Harry Heron: Into the Unknown Read online

  “There were a big flash and Mr Heron, Ferghal and the powder monkey was clean gorn!”

  “What mean you, gone?” snapped the lieutenant, pausing to shout, “Mr Tanner! Take charge of the after division. The change of tack may give you an opportunity.”

  Turning to the men again, he asked, “What mean you, gone? Where is Wright?” He noted the bloodied figure lying next to the slewed gun carriage. “Ah, I see! Bates, you’re the senior. Clear number four. I’ll send you some hands to help. And get Wright taken to the surgeon!”

  “It come through from behind us, sor,” said Bates, one of the seamen. “Or mebbe above. Sumptin fierce it were, smashed into the breech and stuck right there. There’s another gorn into the Frenchy. Hit Joe in the kisser, this’n did. He’s out like a light, sor. And Mr Heron were right there, sor, him and Ferghal next him, and the powder monkey betwixt them. They ain’t here now, sor, is all we knows.”

  “Thank you, Bates, carry on with your work.” Lieutenant Beasley peered at the strange object and at the hole it had made, and noted that the splintered timbers all seemed to show something exiting rather than entering the hull. Had one of these strange objects hit the French ship as well? Perhaps that explained the change of tack and the absence of firing on them for the moment.

  THE RAJASTHAN’S ASSAULT ON THE REMAINING French ship’s exposed quarter threw that ship into turmoil as the Spartan heeled to her new tack. Captain Blackwood felt a moment of satisfaction as the starboard batteries began a rolling broadside, and the bows of the Frenchman suffered the effect of the relentless and shattering fire of the combined batteries of eighteen and thirty-two-pounder guns. Moments later, the Frenchman’s bows swung to larboard as her Captain made a desperate attempt to manoeuvre his ship away from the fearsome bombardment, but he was frustrated in the attempt by the newly arrived Rajasthan.

  Spartan’s fire slackened as she drew ahead. Taking stock, Captain Blackwood ordered, “Wear ship, Mr Bell. We will finish the business!”

  Shouted orders brought the topmen and waisters rushing to the falls and sheets, and the helm went over yet again as the great ship plunged round, turning her stern across the wind to match course with the Frenchman now heavily engaged by the smaller Rajasthan.

  The Captain spared a moment to study the capsized French ship and to ponder the explosion that had so suddenly devastated her. He reflected that there was always the chance of a stray shot striking fire near exposed powder charges, and any carelessness in the magazine would be fatal.

  A SMOKE-GRIMED MIDSHIPMAN EMERGED from the companionway and approached the Captain, touching his hat in salute.

  Acknowledging the youth’s salute, Captain Blackwood asked, “Yes, Mr Tanner?”

  “Mr Beasley’s compliments sir, but we have an infernal device of some kind lodged on the lower gun deck. Mr Beasley asks for more hands to free it so we can heave it overside ere it does to us what the one on the Frenchman did, sir.”

  “Does he, by God,” exclaimed the Captain. “He shall have them.” He hesitated. “The same as the device that tore the Frenchman apart? You saw it strike him?”

  “Aye, sir. I thought it a lightning strike, but in it was a strange egg-like thing. It tore out his bows from cathead to water and seemed larger than the one we have.”

  “Larger, you say? Where did it spring from?”

  “I know not, sir. There was a bright flash and it was there, and when I looked again, the gun, Mr Heron and two others were not. Just like the Frenchman—a brilliant flash and his bow was open to the sea.”

  “Find Mr Rogers on the upper gun deck, present him my compliments. I wish him to take as many men as he thinks necessary to assist Mr Beasley.” Turning away, the Captain raised the signal telescope to his eye and studied the activity on the surviving French ship. To the departing midshipman he called, “Mr Tanner, my compliments to Mr Beasley. I shall join him as soon as we have dealt with the remaining Frenchman.”

  He paused, his attention on the frigate. “Excellent—they’ve boarded him.” He closed the glass with a snap, and called, “Mr Bell, pass the word below, lower battery only to fire on the enemy, upper battery to belay their guns and stand ready to support the boarders.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” responded the First Lieutenant. “Midshipman Horn, run below and pass the word for the upper battery to belay firing, then get to Mr Beasley and Mr Rogers on the lower tier and tell them to engage on my command.”

  The youth had barely disappeared below when the sailing master called out, “She’s struck, by God!” He waved his hat in the air. “Damn me! The fellow has struck!”

  “Mr Bell, pass the word to the gun decks to secure the guns.” The Captain smiled briefly then added, “We will heave to and send a boat with a party of our Marines to assist Captain Winstanley and Captain Bowen. I am sure they will have much need of it. Have the launch lowered and send it to search for survivors from the other ship. I am going below to see to the removal of that infernal device and discover what has become of Mister Heron and the men with him. Take charge here, Thomas. I will require ten additional men to be sent there as soon as you can spare them.”

  The First Lieutenant acknowledged the command and walked swiftly to where the Captain stood. “I shall send them immediately, sir. What device is this?”

  “Evidently the same as the one which has done for our initial opponent.” Turning he handed his sword and hat to his servant then walked to the ladder. Over his shoulder, he added to the First, “Mr Beasley is attempting to move it so it can be jettisoned. I wish to gauge what manner of thing it is before he does so.”

  THE LOWER GUN DECK HAD SUFFERED SOME DAMAGE from the enemy, Captain Blackwood noted as he made his way to where the two lieutenants and several men were gathered. Touching his forehead, Lt Rogers indicated the malevolent ovoid thing squatting where the Number 8 gun had stood.

  “The gun is gone, sir, and three men with it. Wright, the captain of the gun, was lucky. He felt himself pulled into the thing but had the presence of mind to release the lanyard and hurl himself backward.”

  Glancing at the gun captain, whose head was now wearing a bloody bandage twisted out of a kerchief, Captain Blackwood nodded. “Wright, is it? Good man, what can you tell me of this...this thing’s arrival?”

  “Beggin’ yer pardon, Captain—it were like lightnin’. Big flash, t’ gun sort o’ glowed, changed shape an’ this thing were there, sir.” He hesitated, shuffling his feet. “Strange fing, sir—it felt as if summat wanted ter pull me wi’ it t’ same way it took Mr ’eron, young Fergie an’ little Danny, t’ powder monkey.”

  Staring at the open gunport, currently partly filled by the device, Captain Blackwood noted the gun seemed to have taken the breach ropes along with all its training tackle and quite a bit more of the ship’s timbers and fittings.

  “Had you fired at this point?”

  “Nay, sir. I were waiting ’til I ’ad ’im in sight like Mr ’eron ordered, and then....”

  “Thank you, Wright,” the Captain said, his attention focused on the surface of the ovoid. He peered at it searching for an opening or a seam. Finding none, he asked, “Were you struck by a splinter?”

  “Nay, sir. When I pushed away from t’ gun, I were sort of flipped over, an’ I ’it me ’ead on to deck beam there, sir.” He indicated a point between the ovoid and the Number 6 gun, which was still overturned, but now tied down. “There were a sort o’ wave in t’ air what threw t’ lads abaht a bit.”

  “Do you mean a large wall of water from the sea?”

  “No, sir, it were more like t’ air itself ’it me wi’ t’ same force as a wave from t’ sea.”

  “Did you see anything of the Frenchman, besides having him in your sight, of course.”

  The man glanced at his companions and nodded, his face pale beneath the grime. “I seed t’ lightnin’ strike ’im jus’ as it ’it us, sir. Then, jus’ afore I got clear, I seed ’is ’ole bows bursting open, s
ir. Turrible it were.”

  “Any other casualties, Mr Beasley?”

  “Midshipman Petersen fell, sir. Splinters, I’m afraid, and six more plus Heron, O’Connor and the boy Danny.” Indicating the open gunport through which water burst at regular intervals, he continued. “I’ll have the carpenter see to the port as soon as we can shift this device, sir.”

  “Do so.” Captain Blackwood frowned. “Heave it up on deck where we may examine it.” Scrutinising the area, he turned to go. “I see no indication of the missing three beneath it—Mr Heron, O’Connor, and the powder monkey. I think we must assume they went overboard with the gun.”

  “THE OBJECT IS ON DECK, SIR.” Lt Bell touched his forehead as he stood just inside the door to the Captain’s cabin. “Strange device, but the reaction of our French guests is almost stranger.”

  “I’ll come.” Robert Blackwood stood, lifted his coat and shrugged into it as he walked toward his visitor. “What say the French? Is it theirs?”

  “No, sir. They blame us, and take the presence of the device as proof.” Standing aside, he followed the Captain into the sunlight. “The damage is worse than we thought, sir. We have sprung planks, some split frames and damage to the lower part of the main mast.”

  His face grim, the Captain nodded. “We’ll need a safe anchorage in which to carry out repairs then. The Cape and Simon’s Bay is closed to us, and it would be unwise to attempt the Cape without repair. What’s the butcher’s bill?”

  “Midshipmen Petersen and Heron are dead, Midshipman Barclay has lost a leg and may lose an arm—he was struck by a spent ball and splinters—twelve more are dead, and seventeen are wounded or injured. We have been lucky, I think. The L’ Revolution took most of her people with her. I have a Lieutenant Renault in the wardroom, her senior surviving officer. The Mistral has above a hundred wounded and some forty dead, but she makes a fine prize, sir.”

  “So she does, and frees these seas of a French threat for a while.” They reached the place where the strange metal ovoid squatted on a hastily created grommet of rope, still partly shrouded in the net sling used to haul it on deck. “I’ve not seen anything like that in my life.” Moving closer, the Captain walked around the device as the men fell back to give him room.

  “The men think the gun and Mr Heron may be inside it, sir.”

  “Why so?”

  “They say there was a moment when the gun was visible at the same time as this thing, sir, as if they were occupying the same space.” The lieutenant frowned. “The men are adamant they could see the shape of this thing with the gun inside it, as well as Mr Heron, O’Connor, and Danny the powder monkey within it too, though I can’t imagine how that was possible.”

  “Can we discover a way to open it?”

  “There is an opening, sir, but it is fastened in a manner the gunner and the carpenter say they have never seen. The blacksmith thinks he may be able to open it, with your permission, sir.”

  Glancing at the ship’s blacksmith in his leather apron, the Captain nodded. “Very well, see what may be done.” Turning away, he addressed the first lieutenant. “I’ll receive this Lieutenant Renault in my cabin, Thomas. Bring him up as soon as you may, please.”

  THE SPARTAN’S FIRST LIEUTENANT mopped his forehead. “It’s worse than we thought, sir. There is damage to the lower main mast as well as to the frames and planking.”

  Captain Blackwood waited to hear more, his expression grim.

  “It seems as if there was a sudden expansion of the hull in that area. The carpenter says it can be put right, but it needs to be done in some sheltered place where we may careen her.”

  Captain Blackwood stared at the ships in the Spartan’s wake, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “How can a gun—a thirty-two at that—and three men vanish and leave as much damage as this?”

  Turning, he faced the lieutenant. “Do you know that Lieutenant Renault has a man who survived the explosion? He tells a confused tale indeed, much like Wright’s, but with one addition—the linstock was applied to the touchhole as the device engulfed the gun. He says the gun fired while still visible within the device, and then it exploded.”

  He pulled a chart toward him on his desk. “It appears he was lucky. He has no memory of leaving the ship, just of finding himself adrift on some of the wreckage.”

  “Curious, sir. Was he a member of the gun crew?”

  “He was. From their description, the device that struck them was twice as large as the one that stuck us.” He paused. “Have the gunner and the blacksmith made any progress cracking open that infernal beastly egg?”

  “I came to tell you, sir. They have, they think, forged a tool that will release the hatch.”

  “Excellent, then let them do so. I shall come up as soon as it is open.” Indicating the chart, he added, “Send the sailing master to me. We will make for Delagoa Bay. It is in Portuguese hands and provides the sort of shelter and timber we need for the repairs.”

  THE GUNNER WATCHED AS THE BLACKSMITH FITTED the heavy iron T-shaped key that he had forged to fit the odd bolt securing what the officers thought might be a hatch. Peering at the strange symbols and foreign lettering adjacent to the apparent opening, he asked, “Wonder what them funny signs mean, Mr Rae. Be they French?”

  Lt Rae laughed. He’d copied the markings carefully on his pad and taken a rubbing of them. It looked as if it might be English, but he couldn’t make any sense of it. “Not that I recognise, Mr Mansfield. Are you ready, Jethro? Good, then get to it.”

  The gunner and the blacksmith applied their combined weight to the key. “It moved a tad. Again Jethro,” gasped the gunner, flinging his full weight against the T-bar.

  “Dunno, Mr Mansfield. I never seed ought like this, an’ t’ metal ain’t iron, o’ that I’m certain.” The smith heaved, and this time there was a definite movement followed immediately by a hiss and then a high-pitched scream as a plume of mist shot from the now visible seam.

  The men covered their ears and instinctively moved away from the object. Abandoning their task and the tool, the gunner and the blacksmith jumped back as if a snake had bitten them.

  “What the devil?” the second lieutenant exclaimed. “My God, what fiendishness is this?” He saw that the Captain had joined them. “Sir, this....” He gestured with his hands. “This mist erupted as soon as the gunner and his mate cracked the bolt and it turned a fraction.”

  Murmurs among the crew that the sound was the screams of those trapped inside it drew the Captain’s ire. “Nonsense, no human voice can make such a sound—and certainly not from within such a sphere or through such a small opening.” He made up his mind. “To the devil with it. Heave it overside, Mr Rae. You’ve made a full record of it, I presume. Good. That will suffice.”

  In a louder voice, the Captain said, “The longer it remains here, the greater the danger it presents to us.” Stepping closer he peered at the visible seam and the ice forming at its edges. On impulse, he plucked a belaying pin from the rack and tossed it toward the seam.

  An invisible force seized the pin as it reached the stream of misty air and hurled it upward.

  For several seconds no one spoke. Captain Blackwood ordered, “Heave it overboard, Mr Rae, forthwith, if you please.”

  “Aye, aye, sir.”

  Standing back, the Captain watched as the lieutenant had falls fixed to the corners of the cargo net, which was then hauled up to the yards and swung outboard. Upon releasing the restraining lines, the thing fell into the sea where it sank quickly, a frothing fountain at the surface the only mark of its final resting place.

  Chapter 4

  Culture Shock

  SURGEON COMMANDER LEN MYERS surveyed Ferghal’s prone body as the youth lay on the examination table. “Broken forearm was pretty well splinted and set,” he said to his medical team looking on. “Impressive. The shoulder dislocation was a bad displacement, but a few hours in the med unit will fix the remaining damage.” Check
ing the monitors attached to the youth, he added, “Heart is fine, and no real damage to anything except a touch of concussion.”

  “No genetic record of him in the databank, sir.”

  “Impossible. Everyone born since 2077 has a genetic record in the databank. Search again.” Frowning he added, “See if you can find a close relative match.” He signalled the medical technicians. “Place him in a med unit. Maintain the isolation regime for now. All three of these boys have antibodies in their systems for bacteria and viruses we haven’t had to deal with for two centuries at least.” Moving to where Harry lay unconscious awaiting examination, he asked, “What about this young man?”

  “No genetic registration in the European or world databank, sir, but we did find a relative who’s a close match.”

  “So they are from our world. Where’s the relative? Show me the match.” For a full minute, Len stared at the record. “Now that is extremely interesting.” He entered a command. Studying the result, he whistled softly. “This is supposed to be impossible, but after the last few hours, I’ll believe just about anything.” Entering a new command, he ordered, “This information is now under maximum restriction. It doesn’t leave this lab.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the medical technicians.

  “Good. He checks out as sound, apart from mild concussion and the effects of the nervous disruption from being shot with several stun bolts. Insert him into a med unit and let it sort him out.” He moved to the smallest boy, who was sleeping under the effects of the tranquilliser. “Ah, the little wildcat.” Checking the monitors, he frowned. “Undernourished, so we’ll have to build up his strength. Otherwise, he’s in reasonable health. Looks as if he hasn’t had a wash in quite a while. Clean him up and let a med unit sort out the nutritional deficiencies. Any gene matches for him?”

  “Negative, sir, same as the first one. Nothing in the databanks. Nearest we can get is his genetic type is definitely from the English south, probably round the Hampshire-Sussex-Surrey area, but that’s a long shot. The best we can get on the first one is he’s typical for someone from the North East of Ireland, but again, that’s just an educated guess.”