“I spoke rather sharply to another midshipman in their presence,” she explained. “They may remember it. But that’s neither here nor there to my being of assistance to General Malicoat, sir!”
“No,” Euell agreed. “But Admiral Chipley does not wish to give the Army cause to complain, so he’ll stick to the letter of that agreement. You’re to be available should General Malicoat have need of your advice and that’s the end of it. I’m afraid you’re to remain here until we return.”
Alexis shoulders slumped. She dearly wished to be part of the action, a fleet action, no less, with dozens of ships involved. Her gun crews were shaping up well, she thought. Even young Artley was stepping up to offer everything she could ask. She longed to test them against the Hanoverese fleet.
“Sir, is there no way —”
Euell held up a hand. “I’m afraid not, Carew, but I’m loath to leave you ashore with Malicoat and told Chipley so. He’s agreed to not put you through that — his own feelings toward Malicoat having something to do with it, no doubt.”
“Thank you, sir.” At least she’d still be aboard a ship, not trudging around planetside like the bloody Army. She blinked, suddenly unsure — did she really feel more at home aboard ship than on a planet?
How odd.
Of course it would mean transferring, even temporarily, from Shrewsbury. Likely to a much smaller ship, whichever Chipley was willing to leave behind, and getting used to a new captain. But such was the way of the Navy.
“You’re to have that Belial barque we took on coming in-system,” Euell said. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep a deck under your feet until we return and you may rejoin Shrewsbury.”
“Thank you, sir, I’ll … excuse me, but ‘have’, sir?”
Euell grinned again. “Never say I’ve done nothing for you, Carew. Chipley wants all his ships with him, so it’s this Belial to be left behind, as she’s not a proper part of the fleet. Moreover he wants the fleet’s officers to man the prizes he expects, so he’s unwilling to leave much more than you. She’ll be yours for the duration.”
Alexis was stunned and no little thrilled. It might be for only a few days, but she’d have her own command. “Thank you again, sir. I’ll do my best for you.”
“Yes, yes, I’m sure you will. It’s only for the time it takes us to trounce the Hanoverese and return, remember, not like you’re to have her permanently, you understand. And you’re just to sit in orbit in case Malicoat needs you for anything, so it won’t be at all exciting. Not as much as the rest of us will have with the Hanoverese.” He grinned again.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll leave you a midshipman and some steady hands,” Euell said, already turning back to his tablet. “Do you have some idea of who you’ll want?”
Alexis thought quickly. “I do sir. May I have Mister Artley as the midshipman?”
Euell raised an eyebrow. “Are you quite certain?”
“I am, sir.” As she said, she found that she was. “Artley’s come along quite well. He’s far more confident than he was on the way to Nouvelle Paris and some time on a smaller ship, with him as the only junior officer, might see him along even further. I think some time without his mates in the gunroom to prop him up might do him good as well.”
Euell considered for a moment. “You may be right. Decide on which hands you’d prefer to take and see Lieutenant Barr with their names, then be away before the watch is up, please.”
“Aye, sir.” She straightened, nodded to him, and managed to keep the wide grin off her face until she’d cleared the cabin’s hatchway. A command — a proper, independent command. The excitement was almost more than she could bear.
Chapter 42
Alexis stifled a yawn and stretched her neck side to side to relieve the stiffness.
For the first week Alexis enjoyed the novelty of being in command. She’d commanded ships before, but what was novel this time was that she’d been given Belial, not taken her in action, and she was in command for something other than a desperate, neck-or-nothing flight from capture or death.
By the end of the second week orbiting Giron, she’d begun to guiltily wish for someone to come along and chase her in a desperate, neck-or-nothing flight from capture or death. Not even the novelty of having Belial’s master’s cabin all to herself was enough to stave off the boredom.
As her third week in orbit came to a close, she was willing to admit that command, at least of a ship stuck alone in a single system, was bloody boring. General Malicoat apparently had no use for her, as he’d not sent her a single message, not even in response to her own inquiries as to his needs. Those had been responded to with a curt ‘not at this time’ by one of the general’s staff lieutenants. There’d been two visits by fast packets, one hurrying back to New London space from the fleet and another returning, but neither carried news or mail for Alexis or her small crew. There’d not even been any merchant traffic, unusual for so heavily populated a world as Giron, but Alexis suspected that word had begun to spread. With two fleets maneuvering to catch each other in darkspace around Giron, merchants would avoid the area for fear of being snapped up by either side.
Alexis paced the quarterdeck and caught her lower lip between her teeth. The boredom was getting to the men, as well. She had two dozen men, not including herself, Midshipman Artley, and Isom. Dobb, a bosun’s mate aboard Shrewsbury was making a creditable showing as bosun, but the crew simply had too little to do. During the second week of idleness, she’d set the port and starboard watches against each other in competitions, but stepping and unstepping the masts, racing around the hull, and even gunnery drill had quickly begun to pall. There were simply too many hours in the day and those that couldn’t be filled with legitimate work bred idleness and discontent amongst the crew. Quarrels amongst the men were growing more numerous and more serious.
“Mister Artley,” she called, making a decision.
“Sir?”
“Detail a boat crew, please.” If General Malicoat wouldn’t respond to her messages, then she’d take matters into her own hands. She’d make a courtesy visit to Malicoat’s headquarters, of course, but a trip down to the planet would also give her the opportunity to bring aboard fresh supplies, at the least, and possibly arrange for her crew to take leave, as everything on the planet’s surface seemed to be going peacefully and according to plan. “And pass the word for Mister Hunsley.”
“Aye, sir.”
Hunsley arrived on the quarterdeck shortly. He’d been a purser’s assistant aboard Shrewsbury and had leapt at the chance to act as purser to Belial. Even if the little ship was never bought into the Service, the experience would make it all the more likely that he’d receive a warrant into some other ship.
“Mister Hunsley,” Alexis said, “I’ll be taking a boat to the surface shortly and wish you to accompany me and see to fresh stores for the crew.”
Hunsley nodded. “Aye, sir, but Belial’s not proper bought-in.” He shrugged. “I’ve no ship’s accounts to work with, just the vats and stores we have aboard.”
Alexis frowned. She had a bit of coin in her chest. Not a great deal, but possibly enough for at least one round of supplies. “We’ll use some of the hard coin I brought aboard, then. Likely you’ll get better pricing with that than with Navy drafts as well.”
“Aye, sir, that they will. That army’s flooded the market with drafts, like as not, and with no merchants arriving, the folk’ll be starved for coin, even foreign as ours is to them. Be a better bargain all around.” He rubbed his hands together.
“Mind you,” Alexis warned, “I’ll want good value for my coin and an accounting.” She saw Hunsley’s face fall. “Fresh beef for the men. Real beef that was once wrapped in leather, not steel. And I’ll want some stores for myself and Mister Artley as well. I trust you’ll use your not inconsiderable talents to see that we receive the very best bargains.”
“Aye, sir,” Hunsley said, shoulders slumping.
“Buck up, Mister Hunsley.” Alexi
s smiled. “There may be no profit here for you, but the experience will stand you in good stead.”
Hunsley looked pained, but whether it was at the accusation or the lost opportunity Alexis couldn’t tell.
* * *
“Phibbs,” she said to the pilot, “keep two of the lads here with you and guard the boat. Mister Hunsley, take the rest and see about finding supplies.”
Hunsley eyed the bustle of the surrounding tents with doubt. “Hadn’t thought there’d be so many of these Army-types about, sir. Prices may not be what you’d wish.”
Alexis examined the surroundings as well. She didn’t know what Atterrissage’s population had been before, but it was certainly a good bit larger now. Not only was New London’s Army in residence, but she saw more than a few French uniforms. If the recruiting of locals was going as well as General Malicoat had reported, then the town’s population must be considerably swollen.
“Do you have a suggestion?” she asked, seeing that Hunsley seemed to be hesitating to say more.
“The smaller towns, perhaps, sir?” Hunsley shrugged. “They’ll be sending supplies here, themselves, but if were to go to them direct … cut out the middlemen, so to speak?”
Alexis nodded. The smaller towns might better choices to allow the hands liberty, as well. They might not have a proper landing field for the ship’s boats, but setting spacers down in Atterrissage with so many soldiers running about might not be the wisest course. The services had traditional rivalries and it appeared many of the soldiers were as idle as her crew.
“Seek out the best prices you can find, but purchase nothing if you feel they’re too high, and we’ll give your idea a go.” She thought for a moment. It would be nice to see Courboin again, even if Delaine had sailed with the fleet and couldn’t be with her. “I may know just the place.”
She went off alone in search of where General Malicoat was headquartered and finally got directions she could follow after interrogating several soldiers. Malicoat and his staff had taken over the largest hotel in Atterrissage for their use. She made her way there, though she did take the time to stop at a streetcart for a bite to eat — a sort of thin pancake wrapped around ham, cheese, and a fried egg.
The hotel’s lobby had been cleared of its original furnishings and filled with desks. Army officers filled the space, either working busily at desks or rushing to and fro between them. If the soldiers at the landing field had been idle, such was not the case at Malicoat’s headquarters.
Alexis stood, ignored, near the entryway for a time, finally resorting to reaching out and grasping the arm of a soldier hurrying past.
“I’m looking for General Malicoat,” she said.
The man gave her collar a puzzled look, apparently unfamiliar with Naval ranks, then seemed to settle on saluting regardless. “Back down that hallway, ma’am,” he said. “Last door on the right.”
“Thank you.”
Alexis made her way down the hallway. There was a harried-looking aide in the outer room who asked her to wait, then went into what she presumed was Malicoat’s office.
She heard murmuring, then Malicoat bark out an answer.
“Carew? That Naval person? What does she want?” She wasn’t able to hear what the aide said. “Bloody — Oh, very well, send her in.”
The aide returned and motioned for her to enter. Alexis was having second thoughts about the venture, she’d meant to call on Malicoat only as a courtesy and it seemed now she was disturbing him.
“General Malicoat, sir,” she said, removing her beret.
“Do you have some news?”
“Sir?”
Malicoat waved a hand upward. “Some news of the transports? The rest of my men? Supplies?”
Alexis shook her head. “I’m sorry, no, sir. The last packet from Alchiba reported that they had not yet returned.”
“Why am I forever waiting on your Navy?” He went on before Alexis could think of a reply. “Oh, never mind, I know there’s little you can do about it.”
“I’ve sent along your requests with every packet, sir,” Alexis assured him. “Both to the fleet and back to Alchiba.”
“Little good it’s done.” Malicoat snorted. “Your admiral assured me it was but a fortnight’s trip from here to Alchiba and back — it’s been twice that now, and no sign of transports or supplies. We don’t have forever before the Hanoverese figure what we’re doing and send troops of their own to outnumber us. When that happens …” He frowned, then pointed at her. “I want you to see what I’m facing here and send your own report with the next packet, Carew.”
“Sir?”
“Perhaps you’ll be able to put it into whatever secret language you spacers speak for your admiral, eh? Put in the appropriate ‘avasts’ and ‘belays’ that’ll make him sit up and take notice.”
Alexis blanched in horror at the thought of an admiral sitting up and taking notice of a lieutenant. Good things rarely came of such an event.
Malicoat sighed. “I desire it impressed upon Admiral Chipley that I must have those supplies and the rest of my men.” He waved a hand at the walls. “The locals are pouring in to join up, more of them than even that Balestra predicted, and we’re out of those French uniforms for them. Out of weapons, as well, and they’re making do with what they’ve brought from their homes. And every day that goes by is another day closer to the Hanoverese finding what we’re up to here and bringing in their own troops. I cannot hold Giron against a sizable force, not with half my regiments and untrained locals!”
Alexis nodded, though she wasn’t sure what help a report from her would do. “If you think it will help, sir, I’ll write such a report, but surely Admiral Chipley takes more note of your words than mine.”
“Surely,” Malicoat repeated. He tapped his tablet and barked into it, “Roswell! Get in here!”
A moment later a uniformed woman appeared in the doorway. She was a full head taller than Alexis, with close-cropped hair and a slight build.
“Yes, sir?” she said.
“Carew, this is Lieutenant Roswell, 451st Light Cavalry. Roswell, Lieutenant Carew — highest ranking Naval officer Chipley’s left us in the system, if you can believe it.” He looked at Alexis and snorted. “Take no offense, Carew, it’s nothing personal. Only that your Navy’s right buggered me on this one.”
Alexis chose what she thought would be the safest course and remained silent.
“Show Carew a bit of what we’re dealing with, Roswell,” Malicoat said. “Those new Frenchies, perhaps? See if she thinks they’ll be of any use come to a fight.”
“Yes, sir,” Roswell said and stepped aside from the door.
Malicoat had already lowered his face to his tablet again, so Alexis nodded, replaced her beret, and followed Roswell.
Chapter 43
“What is it exactly you’d like to see?”
Alexis shook her head. “I’m not at all certain. General Malicoat wishes me to send a report to Admiral Chipley on the situation here and his desperate need for the rest of the regiment and supplies for the French.”
“Well there’s plenty of that to see, no doubt.” Roswell resumed walking. “The 451st is staging an exercise with some of the new French recruits outside of town. That’s what the general spoke of. Perhaps impress upon your admiral that it takes time and resources to train up an army?”
“Thank you, Lieutenant Roswell, I’d like that very much. I’m sure it will prove useful.”
Roswell grinned. “Not to mention give you something to do, eh? One must become bored up there with nothing to fill the days save spin round and round the planet.”
Alexis returned the grin. “It has become somewhat tiresome.”
They left the headquarters building and Roswell led her to an open square where some of the few vehicles the army had brought to Giron were parked.
“One of the perquisites of being on the general’s staff,” Roswell said as she nodded to a small aircar parked to the side.
Roswe
ll and Alexis entered the car and Roswell told the driver their destination.
“It’s ten or so kilometers from the town,” Roswell explained. “We’re bivouacking the new French troops out there — more room for their training.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, Lieutenant Roswell, you said the 451st was your own regiment?”
“Company,” Roswell said. “We’re a part of the larger cavalry regiment — three companies of light and one heavy. Of course, the heavy was left behind on Alchiba.”
“I see,” Alexis said, though she really didn’t know what the difference might be. She was hesitant to ask too many questions and display her ignorance, but one nagged at her. “Are there many women in your regiment? I ask only because we’re so rare in the Fleet — the Fringe Fleet, at least — and I’ve seen so many with the army here on Giron.”
Roswell gave her a sideways look. “You’re from the Fringe, then?”
“Yes,” Alexis admitted, preparing herself to be treated as a provincial dolt once again. The Core Worlds might be superior in some ways, but she saw no reason for those from them to be forever acting superior.
Thankfully Roswell simply nodded.
“I see. Well, the Army doesn’t hold to the same strictures as your Fleet does, not when the Core regiments are called up, in any case. The Fleet’s out here full-time, visiting all the worlds regularly. Even our Fringe regiments are generally quartered in one place and only called out if there’s trouble.” She frowned. “I suppose it’s thought that if things are bad enough for our boots to hit the ground, the time for catering to delicate sensibilities is a bit past.”
She took a moment to direct the driver to a hilltop overlooking a large plain.
“Set down there, if you will.”
Part of the plain was covered with tents and the domed structures the army seemed to favor. The western edge of the plain butted up against a long ridgeline and the aircar set down on a hilltop near the southern end.
The Little Ships (Alexis Carew Book 3) Page 25