The Oilman's Daughter Read Online Free PDF

fire! Helm, stand by.”
    The thud of the small charge that launched the magnetic harpoon was dwarfed by the thunderous roar of three cannons firing nine-pound cannonballs toward the onrushing cutter. “Reload!” bawled the chief gunner, and the crews raced to set the cannons for another round, a process complicated by the need for them to fire into vacuum.
    “Harpoon set and locked, sir,” called a pirate.
    Phinneas grabbed onto a railing to keep from being flung across the bridge. “Helm, ahead full. Harpoon, cut the line on me mark.”
    The helmsman pushed the throttle lever forward to its furthest position. The steam pipes throughout the Ethershark clanked and hissed as pent-up pressure found a route to release. The vessel jerked forward, straining against the magnetic harpoon holding it to the train. Phinneas caught a glimpse of the bright Union Jack flag across the Southampton ’s prow before the ‘Shark ’s linear momentum became an arc with the harpoon at the focus. The ‘Shark groaned at the stresses as she looped underneath the train and back up the other side.
    “Cut the line!” shouted Phinneas.
    The harpoon crew closed a heavy lever. Gears spun and steel jaws closed upon the cable, shearing it off. The ‘Shark jerked free and cut across the Southampton ’s prow at a right angle to the cutter’s course.
    Zeric looked up from his scope, a grin creasing his pockmarked face. “Her portside gunports are still closed. Looks like a clean breakaway, sir.”
    Phinneas shook his head. “Don’t be so certain. Space Guard isn’t staffed with greenhorns. Helm, set course for the Moon. Spotters, any strikes with our volley?”
    “No, sir, no visible damage to the Southampton .”
    “Damn it.” Phinneas took over the scope from Zeric. He flicked brass levers and thumbed the wheels, zooming in on the Southampton as she wheeled about to give chase. “Grapeshot. They’ve got gallery windows forward. Maybe we’ll get lucky. Fire as soon as ye are set.”
    “Grapeshot, boys, move it!” the chief gunner shouted over the din of the engines. The gunnery crew cranked hard on winches to rotate the cannons out of the firing ports and the scatterguns into place. Sweat flew off the men in a fine mist.
    “ Southampton ’s firing rockets,” shouted Jeron. “Five, no six contrails.”
    The scatterguns fired, sending a cloud of golf ball-sized iron pellets toward the Space Guard cutter. They couldn’t do much damage to armor, but would wreak havoc upon unprotected steam lines, radiator fins, or windows.
    They also made for a reasonably good defensive screen against rockets.
    The cupola gunners began firing. The chunka chunka sound carried through the struts, filling the Ethershark with even more racket. Phinneas watched through the scope as tracer rounds flared through space toward the inbound rockets, vanishing into invisibility when their oxidizer burned out. It only took a single bullet to destroy a rocket, and Phinneas’s gunners were skilled.
    One contrail vanished. Then another. A third disappeared and Phinneas began to feel a little confident.
    The remaining three rockets seemed to explode prematurely, but instead of being destroyed, twelve new contrails flashed toward the Ethershark .
    “What the hell are those?” cried Zeric.
    “Some kind of multi-stage cluster rocket,” said Phinneas. “Helm, get our belly to ‘em! Pitch minus ninety!”
    One rocket shot past the ‘Shark ’s starboard portholes, its engine sputtering out. “Maybe they missed,” said Sebastian.
    The Ethershark rang like a bell as two hard impacts caught it on the stern. The fleeing ship lurched sideways, flinging men across the cabin like paper in a gale. The helmsman crashed headfirst into the iron hatch wheel hard enough to bend it and shatter his skull like an overripe tomato. Zeric yelped as his arm intersected a bulkhead at an odd angle. Everywhere, men screamed in pain and terror. Steam valves overloaded and burst. Metal