“Captain Draco!” a sailor said, saluting crisply. “The master gunner says they’re firing from the cannon ports!”
Holding a bloody bandage around his belly, Draco sneered. “Out of ammo, eh? Good. Giles, cut in close. We’ll seize the ship and capture the crew alive!”
Half of his shirt soaked red, Giles merely nodded, and spun the wheel rapidly. The nimble schooner angled sharply for the lumbering giant.
“Prepare to board and storm!” a bosun cried, drawing a sword and a flintlock.
USING EXTREME CARE, but moving quickly, J.B. hesitantly moved the knife blade to the quarter mark on the block, then to the third. This was a dangerous gamble. Too little and a cannon ball wouldn’t penetrate the hull of the pirate ship. Too much and the cannons would burst.
Slicing the block apart, he sheathed the blade and went to the nearest cannon. Grabbing the ropes, he strained to pull the half-ton blaster away from the firing port and finally got it clear.
“Stop shooting and help me,” he panted from the exertion, then knelt and shoved a stave under the carriage slide to hold it motionless.
Moving fast, Doc and Dean tucked away their blasters and ran to give the man assistance.
“Load the middle three!” J.B. ordered, fiddling with a timing pencil. “Two balls each!”
Two each? There was no time for questions, so Doc went to the left, Dean the right. Lugging iron balls, they came waddling back to see J.B. toss a block of plas-ex down the muzzle of the second cannon and move on to the third.
“Move faster!” J.B. urged them, stabbing the cube with a timing pencil and breaking it off at the shortest mark. Then he tossed the wad of plas-ex down the barrel. “We got two minutes!”
“These are solid iron, sir,” Doc reminded him, lugging a dull gray ball to the mouth of the first weapon and rolling it inside.
Dean did the same thing, and as they moved to the second cannon, J.B. started pushing the first forward until its muzzle was sticking out the gun port. In moments, the three cannons were fully loaded and in position. The fighting above was louder than ever, the pirate ship only fifty yards away, and closing.
Moving to the farthest end of the deck, J.B. took refuge behind a cold cannon and removed his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket.
“One minute,” he panted, checking his wrist chron. “Brace yourself. This is going to be loud.”
Joining the Armorer at his sanctuary, Doc and Dean crouched behind the half-ton cannon, then covered their ears and opened their mouths to prevent going deaf from the concussion. None of them knew if this trick would actually work, but it was the best chance they had.
“What happens if the cannons can’t contain the blast?” Dean asked.
“We die. Forty seconds,” J.B. read off. “Thirty-five, thirty…”
Chapter Ten
At nightmarish speed, the two ships headed toward each other on a collision course.
On the quarterdeck, O’Malley was hurriedly tying off the wheel so he could join the defenders on the deck.
“What the fuck are ya doing?” a girl said, from the main deck, holding open the door to the captain’s quarters while others hauled out an oak wardrobe and heavy wooden chairs.
“If we keep the ship on course, then all we gotta worry about is fighting,” he replied over his shoulder, awkwardly climbing down to the deck. He landed on his boots and turned. “We let the Connie run free, and she might swing away and them slam back against the pirates, sinking both ships.”
“So we cut the wheel loose if we’re losing,” she stated grimly, releasing the door as the last piece of furniture was hauled away.
Checking his weapons, O’Malley scowled at the teenager. “Too chancy,” he stated. “We go to the bilge, open the petcock valves and flood the hold. No pirate son of a bitch is ever gonna walk the wood of this ship!”
She nodded, then jerked and slumped to the deck, blood gushing from the hideous wound in her throat. O’Malley knelt by her side, trying to think of a way to staunch the hole when the teen gurgled meaningless sounds, violently trembled and went still.