“We make do with what we have, Cadet Engineer, and I know you’ll get us there and back in one piece.”
“One charred piece, maybe. You won’t be able to go at full speed sir, the engine is acting up again,” Tuderis informed him.
Alexandros cursed, then gave reluctant orders to slow to half speed. The engine noise subsided further, and Tuderis, smiling gratefully, gave a sloppy salute before descending into the depths of the engine room again.
Can something please go right on this trip? Please? he prayed.
Finally, a call came up from the starboard bow.
“Captain! Fleet in sight! Three points to starboard!”
“Excellent! Helmsman, plot a course…” He did a brief calculation, then hesitated before ordering the move. He walked over to the navigation station inside in the small wheelhouse and checked their current estimated position, then estimated the location of the fleet. “Plot a course to the west-northwest . And let’s drop down to just 500 feet. I want to try and communicate with the convoy lead.”
The airship descended, moving in to follow the convoy as it left white trails across the pearly blue-gray expanse. There were eight ships in the convoy, large vessels with paddlewheels, chugging along. Seven of the vessels appeared to be cargo haulers, large and tub-like. Probably impossible to handle during storms, he thought.
The last vessel was very different. It looked like a long wedge of metal with two protected paddlewheel mounts in the rear. The vessel rode lower in the water than the cargo haulers, but was more predatory in appearance. From above, the warship’s ram was visible just below the ocean’s surface, sunlight glinting off the metal projection. A circular, slope-sided structure with portholes for artillery pieces was built aft of that, followed by the funnels and command room, and then the bulkier portion of the ship that housed the two armored paddlewheels.
What an ungainly construct, Alexandros mused as he motioned for his signals operator to join him. The airship had descended now to the point that they could see people walking about on the warship’s gantries and walkways.
“Have they responded to our wireless message yet?” he queried First Officer Ionia. The first officer passed the message down to the wireless room, then shook his head at the reply.
“Sir, there’s someone on deck signaling us,” the signalman reported in. “It appears they do not have wireless capability.”
Alexandros cursed. “Naturally, the navy’s oldest ships have the oldest technology.” He sighed. “Very well, Signalman, please inform them that we are here to help escort them to Cydonia on Creta.”
The signalman saluted before pulling out his communication flags and beginning the complicated dance of sending a message to the naval warship.
In the meantime, Alexandros ordered his crew back to their regular duty schedule.
The rest of the day progressed as normal. As did the day after that. For days on end, the airship shadowed the convoy, the routine droning on and on. Alexandros tried not to allow his men to become accustomed to this. He ran drills and did inspections, had his men switch positions to improve their knowledge and training. To their credit, Alexandros was impressed at how the men responded to his constant coaching. Their response time improved, and their navigation and repair skills grew with each passing day. Even with the multitude of small repairs that the airship seemed to require, she stayed aloft and mobile, which was about all Alexandros could ask. In concert with the warship, the HMS Lorica, they even arranged for target practice, shooting barrels in the water from high above.
It happened in the early morning on their twelfth day of the escort tour.
“Sir, the Lorica reports that it has lost sight of the Fila Maria. They are requesting we investigate .”
Alexandros’s sleep-addled brain leapt at the opportunity to do something.
“Inform the Lorica that we will be leaving station and sweeping rearwards,” he called out.
The airship’s control room began to buzz with increased activity as fresh crewmen manned posts, and a steady stream of reports came in. The pitch of the engine grew sharper as the large propeller blade spun faster, the rudder pushing the ship to starboard. The ship turned, providing a new view to the crew as they doubled back on their search route.
“She must have gone missing during the night,” Alexandros mused as he scanned the horizon with his spyglass. “It’s only about an hour after dawn.”
Even now, the fresh crew were stifling yawns at their posts. The bright morning sun left shadows on the deck as the ship turned, blinding the observers and causing Alexandros to squint.
A moment passed, and the airship was back on the correct heading.
“Sir,” his first officer called to him. Alexandros turned and walked over to the man as he stood at the navigation desk. “I was looking back along our track to see where we might have lost the ship. According to the night watch, there were no storms or bad weather along our passage.” Ionia briefly read a note handed to him by an aide before handing it to the cadet captain.
“Last confirmed sighting of the Fila Maria is just after midnight. Were the night crews sleeping on duty? How could they lose a ship? There should be eight points of light on the water. When there are only seven, it is a problem!” Alexandros stated sardonically. Unfortunately, I’m not surprised, given the men aboard.
“Nevertheless, sir, I noticed that there were a lot of small islands dotting back along our path. The Peloponnese peninsula is famous for them.” His finger traced along the sheer multitude of small islands and inlets that peppered the waters of the Mare Mediterrane.
Alexandros growled at the map. “Pirates.”
Ionia nodded. “Or shipwreck. Smugglers. Rebels.”
Alexandros concurred, “But probably pirates.”
Ionia sighed. “Why do I feel like it is always pirates? Why can it never be a simple shipwreck?”
Alexandros laughed, a big booming sound that echoed off the walls. The crew stopped and looked at him for a moment.
“Our men are too good for a mere shipwreck. Pirates are a much more exciting challenge,” he boasted, conscious of the looks of his men upon him. “I have an idea. Can you push a message through to the airbase at Corinthus?”
The wireless operator nodded hesitantly.
“Well, can you or can’t you?”
“I’ll need more altitude, sir. And perhaps a new machine?” he asked hopefully. Alexandros shook his head.
“Then at least I can probably punch it through to Helos. They should have a more powerful transmitter there,” the cadet opined.
Alexandros nodded.
“Sir, Helos does have a recon skimmer wing.”
“That’s better than nothing. Request their help and see what we get. In the meantime, let’s scour the Gulf of Laconia for the Fila Maria. It must be here somewhere.”
With their request for help received and acknowledged, the airship continued zigzagging back across the route of the previous night. It was slow going for several hours. Although the airship was small, it was still difficult to get close to some of the tiny islands and hamlets without risking an errant wind blowing them off course or dashing them into the limestone cliffs. Their engine became increasingly noisy as the day wore on, the strain of pushing the airship into the wind telling on the temperamental machine.
“Sir, flyer incoming. It appears to be a skimmer.”
“Excellent. Confirm their orders, please.”
Another cadet stepped out of the control room onto the deck. Alexandros watched as he used a lantern-powered searchlight to send messages to the flyer. In response, the skimmer’s pilot sent back a stream of flashing light messages.
The cadet jotted down notes as he carefully recorded the skimmer’s reply. The skimmer waggled its wings as it swept around the larger air
ship before taking position directly before its bow.
“Sir!” the cadet called out, handing him the transcribed message.
Do I have to read everything here? Or have we had the secrecy training drilled so far into our heads we’re afraid to communicate a simple message? Alexandros grumbled to himself as he grabbed the message and read it. Then blinked several times as he read it again.
“You’re sure?” he asked the cadet.
“I doubled checked the message twice, sir, just like you taught us!”
By the gods… he’s found it!
“Sir?” Ionia inquired.
“Follow that skimmer! Looks like he’s already done our work for us.” The bridge crew cheered. “Let’s go get our missing sheep.”
With the small, dragonfly shape of the skimmer leading the way, the Arcus followed in its wake like a bulldog following a small child.
An hour or so later, the Arcus floated majestically above a half-moon island. Part of a sailing vessel peeked out from underneath a rock overhang. The flitting skimmer had gone in for closer observation.
“I can’t see any way to retake the ship without dropping part of our crew down there,” Ionia stated glumly.
“Afraid of a few pirates?”
“We don’t know how many there are, sir. It would probably be better to call in the Lorica and get her heavy weapons and crew here for support. Plus, I doubt we’re really prepared for any land engagement.”
Alexandros sat back in his command chair, chin on his fist, contemplating.
The door banged open. A crewman barged in.
“Sir! The skimmer is under attack! Someone on the island is shooting at them!”
Alexandros ran to the door, pushing his way past the surprised cadet. He made it to the railing just in time. The skimmer was flying erratically, tiny wisps of smoke escaping from its immobile right wing. It spun, rotating dizzyingly until it crashed into the rocky surface of the island’s eastern peninsula.
“Damnit! Can you tell if the pilot survived?” he asked Ionia, who had thoughtfully carried out the spyglass and had it pressed to his eye.
“Yes, sir. It looks like the pilot is clambering out of the wreckage. He looks okay from here.” He scanned around. “Uh, sir, there are men moving towards the crash site. They are armed.”
Alexandros hesitated a moment, but then made his decision. “First Officer Ionia, contact the Lorica and request support. We’ll need it once our men secure a foothold on the island.”
“Sir,” Ionia interrupted. “The Lorica is probably a day’s sailing away at least. They probably wouldn’t leave the convoy to begin with. That is not a wise plan. We’d risk the entire ship for the life of one person.”
Alexandros felt his plan beginning to crumble. “Well then, First Officer, find me someone, anyone, able to assist. There must be some imperial assets in this area. Find them now.” He put every ounce of authority into his words, and Ionia snapped to attention.
“Yes, sir!” he practically shouted.
Alexandros shoved his hands into his pockets to hide how hard they were shaking. “And assemble the boarding parties. They should be ready for combat in ten minutes.”
As the cadets scrambled to complete their tasks, Alexandros excused himself to his cabin. He clambered belowdecks, moving about in the lantern-lit gloom of the passageways. Once inside his cabin, the cadet could feel his hands still shaking.
“I can do this,” he said to no one in particular.
He opened his trunk and pulled out his own set of armor. The aircrew armor consisted of a light brigandine chest piece attached to a leather shirt that covered his arms and torso. Metal disks were sewn onto the back to provide additional protection. He dug his helmet out of his trunk as well, its metal dome flaring out in the back to protect his neck, while the twin cheek guard portions rested on the sides of his face. As an officer, he attached the traditional crimson horsehair plume to the helmet before placing it onto his head.
From his weapons rack in the corner he grabbed his scutum, the traditional shield of the Roman legions. Adapted for use on air and naval ships, this scutum was much smaller, being more of an oval buckler than a large shield. His gear prepared, he checked to ensure his sword was still on his belt. His fingers gripped the hilt of the gladius, the short stabbing sword unchanged after a millennia of use and perfectly suited to the close confines of boarding combat.
He met his men back on the main deck, the wind whipping at their cloaks and tunics. The warmth of the day provided little respite from the wind, which blew constantly at even their low altitude.
“Are you ready, sir?”
“Yes, indeed, Cadet Officer Porux. You’ll take the second wave, I’ll take the first. You secure the landing site. We will secure the downed pilot and return him to the airship. Keep a sharp eye out. No telling what these pirates or traitors have.”
“Absolutely, sir. We’ve got your back.” Porux also had a crescent plume on his helmet to designate him as a unit leader. He turned and began supervising the assemblage of various light artillery pieces along the railings facing the island.
At least I’ve got one subordinate who I can trust here. A week ago, that would have taken them half an hour just to unpack the darn things.
The airship descended. Alexandros couldn’t help himself as he peered over the side like the barely graduated schoolboy that he was. The ground moved closer and closer, and Alexandros could make out distinct rocks, plants, and a few small structures on the island. He spotted the wreckage of the skimmer to the north and east of their position.
The airship was descending toward the largest flat area that was available on the island. Crewmen on either side of the bridge craned their heads over the side of the ship, signaling the pilot with flags. Deftly, the pilot positioned the airship perfectly onto the rocky ground. Wincing with anticipation, Alexandros imagined the airship crushing into the ground and buckling from the inside out. With a crunch, the wooden hull of the Arcus touched down, leaving Alexandros pleasantly surprised. I must be so used to things going wrong that it’s a shock when they go right.
A gangplank was lowered over the side. Alexandros led his men down it, rapidly fanning out. As per his orders, half his twenty-man detachment carried repeating crossbows, while the rest were equipped similar to their captain with swords and shields. Alexandros led his men northward along the rocky peninsula. The second group of airmen manned the light field pieces and formed a protective cordon around the airship. The sounds of waves crashing against the cliff competed with the ragged footfalls of his men as they scrabbled over the rough terrain.
“Move, move, move!” Alexandros cried out as his men approached the small group of buildings at the center of the island. For a moment, he wondered if the town had been deserted, or if there really were no raiders and they were approaching innocent townsfolk. That thought evaporated when arrows arced down from the two-story tower that overlooked the cliff.
“Shields up!” he called out, and his men moved together, frantically trying to create a shield wall. The rough terrain hampered their movements, and the wall was incomplete as the arrows fell amongst them. Fortunately, the arrows were few and most missed the airmen. Only one cadet went down with an arrow through his arm, hissing and cursing at the top of his lungs.
“Get in formation! Now!” Alexandros bawled at them, and they finally moved into correct position, shields covering each other and their downed comrade. A louder twang from the tower saw a large bolt launched off the top and falling just to their right.
“If he can move, he can keep up,” Alexandros called out to the medico, a man seconded from the ship’s infirmary. The medico nodded, then hauled the bleeding man to his feet.
“Advance!” The cadets moved faster over the broken ground. “We’ll take the tower, then explore the r
est of the island!” Alexandros yelled to his men. He urged them onwards, desperate to get out of the range of that artillery piece.
They approached the tower, the stone structure dwarfing the small, sunken huts that made up the rest of the village. Alexandros detailed men to explore each hut, but they found nothing.
“They must all be in the tower, sir,” an aide said.
Alexandros was forced to agree. The structure dominated the area, but its only entrance was blocked by a door and was most likely reinforced from the inside.
“Send a messenger back to Cadet Porux. Tell him I want a scorpion here on the double.”
A man ran back across the rough terrain, and in no time at all, Alexandros had his portable artillery. Using his men to shield it as they positioned the weapon, Alexandros was able to observe the tower more closely.
“They appear to have a scorpion or ballista on top of that tower. It’s probably what they used to shoot down the skimmer. It doesn’t appear that they can use it against us, as we are too close. We’ll need to knock out that door quickly, before they can move the artillery piece.”
It must not have the range to hit the ship. But I should have thought about that in advance. Otherwise, the Arcus would have been a juicy, fat target.
The scorpion crew set to work, loading a heavy arrow with a thick length of rope behind it.
“Fire at will!” Alexandros ordered.
The shot lanced out, striking the door with a meaty thud. The thick bolt bit deeply into the wood, getting lodged in the door. Lucky shot!
“Quick! Grab the rope and pull, lads!”
Alexandros’s men pulled hard at the rope, while their comrades kept up a sprinkle of repeater fire on the battlements above the tower. A cry indicated that at least one of their shots had found its mark.
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