The Guns of Two-Space (11 page)

Their major bit of good luck thus far was that the enemy had not shattered any of their masts. But that could change in a moment. With this third Ship Melville changed his strategy and began to aim at the enemy's masts. He had to keep them at a distance, and just a few good shots could shatter the approaching Guldur's foremast and slow them greatly. Besides, he didn't want to sink these last two Guldur Ships. He had
other
plans for those bastards!

Melville and the third Guldur Ship began their battle by each taking out a mast. Just as Melville's precisely aimed shot from Malicious Intent shattered the enemy's upper foremast right at the base, a lucky shot from the enemy combined with previous damage to take down the
Fang
's upper mizzenmast.

With a shattering, rending roar, the mizzenmast came tumbling down while Melville was still on top of the upper stern gun. He looked up in time to see the great mass of canvas, and spars come ponderously down, dragging two screaming sailors and a trail of rigging behind it like writhing snakes. He rolled off the platform and crouched next to the gun carriage as the foot-wide yardarm smashed down across the gun.

"All hands to the gun!" roared Melville as he crawled out from the debris. "Clear this gun for action!" He heaved himself up, only to realize that his right hand was half sunk into the shattered, pulped skull of one of the assistant gunners.

"Clear the gun first, then see to the rest!" Melville shouted. All around him the entire upperside crew was dashing about, chopping and hauling at the debris like a mass of ants on a kicked-over anthill. He wanted to stop and help with this task, but their lives depended on hammering the enemy, and he raced to the hatch. "Mr. Hayl!" he said, grabbing the young midshipman by the shoulder. Hayl jumped and Melville couldn't help but smile briefly. The boy had anticipated the touch of a deadly splinter or cannonball and not his captain's hand.

Melville looked him in the eye and said, "Come to the lower deck and tell me the instant this gun is cleared for action. Do you understand?"

The boy's face was white and his eyes were wide. Melville could hear the tension in his voice as he nodded and squeaked, "Aye sir!" Then Melville saw Archie Hargis, his imperturbable clerk, look him in the eye and nod calmly from behind the young midshipman. Melville grinned with relief—he knew that a veteran crewman would backstop the midshipman to ensure that he was informed as soon as the gun was back in action.

He scrambled over a mass of debris and dove into the hatch. With the fall of the mizzenmast the line running straight down the center of the hatch had gone slack, and his heart was in his throat as he made the dive without his guideline. He dropped through to the lowerside, where the rope was still attached to the lower mizzen topsailyard, and scrambled up the line to the deck, where Boye greeted him joyously. He looked up at the quarterdeck and called to Lt. Fielder, "Daniel, the mizzenmast has come down on the other side!"

"Aye, sir. They called over the voice tube to tell us. We've already slacked sail to balance the thrust."

"Good. Send all of your idlers up to help them, and have someone get this line taut, so I can go safely back through the hatch when the upper stern gun is clear."

"Aye, sir!" responded Fielder calmly, and then he began to call out clear, concise and effective orders. Melville grinned as he hopped up on Rabid
,
the lower stern gun. Fielder may not have much liking for a fight, but when the chips were down his competence, combined with his strong sense of self preservation, made him extremely capable. As Sun Tzu said, "When in death ground, fight!"

Then Melville fired the gun and saw the ball shatter the enemy's lower foremast. He watched with intense satisfaction as the mast shivered and then slowly bowed forward, picking up speed as rigging snapped and the angle became more pronounced, until it slammed down across the enemy's bowsprit in a great flapping tangle of wood, canvas, and cordage.

Now the enemy had both his upper and lower foremasts down. This new damage did not slow the enemy any more, since they had already slacked sails on the foremast to balance the thrust, but the forward-leaning masts had came down like fallen trees, completely blocking the enemy's bow guns. Melville only had one gun to fight this battle with, but the enemy had none.

Melville began to slam shot after shot into the enemy's mainmast. Rabid's gun crew threw themselves at their handspikes and rammers, oblivious to anything but the hungry muzzle of their gun. After just three shots the Guldur's mainmast came tumbling down, and the
Fang
began to pull rapidly away from Guldur number three.

Guldur number four, the last of their attackers, was now closing rapidly. Over sixty percent of the
Fang
's sails were out of commission and one of her two big stern guns was down, while a completely fresh enemy came charging at them with both bow guns blazing.

Melville and Rabid were getting to know each other. They were fine-tuning their relationship with each shot fired, and as this new enemy approached, Melville, his Ship, and his gun all felt a great sense of confidence.

On the upperside the Guldur Ship would be hammering them mercilessly and the
Fang
could not respond. Their only hope was to quickly and efficiently stop the enemy, right now, with
this
gun.

He is the gun, he is the Ship. They are him and they are one.

He aims down the barrel. The tiny motions of his head happen without conscious thought, guiding the crew to make minuscule adjustments to the gun. He is not aware of reaching down to touch the Keel charge at the base of Rabid's barrel, it is just... time. In the fullness of time it happens.

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<>. He guides the shot home, willing it onto the target. Rabid's first shot is just a hair left, smashing halfway through the left side of the enemy's foremast.
 

Melville waits with intense frustration while the crew reloads the gun and slams the huge weapon back into battery. <>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> The second ball goes slightly to the right, barely clipping the mast.
 

"Ah, you bastards," murmurs Melville as the gun is slammed back into battery by its crew. "We got you bracketed."

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> Rabid screams as the next shot splits the difference between the last two, and smashes through the foremast.
 

The crew cheers themselves hoarse and Boye barks triumphantly as they watch the enemy's foremast tumble down and cover the bow gun. The Guldur Ship is now close enough that the two 12-pounders in the
Fang
's stern cabin beside him can finally come into action. For a brief period they add their share of death and destruction, punishing the enemy for the presumptuousness of getting this close.
 

Melville's lips draw back and he begins to hammer away at their mainmast.

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> Again it is slightly to the right, with splinters flying out from that side of the enemy's mainmast.
 

Again, the frustrating, agonizing wait as the gun is reloaded, and then: <>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> The next ball sends splinters the size of a man's leg flying out from
the left side. Melville can feel
Fang
say <> He can tell that
Fang
likes the concept communicated by that word.
 

He doesn't notice the stink of ozone or the blinding flash of the cannon, he only has eyes for the enemy. <>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<>. The mainmast comes tumbling down, and the
Fang
begins to pull away from her tormentor.
 

But Melville,
Fang
, and Rabid
are not done. The enemy can still do damage on the upperside, and the foe is still in range of their gun. Melville must continue to savage the enemy Ship for as long as he can.
 

Now their target is the enemy's mizzenmast; their last mast, their only mast on this side. Already the enemy has dropped out of range of the
Fang
's 12-pounders, and the two guns in the stern cabin beside him go silent.
 

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> But this time the ball misses. Melville
feels
the shot go left. The
Fang
is pulling away from her target. The range is greater with every second, yet still they fire. There is a vicious rage upon them and it is not in them to stop when they can still do damage.
 

<>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> The next ball sends splinters blossoming out from the Guldur's lower stern cabin.
 

"Damn, dead on, but too low," Melville mutters while
Fang
and Rabid seethe with frustrated rage.
 

The gun crew sees where the ball struck, and they automatically elevate the barrel. It is now back in battery and raised to the maximum possible extent.

It seems to take forever for the gun to come back into battery, but finally it is ready. Melville touches the Keel charge and
commands
the next shot.
Fang
dedicates all of her vast intellect to compute and direct the shot. <>
"Cha-DOOM!!"
<> With an intensely gratifying, almost orgasmic surge of effort, Rabid
spits out the ball.
 

The crew cheers and roars as the final mast shivers and falls on the distant enemy Ship, while Rabid's
crew races to refill the shot garlands, not willing to rest until their gun is ready for the next battle.
 

Now there were only three Ships still alive in this piece of two-space: the
Fang
, and two Guldur strung out to her stern. One enemy Ship was completely dismasted on one side, while the other was only getting thrust from one mast. The
Fang
had steady thrust from two masts—albeit with badly damaged rigging and terribly tattered sails.

If Melville wanted to he could pull away from his enemy and escape the battle. But that would mean they were still out there, and with some repairs they
could
still catch his tattered, mangled Ship.

It would not be easy, but there would never be a better time to finish off the attackers, and Melville's beloved Ship and crew would not be safe until their enemy was completely defeated. Besides, Melville was a firm believer in kicking the bastard while he was down.

In victory, humility. But until the victory was won and his Ship was safe, his motto was: fair fights are for fools.

I am no Homer's hero you all know
I profess not generosity to a foe...
If you play a game of chance,
know before you begin
If you are benevolent,
you will never win.
 

Their achievement thus far had been nothing short of amazing. Throughout history there have been warriors with extraordinary, deadly superiority in combat. There were swordsmen, duelists, and snipers on every world who racked up hundreds of kills, and Melville was in part a duelist and a sniper. But the
Fang
's prowess was more akin to the man-machine interface of the fighter aces or elite tank crews in the twentieth century on Old Earth. Some of these war machines were manned by pilots and crews whose remarkable competence permitted them to make hundreds of kills.

The majority of the fighter pilots and tank commanders in twentieth century combat never got a single "kill" to their credit. Many never got the opportunity, and those who did often found out, too late, that they didn't have the killer spirit. One of the greatest fighter aces of all, a man with over three hundred kills to his name, said that most of the time he killed men who never knew he was in the sky with them.

As Melville felt the thrill of his survival, his success, his triumph, he knew that this was what it must have felt like for one of those legendary aces. The finest pilot in the finest machine with the finest crew, all utterly devoted to killing. He and his Ship were death incarnate. Melville laughed aloud. Joy surged through his soul—joy in victory, joy in life. As he stood there, with one hand stroking the hot barrel of Rabid and one hand on the Moss of his Ship, McAndrews poured him a mug of tea as the steward's monkey added lemon and sugar.

Melville took a sip, and then he held the cup up for his monkey. He felt almost dizzy and slightly disoriented as he began to relax. After the intense, focused concentration of aiming the gun it was like waking from a dream. As the savage spirit of Rabid seeped out of his soul it was like coming down from a drug high. Suddenly he realized that his body was bruised and battered and his hands were rope-burned. His awareness expanded outward from aiming the gun, to his body, to his Ship. Suddenly he remembered the rest of his responsibilities, the rest of his Ship.

"Dear Lord," he said, "what about the upperside?" Then he handed the mug to McAndrews, turned, and strode quickly to the hatch.

He called over his shoulder to the quarterdeck, "Steady as she goes, get us well away from those bastards for now."

"
Aye
, sir," Lt. Fielder replied. "Sounds like a good idea to
me
."

Melville gave the rope a tug to be sure it was secure on the other end and slid down headfirst as he had done so many times before, except this time he was conscious of the pain in his hands. When he popped through to the other side he didn't have the energy to clamber up the rope, so he swung over to the ladder and climbed up onto the upper gundeck.

On the lowerside Melville had taken the last two enemy Ships out of action by dropping their foremast over their bow guns and then hammering them with impunity. On the upperside the situation was reversed. The 24-pounder at the
Fang
's upper stern gunport was out of action, and both enemy Ships had been able to pound away at the crew as they tried desperately to clear the gun and repair the damage. The only thing that prevented the enemy from dropping the
Fang
's mainmast on this side was the fact that Melville had done so much damage, so quickly, on the other side and then pulled away from the battle. Even then, it was a close-run thing.