A King`s Commander

it. He swabbed his face, his eye sockets, with his right sleeve, forever staining that fancy gold-lace slash-cuff… but he could see, with both eyes.

'Ooh, Law',' Andrews flinched for both of them, as a broadside came inboard.

More smashing timbers, more screaming side planking, as French carronade shot joined their long guns. That juddering got noticeable, became a deep, plucking hum instead of an unnatural motion. Through it all, the gun crews slaved away, swabbing and overhauling tackle, rushing up cartridge and shot, ramming it home and pricking the vents.

'Run out yer guns…!' Crewe roared, not so calm anymore, and caught up in the madness.

Alan took another suck of breath! There lay Choundas's vessel, not one cable to leeward of Jester''s left side, just a little ahead, and sailing parallel to them, her own side looking gnawed at, stove-in here and there, her pristine white gunwale turning gray with spent powder stains.

'On the uproll… fire!' Mister Crewe bugled. A ragged broadside crashed out, stuttering up and down Jester's ports. The enemy corvette lurched and seemed to wince as she was struck again by a hailstorm of shot, delaying the run-out of her own guns a precious moment.

'Payin' off, sir!' Spenser called from the wheel. 'No jibs…'

Jester could not lay close to the wind without them, and slowly swung leeward, in spite of a large portion of lee-helm. She and that corvette would angle together slowly, closing the range, if Choundas held his course. Lewrie groaned as he saw that the wind would let her pinch up to weather, at least one point or more. Choundas could throw his ship up so close to luffing that he could bow-rake Jester, at nigh musket shot, in another minute.

'Mister Knolles, ready to haul our wind, course nor-nor'east,' Lewrie snapped, the effort of shouting making his head seem to explode with fresh pain. 'Mister Crewe, one more broadside, then switch over to the starboard battery! We'll rake his stern!'

'Oh, Lord,' someone whispered in awe as Choundas's corvette lit up in flames, flinging long thrusts of smoke at them. She fired another broadside!

Jester was pummeled, sent reeling, as iron smashed home, aimed at her midships. There was a tremendous pillar of spray alongside, then a second, the shuddery twist of the hull as it was struck, down low by a graze, then a direct hit, and a mighty thonk of rupture. A groan aloft, that juddery humming ended suddenly. Replaced by a wail of pine and fir as her mainmast began to topple-everything beyond the fighting-top swayed over the larboard side, coming down like some sawn tree! The main chains had taken another hit, and everything was shot away that held it upright! All they could do was duck and pray as it collapsed, crashing down into the ocean in a rat's nest of torn sails, tangled rigging, and broken yards, to dangle on the gangway or bulwarks, further tangled with the collapsed boarding nettings, blinding the guns. A discharge from one of the nine-pounders might set alight the ruins. Jester was disarmed and powerless!

'Mister Crewe, starboard battery! Waisters and idlers,' Alan cried in despair. 'Chop all that away, now, Mister Porter! Spenser, steer due north, best you're able with all that dragging. Hurry!'

There was nothing left aloft for drive but the mizzen sails-spanker, top'sl, and t'gallant, and they'd be lucky indeed to be able to steer effectively, if at all, with all that force so far astern.

'Spare stays!, jury-rigged from foc's'le to the foretop!' Knolles was shouting forward tc the hands digging free of the ruins.

Jester had slowed, drastically, dragging herself almost to a stop, bereft of wind power. Beyond crippled. Almost conquered.

He's going to win, damn him, Alan felt like weeping! His ship turned to scrap lumber, defenseless against whatever might come. He suspected Choundas would close and board, to take her as prize. Take his ship, in a sea of bloodshed. Take him prisoner, and what he felt like inflicting on him, once they were anchored in a French port, he… no, By God! You want me, you'll have to kill me! You want Jester… then you'll have her over my dead body!

Lewrie drew his sword and let it glisten in the sun.

'Starboard batt'ry ready, sir!' Crewe rasped. He looked down on his gun deck. On his people. The ports were open, the artillery run-out. Grimy, bleeding from cuts and splinters, mouths agape with terror, and some of them shivering, amid the carnage, the dead.

'They'll not have us!' Lewrie roared. 'They'll not have herl If they try, we'll kill every last mother-son of 'em! Close shooting, and make 'em pay, Mister Crewe!'

And he was amazed, that they could raise a cheer! A weak one, aye. But an angry, defiant cheer for their ship.

Choundas had slipped ahead, of course, his rigging mostly free of damage and his sails still drawing power. Headed east-nor'east on the wind, but even then easing her braces and sheets to fall off, and employ her larboard guns. And her stern, her vulnerably thin stern…!

'Fire as you bear, Mister Crewe! Hold her, Spenser! Nothing to loo'rd, for just a minute!' he pleaded.

'Aye aye, sir!' Spenser grunted, as he and Brauer and two more hands threw all their weight on the spokes to hold full lee-helm, the rudder jammed hard-over.

'Point…!' Crewe ordered. 'As you bear… Fire!'

From the foc's'le carronade, then aft to the quarterdeck, some swivels firing, too; a controlled, steady tolling, the guns so hot by now they leaped off the deck with recoil, titanic crashes and bellows of rage, deafening thunders and harsh ejaculations of gunpowder, all dun gray and brown, shot through with embers and flaming bits of wad. The range was little over a cable, and the results were immediate.

The corvette's stern was caved in! Glass sash-windows blown in, both quarter-galleries shattered, her taffrail and flag lockers blown skyward. The name board and dead lights to the officers' wardroom all were smashed beyond recognition. Her transom post was whittled by shot, and her rudder twitched like a hound's ear. And there would be carnage further forward, as hard nine-pound shot caromed down the length of her open gun deck, breaking into hundreds of jagged shards on gun barrels and carriages, creating a maelstrom of wood splinters to quill her crew, to rip and rend! They could hear her, and them, wail, they imagined!

'Can't 'old 'er, sir,' Spenser gasped. 'Sorry, but they's too much drag t'larboard. Payin' off, again. Make due north, just.'

'Reload, Mister Crewe!' Alan demanded. 'One more time!'

'Tackin'!' Knolles countered. 'She's going over to larboard, sir!'

'Now shell rake our stern,' Lewrie groaned. Once she gets settled down on larboard tack, she'll make sou'west, easy, he thought. 'Get that raffle chopped away, Porter! Hurry with that stays'1. And rig the main topmast stays! from the maintop to a foc's'le ladder, if that's all you have. I need jibs. Any sort o' jibs! Now!'

Close as Choundas was, he'd get a quartering slant across HMS Jester's stern. At about the same range as the shot she'd delivered! Lewrie paced to the larboard side, to see the last of the mess going over the side, the last raveled stays and braces cut. With a great splash, the last of the upper masts hit the water to float away aft.

'Better, sir!' Spenser encouraged, spinning the spokes.

'Due east?' Lewrie asked him.

'Mebbe, sir!' Spenser allowed, chomping on his tobacco quid in a frenzy. 'Nor'east, at best, I think, Cap'm. We're so slow.'

'Good enough, then. Ready, Mister Crewe? We're coming about to weather some more for you!'

'We'll be ready, sir!' Crewe stolidly assured him.

'Give him a broadside, while he's tacking, then. Then load and run out, quick as you can. Soon as he's in arcs.'

Choundas was standing away southerly, already on the eyes of the wind, sails rustling and luffing, and jibs just beginning to fill, and draw. His ship would heel over as she felt the force of the wind upon her braced-around square sails, delaying that raking broadside a little. Until she was more in control, her decks more level. And then…

'Meleager, sir!' Hyde crowed. 'Signal, sir! 'Do You Require Assistance!' '

'Hoist 'Affirmative,' Mister Hyde!' Lewrie yelped in relief. 'You're goddamned right we do!'