“There!” Jarrik-Fas cried out and pointed. From behind the concealing point of land about three miles to the north, a pale gray shape, barely discernible against the stormy sky, lanced into view. The tiniest wisps of smoke hazed the tops of three of her funnels and a cascade of white foam sluiced along her flanks from the knife-sharp bow. A sensation of exultant satisfaction erased Keje’s dread. Their chore was bigger than expected, but they could handle that. They’d hoped for one, planned for two, but three should make scant difference. He turned and gauged the distance to the boats, now almost two-thirds to their objective. Sharp teeth were exposed as his grin became a snarl.
“They’ve risen to the bait. All that remains is to close the trap! Shall we reveal our surprise?” Jarrik-Fas strode to the new “jan-raal ay-laarm,” a long bronze cylinder suspended in a gimbaled bracket. He struck it energetically with a heavy rod. The loud notes were clear, if somewhat flat, and experiments showed they carried well to all parts of the ship. Hundreds of Lemurian warriors erupted from belowdecks and raced to their posts along the seaward rail. In moments, Big Sal’s starboard side bristled with eager warriors-not all of whom called her home. Some represented other Homes that had come to Baalkpan, like Nerracca, Aracca, and Humfra-Dar, but most were Baalkpan land folk leavened by Alden’s Marines. Below the catwalk, five large ports opened, their doors raised by a pair of ropes and half a dozen crew folk each.
The Grik slowed their advance momentarily when they realized they faced opposition. Keje hoped they wouldn’t break from tradition and cancel the attack. He’d carefully held back more than half his troops so they would think they still had the advantage. A preponderance of numbers in their enemy’s favor had never dissuaded the Grik before, but they’d been doing too many unexpected things of late. He needn’t have worried. With a crescendo of snarling shouts, the Grik plowed on, waving weapons in fierce defiance. Closer and closer, gnashing their teeth and pounding weapons against their shields. Their large eyes were opaque with a frenzy of rage. It was terrifying, regardless of his confidence.
He spared a glance at the Grik ships, still hove to in the distance. Their remaining crews had not yet noticed Walker bearing down upon them. That was understandable, since the destroyer approached from directly downwind. There was no reason on earth to suspect trouble from that direction. He grunted. Finally some lookout must have seen, because sheets were loosed and sails began to shift. The thought of the pandemonium aboard the enemy when they first glimpsed Walker brought a predatory smile to his cleft lips. Slowly, chaotically, the Grik sails filled, and the first ship heaved far over onto its starboard side, quickly gathering way. The other two weren’t as fortunate. One attempted the same maneuver, but its head came around too far and smashed directly into one of the monolithic rocks, shattering the starboard bow and bringing down the masts in a rush of thundering, crackling devastation. It rebounded from the rock as though kicked in the nose by some terrible god and swirled away in the maelstrom, rapidly settling low.
The third ship shaped a course that might bring it in collision with Salissa. Very well, Keje thought. An even greater test, and one just as important. He ground his teeth and waited. The first Grik ship was clear of the rocks, but there’d be no escape. Walker was flying down upon her prey, and pure joyful wonder at her speed flooded through him. Formal supplication had been made before they set out from Baalkpan, but he sent a quick prayer to the hidden Sun and those who had gone before to watch over his friends and brothers. Then he returned his attention to the role he had to play. The Grik in the boats had no inkling of anything taking place behind. They might if the ship overtook them, but for now they were entirely focused on closing with Salissa.
“At my command, Jarrik-Fas…”
“Commence firing with the main battery, but at masts and rigging only, Mr. Garrett!” Even before the salvo buzzer sounded, Matt felt, as well as heard, a deep, muffled whuddump! from the direction of Big Sal. He looked, but at this distance all he saw was a massive fogbank of smoke dissipating to leeward. So far, so good, he thought, in spite of the heavier odds. Big Sal would face more warriors than expected and maybe a ship as well, but Walker’s part remained essentially the same. He’d never really believed Letts could pull it off. The supply officer’s ambitious plan to arm Big Sal with forty cannon had been reduced to five per side, but they were enormous thirty-two pounders-and long guns to boot. They were crudely shaped and probably heavier than necessary, but their bores were straight and true. He could only imagine what five hundred three-quarter-inch copper balls per gun had done to the Grik boats. For an instant, he even pondered later ramifications. History often showed that 3 arming primitive people with artillery could be a very bad thing, but at this moment, under these conditions, he had no regrets. Besides, he had more-pressing matters at hand. The salvo buzzer shrieked.
Three guns fired as one. Only one round struck the target, but it was a perfect hit, exactly where Matt had hoped. A single high-explosive four-inch-fifty struck dead center beneath the maintop and detonated with devastating effect. Huge splinters and pieces of metal scythed through sails and rigging, and down upon the fo’c’sle. The mast and top above the impact were entirely severed, and the whole thing fell-canvas flailing and yards disintegrating in a mad carnival of destruction. Surviving stays stretched impossibly tight and parted like a volley of rifle fire. The foretopmast snapped and added itself and everything above to the mass of debris that fell in an impenetrable heap amidships. A forestaysail billowed to leeward and fell into the sea. That, and the sails still set on the mizzen, caused the Grik to heave rapidly around to starboard and broach to, a wallowing, helpless wreck. As a final calamity resulting from that single salvo, the un-stayed mizzen sails were taken aback, and the entire mast snapped off at the deck and plummeted into the sea astern.
“Holy cow!” breathed Rick Tolson at the helm. Walker had closed to less than three hundred yards.
“Reduce speed!” commanded Matt. “All ahead slow. Helm, ease us in to one hundred yards and come left ten degrees on my mark.” He turned to the talker. “Boarders to remain undercover, but…” He paused and cast a glance at Chack, standing nearby. “I don’t suppose they’ll surrender?” The Lemurian just looked at him, uncomprehending. The Grik never gave quarter, or asked for it. They probably didn’t understand the concept. Matt doubted that Chack did, even now, after he’d so carefully stressed the need to secure live prisoners. He rubbed his nose and gave the young warrior a grim smile. “Of course not. Never mind.” To the talker: “Machine gunners may commence firing if they have a target, but don’t waste ammunition!”
They’d left one of the. 30s at the refinery as security against predators, but both. 50s and the remaining. 30 were all now on the starboard side. Almost immediately, the. 30 overhead began hammering. The two amidships. 50s quickly joined it, shredding the dazed Grik as they emerged from beneath the wreckage. Splinters, shattered bone, and gobbets of flesh erupted along the bulwark amid a chorus of wailing shrieks. In the pilothouse there was silence. They were well within range of the Grik firebombs, but the attack came so swiftly and unexpectedly, either they hadn’t prepared the weapons or they’d been buried by debris.
Walker edged closer to the rolling derelict, and the stutter of machine guns became less frequent as fewer targets presented themselves.
“Well,” Matt said crisply, hoping his voice betrayed none of his nervousness. He tugged absently at the sword belt buckled around his tunic. “Mr. Dowden, you have the deck. As we discussed, lay her alongside and try to keep station as best you can.” He grinned. “Mind the Chief’s paintwork, though! If you have to break off, by all means, do so. But don’t waste time getting back in contact.” Tolson tossed a worried look over his shoulder at the captain.