Day of Honor 01_ Ancient Blood - Diane Carey [92]
He swayed with the dizziness brought on by his head wound, caught himself on the edge of the table, and Jeremiah reached out and clasped his arm to steady him, and Picard caught the other one.
“Patrick, you really ought to rest.”
“We’ll have eternity to rest soon enough, Jeremiah.” O’Heyne regained control through some effort, gave his friend a not-very-convincing pat of comfort. Then, favoring his injured knee and hip, he stepped to a cabinet on the wall and opened it with the familiarity of one who indeed nearly lived here.
From the cabinet he drew four American muzzle-loading rifles, powder horns, bullet pouches and ramrods, and relayed two of the rifles to Jeremiah.
Then he turned to Sandy and Picard. “Do I have your word of honor that, until the redcoats breach our picket line, you’ll take no action against any patriot who is honorably fighting for his cause?”
Sandy visibly shuddered, and Midshipman Nightingale’s eyes were wide as eggs. The two seamen stood up, and turmoil showed clearly in their faces, but, being seamen, they would follow the word of their commanding officer— who was now First Lieutenant Picard.
Suddenly everyone was looking at him.
For the sake of gamesmanship, he said, “Agreed.”
He signed the other men up with a stern glance, and noted that they didn’t like his compliance.
“However, Mr. O’Heyne,” he said, “we are still men of the Royal Navy. There will come a moment when that will play itself put. Until then, we will not take any dishonorable action against anyone who does not know our identity. Fair enough?”
“Does that include us?” O’Heyne said with a canny smile, and handed Picard an American musket. “In that case, unless you mean to slaughter us here and now, Jeremiah and I have a town to defend. In all fairness, it’s no less than you would do. I invite you to come with us and see what we’re all about.”
Limping toward the door, he opened it for Jeremiah, whose lingering gaze on Sandy was simply heartwrenching. O’Heyne gave him time, but finally, torn and tortured, Jeremiah hurried out the door.
O’Heyne made good on his belief of Picard’s promise, and dared turn his back to the Royal Navy men as he, too, went out of the cabin.
Picard looked down at the American rifle in his hands and luxuriated in the balance and weight of the classic weapon. Beautiful! Imagine actually firing it!
He turned a glinting eye to his crew. “
Well, men?” he prodded.
“I’m uneasy with our duty, sir,” Sandy said, “being in the company of colonists and even protected by them … trusted by them …”
“Nonsense!” Midshipman Nightingale said. “There’s a skirmish coming! We can’t stand by, sir!”
“We can do terrible damage from this side of the line,” Bennett spoke up. “I’m a gunner!”
“Not without orders, you won’t,” Picard pointed out. “We made an agreement.”
“You made it,” Bennett shot back.
Picard reached out with all the piled-up frustration of both his man-of-war and his starship, and grasped Bennett by the black neckerchief the sailor wore.
“I am you, seaman,” he clarified. “Don’t forget it.”
Bennett leaned back, sneered, but did not dare react physically to his senior officer.
Sandy put out a hand. “And I refuse to fire at any man’s blind side, even my enemy’s. Nor will I fire at any man of King George’s military under any condition.”
Throwing Bennett off and gripping the American rifle in both hands, Picard looked at him. “Where does that put you, Sergeant?”
Sandy Leonfeld paused, a dozen emotions passing through his eyes. For the first time Picard saw flaming doubt rise, and the shield of aristocratic superiority grow thinner.
Picard didn’t wait for an answer. He stepped to a corner and scooped up Sandy’s British-issue rifle and handed it to him, then turned to grasp Alexander by one arm.
“Oh, what the devil,” he said. “Let’s go out and see what happens. After all, we’ve been invited.”
Chapter Seventeen
“DATA, YOU ALMOST READY?”
“Yes, sir. The shuttlecraft is hidden in the emission blind of an orbital processing station, and the helm is on