“I’ll handle the starboard scorpion,” he announced. “Valentinian, you’re in charge of the other one. Eusebius, you keep us supplied with firebombs.”
He started to give orders to the twelve other soldiers standing on the platform, but saw there was no need. All of them, experienced artillerymen, had already taken their positions. Each scorpion had a six-man crew, not counting the aimer. Two men stood on either side of each scorpion, ready to turn the windlasses which cranked back the torsion springs. That work was exhausting—especially when done at the breakneck speed required in battle—so each man had a relief standing right behind him. The two men would alternate between shots. A loader fit the bomb into the trough while the sixth man engaged the claw which held the bowstring until the aimer pulled the trigger. Those last two men also had the job of helping the aimer move the heavy trough around and seeing to it that the strut which supported the end was properly adjusted for the desired range.
Everyone hurried to their tasks. Within a minute, the scorpions were ready to fire. Belisarius announced that he would fire first. With the help of his crew, he lined up the heavy trough so that the scorpion was bearing on the nearest of the enemy ships. As soon as he saw the target bracketed between the two “ears” which served as a rough aiming device, he yanked on the little lever which served as the weapon’s trigger.
The scorpion bucked from the recoil. Not sixty yards away, the firebomb slammed into the sea with enough force to rupture the clay container. A ball of flame splattered across the waves.
“We’re at sea,” muttered Belisarius. Somewhat lamely, he added: “I forgot.”
In land warfare, he had never had to worry about the heaving of a ship’s deck. He had fired the catapult just at the moment when the ship’s bow dipped into a trough.
Valentinian fired five seconds later. The cataphract had learned from his general’s mistake. He timed his own trigger-pull to correspond with the bow lifting to a wavecrest.
His firebomb lofted its majestic way toward the heavens. Quite some time later, almost sedately, it plopped into the sea. There was no eruption into flame, this time. The firebomb plunged into the water at such a steep angle that, even if the clay container ruptured, the naphtha/saltpeter contents were immediately immersed in water.
Harmlessly, in other words. Not least of all because the firebomb landed two hundred yards away from the nearest enemy vessel.
They were still four hundred yards from their foe. Just near enough to hear the faint sounds of catcalls and jibes.
“Again,” growled Belisarius. Gingerly, the loader placed a firebomb in the trough. The other artillerymen ratcheted back the torsion springs and engaged the claw. Belisarius sighted—compensated for the roll, guessed at the pitch—yanked the trigger.
He did, this time, manage a respectable trajectory. Quite respectable. Not too high, not too low.
And not, unfortunately, anywhere in the vicinity of an enemy ship. Another harmless plop into the sea.
The catcalls and jibes grew louder.
Valentinian fired.
Extravagant failure; utter humiliation. His second firebomb landed farther from the enemy armada than had his first.
The catcalls and jibes were now like the permanent rumbling of a waterfall.
Belisarius glared at Honorius.
“For the sake of God! This damned ship’s—”
He gestured angrily with his hands.
“Pitching, yawing and rolling,” filled in Honorius. The sailor shrugged. “I can’t help it, general. On this heading—which you ordered—we’re catching the worst combination of the wave action.”
Belisarius restrained his angry glare. More accurately, he transferred it from the seaman to the enemy, who were still taunting him.
He pointed at the fleet.
“Is there any way to get at them without having this miserable damned ship hopping around like a flea?” he demanded.
Honorius gauged the wind and the sea.
“If we head straight for them,” he announced. “We’ll be running with the waves instead of across them. Shouldn’t be—”
“Do it!” commanded Belisarius.
Honorius sprang to obey.
Aide protested.
Cross the T! Cross the T!
Shut up! If you think this is so easy, you—you—damned little fat diamond!—you crawl out of that pouch and do it yourself.