Coggler's Brood (Work in Progress)

Chapter 13

The frigate, disguised as a trader, is still limping along, waiting to spring it's surprise broadside of guns. In doing so, they have seeded the advantage of higher air to ourselves and I fully intend to use this strategic advantage to its maximum.

Preparations are complete: boarding, scavenging and raiding parties assigned; weapons distributed, numerous ropes measured out to exact lengths; instructions spelled out ad-nauseum and in minute detail. The success of this battle plan, if success there is to be, lies in good preparation, perfect timing, and everyone sticking to their allotted tasks.

All this while the Shonti Bloom still trails the trader above and as close to the tail of their blimp as possible. We slowly adjust our altitude to the desired height, just beyond rifle range.

The trader, meanwhile, does not remained idle. Aware we are up to something, they try to shake us off and bring their devastating guns to bear. Finally, they have removed the bulwarks hiding the rows of military cannon to reveal their true nature. They have bared their teeth.

All pretense is over. Now it's a game of cunning, who can outsmart who. A game of sparrow and hawk.

The trader banks first to port, then to starboard, and then back to port, but Magnus is on it. His spotters track the trader's sail tells and his years of experience show as he anticipates each of the enemy's next moves. We are ready.

Normally, the captain would remain on deck directing the battle, but as the only proponents of Gun Kate, Anabella and I will lead the first attack wave. Our task, to clear the enemy's quarterdeck.

I pick up the speaking tube.

"Gears here, Captain"

"Take us forward, Scud, Increase speed by a quarter."

"Aye, aye, Captain."

Then he surprises me with a thought so unlike Scud it reveals the true odds of our success. "If you have a god, Nina's, now would be a good time to pray."

Do I have a god? Certainly I believe in a maker of the universe, a bringer of life, but a god that cares whether I live or die? I don't know. Now is not the time to ponder such momentous issues; now is a time for razor-sharp focus and discipline, concentrating only on the task at hand.

Still, I wait respectfully while Ms Steenkamph invokes the blessing of all three of her gods. In a leather-bound box brought up from her cabin sit three ugly brass statues, Coggler, Goggler, and Nerf—the Reaver gods. The crew watch intently as Anabella makes her offerings: grease for Coggler, absinthe for Goggler, blood from a fresh cut on her hand for Nerf, the god of war.

If there is a god who cares about me, I doubt if they would be impressed by Anabella's mumbo-jumbo. The crew, however, place great importance on these rituals. Whether Anabella believes it herself it another matter.

As soon as the gods are packed back in their crate and taken below, I turn to the assembled crew. "Jack, release the snipers."

The attack is on.

Sharpshooter, in slings and hammocks, are lowered over the bow, to take out anyone on the enemy's crow's nest. For this plan to work, the trader must be blind to what we do next.

A brief exchange of fire follows, before Jack reports. "Crow's nest cleared, Captain. You are good to go,"

I step to the quarterdeck rail and join Anabella.

A sailor lowers a rope over the side. Cautiously, I climb down the rope and place my foot in one of six ➿loops clustered at the end. I pull out both pistols and check they are loaded, then re-holster and grip the rope with both sweaty hands. Around me Anabella and four crew do the same.