The weapons never felt like machines. I thought of them as instruments. With a boom boom boom like a drum, right? I know I'm not funny. But its true. Death has melody, tune, and lyrics. No gunner will tell you otherwise or they've never fired an lanza organ from the primary deck.
Our hands move on keys and chords reap souls as the vacuum sucks them into space after the laser eats through the haul. We light up space with rays of light and the very atmosphere created around the ship from the artificial gravity ignites with waves of fire.
The guns cry out in a high cry but it still seems oddly mournful.
__
"Rotate all batteries! Espada's face your territories! Lanza's look long!" I shout out to the crew. "Queen E's lobster's are in the kitchen, lets heat their pot!"
Each station is sealed from the rest in case they aim for the weapons in turn. Their fire only removes a single weapon on a direct hit. And we've already lost a sponson gun.
A charge is armed, the heat gauge is reading, and the very air vibrates and hums until it strums out like a bass guitar. As the weapons decks erupt, chords sound and the devil's orchestra begins Requiem's Lacrimosa.
The espada light weapons pepper the shields for weaknesses and repel off fighters with violin strokes from their chambers folding in with each solid projectile fired from the barrels. Long torpedo tubes unleash volleys of arrow like missiles that corkscrew into the hulls of red blazed warships with blasts of debris floating past us in moments.
My deck rings clear. Dance of the Knights, definitely.
"Chief! Prepare to load boarding shells! They're manned.
ВЫ ЧИТАЕТЕ
The Age of Void Dragons
Короткий рассказIt was only a matter of time till England and Spain rekindled their ancient fires. The great wealth flowing from galactic conquest produces gold, taxes, and goods to send from colony to mother land. While treaties keep these two empires from dire...
