Two Space War Part 17

Melville completed his discussion with Fang, telling her where they were headed and why. She didn't seem in the least concerned that they would be informing the Stolsh about the approaching Guldur fleet. It was obvious that his Ship could be counted upon to be loyal and steadfast to him. And to her "pups."

Melville flipped down through the hatch, and checked on Mr. Crater as he conned the lower quarterdeck. To go through the area where gravity "flips" wasn't particularly arduous or difficult. Easier even than slipping into water, especially for someone who'd done it from his youngest days. But still he did it cautiously, protecting his injured shoulder.

Young Crater was doing fine. He'd been the 2IC, or second in command, of the quarterdeck on many a watch. He had often been left to con the deck while the duty officer went about his many responsibilities in other parts of the Ship. An experienced quartermaster with over a decade of sea duty under his belt was there to a.s.sist. Above them an experienced petty officer directed the seamen in the rigging. They seemed to take delight in breaking in their new "lootenant."

Then Melville flipped back through to the upper quarterdeck, kneeling to say a pa.s.sing h.e.l.lo to Fang as he pa.s.sed the Keel.

The rest of the shift went by in a dull blur for Melville. He had barely begun to recover from his wounds and was quickly exhausted. Hans insisted on rigging a deck chair for him to sit on, something that was unheard of in ordinary circ.u.mstances.

At six bells he went below, where McAndrews had fixed him a hot lunch. The portly steward appeared to be an unimaginative cook, but Melville wasn't a picky eater.

Hans, in his duties as sailing master, was reworking the rigging and sails to conform to Westerness standards. He bounced back and forth between the upper and lower decks, keeping a good eye out for young Lieutenant Crater on the lower quarterdeck. Hans' monkey perched on the sailing master's shoulder and seemed to delight in everything they did. The little tobacco-chewing creature was now the darling of the topmen.

Finally, his long watch was over and Melville went into his cabin. Again McAndrews prepared a meal, which he shoveled down. It was hot and it felt good, whatever it was.

They had an adequate supply of water, with resupply expected fairly soon, so he was able to grab a quick sponge bath. He stood in a wide, shallow basin designed to catch the precious water, sponging himself off while McAndrews held a pan of hot water for him. The steward had heated the water, and it felt good. The unctuous sailor was definitely beginning to grow on him. Ordinarily he didn't get hot water to bathe in, another advantage to being the captain. There was an up side to the responsibility. There wasn't enough water to wash his entire body, but he could soap and rinse his "pits." The arm pits and the whole region between the thighs and b.u.t.tocks that academy cadets jokingly referred to as the "leg pit."

His monkey hopped off during this process, and watched from McAndrews' shoulder. The steward delighted in this honor, and Melville found himself feeling slightly jealous. Then he felt foolish about feeling jealous of a monkey.

Lady Elphinstone tapped at his door and stepped in at that moment, seeming to have sensed that she could find her patient naked.

How does she do that? thought Melville. Sylvan magic? Doctor's instinct?

He was slightly embarra.s.sed to be standing naked in front of a beautiful lady, but she was also ancient, and wise, and Sylvan, and she was a doctor. Somehow this all combined to make it perfectly all right, even to a sailor who had been sailing the seas of two-s.p.a.ce for entirely too long.

She unwound the dressing and proceeded to prod and cleanse his wound, "tutting" like some omnipresent, universal healer archetype. "Thou art healing well, Captain, but thou may not go into the rigging, and thou must continue to pace yourself. I saw thee resting on the quarterdeck. That is good."

She stood back and looked at his naked body with a clinical eye. He tried not to suck his gut in. He found himself settling on a half relaxed, half poised position, shoulders back, hands at his side, as she examined him. It wasn't much but it was all his dignity could muster, as she went on. "Healing is strange in two-s.p.a.ce. Some fester and die who should not, and others live when they probably should not. I would guess thee to be the healing type. I'll keep an eye on thee. In a few weeks thou shouldst have thy old strength back. In a month or so thou shouldst have the full use of that arm again. If thou dost pay attention to what I say. Dost thou understand, Captain?" she asked, no, demanded, as she replaced the dressing.

"Yes, indeed I do, my lady. I'll do my best to follow your guidance." There, that was a good way to put it. Because they both knew that he would d.a.m.ned well do what the situation called for, even if it killed him.

"Indeed thou shalt, thou silly man," she said, not unkindly and with a slight smile. "Unless thee wants to die?"

"I do happen to be the captain, you know," said Melville, with as much dignity as a naked man could muster.

With a slight, mocking nod she corrected herself, "Thou silly captain, sir."

"Thank you."

"Very good, now go to sleep, Captain. All is well here. All is well."

All is well. Those words rang in his ears as McAndrews helped him slide into a long sleep shirt. He pulled a sleep mask over his head and stretched out on his bunk. He felt his monkey hop in next to him, and as it snuggled warmly in beside his head he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, after sleeping for over ten hours, he found life felt almost worth living. He leaned back while McAndrews shaved his spa.r.s.e beard. Two-s.p.a.ce would keep a straight-razor supernaturally sharp, but proper handling of such a razor was an entirely different matter. That's why many sailors chose to wear beards. McAndrews was doing an excellent job, but it occurred to Melville to ask the steward to let the blade grow just a little bit dull.

The steward helped him dress and did his magic with tea, sugar, and lemon. His supply of tea and lemon juice was limited, but it was good while it lasted.

Then he went out on the deck of his Ship (his Ship!) with a steaming mug in his right hand. His monkey leaned out, stretching out its long, accordion neck to get sips of the tea.

It was just after eleven bells in the night watch when he walked out onto the deck. All was still and quiet. This was the most serene, peaceful time of the day on board Ship. It was almost as though the men of Westerness had recreated the sleepy hour just before dawn, here in the timeless depths of Flatland. Even the illumination from the Moss seemed subdued during this period, as though the Ship itself took on that rhythm. The day watch slept on the deck, wrapped in blankets on thin pads. A few members of the night watch worked quietly in the rigging; some were working below with the carpenter's mates.

Fielder stood on the quarterdeck. Melville nodded to him, finishing his tea in peaceful solitude, and went below to check on Lieutenant Archer.

Around the lower quarterdeck a few of the cook's mates quietly set up their burners and pots, preparing breakfast. Meals had been served on the upper side yesterday, so today the Ship's crew would gather on the lower side. Even with the activity of the cooks, things were quiet, still, and sleepy. The lower day watch were sleeping on the deck. Part way up the ladder, from the shadow of the hatch, Melville stopped and watched Archer standing beside the helmsman on the quarterdeck.

Around no fire the soldiers sleep to-night,

But lie a-wearied on the ice-bound field,

With cloaks wrapt round their sleeping forms, to shield

Them from the northern winds. Ere comes the light

Of morn brave men must arm, stern foes to fight.

The sentry stands, his limbs with cold congealed;

His head a-nod with sleep; he cannot yield,

Though sleep and snow in deadly force unite.

The young lieutenant's face shone by the glow of the deck. His eyes were heavy and his head was nodding. Like everyone else he was exhausted, and it was always hard getting your body adjusted to night shift. There were no winds here, and there was no ice-bound field, but as he looked at the boy standing watch over his mates, those ancient lines about the young sentry came to life.

Amongst the sleepers stands that Boy awake,

And wide-eyed plans brave glories that transcend

The deeds of heroes dead; then dreams o'ertake

His tired-out brain, and lofty fancies blend

To one grand theme, and through all barriers break

To guard from hurt his faithful sleeping friend.

Or perhaps those words applied to Melville himself. Guarding not just his "faithful sleeping friend," but his friends. To guard all his beloved crew. That was his "one grand theme."

But to truly guard them, he must form them into a fighting ship and then take them in harm's way. It was a truism of war that no one was ever really safe on the defensive. Against an aggressive, hostile enemy, if you sat and huddled on the defensive, or if you ran and hid, in the end you'd die. Only in attack, only by defeating the enemy, could you ultimately be safe.

If they'd run with their crippled Ship they would have been hunted down and killed. If they'd scuttled their Ship and tried hiding on Broadax's World, they would have been as good as dead. Several hundred men and a handful of females, marooned forever on an uncharted planet. Only by attacking their enemy were they able to survive.

In the wars of Old Earth, most of the time, it was only by attacking that the free nations could be triumphant and secure. Whether it was the twentieth-century wars against n.a.z.i Germany and Imperial j.a.pan, or the twenty-first-century wars against terrorism, if they'd sat and done nothing, they would have died in the end. Even in the Cold War against Soviet Russia in the late twentieth century, it could be argued that the democracies of Old Earth won by waging an economic war, and a war of ideas, while constantly preparing for real war.

You were never truly safe on the defensive. To be a great military leader you must sincerely love your men. But to keep your men safe, all too often you had to give them orders that would result in their deaths. That was the great paradox of military leadership. A paradox that destroyed many good men, and now it hung heavy upon Melville's heart.

He stood on the ladder and watched Archer for a few more minutes, then he returned to the upper quarterdeck. Fielder still stood there, looking better than he had in a very long time.

"Good morning, Daniel."

"Good morning, sir." Good. That "sir" appeared to come out completely without irony or resentment.

Melville was amazed to see the head of a tiny spider monkey peering out of the first mate's jacket. "Where did that come from," he said pointing at the little head peering at him owlishly.

Fielder seemed disconcerted, even a little embarra.s.sed as he looked down at the little creature. "Sir, I don't have a clue. It just appeared. I took off my jacket for lunch in the area we've designated as the wardroom. When I went to put the jacket on, there it was. It must have crawled in during my meal, but no one saw it."

Melville walked back to the relative privacy at the rear of the quarterdeck, motioning Fielder to follow him. Lowering his voice he continued, "Did someone fill you in on what the surgeon and purser learned?"

"Aye, sir," Fielder answered, looking a little apprehensive. "Lady Elphinstone told me while I was down there visiting the wounded. Several more monkeys have shown up down there, and in other places. It's all very strange. But I must say, knowing about that, I'm pleased to have one. I think." Looking down with a strange mix of wonder, suspicion, and admiration in his voice, the cynical, embittered lieutenant added, "Cute little b.a.s.t.a.r.d, ain't he?" The monkey looked up at him and flicked its tongue out momentarily.

"Yes. Truly cute as a b.u.t.ton. Congratulations, I give you joy of your monkey." Melville reached down and scratched behind the creature's ears. "So, can you give me a sitrep?"

"Aye, sir. We seem to be settling into a good, healthy routine." Fielder appeared to actually have some satisfaction, perhaps even pleasure, in his voice as he outlined the ongoing activities.

"The surgeon reports no deaths. They thought they might lose a few more of the severely wounded, but everything has been going very well on that front."

Melville nodded. "Excellent. We've had enough funerals for a lifetime."

"Aye. Meanwhile, the carpenter is ready to go ahead with the gun ports for the 12-pounders. I didn't want to do it during the night watch, the day watch needs their sleep too badly, but by the end of the day watch he thinks they can have it all done. I directed the marines to give all their a.s.sistance to the carpenter, all possible prep work has been done, and the project should go quickly. All but the stern guns are already in position."

The marines were the jacks-of-all-trades in the Westerness Navy. They needed time for training in their own skills, but they were also a reserve of able bodies available to a.s.sist wherever they were most needed. Over the years they'd developed many skills. They could be of a.s.sistance to the purser as stevedores and a.s.sistant cooks. They were also litter bearers and orderlies for the surgeon, and ammo bearers and gun handlers for the gunner. Even for the sailing master they could be of use in simple tasks demanding muscle power.

Now their marines' abilities were focused on helping the carpenter and his mates with their many tasks. The first priority was getting the new guns into position, then rearranging the compartments in the hold. Finally, after everything else was finished, they would set up part.i.tions in the quarterdeck cabins, creating a decent wardroom and a suite of cabins for the officers. All sailing ships traditionally carried a good supply of spare spars, raw lumber and part.i.tions. Since this ship was setting out on the first stage of a long war, it was particularly well equipped. Indeed, most of the part.i.tions they needed were already there, but they'd been struck down into the hold when the Guldur cleared her for action.

"Good," Melville responded, "as soon as we get the guns in position I want the gunner to get his crews working on firing drills for the 24-pounders. We don't have much ammo for the 12-pounders, and that's okay because we know how to use them. But it's vital that we get good with those 24-pounders, asap. Anything else?"

"No, sir. That about covers our primary area of progress during the watch. I think the staff can fill you in on their areas during breakfast."

"Very well. And how has Lieutenant Archer been performing?"

Fielder's face took on his usual hard, cynical smile, but there might have been just a hint of fondness there. "He's doing well. He worked a lot during the day watch, helping to get things settled in, and by now I suspect he's ready for a good sleep. After that he should be pretty much on his way to having his body clock set for night watch. The men seem to respect him, and I've no immediate complaints."

"Good. Anything else of interest?"

"Most of the ship's boys seem to be sick. The proverbial dog's breakfast heaved over the side, most of 'em. Must be something they ate disagreeing with them. Elphinstone says they'll live and probably be the wiser for it. The d.a.m.ned fools."

As they were talking, the gla.s.s was trickling out the last sands of the twelfth hour of the night watch, and the Ship was coming alive. Most of the day watch was awake. They were rolling up their sleeping pads and stowing them in the netting along the Ship's sides, where they could stop a musket ball and slow a cannonball. In a green or ill-disciplined Ship the bosun's mates would have to waken them, but in this Ship they tended to get up on their own, or with a few nudges from their friends.

It was traditional to pa.s.s the con to a midshipman while the officers went to meals. Now, since there was no midshipman, the quartermaster filled in as they went below to breakfast.