Chapter 8: Sideways
An excerpt from Life of a Sailor by Peter Wilson, year 223.
…The life of a refueler is a tediously boring one, punctuated at one end by the joyous life of leave in Caul or Obo or Pesabert or some other far-flung locale and on the other by the tiresome, demanding, and dangerous chore of refueling. In between those two extremes, the refueler might spend his day cleaning hoses. He may find himself checking for leaks and then fixing them. Possibly he might be tasked to paint or clean or lubricate some portion of the vessie that has nothing to do with his job of refueling. Sometimes a refueler will even be assigned to fill in for an ill cook, or assist in the engine bay. They are by far the single most abused position on the crew, with respect to being called on to do odd tasks, as when they are not refueling, they simply have nothing else to do.
If a refueler has completed all their refueling related tasks and is not loaned out to some other sector of the vessie, he is left with precious little to occupy the days and weeks that pass between leaving port and his crew’s turn at refueling the fleet. Crews will often play intricate card games that require days to finish. Others might spend their time strolling the decks, challenging one another to contests of strength and stamina. Coming alongside another refueling vessie is an occasion to taunt the other crew that is not to be missed. Needless to say, they are often grateful to be loaned out, provided the chore is not spectacularly demeaning.
When refueling does finally occur, it is a fever-pitched affair. The nozzle and hose must be hoisted from its storing place, five strong men scurry across a gangplank to the other vessie’s gas cap, use all their might to spin it free, then stab the nozzle down in the receptacle. Back on board the refueler, valves are turned and fuel begins to flow. Once the tank is full, the process is reversed, and the crew flies back across to their vessie to await the next customer. Ten times, at least, in the span of an hour. Sometimes they will complete the cycle fifteen times in a refueling. More often than not, this will not exhaust their fuel supplies, and they will wait until the next refueling before going to resupply. And resupply does not automatically equate to a leave. Equally often, the refueler will simply stop at a refinery, then rendezvous with the fleet.
If this seems a little benign to your thinking, consider this. The threat of being crushed between the two vessies by an inattentive pilot is a near constant circumstance. Falling is a real danger, and while it is rarely fatal, it typically injures the poor worker to a degree that ends their cruise (and reduces the wages the navy affords them). Additionally, the hazards of working with fuel permeate the situation. Gasoline has a disorienting, nauseating effect on the sailors, such that they must wear a mask to avoid being thoroughly intoxicated. It is, of course, highly flammable, but it’s far more common that the skin suffers a chemical burn from the liquid being spilled than from the horrific fires that make the newspapers.
Port leave is another matter altogether…
Caterina took the seat at the rear of the bridge, looking down at the women piloting the Mobile II. Sailor Jones stood at the helm, with Anderson right next to her, should she need a little extra muscle. “Keep her steady, Jones, these curves can be deceiving.” The Mace swayed side to side ahead of them, heading toward the fuel stop.
To the port side of the helm stood the brake crew, four young women at the ready. Their station had three levers, the parking brake, the driving brake, and a lever marked “all stop.” To the starboard of the helm stood the four-woman crew that controlled the accelerator. They used a single lever to control, but throttle adjustments happened more often than braking maneuvers. “Set throttle to fifteen percent.” Time to slow down and pull into the little clearing where they would refuel. The Mobile II once lavished in the luxury of a cruise control, but the electronics in it went bad a year ago. Maybe the crews would repair it during the next full overhaul.
“Aye Captain, throttle at fifteen percent.” Behind Caterina sat the communications room. There, glass windows overlooked the bridge, and a Sailor stood at the ready to relay any commands. Inside you could find three systems, a public address system to speak to the Sailors on board; a CB radio to communicate with the fleet and nearby towns, and a shortwave to communicate with Caul. “Any luck raising the Mace, Ensign Hearn?” At the moment, the radios refused to function. If the Ensign on duty couldn’t solve it before refueling started, Caterina would have to look into it.
“No ma’am, we’ve lost all communications, Commander.” To the starboard of the comm room, a passage went down beneath the deck, where the transmission crew waited, hanging on a suspended platform. The crew, including the young lady that relayed orders down to them, consisted of five Sailors on the Mobile II, the strongest girls on board. High above the deck perched a spotter’s nest, with two Sailors looking out, along with two more on the bridge and four each on little platforms hanging off either side of the vessie.
“Let me know when you make contact. Make throttle zero percent. Stand ready at the brake.” They rounded the final turn and began to coast up a little hill toward what the giants once called a roadside park. Trees grew up where the tables once sat, screening the parking area from view. The Sailors responded, confirming Caterina’s orders. “Jones, take a wider line than the Mace did, try to miss that pothole.”
The moon shined bright and nearly full tonight, but the parking area hid, mostly shaded. They coasted in, directly behind the Mace. One of the lookouts on the starboard side called out, “Vessie, starboard side!! Commander!” Caterina looked up. She could not see it, too dark. Out of nowhere, her emerald eyes caught the moon’s reflection off of a windshield, and she saw them. Many vessies, there, waiting.
“All stop! All stop! All stop!” She leaped to her feet shouting, and the brake crew complied. Deep below decks, waited a spring-loaded bolt, pointed directly at the brake pedal. Pulling the all-stop lever did not tug on the brakes, it released that bolt. The bolt completely depressed the brake pedal in less time than you need to take a step. It then would need rewinding by the brake crew up on the bridge. It stopped the ship quicker than anything short of hitting a brick wall. It also guaranteed that ninety percent of the Sailors on board would need to pick themselves up off the floor after its use.
Caterina joined that ninety percent with a thud. She looked up to where she saw the blacked-out vessies a moment before. Suddenly, the air all around the Mace erupted with orange flame. The sound of gunfire rang off the trees. The jolt of the all-stop landed Caterina on the floor directly behind the helm. She stepped up and grabbed the wheel. Jones joined her. “Full port Jones!” She left Jones to it. The Mace received fire from both sides. “Retract the brake, throttle crew, help them!” Caterina bounced up the steps and stuck her head in the comm room. “Sound the alarm, battle stations! And get the radios fixed.”
Caterina stood, not sure what would come next. She needed to get her vessie out of the trap set for them. All throughout the ship, emergency lights came on, blinked out three times then stayed on. The radio officer’s voice sounded out over the PA “All personnel, Battle Stations, Battle Station, Battle Stations. We are under attack.”
The spotters above the bridge shouted out. “Two vessies, approaching both sides!” Caterina turned and saw them, rolling towards her, to catch her between them.
“Transmission crew, reverse, reverse, reverse!” The reply came, with more than a little fear. “Throttle crew, back to your station.” She felt the car jump as it shifted into reverse. Caterina stepped forward to lean on the rail. The throttle crew scrambled back to their lever. “Pulse throttle, fifty percent.” The Sailors shoved on their lever until it stood straight up, then pulled it back to where they started. The engine fought hard against the partially engaged all-stop and the Mobile II slung itself backward. The bridge shuddered as the nose of the vessie swung around to starboard. The brake crew struggled to retract the all-stop.
“Jones, hard to Starboard! Transmission crew, drive drive drive!” This time the shift took longer, and the relay Sailor scurried below the deck. Caterina looked at the vessies as they approached. The one on her starboard moved in fast to cut her off, while the other made a hard turn to its port, trying to line up a shot. It would be a long shot, but a thousand kilos of fuel made for an easy target. Caterina knew the urgency of the situation, that she must get her vessie and her Sailors away from the ambush, above all else.
Finally, the vessie went into drive with a loud thunk. “Full Throttle.” The brake still held on, but barely. The closer of the attacking vessies now loomed directly in front of them. The other closed in, nearly in line to take its shot. The rear wheels began to spin, then smoke, and finally, scream. The back of the Mobile II fishtailed and slid out to the port side. A tremendous blast rocked the vessie as she took a broadside barrage. In that instant, the Sailors working to retract the all-stop succeeded. Now free from her own brakes, the Mobile II charged around, slamming into the blocking vessie, backside first. “Dead ahead, Jones, hold her steady!!”
Her wheels spun an instant more before she pulled away from the attacker, but not before the other vessie laid into her with a hastily aimed volley. All four tires went out on the Mobile II within an instant of one another. The vessie jumped and shook. “Zero Throttle. Hold steady Jones!” The wheel literally lifted Jones in the air and slammed her down knocking her to her knees. Caterina rushed to help, but before she reached the spinning helm, the deck fell out from under her. She felt an awkward sense of weightlessness, then suddenly the far wall came rushing at her and smacked her into the windshield. The world whirled around her and she closed her eyes and pulled her arms up around her head.
When Caterina opened her eyes, the vessie lay on its side. She stood up from the place she’d landed on the port side window. Her straight red hair had come out of its bun and the seam on her coat ripped from arm to waist, gaping open in an uncomfortable way.
She turned toward the rear of the vessie. The Mobile II looked like it would never refuel again, but she needed to spread the word, to warn the fleet. “Comm!! Can you hear me? Ensign Hearn?” They also needed to go into damage control, prevent a fire, and send out a mayday. The room that once sat directly behind her now hung twenty feet up in the air. She walked closer to the wall. “Comm!” Hearn stuck her head out. “Get on the PA, I need all systems shut down immediately!”
“Aye Commander.” The Ensign’s head disappeared back into the office. A moment later her voice sounded out on the loudspeaker. “All personnel, emergency shut down. All systems; shut down. I say again. Emergency shut down. All systems must be shut down.”
Caterina looked around her. The four girls from the throttle crew stood there, and three of the brake crew. She looked up to see the fourth still clutching onto her lever. “You, up there! Jackson! Tell the transmission crew to kill the ignition. Can you do that?” Sailor Jackson nodded and started yelling toward the deck she hung next to. In a moment, the deck started shouting back.
Sailor Cooke, one of the throttle crew, called for her. When Caterina turned, Sailor Jones lay in a pool of blood, face down on the cracked window. Caterina took a step, but paused. She looked off to her right, where the port side spotters should have stood. She saw no sign of them, none on the starboard side either. One of the high spotters limped around, but she didn’t see the other. The engine sputtered and stopped. Hopefully, the mechanics managed to shut it off, but it seemed just as likely that the engine died.
Catherina knew medical care could not help Jones, but she also knew a few things about leadership. “Get her to the infirmary, quick. Take Key too, the one over there.” Cooke moved quickly to follow orders. A voice came drifting down from the suspended member of the brake crew. Caterina shouted back to her. “You’ll have to jump.”
Caterina drew a long, deep breath. She ought to think, to form a plan. The brake hand landed with a loud thunk behind her. She heard the sound of an approaching vessie. “Comm! Ensign Hearn!”
The Comm officer stuck her head back out the door. “Aye Commander?” A trickle of blood came from Hearn’s forehead.
“Are the radios working?” Caterina needed to call the rest of the fleet. She needed to call for help, but also needed to warn the others of the ambush.
“No ma’am, the radios are still all static. I’ll try again.” The Ensign began to duck back in before Caterina stopped her.
“What about the horn? Is the horn working?” It could not replace a radio, but it might get their attention. Maybe it would stop the vessie from driving into the trap. The lights of the oncoming vessie shown through the windshield at the far corner of the bridge.
“I’ll check.“ Hearn disappeared again.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Caterina looked around her. “You, Baker, come here.” One of the Sailors from the brake crew jogged over to her. “This, right here, is my new command post.” Caterina pointed at the glass beneath them. “I’m going to call for damage reports, and people are going to come looking for me with questions.” The horn interrupted Caterina. For a split second, it blew loud and clear. Next, it wavered before a loud pop muffled it to a buzz. The buzz came and went, twice more, but no horn. The headlights grew brighter as the vessie drew near. Hearn’s head appeared at the door again. “No horn ma’am.”
Caterina sighed, then turned. “Call for damage reports, delivered to the port side of the bridge. And drop down paper and a pen. And get the radio working!” Hearn acknowledged the command and ducked back into the comm room. The lights on the windshield faded as the vessie passed them. “Now Baker, I’ve got to get a look at what’s going on, so you stay here.” A notebook plopped down behind Caterina. They could hear the Whybarrian vessie’s tires on the asphalt, it turned in. “And take down all the damage reports, the questions, everything. I’ll send runners back to report my location, and if something comes up that needs my immediate attention, send a runner to me.”
“All personnel bring damage reports to the portside bridge immediately. I say again, damage reports to the port side bridge.” Now a faint red glow filled the bridge, as the vessie slowed.
“You keep the one Sailor from the brake crew with you, I’ll take the other and the throttle crew. Understand?” Baker nodded.
“Aye, Commander.” Caterina could see the fear in the young woman’s eyes.
“Look, we’re going to handle this. We’re going to get this vessie moving again and warn the fleet, you understand.” Baker nodded, trembling a little, but nodded all the same. Caterina turned curtly, her disheveled hair orbiting her head. She shouted, “Follow me, throttle crew.” She made her way toward a small door that led into the engine compartment. As she picked her way over a crumpled wooden beam, the night erupted with a thunderous sound. In the distance, engines revved and tires squealed. Before she reached the door, another booming volley fired. She ducked into the engine compartment.
“Ensign Davis!” Caterina called out for the officer in charge of the mechanics. “Hello, Ensign Davis!” A hose hissed, and the exhaust manifold popped as it cooled. The noises of the engine compartment drowned out all the battle, save an occasional clang.
The response came from above her. “Over here ma’am, I’m afraid I can’t come down just this second.” The mechanics worked to secure a pipe that seemed to gush oil.
“That’s fine Ensign. When we get back upright, do you think you can get her running again?” Caterina stepped in a slick spot as she moved to better see the mechanic.
“Ah, well I haven’t seen anything too badly damaged yet. We’re going to be low on oil; hopefully, we have some extra left in the back. Aw! hold that part still, Macintosh!” Oil splashed down, covering one of the throttle crew. “Sorry ma’am, we’ll have this done in a jiff and I’ll have a better idea.”
Caterina started walking toward a hatch that opened onto the hood deck. “I want her ready to roll, we’re going to get her back on four wheels and we’ll need to be able to leave when we do.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Caterina walked over to the hatch and swung it open. She knew that every moment the fleet drove closer to the waiting battle. She jumped down from the hatch and nearly pitched forward when she landed. The ground squished underfoot and the smell of gasoline lingered in her nose. A cool breeze rustled in from the south and the moon still showed, but it steadily slipped toward the west. Outside she could hear the enemy vessies idling in the dark. She turned and shouted up to one of the throttle crew following her.
“Run back and let Baker know, I’m going to inspect the storage tanks. Have her send another runner to meet me at the rear.” The other three Sailors hopped down and they began picking their way through the tall grass and weed trees. They headed toward the huge fuel tank.
“Commander, what happened?” One of the Sailors asked as she bent back a vine for Caterina to pass through. Soon, the soft ground transitioned to a puddle. It didn’t seem like water to Caterina. The gas smell grew even stronger.
“Stay out of the puddles if you can.” She told the group, then replied to the Sailor “What do you mean, Hudson?” They came out of a clump of grass and could see into the bridge. The emergency lighting showed Baker and the runner, talking, off to the left a few other Sailors waited, no doubt with damage reports to give.
“I mean, who attacked us, and why? And where are we? Why did the vessie flip?” They made their way past the windshield, toward the vessie’s roof. The mixture they trudged through clearly contained gasoline, no doubt about it now, and it grew deeper with every step.
“Well Hudson, I don’t know who attacked us, I would guess the reason is they wanted us dead or at least out of commission. We’re in a ditch, and the reason we’ve flipped is because we hit a ditch going really fast, with some, if not all, of our tires flat. What is that, over there?” Caterina pointed off away from the wreck. Something made a sort of straight line, lying in the brush.
A rusty old piece of metal, sticking out of the ground and bent over sharply, crossed the water near them. Hudson recognized it. “It’s a road reflector.”
“Well, for us it’s a bridge over troubled waters. Let’s head for it and see if we can cross this mess with it.” Caterina plunged toward the bar. The others slogged along behind her. In the distance, another Whybarrian battle vessie’s engine became vaguely audible. “The who and why and how; none of that is really important right now. What’s important is getting this vessie back on all fours and getting out of here.” She scampered up onto the rusty metal. The wind seemed to gust more as she struggled to balance.
“How are we going to do that, ma’am?” The old reflector post did not take them exactly where they needed to go, it ran diagonal to the Mobile II, but it did cross the little stream of gas and water that collected at the bottom of the ditch. They teetered along it, the sound of the vessie slowly growing louder.
“You let me worry about things like that, Hudson. You make sure I get where I’m going, and make sure that when I send you with a message, it gets delivered.” They reached the faded yellow square and slid down into the mud.
The approaching vessie rounded the corner. The lights brightened the ditch without shining directly on the Mobile II. They turned and walked on the driest ground they could find, back towards the tanks at the rear of the vessie. Caterina could hear the trickling up ahead of them. Hudson spoke up again. “But what about the other vessies, like the one coming in now?”
Caterina reached her mental limit. “What do you want me to do, Hudson? Send you out into the street? So you could get crushed, while they zoom by, never even seeing you? Or should I light this whole damn mess on fire, that way, everyone on board dies and our vessies stop right where the enemy wants them, blinded and preoccupied by our charred hulk? Is that what I should do? Or do you have some magic beans that can make this stinking mess better?” Hudson froze.
A woman in red armor stepped out from behind a clump of grass, her double-handed sword held high. “Stop, who’s there?” She barked at the little group.
Caterina didn’t miss a beat. “Commander Debacca, Executive Officer of the WNV Mobile II, who are you?”
The reply came a little more hesitantly than the initial inquiry. “Security Sailor Awbery, ma’am.” The approaching vessie zoomed past, leaving the little group with precious little light. “Ah, how can I help you, ma’am?” The sound of wheels sliding along loose gravel let them know another vessie had entered the trap.
“Who posted you here?” Caterina stepped closer, straining to see the Sailor in the dark.
“Commander Smith sent us out, she told us to create a perimeter.” The Sailor suddenly realized her sword still hung in the air and lowered it with a hint of hesitation.
The vessie pulling into the roadside park noticed the ambush earlier than the one before. Caterina could hear the engine roar as it went to full throttle, then the sound of steel crushing together followed by a salvo, followed by a second. She leaned in toward the guard and shouted over the noise. “Where’s Smith now?”
They heard more engine revving and some tire screeching, but after a third thunderous round of gunfire, the engine sounded different, and soon slowed, before squealing to a stop. “She set up her command post on top of an oil tank, there, sticking out of the water, behind the cab.” Awbery pointed to the outline of an overturned storage tank.
The engine in the distance died out, but the sound of swords crashing together faintly drifted to the little group. Caterina turned and shouted, “Hudson, come here.” The Sailor came jogging, splashing as she did. “Run to that tank over there and tell Commander Smith to meet me at the rear of the vessie as soon as she can get away.”
Another volley ripped through the air, drowning out Hudson’s response. She headed off in the direction of the storage tank, slipping in the mud as she went.
Caterina turned back to Sailor Awbery, “Continue your post.” She led the remaining throttle crew towards the vessie.
The ground at the back of the vessie remained dry and firm, with a few rocks to walk on. Another round of fire came from the distant battle. Caterina made it far enough back to see the flash. She could vaguely make out the word Sword painted on the side of the vessie as it rocked with each enemy blast.
Sailor Jackson, the runner Baker sent to meet her, stood next to the rear deck where it struck the ground, still panting from her run through the tilted vessie. “Commander, I have your damage reports.” She held them out. Next to the runner stood the officer in charge of the refueling team. Caterina couldn’t quite remember her name. A few feet off, the refueling crew stood, watching the distant battle and gawking up at the wreck.
“You hold on to those Jackson, I’ll have you read them out shortly.” The refueler held the rank of Commander. Hence the dark brown shirt she wore, the same as Caterina’s. The refueler opted not to wear her jacket tonight. The breeze sliding through the ripped grey tweed made Caterina glad she wore her coat. “I’m sorry Commander, what’s your name?” She had a medium build, close to Caterina’s size, with short brown hair.
“Jenkins, Commander Debacca, I’m Commander Jenkins, refueling OIC.” The Sword proved a tougher target than the previous Whybarrian vessies, unleashing a barrage from her lower gun decks that rocked the two vessie’s attacking her. In the flash of light, Caterina looked for a name on the attackers, but she could make out only numbers.
“That’s right. I’m sorry. What’s your status report, Commander Jenkins?” The refueler eyed her warily. In the quiet the guns left behind Caterina could hear the fuel gently bubbling inside its massive tank.
“I’m sorry Commander, I thought we were of equal rank. Why am I reporting to you, right after you came traipsing out of the grass?” Jenkins sneered a little as she asked, and stood a hair taller when she finished it.
Caterina stepped forward. They did not have time for this. Her duty demanded she right the vessie and stop the fleet; but in order to do that, she must squash the silly rivalry. Instinctively, Caterina stood at attention and laid into Jenkins. A fire burned in Caterina’s green eyes. “Commander Jenkins, I held tactical control of this vessie, as the officer in charge of the bridge, when we were attacked and wrecked! Therefore, as we are wrecked, I retain tactical control of this vessie, regardless of where my duties might take me, until I am relieved by a superior, unable to continue, or give the order to abandon the Mobile II! None of these have occurred, so all personnel of this ship, except my superiors, are to obey my orders. If you can’t do that, for whatever reason, I will have you replaced by the next most senior, competent refueler. Am I understood, Jenkins?!” A backfire punctuated the tirade as the Sword tried to start its engine.
Jenkins slid into the position of attention shortly after Caterina called her name. The smirk disappeared, and she replied with the only answer Caterina left as an option. “Aye Commander!”
“Now I’ve got to get this vessie back on its wheels and rolling down the road, before the entire fleet rolls into this slaughter, one by one. And to do that, I need to know what the situation is back here.” Another enemy barrage fired, and the Sword silenced again.
“Yes ma’am, the fuel tank’s got holes all in it; it’ll be empty in a few minutes.” Jenkins remained at attention as she launched into her damage report.
“Is the fuel going to catch fire?” Caterina began to let up.
“No ma’am, the wind is keeping the fumes from building up, and with the engine off, we don’t have any real heat sources. We could probably start a fire if we wanted to, and the tank itself would probably burn like no one’s business, but only if we threw a handful of torches down in it. An accidental fire is unlikely.” The cacophony subsided again, the sound of the attacker’s engines idling across the roadside park as a lone reminder of the battle at hand.
“And the oil tanks? The batteries?” Caterina backed off, but only a degree. She would probably need Jenkin’s help.
“We’ve lost an oil tank and both of the coolant tanks. The grease bucket is riddled with holes, but that doesn’t matter much. One battery is unscathed, but the other got hit, I’m not sure if it’s still functional.” The refueling crew’s attention shifted, from the battle to the status report.
“Get someone to confirm that the oil tank is intact and to check and see if the damaged battery is working. What about your crane, is it damaged?” Caterina looked up to where the hoist stuck out from the rear deck. It sat at a funny angle in the moonlight.
“Ah, I didn’t check that either.” Jenkins went from bold to sheepish in a matter of minutes.
“Well get it checked, now!” Caterina turned to find Commander Smith standing beside her.
“Commander Debacca, I understand you wanted to see me, ma’am?” Smith wore her amour, and judging from her appearance, fell into the mud at some point. She still smiled as Jenkins rushed toward her crew.
“Commander Smith, you’ve established a perimeter, right?” The security Sailor stood tall, lean, and wore her pale blonde hair down. Her build did not match Caterina’s, but she possessed a certain air. Caterina noticed her hair failed to meet regulations, and it made her decide to put her own mane back into a bun.
“Yes ma’am, I’ve got my people spread out at twenty-foot intervals all around the vessie. I doubt we could fight anyone off, but we won’t be taken unaware.” Off in the distance, she heard the painfully familiar sound of a Whybarrian vessie approaching.
Caterina nodded as she finished the bun. “I understand, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to risk being caught unaware if we want to get out of here. I want all your ladies that are guarding the underside of the vessie, and all the ones standing guard in the water to report here. Everyone else can stay in position for now, but this refueling crew is going to need help, and you’re it.” Smith seemed to consider what she should say. Caterina turned to the others.
“Jenkins, get over here.” Jenkins trotted over to Caterina and Smith. “I want to know the status of the batteries, the oil, and the winch at the same time you do, but for now, have your crew that’s not checking on those go to work on getting the rigging down. I want every rope, cord, and chain you have ready for us to use.”
Jenkins responded, “Aye ma’am.” She turned and rushed at her crew, shouting out orders as she went.
Caterina turned to Smith. “Once you have your ladies here, find a way to get that oil tank up to the mechanics' crew.” Caterina turned to the last of the throttle crew. “Go to the engine bay and let Davis know we’re going to bring her the oil she needs. And tell her I want that engine ready to go.” The lights from the next Whybarrian vessie shown on the trees. Caterina hated to think that they expected to find her vessie waiting on them, ready to refuel.