A Tale Of Two Secrets: A Steampunk Serial

Chapter 9

You must not fight too often with one enemy, or you will teach him all your art of war.

- Napoleon Bonaparte 

"Hurry, boys!" Brasch urged the men assigned to Jo's gun. "Take out as many as you can before they come into striking distance. Close combat against these buggers is no treat, believe you me."

"Aye, sir." Jo worked as quickly as she could to pour gunpowder into the muzzle of the cannon. The carronade was a squat gun designed to launch heavy shot into the center of a swarm of wasps and smash it apart. It's short-barrelled design sacrificed some of the range and accuracy of longer guns, but it could be operated by fewer men, and the Swallow could only carry so much weight.

Jo shoved a wad of cloth into the barrel of the gun and rammed the powder home with a long metal rod, then stepped back so Henry could load the shot. She rammed another wad of cloth into the carronade to hold the cannonball in place. Then she, Henry, and two other crewmen heaved on the tackles to run out the gun and settle it into firing position at the railing of the ship. The scent of gunpowder filled her nostrils and the air was alive with the sound of men's shouts and the relentless beating of thousands of sets of enormous wings.

The gun-captain stepped up to the rear of the gun and sighted along its barrel. He stepped out of range of the gun's recoil and pulled a rope to engage the flintlock firing mechanism. The shot exploded out of the barrel with a deafening ka-boom and the recoil sent the gun rocketing backward until it was stopped short by the breech rope that held the cannon in place.

Wasps were blasted apart as the cannonball struck its target and Jo was surprised and sickened at the sound their bodies made as they were torn apart. Pieces of wasp flew in all directions. Their carapaces didn't crack cleanly; instead the insects were ripped limb from limb with a fleshy thud.

"I didn't know their blood would be yellow," Jo said thinly.

"It's not blood. It's called haemolymph." Everett had returned from his run to inform the captain of the attack and stood at her elbow. He looked as pale and sick to his stomach as Jo felt. "It's mostly water and it carries hormones and amino acids throughout their bodies."

"Nobody cares about the color of their blood," the gun-captain shouted at them. "Get back to work, damn you!"

"Aye, sir!" Jo and Henry sprang into action. A well-trained crew could fire a carronade every minute and a half. With raw recruits like her and Henry on the gun, they'd be lucky to manage a shot every two and a half.

The ship swooped into a sudden dive as Jo lifted the powder keg to the mouth of the carronade and she stumbled. She would have spilled the powder if Henry hadn't caught her by the arms and steadied her.

"We're taking evasive action," Everett said as he handed Jo a wad of cotton. "I heard the captain issuing orders. We don't have enough firepower on board to defeat an offshoot this size, so our only hope is to outrun them."

Jo put the thought of what would happen if the Swallow wasn't fast enough out of her mind as Henry loaded the carronade with another heavy iron ball. The ship dipped again as she rammed the wadding into the barrel and helped heave the gun into place once more. The gun-captain sighted his target, pulled the cord, and ka-boom! The gun rang out again. 

Jo lost track of time as she and the rest of the gun crew settled into a rhythm of loading, firing, and re-loading the carronade. Sweat poured down her face, soaked her back, and pooled in her shoes. Her arms, legs, and back ached and she thought she might drop dead from the physical strain of it. Never in her life had she experienced such pain and fatigue.