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Post by Ladorak on Jul 27, 2010 15:05:20 GMT -5
"Thanks Elliot!" Caden said quickly, thrusting the wad down into the barrel. "All you Carrow!" the marten exclaimed, stepping back to allow the mouse to shove his rammer into the gun's mouth. All he had to do was give it several good jabs and hope the cartridge and wad entered into the chamber. They were working a 24 pounder gun, meaning the shot itself would weigh 24 pounds. Caden only hoped Elliot could pawdle the weight, though he seemed capable enough.
"Good, OK Carrow, give 'er several good rams! Pack that cartridge and wad down in there!" Horace ordered, watching as Spender took off on his run. We'll see how he does in terms of speed then.
For now it was up to the Sponger mouse. Carrow's Assistant Sponger was holding the rammer out for Carrow to take now, having picked it up off of its place on the deck.
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Post by Carrow on Jul 27, 2010 16:48:32 GMT -5
Carrow had watched all the action without making a sound, taking everything in as he studied the actions of the two martens. They went about their task quite efficiently, and this left the rodent impressed, though he couldn't help but notice that the beech marten was looking just a tad nervous. He didn't blame her in the slightest, knowing full well the anxiety that being ordered to perform jobs such as these for the first time could produce.
He had a moment to think about what was going on, but that was all. Soon, Caden had his part taken care of, and the mouse heard his friend's voice clearly. There was an eerie sort of quietness that seemed to hang over the decks of the Agamemnon throughout the exercise, meaning that he could hear the noise of the other gun crews on board as they went about their own tasks. While the immediate area was a hive of activity, apart from Horace's orders and words of encouragement from crewbeasts, not much could be heard save for the whistle of the wind.
It was strangely peaceful, and Carrow found he liked the sound of near-silence. It had helped to calm him down by the time his pine marten friend had spoken. He looked to his Assistant Sponger, a strong-looking hedgehog with grey eyes, and sure enough, the rammer was being held out for him to take. "Er, here y'go, Carrow...," he heard the shy-looking creature murmur, and this brought a smile to his face. "Thanks," he whispered in response, taking the rammer from the hedgehog, who then fell silent.
Now for this whole ramming thing. Carrow knew he was at a slight disadvantage due to his height, meaning he would have to work doubly hard at this. If there was one thing the wood mouse liked, however, it was a challenge, and even though he knew he could only do his best, that's what he was going to do, and just hope his efforts were sufficient to complete his task. So, rammer in paw, the rodent stood, extending his arm as much as possible to get into a good position. He knew that it was all in the impact. Just try your best, he told himself, taking a deep breath before setting to work.
Then his arm moved like lightning, as he inserted the rammer with as much force as he could muster, bringing it down on the cartridge and wad. He knew he had made contact; there was a sort of soft thudding sound as the object found its mark. He removed the rammer and then threw in again, repeating the action several times, each time increasing the force with which he pushed down upon the cartridge and wad. He had done it five times at this stage, but came down on them again just to be sure.
Six good rams, and that was all he could do at this point. Carrow had surprised himself with his vehement attacks on the cartridge and wad. He hadn't known he could be that forceful, even when it was required of him. He removed his arm, smiling a little at his work, though he didn't know yet whether or not he had been successful. Had his efforts been enough?
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Post by Ladorak on Jul 27, 2010 21:42:49 GMT -5
The otter jammed his vent pricker into the vent, feeling the cartridge there and knowing he had punctured the bag. Withdrawing the copper wire, he studied it briefly to see the telltale black powder covering its tip. "Home!" he called out. "That means the cartridge his been rammed home and is sitting in the chamber. Well done Carrow. Normally four rams will do it, as we need to be fast, but it was good you were careful all the same. Alright...that's it for that. Get ready for next set of orders, which sound like...SHOT AND WAD YOUR GUN!"
He glanced over at his right to see Spender racing back up the companionway to the gun deck. Not bad...not bad at all. Fast enough to work the line. Turning his attention back to the gun crew, the otter cleared his throat. "Ahem. When you hear that, Assistant Loader Elliot will go behind him to the shot garland...which are those rope circles laid out on the deck holding a pyramid of round shots in them. The circle contains the base level, and you can stack ball after ball on top of it to form a pyramid shape. Take the topmost one...it weighs twenty-four pounds by the way so careful with it...and paw it over to Caden. He'll proceed to shove it into the gun barrel and place his LEFT paw over the opening, so that the ball won't roll back out when the ship pitches. With his right paw, he will be given another wad by Elliot, from the same place he got the first wad. After Caden has the second wad, he'll stuff that in on top of the ball and Sponger Carrow will once again use his rammer and ram them both down as far as they will go. Ideally, the shot should be wedged up against the first wad, and the second wad in front of it will prevent it from rolling out once it's packed in there tightly enough."
Caden took all this in. So Elliot picks up a cannonball, paws it to him, he tosses it in the barrel, keeps his left paw over the opening while Elliot pawed him another wad, stuffs the wad in on top of it, and then Carrow rammed them both home. Sounded simple enough.
"To note...after this, generally the crew gets to take a break, as the gun is prepped for firing and the enemy would still be a ways off. However we're going to run through the whole drill routine until we're fast and get it right. The Welkin Navy prides itself on being the fastest gunners on the seas...so we need to live up to that. Typically we fire three broadsides to the enemy's two or even one, depending on how bad they are. So let's keep that tradition up! Alright...get ready and...SHOT AND WAD YOUR GUN!"
Caden turned to Elliot, waiting for "him" to pick up one of those heavy cannonballs and place it in his paws. He cupped his own paws, making sure he was ready for this.
"How did Spender do?" Horace asked his grison Mate.
"Fair enough. I think he's fast enough to hold his own."
"Well good on you then Spender! Alright go stand by the saltbox and keep an eye on it. When it comes time for you to step forward and give us the next cartridge we'll let you know. Good work so far." the otter commented on Spender's work.
"Hey uh...you OK there mate?" the grison bent down to get a look at where Spender had cracked his head on the ceiling of the orlop deck. He had forgotten to duck...as many often did. It could lead to concussion or worse...and the grison wanted to make sure the ferret was OK before continuing.
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Post by spender on Jul 29, 2010 5:06:50 GMT -5
The deck and all the creatures on it swarmed Spender's vision.* He grinned lopsidedly at his footpaws as he stumbled off to sit on a barrel. He had to sit; his footpaws were turning into bananas.
"Hey uh...you OK there mate?"
"Huh?" Spender said. His eyes wobbled up to the grison. Funny-looking creature—not as funny as Caden, of course, or as stupid as Carrow, but still... funny looking. Spender was used to mustelids that had white fronts and brown backs, not black fronts, a weird white headband, and who knew what colour the rest of that was supposed to be. It was like a skunk and a ferret had collided into a negative picture of a weasel.
"I'm fine, I think..."
Oooo, was that his head that hurt? It felt like his tailtip! Weiiiird.
Spender hiccuped, then grinned again. At least now his running was over he could sit and enjoy the spectacle of the cannons! This would totally make up for his mum not letting him have one in his bedroom so he could shoot birds out of the tree outside.
* I meant to type "swam" or something along those lines, but this is an interesting idea...
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Post by bookity101 on Jul 29, 2010 14:42:11 GMT -5
Ellie was turning to grab the shot the moment Mr Dorian pointed them out to her. She carefully made her over and around the various ropes on the floor, not wanting to trip on them as she snagged the top cannonball.... and promptly dropped it on her foot. She frowned at the heavy ball... the thing was HEAVY, rubbing her paw she stooped and picked it up again, this time successfully pawing the blasted thing to Caden, carefully though... didn't want him to drop it too..
Leaning down again, she grabbed the rope wad, much lighter... standing tall, she waited for Caden to be ready for the wad... and tried to ignore the pounding in her footpaw.
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Post by Ladorak on Jul 29, 2010 15:30:38 GMT -5
Caden cringed and almost yelped as he saw Elliot drop the shot on her footpaw. "Jeez! Are you alright!?" he asked, having the heavy shot placed into his paws. Yep...this thing was twenty-four pounds alright! Heaving, the albino moved over to the muzzle, sliding the ball inside the gun's mouth and placing his left paw over the opening to prevent the ball from pitching out as the ship rolled. He could feel the cold steel roll up against his paw, but he held his paw firm, making sure the shot didn't roll out.
Taking the wad with his right paw from Elliot, he quickly shoved the bound cords down in front of the shot and stepped back. "All you Carrow! Pack 'em in there tight!" The white furred marten turned to look at Elliot. He seemed alright but...a shot as heavy as that could easily break bones if it hit right! Caden could only imagine what it would be like to be struck by one of those things in battle...not pleasant...that thing would probably rip open a good chunk of you and leave you crumpled on the deck of your ship.
Caden knew the main danger in battle wasn't form the solid shot per se though, unless you were outside on the weather deck. Being here inside...if a shot penetrated the thick hull of the ship you'd face hundreds and sometimes thousands of wood splinters, some as big as your body! It was the danger of getting impaled that was more a real threat than the actual solid shot itself.
"If you need to see the Surgeon make your way down to the infirmary one deck below us Mr. Elliot, otherwise stay at your post." Horace recommended, glancing at the beech marten with a wave of concern. Lad seemed OK...so maybe nothing was broken. "Have to be careful with those shots...they are rather heavy as I'm sure you've discovered."
The grison stood close by Spender, just in case he fainted or something, though surprisingly he seemed fine. Must've just dazed him...ah well, the firing process would continue in spite of these two seemingly minor mishaps.
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Post by Carrow on Jul 29, 2010 17:32:42 GMT -5
Carrow had of course been paying rapt attention whilst all this had been going on. He didn't like to admit this to any creature, but the mouse could be rather squeamish at times, and the sight of Elliot dropping the shot and having his footpaw take the blow made him wince and blanch visibly.
That thing was TWENTY-FOUR POUNDS! Great seasons of sun and showers, that had been a close call! If things had gone just a little differently, the beech marten would have been sprawled on the deck clutching a broken footpaw. Wow, he thought, that's quite the risk. Glad I didn't end up being stuck with that job...
The rodent was pretty sure that the chances of him sustaining an injury in battle were quite high. He imagined the kind of damage ammunition like that could do if it struck the ship - and then immediately wished that he hadn't. The debris could be lethal in certain situations, and he felt a wave of despair crash over him. If he was going to be dicing with death for the time he spent here, well, what was the point?
No!, he told himself. Don't think like that! You knew the risks, mate. Just calm down, it's really not going to be as bad as it seems, alright? Relax... take deep breaths, and focus on the task at paw. His breathing immediately became slow and even as he tried to get his thoughts in order. He was trembling again, unable to hide his fears.
May as well just go with it and see what happens, he thought. In for a penny, in for a pound... Then he heard Caden's voice again, and he acted swiftly. Raising the rammer, he inserted it again. Ironically, his fears seemed to lend strength to his arms, and he repeated the process from earlier with a considerable amount of vigour.
Leaving nothing to chance, the mouse gave six good rams, and then withdrew, standing back and once again wondering if he hadn done enough. He knew that he could only do his best under the circumstances, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that he seemed spooked by something. Suffice it to say, with the amount already on his mind, the wood mouse didn't find himself in the best position for a creature of his demeanour.
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Post by Ladorak on Jul 29, 2010 19:55:19 GMT -5
"Fantastic! That does 'er!" Horace exclaimed. "That wraps that up as well. And do see to your paw Mr. McNamee...don't want you walking on a bad one after all. Alright...this next part involves the auxiliaries on either side. Two on the left, three on the right." Ocean was one such example. He and the others who had been be standing idly by were about to see some action. "You've been holding those tackles that Caden and Carrow have given you...now it's time to use them. Next order is to RUN OUT YOUR GUN!"
"When you hear that." he continued, "the five auxiliaries will pull as hard as they can on the tackles, and do NOT back up as you do so...simply feed the rope back. If you back up you'll run out of room eventually or bump into each other. Stand in place and haul on the ropes. You will drag this whole three and a half tone monstrosity forward, until the gun carriage touches the hull of the ship, and the muzzle of the gun protrudes through the gun port. Then you will hold it there...hold it with all your might and NOT let it roll back, until we fire. It's a lot of strain...the gun weighs over three tons after all, but you must hold it forward and prevent it from moving. That's why you're all good and strong lads, eh?"
Ocean listened silently, pursing his lips. Soon...he hoped to be promoted above all of this. He hoped to be giving these types of orders in combat...ordering his little brother around...if partly to keep an eye on him.
"So, we'll try to move through these next steps quickly so that you won't have to hold the gun in place for TOO long. Alright...get ready and..." the otter bent down, unhooking the train tackle from the back of the gun carriage so that the heavy thing could be moved forward. "Make sure the slack from the breaching rope doesn't tangle the wheels and...RUN OUT YOUR GUN!"
The auxiliaries hauled for all they were worth. "HEAVE!" Horace called, urging them on. "HEAVE!" The well toned Ocean's biceps flexed, the rope being pulled back by him and the others as they dragged the gun forward. The wooden wheels creaked as the weapon rolled forward, inching its way towards the gun port, the black muzzle poking out into the open air and the carriage finally thudding against the hull. "Now hold it! Hold it lads! The ship's rolling I know, but hold on. Next order is PRIME! That's for the Gun Captain. Basically I'll be piercing the cartridge with the vent pricker until I get a hole big enough to stick the fuse in, and I pour some powder from my powder horn into the pan of the gunlock. So...to move this along...PRIME!"
The aquatic mustelid thrust the pricker down into the vent, slamming down with the sharp little device over and over again to tear up the bag and open up a decent sized hole in the canvas. When he felt he had opened a big enough gap, he withdrew a quill tube or fuse from his pouch, shoved it down into the vent, and stuck it inside the now exposed fine black powder of the cartridge. He then opened his powder horn, poured some of the volatile black grit into the pan of the gunlock, and snapped the lid closed over it, to prevent exposure to the elements.
"OK that's that done. Next order is to POINT YOUR GUN! This is where Selvis and Ralph, the two pawspikers, come back into play. Normally, at point blank range we can skip this step and forget about aiming. But in this case...we're shooting target practice today, and our target...that string of barrels we've set up out in the sea...are a bit a ways from us, so we SHALL need to aim today. Now the Gun Captain will site down the barrel here..." he squinted his left eye closed, using his right eye and the primitive sight built on the top of the gun to get his bearings. "Our target...is the...red painted barrel. We also have decisions like whether we want to aim at the rigging or the hull...but we're Welkinites...unlike the Rosferians and the Ferlusanians...we shoot to kill and damage, not disable."
"It's a common misconception..." he commented, almost to himself as he was sighting along the gun, "that ships are sunk by cannon fire. In order to fill them with water...we'd have to hit them through several feet of water AND their hull...so imagine how hard that is! Far more likely a ship will surrender, be boarded, blow up, be crippled by fallen masts...or catch fire. But rarely sink. Great thing about oak is that even though it can be broken, it'll quickly resume its shape, so...repairs by the carpenters to shot holes are VERY viable, thus making sinking a rarity. So...let's see..."
He hummed, trying to get a fix on the barrel as the ship rolled and pitched. "OK...we need to move the gun to the right a bit...it came out uneven through the gun port...as will often happen because not all the auxiliaries pulled at the same rate with the same strength. So! Let's correct that first! Then we'll worry about the elevation of the gun. We're aiming to hit this thing after all! So Selvis and Ralph, with your pawspikes, please reinsert them into your slots, and with brute force start pushing to your...left...that will move the back of the gun to the left, and the front to the right see? Use your eyes. When it looks like it's pointing through the direct center of the gunport stop, and I'll check to see if it needs any further moving OK? So let's try this...and...POINT YOUR GUN!"
It was Selvis and Ralph's show from here, and Peskers picked up her pawspike again, sticking the end of it down into the slot on her side of the gun carriage. "I'll be pushing towards you, you'll be pulling away from me according to what he said. Let's move this puppy." she said, and got ready to push as soon as she felt Selvis pull. They had to center it, and make sure it was pointing relatively straight out through the gun port rather than off to the left like it was now.
Ocean was beginning to sweat, his footpaws braced against the deck as they were and his forepaws latched securely to the rope in his paws. He was holding the cannon against the hull with all the might he could muster. He had worked out well before joining the crew, so it wasn't TOO bad with four others on the lines. He could hold this sucker...he knew firing was imminent anyway, and he wouldn't have to keep this up much longer.
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Post by Carrow on Jul 30, 2010 6:51:46 GMT -5
Carrow listened to Dorian's words as they floated across to him, and felt himself blushing slightly at the praise he received for his efforts. The bashful young mouse was still not used to compliments like this. He'd get used to them in time, of course. Things were going but better than he'd been expecting anyway, so the rodent's confidence was building. However, so too was his anxiety. As time went on, and the pressure mounted on him, he knew he was becoming more liable to making mistakes, so he breathed an audible sigh of relief when the names of other creatures were called.
Selvis was studying his wood mouse companion, and he couldn't help but frown slightly when he caught Carrow's blush. He's not doing himself any favours, he began to think, but stopped with those kinds of thoughts as he saw the rodent lower his head and gaze down at his footpaws. The weasel's heart went out to him then and there. Poor creature... he was clearly in turmoil. Was his self-esteem that badly damaged? Suddenly, the thought of speaking to Carrow about this became much more urgent. He needed some assistance, that was for sure.
What had happened to make him this way?, he thought. The Dibbun didn't carry himself at all well, that much was for sure. Further ruminations were forestalled, however, by the mention of his name. Instantly, Selvis came back to himself, raising his head a little as he listened to the otter speak. Truth be told, the longtail had been absolutely dying to get back into things, and now he had his chance, he was going to seize it with both paws.
He tensed up slightly at the mention of his native country. He could very well have taken offence at the aquatic mustelid's comment, but there would have been no point taking umbrage over something that was in fact mostly true. The ferlusanian Navy's strong point was going for enemy ships themselves, and not the creatures that crewed them. It was an effective tactic in most circumstances, but sometimes different strategies had to be pursued - with varying results.
Taking in Horace's instructions, the long-tailed weasel nodded. Right... so they'd have to put every ounce of strength they had into moving this thing. That didn't ruffle the mustelid all that much: you wouldn't know it from a casual glance at him, but Selvis was quite a powerful creature. He was normally rather gentle, but when his blood was up he became a force to be reckoned with, and the same applied when he had to carry out tasks like this, ones that required force.
The mustelid re-inserted his pawspike, placing it securely in the slot on his side. "Okay then. Obviously, I have to go first this time," he told her with a soft chuckle. "So, I'll start pulling on the count of three, then you follow up with a good push, alright?" He flashed the 'jack' ferret a brief smile, before placing his paws on the back of the gun. Selvis made sure to get into a good position, setting his footpaws the correct distance apart from each other.
With that done, the weasel called out to his teammate. "Here we go, then. One... two... THREE!," he roared, before applying as much force to the back of the gun as he could muster. He heaved and pushed, trying his absolute hardest to get his part of the gun into the correct position. He felt it moving steadily. Good. Things were going to plan so far. So he kept up his efforts. Things were coming along as quickly as they could; things like this took both effort and a relatively lengthy period of time. Any minute now, Peskers would start pushing.
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Post by Ladorak on Jul 30, 2010 9:44:59 GMT -5
Peskers had started pushing the cannon as soon as Selvis pulled. They used their giant "crowbars" to slide the weighty behemoth sideways and center it, stopping when the Gunner called out to them that that would do.
"Alright! Looks like we got it centered! Fabulous! OK..." Horace paused again to bend down, looking through the sight to realign his target. "Right...now we have to depress the gun a bit, as we're shooting at a low target. Normally, against an enemy vessel, we'd elevate the gun, to give what we call plunging fire. Fire high at a distant target, and the shot gradually descends until it strikes the side of the enemy. In this case though...we need to depress the gun, or lower the muzzle. How do we accomplish this?"
He tapped the quion. "By either shoving the quion further in or pulling it further out. It's a giant wedge see, and if we give it less wedge the back or breech of the gun will sink down, raising the muzzle to give it elevation. If we push more of the wedge in it raises the breech and causes the muzzle to sink...thereby depressing the angle of fire. So we need to lower the muzzle...ergo need to push the quion in a bit more. OK so I need my two pawspikers to do what the did when they leveled the gun. Shove your pawspikes under the breech and lever this sucker up with all your might. Hold it there until I stay you can let go. I'll be pushing the quion in further while you're holding the breech up. So...snap to it!"
Pesker angled her pawspike underneath the breech of the gun, waiting on Selvis to do the same. "Let's lift this thing again. Lead off mate. I'll push down to lift this thing up when you do."
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