He got one hand on it before it exploded in his face. The heavy, antimaterial round shattered the crate like kindling and sent its contents flying. Kang got a face full of splinters and flying rounds. By a miracle nothing detonated. Loose and broken rounds rolled all over the deck. Kang spit and wiped propellant off his face. He looked at his captain guiltily. Sabbath was
angry, but the sight of Oracle coming apart like a rag doll was something that would take a lot more than the loss of a half-functional 20 mm blaster to ruin.
“Mr. Kang?”
“Aye, Captain?”
“Radio my daughter to get ahead of the Glory and take the weather gauge. She will have to take some shots, but tell her to keep own fire high, masts, sails and rigging. Slow this Deathlander down. Tell her not to close until we catch up.” Oracle grunted to himself. “We’re just going to have to do this the hard way.”
“Aye, Captain.” Kang was pleased. Besides the act of rape, boarding actions were his favorite thing in life.
* * *
J.B. LOWERED HIS spotting binoculars. “Nice shooting.”
Ryan set down his smoking, empty Longbow. With just a few boxes of ammo, he might well be able to drive the enemy off. That wasn’t going to happen. They were just going to have to do this the hard way. He handed the weapon to J.B. “Thanks.”
“Wish you’d taken that giant’s head off while you were at it. I’m not looking forward to meeting him when this goes hand to hand.”
“Me neither.” Ryan took up his Scout. He’d had nearly full mags when they’d been shanghaied in the Carib. After a great deal of soul-searching he had donated much of his 7.62 mm ammo to string together a second belt for the ship’s only machine gun, and he’d donated some more to the sharpshooters in the tops. He’d distributed a lot of his 9 mm ammo too. They were going to be fighting both sides of the ship, and they needed firepower from stem to stern. J.B. was right. It was going to go hand to hand.
Ryan had thought about that long and hard and had stayed with his new saber rather than his panga. The panga was a tool first and weapon second, and it would break or bend when it faced a flurry of pikes and boarding axes. He’d replaced his survival and slaughtering knives with a long, heavy dirk that was almost more spike than knife.
J.B. grunted again as he looked out to starboard. “She’s moving fast.”
Ryan watched the Lady Evil take a parallel course in the distance. He was a newly minted sailing man, but he marveled at her lines and the breathtaking amount of sail she’d raised into the winter winds of the south Cific. He didn’t need to check his chron. “She’ll pass us within the hour and get the gauge on us in the next.” Ryan watched the vast, black Ironman lagging behind. “It’ll take him three to catch up.”
J.B. shot him a dry look. “Getting pretty good at this, are you, Captain?”
Ryan looked at his friend. Ryan was the leader of his group, but by unspoken agreement and as first among equals. He’d had unwavering support from Krysty and Doc, but he’d had precious little time to do anything but first survive and then bark orders at the rest of his friends as their ship-ranked superior. “I’ve got to get real good and real fast if we’re ever going to see the Deathlands again.”
At the sound of a sob, Ryan and J.B. looked across the ship. As the captain’s hand servant, Doc had sewn Oracle into a bit of canvas. Doc’s hands were still bloody. He sat on a crate next to Mr. Squid’s barrel. Mr. Squid sat inside, conserving her hydration for the battle. She had one suckered arm across Doc’s shoulders. Her arm contracted in slow, gentle contractions and the colors of the rainbow rippled across her flesh.
“Gunny, bring up your crews for the stern and bow chasers. Make everything ready. The Lady Evil is going to try and chip away at us, so make her pay for it. You’re at liberty to fire at will.”
J.B. grinned and put a knuckle to his fedora. “Mighty kind of you, Captain.”
Ryan descended from the stern to the main deck. Koa squatted among the Tahitians, muttering quietly. Since he’d shacked up with Tahiata he’d gone from a figure of foreign islander abuse to the de facto Polynesian commander. Gypsyfair had had no time to tailor him an officer’s jacket. The only one available had been too small, so he’d cut off the sleeves. Combined with his royal Hawaiian headdress and cape, his sartorial splendor was something to see.
Ryan crooked a finger. “Mr. Koa, if you please.”
Koa rose. “Yah, boss!”
“How’s the crew?”
“Freakin’ out, brah. Oracle made a speech, and the powers that be listened. Captain called the thunder, and he got struck down. Question is, is the trade done, or did he doom us?”
Ryan looked to where Oracle had fallen. The deck had been scrubbed clean of blood and gore except for two circles of coagulated blood where Oracle’s horrible ape paw and his genuinely scary skeletal hand lay on the wood. No crewman was willing to touch them, and neither Ryan nor Loral had seen fit to give the order. Ryan was just glad neither had started moving of their own accord. Oracle lay in state in his cabin.
“Do you know?” Koa asked.
Ryan considered everything Oracle had told him and Oracle’s last, terrible, unopened envelope. “No.”
“This crew’s hanging by a thread. They’ll fight, but that’s because they have no choice. No one knows who’s captain anymore. Morale is low. You got any ideas?”
“You’re girlfriend told me my best option was to win.”
“Tahiata’s a good woman, and that’s good advice.”
“...right before she offered to sleep with me on the beach.”
Koa’s eyes flew wide. “You dick!”
Heads turned around the deck. Ryan nodded. “Bet your last jack on it, poi-boy.”
Koa threw back his head and laughed. Given the ship’s situation, the sound was almost alien. “I will kill you, brah!”
Ryan ignored the insubordination and possible mutiny and spoke loud enough for all to hear. “If we win, I give the Ironman to you and Molokai, Tahiata gets the Lady Evil, then you two can have yourself a real naval battle.”
“Screw that. We learn those ships good, then maybe we sail around the horn and give those Falklanders a dose of Polynesian pain. I remember a challenge in the gov’nor’s hall!” Koa’s voice rose to a roar. “Maybe Glory wants a piece of that!”
Crewmen of every stripe shouted, whistled and whooped in affirmation. Ryan shouted above it. “Skillet!”
The cook shouted up the gangway. “What?”
“A meal for the crew!”
“Tahiata sent us off with some pig.”
“Cook it! Cook it all! Then douse all fires!”
“Aye!”
“Purser Forgiven!”
Forgiven squinted into the sunlight shining down the gangway. “Aye?”
“Tot of grog for every crewman who wants it after the meal, a stiff one!”
“Aye!”
The ragged cheers strengthened. Ryan strode to starboard and leaped onto the rail. He grabbed a shroud and looked at the Ironman behind and the Lady Evil pulling ahead. “We’ve run two continents, two oceans and sea. I’m tired of running.” Ryan turned to look at the crew. “Who wants to fight?”
The crew roared.
“Mr. Manrape!”
Manrape called back from the con. “Aye!”
“After the crew is fed and grogged—” Ryan turned his gaze back toward the Ironman disappearing into the distance “—turn this tub around.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The sound of cannon fire was continuous. Miss Loral was sailing rings around the Ironman. The Lady Evil had sprinted far ahead of the Glory to gain the weather gauge and hold her. The last thing either Sabbath had expected was for the Glory to turn about and attack the Ironman.
Ryan’s bet had paid off. The Ironman was huge, even bigger than the War Pig, but she had been built after the fall. She was a far from perfect imitation of the oceangoing junks of old, and so were her cannons. Ironman had a lot of them, but they were crude, small and slow. The Glory was a museum piece, and her cannons had been forged in a long vanished, far better time of craftsmanship. Glory’s blaster crews had a century-old
tradition of excellence, and they had J.B. Dix riding herd on them as gunny.
The Glory was pounding the Ironman to pieces.
Her cannons were larger, faster and better aimed, and she clung a hundred meters out to the Ironman’s starboard side and smashed out her blaster ports with terrible precision. The Ironman shot for sails and spars, and damage was being done. Ryan was inches from giving the order to lower Glory’s aim and shoot to smash Ironman’s hull at the water line.
Ryan and Koa stood at the prow and fired. The one-eyed man and his Scout longblaster were the only shooters in the battle with an optic, and he shot for officers and gunners. Koa had his beautiful, wood-furnitured AR and swept the Ironman’s tops. Ryan squeezed his trigger and killed the third man to take the Ironman’s wheel. Sabbath was not to be seen. Ryan shouted over the sound of cannon fire. “Koa, I told you the Ironman would be yours and Molokai’s! But—”
“Sink the fucker!” Koa shouted. His AR pinged out a last spent shell. “Empty!”
“Take command of the Tahitians!” Ryan ordered. “Go!”
Koa scooped up his war club and ran down to join the Glory’s platoon of war-screaming Polynesians. The Ironman turned to bring her stern about. Like the War Pig, she had four stern chasers to the Glory’s two. With most of his starboard weapons silenced, Sabbath was taking a last desperate shot at cracking one of the Glory’s masts. Ryan saw his chance and shouted down the hatch. “Gunny, go for the Ironman’s rudder! Fire as she bears!”
J.B.’s voice was ragged from the powder smoke filling the lower deck. “Aye!”
The Ironman poured in fire, but it was slackening. Their predark blasters were few in number and running out of shells. The sharpshooters in the Glory’s tops were doing cold-hearted chilling work. The cannons below went silent. Ryan watched the Ironman desperately try to bring her four stern cannons to bear. The enemy ship gave J.B. a perfect line. He shouted the order. “Fire as they bear!”
The Glory’s port side cannons began going off with slow, terrible precision. Cannonballs smashed low into the rudder of the Ironman. Ryan watched black-painted wood shatter and throw white splinters with the blows. Cables broke, and the rudder suddenly sagged like a broken fan in its housing.