Throne of Stars by David Weber, John Ringo Read Free Book Online

fact, it looked somewhat like one of the fish that was a staple in K’Vaern’s Cove, their port of embarkation. If it really was something like a giant coll , then shot placement was going to be a bitch.
    Coll were traditionally served whole, since there was a “pearl” that formed at the rear of the skull and collecting it was part of the ritual of the meal. Because of that, and because he’d been to more dinners in K’Vaern’s Cove then he cared to count, he had a fair idea of the fish’s anatomy. The opalescent jewel was of varying quality, but it rested directly above the spot where the fish’s spinal cord connected to its skull. Given the angle from which Roger would be firing, if he tried for a spinal shot—not impossible for him, even from the moving deck—the round would probably bounce off the ersatz armoring of the pearl. If he tried for a heart shot, however, even he was likely to miss. That organ was deep in the body, and the round would have to travel through several meters of flesh to reach it. But any other body shot would be useless.
    The rear of the head would be the best shot, then. The head was wide, and it was bone, but it was also filled with cavities. Rather than being primarily for armoring the brain, it was based upon the mechanics of the huge jaws. If he put the shot right at the rear of the skull, it should penetrate to the brain and “pith” the fish. Given the disparity in size between the bullets and the target, it was the best chance he’d have.
    The entire train of thought flashed through his mind in a moment, and he took a breath and timed the roll of the ship as the fish started to surface for another tremendous bite.

    Fain suddenly realized that although Erkum sounded incoherent, his actions made perfect sense. The private was not an intellectual, by any means, but he was—in that wonderfully ambiguous human term—“good with his hands.” Fain had been in far too many fights for his few years, and he’d long since discovered that Erkum was a good person to have by your side, be it with hands, pipes, or guns. He might not be able to hit the broad side of a temple at any sort of range, but he instinctively acted in ways that kept him alive when it all fell into the pot. He left the thinking to Fain, but when it came to up close and personal mayhem, Erkum was as good as it got.
    And he was about to lay down some mayhem. Fain had grabbed one of the feet of the furiously cursing private, preventing him from falling into the water, but Erkum could have cared less. He’d finally gotten a magazine of solid shot lined up, and he was waiting for his turn at the big fish. Fain suspected that the private had known he would be grabbed, trusted his boss to do the right thing, just as Fain trusted him, and now Erkum waited for the thing to surface.
    Fain risked a look around and saw that Pol was not the only one planning a probably hopeless defense. A few of the remaining riflemen, those who’d had the presence of mind to grab a line or rail, instead of slipping down the rapidly tilting deck, were already pointing their rifles at the water. But several others were simply holding on for dear life. Couldn’t have that.
    “Company! Prepare to volley fire!” he called, trying to fumble out his own pistol with the fourth hand that wasn’t occupied holding onto ropes or Erkum.
    They were only going to get one shot.

CHAPTER THREE
    “Move it! We’re only going to get one shot!”
    Kosutic turned from the harpoon gun crew to watch the Marines fanning out along the starboard rail. The ships hadn’t come about, and the shattered schooner, which had been in the lead position, was slowly falling astern. If the harpoon gun didn’t get into action quickly, it might not get a shot. Not unless they came around for one, and Pahner would never agree to that. He was trying to get the prince’s ship away from that . . . that . . . thing as fast as he could.
    At least the harpoon gear had been set