Watho: A Novel of Gal ... by Bob Nelson - Episode 23

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My woodsman skills are right up there with my mandolin-playing skills. Nonexistent. Corporal kinVoren lent me a field uniform: splotchy green and brown, intended to blend into surrounding woodland. Probably wouldn't make me less noisy, though...

"My" Troopers would be important in the operation. Two of them were experienced hunters, sure of being able to sneak up on the pickets. Neither had ever slit a throat, though, and they turned a bit green at the idea. (I don't understand: they were not at all upset at the idea of killing the pickets with their arbaletes, but slitting a throat was unthinkable. People baffle me, sometimes!) Sergeant Shearan gave each of them a sand-filled sock, and showed them how to swing it. They had no problem with that.

Our column moved out, pausing twice while my Troopers silently took out first two pickets from the outer ring, and then two more from the inner ring. We followed what seemed in the dark to be no more than a goat path, but was probably much better than that, around the western flank of the hill. The deep-water mooring was on the north side.

I had my shortsword in it's scabbard, an arbalete holstered in the small of my back, and another arbalete in my left hand. I was having trouble breathing, although the path was more downhill than up. Just follow the man in front...

Lieutenant Sartine had divided the men into two sections: forty men to run a hundred rods up the shelf and then rip a section out of it, and another seventy (including thirty sailors who would hopefully soon be prize crews) to take the two raiders. We hoped that the ships had only a few men on board, and that that section would rapidly be able to reinforce the men on the shelf.

There was another picket beside our path, where it met the deep-water platform. Sergeant Shearan, at the head of our column, and leading the boarding parties, did not bother with stealth this time; he charged the sentinel, who took a few seconds to try to understand what was happening... and fell unconscious (or worse) without even raising an alert.

A shouted alert would have been superfluous, anyway, as our men's boots drummed thunder on the wooden platform. The Sergeant ran for the pier. Still no "Jenkarans" in sight. Sartine was second in the column, and split right, to lead the section that would have to hold the shelf while we took the raiders and got them ready to sail. Third in the column was a Marine Corporal – his first name was Horas, and I don't think I ever heard his birth name – who would take the raider on the left, while the Sergeant took the raider on the right. Each man in the column knew his mission, so we raced on without a break.

I knew of this from what Sartine told me later. I saw none of it myself, because I was not far from the rear of the column, with only my thirty sailors behind me. It takes some time for a single-file column of fifty men to pass a given point, even when they are running... so I had time to imagine all the ways I could drag this action down to ruin.

The first risk would be to not take the right direction on the platform. I felt a wave of relief as I arrived on the platform, because it was impossible to make a mistake. Some men ahead of me were clearly headed to the right – Sartine's section, on the shelf – and others were continuing nearly straight ahead, to board the raiders.

Once on the pier, I could see shadows up ahead, running across gangways and leaping down to the decks, left and right. For the moment, there was no sound of battle – just the drumming of boots on wood.

My lads knew their destinations, too. The gangway to the raider on the right came up first, but that was not for me. I heard Kort, next behind me in our column, take that gangway without breaking stride. Here was the left-side gangway, and I, too, was across and jumping down to the deck.

Still no sounds of fighting.

I went to the starboard gunnel, opposite the gangway, and started calling, repeatedly, "Fochen's lads! Here!" I tried to set my voice loud enough to be heard as men arrived, without drowning out the other voices that were giving commands. Kort was collecting his men on the other raider. Various Marine ratings were leading their men in searching both ships.

Sergeant Shearan loomed out of the dark. "Ain't nobody aboard, Sir!" He was almost laughing.

"Good!" I said, trying not to let his glee infect me. "Send twenty men to reinforce Lieutenant Sartine. Then find the store-rooms, and the lead-line we'll need."

"Aye, Sir!" He went.

"Ross!" I called.

"Here, Sir," and he appeared before me.

"Take a good look at the pipe-organs," I ordered. "Make sure you know how they work. Prepare the starboard battery for short-range targets; I think we'll have a bunch of fishing boats coming soon, filled with "Jenkarans".

"Aye, Sir!" He gathered six of our fifteen men, and faded into the dark.

"Ross!" I called him back. "Find a lantern or two, but put them up high enough that they hurt the Jenkarans' night-sight at least as much as ours.

"Aye, Sir. There should be one near the wheel house."

I turned to the others. "All of you! Aloft, now, to the tops'l yard. Take your time – it's a strange ship, and you won't have safety lines. Once you're up, loose the ties, but don't let go the sail. I don't need any sails just yet, but I want you up there and ready. Do you all understand?"

There were nods and "Aye, Sirs" all around, and then they went to the ratlines and began to climb. The wind was light and offshore, as was expected at this time of night.

Not having met any resistance, we were considerably ahead of schedule. The tide was still coming in, if slowly. It would slack in a half hour, though the water would continue to rise for some time after. (Fleetingly, I wondered if an Army sergeant would have taken note of such matters... while our Marine Shearan had done it as a matter of course...)

A thin light – but definitely better than none! – spread about, as a lantern rose to the main yard. I could read "Shomoah" painted on the mast.

Ross reported, "We've readied six pipes, Sir, but we've only numbers for crewing two. If we could have some Marines..."

"Send a man to Sergeant Shearan. You stay here and keep an eye on everything. I'm going across to Master Kort."

"Aye, Sir!" He was grinning, the idiot!

"All's well, Sir," said Kort, as I approached. He pointed: "I didn't think of the lantern, so we're a bit behind you on that," he added, with a note of apology.

"My fault, Kort," I answered, shaking my head. "I didn't think of it before either... It should have been among my instructions to you, before we ever left Hawk. ... Are your pipe-organs ready?"

"Aye, Sir... We've loaded six, but we won't be able to crew but two."

"Send a man to Corporal... Horas... Whatsisname... for... what... eight men? That should be enough. You'll be slow, but you can make do."

"Aye, Sir."

"Are you ready to receive the tow cable? The Sergeant's men are searching for cable heavy enough for the job."

The two raiders were moored prow to the land. With an offshore breeze on their port beam, it would be easy for Shomoah to fall away from the pier, and by keeping the stern line tied to the pier, she would swing around and find herself ready to sail. Not so the other raider. (I glanced at the mast: Men'ch'ay. She would be Menk for us.) The breeze held Menk tight against the pier. Oh, it would be easy enough for men with any sort of long bar – oars, for example – to push Menk away from the pier. But it would be impossible to sail.

So Shomoah would tow Menk away from the pier. I hoped.

Then we heard sounds of battle, over on the shelf, towards the village. I realized that I had no idea how events had unrolled there. The lack of noise had told me that Sartine and his lads had reached their station without difficulty... but then?

I hadn't taken the time to really look at the platform as I crossed it. How thick were its planks? How were they joined? More immediately: How hard would they be to take apart? If Sartine had to fight in line, he would be overrun by simple weight of flesh.

I looked at the dark water, almost slack now. Where in the gods' names was Shearan? We had to have that cable!

And as though called by my prayer, here he was! "We found some heavy cable, Sir. Don't rightly know how long." He pointed. "They's payin' it out, stern of this'n to stern of that'n, like you said, Sir."

"Well done, Sergeant," I said. "This ship is called Shomoah; the other is some unpronounceable Donoran glottal-stop thing, so we'll call her Menk. Ensign Kort is informed?"

"Aye, Sir." He was waiting for my next instructions... but I had no idea what to do next.

"Have you given men to the pipe-organs?" I was trying to gain time to think.

"Aye, Sir." His voice said that he was very disappointed that I should feel any need to ask.

"Please send a runner for news of Lieutenant Sartine."

"Aye, Sir. Done that already, Sir. Should be back shortly..." Arghhh! I wanted to scream, "I do not know what to do next!!!" ... ... And then... then... I had another epiphany.

"Well done, Sergeant. I'm afraid that we must wait until we have that information, before deciding what to do next. ..."

He seemed unsurprised.

My epiphany stretched out. There is no requirement to know what to do next. Only to do one's best to acquire the information needed.

"Have you prepared your men for bracing the sails?" I asked.

"Aye, Sir... If you gi' me a moment, I'll check on... what'd you say 'er name is, Sir?"

"Menk, Sergeant. You might inform the people over there that that is her name, for us."

He nodded and was gone.

"Mainyard, there!" I called, looking up into the blackness beyond the lantern. "Can you hear me well enough?"

"Aye, Sir!" The answer was clear and strong.

Shearan returned, along with Kort. "The cable's ready, Sir," said Kort, looking very unsure of what he said.

I took a deep breath. "Alright, then... Let's get on with it! Sergeant, send a runner to Lieutenant Sartine to tell him that we are about to begin maneuvers." The battle noises on the shelf had continued... but not intensified.

This was, of course, the moment when everything went mad. From Menk came the cry, "Boats! Boats full of boarders!" Kort didn't wait for instructions: he simply turned and sprinted back to his command.

Ross's voice echoed, "Boats approaching! Pipes ready!"

"Right, then, Sergeant," I said, quietly, before adding in full command voice, "Marines to the braces!" I grinned at the Sergeant, who was grinning at me. "Sergeant Shearan! Cut loose the for'rd mooring, if you will! Loose the stern line!"

"Unlock... Loose!" I heard Ross call, and then the same from the other side of the pier, aboard Menk. I had to leave the weapons to their job – I was needed to sail the ship.

Just seconds later, I felt a shudder run through the ship. The forward line was severed. Shearan raced past, headed aft, and a few seconds later a second shudder told me that the rear was loose."Let fly the tops'ls!" They came pouring down. "Rudder hard to starboard!" The helmsman had no resistance as he spun the wheel. "Brace easy!" I wanted the turning motion of the ship to gain speed, but not to rip out the pier!

Our attackers set up a chorus of ululating howls.

"Topmen!" I shouted, "down to the deck! Get your weapons and stand ready!"

Ross continued to chant his orders to the pipe-organs, "Unlock... ... Loose!"

"Unlock... ... Loose!" echoed someone on Menk.

Shomoah turned quickly, bow downwind, but the risk was that she remain planted there. "Keep the sails braced broad to the wind!" I called. The Marines hauled the sail smoothly across the wind, and Shomoah continued to turn, until she was nearly parallel to the pier, but headed outward.

I went to the aft rail. "Are you ready, Master Kort?" I shouted.

Ross shouted, "Unlock... ... Loose!"

"Aye, Sir!" Kort called back.

A "zip" somewhere near my head told me we were within range of the oncoming boarders' arbaletes.

"Unlock... ... Loose!" came the cry from the far side of Menk.

"Sergeant Shearan!" My voice was almost a scream. "Let go the aft mooring!" In the gloom I saw his sword fall... once, twice, a third time... and then that shudder again, as Shomoah left the pier.

"Master Kort! Send a runner to Lieutenant Sartine: time to go!"

"Aye, Sir! Time to go!"

"Marines!" I cried, "Get on the tow line! Don't let it snap! Pay it out smoothly!"

"Unlock... ... Loose!" from nearby. "Unlock... ... Loose!" from Menk.

"Marines, to me!" came Ross's voice. "Prepare to repel boarders!"

"Helmsman," I called to the man at the wheel, "Keep her toward the middle of the channel! A point to starboard, to separate Menk from the pier when she cuts her moorings!"

I drew my sword... and realized that I still had an arbalete in my left hand, unnoticed through all this. "Alright, lads!" I shouted to my sailors, "It's time to dance! ... Follow me!" I charged toward Ross's position.

Ross saw us coming. Our Marines were a few paces nearer to him, so he pointed to the opposite gunnel, and shouted "There, Sir! There's another smack getting too close!"

The man next to me took a bolt through the side of his head, spun, and crashed to the deck... without a cry. I felt his blood spray across my neck, but did not slow.

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