Free Tale of the Thunderbolt by E.E. Knight

credit, Valentine thought, he did not sound convinced of the last.
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    From that dinner on, Valentine did not see Post take another drink. His lieutenant suffered unvoiced agonies in silence, driving himself to keep up an appearance of stability in front of others, only to flee to the head or the cabin when the shaking in his hands got to be too much for him. Valentine never asked him to quit drinking; in fact, with the mental strain he was more than a little tempted to try the contents of the squared-off bottles himself after retiring at night. Valentine found a growing new respect for Post that replaced his previous feelings of pity. He admired his lieutenant for keeping the pretense of normality despite the torrents of sweat pouring out of him and God-knew-what other torments to his body.
    The next evening Valentine arranged for a meeting in the arms locker with the Chief, Post, Ahn-Kha, and himself, purportedly to determine which weapons Ahn-Kha’s Grogs would carry in their duties. The captain had suggested a brace of dusty shotguns, captured in some action long ago and forgotten. After viewing the weapons in question, Valentine asked that the Chief take a look at them and see if the ship’s machine shop could bring them back to usability. Thus the conspirators were able to get a half-hour or so of privacy within the ship for a meeting of their group. Squeezing Ahn-Kha’s bulk into the room proved to be only the first difficulty in a long line of challenges before them.
    â€œWe should make landfall off Jamaica tomorrow afternoon or early evening,” Valentine began. “The captain plans to head straight into the harbor they are thought to use the next morning. God knows what might happen in the fight, so I think we have to move before then.”
    â€œHow about we go into action and rig a shell to blow in the bridge during the fight?” the Chief suggested. “The crew will think the pirates just got a lucky shot, and Mr. Rowan assumes command. Looks legit.”
    â€œWho knows what damage the explosion would do?” Post asked, sweat running from his hairline under the hot work-lamp. The marine was balling his hands into fists and rubbing them against his thighs under the weapon-strewn table. “Maybe we go aground. So much for the Thunderbolt. I doubt the pirates would fix her up and take her to Haiti to oblige us.”
    â€œYes, and we might not get both. The exec will probably be at the main armament. I think it’s better if we do it before. Offer the men an alternative to the fight,” Valentine said. “Freedom. That’s a powerful persuader.”
    â€œCut off the head, and the body will be yours,” Ahn-Kha said, quoting a Grog proverb from his place, squeezed between the rifle racks filling up one whole end of the room. “We have much of the head of the ship here. We remove the captain and Worthington. Then we let the petty officers know who is in charge. They will do as they are told.”
    â€œAhn-Kha is right as far as the captain and exec go,” Valentine agreed. “But I want to give everyone else a real choice. We assemble the crew and give each man the option: join us, or be put off the ship in a boat with food, water, even weapons. They can take their chances on Jamaica or try to sail for the coast. All they have to do is go north — they’ll hit Kurian territory soon enough.”
    â€œWill you tell them why you need the ship?” the Chief asked.
    â€œCan’t risk it until the captain and the exec disappear with the crew that want to follow them. I have no idea how long we would be on Haiti. The last thing we need is him trying to hunt us down.”
    Post shook his head. “You’ll lose half of them. Maybe more. We might not be left with enough to keep this bucket moving.”
    â€œI think a lot of them signed on for sea service to get away from the Reapers. You can tell by their talk, their interests.