Union Forever Page 45

  "Coming in pretty quick. It's hard to tell—everything's smoke down here. Our draft on one of the engines was knocked out when they hit the smokestack."

  "Get the pump running."

  "Gun room, colonel. They cracked it clean in, six more men down, you can see daylight on one side!"

  "Keep at it, O'Malley!"

  Desperately, Andrew looked back out. It was his ship and the Ogunquit—the rest of the battle was now drifting astern.

  The Ogunquit started to swing over hard.

  "Engine room, reverse! O'Malley, run your gun forward! She's going to run in front of us."

  A grinding shudder ran through the ship, and he felt it surge forward for a moment.

  The Ogunquit continued its turn, and the gun port forward started to come into view. Onward the ship came, its bow slowly turning like an unstoppable force, water peeling up in front, splashing over the side.

  The Suzdal slowed, and then ever so slowly started to back up. Looking straight in at the enemy ship, Andrew could see the forward gun crew frantically working to inch their weapon over, trying to bring it to bear. The bow of the vessel sliced past, the wake slapping up over the front of the Suzdal.

  "Come on, O'Malley!" Andrew shouted, pounding his fist on the side of the pilothouse.

  The first gun port shot past, and then the second and third. He could see the shattering damage of his last hit, shards of splintered wood sticking out of the shot hole.

  The fifth gunport went past, and then the deck beneath his feet snapped.

  A geyser of water shot up from the side of the Ogunquit even as the stem went past.

  "Waterline hit!" Andrew roared.

  And then from the corner of his eye he saw the stem gun port swing open. In the excitement of the encounter he had momentarily forgotten the stinger in the enemy's tail. The gun kicked off.

  Hands reached over the side, pulling him up out of the water.

  Coughing and sputtering, Vincent lay back on a rowing bench.

  "Marcus?"

  "We got him too, sir."

  Vincent looked up into the powder-smeared face of a Suzdalian rifleman.

  "A hell of a fight! We've got them on the run!"

  Coming to his feet, Vincent saw the vast array of ships locked together in a crazy-quilt maze of twisted wood.

  Vessels in the middle, both Cartha and Roum, were smashed in, their gunnels under the water but still floating. An artillery piece snapped off next to him, slamming into a Cartha galley recklessly charging in. The men standing in the bow of the ship were swept over the side by the spray of canister.

  The ram bore in, slamming into the ship, knocking Vincent off his feet.

  More than a hundred men, hiding down below the gunnel, stood up as one, lowered muskets, and at point-blank range slammed a volley into the vessel. Rifle balls punched through the wooden siding. Dozens of Carthas were swept down.

  A corvus dropped down from the bow, locking onto the Cartha vessel. A flag-bearer leaped up, holding his standard high, and raced across the planking, the riflemen pouring across behind him.

  "If they sink us, we just take their ship and wait for the next one!" his rescuer shouted, and turning, he raced off to join his comrades.

  "I never thought we'd fight it this way," Marcus cried, his eyes bright, coming up to stand by Vincent. "By the gods, I think we're winning!"

  "We've still got the Ogunquit to worry about," Vincent said, pointing to where the ironclad was swinging back out to sea, a quarter mile away to the east. A lone gunboat was swinging in behind the vessel, and Vincent saw a shower of water rise up from the enemy's side.

  "Got him!" Marcus shouted.

  A tongue of flame shot out from the aft end of the enemy ship, and it seemed as if the gunhouse of the solitary gunboat exploded in a shower of flashing metal.

  "No," Vincent said quietly, "it's the other way around."

  His heart trembling, Vuka peered through the smoke, trying to make some sense out of the madness around him. This was not fighting, this was waiting to be smashed apart without ever a chance of crossing swords with one's foe and besting him by strength and cunning.

  The fat cattle ran up to his side, not even deigning to notice him.

  "Pilot, bring her around."

  "Why?" Hulagar shouted. "You smashed its gun in. There are other targets!"

  "It's Keane's ship. The colors of the 35th are flying above it. I'm going to smash her down and finish him."

  "We're taking water below deck. We might have to pull out soon."

  "Finish Andrew, then we can lay into the galleys and end this fight."

  "Captain, there's another ironclad coming up out of the east, the same one as before," the pilot shouted.

  "The hell with him," Tobias cried.

  Dazed, Andrew crept through the shattered deck. Not a man was standing. Looking to the starboard side, just aft of the gun port, he saw the entry hole, big enough to crawl through. Crossties had been ripped out of their mounts and laid in a crazy tumble on the opposite side of the room. An entire section of rail iron had been driven clean into the ship, impaling a man on the opposite bulkhead. Sickened, Andrew looked away.

  Miraculously the carronade was still in place, pointing through the forward gunport.

  "Emil? Goddammit, Emil?"

  "Over here."

  Over in the starboard comer, up by the carronade, he saw the doctor sitting against the bulkhead.

  "You all right?"

  Absently the doctor nodded.

  "I swear the damn thing bounced around in here," he said, his voice distant. "I was working on the bugler."

  He looked down at the body, its lower half torn away. Beside him was Bullfinch, bandages around his face, crying softly.

  "Have you seen my glasses?" Emil asked.

  Andrew turned away.

  O'Malley, blood pouring out of his nose and ears, staggered up, several men behind him.

  "Come on!" Andrew roared. "We can still fight her!"

  O'Malley looked at him uncomprehendingly.

  "Goddammit, man, we can still fight!"

  Andrew went up to the speaking tube set by the forward gunport and blew through it.

  "Engine room. Chuck, send some of the boys up here. I need extra hands."

  "Water's coming in faster, colonel. That last shot tore some more loose down here."

  "Five minutes—that's all I want."

  "Maybe, sir."

  "Bring our helm over to the right—head us south."

  "Get the gun port open," Andrew shouted.

  From up out of the magazine hatch the wood crew came scrambling up, joined by the riflemen who had been waiting below deck until they were needed.

  Andrew looked back out at the now open gun port, while the makeshift crew labored beside him to load the carronade.

  The Ogunquit was coming about hard, smoke pouring out of its shot-torn stacks, water foaming up from its twin screws.

  "We'll have one last shot. Make it good!"

  Andrew crouched down behind the gun while the rammer pushed the elongated wrought-iron bolt home.

  "Raise the barrel a notch."

  Several men levered the breech up, and Andrew slid the triangular block of wood back one click.

  "Drop her down!"

  Sighting down the barrel of the gun, he felt at first that it was too high—they'd shoot right over the enemy ship. But as it continued to bear down, the top of the enemy vessel rose into view.

  He noticed his speed suddenly start to drop away, and he reached over and grabbed the speaking tube. "What's happened?"

  "Water's hitting the boilers—we're filling with steam, and the power's going."

  "Chuck, get the hell out now!"

  "Gun port's opening, sir!"

  Andrew leaned over and looked out.

  The heavy forward gun was staring straight at them. The Ogunquit was less than a hundred yards away. He ran back behind the carronade. They were still too high.

  O
'Malley stepped past him, momentarily blocking his view as he stuck in a long pin to pierce the powder bag inside the barrel. He pulled the pin out, uncorked a powder horn, and filled the breechhole. Stepping back, he took up the broken linstock, swung it around to get the burning taper glowing, and then looked over to Andrew, waiting for his command.

  "He's coming right over us!" a gunner screamed.

  "Wait, wait!"

  The Ogunquit fired. A tower of water slammed up in front of the Suzdal and the vessel bucked up high.

  "Wait!"

  The ship surged back down and then slowly started to rise up again.

  "Fire!"

  Andrew leaped aside as the carronade shot back.

  An instant later the two ships hit, the Ogunquit slamming into the port bow of the Suzdal, tearing along the side of the vessel, peeling up rails and hunks of lumber in a shower of sparks.

  Andrew felt the ship lurch under his feet, rolling hard to the right as if they were going to roll completely over.

  "Everyone out!"

  The massive bulk of the Ogunquit thundered past. For a brief instant he saw the old national colors, which Cromwell still defiantly flew, snapping from the stern, and then the ship was gone.

  Water was pouring in through the shattered hole in the starboard side.

  "Out! Get out!" Andrew screamed.

  In the confusion he saw Emil struggling to pull Bullfinch up.

  "Emil!"

  "I'm not leaving him!"

  Andrew reached over, grabbing the boy by the shoulder. The carronade came sliding down where he had just been, the weapon dangling at the end of its cables.

  A geyser of water shot up through the shot hole, spraying into the gunhouse with blinding force.

  The carronade crashed away from the open gun port and disappeared into the water.

  He saw O'Malley go through the port and disappear.

  "Emil!"

  The doctor floundered up beside him, still clinging to Bullfinch.

  Andrew cursed the useless stump of his arm as he waved it back and forth, trying to somehow move in the swirling torrent.

  The ship lurched again, hanging on its side, dropping down.

  Men were screaming, struggling past him, clawing for the open gun port.

  The open hatch into the pilothouse swung down beside him.

  Andrew pushed Bullfinch toward it.

  "Climb, boy, up through the pilothouse, or we're all dead!" Andrew screamed.

  Bullfinch disappeared up the hatchway.

  "Emil, move it!"

  Water started to pour back down the opening.

  "Go, Andrew!"

  Screaming hysterically, Andrew pushed the doctor into the hatch, and losing his balance, he fell away into the water.

  Tobias looked up at the gun.

  Its trunnion snapped, the long barrel of the hundred-pound piece rose up at a drunken angle. Casualties were down all around him, men shrieking in pain. He lifted his hand from the deck. It was sticky and warm.

  Looking over, he saw the body lying next to him, sightless eyes gazing back into his.

  Terrified, he came up to his feet and looked around.

  The ship was still going forward, heading straight for the beach.

  He had to do something. He had to act.

  He knew they were looking at him, gazing at him with mocking eyes, seeing his terror at the blood that covered his arms, the deck, the walls around him.

  "Bring us around," Tobias cried, his voice cracking.

  "Port or starboard?" the helmsman shouted, looking down from the pilothouse above him.

  "Port, port, dammit."

  Shaking, he stepped away and turned.

  Hulagar was looking straight at him. Damn him, why hadn't the shot struck him and his dogs arrayed behind him?

  "We finished him," Tobias said, trying to control the shaking in his voice.

  "And we're losing the rest of the battle," Hulagar shouted, "while you were busy finishing off an already wrecked ship."

  "Captain, that other ironclad is still bearing down on us," the lookout shouted, sticking his head back down from the pilot house.

  "What other ironclad?"

  "The one to the east."

  Turning away from Hulagar, Tobias went over to the ladder, climbed up into the turret, and looked out through the viewing slit.

  "Merciful God," Tobias whispered.

  Reaching back up, he blindly grabbed hold of the hatch and hung on. The flood of water continued to pour in, threatening to tear him lose from his fingerhold on life.

  Gasping, Andrew drew in a last lungful of air as the water washed up over his head.

  Everything suddenly went dark. He could feel the current pulling at him.

  I can let go, I can let go of it all, a voice whispered to him. All the years of struggle, the ceaseless killing that was destroying his very soul. All the torment of inner doubt, which haunted his every waking moment, could be gone now. He suddenly felt a strange detachment from all of it. The thousands of faces that he had looked down at through the years, all the boys he had helped to kill, who still whispered to him out of the night, seemed to be gathering around him. The nightmare of Johnnie, his brother, dead at Gettysburg, seemed to drift away. The anguish of Mary, his first innocent love, the fiancée who had so brutally betrayed him, a betrayal he knew in his heart he would never quite get over, tugged at him to forget.

  And then there was Kathleen, and the unborn child. Would she ever understand this?

  "Kathleen!"

  There was a light, he felt he was reaching up to it. Its brilliance burst around him, spreading out. He felt he was rising upward.

  With a shriek he hit the surface, gasping in the precious air.

  "Andrew!"

  He was going back under, and terror seized him as he desperately thrashed on the surface, his heavy wool uniform tugging him back down.

  "Hang on, sir."

  Ferguson came up alongside of him, pushing out a broken oar for him to take.

  Desperately he grabbed hold, pulling the stump of his left arm up over the oar, locking it in tight against his chest.

  "Emil?"

  "Behind you."

  Andrew turned to see the doctor sitting atop a section of wooden grating. Bullfinch was lying by his side.

  Ferguson, still holding on to the oar, pulled Andrew over and helped push him up out of the water.

  Water streaming down his glasses, he looked over at the Suzdal. The ship was still going down, turning back upright as it hit the bottom. As the ship settled, the flagstaff reappeared, the banners of the 35th and the national colors hanging limply in the breeze.

  "What happened to you?" Emil gasped. "The last thing I remember was going up the pilothouse, the water pouring in, and you weren't behind me."

  "I don't know," Andrew whispered. "Anyhow, I thought you couldn't swim."

  "I'm a quick learner." Emil said weakly.

  "You were down there a couple of minutes," Emil said, and Andrew could see the tears of relief in the doctor's eyes.

  "I just don't know," Andrew said.

  "The Ogunquit?"

  Ferguson pointed, and Andrew looked up.

  The ironclad was heading off to the west, cutting back through the galley battle.

  "He's still in it and we can't stop him," Andrew said, and he lay back on the raft.

  A shot boomed off from the east, the sound followed by the splash of a round striking water, but he didn't bother to stir.

  "I think he's heading out of the fight!" Emil said.

  Andrew sat back up.

  Squinting to see through the distortion of his dripping glasses, he saw the Oqunquit continuing to steam a path straight westward.

  From the other side of the galley fight a Cartha ironclad broke away, turning its bow to swing in behind Tobias's ship.

  "What the hell is wrong with him?" Andrew shouted. "He can smash up the galleys and turn the tide."

  "I've lost the forward gun!"
Tobias roared. "We're taking water almost as fast as we can pump it out."

  "You're leaving your galleys behind!" Hulagar snarled.

  "Most of them are sunk already!" Tobias shouted.

  "With the Ogunquit you can smash the enemy at your will," Hulagar replied, his voice choked with anger.

  "And fight that? Goddam you, look at that ship!"

  Hulagar crouched down and peered through the slit.

  "It's as big as we are," Hulagar said, looking back over at Tobias.

  "It's bigger! I've lost my most powerful gun forward. If I face him, we'll be smashed apart."

  "It's impossible," Hulagar said. "It took you a year just to change this ship. It's impossible that he could have made such a thing."

  "Impossible? It's out there. You've got eyes, damn you, you see the same thing I do."

  Enraged at the tone Tobias was using, Hulagar looked at him coldly.

  Tobias stepped away from him.

  "You're terrified," Hulagar whispered.

  "I'm not frightened," Tobias snapped, his voice breaking. "You saw the gun fire from the ship from over a mile away. It means he has heavy weapons aboard, perhaps as big as our hundred-pounder. I tell you, that Keane is a demon if he could have made such a thing."

  "So fight him here. Keane is dead—we destroyed him. You might be throwing away a victory which you can still win."

  "That ship has three guns forward. You can see them sticking out," Tobias said, trying to gain control of his voice. "We have none. We pull back to Cartha, and we repair our heavy gun and fix the damage below deck. Then we can come back and take care of him. Have you ever fought a sea battle before?" he snarled.

  Hulagar shook his head.

  "I have—I know what I am talking about. We can still get out of here with most of our galleys and ironclads. We refit and in two weeks we come back here and finish him off."

  Tobias broke away for a moment and nervously looked back out through the viewport. Raising his telescope, he watched the ship for a brief moment and then looked back at Hulagar.

  "Three guns forward, double smokestacks. He must have another ten or fifteen guns on her sides. She'll smash everything we have."

  "Why was Keane, their commander, not on that great ship?"

  "It was a trick, this whole thing. They wanted to lure us in, to damage us, then bring that monster up to finish us. Keane's back there."