Einstein Must Die! (Fate of Nations Book 1) (5 page)

“Fire!” yelled the gun chiefs.

Flintlock strikers fell, and the
Glasgow
heaved from the explosive force. A swift series of deafening booms blasted from the
Glasgow
, sending deadly fire toward the hapless Americans.

***

At the rail, Captain Jones looked up as the
Glasgow
opened fire. Along her side, white puffs of gunpowder smoke erupted from the thirty-six open ports. An instant later, the captain’s world came apart, exploding in a hail of iron and shattered timbers.
 

The
Glasgow
’s gun crews were well trained, and most of their fire hit their targets, each one tearing a chunk out of the
Lexington
’s side. One of the rounds struck the
Lexington
just under the rail where the captain stood.
 

The explosive force punched through into the ship’s side, throwing the captain back and sending him tumbling through the air. As he spun, an arm-sized splinter ripped through his side. He landed on the far side of the ship’s deck, limbs askew and already dead.

Lieutenant Wilson had fallen to the deck, arms over his head. He stood, running his hands over his own body, searching for injury.
 

Then he saw the captain. A large section of the man’s middle was gone, like he’d been bitten by a shark. The midshipman knew his captain was dead, and his training took over.

“I have the ship!” he yelled to the stunned crew. They nodded agreement, just wanting to be given orders.
 

He threw a look toward the
Glasgow
, and noted their position.
 

“Douse sail!” he commanded. “We need to fall behind them!”

The crew ran to haul on lines, running up the huge mainsail. With less sail, the
Lexington
lost speed, and the
Glasgow
slowly moved ahead of them.

“Not fast enough, dammit, we need more drag! Loose the drogue!”

 
Three crewmen ran aft and unfolded the parachute-like device from its storage rack. A heavy line was already attached to it. The men wrestled the unwieldy thing to the aft railing and slid it over into the sea.
 

The line played out quickly as it fell and splashed into the heavy surf. The ship’s forward movement soon ran out all the line, and the drogue sprang open under the water, acting like a sea anchor.

The
Lexington
lurched from the sudden deceleration, and several crewmen fell to the deck.

Lieutenant Wilson smiled, though. He watched the
Glasgow
surge ahead of them, and saw his chance for revenge. With just enough forward momentum for a single maneuver, his ship had one last surprise for the British.

A crewman looked at his new commander. “Raking fire, sir?”
 

“Raking fire. Helm, come about to oh-seven-oh. Bring me right across her wake.”

While a warship’s sides were tough, the same was not true of her rear. Construction and weight demands meant thinner timbers must be used, which allowed for easier entry of a well-placed shot. But the real fear of raking fire came from the added damage a shot could do at that angle, working its way forward through the ship, gutting it from behind.

“Port guns, stand ready. We get one chance at this.”

***

On the
Glasgow
, the attack was a magnificent sight. Nearly all their shots had struck home, and the damage to the
Lexington
looked severe.

“Very impressive, Captain!” said the major.
 

The older man shrugged. “Just tactics. And paying attention. If their captain had simply—”

He stopped, watching the
Lexington
slow, then turn towards them. It looked as if he meant to slide behind them. Then the captain’s mouth gaped. He ran toward the helmsman, arms waving.
 

“Watch out, he’s coming aft for raking fire! Hard to starboard, now!”

***

The
Lexington
’s hard turn put her right into position, and she cut directly behind the British ship. As the
Lexington
slid over her enemy’s wake, her gun crews waited and watched. They saw the rear of the
Glasgow
slide into view, and gunners pressed their cheeks against their cannons, sighting down the line.

Lieutenant Wilson gave the order. “Fire!”

The Lexington opened fire, and iron roundshot burst from the ship. Most of the shots went wide, screaming along the outside of the enemy ship, terrifying the
Glasgow
crew, who heard death whistling by them.

But two shots found their mark, smashing through the aft timbers. The twin iron balls punched through the captain’s quarters, destroying the richly appointed room and the two stewards inside.
 

Moving forward through the ship, the rounds tore into the lower quarterdeck. Eight officers died instantly in the hail of wooden splinters. The deck above buckled, throwing the captain and the major to their knees.

The cannonballs continued their way through the length of the
Glasgow
, ripping through a bulkhead, then blasting into the officer’s quarters, killing four more stewards, before tearing into the middle gundeck.
 

Here, the open space, filled with cannons and gun crews, gave the heavy iron balls many obstacles to hit and ricochet against. Fifty-seven men died in that room, with sixty more injured.

***

Captain Douglas felt the twin shots ripping through his ship’s insides. On his hands and knees, the horrible tremors and vibrations through the decking told him they’d been hurt badly, even before the screaming began.

“Get me a damage report!” he yelled, pulling himself to his feet. The deck had buckled, leaving him standing at an awkward angle.

Behind him Major Thomas struggled to stand also. “God, that felt like an artillery strike. Are we sinking?”

The captain shook his head. “We’re gutted, but above the waterline.”

He turned about, finding the
Lexington
sliding from behind them to their right.

“Time to end this,” growled the captain. He checked the several crewmen who were sprawled around him. Finding one who still lived, he hauled the man to his feet. “You run forward. I want the smashers ready to fire at my signal. Do you understand?”

The man gazed blankly at his captain, a rivulet of blood streaming from one ear. Then he nodded.

“Good man. Go!” He pointed the man toward the bow and shoved him forward. The man stumbled, but made his way forward, stepping over bodies and around strewn gear.

The captain took the wheel himself and spun it hard to starboard. Without the crew trimming the sails, he quickly lost the wind, and the massive sails luffed, snapping back and forth with a disconcerting thunder. But he didn’t care. All he wanted was to bring his forward guns around on the now almost-stationary
Lexington
. The
Glasgow
turned, swinging hard to the right. In two minutes the firing angle was sufficient. The two ships were barely a hundred feet apart now.

With hard, glaring eyes, the captain saw the
Lexington
’s crew racing around their deck, and he decided their fate.

“Fire!” he yelled. The order was relayed forward, and the three smashers opened up on the doomed
Lexington
. Its midship exploded in a shower of timbers and lethal splinters, sending bodies flying. The mainmast was struck down low, and a horrible splintering sound ripped across the water as the massive mast cracked and fell like a downed oak. The mainsail splashed into the rough seas, useless.

“Reload! And fire at will!” he called out.

A moment later the three smashers rang out again, and the
Lexington
’s quarterdeck disappeared, leaving behind a ruined and jagged crater. The force sent Lieutenant Wilson over the side, along with a dozen other officers. A few sank instantly, but many splashed about, helplessly treading water as their ship was destroyed.

The
Glasgow
gun crew reloaded and fired again. The shots punctured the
Lexington
under the waterline, and she began taking on water from two gaping holes in her side.
 

“She’s hulled between wind and water!” a young crewman cried.

A fire broke out somewhere belowdecks, and black smoke poured from the ship’s still-open gunports.
 

It was plain to all that the ship was finished. Men began leaping from the doomed vessel, taking their chances in the open ocean, rather than being burned alive. Soon the churning sea was littered with a hundred sailors, screaming for help and struggling to keep their heads above the waves.

Captain Douglas drew a deep breath and let it out. He looked down at his hands, unsurprised to see them trembling from the battle’s drama. He jammed them into his overcoat pockets.

Major Thomas joined him, watching the
Lexington
list heavily to one side. Sailors were everywhere in the waves, swimming toward the
Glasgow
, begging for help.

“That’s it then, they’re done,” the captain said to himself. He turned to a crewman. “Make ready to pick up survivors.”

“Aye, sir.”

“What?” said the major. “You’re going to save them?”

The captain frowned. “They’re a threat no more.”

“That’s not the issue, Captain.” The title held a note of mockery now. “I am sent here to kill Americans, not to rescue them.”

“All sailors have one mutual enemy, Major. The ocean waters. As long as we are not at risk, we have a moral duty to—”

“There’s another American ship in the area!” the major yelled.

“A packet ship. A mail hauler. Hardly a threat. And look, she’s turned tail and running. We’d never catch her anyway.”

A junior officer arrived, breathless. “Damage report, sir. Your quarters are destroyed, the officer’s quarters are seriously damaged, and we have various structural issues on the middle gundeck.”

“Casualties?”

“Sixty-seven dead, sixty more wounded.”

The captain sighed, and his shoulders hung low. “Very well. Carry on.”

The major squared off against the ship’s captain. “Let me be clear with you, sir. You rescue those men, and I will see you hanged for treason.”
       

The captain’s eyes grew tight. “You can’t be serious.”

“I have the king’s ear. And my report will paint a dire picture of your loyalty to the Crown. You know the price men have paid for being seen as disloyal to the king, yes?”

The captain froze, studying the major threatening him. He did seem the sort to twist the truth. The railing wasn’t too far behind him. Wouldn’t be hard to run him over it, just one more casualty on a bad day…

But no, despite the weasel’s insinuation, the captain
was
a loyal servant to the Crown, and that unfortunately meant not murdering the king’s officers, even this one.

His jaw tightened, staring hard into the man’s eyes. “You hate them that much?”
 

“Don’t discount the power of hate, Captain. I love hate.”

Captain Douglas stared at a man driven by demons and decided he was too old for such fights.
 

He turned his back on the major and called out, “Set sail! Make course for New Haven. Now!”

He wanted to get below and check on his men. As he descended the stairs leading to the gun deck, the cries of the drowning sailors followed him down.

“IVBSRTH”

NEW YORK CITY, USA

Tesla returned to his room at Mrs. Harrison’s. He shuffled off the soaked, heavy overcoat and hung it to dry. A puddle formed beneath it immediately.

Looking around his room, he wondered if financial hardship was to be a constant companion. A normal component of his life, to be endured and expected, rather than a problem to be overcome.

He fell into a chair and stared at the blank wall before him. What would he do now? Where would he go?

He briefly thought of returning home to Serbia. It would be good to see his mother again. A thin smile appeared when he remembered the sight of her emerging from the kitchen, carrying trays of plum dumplings. But the smile faded when he thought of his father, and the explanation of his failure. No, better to stay and persevere. Something would improve his luck. Something will come, and lift him up to—

“Mr. Tesla? It’s Mrs. Harrison.” She knocked at his door. “I heard you come in.”

A grim smile twisted his lips. The machinery of the universe carried on, oblivious and uncaring of his woes.

Mrs. Harrison knocked again. “Mr. Tesla, I must have the back rent today, I’m afraid. Please come to the door.”

He looked at the wire cores on the desk before him and wanted to ignore her. Simply dive into the solace of his work and be lost in mathematics and theory. But that would be ungentlemanly, and he was not raised in that way.

“I am coming, Mrs. Harrison.”

He opened the door for her, and she pushed her way in. But seeing his face, she softened.

“Oh my, it’s as bad as that then,” she said.

He turned away and returned to his chair. “I would offer you something, but all I have is milk, and I’m sure it’s gone bad by now.” He slid back into the chair, waiting for her demands.