The Guns of Two-Space (74 page)

Broadax hopped back down and roared in her gravelly voice, "
Hoo-yah!
All right, boys, we gits ta have some fun, now! Marines, standby to repel boarders, an' then ta take it over to 'em! Corporal Kobbsven, yew tell the lads on the upper side and take charge there. I'll lead the boys on this side. We'll meetcha in the middle over a nice plate of Crab legs and drawn butter!"

She shook her ax in the air with glee and yelled to Fielder, "Hot, damn! Ye
do
take me to the
best
dances, an' I appreciates it!"

Fielder shook his head gloomily. "See what I mean, Bert? I tell her to repel boarders and get a boarding party together..." He ducked reflexively as a sleet of splinters sprayed out from the mast overhead, then continued. "...and she acts like I asked her out to a fancy dress ball. Any normal mortal would be scared spitless, but not her."

Asquith, to his own amazement, laughed! Here they were, beset on all sides by enemies, the quarterdeck had been lashed with splinters and debris, killing off one quartermaster and wounding another, he'd had the crap scared out of him (or it would have been if he hadn't known to go to the head before all this had started), he
knew
they were all gonna die, and he managed to laugh at Fielder!

"Daniel," he said through the chuckles which were threatening to erupt into full scale, hysterical laughter, "did you ever stop to think that if she wasn't the kind of woman she is,
you
might be the one leading the boarding party?!"

Fielder paled at the thought. While he could fight, and damned well if need be, he considered himself a lover not a fighter. And the idea of leading the boarding party into the grinder that was coming alongside was a horrifying thought.

A slug from a Crab swivel gun wheeted past their heads and they both flinched reflexively.
Swivel guns
, Fielder thought to himself distractedly.
Crabs got swivel guns. How come
we
ain't got swivvel guns?
 

"Good point, Bert," he responded. "I'll make sure that when my plate gets filled with Crab entrees trying to add me to the menu I'll pass it on to Broadax."

"I'm sure she'll appreciate it! Have you reconsidered apologizing to her and burying the hatchet?"

"Apologize? For what, Bert? And any buried hatchet would probably be between my eyes! And, oh by the way, do you mind if we continue this discussion another time?" he yelled as he yanked Asquith out of the way of the grappling hook that seemed to magically appear behind him, hovering in the air before it slammed to the deck, then slithered toward the rail where it grabbed fast, burying its tines deep into the wood.

"Damn!" yelled Asquith as he spun reflexively to face the rail while his pistols seemed to leap unbidden into his hands.

"Hey, Loo-tennnannt Broooad-ax! Company's coming!" lilted Fielder as he joined his friend, drawing pistol and sword. While he liked the newfangled monkey-assisted loading procedure, one advantage of steel was that it never misfired. And with Asquith and himself on pistols, and their monkeys reloading and blocking, they might be able to hold the quarterdeck until the marines got aboard the enemy Ship.

Grapnels flew like striking snakes and Crab small-arms fire rattled off the deck like deadly pebbles. The enemy Ship surged up to the
Fang
's stern and Broadax's marines flowed across. One hapless Crab fell between the Ships, where it was trapped between the two grinding vessels, screaming like a tormented animal. Its eye-stalks rolled with agony as ichor painted the hulls a sickly green and yellow. Then the lifeless husk slid down into two-space and disappeared.

As the
Fang
's
hull touched the Crab Ship, there was an exchange, a transfer that functioned at many levels. Moss and neurons, citizens and hostages, ambassadors and philosophers: the exchange between the two Ships was all of that and more.
 

Fang found this new Ship to be incredibly alien, but once again the Fang told her tale, and the new Ship... listened.

The Crab Ship felt alien feet flooding onto her decks, while even more alien concepts and ideas flowed into her soul...

"Warm work, Captain!" said Barlet with a grin as he paced the gundeck. The endless, aching drills on the long passage across the Far Rift had taught them well.
Fang
's guns never stopped roaring their hate and defiance. The sound was painful and jarring as the double-shotted guns vomited death and made the deck planks buck beneath the gun crews' feet.

"Aye! That it is!" replied the captain. Boye barked his enthusiastic agreement. "Make sure your men have weapons to hand—the Crabs are trying to board aft. Broadax and her men are taking the fight to them, but others may try to take advantage of the distraction."

"Aye, sir! We're ready!"

HewhocommandstheFleet was dismayed. "Why are they still shooting their cannon? How can they fight when they are attacking the Ship? No mind can control fighting hand-to-hand and firing cannon at the same time! No one can do that!"

Rear Admiral Middlemuss looked at the
Fang
with something approaching awe.

She was like a comet, surrounded by a large cloud of Crab gunboats, but there was still a tail of at least a hundred, maybe two hundred more following her, swirling in and out, trying to get shots off at her. Her upperside mainmast and mizzenmast were shattered, with the top half of the mizzen totally shot away. Blood flowed from her decks. And still they fought, blazing away with cannon from both broadsides, with the stern guns taking their toll on the followers, and the bow cannon taking out any who approached too close to their course. She wasn't making more than five or six knots now, but the
Fang
was still fighting. And, most importantly, she was totally dominating the attention of the Crab fleet.

"Damned if he hasn't gotten them in a perfect shooting gallery lineup for us," the admiral muttered. "And I don't think the buggers even know we're here yet!"

He yelled up at his signal lieutenant, "Signal hoist to read, 'All Ships, turn to greenside, on my mark. Form line ahead. Engage as targets bear. Maximum firing rates. Friendly target danger-close.' Got that?"

"Aye, sir!"

He turned to his flag captain, Captain Stavros of the Frigate
Asimov
. "You understand my intent, then, Captain?"

"Yes, sir. On your command we'll turn to the greenside, form a line of battle, and start pounding the Crab Ships as we sail past them. Since the Crabs all mount their cannons forward, they'll have to break off from the
Fang
to attack us, and incidentally make themselves dead in the water, then we can make them dead indeed!" he finished with savage glee.

"You've got it. It'll be point-blank range for the guns so make sure your boys are ready."

"We'll be ready, Admiral, don't worry. Trust me, we're
all
ready for some payback!"

Melville read the flag hoists as well, with a surge of joy in his heart.
That crusty, poker playing, old S.O.B. actually came through for us! Now we just have to survive for a few more minutes.
 

"Mr. Barlet, we're about to have some friendly company off our redside. Make sure your gunners cease fire when the line of battle comes into our firing arc."

The Crabs' attempt at boarding had been well and truly defeated. The flood of marines down into the Crab Ship, from both the upper and lower sides, had turned the table on the enemy boarders, sending them scurrying back in full flight, discouraged, disheartened, and dismayed. But not before Asquith, Fielder, and the quarterdeck crew spent a few frantic minutes potting the Crabs that climbed over the lowerside quarterdeck rail. The deck was littered with twitching Crabs and a handful of writhing humans in their mutual death agonies. The rapid, accurate fire from Asquith's pistols had amazed Fielder. He contributed when he could, in between his responsibilities conning and fighting the Ship as a whole.

Damn,
Fielder thought as he watched Asquith's guns blaze and Crabs drop like flies,
that psycho, Ulrich, has really trained Bert to perform under pressure. I wonder what our little earthling could do with a decent pistol, like those .45s we had down on the planet. Going to have to introduce him to those soon. Real soon!
 

On the upperside quarterdeck Grenoble, the two rangers and the dogs—along with their monkeys—served the same purpose, hammering the invaders with such gleeful efficiency that Melville and the quartermaster never even had to participate.

The quarterdeck personnel, above and below, only had to defend themselves for a few brief minutes before the
Fang
's marines hit the Crabs. The lunging line of bayonets moved across the enemy's lowerside bow with Broadax at the center. Fielder watched her pounce forward and sink her ax into the thorax of one of the enemy's big fighter Crabs, while her monkey deflected the alien creature's scorpion-like stinger. Her blow sounded like an ax biting into a log, smashing the big Crab down into the deck and cracking its shell like a coconut. A splash of green ichor fountained out in all directions from the creature as its innards came out, under compression, from the mashed body. Then she tore her ax out as you would from a chopping block, pulling a ropey string of green slime back with the axhead.

Working together as one, Dwakins and Rawl fought beside her, and they fought well.

Above and below, the marines moved forward like a butchering machine run amok, slicing and dicing the Crabs, pausing for a single volley of massed fire on command, and then pushing forward into the mass.

"Daniel," said Asquith quietly as they watched the marine machine at work aboard the enemy Ship. "Am I mistaken, or did I just hear Dwakins and Rawl shouting, 'Wreckdum! Wreckdum!' over there? What in the
hell
is that all about?"

"I really don't want to know, Bert."

"
Execute!
" ordered the admiral, and the line of battle, all the seaworthy Ships (or as close to seaworthy as they could make them and still get underway in time) turned nimbly to their greenside, forming a line of battle, like a string of ducklings following their mother, the flagship
Asimov
.

Middlemuss pumped a fist in the air in excitement, then quickly placed his hands together behind his back. He tried to maintain a calm stately demeanor, but the huge smile on his face gave him away as he observed the
Fang
draw closer to his beam at about five hundred yards distance. His gunners and officers watched him like a pack of dogs eager to be unleashed, waiting impatiently for the chance to fall upon these scum who had caught them by surprise. The time for retribution was approaching—quickly.

Melville strode the upper quarterdeck, stepping over a groaning sailor. Much as it hurt to leave the man, the captain's job was to keep the
entire
crew alive, not just one wounded crewman. So Melville simply called "Corpsman! Over here!" and kept going.

He glanced over the stern and verified that the marines had their battle in hand. Fighting was still fierce but it seemed to be concentrated at the stern of the Crab Ship.

He looked around the quarterdeck and noted with sorrow that the quartermasters had both been killed or wounded, and that a seaman named Simpson was manning the wheel. Tiny Aquinar was still standing his watch, hobbling around on his wounded leg and breathing deeply as he awaited orders. Melville nodded to him, "Mr. Aquinar, have the signalman make the signal for 'Reporting for duty.'"

"I'll do it sir," said Aquinar quietly. "Signalman's dead."

Melville felt ashamed that he hadn't even noticed. "Mr. Barlet," he called over the quarterdeck rail, "the redside batteries will cease fire on my command."

"Aye, sir!" the master gunner replied.

Melville watched as the Westerness Ships came closer to his beam... closer... closer.

"Signal from flagship, sir," said Asquith. "Return to port!"

"Thank you. Mr. Barlet... redside batteries only,
cease fire
!"

Midshipman Hayl felt the deck heave beneath him and the air was suddenly filled with a shower of deadly wooden shards and falling rigging as yet another cannonball smashed into
Fang
's mainmast. Other balls screamed overhead like tortured souls escaping from hell.

All around him the mast, decks, and railing were splashed with blood, as though the Ship were being painted by a lunatic. Men were being pulped into purple and scarlet masses by the enemy fire and falling spars that burst through the protective netting. He felt the tug of small splinters and debris on his clothing and wet splatters on his face. Looking down, he saw flecks of gristle and blood on his white pants.

Initially, Hayl was the upper redside battery commander. His guns hadn't gotten much play at first, and he and his gun crews had quietly watched as Midshipman Palmer, Mr. Barlet, and Captain Melville worked the stern chasers and the upper greenside battery. Then the enemy had begun to pull around the
Fang
's redside, and suddenly his guns were very busy.

When Midshipman Palmer was called to replace the injured Aquinar on the upper quarterdeck, Hayl had to fill in and command both the greenside and the redside batteries. He allocated targets whenever the captain or the master gunner didn't, he saw to a steady supply of shot for the guns and water for the crews, and he redistributed manpower as men were injured and killed.

Then Palmer had died while commanding the quarterdeck, and Hayl's duties and responsibilities became even greater! He still could not yet fully grasp the fact that the deep voiced, giant of a boy was dead.

Fortunately, Aquinar had limped back from the hospital to resume his duties on the quarterdeck. Hayl deeply respected the courage that it took to come back to the fight. The hospital wasn't really all that much safer, but it would have been tempting to just hunker down there and make the most of your wound. But not little Aquinar.