Read Online The Guns of Two-Space by Dave Grossman, Bob Hudson - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Dave Grossman, Bob Hudson
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Barlet said with a salute as he departed.
Melville returned the salute and turned to his coxswain. "Ulrich, get me Elphinstone, Brother Theo, Valandil, Westminster, Asquith, and Broadax, asap. And the first officer and the sailing master as well."
"Aye, sir! Da skurgeon, da pursker, da rangersk, da earthwurm, da marine el tee, da firsk osskifer, and da skailingk masker, cumingk up!"
Cuthbert Asquith XVI had wandered to the lower quarterdeck, where he now stood beside Lt. Fielder. The little earthling's tension was almost unbearable as the Captain Melville completed his inspection tour and the Fang began to approach the first Guldur Ship.
The crew members were using this time to rotate into the "heads" where they could drop their body waste into two-space. Even veteran warriors were experiencing the "stress diarrhea" that almost always happened before combat, and they knew to take this opportunity. Otherwise, in the heat of battle it would turn into explosive stress diarrhea.
Asquith could not tolerate the long, companionable silences that were so common among the crew. He had to talk, and so he turned to Fielder. "I guess everyone must be eager to put all that practice at shooting to work now. Ready for more death-defying feats, eh?" he asked.
"You mean more not so death-defying feats," scowled the first officer. "We've lost a lot of good men in our past battles and more will die today. Sometimes death won't be defied. My Grandma BenGurata always put it this way. Take out a $50 gold piece."
The bewildered earthling put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.
"You got one?" Fielder continued grimly. "Good, good. Now let's make a bet. If I win, I get to keep all your money. If you win, you get to keep it. You like that bet?"
"No, no. I... I don't think so."
"Well, that is a gunfight. And that is combat. You risk everything, and you don't win anything. You just get to keep what you have. You can't win an extra life, and you might lose the only one you have."
Asquith was turning white with fear and Fielder was beginning to feel just a tiny bit better, so he continued in this vein. "I don't care what flavor of gun you have. I don't care how well trained you are. There is always a chance you will lose everything. That is combat. So avoid it, at all costs. But if you can't avoid it, then by God you better be good. And as warriors—sailors, marines, rangers—it is, unfortunately, our job to go in harm's way, and we would be very, very foolish warriors if we were not ready for the moment of truth. In the end, the steely confidence that comes with training, and a firm willingness to blow your potential opponent's brains into a fine pink mist will hopefully serve as a sufficient deterrent."
Fielder's brand of misery did love companionship, and the first officer continued with a grim smile. "This time deterrence didn't work. The enemy is attacking, and we don't have any choice except to fight. So we fight. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be able to keep our lives. Maybe. But if you are not lucky you'll be smashed into a bloody mass by a cannonball, or blown out into Flatland where you'll bounce once and then pop into interstellar space, to die a hideous, painful death in the cold, merciless vacuum."
Asquith looked like he was ready to vomit with fear and nausea, but Fielder was feeling quite a bit better. In the midst of his gloom, seeing someone who was even more frightened than himself always created a small sunbeam of satisfaction that was completely undimmed by any sense of shame.
Just then Ulrich came and stood at the foot of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. "Cap'kin says firsk osskifer an' da earthwurm ta repork ta him in da lower bow. Sir." Then he sketched what might generously be considered a salute as he turned to get the others that the captain had sent for.
"Well," said Fielder, not bothering to return a salute to Ulrich's rapidly departing back, "it looks like you'll have a front row seat for
Melville returned the salute and turned to his coxswain. "Ulrich, get me Elphinstone, Brother Theo, Valandil, Westminster, Asquith, and Broadax, asap. And the first officer and the sailing master as well."
"Aye, sir! Da skurgeon, da pursker, da rangersk, da earthwurm, da marine el tee, da firsk osskifer, and da skailingk masker, cumingk up!"
Cuthbert Asquith XVI had wandered to the lower quarterdeck, where he now stood beside Lt. Fielder. The little earthling's tension was almost unbearable as the Captain Melville completed his inspection tour and the Fang began to approach the first Guldur Ship.
The crew members were using this time to rotate into the "heads" where they could drop their body waste into two-space. Even veteran warriors were experiencing the "stress diarrhea" that almost always happened before combat, and they knew to take this opportunity. Otherwise, in the heat of battle it would turn into explosive stress diarrhea.
Asquith could not tolerate the long, companionable silences that were so common among the crew. He had to talk, and so he turned to Fielder. "I guess everyone must be eager to put all that practice at shooting to work now. Ready for more death-defying feats, eh?" he asked.
"You mean more not so death-defying feats," scowled the first officer. "We've lost a lot of good men in our past battles and more will die today. Sometimes death won't be defied. My Grandma BenGurata always put it this way. Take out a $50 gold piece."
The bewildered earthling put his hand in his pocket and pulled out a gold coin.
"You got one?" Fielder continued grimly. "Good, good. Now let's make a bet. If I win, I get to keep all your money. If you win, you get to keep it. You like that bet?"
"No, no. I... I don't think so."
"Well, that is a gunfight. And that is combat. You risk everything, and you don't win anything. You just get to keep what you have. You can't win an extra life, and you might lose the only one you have."
Asquith was turning white with fear and Fielder was beginning to feel just a tiny bit better, so he continued in this vein. "I don't care what flavor of gun you have. I don't care how well trained you are. There is always a chance you will lose everything. That is combat. So avoid it, at all costs. But if you can't avoid it, then by God you better be good. And as warriors—sailors, marines, rangers—it is, unfortunately, our job to go in harm's way, and we would be very, very foolish warriors if we were not ready for the moment of truth. In the end, the steely confidence that comes with training, and a firm willingness to blow your potential opponent's brains into a fine pink mist will hopefully serve as a sufficient deterrent."
Fielder's brand of misery did love companionship, and the first officer continued with a grim smile. "This time deterrence didn't work. The enemy is attacking, and we don't have any choice except to fight. So we fight. Maybe, if we're lucky, we'll be able to keep our lives. Maybe. But if you are not lucky you'll be smashed into a bloody mass by a cannonball, or blown out into Flatland where you'll bounce once and then pop into interstellar space, to die a hideous, painful death in the cold, merciless vacuum."
Asquith looked like he was ready to vomit with fear and nausea, but Fielder was feeling quite a bit better. In the midst of his gloom, seeing someone who was even more frightened than himself always created a small sunbeam of satisfaction that was completely undimmed by any sense of shame.
Just then Ulrich came and stood at the foot of the ladder leading up to the quarterdeck. "Cap'kin says firsk osskifer an' da earthwurm ta repork ta him in da lower bow. Sir." Then he sketched what might generously be considered a salute as he turned to get the others that the captain had sent for.
"Well," said Fielder, not bothering to return a salute to Ulrich's rapidly departing back, "it looks like you'll have a front row seat for
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