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

uncontrolled. It was half-blind, there was damage to its spinal cord, and half its muscles weren’t responding properly.
    This food had spines.

    “ Pentzikis , come about to port and engage. Sea Foam , come to starboard and engage. Tor Coll , prepare depth charges.”
    Pahner glanced at the prince, who was still tracking the thrashing shadow. He didn’t know if Roger had gotten off another impossible shot, or if it was the flurry of blasts from the sinking ship. But whichever it had been, it had at least momentarily dissuaded the fish. Now to put it down.
    “Grenadiers to the rigging. Set for delay—I want some penetration on this thing, people,” Pahner continued, cutting off a fresh slice of bisti root and slipping it into his mouth. The general outline of this fight had been worked out in advance—as well as it could be, at least, when no one had ever actually seen whatever it was that ate ships in this stretch of ocean. Well, never seen it and lived to report it, at any rate. But, as usual, the enemy wasn’t playing by the plans. It had been assumed that they’d at least get a glimpse of the beast before it struck, which should have given them at least some chance of driving it off first. Now, all they could do was fight for the remaining six ships and hope to rescue a few of the survivors.
    Sea Skimmer was sinking fast by the stern, but she was going down without a list. If they could finish the fish off in a few shots and send in boats, they might save most of those on her deck. The ones below deck were doomed, unless they could fight their way to the main hatch or swim out. It was still a hell of a way to lose a quarter of a battalion, its commander, and probably a damned fine junior officer with them. But there hadn’t been many good places to die on this damned trek.
    He glanced at Roger again, and shook his head. The prince had headed for the shrouds and was trying to get a better vantage point. Give him credit for trying, but Pahner doubted the prince’s rifle was going to win this round.
    As he thought that, the first harpoon gun boomed.

    “I doubt that even you can do anything with a pistol, cousin,” Honal said with a handclap of grim humor. His cousin, the former crown prince of Therdan, had drawn all four pistols at the first cry and had them trained over the side before the warning’s echoes had faded.
    “True,” Rastar said now, and reholstered three of the percussion revolvers. “But if it comes after us, I’ll at least let it know I’m here.”
    “Best stand clear, whatever else you do,” Honal said dryly. “Our fine sailor friends are about to see if a harpoon is better than a pistol!”
    “Well, that depends on the harpoon and the pistol,” Rastar grunted in laughter. “After all, it’s not what you use; it’s how you use it!”
    “And I intend to use it well!” the chief of the gun crew called. “But if you’re in the way of the line as it flies, you’ll be a red smear! Clear!”
    The gun was fitted with a percussion cap hammer lock. Now the gun captain gave Honal and Rastar a heartbeat to duck to the side, then took a deep breath and yanked the firing lanyard.
    The bang wasn’t really all that loud, but the smoke cloud covered the entire foredeck, and there was a whippity-thwhip! as the coil of hawser at the base of the pintle reeled out. Then there was a cry from the rigging.
    “Target!”
    “Rig the line!” the gun captain bellowed, and the crew warped the five-centimeter hawser around a bollard as the rope began to scream and smoke.
    “Prepare to come about on the port tack!” Pentzikis’ captain shouted.
    “Rig the line into the clamps!” the gun crew chief called. “The damn thing is going to go right under the keel! If the captain’s not careful, it’ll take us right over on our side!”
    “Let that line run!” the ship’s captain barked. “Come onto it when we’re on tack!”
    “Haul away!” the gunner cried. “We’re getting