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.