Grantville Gazette 38

pursuers with wide, frightened eyes. She hesitated. Should she just let them go, let them carry word back that Mauritius was free, and the Swedish colonists were strong? So much blood had been shed already today, should she be merciful to these men despite what they had done? Yes, she had learned to kill, but she still didn't think of herself as a killer; she was a soldier in war-time now, doing what she must.

A large group of Swedes were in pursuit, a mix of sailors and colonists berserk from wreaking their bloody revenge on their former tormentors and ready for more. Their bellowing shouts rang with hatred, the very sound of them sent a cold shiver up Pam's spine. This is what happens when you push these calm, congenial folk of the North too far. The giants have awakened and they are angry. Following the men came women, wailing and cursing as they carried their wounded on makeshift stretchers, lifting the injured to the heavens as if to say 'See? This what has been done to us! We must be avenged!' Pam saw one young woman born aloft by her kinfolk, splattered in her own blood from head to toe. She was suffering from awful wounds, her face was pale and distorted by agony but her eyes were bright, burning with the flames of vengeance. Pam gasped. Despite the distance, she knew in her heart that this was Bengta, a courageous soul who had suffered at the hands of the slave-masters for her role in the revolt before she could be rescued. That was enough for Pam. This was war.

'You men down there, everybody get down! Bosun!' Pam's voice cut through the smoky afternoon air with a cold steel edge. 'Target those boats trying to get away and fire at will!'

The bosun hadn't waited for her order to target the fleeing Africans; they were already locked on. His shouted reply of 'Yes, ma'am!' was drowned out by the nearly immediate blast of the deck gun, its lethal projectiles mowing down the would-be escapees by the dozen. Before the smoke could even clear they were reloading.

Pam called down to the gun crew waiting below decks with the Chinese cannons. 'Gun crew! Fire Number One and sink that ship that's getting away.' She heard only half of a 'Yes, ma'am!' as a boom sounded, heralding the exit of a heavy Chinese cannon ball. The projectile plowed through the bow of the light craft in a shower of splinters. 'Number two! Fire!' Pam bawled. Shortly, another blast tore into the enemy ships, breaking up men and boat as if they were cheap toys. Lost Redbird's fearsome deck gun sounded again, shredding the slavers into a gory mess of bone and wood splinters. Two of the boats were sinking beneath the harbor's calm waters in a widening stain of blood and grease, the remainder stayed at the dockside as there was no one left alive to take them to sea.The Swedes had stopped to watch the destruction, cheering the Second Chance Bird's gunners on from a safe distance. Dore climbed back up to rejoin Pam, she looked at the scene dispassionately, sweat running down her strong, proud face.

'My God, we tore them all to shreds. I've never seen anything like it,' Pam said in a small voice, stunned at the destruction she had unleashed.

'I have.' Dore's voice carried the chill as the winter wind. 'Better like that than with the swords, Pam. Better those dogs die quickly than our people be hurt or killed in more fighting. They made their choice and now they have paid for it.'

Pam nodded quietly in agreement. She winced at the awful carnage, but also felt a burning pride. Fear us, fear the people of the dodo! The tribalistic epithet that had come to her mind made her smile; she might just use it some time. The truth was, the fury of the Norsemen was running in her, too. She had caught it from them and found she liked its burning taste. She rejoiced to see their enemy obliterated, humiliated, defeated. Blown to smithereens! she thought with a cold satisfaction. Whatever demons these days of blood and conquest had loosed in her, she would have to wrestle with later. Today she was a fighting captain; today she was victorious in war.

Chapter Forty-Two: Victory Lap

'Let's go ashore. Bosun, you are with me. Gun crews, stay on watch. Come, Dore, let's go ashore.' Pam shed her white robes and straightened her royal blue, gold embroidered Chinese jacket, the Swedish colors which she wore with pride. They had adopted her and she had accepted their kinship; she was one of them now. She pushed wisps of loosened hair back behind her ears, and stood up straight. Dore grinned at her as she carried the colonial flag she had made, now fastened to eight feet of bamboo pole. Pam slapped her friend on the back just the way the men always did to each other and led her and the Bosun down onto the dock.

The doctor had returned, and seemed satisfied with his work on the Lojtnant, who was visibly more at ease, his leg smothered in bandages.

'How is he, Doctor Durand? Pam asked him politely, having decided the man was indeed who and what he said he was. His warm, brown eyes were full of relief that she had accepted him.

'I may have saved his leg; we will know better tomorrow. Even so, he will never run again and will need to use a cane to walk. I'm afraid his days as a fighting soldier are over.'

'Perhaps. I have a job in mind for him where that won't pose too much of a problem. I'm claiming the Effrayant for the crown of Sweden for use in guarding this colony. She will need a captain.' She looked down at the Lojtnant, whose hazel eyes brightened at her words. 'She is yours to command if you will have her, my friend.' Pam told him, her voice trembling with pride just to be a friend of this brave man before her, a man who would have gladly sacrificed his life for their cause this day, and almost had.

Lundkvist looked up and gave her an exhausted but happy smile. 'It will be my honor. Thank you, Captain Pam. Your deeds today will never be forgotten. You truly are our hero.'

The Lojtnant's praise made Pam's eyes mist up, but she fought back the joyful tears, and put a stern face on. There was another person she needed to speak to before any celebrating could take place. She turned to the doctor again. 'Come with me. There is a woman on shore who needs you right away. Once you do what you can for those most badly injured. I want you to see to a young boy on my ship. He fell from the rigging yesterday and I fear for him. He is dear to me and if you make him well you can consider me your new best friend.'

The doctor bowed to her with courtly grace, and fell in behind her.

They walked past the rows of captives. Pam came to a stop over the corrupt captain, the architect of all their suffering. His reckoning day was near. He was the helpless captive now, a tyrant deposed. He eyed her uncomfortably from his trussed-up position, cold, frightened sweat beading on his face.

'Hey, fuck-head!' Her voice seared the air with a heat she hadn't known was within her, a voice that could burn an evil man like this with its very sound. His eyes were bleary, swimming with dread. Pam found she relished his fear, it was delicious. She pressed the pointy tip of the odd, patent leather Chinese shoe she wore into the captain's long nose, making him grimace. 'I'm going to see to it that you pay for what you have done here, do you hear me? Pay! Your worthless, scumbag life now depends on how many ways you find to make yourself useful to me. We'll start with a full account of just who you and those slave-master fuckers doing your dirty work are, or, in their case, were. If you don't tell me everything I want to know, I'll throw you to those people you have been torturing for all these months, and laugh while they tear your arms and legs off. I'll make sure they do it nice and slow, too. So, capitan, we'll talk later, at my convenience. Asshole.'

The thoroughly humiliated villain didn't even try to speak, just nodded his assent as best he could with Pam's shoe smashing his considerable nose. Pam sneered at him, then walked on, her steel-gray eyes glittering with wrath and exultation, chin held high, hardly believing these things were happening and that it was she herself who was making them happen. Who are you and whatever did you do with meek and mild birdwatcher Pam Miller of Grantville, West Virginia? a voice in her head mused. Oh, she's still around, but right now it's a bad-ass warrior-queen of the Norsemen we need, so shush up, it's time for the victory lap!

They stepped onto the shore before the rescued Swedish colonists. Pam suddenly grew shy and stopped. Pam's fighting men, their orange-skin now smeared with blood, grinned at her like fools. She winced as she counted