the frigate, windsong, skimmed downward like a low, lean cloud. behind her, vague in the dim moonlight, followed four more frigates and the skating corvettes. before her, like a gate to hell, gaped the jagged mouth of pelo break. ward leaned against the bridge rail beside resi, the scarred and battered captain of windsong.
"keep close to the eastern side," ward said. "in the shadow of the cliffs, out of the moonlight."
resi spoke softly to the helmsman, and the windsong eased into the shadow. ward turned and watched the following ships as, one by one, they slipped out of the moon and all but vanished. he swung back and squinted ahead. as far as he could see, high, broken cliffs reared straight from the water on both sides, angling together in the distance. there tahn had said, they stood a scant two hundred yards apart, and the break turned nearly sixty degrees to the west. that was the narrows. ward turned to resi, wondering if the old kali fully understood the plan.
"if we do not meet them before, we wait for them at the narrows."
there was no acknowledgement that he could tell. not even a cough. he doesn't like this, ward thought. he relishes the fight coming, but not me. despite tahn's heated pep talk, i am a bad totem. but tahn had accomplished one thing—an honor promise from each ship's captain to follow orders. ward knew they would, as long as everything went along with fighting, but the moment something went wrong.
he remembered tahn's bark of surprise as the plan unfolded. then the argument, and his own firm stand that he command this force. for this was the crucial contact. the key. if this failed—it all failed.
he was sure that tahn and the rest of the feverishly anxious kali would more than whip their end. they were outnumbered, but had an overwhelming firepower edge. for the hundredth time he reviewed the thing, looking for the fatal flaw.
one frigate for the crippled ships, which gave them quite a bit of firepower right there. two firsts, four seconds, five frigates (the storm bird had gone down) and four corvettes. they were to make fast repairs, jury rig, then stand by in the shadow at the mouth of pelo break. if the kali came back out—fine; they would all rejoin tahn. if not—and the grimnal came—they were a last stand.
tahn had the main force of sixteen firsts, seven seconds and thirteen frigates. he was to intercept the grimnal coming from behind. he would run their fleet through, come about, rake them again and run out to sea. he was to hit them hard enough to stop them, then make them believe he was running away. after any pursuit was discouraged he was to come downwind and fly for anda passage.
if the timing was right, he would run right over the force from the bay, and with a little effort clear them off the water.
"then," ward had added with a half smile, "you can shell the land guns in the passage in your spare time. if the first grimnal force comes limping in you shouldn't have any trouble."
no, tahn wouldn't have any trouble. in the kali's present mood they could probably do it with half their ships.
but hell would be open in the break tonight. five slim frigates and forty-two tiny corvettes against sixteen firsts, eighteen seconds and ten frigates. ship for ship; but what unbalanced firepower! their advantage would be surprise, if nothing slipped, and maneuverability where the grimnal ships would have their hands full just keeping clear of the cliffs. and this was the fulcrum.
a sudden flare from the maindeck.
"cover that!" resi snapped. then to ward, "they are cooking the liquor."
ward nodded. apparently resi had a good idea of what was expected. that was one good thing. the liquor, as they called it, was their explosive. a revolting, highly inflammable slime brewed of seaweed and fats. it was prepared in port, but had to be brought to a firing temperature on board. this was done by heating in large kettles and kept just below boiling. when a gun was to be fired, a certain measure of this soup was poured down the muzzle to a sizzling hot firing chamber, kept hot by a covered charcoal packing and quickly sealed by a lava-stone ball. it was the gunner's sense of timing then to know when the gun was ready, and slam the firing stud with a hammer. this slapped flint to steel inside the chamber—and wham.
but it was touchy. if the gunner swung too soon, nothing. if he waited too long, it fired itself. if the chamber was too cool, it would not fire at all; if too hot, it might go the second the ball was rammed. a very delicate operation. and in the midst of battle—with charcoal flying, hot shot coming in, glowing fires under the kettles and spilled hot liquor everywhere—it was hard to see what kept a ship from blowing the whole battle apart. but that never happened. the liquor was easily diluted with water, and they went into battle with special water crews sloshing down the decks. and the stuff was fast. in the gola island fight, with fairly hot guns, they were loading, aiming and firing in about ten seconds.
the windsong eased along, the narrows loomed closer and ward began to tighten. any second he expected the double bows of a grimnal first-liner to slide into sight, followed by another, and another, and another....
he felt the urge to move about, to do anything as long as he was moving. he noticed the kali were the same. they were as restless as the troubled waters of the break—lunging, hissing, swirling, rocking up and down. they were constantly at the rail relieving themselves, or rattling the dipper at the water barrel. and he could see the glint of their eyes as they threw quick glances in his direction. he caught resi watching too, and moved away.
they didn't trust him. they were waiting for him to call it off. they expected him to; probably wanting him to.
he suddenly found he was quivering like a captured bird. he gripped the rail hard with both hands to stop. but it wouldn't stop. it galloped through him, ran him down and trampled him. and in panic he saw what it was.
fear.
not simply the fear of failing. it was....
god! the reality of it! this wasn't like reading a book or writing a story. this was going to be real shot and flame instead of words and paper. real people were going to die, with their blood warm and sticky and horror in the eyes—and he wouldn't be able to glance away to ponder it. it was going to roll from start to finish with the reality of now and the surety of death. it was going to flame as fights have flamed since something first snatched up a rock. and he was going to be right in the middle of it with these kali, win or lose, live or die. and what was he doing here with these strange, alien kali?
he raised his head and glanced around. resi was standing by the helmsman, talking with his deck lieutenant. water splashed down on the maindeck; the water crews at work. there was a breathless quiet over the ship. he could see them standing like shadows, watching the curve of the narrows.
the spartans must have stood like that at the pass of thermopylae!
and the athenians on the plains of marathon.
and the americans at bastogne.
and men anywhere, any time before a battle.
a single, whispering line from an old poem sang through him:
into the valley of death rode the six hundred.
there was no alien here but himself.
the ominous walls of the narrows closed and filled the sky. beyond the curve, some two miles up, the grimnal ships were slowly beating upwind. suddenly, like a touch of fire to old ashes, he knew what he was doing here. a long imprisoned breath escaped from him, and a great sigh seemed to come from the whole ship.
resi turned. ward could barely make out what must be a smile in that old kali face.
"we made it, ho?"
"just barely, by god. have the ships string out as planned, with the lead frigate in the tip of the shadow where the break turns into the moonlight. and be careful of noise. it will carry in here like a cannon shot."
resi coughed and was gone like a cat.
the windsong fell dead in the water. the others whispered past like ghosts. voices called softly, and the small, shielded signal lights licked from ship to ship. and the windsong was alone. her bows swung out slightly to allow the foreguns a field of fire. ward climbed down from the bridge, strode the water-slick maindeck and gained the foredeck. the gun crews turned, glanced at him, then turned back. he could not tell if they were smiling or not. so what. they would have plenty to smile at in a moment.
the lead first-liner was about a mile now and keeping well to their side. ward squinted at the point of the shadow, but there was no light flickering there that he could see. damn!
the grimnal ship looked huge in the moonlight, and the break behind it seemed filled with sails. it was nearly abreast of the shadow tip, still holding to their side, and the tiniest flicker of light danced in the shadow beside it. ward grinned. david and goliath.
the giant first-liner started its slow tum on the very edge of the shadow, drifting into the dark until only its sails held the moon. the sails came around, fluttered and filled. the silent hulls came into sight.
ward let out a breath, echoed by resi. the lead liner was well on its new tack. the next was starting to edge into the shadows, and behind that was another, and another, and another. resi muffled a cough.
"you tell when?" he whispered.
ward nodded. "i'll tell when."
the grimnal rode closer, the crash of its bow waves sounding louder. ship after ship was coasting past the hidden frigate. ward's excitement grew to a pounding thing. they would be able to get them all in range.
the sails towered over them. a hundred yards. almost abreast; just at the narrowest point. ward took a deep breath, and said quietly:
"now."
resi turned and hissed. steaming liquor trickled down hungry cannon mouths. lava balls were softly rammed home. muzzles came down. aimed. the gunners tensed, raised their hammers—and swung.
the night came apart.
a crashing roar racketed through the break. the walls blasted back the echo. the windsong rocked and trembled. smoke boiled into the moonlight and dimmed the grimnal ship. and that was only a small sound. over a mile of fire smashed from the shadow and for a quivering second, it seemed the world had exploded. then came the thunder, and ward flinched.
waterspouts climbed in the moonlight. wreckage spun from the grimnal ships. holes splintered in their sides. the windsong roared again; the bobbing corvettes answered. and a deafening, mind dulling thunder covered the break.
and the grimnal did not answer.
the lightning flared steady now from the kali line. resi climbed halfway up the ratlines for a better look. and still the wounded giants had not answered. grimnal were running in all directions on their decks. resi let out a howl of sheer triumph.
"they do not have their liquor cooked!" he cried, swinging to the deck. "we have them with cold guns!"
the kali cheered, and the firing seemed to cease. ward was shaking again, but for a different reason.
"hey, resi," he bellowed. "let's get in there closer."
sails snapped and the windsong came alive. she seemed to leap into the moonlight. then a corvette appeared beside her, and another, then two racing side by side into the smoke. and all the kali were moving. the windsong's men were laughing like children, and the water crews had everything soaked halfway up the mainsails. what people! ward laughed, ducking another bucketful. resi slid to a halt beside him.
"we fool them, ho? we fool them!"
"closer," ward yelled. "under their guns!"
"but they are not firing."
"under their guns anyway," ward laughed, and added to himself—away boarders! a few scattered shots were coming from the grimnal, ripping overhead. ward stood a little taller. the windsong came about, her starboard bow nearly slashing the looming first-liner. ward felt resi's hand on his arm.
"it was really you that fool them."
ward grinned foolishly.
"but we whip them, ho?"
ward wanted to answer, but it was the starboard guns' turn to speak.
