Virtue of Courage, p.3
Commodore Kiran Tahilani watched the bow of his ancient warship split the white-capped waves and considered that this had been an altogether very pleasant cruise. The wind in his face, the pounding of the steam boilers and the salt on his breath told him it was good to finally be out at sea again.
Tahilani was one of only two men in all the North Frequesuan Navy to carry the title of ‘commodore’, the other being the commander of
Varuna’s sister ship
Vayu. The two old cruisers were the pride of the Tanstaafl Raj, old
Cantrellbury class ships built in Shroomania in 1939 and bought by the Raj shortly after the end of WW2. Their retention in active service had been one of the non-negotiable terms under which the Raj had joined the NFN. They now served as training ships, their commanders given the honorary title of ‘commodore’ to reflect the unique status of these ships in the fleet.
The old commodore sighed and reflexively wiped a spatter of brine from his greying beard. On an intellectual level Tahilani realized that the age of the gun cruiser was long over, but it was still difficult to accept that his ship would never again serve in a position of prominence. As a midshipman he had bombarded the four shores of Frequesue in the name of the Maharaja. As a sub-lieutenant he had commanded the forward gun batteries when Varuna duelled the Coilerburger heavy cruiser
Hochbaden during Iler’s War. But those days were gone, never to return. It was all missiles and torpedoes now.
Tahilani sighed and straightened his back, determined not to let his memories spoil the moment. He was out at sea again, and so was his ship. For now, that was enough. He was looking forward to meeting the PeZookians and their gorgeous sailing ship. Sails and wood weren’t really the commodore’s forte, but even an old iron-monger like he could appreciate the beauty of a tall ship. He wondered if the
Virtue of Courage in any way resembled the ship Sir Siegfried Schrom had sailed into the Orizaco Bay and Tanstaafl. Probably not, after all-
“Commodore!” the voice of Mahendra Singh interrupted his stream of thought. The officer cadet appeared composed, but Tahilani could sense his excitement. “Message from the radio room sir. They say it’s urgent sir.”
The commodore nodded and took the piece of paper in Singh’s hand without speaking and read it. His heart skipped a beat. The
Virtue of Courage had sent out a mayday.
“Mayday, mayday, mayday, all stations, all stations, all stations, ORP Virtue Of Courage taking heavy fire from several pirate speedboats, please assist, may....”
“How shall we respond sir?” Singh asked eagerly.
Tahilani straightened his white uniform and stroked his broad moustache. His eyes lit up as he read the message again. Shiva had given his ship a final chance to prove her mettle! He stepped inside the bridge and began firing off orders. “All ahead full! Maintain present course! And man all guns!”
“Sir! Should we respond to the mayday?”
Tahilani pondered that for a moment. “No. We don’t know who else might be listening. Let’s surprise these scumbag pirates.”
All things considered the attack was going well, or so thought pirate and self-proclaimed ‘Scourge of the North Coast’ Ibram Tew. He lifted the binoculars to his eyes and gazed from the deck of his mothership, actually a converted tramp freighter, over at the sailing ship.
By now his men were all over the large vessel like fleas over honey. Multiple speedboats surrounded the tall ship, and although he was getting some confused messages about small-arms fire coming from the deck he was confident his men could handle it. The ship had to be a luxury yacht of some sort, and any bodyguards aboard were bound to be no match for the seasoned pirates that were his crew.
Tew smiled. Whoever was aboard that ship was bound to be worth a tidy sum, especially if they could afford bodyguards.
As he looked on the men on the deck of the sailing ship used their water cannon again, blasting one of the speedboats and overturning it. The pirate captain grunted impatiently. “What is taking them so long…” he murmured. Then, louder: “This has gone on quite long enough. Mr. Gibbs! Have the deck gun deliver a warning shot over their bow.”
“Aye, aye!” his second in command gave a lazy salute.
“Careful though Gibbs”, warned Tew. “We want them to surrender, we don’t want to blow up that damned tinderbox.”
Gibbs grinned nastily. “Understood, cap’n.”
The deck gun of the ‘Royal Jones’, as the pirate mothership was called, was in fact a 105mm artillery piece on an improvised stabilized mount, but the crewmen had had ample opportunity to practice with it and managed to attain a surprising degree of accuracy. In seconds the deck crew had pivoted the gun on its mount and shoved a shell into the breach. With a dull ‘thump!’ the gun discharged, sending its projectile over the bow of the
Virtue of Courage to detonate in the sea in a massive fountain of water.
Oddly enough that show of force seemed to only galvanize resistance on the tall ship however. Even though the speedboats were raking the railings of the vessel with machine gun fire the crew still resisted, shooting back with amazing lethality. As he watched, Tew saw another of his crew members topple back and out of the boat he was riding, the better part of the back of his skull removed by the same rifle round that had shattered his teeth.
By now sharks were circling the
Virtue of Courage, attracted by the smell of blood and prey, and captain Tew was growing impatient. This was taking far longer than it should, in fact if it went on any longer there was a chance the coast guard might show up. He’d been raked by those flying boats once before, in fact there were fragments of metal embedded in his shoulder to prove it, and though his ship carried MANPADs he had no particular desire to repeat the experience of coming under heavy enemy fire.
Barely had his brain articulated that thought that a triple thunderclap echoed across the water, followed almost immediately by the eruption of three massive fountains off the port bow of the
Royal Jones.
“What the-” murmured a puzzled Tew, but he was interrupted as Gibbs came running up to him.
“Cap’n! Unknown vessel, closing fast!”
Tew pivoted in the direction Gibbs was pointing and hefted his binoculars. A confused curse escaped over his lips. The pirate captain couldn’t believe what he was seeing. An ancient warship was steaming right at him, looking for all the world like something straight out of War of the Worlds-era black-and-white footage. Thick columns of black smoke belched from its two funnels. Its steel bow smashed through the waves. And finally on its deck six guns in two casemates swivelling in his direction. As he watched puffs of smoke erupted from the lower casemate, followed swiftly by the whistle of approaching shells and another triple fountain, erupting that much closer to the bow.
The pirate captain could do little but to stare, mouth open, at the approaching anachronism. “This can’t be happening…”
“Rung ho!” echoed the traditional battlecry of the Raj across the decks of the
Varuna. The machineries of the venerable warship were being pushed to their limits: the boilers put out enough power to reach 33 knots, bow cutting through the water like a knife through butter, black smoke billowing out of the funnels.
Hundreds of cadets worked feverishly to keep the ship working: in the engine room crews monitored the machinery for signs of overstress, gunnery crews trained their fire directors at the mothership, and 6” shells were being transported from the belly of the ship up to the gun batteries. The old ship hadn’t seen such a buzz of frenetic activity since the end of Iler’s War decades ago.
On the bridge, commodore Tahilani gazed out onto the scene battle before him. The white hull of the
Virtue of Courage was pitted and scarred by RPG and machine gun fire. Parts of it were smouldering, and erratic fire was erupting from its deck. Still it was clear that the PeZookians couldn’t hold out much longer. Then again, they did not have to.
“Commodore!” came the call from the gunnery director. “‘B’ battery is ready to fire!”
“Target the mothership again. All guns fire at will” Tahilani replied tersely.
Again the triple thundercrack as the second forward battery discharged. The smell of cordite wafted over the bridge as it mixed with the stiff salty breeze. This time the gunners had properly zeroed in on their mark as explosions rippled across the hull of the mothership, huge chunks of its superstructure disappearing in blooming explosions as the high-explosive shells found their mark. Fires almost instantly erupted from on the enemy vessel, which was shedding chunks of metal.
“‘A’ battery ready to fire!”
“Fire!”
Another volley raked the
Royal Jones, tearing through the hull to explode in the innards of the ship. It was too much for the old freighter: the ship began making water as secondary explosions ripped through it. Crewmen were seen jumping from the deck as the ship began to sink, slowly at first but soon faster. In less than two minutes the entire mothership had disappeared below the waves.
Tahilani smiled. The speedboats that had been harrowing the
Virtue of Courage had broken off in confusion, and were now milling about uncertainly, trying to pick up their scattered comrades from the water. “Mr. Singh” ordered the commodore. “Organize a marine detail and round up any surviving pirates. Miss Dravid, if you please flag the PeZookians and offer our assistance. And the good captain Dębkowski if he would like to join me for tea at his earliest convenience.” He looked approvingly round the bridge. “Ladies, gentlemen, excellent work. I believe the day is ours.”
