Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

“Nothing about this expedition was wise, Carew. It was half-done and on the cheap from the start.” He pointed at the men and women rushing about the headquarters. “And it may make no difference — they may still shoot the lot as traitors — but whatever the Hanoverese do to these men, it’ll be done to New London soldiers and witnessed by a New London officer — and New London will bloody well hold them accountable for it. There’ll be nothing swept under the rug here if I have anything to say about it.”

  Malicoat rose and offered her his hand. “Go back to your ship, Carew. Get that fleet of bloody miracles you managed back to New London safely with my lads.” He smiled sadly. “I shall sleep better here with the thought they might be coming back for me some day.”

  Fifty-Four

  Alexis left the headquarters building and gathered up Dobb and the others.

  “Back to the boat, Mister Dobb.”

  “Without the general?”

  She started for the landing field.

  “General Malicoat will be staying to look after his men.”

  Alexis looked around, the implications of what she saw being driven home. This really was the last bit of time they had and there were still so many who hadn’t made it aboard the ships. She knew the bulk of the army had been loaded aboard and the camp, except near the headquarters and landing field, was virtually deserted, a shadow of its former bustle, but there were still so many.

  Not to mention the civilians who’d come along with the army. The Hanoverese had destroyed whole towns they’d suspected of collaborating with the New London forces. What would they do to those found in the camp itself?

  That thought brought Marie and Ferrau to mind — what would become of them?

  Damn me, but Belial’s my ship until they take her from me. Captains have taken guests on a voyage any number of times.

  She considered. No, she suspected things would not go well here for Marie — a single girl from a rebellious planet. The Hanoverese wouldn’t look favorably on her and who knew what they’d do if they suspected Ferrau’s father was a New London officer?

  “Mister Dobb, detail half the men to return to the boat and make ready. You and the other half with me.”

  They made their way across the camp to where Marie was housed, but she wasn’t at her tent. No one was, and the tents nearby were empty as well. It seemed as though every part of the camp was deserted, save the landing field. Occasionally a messenger drove by, but that was all. Once, as they trooped through the ghost town of the living tents, they did come across a man. He was midway through ransacking a tent, stripping off a French uniform and pulling on whatever bits of clothing he found that would fit him.

  As Alexis and her troop of spacers came into view, the man froze.

  Dobb made to move toward him, but Alexis grabbed his arm.

  “No.”

  “He’s looting and deserting, sir.”

  Alexis stared at the man, still frozen with one boot off. His uniform jacket and shirt lay on the ground and he’d pulled on a rough workman’s shirt, but not yet changed his uniform trousers.

  “He’s making his way as best he can with what’s to come. Leave him,” Alexis said, making a point of turning and walking on the far side of the rough lane between the tents. “He’s afraid and he’s reason to be. Malicoat’s ruse isn’t even worthy of the name. If he thinks he can make his way better amongst the civilians, then so be it. As for looting —” She looked around. “— I suspect anything of real value is close to hand with those at the landing fields.”

  They walked back to the fields where there were barely half the boats there’d been when they’d left and no more landing. The soldiers were nearly done loading and some civilians were being allowed aboard.

  Alexis checked her tablet for the time and found that there was not much left of the deadline Malicoat had advised. She led her men to the back of the crowd, but didn’t see how she’d be able to find Marie in the mass of people, even assuming she was there at all.

  “We’ll make our way around to our boat and hope for a miracle,” she said.

  Dobb nodded and they started walking. Dobb and the men scanned the crowd, hopping up from time to time for a better view.

  “Marie!” Alexis called into the crowd as they walked. “Marie Autin!” From time to time someone in the crowd would turn and meet her eyes and she’d add, “Aidez-moi! I’m looking for — bloody hell, find? Trouber? Trouver, Marie Autin!”

  Most turned away, but some would cup their hands to their mouths and add their shouts to hers.

  Their boat drew closer and closer, and Alexis had begun to despair of finding the two, when one of the old men repeating her shouts stopped and cocked his head.

  “Que?” Alexis heard, then, “Marie Autin? Ici!”

  The man made a come here gesture further into the crowd, then turned and waved at Alexis.

  “Dobb —” But the master’s mate was already moving, forming the point of Alexis’ men as the spacers waded into the crowd, jostling and parting it with elbows and knees until Alexis saw them turn and come back.

  When they returned, Marie and Ferrau at their center, Alexis wrapped her arms around the girl.

  “Mademoiselle Alexis?”

  Alexis pushed her away and held her at arms length.

  “Do you wish to try and get away, Marie?” she asked, slowly so that there’d be no misunderstanding. “You and Ferrau? Away from Giron?”

  “Oui! It is why we come here — they say some will be allowed.” Marie said immediately.

  “Come on, then. Dobb, keep the men around her and Ferrau — this crowd is getting more restless.”

  “Aye sir.”

  They made their way a bit away from the landing field, back amongst the tents again, to move along without drawing attention to themselves. The crowd was twenty bodies deep ahead of them as they approached the field near Belial’s boat.

  Alexis moved into the center of the group of spacers with Marie and followed Dobb through the crowd, he and her spacers pushing and shoving their way forward. She clenched Marie’s hand tightly in her own and looked back frequently to see that Marie had a firm hold on Ferrau. There were fewer than a dozen boats on the field now and the only soldiers still on the field were those watching the crowds. She assumed they were part of the rear guard who’d be staying behind. Streams of civilians made their way from the crowd to the boats, and Alexis wondered how those who’d leave had finally been chosen.

  They were jostled and shoved as they made their way. Struck by elbows, nearly tripped, and all but deafened by the shouts and cries from those around them.

  They reached the edge of the crowd, which Alexis saw was far nearer Belial’s boat than when she left. The soldiers there recognized New London spacers and pushed the crowd aside to let them through. Alexis followed Dobb past the line, but the soldiers tried to stop Marie.

  “Non!” Alexis spun around and grabbed the man’s arm. She pulled Marie around her, placing herself between the girl and the soldier. “She’s coming with me!”

  The soldier — a captain by his insignia, which was on a New London uniform, so might not have reflected the man’s actual rank — reached for Marie again. He spoke, but so rapidly that Alexis couldn’t understand, something about lists and not being able to control the crowd, but there were shouts from the crowd, perhaps some of them sensing that someone was getting aboard a ship while they weren’t, and the captain turned back to try and close the gap. The crowd pushed forward and the soldiers had to fall back, bumping into Alexis and Marie.

  “Hell —” Alexis turned, spun Marie around and shoved her toward the boat, following after.

  Halfway there they passed Dobb, who’d stopped and doubled back when he saw they weren’t close behind.

  “C’mon, sir! I don’t like the looks of this.”

  “No,” Alexis said. She slowed. Marie had reached the stairs and was safely onboard. She slowed more, stopped, then turned to look at the crowd. Dobb pulled at her arm. Malicoat
wasn’t coming, his staff was already aboard another ship, and Belial had room — not much, but some. “No, I don’t like the looks of it either, Mister Dobb.”

  She ran her eyes over the crowd, not seeing it as the frightening, faceless mass they’d just fought their way through, but as individuals, no different or less worthy than Marie. She turned back to Dobb.

  “Mister Dobb …”

  Alexis saw that Dobb wasn’t looking at her. He was staring past her at the crowd, eyes wide and glistening. He turned to her, blinking.

  “No more’n thirty, sir,” he said. “Not and have air and water enough for the trip.”

  Alexis nodded. “Get aboard and have all the lads at the entry port. Tell Phibbs to lift the moment my foot’s on the bloody steps, you understand?”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis waited until Dobb was on the boat’s steps and then walked back to the line of soldiers. The captain glanced over his shoulder at her approach and he left the line to meet her.

  “Vite!” he said pointing at the boat. “Fuir! Go!”

  Alexis grasped his arm and drew him close.

  “Trente,” Alexis said. “Thirty. I can take thirty. Je peux prendre trente.”

  The captain drew back, eyes wide, and shook his head. He looked from the boat to the crowd. “Non, je …”

  Alexis understood his hesitation. Two more boats lifted and a moan went up from the crowd. She wondered herself if this was a bad idea, if she was about to set something in motion that couldn’t be stopped. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if the whole crowd rushed the boat, nor was she sure that any of the civilians should come aboard Belial, not even Marie and Ferrau. Belial was a warship. What if there was an action? There’d be no vacsuits for any of them.

  But Belial was a small ship, inconsequential in the scheme of the fleet actions. Her job would be to herd and harry the ships of the convoy to stay on course and hurry themselves along, not engage other ships. That would be for the frigates and ships of the line. Belial would be as safe as the other transports.

  The high-pitched whine of a railgun sounded, followed by an explosion from the far side of the encampment. The captain jerked and stared in that direction for a long moment, then nodded to Alexis.

  “Trente,” he said and pointed to the boat. “Vite.”

  Alexis squeezed his arm. “Vite, too bloody right, vite,” she agreed.

  She rushed to the foot of the boat’s stairs as the captain called out to his men. He addressed the crowd for a moment. Alexis couldn’t hear what he said, but the crowd pushed forward and the line of soldiers firmed. The captain reached past his men and began pulling people through the line, mostly women and children Alexis saw. A man pushed a woman into the captain’s grasp and she was pulled through the line despite turning and clutching at him. An infant was handed over the heads of the soldiers, to be grabbed by someone already through the line. Then Alexis had to turn away as the first of the refugees reached the boat.

  Dobb had returned to the foot of the stairs with her. Together they helped the running, stumbling people board, shoving them up the stairs to where waiting spacers grabbed them and pulled them inside.

  Alexis counted silently to herself as they passed her, she followed Dobb up the stairs when the last had gone by. True to her orders, she felt the boat lurch and lift from the ground before she was inside and might have fallen if strong hands hadn’t grasped her arms and pulled.

  The passenger compartment of the boat was crowded, so she went forward to join the pilot in the cockpit.

  It took but a single glance from the cockpit to make her wish she’d remained in the enclosed, windowless passenger compartment.

  Theirs was the last boat lifting and the field was still crowded with civilians. The soldiers there, with nothing left to guard, were streaming away, making their way to the other side of the crowd and through the encampment. As the boat rose, Alexis could see where they were going. To the far side of the encampment where a thin line of their fellows was already engaged with the approaching Hanoverese.

  Alexis tried to raise Malicoat on the radio to tell him that the last boat was away, that he could issue the orders to stand down, but there was no response and the enemy columns came on.

  Sweet lord, what have we wrought here?

  Fifty-Five

  Once back aboard Belial, Alexis gave orders to make way as soon as the boat was unloaded. Even before the boat’s hatch was sealed and the boat itself fully secured to Belial’s keel, the ship was in motion and heading for the nearest Lagrangian point. Ahead of them, the last few ships of the evacuation streamed for it as well.

  They transitioned to darkspace and Alexis saw just how close-run things had been. The fleets, New London’s and Hanover’s, were actually within sight of Giron’s Lagrangian points, even now falling into their formations as they closed with one another, all thought of further maneuvering given up now that they’d arrived at their target. The lights from the sails of the evacuation fleet were also visible, a long stream of them carrying off into the distance away from the coming action and towards New London space.

  Alexis wanted to put Belial about and point her at the coming battle, but knew her ship would be useless there. That was a place for the massive two- and three-decked ships of the line. The smaller ships of those fleets, even the frigates, were forming themselves behind the two lines in order to repeat signals or, just possibly, come to their aid if one of their larger sisters needed it. Belial would have no use there.

  Besides, I have my orders.

  Escort the evacuation fleet, keep them in line and on course, and at least attempt to deal with any stray Hanoverese or pirates they encountered on the way back to New London. Alexis eyed the two fleets one more time.

  Unlikely, that. Every Hanoverese must be there and no pirate worth the name would find himself where so many warships are sailing.

  They sailed on for nearly an hour as the evacuation fleet beat to windward away from Giron. Once they were well away from the system, the winds would become more variable, but this close they blew steadily toward the system, forcing the ships to tack back and forth to remain on course.

  Or wear, Alexis thought in frustration as another of her charges did just that. The captain must not have had much confidence in his crew’s or ship’s ability to tack across the eye of the wind without being caught aback and winding up in irons, unable to make any way at all with the wind dead on his bow. Instead, he wore ship, turning away from their desired course and falling back to turn and take the winds on his other side, all the while losing precious ground.

  “Mister Artley, a signal to King Orry, if you please. If she must wear instead of tack, then she is to do so less frequently. It may take her out of the convoy’s formation —” Alexis eyed the ragged stream of ships on the navigation plot. “— such as it is — but at least she’ll not interfere with the others and will lose less ground overall.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  “Lieutenant Carew, sir?”

  “Yes, Leyman?”

  “You’ll want to see this, sir.”

  Alexis crossed the tactical console. Leyman was watching the impending action of the two fleets and had plots of their movements displayed.

  “You see this one here, sir?”

  Alexis did and a chill went through her. One of the Hanoverese frigates had hung back, well back from the course of the two fleets as they began to edge toward each other for action. This frigate had fallen far behind them and then turned to cross their sterns on a course that took it directly toward the evacuation fleet.

  Alexis clenched her fist in frustration. She wanted to pound it on the plot, but that wouldn’t change what she saw. The Hanoverese frigate had got around Belial and was now to windward of them on the starboard tack. Belial could come a bit closer to the wind than the ship-rigged frigate, but not enough to close the distance in any reasonable amount of time. Meanwhile, the frigate’s greater sail area was helping it gain on the heavily l
aden ships of the convoy.

  “Roll us ten degrees to port, Mister Dobb, and edge us a point nearer the wind,” Alexis said.

  “Aye, sir.”

  The maneuver might gain them another, barely noticeable, bit of speed, but nothing that was obvious on the plot. Meanwhile the frigate had closed to within gun range of the nearest ship of the convoy, Mona’s Queen, a wallowing packet that had been one of the last to take on civilians from Giron. She must have been having trouble with her particle projectors, for her sails were dimmer than they should be and she was struggling along at the tail end of the convoy.

  “Frigate’s falling off the wind, sir,” Leyman said.

  Alexis felt a chill as she watched the plot. The frigate fell of the wind, turned, and presented its full broadside to Mona’s Queen’s vulnerable stern.

  Surely not. Surely they’ll fire a chaser and let them strike —

  “Firing,” Leyman announced.

  Alexis’ hand flew to her mouth as the Hanoverese frigate’s guns fired, a full broadside, poorly aimed and most missing their target, but enough finding their mark that Mona’s Queen all but disappeared in a roiling ball of plasma.

  “More than one made it through to the fusion plant,” Dobb said. “The bastards.”

  Alexis blinked to clear her eyes. There couldn’t even be any question that the Hanoverese had thought the other ship was armed — Mona’s Queen not only had no gunports, but there was no way she could have carried even a single gun that would so much as scratch a frigate’s hull — but they’d given her no warning and no chance to strike. Moreover, the packet’s hull was so thin that it wouldn’t have been able to stand up to even a single shot. Even Belial’s hull offered more protection.

  “Coming back to close-hauled,” Leyman said.

  Having fallen off the wind to bring her guns to bear on Mona’s Queen, the frigate had now turned back toward the wind to continue the pursuit of the convoy.

  Alexis studied the plot. There was no way Belial could bring the frigate to action, and even if she could, they’d be able to do no more than delay it a few minutes. A handful of broadsides from those guns and Belial would meet the same fate as the packet.