Two Space War Part 7

Half blind with shame, half choked with dirt,

Man cannot tell, but Allah knows

How much the other side was hurt!"

"Dear Lady Elbereth," said Tibbits, "I hope we made the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds pay for what they did to poor old Rick Crosby and the others."

Melville knew that, in the words of Lord Wavell, "When things are going badly in battle the best tonic is to take one's mind off one's own troubles by considering what a rotten time one's opponent must be having."

"You tell me Chips. Fifty-two 12-pound b.a.l.l.s bouncing around inside that s.h.i.+p. Each one must have created hundreds, thousands of splinters as it busted its way in. You can bet the doggies and their Goblan 'ticks' were sucking shot and splinters that day. Aye, we made the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds pay, and we'll make them pay even more! Now, wrap up quickly and tell what happened after that."

"Well, then came the weird part, sir. We ran straight east, 'cause that's how we lay when we was snookered by that b.a.s.t.a.r.d. We spotted a line of Guldur s.h.i.+ps, stretched out to the north and south, all headed west, toward Stolsh. It was an invasion fleet! The biggest d.a.m.n fleet you ever saw. Mostly transports, runnin' real slow, but there was a sizable batch of frigates with them, too.

"We figured they must be plannin' to take out the whole Stolsh Empire in one punch. The one we ran into musta been part o' their scout screen. Their job bein' to get rid of anyone who could warn the Stolsh. That's got to be why they did for us like that, the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds.

"We veered off from them pretty easy 'cause they was goin' so slow. We slipped around that vacuum sc.u.mmer what sucker-punched us, 'cause you know those Guldur can't sail worth a d.a.m.n. But with the damage we took we couldn't put stress on the mainmast or the Keel, and so we couldn't pull far ahead of the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. We seen him signal to his fleet, so he must've told them not to worry about us, 'cause we was hurt bad. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d probably didn't want to share any of the loot and glory.

"Lootenant Fielder said we could escape to this world here. That it was our only chance. So here we are, and that b.a.s.t.a.r.d of a Guldur vacuum sucker is right behind us, sir."

"Can Kestrel fight, Chips? Can she handle a boarding action?"

"Aye, maybe she can hold out for a little while. She could take a solid smack in the bows and it might just compress the Keel, but anythin' from the side is apt to crack that Keel the rest of the way. But how can we fight that b.a.s.t.a.r.d's guns? They swung one of those monsters up front, for a bow chaser, on the lower side, and what we saw would curl your hair. They was shootin' at us at ranges two times what our 12-pounders can do. How can you fight guns like that?"

"Chips, did they ever hit us?"

"Well, no sir. Except for a few that pa.s.sed through our sails and our riggin'. One of those took out the sailin' master."

"I'm sorry to hear that. He was a good man. Our captain, first mate, marine lieutenant, sailing master and our bosun. The enemy has much to answer for. But do you see? Those guns are inaccurate as h.e.l.l at long range, and slow as h.e.l.l to load at close range." The old carpenter looked at him with hope smoldering in his eyes.

"Chips, an ancestor of mine, Herman Melville, wrote that, 'Mishaps are like knives that either serve us or cut us, as we grasp them by the handle or the blade.' By the Lady, we can do it. We can close with those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds and board them! We shall grasp this dark deed by the handle and plunge it into the enemy's breast! We have no choice. To fight is our duty. Do you want to kill your s.h.i.+p and rot below? Or do you want to avenge her?" A ragged cheer broke out among the surrounding sailors.

Melville didn't wait for an answer as the carpenter looked at him openmouthed, bewildered, amazed, and . . . hopeful. "Mr. Aquinar!" he shouted.

"Sir!"

"Get me the gunner, asap!"

"Aye, sir!"

The Kestrel had four warrant officer positions, each responsible for the operation, repair and maintenance of their portion of the s.h.i.+p. The carpenter, Mr. Tibbits, was responsible for all the wooden parts of the s.h.i.+p. The sailing master was responsible for all sails and rigging, but he was dead, and so was his senior NCO, the bosun. The gunnery warrant, Mr. Barlet, was responsible for her forty 12-pounders. The purser, Brother Petreckski, was responsible for the cargo and the holds. In order to get the Kestrel ready for combat Melville needed to get these section leaders and their personnel into action.

Melville's next priority was to get a quick exterior look at the damage to the lower half of the s.h.i.+p. Wise-nose was specifically designed for maintenance tasks such as this. At the bow, stern and flanks of the cutter there were steps that permitted access directly to Flatland. Melville moved carefully as he lowered himself down to this level, since gravity and warmth increased as you got closer to Flatland.

At the upper levels of the rigging, gravity was around a quarter gee and it was uncomfortably chilly. At the crow's nest it went up to a half gee and cool. The constant cold at that height was why they used enclosed crow's nests instead of open fighting tops.

On the maindeck of the s.h.i.+p it was about one gee, with warm and balmy temperatures. Right at the plain of Flatland, where Melville was, the s.h.i.+p was hot, with around 1.5 gees, and you had to move with some caution.

Melville knelt on the platform, and dipped his head through the opaque blue plane of Flatland. From this position he could see the half of the Kestrel that was "below." Basically, the s.h.i.+ps of two-s.p.a.ce were like two old-time sailing s.h.i.+ps with everything below the waterline cut off, and then joined together at the "waterline" formed by Flatland. The end result was that you had two s.h.i.+ps arranged so that one of them was "upside-down" to the other.

When he turned his head briefly, he could see that the cutter beside him was exactly the same on a smaller scale. Two equal sides, balanced above and below Flatland, except the cutter only had one small mast to a side.

Masts and sails had to be equally placed, above and below the vast plain of two-s.p.a.ce. If the "balance" between the upper and lower part of a s.h.i.+p got out of adjustment, the s.h.i.+p could tip over. If an old-time sailing s.h.i.+p tipped over it sank into the deep blue sea. When a s.h.i.+p in Flatland tipped too far it would also "sink," popping out of two-s.p.a.ce and into the cold, hard vacuum of interstellar s.p.a.ce.

As soon as Melville's head popped through, "down" became "up" for the portion of his body that was on the other side. All forces pushed him "down" from both sides into Flatland, that impossibly thin layer that represented the thickness of the entire galaxy.

From here it was as though his head was sticking out of water. He could see the two gaping holes where the enemy's cannonb.a.l.l.s had punched through the gundeck, and down into the Keel. Hanging immediately above him were the constellations of the "lower" sky. Dominating all was the great pinwheel that sailors called the Andromeda Galaxy. Which Earth astronomers swore had nothing to do with the "real" Andromeda Galaxy.

After taking a quick look, Melville pulled himself back up to the deck of the cutter. There was one other ent.i.ty that Melville needed to consult before he committed them to combat. Kestrel herself.

Hans and Broadax helped Melville pull himself up to the maindeck. He strode to the hatch, just for'ard of the mainmast, down the ladder (a land lubber would have called it a set of stairs, but aboard a s.h.i.+p, stairs are always called ladders), and through the upper gundeck. The warm yellow light given off by the Elbereth Moss guided him through the wrack and ruin of the shattered decks. He went down a second ladder to the upper hold.

Beside him, running fore and aft down the floor of this deck was the Keel, a round beam covered with pure white Elbereth Moss. Lovingly placed around the Keel were the crew's most delicate instruments. These were mostly the locks and barrels from many muskets and pistols. The cannon, muskets, and rifles that fired in two-s.p.a.ce were somewhat protected by their "Keel charges," the small, modified version of the s.h.i.+p's Keel, that provided the projectile force for the gun. But the gunpowder weapons used in three-s.p.a.ce needed the protection provided by close proximity to the s.h.i.+p's Keel whenever they were transported in two-s.p.a.ce.

Beside the Keel they also stored some of the carpenter's equipment (much of which was now in use), some navigational equipment, a few carefully tended block-and-tackle, and some of the surgeon's instruments. Here, closest to the Keel, the corrosive effect of Flatland on technology was at its least. With daily maintenance these few pieces of crude three-s.p.a.ce technology could continue to exist.

In slots in the deck, further out from the keel, the swords were stored. They were kept parallel to two-s.p.a.ce, their blades essentially "floating" in that impossibly thin plane. The influence of Flatland worked to pull the blades "flat," atom by atom. The effect was that the edges of the blades were "drawn" into supernatural, almost monomolecular sharpness.

Melville could see where the Keel was mortally damaged by the impact of two great cannonb.a.l.l.s fired at point-blank range. All around him men were working to sh.o.r.e up this vital area of the s.h.i.+p.

At the foot of the ladder lay an open hatch surrounded on three sides by a ladder-like railing. This was the opening to the "lower" half of the s.h.i.+p. Flatland couldn't be seen here, in the same way that the waterline is invisible from inside a s.h.i.+p. But the gravitational effect could be felt. If you eased feet-first through this hatch you'd sink halfway down. Half of your body would be pulled "down," while the other half, the half below Flatland, would be pushed "up." Like floating in water, with gravity pulling you down and buoyancy pulling you up. Except in this case it was gravity pus.h.i.+ng from both directions.

Instead of easing in, Melville dove through the hatch, headfirst, like diving into water. His momentum carried him most of the way through, and he pulled himself out using the railing on that side. From here he could see the damage to the keel from the other side. It didn't look any better.

He knelt carefully in the 1.5 gees and grasped the shattered Keel shards in his hands. > > She replied with deep, slow, strong, ponderous thoughts.

> She was in pain, preoccupied and distracted. But she was the product of over a century of fellows.h.i.+p with human beings. Her sentience was her own. Her heritage was human. Communicating with her was sometimes ponderous, but she knew how to transfer complex concepts in a concise manner.

< .="" .="" .="" f="" l="" a="" n="" d="" e="" r="" s="" .="" .="" .="" f="" i="" e="" l="" d="" s="" .="" .="" .="">>.

Melville understood immediately, and was rocked to his core by what she was saying. Aloud to the men around him, and to his s.h.i.+p (his s.h.i.+p, by G.o.d, for a little while it was his s.h.i.+p), he replied: "< p="">

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow . . .

Take up our quarrel with the foe!

To you from failing hands we throw!

The torch; be yours to hold it high!

If ye break faith with us who die!

We SHALL NOT SLEEP!>>"

Kestrel replied with a pulse of energy so powerful that it was felt by every crewman who was in contact with the Elbereth Moss that coated much of the s.h.i.+p.

In that moment the young lieutenant became the avatar of his s.h.i.+p. Kestrel's ancient voice tore his throat raw as the s.h.i.+p replied. ">"

> the s.h.i.+p concluded, and cut the connection. Melville slumped to the deck.

What had just occurred was remarkably rare. A s.h.i.+p had cried out to her whole crew, sending a message of despair and anger, a request, an order, a demand for vengeance. No captain of a s.h.i.+p ever had a greater mandate thrust upon him. The men around him looked stunned. The crew of the Kestrel might not want to seek what they thought was certain death, but trapped between the steely will of their s.h.i.+p and the orders of their captain, they had no choice. They would obey.

With the help of Broadax and Hans, Melville staggered to his feet. He looked down at his hands, which were torn and bleeding from clutching the ragged shards of his s.h.i.+p's soul. In a daze he began moving toward the ladder.

The gunner and his gunnery sergeant stood beside little Aquinar. "Mister Aquinar, find out where the captain's remains have been placed. Bring them, his hat and his jacket to the upper quarterdeck, immediately. Gentlemen, the rest of you come with me." Sergeant Broadax and Chief Petty Officer Hans were no gentlemen. They were NCOs. They grinned at each other with the superiority and confidence of career NCOs and began to saunter off in another direction. Melville stopped and turned to them. "That means you two as well. Broadax, you are promoted to lieutenant of marines. Hans, you are now the sailing master. You are now gentlemen . . . er . . . gentlefolk."

The two ex-NCOs were dumbstruck. Their confidence, poise, and security in life revolved around being noncommissioned officers. Under ordinary circ.u.mstances they would have rejected a commission. In fact, they'd both done so repeatedly, scorning officers, their manners and their airs. Because, as one old ex-sergeant once put it, "When it's all said and done in this old world, after everyone panics, there's got to be an NCO there to pour the p.i.s.s out of the boot." But now, with their s.h.i.+p's current plight, they couldn't say no, and the joke was on them.

d.a.m.n, Melville thought, it felt good to do that to them! There were times when it was good to be captain. He turned and dove back through the hatch and through the plain of Flatland, to the upper portion of the s.h.i.+p. He strode up the steps of the ladder, two at a time, past the gundeck and onto the maindeck, followed by the others. They turned astern, through the waist, and up the short flight of stairs to the quarterdeck.

The helmsman was standing by the wheel with the old quartermaster keeping careful watch over him. Lady Elphinstone, Mr. Tibbits, and Mids.h.i.+pmen Crater and Archer joined them on the upper quarterdeck. Crater reported. "Sir, all the wounded have been evacuated onto Broadax's World."

"Very good, thank you, Mr. Crater." Melville now stood on the quarterdeck as captain of his s.h.i.+p. Lieutenant Fielder, the two rangers, and Brother Petreckski came to join them. Fielder looked angry, but given the s.h.i.+p's mandate, it was clear that he wouldn't confront Melville's authority at this time.

Aquinar stood at the foot of the ladder with their captain's remains. A b.l.o.o.d.y bundle wrapped in sailcloth. So little of the body remained that a boy could hold it in his arms. Atop the bundle rested the captain's second best blue jacket and gold braided hat. He'd been wearing his best uniform when he was blown to smithereens. Every eye was on the boy and the bundle.

As Melville looked on his murdered captain's remains, words came to mind.

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

I die by treachery;

It burns my heart that I must depart

And not avenged be . . .

May coward shame disdain his name,

The wretch that dares not die.

He didn't speak these words to the crew; they applied only to him. It was he who must "dare to die." For them all. It was he who would have "coward shame disdain his name," if he did not.