Grantville Gazette 37

Chapter Thirty-Four: Anchors Aweigh

The decks of the Second Chance Bird at anchor in Castaway's Cove

Nobody was up early the next morning except the few unfortunate marines assigned to the watch. Pam woke to a splitting headache and after some debate swallowed a couple of her precious aspirin with the carafe of water Pers had thoughtfully left for her the night before. "I'm giving that kid a promotion," she mumbled through dry lips.

After a while the drum corps marching band in her head settled into a less driving beat and she decided she might be able to get dressed. This took much longer than usual, considering the clothing was of an unfamiliar design and her hands felt like she was wearing oven mitts.

"That's the last time I drink that much," she growled, ignoring the annoying voice in her head reminding her that she said that every time she had a hangover. Finally managing to pull her new boots on, Pam made her way to the door. She opened the door, allowing a shaft of bright sunlight into the room and closed it again as quickly as she could. The beam of light still seared in glaring orange across her closed eyes.

"Dear God, I swear, I'm going straight." She sat down for a while, cursing herself for not thinking to bring her up-time sunglasses on this little jaunt. Looking around, she found a floppy hat with a wide brim that resembled the ones she had seen Dutch merchants wear. She put it on, trying not to think about how it had ended up here. It was a bit large, so she tied a scarf around her head to make it fit better. She caught a glimpse of her red-eyed, exotically-clothed self reflected in a silver platter on the table and laughed aloud.

"I'm either a pirate or a pimp! Grandma would be so proud." Pushing her hat's brim low over her eyes, she made her way out of the door into the late-morning sun.

The decks below resembled a zombie movie. Everyone seemed to be stumbling along in slow motion, their usually tanned faces bleached a deathly shade of gray. Except for Gerbald.

Gerbald was the proverbial cat who had dined on canary. Pam watched him swagger around the decks, grinning as only a man who had gotten totally laid the night before can. She rolled her eyes at him as she gathered him up and headed out to find the bosun. They found him running his hand over the junk's delicately curved, crimson- lacquered railing, Pam wasn't sure over the noise of the surf, but she thought he might be softly cooing. He looked up with a grin that made Gerbald's giddy expression seem droopy in comparison.

"Captain Pam, Herr Gerbald, good morning! What are your orders, ma'am?" The bosun, a cheery sort to begin with, was as bright as the new dawn, in the highest of spirits. Apparently he was immune to hangovers and Pam stilled an annoyed twinge of jealousy.

"Well, I think we ought to discuss that. Let's have a meeting." Pam saw that the bosun was now distracted by the sails, which resembled giant Venetian window blinds to Pam's eyes. "So, Herr Bosun, what do you think of our new ship now that you've gotten to know her a bit?"

"Oh, Captain Pam, she's lovely," and then he really did coo, making Pam and Gerbald's eyebrows arch in surprise. "She looks ungainly at first glance, but there is a swan hiding within this duck. See that high aft deck? I thought they were mad, but now I think it's there to keep us dry in a following sea. The bottom is flat, but she's got a kind of a wedge keel, we can go shallow with her and even beach her with ease, but she should go confidently in high seas as well. I'll wager she's watertight, too. The hull is some kind of a sealed box. I'm not sure yet how they did it, but they're a clever lot, all right! And look here, these paneled sails and rigging are going to give us far more control than a regular rig, once we master their ways. We haven't sailed her as much as I'd like, nor have we had any foul weather to try her with, but I'm already sure she's the best damn boat I've ever set foot on! We've nothing like her in the North Sea, and I'd take her into those cruel waters with no fear."

Pam nodded with a smile at the bosun's boyish enthusiasm. She understood many of the nautical terms from her hours pacing the decks of the Redbird on the long journey around the cape, watching and listening to the sailors at their work. She was very pleased the bosun had a new love in his life, and left him to his bliss to go find the lojtnant.

Soon, the senior crew were all gathered on the dizzy heights of the junk's castle deck. It was time to make some serious decisions. Pam felt calm despite the mantle of authority that had somehow found her shoulders to fall on, definitely not something she had ever expected. "Okay, we've got a real good ship, the bosun tells me. We can sail her?"

"Yes, Captain Pam!" The bosun's pride in his shiny new vessel resounded in his voice. "Our men are learning her ways quickly. We shall master her."

Lojtnant Lundkvist spoke up, "Captain, you should know that this ship is not without teeth. If we are attacked, we can fight back if we must. There are two guns of Chinese make on each side. They are odd of course, but they look well-made and surely operate on the same principles as our own. With your permission, we would like to test them."

Pam nodded her assent.

"Also," the lojtnant continued, "we have mounted the Redbird's carronade on the foredeck on a swiveling turret we were able to improvise. Its range is short, but its firepower is devastating. The perfect thing for cutting those smug French assholes down to size." This was definitely the happiest Pam had ever seen the fellow, a military man with shiny new weapons on his way to test them out on a much-despised enemy.

"Please, do your tests. I don't need to tell you to be careful. It's good to know we can give somebody a bloody nose if need be. Although, it makes me wonder how the pirates originally captured this vessel. There would surely be damage, like what we saw happen to Muskijl when the French took her."

The lojtnant answered, "The Second Chance Bird is in fine condition, no signs of battle damage. They probably captured her in the same way we did-through subterfuge."

"Yeah, must have. I suppose we'll never know." Pam pushed the thought aside, yet another mystery. They had things to do here and now. She gave them all a determined smile. "All right then, gentlemen, which way do you think we should go?"

The bosun rubbed his chin, considering. "Well, Captain Pam, the colonist fleet was last seen headed northeast up the coast. Undoubtedly, they, too, were captured. I would suggest we follow that course slowly, looking for signs of wrecks, begging pardon for saying so, and hoping to find our folk in good health in some safe harbor. On your maps of the island from up-time, there are several places to check. We believe the site of Vieux Grand Port will be the first such we meet, followed by Poste de Flacq, among others. It would be best if we were not seen and if we are sighted to have plenty of distance to run in."

Pam nodded her approval. "Sounds good to me, Herr Bosun. Let's do it. Slow and steady."

Gerbald spoke up then. "We must consider what happens when we do find the colonists." Gerbald's face was stony, the mood Pam had come to think of as his warrior mode. "Muskijl was badly outgunned by those bastards and though our new vessel may be better armed than Redbird, I doubt she can match a French warship. We must be prepared to face a stronger enemy-one that has captured a source of labor for establishing a military stronghold on this island-with the comparatively few men we have."

Lojtnant Lundkvist nodded his agreement. "If that is the case, we must do what we can to help our people. We may be small in numbers, but we have proven ourselves in combat! Please, Captain Pam, whatever happens, let us do what we can to aid our people if they are being so poorly used!"

"Absolutely! Maybe we can't fight a sea battle, but we can go in by land and we can hit them hard. They won't be expecting us. They must have been sure we went down and didn't even bother to come look for survivors after the storm, figuring it would have finished us off if their hits didn't. Well, guess what, messieurs! We ain't dead yet." There was real steel in Pam's voice. A powerful anger had grown in her over the months since her expedition had been upended by the French. She intended to make them pay.

"Up-time, the French had control of this island for a hundred-odd years and now they have decided to stake their claim early. Their spies must have found out about the Swedish colony plan and so they sent their warship in a bid to beat us to it. Well, they succeeded, for now, but we are back in the game. Gerbald, Lojtnant Lundkvist, please work on plans of attack for any situation you can think of." She smiled a smile that any she-wolf on the hunt would be proud of. "Think sneaky and fast. The element of surprise is what's going to do it for us, just like when we captured this ship."

After a moment's thought, Pam said, "Bosun, have all the men continue to wear the Asian clothes and have them tie up their hair in scarves. We want to look local from a distance."

"Aye aye, Captain!" The bosun looked positively jolly, a man back in his element and ready to work. "We'll look like real heathens and run before anyone can get close enough to see we are good Christian soldiers."

They all grinned at each other. Some of the tension of the last months was melting away, replaced by a healthy excitement. The odds might be steep but at least they were back in control of their destinies, free men and women with a good ship to carry them on their mission.

"All right, let's get going! Anchors aweigh!" she shouted at the top of her lungs into a rising antipodean wind. On the decks of the Second Chance Bird, the men smiled as they made ready to sail.