Authors: Grant Hallman
“Is there another captain?” Kirrah
shouted into the ringing silence. “Someone who will parley without drawing
weapons?”
“Warmaster, they are cocking their
siegebows. All of them!” Captain Og’drai was pointing to a place on the
foredeck of the damaged ship, where five or six men were busy with a winch and
another group was carrying a missile that looked like a three-meter long arrow.
Similar activity was boiling on the decks of the other ships visible from where
they stood.
Awww, damn!
“Mortars, target the lead ship! One
volley! Archers target the damaged ship, fire it!” Within seconds, a volley of
twenty fire arrows from Lieutenant Rash’koi’s position arced across the river
and shattered audibly against the hull and fittings of the first target. One or
more enterprising marksmen had found the opening blown in the side of the hull,
judging from the flickering orange light visible in the dark interior. Six
whumps
sounded in a ragged volley behind her.
That’s a quarter of the mortar rounds
gone,
some computer in Kirrah’s mind reported.
“Peetha, grenade arrows against the
crew working on the big bows, four archers at each ship! One volley, then keep
their heads down.”
And speaking of heads, deploy your helmet, you keep
forgetting that in a firefight
. On the river, the first mortar round landed
short, then another just a bit long. Huge splashes lifted out of the river’s
surface. Two more shots landed squarely on deck, one amidships and one forward,
scattering the siegebow crew and tearing a hole in the decking. The sixth round
managed to hit the yardarm on its way over the ship, blowing a couple of meters
off its port end and shaking two crewmen off the huge beam.
Time for a little high-tech
support…
Kirrah took careful aim with her beamer. A single shot shattered
the straining wood of the bent siegebow on the next ship in line. As the
torsion energy in the nearly-cocked weapon was released suddenly, pieces of bow
flailed around the deck, scything down several more men. A few thin trickles of
smoke were seeping out of the nearest ship, her first target. A steady drumbeat
of grenade explosions kept the crews disorganized. Men were running around on
the decks, some shouting orders, some of the oarsmen were beginning to pull the
ships forward.
The four cargo vessels began moving
toward the far shore, where the Wrth column was collecting in four large knots
of horsemen. Occasionaly a crewman managed to get to the rail with a crossbow,
but the low fire rate prevented the sort of massed volley that was so effective
with longbows. Two of Rash’koi’s men were down with feathered shafts in their
limbs, however the chain mail seemed to be protecting their torsos adequately
from anything but point-blank crossbows.
“Rash’koi! Move back now! We have
the range advantage, let’s use it! Peetha, half your warriors with grenades,
use Irshe’s men to fire more ships! And keep the range open!” The cargo ships
were drawing up against the far bank, Wrth seething to embark. Panting, Kirrah
arrived at the mortar emplacements. Behind her, a sound like a pole falling marked
the release of one of the siege weapons. Kirrah whirled to see a dozen
head-sized boulders spin through the air and crash down among Rash’koi's
retreating archers. Five men fell. Others rushed to their aid and carried them
away from the river.
“Peetha! Target the siege weapons!
Don’t let them have another shot!” Kirrah shouted. “Mortars, as soon as the
first cargo ship gets to the far bank, put a volley of six on it. But fire one
at a time, so you learn from the misses. Captain Crath’pae, when you judge the
fire is unstoppable on a ship, tell me. I won’t waste more arrows on it.”
Several blazes were now visible on three of the ships, including the one that
had launched the catapult.
The excise ships began to move
upriver again, some with less than all nine oars working on this side. Two of
the cargo ships were now drawn up near the far shore, splashes visible in the
shallows behind them as the Wrth horsemen waded out to board. Kirrah patted one
of the mortar crew on the shoulder and pointed at the nearest ship. After a
careful adjustment to the front leg supporting the tube, he motioned others
back and dropped the firing lever.
Whoomp!
Kirrah could actually see the
round lofting high into the air, lost it as it started down. Another huge
splash, well short of the target. The second mortar crew, the same woman from
the starthrower guild who had accompanied Rash’koi on the first raid, muttered:
“Looks like another thirty
hab’la
,”
made a small adjustment on the front strut of the tube and touched it off. The resulting
impact was less impressive, but the shell dropped right into the hold of the
open cargo vessel. A third round followed the second, exploding on the inside
of the port gunwale. Fires were burning on four of the six excise ships and a
steady volley of grenade-arrow bursts kept the defenders down. A patter of Wrth
quarrels filled the air, not dangerous to mailed soldiers at this range across
the river, but a hazard to unprotected flesh and the unarmored boat crews.
“Good, that’s two hits for three rounds.
Now the second cargo ship.” Kirrah ordered, pointing to where the second one
had stopped a bit farther downriver. More careful muttering and adjustment from
the three ready mortarmen. The three in the front row continued their urgent
reloading.
Whoomp!
from the back row. Another splash, just a few meters
short. The second round landed squarely amidships, blowing a hole through the
bottom and throwing men into the air. A horse screamed twice and suddenly
stopped. A third round impacted just forward of the second, more screams. The
first cargo ship was beginning to list. The other two cargo ships were pulling
back into the river, one turning upstream and one down. Large parties of Wrth
followed each vessel, harried by occasional grenade bursts.
Oh-oh
, thought
Kirrah.
Separate targets…
“You three in the front row, take
your mortars and three rounds each and follow that cargo vessel downstream!
When it stops, sink it. I do
not
want Wrth on this side!
“Peetha! Take your forces
downstream, follow that cargo ship! Boat crews, fetch their horses! Back row,
drop one into the mass of Wrth following the other cargo ship, then try for the
ship as it passes us! Rash’koi, how many men are still able to draw?”
“Twelve, Warmaster.” His voice
sounded strained. Kirrah turned and saw blood staining his jacket from an arrow
wound on his left arm.
Oh, no!
“Eight down? How many live?”
Another mortar tube coughed behind them.
“Six, Warmaster. A catapult stone
crushed Scout Aga’roi’s chest and another broke the skull of Maitoth’ga. The
others will live, if we can care for them, but they are through fighting until
their bones and wounds mend.” Behind the Lieutenant, Kirrah could see the
mortar round land short of the Wrth, in the shallows at the far edge of the
river. The O’dai warships were rowing hard upstream. The lead ship was just
passing the tethered Talamae freighter… no, it was
ramming
it. The
smaller vessel splintered and rolled under the prow of the larger one. Beside
her, Captain Og’drai groaned audibly. A second mortar fired.
“Those
tasgaths
!” he swore.
“Warmaster, the two lead ships are now well afire and cannot be saved.
Including the one that rammed my beautiful little
Flowerpot
, may they
rot at the bottom of the Geera for eternity. The two behind will soon be
firewood too, if we can only keep those men with buckets, away from the fires.”
The second mortar round slammed down among the dense mass of Wrth riders,
tearing a ragged hole in their formation.
“Rash’koi, take your men plus
replacements from the returned scouts, and keep the sailors busy. Mortars,
reload and target the last cargo ship moving upriver.”
Another flash and billow of smoke,
as the first mortar reloaded and fired. Another huge splash, just off the
starboard bow of the cargo ship. A moment later the second mortar fired.
Another miss, again just short of the bow. The third mortar fired, a third
miss, again just off the starboard bow.
Damn! These mortars have too long a
transit time to be effective against moving targets
, Kirrah realized. By
the time one tube fired and the range was found, the target had moved half a
length or more. Soon the first mortar was ready again, lobbed a round right
over the desperately rowing cargo ship and narrowly missing it on the far side.
The second round of that volley overshot farther, as the ship’s helm turned
them back towards the center of the river. The third round struck on the port
rail amidships, spraying splinters among the rowing crew and cleaving a two
meter hole in the side of the vessel, although from her vantage point Kirrah
could not see whether it was a fatal blow. The first two cargo ships were
foundering on the far shore, one rolling forty degrees or so to starboard, the
other settling straight down in the water up to the gunwales, at which point it
seemed to come to rest on the riverbottom. Eyeing the diminishing supply of
ammunition, Kirrah ordered:
“Cease firing. We have seven rounds
left here, save them for a sitting target. If they keep rowing upstream, we can
burn them with fire-arrows from horseback. Let’s get ourselves mobile, people.
It would not be polite to abandon our guests.” Indeed, two of the lead warships
were now burning merrily and making for the far shore, and sailors could be
seen battling the flames on the next two ships in the column. Sporadic volleys
of grenade arrows from Rash’koi’s squad kept the firefighters from effective
work.
From downstream, another watery
explosion signaled Peetha’s party getting the range on the last cargo ship.
Frustrated Wrth galloped up and down the far riverbank in impotent rage. Next
to pass their position were the two O’dai vessels with the large siege weapons
amidships. Yes, thought Kirrah, those towers between the two masts look pretty
much like those trebuchets I saw in the history books. Hmmm, here’s an opportunity
to pull the enemy’s teeth if I ever saw one…
“Wait here, my armor will keep me
safe!” she called, and set off at a run toward the river, on a diagonal
intercept with the two siege ships. Another concussion from downstream, and the
sound of screams. In a moment Kirrah reached the riverbank, and took aim at the
thirty-centimeter thick wood beams supporting the hinge of the nearer
trebuchet, ten meters above the deck. Her sidearm's first shot blew a ten by
eighty centimeter splinter out of the wood. The second shot deepened the
crater. Another mortar's concussion boomed from downriver. After five beamer
shots, the massive timber split apart.
Too expensive
, she judged,
I
can’t afford five shots per beam. Let’s try…
Another
Crack!
and the
thinner wood over the massive hinge blew apart, dropping the swing arm to sway
at a precarious angle. Another shot, and the twenty-meter arm fell from its
supports, crashing down on the deck. A quick glance downriver showed the fourth
cargo ship sinking near the far bank, its bottom clearly holed. The three
mortarmen quickly packed up and with the forty archers under Peetha’s command,
including Irshe’s twenty Border Patrol, began riding back upriver.
Now for the other trebuchet –
Crack!
and a split appeared in the hinge.
Crack!
and the hinge splintered.
Crack!
and the split wood exploded in a shower of flinders. The heavy throwing arm
crashed to the deck and bounced into the river, where it trailed in a tangle of
rigging ropes.
Not too shabby
, Kirrah decided, blowing imaginary smoke
from her weapon’s muzzle like she’d seen in an ancient ‘Western’ movie.
On the far shore, a thousand Wrth
screamed as one and plunged their horses into the water, headed for her
position.
Uh-oh, nobody told me those guys could
swim
…
“Diplomacy is the art of saying
‘Nice doggie’ until you can find a rock.” - Will Rogers,
op.cit
.
That was a good swim
,
thought Rear Admiral Lucinda Dunning as she pulled herself out of the deep end
of the pool. Very thoughtful, too, of the Navy’s designers to arrange for some
of the
Belleville’s
water storage to be allocated thus. Too bad nothing
smaller than Battlewagons could afford it, but her good luck to find this
amenity on board the
Belleville
, first of the new
Yoruba
-class
warships on active duty at Trailway. Captain Alexi DaCosta had been quite proud
of his kingdom, she reflected. As well he might be; this was a well-run ship,
even if everything and everyone aboard seemed to squeak with newness. Admiral
Sir Josiah McBain had been right, a little active patrol would do them a world
of good.
Luce began toweling herself off,
reviewing the mission parameters. Acting on Admiral McBain’s ‘suggestions’,
she’d selected three destroyers - Captain Sandra Wallace in the
Argosy
and Captain Vincent Steuben’s
Attila
, also the
Utterson
under
Angelo Krepescue, and the light cruiser
Meredith
captained by Lewis
Graham. Somewhat to her surprise, her first-choice list was approved
immediately. Which made this mission either more urgent or more important than
she had first assumed.
Ah well, time to shake a leg. First evening under
way, it’s Admiral’s Mess. Sigh, what’s a navy without Tradition!
Dinner was served in the Captain’s
private dining room, a formal affair with the Flag Captain at the head of the
table, the Rear Admiral at the other end, and the four escort vessels’ captains
seated down one long side.
Bad enough we have to drop out of Tubespace to
make the personnel transfers
, the Admiral thought,
but who invited
these
…
oh yeah,
I
had to.