William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

The maneuver had cut his effective strength nearly in half for now only the forward and middle turrets could bear on a target, while his enemy’s stem turrets could continue to fire. The maneuver had, at least for the moment, thrown their aim off, for the next salvo of shells arced high overhead, crashing down a half mile astern, and hitting where the fleet would have been if they had continued on their parallel course.

The battle of the light cruisers was almost directly ahead. The ships were slashing at one another at ranges of less than a thousand yards. A Red fleet cruiser disappeared in a monumental explosion. One of Hanaga’s frigates rammed another, blowing off the ship’s stem. The frigate actually survived the blow, backing off, its secondary bow intact.

A high shriek came roaring down from above.

Hanaga flung himself to the deck. The shell struck the flagship just aft of the bridge, detonating on top of the portside, a midships turret, blowing it apart. A shower of debris and choking black smoke blew forward. The only thing that saved his life was the heavy bulk of the cupola between him and the explosion.

He felt something hard slamming against the inside of the cupola.

He staggered to his feet and looked inside it. Wisps of Smoke coiled out of the view ports and then cleared. He felt a shiver of fear. A fragment from the explosion must have cut through the narrow access porthole aft-either that or up through the deck below. The red-hot metal then slashed around inside like a pebble tossed back and forth inside a shaken bottle. Everyone inside was smashed to a bloody pulp.

Another shell arced in, detonating just aft of the stern. The force of the blow raised the back end of the ship, then slapped it down. He sensed immediately that something was wrong, most likely a propeller torn off by the force of the blow or a drive shaft bent.

“My lord, we’ve lost the fighting bridge!” Hazin shouted, trying to be heard above the explosions, firing guns and steam venting from a broken line with the shrill roar of an undead spirit.

Hanaga nodded, still in shock from the force of the blow and the carnage that had been wrought where he had been standing only seconds before.

“The ship will have to be steered from the engine room!”

Hanaga still could not reply. His forward guns fired again, and, looking up, he saw that the enemy fleet was frightfully close, now less than a league away. Gunners were lowering their barrels. Soon they would be firing over open sights, and nearly every shot would tell.

The enemy fleet was holding its line, not breaking off to run. They were accepting the challenge of the suicidal charge.

“Your orders, sire?” Hazin cried.

Another shell screamed in, and he ducked low, flinching as the bolt struck the bow deck. But it hit at such a low angle that its percussion head failed to strike. He saw the massive bolt skid up off the deck and go tearing out across the ocean, tumbling end over end, disappearing into the smoke.

For twenty years I struggled to reach this moment, he thought. How many of my kin have I slain, how many assassinations, how many knives in the back and feasting cups of poison? How many treaties made to be broken, how many hundreds of thousands dead? All for the power of the Golden Throne, holding it against so many of my kin, my own brothers, till only Yasim was left to challenge me. Yasim, of all of them the weakest in moral strength, but also the most cunning. He held back until I had eliminated nearly every other rival, and then he struck.

In a mere glimmer of a moment all had changed. The dreams of dawn were now sinking like the bloodred sun into a bloodred sea.

And my brother will win this day. Damn his soul, he will win.

Hanaga looked back to the southeast. Or will it be Sar, the bastard? He had to smile. Damn, in a way we are all bastards. It does not matter if our fathers took the vow of mating or not. We exist to kill or be killed, to seek the power of the throne of the Kazan Empire and, once there, to slaughter any who might dream to replace us. Birth blood is but an excuse to reach for it. All that mattered in the end was seizing the power and holding it.

Another shell screamed in, this one striking astern, the force of the blow lifting the deck beneath his feet then slamming it down. He raised his glasses and focused it on his brother’s flagship.

No strikes yet. Then he saw what appeared to be a hit, bits of deck soaring up…but no explosion. Why no explosion?

We should have made a dozen hits by now. He saw one fire on an enemy battle cruiser, and that was all.

Why no explosions? Half their ships should be aflame or sinking by now. I have some of the best gunners in the Empire.

“Should we signal the fleet to break off?” Hazin asked.

Hanaga looked around. All was confusion. Several of his battle cruisers were still pressing straight in. One of them was on fire from halfway behind the bridge all the way astern, but its forward guns were still firing.

A brilliant flash of light erupted from the enemy line. A light cruiser exploded, tearing apart from stem to stern, magazines blowing, but the ships of the main van, all of them were still in action. A feeble cheer went up from the topside gunners of his own ship. Their cries were soon drowned out as another shell tore in.

An officer came up and saluted. “Sire, thank Tenga you are alive. Assistant gunner Sutana sent me to find you. He claims that none of our shells are exploding.”

– “I know that. I have eyes, damn it.”

“Sire. Assistant gunner Sutana begs to report that he ordered a shell fuse to be opened, and he discovered that the primer was bent.”

“What?”

The officer lowered his head. “Sire, the primer for the shell was bent so that it would not strike the detonator on impact.”

Hanaga looked at him, unable to speak.

More shells thundered in, a number of them the sharp, whining cracks of the enemy fleet’s secondary batteries. One of them struck the gunnery control tower, and, with a rending crash, the tower tottered and fell to starboard. The shrieks of its crew were cut short as the tower crashed onto the deck astern, piling in with all the other battle wreckage.

“Tell Sutana to install new fuses on all shells as they are brought up from the magazine.”

“Sire, that will delay firing.”

“Don’t you think I know that? Are you suggesting we fire shells that don’t explode instead?”

“No, my lord.”

The officer quickly withdrew, obviously terrified.

An enemy frigate emerged from its confusing battle, which had drifted astern, but was now catching up again with the main fleets. The frigates drove straight at the flagship. The secondary guns below deck trained on this new threat. Topside machine gunners opened up, tracers snaking out across the water, aiming for the bridge.

Hanaga stood silent, oblivious to the slaughter.

Hazin drew close to his side. “Sire, abandon ship.”

“What?”

“Sire, we have been betrayed,” Hazin said forcefully, looking straight into Hanaga’s eyes.

“Yes, betrayed.”

Without waiting for comment, Hazin stepped over to the starboard railing, leaned over and, drawing a red pennant from beneath his tunic, he started to wave it at a frigate that had swung out of the main battle and was now running parallel and slightly astern of the flagship. Within seconds the frigate started to speed up and draw closer.

Hanaga, barely noticing Hazin’s activities, stood silent. Always he had mastered the crisis of the moment, but this was beyond mastery. He had fallen into an elaborate trap. He finally looked over at Hazin, ready to give the order to have his heart cut out, but saw that the executioner he would have assigned was dead, his head blown off.