Carnifex

MV Hoogaboom

Somewhere, deep in his heart, in a place he probably never would have admitted existed, the captain had hoped that the combination of torpedoes, suicide boats, and cruise missiles would destroy the enemy ship before he had to destroy himself and his own ship.

Yet reports broadcast from observers ashore were clear. The ship was aflame at one quarter, it had been hit at least twice, it was stopped dead in the water, drifting but powerless. But it was not sinking, nor even listing, and its combination of light cannon, lasers, machine guns and aircraft were making short work of the suicide boats that, again, deep at heart, the captain had half expected to hull the carrier.

One good bit of news, for certain values of good, was that the enemy ship was slowly turning to present its side to the Hoogaboom.

At least we will be certain to succeed, attacking at this angle with a helpless target. If self immolation is difficult, and it is, the captain thought, how much more difficult to do so without the certainty of success?

"All ahead full," he ordered. "Auxiliary crews to the patrol boats. Lower the patrol boats as they're manned. And commend your souls to Allah."

As the captain gave the order, the Tauran slave girls, gifts of Abdul Aziz and Mustafa, began to scream and cry. No sense in keeping their little hearts in fear, the captain thought.

"Go below," he ordered to a seaman standing nearby. "Take a rifle. Kill the slaves."