"Belief," Robert said with a swirl of his wine. He gestured at them both with his glass. "The Aeresians are zealots. They fight for the glory of their god, not the honor of their king."
"They're adherents to the Sharakeen path." Lyle dismissed the idea with a wave. "Same as us."
"Not like us." Robert placed his glass down and leaned forward. "They adhere to the same precepts, but they believe their king is descended from Tarek, and speaks with the voice of the Creator. Our King, Daen, is a descendant of Melan De'veldrin, the son of Crowned Prince Raen, a continuation of the line of the Great King Therebus De'veldrin. The Sharakeen advise him, but do not follow him. In their eyes, we're the infidels. Their belief gives them an advantage, a pride of purpose we can't match."
"Semantics," Stockbridge said. "I doubt Daen can trace his line back to Raen, even if they have rhyming names, but I know for a fact Gergor of Aers' grandfather was a stone mason. His father was a priest who seized power in a coup. The government even composed an epic poem to trace the lineage and quell any protest. It helped cement his rule and rewrite history."
"The Colparium," Lyle said. "The song of Colparius. Robert made me read it in the academy."
"The Aeresian people believe it heart and soul," Robert said. "They've had two generations indoctrinated into it, and to question it really is heresy, punishable by death. They're willing to give their lives in what they consider a holy crusade. Which is why the landing at Antrim failed. We expected to fight their military. We never considered the possibility of fighting the average citizen in a holy war."
"So what do we do?" Stockbridge asked the ceiling.
"We follow orders," Lyle said. "I never envisioned this garrison would fall to the enemy on my watch, but such is the hand I'm dealt."
"That's a poor analogy," Stockbridge said. "Cards can be manipulated depending on how you play them."
Lyle laughed and raised his glass in salute.
"Well said, but it doesn't help us here."
"Have you been ordered to stand down?" Robert said.
Lyle shook his head. "Not that I've heard. The rules of engagement are still clear. If the enemy approaches, we shoot. After the armistice? Who knows?"
A soldier rushed into the room, his face flushed, and his breathing labored.
"Sir," he called, mere steps into the hall. "The Verdant is lost. She made contact with the watchtower relay, and reported a large force moving toward the pass. Sir, the Verdant reports it's comprised of the units from the Mohar line and an aerial flotilla. We lost contact after that, Sir."
Lyle bolted from his seat and his wineglass spilled across the table.
"This force," he said, "Patheran or Aers? How big is large?"
"Aeresian, sir." His chest heaved while he fought for breath. "Those are all the details we have at the moment."
Robert and Stockbridge rose with the news.
"Damn it. How large," Lyle asked, "and how far away?"
"We don't have a clear estimate," the soldier said. "They fell upon our scouts after the fourth bend, but the Chief expects they'll be within range of our cannons by evening, if not sooner."
"I might have need of your squadron, Captain," Lyle said after a moment. "My airship is lost, and I need another to ascertain the true nature of this threat."
"We're at your service," Stockbridge offered a slight bow, but did not bother to hide her eager smile.
To Robert, she said, "Summon all hands the moment we return on deck. Sound battle stations. This war is far from over."
Fortifications
Robert spared the time for a quick handshake.
"Keep your courage up," he told Lyle. "We'll keep your skies clear."
"I know you will." Lyle clapped him on the shoulder. "Now get that beast in the air."
"Mind your tongue," Robert said. "The Captain's not that bad."
Lyle laughed and waved him off. His aides fell in beside him less than a half dozen strides away.
Robert jogged to catch up with Stockbridge.
"We need our own intelligence," she said when he stepped up beside her. "I'm sending Winslow with the cutter Albatross to recontour the pass and take a detailed count. It's the fastest and most agile. Take a Zephyr squad and tag along in case she runs into any trouble."
"Yes Ma'am," Robert said. "I'll take the Third Armored. They've been cooped up since Helonshore."
"With the isolator down, the Dreadnaut's limping, so I'm taking her into the clouds. Trepidation and Hellion will cordon off the pass and provide overwatch for the citadel." Stockbridge stopped and faced Robert. "If Rassnaeren's reports are correct, we'll need to deploy the gunnery units."
"Yes Ma'am," he said. He expected the words, and showed no hesitation in his response. This is what they did. The airships brought them from point A to point B, where they set up their terrible cannons and ripped into the enemy. He hated the work, but he chose this life; better than an initiate in the Sharikeen Temples, and better than the idle life of a nobleman's son. "We might want to begin deployment now, in case the information is accurate. It will save us time."
Stockbridge considered the suggestion, and nodded.
"I'll have Beckett oversee the offloading and installation," she said. "When you get back you'll take over. I want him on the bridge when we're in the air, and you're better with the guns."
"Yes Ma'am," he said. "Anything else?"
She shook her head, and Robert saluted. Stockbridge tapped her chest and spread her two fingers in a casual flick. Robert took it as his cue, and he bolted from the citadel to carry out her orders. The soldiers paid him no mind when he raced by, as they engaged in their own frantic preparations. He pounded up the gangplank and leapt on the deck.
"All hands!" he commanded before his feet touched the metal. "Service crew, begin unloading artillery units. Chief Winslow ready the Albatross for departure. Everyone else, prepare for liftoff. We're leaving dock in battle stations!"
A bustle of activity followed his words, and aeronauts repeated them throughout the ship. Everyone aboard knew their exact place and role in a military exercise, and fell to their assigned duties. Robert continued to the bridge to ensure Beckett knew his orders.
"She wants to blast out of dock?" Beckett said when Robert entered the bridge. "The isolator is in about fifteen different parts right now."
"Yes sir," Robert said. "Captain wants the Dreadnaut in the clouds until its fixed. There's an avalanche of hurt coming down the pass, and she doesn't want us tied to the ground when it gets here."
He stepped closer to Beckett and lowered his voice.
"You need to offload the gunnery units. If this pans out, we'll be earning our pay. I got a look at the fortifications. Give Leeds the reins to run the show down there, and tell her to lay out along the pass with the flanks angled at thirty-five degrees. We're expecting air support."
"You're not running the guns?" Concern grew in Beckett's voice. Robert knew he hated to work with the gunnery unit. He woke screaming at least once a week since he last oversaw the line, and they increased whenever he took operational command.
"I'm out on recon." He waved over the armored Zephyr positioned by the command deck. They all looked the same inside their armor, so he read the name plate. "Sergeant Repton. Have the third armored report to the Albatross in full gear. We leave in five."
The sergeant saluted and stomped off toward the communications' equipment. She withdrew a long wire from its spool in her helmet, and plugged into the terminal.
"I'll be back to command the guns by the time the shooting starts." Robert clapped Beckett on the shoulder before he left. "She wants you on the bridge for the duration."
He stopped at his quarters to don his battle gear. The lightweight armor, little more than a leather jerkin and trousers, had a fine chain mail sewn between the layers. The retractable wings folded along the underside of his arms. Supple and pliable, it allowed him a greater range of movement. It also prevented most edged weapons from penetrating.
The attire offered little in the way of ballistic protection, especially from energy weapons, but he possessed ways around that. He wore a simple silver ring on his middle finger, inscribed with wardings of his own devising. He trusted it more than the armor the Zephyrs wore. He slid a pair of knives into the sides of his boots, added another to the small of his back and attached sheaths for his throwing knives under his arms. His weapons belt held the holsters for his braces and sheath for his sword. He slung his riffle over his shoulder and stepped out.
Five armored Zephyrs waited beside the cutter when Robert approached. Ensign Barnes saluted, the others stood at attention, and Robert waved them to follow him aboard. The small airship hung tethered to the side of the Dreadnaut, ready to embark. Chief Winslow nodded to him from the wheelhouse. The small crew, no more than seven members total, hung on the rigging and awaited the signal.
"Take us out, Chief," Robert said.
"Aye, Sir," Winslow said. "Pull lines and shove off."
A blast of steam drove the pistons, which pushed the cutter away from the battleship. The turbines spun, and the crew dropped the sails. Robert marveled at the efficiency, and gave the canvas a cursory glance. Everything taut. The cutter accelerated away from the dock and gained altitude, heading for the pass.
Chase
The Albatross skimmed above the top of the canyon and followed the meandering course of the Devin River. Robert donned his goggles to shield his eyes from their astonishing speed. The gorge narrowed within a mile of the fortress, and provided a grand view of the roads to either side of the wash. During peacetime, trade caravans plied the river and roads, but now the empty paths greeted them.
A plume of dust rose in the north, beyond the bend, and a sense of foreboding rode upon the breeze. The canyon tops displayed an array of jagged spires of stone, and the albatross floated through them.
"You're one with your boat, Chief," Robert said from his position behind navigation, in the rear quarter of the ship.
"Thank you, Sir," Winslow said. She offered him a quick, grateful smile before she returned her attention to the helm. She wore her dark hair in a tight braid coiled and pinned to the back of her head.
They swept starboard around a towering butte and swung back to port.
"Dear Creator," Winslow whispered.
The crew stared in horror at the might arrayed before them. Across the canyon ranged a tremendous armed forced. Infantry clogged the roads. Barges full of artillery and siege engines choked the river. A fleet of airships blackened the sky, and a row of minute, tethered balloons drifted well ahead of the ships.
Robert's eyes darted toward the forward balloons, and he lifted his spyglass. Too small to hold a crew, he thought, and they bore no armaments. Nevertheless, they floated ahead of the fleet at a higher elevation. He doubted they possessed a defensive nature, for the sky beneath them shone clear.
"How close do you want to get, Lieutenant?" Winslow said. Her gaze darted between the enemy airships and the gauges on the control console.
"Bring us into their midst." Robert lowered the spyglass and considered the panorama. "We need to know what types of armaments they have aboard."
"Aye, aye, Sir," Winslow said. "Heading into their midst. Cloaking field is holding steady. McCarthy, reduce engine speed to one quarter, and silence the isolator."
"Aye, aye, Ma'am," McCarthy said. "Reducing speed to one quarter, and silencing the isolator."
The steady rhythm of the clanking pistons eased, until only an occasional, dull thud sounded from the hull. The Albatross glided forward and slipped beneath the row of balloons.
A light filled the air with a sudden sparkle, and it spread across the bow. An iridescent wall shimmered around the prow and slid forward over the deck. Alarms clanged on the command console, and gears ground when they slipped their timing. A spray of sparks and steam shot across the forecastle.
"Our cloaking is down! How the hell did they manage that? Come about," Robert ordered and grabbed the railing. "Full stop."
Already klaxons sounded aboard the ships in the flotilla, and the cannon muzzles reoriented toward the Albatross.
"Coming around," Winslow repeated, and spun the helm to the right.
"Full stop," the mechanical aeronaut said, and slammed the chadburn lever backward. The engines squealed beneath them and a vent of steam blasted out from the port side fore of the cutter. The decks shuddered with sudden change in momentum, and the airship spun on its axis.
"Full ahead," Robert ordered at the apex of the turn, and the ensign pushed the chadburn forward. The turbines growled a deep, guttural protest. Pistons slipped on their bearings, and then caught. The cutter shuddered, and gathered speed.
"Two ships have pulled away from the fleet," the tactical operator said.
Robert glanced aft to confirm the report. Two destroyers separated from the main force, dropped in elevation and increased their speed to intercept.
"Helm, hold course and speed," Robert said. "They have no weapons in the fore, save for a chase gun, and we can outrun those."
"Aye, Sir," Winslow said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Holding course and speed."
"Barnes," Robert said. The Zephyr responded at once. "Bring your people aft and aid the gunners. Target their canvas and turbines. If they get too close, use your grenades to gum up the works."
"Aye, Sir," Barnes said in his mechanically augmented voice. The Zephyrs pounded along the deck to the rear of the ship, and unslung their weapons. Each carried a heavy machine riffle attached to each forearm, as well as a grenade launcher secured to their backs. They swung the launchers forward, and the gears within their suits racketed with the movement.
The chase cannon of the nearest destroyer fired, and a plume of smoke appeared moments after the sound. Tiny pings littered the metal hull.
"Grape shot," Winslow said without looking back. "They're going for the canvas."
"Hold course," Robert said.
A volley of explosive thumps sounded from the rear of the airship when each cannon fired. Seconds later Zephyr launched their grenades. The first volley fell short. Cannonballs dropped to the river, and the grenades detonated in front of the enemy destroyer. The second volley followed less than a minute later. Several explosions erupted along the chasing vessel's rigging and outboard engines. A plume of black smoke engulfed the aircraft while its turbines ceased, and its wings collapsed. It hung in the air, and drifted along its initial trajectory. A third round of explosives sent it into a tailspin.
A cheer rose up among the Albatross' crew, but fell to silence when the second destroyer barreled through the churning black smoke. It swung to starboard, and cut the distance.
"Helm." Robert watched the enemy vessel's approach and calculated their speed. "Can you give us more thrust?"
"We're at full, Sir," the Ensign said.
"Call down to the engine room and see if they can burn a little hotter."
"Aye, Sir." The Ensign pulled a metal cone attached to a leather tube and sent his query below. He held the cone to his ear to listen to the reply.
"Any hotter, and we'll push the red line, Sir," McCarthy said. "But I'm willing to remove the restraints."
"Chief?" Robert directed the question at Winslow, whose focus remained on steering the airship around the towering peaks. "It's your boat."
She nodded, her lips set in a grim line.
"If we're blown from the sky it won't matter if we pop some rivets," she said. "McCarthy, remove the restraints. Give me what power you can."
The enemy ship pulled further away among the rock formations, but continued to gain on a parallel course.
The Albatross shuddered again, and the turbine's whine increased. Robert glanced at the canvas wings out of habit. He opened his mouth to order a tightening of the ropes, but the crew already pulled them taut.
"Enemy vessel closing," tactical called out. The destroyer noticed their increased speed, and altered course to intercept. It banked around a pillar and drew alon
gside them. The cannon shutters opened, and the muzzles extended.
"All hands," Robert called, and attached his lifeline to the railing. "Brace for impact."
"Helm," Winslow ordered, "drop ballast. Two pounds."
"Dropping ballast," the aeronaut responded. "Two pounds."
A blast of steam and helium vented from the sides of the Albatross, and it descended in elevation.
The destroyer unloaded all fifteen of its broadside guns in a rolling, thunderous report. Winslow turned the helm hard to starboard, toward the enemy, and reversed course to spin the wheel to port. The lifelines pulled tight against the inertia of the maneuver, but held. The ship listed over, and presented its underbelly to the onslaught. Numerous impacts sounded against the metal hull and fell away. Seconds later the enemy shells exploded feet below the mark.
One shell made it over the railings, and detonated in air above the main deck. Shrapnel blasted through the canvas wings and rigging, and the top of the starboard structure collapsed. Several aeronauts cried out when the metal tore through their flesh.
Aeronauts rushed to aid their fallen comrades, and to secure the flailing ropes. The destroyer continued to close the distance at a murderers pace.
"Cut speed," Winslow called out while she fought to retain control of the ship.
"Return fire!" Robert ordered. He unclipped his lifeline and bounded off the bridge to assist the gunners.
Depending on the training of the opposing crew, they could reset their cannons in under two minutes. With the Albatross' wing compromised, and their maneuverability limited, he doubted they would avoid another broadside.
The cutter's five starboard cannons fired, and slammed into the enemy's flank. Two barreled into the rigging, while two smashed their way inside the gunner windows. The fifth bounced off the metal hull and fell away. Thirty seconds later, the shells exploded. The eruptions ignited the powder in the gunner cells, and the areas blew outward. Smoke and fire bellowed from the windows, but the other cannons remained unaffected. The enemy ship rocked to its side and pulled away, before it corrected course and drew back alongside.
Of Steel and Steam Page 30