“Jettison away!”

“Aye, Captain, jettison away!” The mate’s words were almost swallowed by a shrieking crash. The flying ship’s deck shuddered as a section of the sterncastle shattered in a rain of wood and iron splinters. An agonized howl echoed from below, somewhere along the catapult ball’s destructive path. The captain and mate, both staggered by the hit, grabbed the rail.

“Damn my eyes! Hard to port, helmsman,” bawled the captain. “Get us out of their fire, now! Mister Yandars, see to the damage below!”

“Aye, sir,” the helmsman and the mate responded simultaneously. The captain hardly took notice, certain that her orders were being carried out. Already she was striding to the sterncastle, her long, fine cloak billowing behind her. She found the ballista crew frantically struggling with its weapon. Two men were just giving the last turns to the winch that bent back the powerful bow, while a third laid a massive bolt into place.

“Take your aim carefully, lads,” the captain intoned, trying to soothe her artillerists’ shaken nerves. “We’ll be coming about in a moment. They’ll steer to port to avoid our jettison. When they do, take aim for an eye. If you can hit her square, you should cause those villains some grief.” She laid a soothing hand on the loader and watched over the firer’s shoulder as the man adjusted the aiming screws, laying in the shot.

Finally satisfied, the artillerist jerked the weapon’s lanyard, pulling the trigger. The battista’s great bow reteased its burden with an off-key twang that hung in the air as the bolt shot away toward the enemy. At first, the shaft arced straight and true, only to skitter off the enemy ship’s rounded hull just yards from the bulging, domed porthole.

“Faster, boys! Load and fire again!” The captain thumped the loader on the back to get him moving. “Keep our course steady,” she shouted to the helmsman, “till we fire again, then bring-”