Chapter 17
Get Off My Ship
6th of Fourthmoon, Saintclair 12
E27, Elsanto Mountains, Neveland
When seconds matter, minutes of deliberation can feel like a lifetime.
"We must rescue the Centurion," Follet insisted.
If the Blackamoors had no other virtue—and Root was pretty sure that they didn't—, at least they were loyal to their own. Follet made the declaration when they first gathered to come up with a plan for what to do next and nothing anybody could say would convince him otherwise. Root had to try anyway.
"That's not our priority," he said. "We need to retake the Engine Room and the bridge first."
"The Centurion is our priority."
Unmoving like a stupid block of black-painted rock. They were getting nowhere.
"Dammit," Root grumbled. "If they do anything to the engines, we're fucked. If they do anything to the bridge, we're fucked."
Root hoped by framing it in more forceful terms, he would finally make his point, but in an upsetting turnabout, Follet threw it right back in his face.
Eyeing Root haughtily, the Blackamoor replied, "And if anything happens to the Centurion, Lieutenant, you're fucked."
There was, of course, no way Root could forget the threats Tofels made to him. Even if it was a bluff, it was a risk he couldn't afford to take and it certainly wouldn't have been beyond the pale for an organization as ruthless and cruel as the Blackamoors.
"So he told you about that shit," Root said, trying to hide how strong a grip the threat had on him.
"Everyone squad chief and up knows."
Rather than let them keep going 'round and 'round, Rockhart saw fit to intervene.
"Lissen here, fellas," he said, "ain't no need for all that."
"Whaddya mean?" Root asked.
Rockhart gestured to all the people gathered around for their little pow-wow.
"There's more'n sixty a' us all armed up," he said. "Ya see what I'm sayin'?"
In one blessed instant, it all came together.
"Yeah, I gotcha," Root said. "Alright, Follet, here's the plan. Ya wanna save Tofels that bad? Take ten men an' sweep the brig. I'll take ten and go for the bridge. Pruitt, you'll be on Deck Three with ten and Berker'll be on Deck Two an' you'll take the Engine Room top an' bottom. We hit 'em all at once so they can't pull anythin'."
"That's only fortysomethin', LT," Rockhart said. "What 'bout the rest?"
"Split the rest in twos an' post 'em on the companionways. Keep the Pallies from gettin' 'round us."
Rockhart nodded.
"Sounds good."
Root looked to the Blackamoor.
"Well, Follet?"
"Sure, Lieutenant," Follet said. "We'll go with that."
Root was rather pleased to get Follet to go along with the plan without any fuss, but just as things seemed to be going well, Pops had to pour cold water on it.
"Hate ta break it ta ya, boys," he said, "but them's all secure doors. How ya plan on gettin' in?"
Most of the watertight doors on the ship could be opened from either side, but certain doors locked from the inside to prevent unauthorized entry to sensitive compartments, like the ones they were trying to get into.
"Won't be any element of surprise if we have to cut the damn doors off," Root said.
"Hey," a voice spoke up.
"What's goin' on?" someone asked as one of the multitude worked his way to the center of the group.
A bosun's mate squeezed through and looked to the key planners of this little operations before saying, "Beggin' yer pardon, sir, but there's only one bolt fer the locks. It'd take all a' five minute ta cut through."
Five minutes was plenty of time to get yourself ready to meet an oncoming threat, especially for soldiers as well-trained as the Alpini, but it wasn't nearly as much time as it'd take to cut through the entire door. So long as they could hit their targets all at once, the plan was still salvageable.
"Do we have enough torches for all four doors?" Root asked the bosun's mate.
"There should be."
"Then get 'em," Root said, "an' the men ta use 'em."
"Aye-aye, sir," the bosun's mate replied.
With that taken care of, Root stood up and clapped his hands.
"Alright, let's make this happen, people," he said, "Who all has watches?"
There weren't too many of the civilians who wore a watch. Especially for someone who lives in Bernecita, the time of day never mattered much. So long as there was at least one watch on each team, it'd be enough.
"I got one twenty-three," Root said. "Let's sync up."
Once everyone's watches were synchronized, it was time to execute.
"Get to your positions," Root said. "We start in twenty. Move out."
They broke up into their groups. Root had a mix of Army, Blackamoors and civilians for his ten. He could've done without the Blackamoors, but every rifle would make a difference in a fight. He had no idea how many to expect. There were probably no fewer than two and no more than eight inside. The advantage should be theirs, but there was a lot of delicate equipment in there and it seemed that members of the bridge crew were being held there. It could get real ugly real quick.
Fortunately, there were no enemy encounters on the way to the bridge. Either the Palatinians had fewer men than Root thought or the remainder were buttoning up. While they were on the main deck, Root took a moment to survey their surroundings. No sign of any reinforcements en route at least, but if any managed to get away earlier, they could be in for trouble.
Up in the conning tower, one little door was all that stood between them and the brain of the ship. The bosun's mate from before, Pfeffer, was the one with the torch cutting the lock. As promised, it only took about five minutes. That gave them a couple more minutes until go time. The Palatinians would be ready and waiting for them. Root just hoped they hadn't done anything spiteful like rigging the place with explosives.
"Watch your fire in there," he told his team. "They've got some a' our own in there an' I don't want any damn friendly fire. Not ta mention if ya shoot up any a' the damn consoles, we'll be in a real fix."
Root watched the seconds tick down. It was time. He took a deep breath.
"Here goes. Open it."
Root was the first one in. If he wasn't riddled with bullets the moment he took his first step in, he'd be doing well.
"Freeze!" he shouted. "Drop your weapons!"
"Get down!"
Thankfully, the bridge crew held hostage at their consoles didn't hesitate to hit the deck. Root only gave the Palatinians a fraction of a second to drop their weapons. He couldn't afford to give them any more time than that. He took out the first one he saw trying to line up a shot, then ducked down to cycle the bolt while a few more shots went off around him. He popped back up to see another taking aim with his service revolver and finished him off with a headshot.
Before another round of shots could be exchanged, there was some hasty words shouted back and forth in Palatinian before a pair of hands stuck up and a voice cried, "Don't shoot! We surrender!"
Root slowly stood up, keeping his rifle at the ready.
"Alright, set your weapons down on the deck," he told them. "Hands up—slowly, now."
"We have wounded," the surrendering Palatinian said.
"Just keep those hands up," Root said. "Parisian, Swede, keep an eye on 'em. Ludvik, Grenway, collect their weapons."
Even though it seemed like a terrible idea, Root shouldered his rifle and went to check on their wounded man. He'd taken a round to the stomach, but it just went through the fat above the waist. It needed a doctor's attention, but it wasn't like he had a bullet in his guts or anything. He wasn't wearing any web gear and pawing through the webbing of the dead Alpino lying closeby failed to yield a field dressing. No one had any scarves either, so short of tearing up some undershirts for makeshift bandages, the wounded Palatinian would just have to deal with it.
Pointing to the unharmed Palatinians and then to the wounded one, Root said, "Two a' you, take him ta Sickbay." He then told his team, "Parisian, Pannier, Guison, and Nafla, go with 'em an' keep an eye on 'em."
They cleared out as ordered, leaving just one Palatinian under Swede's watch. Now that the dust had settled, Root told the bridge crew, "Alright, guys, get up. Check those consoles. Let me know if anything's busted. Azuki, help me look for any booby traps they might've left behind."
Root and Azuki quickly swept the bridge for traps. Thankfully, the Palatinians hadn't gone so far as to leave any in the off chance the original owners succeeded in retaking it. While they were doing that, the bridge crew made their system checks.
"No problem, sir," a radio operator said.
"All good here, sir," a radarman chimed in.
Well, that was a relief. The bridge was recovered mostly intact and without any casualties on their side. Root wondered if the others were faring as well.
"Pfeffer, Ludwig, and Grenway, post here. Azuki, Ham, Limpe, with me. You too, Swede. Bring that Pally."
"Aye."
As they made their way back down, Root found Private Moran lying dead near the companionway. Root rushed to the body to check for signs of life, but he was gone. Englewood was lying just a short distance away. Root would have taken him for dead too, but when Root checked him out he was still breathing. Root patted his cheek to try to bring him around and when that didn't work, he gave him a more forceful smack. That did the trick.
Ignoring the fact that Englewood was still dazed, Root shook him, demanding, "What the hell happened!?"
It took Englewood a moment to realize who was talking to him. Besides having been knocked unconscious, Root wasn't in uniform.
"Lieutenant Maartens...?"
"Pull yourself together, man! What happened!?"
"I dunno... I, ah, I mean, I don't know, sir. We were watching the place, when everything went dark."
Root let go of Englewood and went over to the nearby head. When he opened the door, the two Palatinians they stowed there earlier were still there.
"Tell me what happened," he said.
"I don't know," one of them replied. "We hear shot."
"We hear many shots," the other one added.
The information was decidedly unhelpful. Root might've pushed them a little harder, but he didn't see much point. These two were just ordinary sailors, after all.
"Alright, come on out of there. Hands up."
They complied without any fuss. Root figured it would be easier to keep track of the prisoners if they were kept together, especially now that Moran wasn't around to keep an eye on the head. Root's priority was to try to find the person responsible.
"Swede, Ham, Limpe, watch the prisoners," he said. "Azuki, with me."
"Look," Azuki said, pointing at the deck. "Blood trail."
Root hadn't noticed the first time they came down the companionway, but there were drops of blood on the stairs, enough to lead them to the person who killed Moran. He and Azuki followed the trail back up and out the conning tower.
Exiting the tower to the main deck, a gust of wind nearly cut right through him. It had been still when he went out earlier but now the wind was picking up. Without a coat or anything, he could only stand to be out there some ten or fifteen minutes tops.
The blood trail led to a grapnel hooked on the railing of the quarterdeck. Root looked over the edge but couldn't see anything. Of course, trying to see an Alpino in winter camouflage in the dark was all but impossible, at least for any ordinary human.
"I can go," Azuki said.
Root was reluctant to take her up on the offer.
"He's already killed a man."
"I have killed more," she replied.
Point made.
"Ten minutes," Root told her. "If you don't find him by then, head on back and we'll try again at daybreak."
Azuki nodded, then handed Root her sword.
"Wait inside, Mister Ruto," she said. "You will catch your death."
"I'll be by the door," Root said. "Remember. Ten minutes."
"Umu."
With that settled, she slipped out of her robes and transformed. Root held up her sword so she could pick it up as she swept past him. He then went back into the conning tower to wait for her. Obviously she didn't have a watch, but he expected her to have some sort natural instinct for telling time. Tempting as it was to run down and check how things were going belowdecks, he stood by the door in the off chance Azuki would need him. If nothing else, she would need her clothes.
When her ten minutes were up, he headed back outside. He scanned the skies for her, but the chances of him spotting a single bird in the night sky was as impossible as finding an Alpino in the snow.
"Azuki!" he shouted. "Azuki!"
He shouted a few more times before he heard the peculiar call of Azuki's eagle form. He held up his arm like a falconer for her to use as a perch. She started to chirp at him, not that he could understand what she was trying to say.
"We'll talk inside," he told her.
When they were back in the conning tower, he motioned to the pile on the deck with his free hand and said, "There are your clothes."
She transformed and started to get dressed. Root didn't avert his eyes, but he tried not to stare either. There was something refreshing about how comfortable she was around him. Maybe it was simple professionalism. Maybe it was something else.
"I found the man," she said as she was wrapping her under-robe around her. "About one ri from here."
"What's a ree?" Root asked.
"In my village, one thousand eight-hundred shaku."
Root sighed.
"An' what's a damn shakoo?"
Azuki held her hands about thirty senches apart. That meant a ri was something over half a klick. Leave it to an Alpino to make it that far in the snow while wounded.
"Did you kill him?" Root asked.
"Already dead," Azuki replied. "Body stripped of clothes and busou... ah, weapons."
"How was he killed?"
Azuki held her hand up to her neck.
"Throat torn out, by animal. Smell of beast. Of wolf."
Root felt his stomach sink. He remembered the wolf from the mountain. Was it still out there? Even if it was, he couldn't worry about that now. At very least, there was one less Palatinian to report back to their ship.
"Good work," he told her. "Let's head back in."
Azuki finished binding her leggings, put on her sandals and slid her sword into her sash. They then headed back down. It was all over by this point. They even had the leisure to put a tarp over Moran's body. There to meet him was none other than Centurion Tofels. He looked like hell, his uniform in disarray and his face bloody and swollen from what had to be a rather savage beating. Despite all this, he still managed to give Root quite the look of contempt.
"You're out of uniform, Lieutenant," he said reproachfully, his voice muffled and slurred by the swelling and missing teeth.
For a moment, Root wondered if they would've been better off as the Palatinians' captives.