Chapter Eighteen
Rindosh called a halt to the bombardment after the third volley. The beach where his enemy had been now lay completely hidden by a pall of smoke and dust, and what was the point of repeatedly pulverizing the same stretch of sand over and over again? Most everybeast in the target area who hadn't been incapacitated by the first salvo would have had the opportunity to get clear by now, and the searat captain did not wish to waste his precious stormpowder blasting creatures who were already dead into smaller and smaller pieces.
The moment the first volley was launched, Rindosh clambered up the rigging to the Sharktail's crow's nest to survey the results through his long glass. Before his magnified, one-eyed gaze, the dust and smoke gradually cleared, swirling up toward the dull gray sky and wafting away on the chill ocean breeze. A few scattered woodlanders could still be seen stumbling their way out of the haze up and down the beach, and a number of otters and squirrels stood in the surf out to the depth of their waists or their chests, but these visible survivors were but a small portion of the enemy's total force.
When the veil of death finally lifted to reveal the horrible panorama of carnage, Rindosh was both immensely pleased and mildly disappointed. The nightmarish display of corpses and body parts strewn along the pitted beach was surely enough to haunt any woodland warrior for the rest of its life. But, while it was difficult to estimate the number of dead due to the state of the bodies, Rindosh judged there to be between twoscore and threescore corpses lying upon the ruined coastal plain, and fully half of them looked to be shrews. There were at least a dozen squirrels among the dead, but the searat captain had been primarily targeting those archerbeasts in the first place, and was somewhat disheartened that he hadn't gotten more of them. He could spy only one or two slain otters; most of them seemed to have escaped to the sea at the first sign of trouble.
Rindosh raised his spyglass to search farther inland. Ah, there they were! Numerous patches and flashes of red fur up in the higher dunes. If the otters' first thoughts had been to flee to the water, then it was only natural that the squirrels would instinctively head for higher ground. But it was evident from the way many were sitting, lying, staggering, limping and crawling that injuries were rampant among the survivors. Rindosh smiled to himself. Now that was more like it!
Now, if only there was some way he could get them to all gather together again for one more bombardment as damaging as the first had been. Then, their force would be well-enough decimated that he could just send ashore his fighters to wipe out the rest. Of course, if they all stayed up in the dunes to lick their wounds like they were now, he could just have his gunners recalibrate the catapults to shoot the stormpowder kegs higher up onto the beach. Rindosh was fairly certain his enemy were still within range. He could always just move the Sharktail a little closer to shore if they had to.
The problem was, those crafty squirrels could not be counted on to stay in one spot long enough for him to get another clear shot at them, and they would certainly not congregate in a large group now that they knew how vulnerable that made them. And Rindosh most certainly would not expend his limited stocks of powder trying to annihilate isolated groups of two or three squirrels. He would not use his new superweapon unless he could herd his enemy close together again ...
A thought occurred to the searat commander then. He'd sailed these seas for many seasons, and was very familiar with this coastline north of Salamandastron. Swinging his long glass south, he could make out the flat top of the mountain fortress, still several days' march away; the height of the crow's nest offered him an extensive view of land and sea in all directions. He moved the telescope tube down for a look at the nearer stretches of coastlands. If memory served him correctly ...
Ah, there it was! Less than a day's march south of them, the place he'd remembered: a span of beach where the mountains encroached upon the sea, narrowing the sand above the tideline to a slender file just a few paces wide. If he could get his remaining enemies to that spot, they would be caught with the mountains at their backs, nowhere to run and nowhere to hide, and no escape from another stormpowder barrage. It would be perfect!
Rindosh returned his attention to the woodlanders at paw. Sure enough, all were retreating to higher ground; even the otters and squirrels who'd taken refuge in the surf now made their way one or two at a time out of the sea and up toward the high dunes. And even now they were starting to space themselves out behind the natural sand barriers. Yes, they'd learned their lesson.
"Enjoy yer little rest while y' can, you bloodthirsty hooligans!" Rindosh snarled to himself. "I'll get you on th' move again, you c'n count on that!"
00000000000
Matowick was surprised to find both Klystra and Altidor awaiting him behind the dunes when he and Saybrook finally made their way up to rejoin the others. Lieutenant Perricone, hobbling about on a leg that was at the very least sprained if not outright broken, had taken charge of the regrouping survivors, and had the wherewithal to spread their ranks thin. The Gawtrybe knew a thing or two themselves about the vulnerability of a tightly-packed group of beasts as opposed to those who were widely dispersed.
She threw a paw around her captain's shoulder, as much to support herself as to greet him, relief plain on her face. As they walked toward the two birds, Perricone started to give Matowick her report on the situation, but her words weren't penetrating the ringing in his head, so she leaned closer to him and started over, practically shouting into his ear.
"Captain Flusk is dead," she informed him, "and so is Sergeant Grapentine. The shrews wanted to get right to electing a new acting captain, but I told them they couldn't gather together all in one place for that, so they've put it off for the time being. They hit us pretty hard, sir. At least fifty dead, and nearly that many wounded."
"Bloody fur!" Matowick shouted back. "What about you, Perri? How bad off are you?"
She dismissed his concern. "Oh, a splint and some bandages, and I'll be able to stump along with the best of them, all the way back to Salamandastron! At least they didn't get my shooting paws. Put a searat within arrow range, and I'll be able to take 'im down! I'm just happy to see you and Saybrook. For awhile there I was beginning to think I was the only officer who'd made it outta that mess alive. And I don't think I would've been up to the task."
They had nearly reached the waiting eagle and falcon. Perricone started to lean away from Matowick. "This's where I leave you, Captain. Don't want all our remaining officers in one spot in case one of those kegs comes down on top of us. You'd better come with me too, Captain Saybrook. I'm sure your otters can fill you in on what's been happening with them and the shrews."
"Good thinkin', Perri lass!" the otter commander agreed, letting the injured Gawtrybe lieutenant lean on him. "It'll be a bit of a hassle coordinatin' things 'tween us if we officers can't meet face t' face, but we'll figger somethin' out!"
Matowick watched them go, then went up to the two raptors. "Captain Klystra, what are you doing here? I thought you were with Browder."
The falcon explained - loudly - how he'd seen and heard the searat bombardment even from high above the mountains and plains, and had taken his leave of the freed slaves to see if he could be of assistance to the beleaguered assault force.
"I'm very glad you did," Matowick said, looking at both birds. "One of you must fly straightaway to Salamandastron and let Lord Urthblood know what's happened here. There's a chance that none of us here will survive long enough to reach the mountain, and it is vital that word of this new searat weapon be delivered where it can do some good. And there's no surveillance two of you could do for me that couldn't be done just as well by one of you. At this point, warning Lord Urthblood is more important than what happens to us."
00000000000
Farther down the beach, ensconced behind another dune, Saybrook met with Lieutenant Dranker, the ranking otter from Captain Riveroll's squad, to discuss matters of a more nautical nature.
"That ship's gotta be scuttled," Saybrook announced, "an' that's all there is to it. They could start launchin' more o' them boomer casks at any moment, an' most of our squirrel friends ain't in much shape fer dodgin' 'em this time 'round. If those searat catapults've got th' range t' reach back behind these dunes 'ere, Cap'n Matowick's team could be all but wiped clean out."
"Half-surprised they haven't started already," Dranker commented.
"Well, they prob'ly see how we got ourselves spread out up here. That was good thinkin' on Perricone's part. But it's just a matter o' time 'fore they figger out that some of us are a good share less mobile than others, an' target th' wounded. We're still strong enuff t' fend off any attack force they try 'n' land, but we won't be if they hit us again like they just did. I aim t' have that dreadnought on th' ocean bottom afore that happens."
"Aye, Cap'n." Dranker nodded in complete agreement. "We only lost two otters in that attack, so we're better off than our squirrel an' shrew mateys. Got nearly twoscore, all hale 'n' hearty an' ready when you say th' word, sir."
"Fine. We'll need every one of 'em fer what I got in mind." Saybrook poked his head around the dune to throw a glance seaward. "All th' logboats're where we left 'em, an' so are our breachin' tools. Reckon we got enuff t' put an awl or prybar in th' paws of ev'ry otter here. We're gonna hit that searat ship hard on all sides, an' fill 'er so full o' holes that they won't be able t' plug 'em fast enuff!"
He glanced up the shore to where most of the Gawtrybe were scattered behind the high dunes. "I'm a-worried 'bout them, tho'. Our bushtailed mateys got one officer who can barely hear an' another who can barely walk, an' th' shrews don't have a captain t'all. An' what leaders they do have dare not meet fer safety's sake."
"That's why it's up t' us now, sir," said Dranker.
"Aye. That it is."
One of the birds with whom Matowick had been meeting suddenly took to the wing and flapped its way due south over the otters' heads. "Hey, looks like he's sendin' to Salamandastron fer help," Dranker observed hopefully.
"Yeah, mebbe," said Saybrook, "but I wouldn't count on it arrivin' in time t' do us much good. Not with th' weapons 'n' numbers those searats out there've got. No, whatever happens here is in our paws. An' I fer one ain't goin' down without a fight!"
00000000000
Matowick's hearing was slowly returning. By the time Altidor was on his way south to Salamandastron and Klystra took off to resume his aerial surveillance, the Gawtrybe captain could hear speech spoken at normal conversational tone, although the constant ringing in his ears shrieked like a siren behind everything else. Perhaps some of this hearing damage would be permanent, but he couldn't worry about that when their very lives might prove as impermanent as the next sunset, or sunrise.
A shrew runner hurried up to Matowick. "Sir, Cap'n Saybrook sent me t' tell ya that - "
"You don't have to scream at me," the squirrel interrupted with bad temper that he immediately regretted.
"Um, yes. Yessir. Um, anyways, Cap'n Saybrook wanted me t' tell you that he 'n' his otters're gonna swim out t' attack th' searat ship."
"What?"
"They mean t' smash through its hull an' sink 'er."
"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Matowick demanded.
"Uh ... that's what I'm a-doin' now, Cap'n sir."
Matowick took a deep breath and forced calm upon himself. Of course it wouldn't have been practical to have a full strategy meeting, between his hearing deficit and the conference he'd been holding with the birds, plus the fact that they had to keep their officers apart as much as possible. And of course Saybrook would want to launch his counterstrike right away to benefit them all as much as he could.
"Okay. Thanks for letting me know," he said to the shrew. "Captain Saybrook is in charge of his own team anyway. If he thinks this is the best thing for it, I'll trust his judgment. I just hope it works ... for all our sakes."
The shrew saluted and took his leave of the Gawtrybe commander. Matowick started back toward some of his comrades; he knew he couldn't call any large gathering, but at least he could tour among the survivors to see for himself just how bad things were. He certainly wasn't about to sit on his tail all alone.
An otter approached him. "Uh, sir, a moment, if y' please ... "
Matowick regarded the newcomer. "Why aren't you down with Captain Saybrook getting ready for the assault?"
"Assault?" The otter looked at him blankly, then held up his paws, pointing at the welts around his wrists. "Um, I'm one o' th' slaves, sir, not a soldier ... "
Matowick shook his head. Yes, he recognized the creature now ... Tourki, he believed his name was. That blast must have scrambled his brains worse than he'd realized. "Yes, how can I help you?"
"Well, this ain't what we signed on for, sir. When we agreed t' come with you, we thought we'd be fightin' searats paw t' paw, in honest battle like back at th' lumber mill."
"Not much honest about those seascum ... as you've seen today."
"Yeah, but ... what're we s'posed t' do now? We can't do anything if they're gonna lob stuff at us that rips us limb from limb or throw us inta th' air! If we'd known it was gonna be like this, we woulda gone with the others t' Redwall."
The otter's mildly complaining tone was starting to grate on Matowick. Sure, the former slaves must have all been frazzled and terrified, and understandably so, but Tourki seemed to be looking for a scapegoat, for somebeast to blame. And if he'd set his sights on Matowick for that purpose, he'd picked the wrong squirrel.
"Well, maybe you should have," the Gawtrybe captain retorted.
The frostiness of this response seemed to take Tourki aback. "Hey there ... I lost some friends here t'day!"
"And you think the rest of us haven't?" Matowick marched past the otter to rejoin some real soldiers. "Blame the searats. Don't blame me."
00000000000
The otters sprinted down to the logboats in groups of four at a time in order to avoid putting too many of themselves in catapult range at once. As soon as one team was away with its sheltering canoe between them, the next group would run to the tideline to repeat the procedure. Soon there were nearly a dozen of the logboats being guided out toward the Sharktail, propelled by twoscore otters with vengeance on their minds and the fire of battle burning in their eyes.
When they were halfway to the dreadnought, one of the otters on the right flank of the improvised fleet yelled for Saybrook's attention. "Hey, Cap'n! They're comin' out t' meet us!"
Saybrook and many of his companions looked out to where the first otter pointed. Sure enough, three landing boats fully crewed with about twoscore rats apiece were rowing out from behind the Sharktail.
"Keep pushing for th' main ship!" Saybrook shouted, and every member of his assault team began stroking its rudderlike tail with renewed vigor. The otter captain shook his head as he swam. The searats couldn't possibly have gotten those landing boats loaded and lowered so quickly in response to the approaching otters. These vermin were up something more than just rowing out to intercept Saybrook's squad.
This quickly proved to be the case, as the searat landing boats stayed to the north of the otters, making straight past them for the shore.
"Well, there's their attack force," Saybrook muttered to his three immediate companions. "Guess they figger they softened us up enuff t' launch a shore assault on our squirrel comrades."
"Should we head back an' help 'em?" one of the others asked.
"Naw. There's still a chance those seascum might send more o' them explosive casks ashore, try 'n' get Matowick's squad trapped 'tween bein' blown up and cut down by those rat fighters. We'll stick with the original plan. We gotta sink that ship if we can. That'll remove half th' threat, an' besides, if those vermin on shore see their mother ship a-sinkin', that might take a lotta th' fight outta their blood."
And so the otters pushed on toward their target while the searats in their landing boats rowed on toward the shore.
00000000000
Captain Rindosh saw his shorebound warriors off with immense satisfaction. All the pieces were falling into place ...
"Cap'n, sir," Bodor asked for the second time, voice growing more anxious by the moment, "what're we gonna do 'bout them otters? They're headin' straight fer us!"
Rindosh joined his panicky first mate at the port railing. "Clearly they mean to attack ... prob'ly gonna try 'n' hole us like they did th' landin' boats. But we'd better get some archers an' swordsrats at ev'ry rail port 'n' starboard, in case they try t' board us."
"You jus' sent most o' our best archers ashore ... " Bodor pointed out.
"Where they'll be needed, if it comes to a fight," Rindosh snapped. "There are still over two hundred rats aboard the Sharktail, an' near ev'ry one of 'em knows how t' handle a weapon. If those otters try 'n' force their way aboard, they'll be slaughtered. An' they prob'ly know it."
The searat captain gazed out at the approaching logboats. With the otters swimming alongside them to guide and propel the tiny craft, submerged except for their heads, it almost looked from this distance as if a fleet of empty ghost logboats was closing in on the Sharktail.
"They'll prob'ly use those boats t' hide b'hind fer shelter when they hafta come up fer air," Rindosh mused aloud. "No way our archers'll be able t' get clear shots at 'em."
"Then what'll we do? That many otters'll be able t' put holes in our hull faster'n we c'n patch 'em!"
"I highly doubt that, Bodor."
"Yeah, well, mebbe they got sumpthin' like stormpowder o' their own, Cap'n. Somethin' they did caused th' Scorpiontail t' sink!"
"True. But we have somethin' the Scorpiontail didn't." A wide, fangy grin spread across Rindosh's face. "It's time we tried out our other secret weapon. Bodor ... make ready the Butcher Buoy!"