

















                          CAPTAIN of the KALI

                            By Gary Wright

                Sail down the wind, Kali! Victory waits
                  across the seas--and so does death!

           [Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
              Worlds of If Science Fiction, January 1963.
         Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
         the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]


John Ward, God Helper, hung in his chair like a damp, empty uniform. An
open, four-foot port showed a circle of blazing blue sky and a regular
glimpse of a high, curving topsail. The humid, hot salty flavor of a
strange sea blanketed the cabin, and sparked a sudden thought:

"What the hell am I doing here?"

There was no prompt answer. The wind rushed and moaned. The roiling
water crashed and hissed under the stern. The following ship heaved its
topsail into sight again, and withdrew it. A lilting chant drifted like
smoke on the wind.

    _We ride the wind down like sleek, skimming birds.
    The seething foam furrows follow true.
    The sky is clouded with our singing sails.
    We ride the wind down, down the wind._

He was Comet Colonel John Ward, Terran Confederation, Earth; he was
certain of that. Age? Forty-two, more or less. Specialty? Historical
Naval Tactician. If you had to call it something you might as well
call it that. Hobby? Sailing. But, God, Snipes and Lightnings aren't
ships-of-the-line! Reading? Well ... lyric poetry and ancient history,
if you must know. Present Occupation? God Helper. No, call that
Commander Advisor to the Kali, Aqua. Future? Oh, hell-yes; right up
the....

    _Wide shouldered, wave exploding, trim twin-hulled we come.
    First, the sky tall, fine first-liners.
    Then the seconds, flanking fast.
    Lean and level slide the frigates.
    All around us flash the corvettes.
    Ride the wind down, Kali seamen, down the wind to Ande-Ke._

Six months ago he had a future all outlined, but six months ago he was
a shining God Helper, come in glory. Now he was simply a God Helper,
and sometimes not even that.

    _We are the Kali. The fortunate ones. Yes!
    Heirs to our wind and water world.
    Like our ships we are tall and proud.
    Like our wind we are wild and restless.
    Like our sea we are strong and savage.
    This is our world, wide and lonely.
    Ride the wind down. Kali brothers, down the wind to Anda-Ke._

       *       *       *       *       *

Six months on this barely discovered, one per cent land area,
behind-the-galaxy planet, with piercing Confederation insight: Aqua.
Where the land was scattered about like pepper on an egg, and even the
wind tried to run backwards.

    _Down the wind at Anda-Ke--there is trouble.
    There we meet the stupid Grimnal.
    There the challenging, groveling Grimnal.
    He will plead for his wives and children.
    And, as proper Kali seamen.
    We will keep them soft and happy.
    After, we send their men away,
    Under the hungry gray-green water:
    Under the wind as we ride the wind down, down the wind to victory._

And here he still was, trying to show some life-loving, song-singing,
battle-mad, contrary-thinking, conceived of leather and salt spray,
five-foot humanoids how to fight a sea war.

And that was really quite a joke. The Kali and the Grimnal had been
at this for a hundred years, and doing quite well. They were in no
danger of getting overpopulated for one thing, and had evolved a dual
power political system over the entire planet before the invention of
an explosive. But now, being newly discovered by bigger and better
dual powers, they were being shown how to fight in a bigger and better
way. Only the Grimnal seemed to be learning, however. Oh, the Kali
listened, and even followed directions, but they seemed incapable of
understanding that slamming two corvettes upwind into the guns of eight
first-liners was simply not good military tactics.

They had a game. Something like Tag in reverse. One man was It, and
everyone on ship tried to catch him. He could go anywhere, do anything,
even cut the rigging as long as it didn't endanger the ship. The more
daring he was, the better. Ward had watched one make a hundred and
fifty foot dive from a skysail yard with the ship making about twenty
knots in a heavy sea. How do you go about explaining caution to a
people like that?

       *       *       *       *       *

But he had to. Somehow. Since the big boys had taken sides the Kali had
been losing. Or, more accurately, Ward had been losing.

    _All the Gods are busy Beings.
    We know.
    But even They have noticed now_,

Ward's wandering mind snapped back. This was a new verse.

    _And sent a sky man down to help us;
    Sent a Helper down to lead us.
    But the ways of Gods are strange.
    The Grimnal leaps from isle to island,
    While the Kali stand and watch him.
    While the Gods and Helpers falter.
    Ride the wind down, Kali brothers. At Anda-Ke we stand the test._

A polite cough from behind reminded him that Captain Tahn was still
in the cabin. The Kali coughed to express anything from rage to sheer
joy, and this one probably meant that Ward's hearing the last verse
was an accident. Ward swung around and glanced at him, but the Kali
deliberately kept his slitted eyes on the chart before him. Ward was
reminded again of the Kali likeness to the long vanished American
Indian: black, straight hair; narrowed, snapping black eyes; high,
angular cheek bones. But not much beyond that. If you took a fine
featured Sioux of long ago ... shortened him about a foot, thinned
him down--bones and all, raised his shoulders to a perpetual shrug,
stretched his arms so that they still reached his hips, then starved
him for a month ... you might be close. But if you took a picture of
him then, and looked at it slightly sideways, you would almost have it.
An extremely thin, short, shrugging strip of muscled rawhide.

Tahn coughed again; the your-attention-please cough. He swung a chart
around for Ward to see. It was a rough drawing of Anda-Ke, the largest
of the Grimnal Group, and more or less the home island. It looked
somewhat like a startled elephant: mouth open, trunk arced out at an
angle. The mouth was Anda Bay, and was guarded by Anda Passage where
the lower lip came within two miles of the upper. The trunk was Pelo
Head, and was broken about halfway down by Pelo Break. The area between
the drooping trunk and the neck was the Grimnal Sea. It was into this
that the Kali fleet was charging like a peanut sailing for the mouth.

Tahn tapped a pencil-like finger at the rearmost reach of Anda Bay.

       *       *       *       *       *

"There," he said, in the Kali-Confederation mixture they found to be
the shortest distance between two cultures. "Anchored there like marks
on a sail. Feeling so safe in their home. Thinking we do not dare come
after them. Grimnal rafts just waiting to go to the bottom."

"And the gliders?" Ward asked. "Are they returned? We have no
information but the tales of two natives."

Tahn glanced at a water trickling, time-measuring device hanging from
the overhead.

"Soon the gliders return, but...." He shrugged, somehow.

"And those are not rafts," Ward went on. "The natives said three, two
and single gun rows. That means first and second-liners, frigates and
probably corvettes. And they said 'many,' which means anywhere from
fifty to two hundred."

Tahn coughed his agreement.

"But with Grimnal stupidity," he said, "they can do no more than run
around in terror as we shell the city and fire their ships. We have
this won."

Ward looked down at his bands, caught a deep breath, and continued.

"I have said before. We are not fighting just the Grimnal. We are
fighting God Helpers too. Men like myself have come to help the
Grimnal." He caught Tahn's flickering glance and added quickly, "Men
who are probably better fighters than I am."

Tahn coughed and leaned his head sideways, fairly equivalent to a
casual 'so what?'

"False Gods. False Helpers," he said.

Ward held his breath and swung back to face the port. Great, sizzling
Hell! He wondered if his opposite with the Grimnal had such problems.
Probably not. Problems weren't allowed in the United Peace Worlds. And
with the Grimnal preference for island life over the sea, it apparently
took little urging to make them want all the islands in the world.

"You realize," Ward said without turning, "that they have probably
known of our coming for days."

"Good."

"And what would they still be doing at anchor?"

Cough, cough. Probably meaning how the hell should I know?


                                  II

If only they didn't have this towering independency and conceit, Ward
thought. They used to fight as individual ships. Then they weren't
the least surprised if a lonely frigate was blown to splinters by an
overwhelming Grimnal force. In fact, it was a thing of joy and beauty
forever.

It was only by the very fiercest thundering had he gotten this fleet
together under Tahn, and only Tahn's high position had kept it
together. And God only knew how much longer it would hold together. The
Grimnal had shown remarkable organization. Ward had pointed that out,
and that was a gross mistake.

The Kali wanted nothing to do with what the Grimnal did.

A sharp rap sounded on the cabin door and a Kali slipped in. He made
the casual motion that could be a salute, a greeting or a wave good-by,
depending on circumstances.

"Two gliders return," he said happily. "In the bay are two
first-liners, four second-liners, five frigates and some corvettes. All
at anchor. Just waiting for us."

Ward nodded.

"How many corvettes?"

The Kali's face wrinkled in dismay.

"Fifty-six," he said softly.

Ward smiled to himself, and ran the Kali fleet by in his mind.

Eighteen first-liners mounting a hundred-twenty guns apiece. Eleven
second-liners mounting eighty to ninety guns. Twenty-four frigates
mounting fifty to sixty guns. Fifty-two corvettes mounting ten
to twenty guns. A strong force, but not as strong as the Grimnal
potential. Firmly, he said:

"We will run down almost to Anda Passage--then wait."

The Kali glanced at each other. Tahn coughed.

"Not to go in?"

"No!"

"Why?"

Ward took a deep breath and told himself to stay calm.

"We know there are land guns along the Passage. We know that even
without them three first-liners could hold it against anything. We know
that those ships in the bay are not the whole fleet. Where are the
rest?"

Double cough. Double head bob. Two helpless expressions.

"We outnumber," Tahn said hopefully.

Ward muffled a smile. At least they were learning something.

"We cannot go in, Tahn. It's a trap."

Tahn was quiet, his whole body slowly coming to what Ward knew was hurt
pride and anger.

"Then we wait?"

"We wait."

Tahn was nearly rigid, his voice fighting its cage of control.

"We wait like before?"

       *       *       *       *       *

It was Ward's turn to let a tingling moment pass. This was the first
overt mention of his past actions. He must walk softly. Kali temper was
like nitroglycerine; one touch the wrong way....

"We wait only to learn of the other Grimnal ships," he said evenly. "We
let them make the first move in order to see what they are doing. Then
we strike--hard!"

After a long, breathless moment, Tahn coughed. It was one that Ward
never heard before, but judging by sound, it was not meant to be
pleasant. Ward stood up, stared directly at Tahn and said quietly "I
charge you with honesty, Tahn."

It was a serious phrase. Tahn made the equivalent of a nod.

"There is much talk," he began, his voice higher pitched. "We ask
ourselves why we do not fight. The Grimnal takes many islands; land
that is ours. He does not defeat us, but we do not stop him. We wait as
you tell us. We wait and see our islands lost.

"The Kali are ashamed, and the Grimnal laughs. We cannot go home and
face our women and children.

"You come to show us how to fight, you say. But we do not fight. We
wait. You tell us things that will make us win, but we do not fight. We
wait. You hold us back. We ask ourselves why."

He straightened, obviously grabbing a big piece of Kali courage.

"There is an answer why. Perhaps you help other Gods than ours.
Or--perhaps you are afraid."

There it was. Stark and ugly. Ward looked at Tahn for a long time, then
straightened to his full five-eleven.

"As a God Helper I am charged with honesty at all times," he said, and
let it sink in for a second.

"I see many more things than the surface of the sea and the direction
of the wind. What I do for the Kali is for the good of the Kali. If
you follow me, you go to victory. If you do not follow, you go to the
bottom."

The Kali glared with glittering eyes. Tahn's cough was a bark.

"Perhaps some will follow."

Their parting salute was crisp as they spun and left.

Ward eased himself back to the chair and stared at the door. This was
the ragged edge. They fight the one coming, or else.... And if they
lost it, the Confederation could mark off the Kali, John Ward and the
planet.

He remembered all too clearly the other engagements, if you would
call them that. And he remembered too the disappointment, chagrin and
outright anger of the Kali, and his own frustration.

       *       *       *       *       *

Engagement One: Taley Point. They had surprised a small Grimnal force
close in to shore on the leeward side. After trading shots at extreme
range. Ward gave the order to withdraw. Reasons? Shallows, reefs, a
raising wind, and nightfall. The Grimnal was gone in the morning. The
Kali had been stunned. It was the first time they had ever withdrawn
with whole ships.

Engagement Two: Gola Island. They had chased a smaller force into port,
but Ward had held off because of intense shore fire. The Kali did not
sing for three days.

Engagement Three: Bari Sea. They were closing with a nearly equal
force, yet out of range, when a large wind devil, one of the freak,
contrary winds, had slashed across both fleets; shredding sails,
splintering masts, effectively crippling both forces. Ward gave the
order to heave to and repair damages, as the Grimnal did the same. The
Kali were astonished. Such a thought was madness with the enemy in
sight. But they followed orders, and did not smile when he appeared any
more.

Engagement Four: Darel Sea. (Oh, the Darel Sea!) They were closing at
glider range when a lucky Grimnal had sneaked in and managed to fire
bomb a first-liner. Without that ship they were greatly out-gunned
and, leaving a frigate to take off the crew, they slipped off downwind.
It was a near rebellion, but Tahn had held them. Then the wind came
up, bringing the Grimnal force with it. And both the frigate and the
burning first went down fighting. The Kali had cried, probably, Ward
thought, more in admiration than in sadness.

And now, as a result of a vote of ships' captains, they were headed
straight for the Grimnal's heart; and Ward wondered if he was anything
more than a passenger. He knew he had been tactically right in each
case, but the Kali knew he was morally wrong. So who had it, the head
or the heart?

And what about this thing of being afraid? That hurt. He didn't believe
he was afraid. Honestly, he really couldn't say. He had, as a fact,
never fought a battle in his life.

       *       *       *       *       *

He used to play a game in the scouts. What did they call it? Capture
the Flag, or something like that. Each side had a hidden flag and the
other tried to get it. He was always the planner. How'll we do it,
John? And he would tell them, and keep away from the rough stuff, and
they nearly always won.

But violence fascinated him as a spectator. Later his reading took him
in that direction, and later still his studies. In the middle of his
life he found he was one of the leading historical naval tacticians in
the world. He started writing historical novels, under a pseudonym, of
course, and soon became the world's authority.

Then someone blundered into Aqua.

For a couple hundred years the Terran Confederation and the United
Peace Worlds had been at war. Not an open, honest, stand-up-and-get-it
war; but an undercover, half ignored, let's-get-the-kids-to-fight war.
A galaxywide game, played for planets, using local cultures. And always
according to the rules. No new technologies. No new weapons. Use what
you have at hand. Play it fair. Because if you do not, neither will
we--and together we will eliminate the universe.

Aqua was a natural. It had a war already underway. Deep in the
secretmost catacombs of Confederation Central a voice said: "Find a man
who knows ancient naval tactics. Find a man who knows sailing. Find a
man who knows combustion firearms. Find a man. Now!"

And the order went rattle-rattle, click-click, wink, blink ... and
reached out and touched Doctor John Ward.

Although _Colonel_ Ward's training had filled three straight days,
there was one thing they forgot to tell him--what do you think about,
really, when someone fires a cannon in your face?

A knock came at the door. Ward rubbed his face back into an expression
of awareness.

"Come."

Tahn entered briskly and strode to the opposite side of the table. His
eyes held a level, challenging look.

"Gliders say there are Grimnal coming up behind us along the coast.
About--uh--two hours distant."

"How many?"

"There are four firsts, five seconds, twelve frigates and some
corvettes."

Ward patiently tapped the table.

"How many corvettes?"

"Twenty-three."

Ward was thoughtful for a moment.

"We still have them. But it still is not their whole force."

"We hit them?"

I'd better answer this one right, he told himself. They were now just
below Pelo Break, about two hours from the Passage. There was about an
hour of daylight left.

"After the sun dies," he said, avoiding the word "wait," "we will swing
to meet this new force. If the wind holds straight and steady, we will
come across to them like sharks in the night."

"Sharks?"

Ward grinned.

"A very savage deep sea fish of my world."

Tahn relaxed, and a twisted smile came over his narrow face.

"It will be a short fight," he said softly.


                                  III

Aqua's sizzling sun was getting hazy as it settled behind lower Pelo
Head, outlining the violent peaks like teeth in some savage jaw. Ward
stood on the bridge of the first-liner, _Bad Weather_, and watched the
fleet and the late returning gliders. He never failed to marvel at
these ships--sleek, sea-flying catamarans, steady, tall and wonderously
beautiful. Their twin hulls skimmed the seas with hardly a roll. Their
speed was something you had to feel to believe.

He watched the second-liner. _South Bird_, come around to catch her
glider.

Both soaring upwind, they aimed for an intersection. As they drew
closer, two long booms with netting between were extended over the
stern. Slowly they angled together. When it appeared that the glider
would crash the bridge it pulled up, stalled and fell softly into the
net.

He never failed to exhale a long breath after such a landing--catching,
rather.

Launching was even more spectacular. The ship raced out on fast beam
reach with its glider poised upwind on its two poles. Then a streaking
corvette hissed up under the stern, swung slightly upwind, caught the
braided stretch-line and actually yanked the glider aloft. Ward was
quite sure it was something he never wanted to try.

The _Bad Weather_ was coming around now. He caught the white flash
of her glider high downwind. Tahn came to stand by him, his quick,
cat-like motions betraying his eagerness.

"They bring more news," he grinned. "The Grimnal in Anda Bay is
starting to raise sail."

Ward frowned.

"They think to trap us between them. Perhaps they expect us to race
into the Passage after dark."

Tahn coughed his pleased cough.

"But our--uh--tactics, is it? They are to keep out of the Passage?"

Ward smiled.

"For now. We fight them as two separate fights, not as one. We will
overwhelm each in turn."

Tahn's cough was one of agreement.

"Yes," he breathed. "Just as long as we fight."

They turned to watch the glider make its long floating approach. It had
dumped its spoilers and was losing altitude, when it suddenly climbed
impossibly fast, spun completely around and exploded in a hundred
pieces.

       *       *       *       *       *

Tahn leaped to the rail, stared, then keened the Kali howl of alarm.
Ward squinted downwind in puzzlement, then saw it--the seething, wild
slice of a wind devil arcing toward the fleet.

Curling, lashing, faster than any ship, it bore down on them in a track
of boiling foam. Other ships took up the cry. Knives flashed as sheets
were cut and sails crashed down. Seamen ran aloft to furl the wild
cloth. Some of the leading corvettes tried to turn and run out of the
way, but the wind was too fast.

A corvette suddenly lifted her bows, flipped over backwards and slammed
down like a thrown stone. A frigate lost her sails and masts in less
than two seconds. Another corvette rose sideways on one hull, spun and
broke in two. The wind shriek became deafening.

Another frigate lost its masts, lifted on its stern and fell back in
an explosion of water. The first-liner, _Thunder_, lost its masts and
rigging, put its bows down as if stepped on, spun a full ninety degrees
and finally relaxed. A corvette went tumbling end over end into the
side of a second liner, which immediately lost its masts and half its
bridge. A corvette went streaking out of the fleet at blinding speed,
one hull hiked entirely out of the water, and disappeared in a wall of
spray.

It was abruptly silent.

The foaming wind track left the fleet and slashed toward the open sea.
With a soft flutter, then a breeze, the westerly quietly resumed its
push. The Kali appeared on deck again and slowly gazed about them. And
the fleet lay dead in the water.

Ships lay heading in all directions. Wreckage, lines and bits of sail
littered the water. A frigate lay listed hard over. Damage reports were
coming in to the _Bad Weather_: the _Thunder_ dismasted and leaking;
another first dismasted; one second leaking badly, perhaps going down;
three other seconds dismasted; one frigate sinking fast; two more
dismasted and leaking; two more dismasted; six corvettes lost; four
dismasted and damaged.

Tahn was grim as he scratched marks on a slate. Twenty-one ships out of
action in less than a minute. Ward cursed and slammed the rail. Damned
planet! Damned Grimnal! Damned everything! Tahn coughed beside him.
_And_ damned coughing!

"There is more news," Tahn said quietly. "We just fished out a glider
flyer who had returned from cruising Pelo Head."

Ward turned. There seemed to be a smile flickering on Tahn's swarthy
face.

"He says there is a great Grimnal force coming into the Break from the
north. Sixteen firsts, eighteen seconds and ten frigates. There are no
corvettes."

Ward's whole body seemed to tighten. Thanks to a damned wind the trap
was sprung.

"Can they come through the Break?" he asked, more to stall for time
than gain information. Tahn coughed three times.

"It is a brave thing to do. Even for Kali it would be brave. It is bad
water in the Break. The wind goes up; the current comes down. It is
slow, but it can be done."

"How slow?"

       *       *       *       *       *

Tahn tilted his head, stared at where the slice of the Break was barely
visible on the horizon, and shrugged, almost.

"Maybe--uh--two hours. Maybe more." He coughed. "Maybe less."

Ward glared at the crippled ships.

"And they would try it at night?"

Tahn coughed assent.

"There will be a good moon. I would try it."

Damn. Forces from three sides that, united, would blow them right out
of the water. They could meet any of them alone, but....

"If we could slip south," he pondered aloud, "we could--"

Tahn snarled, his face an unearthly mask in the dimming light. His
breath whistled between his teeth.

"You _polasti_!" he hissed. Ward straightened and faced him. The Kali
around froze in their tracks. _Polasti_ was the foulest word in their
language.

"Kali have died in this water just now," Tahn was barely able to manage
his voice. "They are down there right now. We will not run and disgrace
them! We will stand here. We will put a wall of sails and guns around
this spot, and if we die it will be in honor. We will run no more. _We
will run no more!_"

He was trembling when he finished, and Ward expected a knife to make
one final arc. It was impossible to try to explain. It was broken....

That thought crashed through as a knife never could.

It's over. The Grimnal will surround this pitiful fleet like a storm.
It's over; we've lost the fight, the war and the planet. And I've done
it. It's my baby.

The thing seared him, roared through him, shook him--and touched a
secret place. A deep place where he stored his anger. All his past
angers, big and little; covered stifled, caught and hidden. Old hurts,
old dreams, old reproaches screamed and gibbered through him like a
thousand ghosts and devils. They swamped the gentle man. They dragged
him down and gagged him. And something else took his place--something
that had never been allowed to stand before.

"You stupid bastards!" he roared, wheeling to face them all. "You
God-forsaken fools! A Grimnal baby is a greater fighter than your
bravest man. Look what he has done to you. Look! Like blind animals
you have been led into a trap. You have been put in a cage of your own
ignorance. You call me _polasti_! I am the only one who can show you
how to win. The only thing you know is to bunch together and be killed
like animals at slaughter. You stand together in one tight group to
make it easy for him. You know how it will be? Look!"

He sprang to the glass globe that held the magnetized needle, seized
it and hurled it to the deck. It exploded like a small bomb. The Kali
moved back.

"That is what the Grimnal will do to you. Your bravery will be as that
glass, nice to see--but look at it now!"

Water from the globe trickled slowly through the shattered glass. The
chips winked red in the dying sun. Only the cry of the wind sounded
through the ship. Ward forced his choking breath to an even rhythm.

"Now go die like the fools you are."

He left the quiet bridge and threaded his way to his cabin. Night was
coming softly to the Grimnal Sea.

       *       *       *       *       *

It was dark in the cabin when the knock sounded. There was no answer,
and it came again.

"Come," Ward said in a very tired, hollow voice.

The door swung open and someone entered. After a long moment, Tahn's
voice came softly in the dark.

"No one has ever spoken to the Kali like that."

Ward did not answer.

"It is a brave man that can do that. And bravery is something we
understand." There was a silent moment. Tahn coughed. "May I light the
lamp?"

Ward swung around in the chair.

"Certainly."

Flint flicked on steel, a spark glowed, caught, and light wavered in
the cabin. The two faced each other, Ward sagged low in the chair, the
Kali by the lamp. Tahn coughed again.

"There is a way?"

Ward let a moment pass.

"There is a way to try."

"Fighting?"

"Yes, fighting."

Tahn paused the barest second.

"Tell me."


                                  IV

The frigate, _Windsong_, skimmed downward like a low, lean cloud.
Behind her, vague in the dim moonlight, followed four more frigates
and the skating corvettes. Before her, like a gate to hell, gaped the
jagged mouth of Pelo Break. Ward leaned against the bridge rail beside
Resi, the scarred and battered captain of _Windsong_.

"Keep close to the eastern side," Ward said. "In the shadow of the
cliffs, out of the moonlight."

Resi spoke softly to the helmsman, and the _Windsong_ eased into
the shadow. Ward turned and watched the following ships as, one by
one, they slipped out of the moon and all but vanished. He swung
back and squinted ahead. As far as he could see, high, broken cliffs
reared straight from the water on both sides, angling together in the
distance. There Tahn had said, they stood a scant two hundred yards
apart, and the Break turned nearly sixty degrees to the west. That
was the narrows. Ward turned to Resi, wondering if the old Kali fully
understood the plan.

"If we do not meet them before, we wait for them at the narrows."

There was no acknowledgement that he could tell. Not even a cough. He
doesn't like this, Ward thought. He relishes the fight coming, but not
me. Despite Tahn's heated pep talk, I am a bad totem. But Tahn had
accomplished one thing--an honor promise from each ship's captain to
follow orders. Ward knew they would, as long as everything went along
with fighting, but the moment something went wrong.

He remembered Tahn's bark of surprise as the plan unfolded. Then the
argument, and his own firm stand that he command this force. For this
was the crucial contact. The Key. If this failed--it all failed.

He was sure that Tahn and the rest of the feverishly anxious Kali
would more than whip their end. They were outnumbered, but had an
overwhelming firepower edge. For the hundredth time he reviewed the
thing, looking for the fatal flaw.

One frigate for the crippled ships, which gave them quite a bit of
firepower right there. Two firsts, four seconds, five frigates (the
_Storm Bird_ had gone down) and four corvettes. They were to make fast
repairs, jury rig, then stand by in the shadow at the mouth of Pelo
Break. If the Kali came back out--fine; they would all rejoin Tahn. If
not--and the Grimnal came--they were a last stand.

Tahn had the main force of sixteen firsts, seven seconds and thirteen
frigates. He was to intercept the Grimnal coming from behind. He would
run their fleet through, come about, rake them again and run out to
sea. He was to hit them hard enough to stop them, then make them
believe he was running away. After any pursuit was discouraged he was
to come downwind and fly for Anda Passage.

If the timing was right, he would run right over the force from the
bay, and with a little effort clear them off the water.

"Then," Ward had added with a half smile, "you can shell the land guns
in the Passage in your spare time. If the first Grimnal force comes
limping in you shouldn't have any trouble."

       *       *       *       *       *

No, Tahn wouldn't have any trouble. In the Kali's present mood they
could probably do it with half their ships.

But hell would be open in the Break tonight. Five slim frigates and
forty-two tiny corvettes against sixteen firsts, eighteen seconds and
ten frigates. Ship for ship; but what unbalanced firepower! Their
advantage would be surprise, if nothing slipped, and maneuverability
where the Grimnal ships would have their hands full just keeping clear
of the cliffs. And this was the fulcrum.

A sudden flare from the maindeck.

"Cover that!" Resi snapped. Then to Ward, "They are cooking the liquor."

Ward nodded. Apparently Resi had a good idea of what was expected. That
was one good thing. The liquor, as they called it, was their explosive.
A revolting, highly inflammable slime brewed of seaweed and fats. It
was prepared in port, but had to be brought to a firing temperature on
board. This was done by heating in large kettles and kept just below
boiling. When a gun was to be fired, a certain measure of this soup was
poured down the muzzle to a sizzling hot firing chamber, kept hot by a
covered charcoal packing and quickly sealed by a lava-stone ball. It
was the gunner's sense of timing then to know when the gun was ready,
and slam the firing stud with a hammer. This slapped flint to steel
inside the chamber--and wham.

But it was touchy. If the gunner swung too soon, nothing. If he waited
too long, it fired itself. If the chamber was too cool, it would not
fire at all; if too hot, it might go the second the ball was rammed.
A very delicate operation. And in the midst of battle--with charcoal
flying, hot shot coming in, glowing fires under the kettles and spilled
hot liquor everywhere--it was hard to see what kept a ship from blowing
the whole battle apart. But that never happened. The liquor was easily
diluted with water, and they went into battle with special water crews
sloshing down the decks. And the stuff was fast. In the Gola Island
fight, with fairly hot guns, they were loading, aiming and firing in
about ten seconds.

The _Windsong_ eased along, the narrows loomed closer and Ward began
to tighten. Any second he expected the double bows of a Grimnal
first-liner to slide into sight, followed by another, and another, and
another....

He felt the urge to move about, to do anything as long as he was
moving. He noticed the Kali were the same. They were as restless as
the troubled waters of the Break--lunging, hissing, swirling, rocking
up and down. They were constantly at the rail relieving themselves, or
rattling the dipper at the water barrel. And he could see the glint of
their eyes as they threw quick glances in his direction. He caught Resi
watching too, and moved away.

       *       *       *       *       *

They didn't trust him. They were waiting for him to call it off. They
expected him to; probably wanting him to.

He suddenly found he was quivering like a captured bird. He gripped the
rail hard with both hands to stop. But it wouldn't stop. It galloped
through him, ran him down and trampled him. And in panic he saw what it
was.

Fear.

Not simply the fear of failing. It was....

God! The reality of it! This wasn't like reading a book or writing a
story. This was going to be real shot and flame instead of words and
paper. Real people were going to die, with their blood warm and sticky
and horror in the eyes--and he wouldn't be able to glance away to
ponder it. It was going to roll from start to finish with the reality
of Now and the surety of Death. It was going to flame as fights have
flamed since something first snatched up a rock. And he was going to be
right in the middle of it with these Kali, win or lose, live or die.
And what was he doing here with these strange, alien Kali?

He raised his head and glanced around. Resi was standing by the
helmsman, talking with his deck lieutenant. Water splashed down on the
maindeck; the water crews at work. There was a breathless quiet over
the ship. He could see them standing like shadows, watching the curve
of the narrows.

The Spartans must have stood like that at the Pass of Thermopylae!

And the Athenians on the Plains of Marathon.

And the Americans at Bastogne.

And men anywhere, any time before a battle.

A single, whispering line from an old poem sang through him:

    _Into the Valley of Death rode the six hundred._

There was no alien here but himself.

       *       *       *       *       *

The ominous walls of the narrows closed and filled the sky. Beyond the
curve, some two miles up, the Grimnal ships were slowly beating upwind.
Suddenly, like a touch of fire to old ashes, he knew what he was doing
here. A long imprisoned breath escaped from him, and a great sigh
seemed to come from the whole ship.

Resi turned. Ward could barely make out what must be a smile in that
old Kali face.

"We made it, ho?"

"Just barely, by God. Have the ships string out as planned, with the
lead frigate in the tip of the shadow where the Break turns into the
moonlight. And be careful of noise. It will carry in here like a cannon
shot."

Resi coughed and was gone like a cat.

The _Windsong_ fell dead in the water. The others whispered past like
ghosts. Voices called softly, and the small, shielded signal lights
licked from ship to ship. And the _Windsong_ was alone. Her bows swung
out slightly to allow the foreguns a field of fire. Ward climbed
down from the bridge, strode the water-slick maindeck and gained the
foredeck. The gun crews turned, glanced at him, then turned back. He
could not tell if they were smiling or not. So what. They would have
plenty to smile at in a moment.

The lead first-liner was about a mile now and keeping well to their
side. Ward squinted at the point of the shadow, but there was no light
flickering there that he could see. Damn!

The Grimnal ship looked huge in the moonlight, and the Break behind
it seemed filled with sails. It was nearly abreast of the shadow tip,
still holding to their side, and the tiniest flicker of light danced in
the shadow beside it. Ward grinned. David and Goliath.

The giant first-liner started its slow tum on the very edge of the
shadow, drifting into the dark until only its sails held the moon. The
sails came around, fluttered and filled. The silent hulls came into
sight.

Ward let out a breath, echoed by Resi. The lead liner was well on its
new tack. The next was starting to edge into the shadows, and behind
that was another, and another, and another. Resi muffled a cough.

"You tell when?" he whispered.

Ward nodded. "I'll tell when."

The Grimnal rode closer, the crash of its bow waves sounding louder.
Ship after ship was coasting past the hidden frigate. Ward's excitement
grew to a pounding thing. They would be able to get them all in range.

The sails towered over them. A hundred yards. Almost abreast; just at
the narrowest point. Ward took a deep breath, and said quietly:

"Now."

       *       *       *       *       *

Resi turned and hissed. Steaming liquor trickled down hungry cannon
mouths. Lava balls were softly rammed home. Muzzles came down. Aimed.
The gunners tensed, raised their hammers--and swung.

The night came apart.

A crashing roar racketed through the Break. The walls blasted back
the echo. The _Windsong_ rocked and trembled. Smoke boiled into the
moonlight and dimmed the Grimnal ship. And that was only a small sound.
Over a mile of fire smashed from the shadow and for a quivering second,
it seemed the world had exploded. Then came the thunder, and Ward
flinched.

Waterspouts climbed in the moonlight. Wreckage spun from the Grimnal
ships. Holes splintered in their sides. The _Windsong_ roared again;
the bobbing corvettes answered. And a deafening, mind dulling thunder
covered the break.

And the Grimnal did not answer.

The lightning flared steady now from the Kali line. Resi climbed
halfway up the ratlines for a better look. And still the wounded giants
had not answered. Grimnal were running in all directions on their
decks. Resi let out a howl of sheer triumph.

"They do not have their liquor cooked!" he cried, swinging to the deck.
"We have them with cold guns!"

The Kali cheered, and the firing seemed to cease. Ward was shaking
again, but for a different reason.

"Hey, Resi," he bellowed. "Let's get in there closer."

Sails snapped and the _Windsong_ came alive. She seemed to leap into
the moonlight. Then a corvette appeared beside her, and another, then
two racing side by side into the smoke. And all the Kali were moving.
The _Windsong's_ men were laughing like children, and the water crews
had everything soaked halfway up the mainsails. What people! Ward
laughed, ducking another bucketful. Resi slid to a halt beside him.

"We fool them, ho? We fool them!"

"Closer," Ward yelled. "Under their guns!"

"But they are not firing."

"Under their guns anyway," Ward laughed, and added to himself--away
boarders! A few scattered shots were coming from the Grimnal, ripping
overhead. Ward stood a little taller. The _Windsong_ came about, her
starboard bow nearly slashing the looming first-liner. Ward felt Resi's
hand on his arm.

"It was really _you_ that fool them."

Ward grinned foolishly.

"But _we_ whip them, ho?"

Ward wanted to answer, but it was the starboard guns' turn to speak.






