First Voyage

by David Healey

  "Take cover!" someone shouted, and Alexander looked up to see a shower of glittering objects falling toward the sailors. He stared, mesmerized, at what looked like shimmering rain coming down. Then he felt himself roughly grabbed and discovered it was none other than Captain Bellingham, who held Alexander by the collar as he raised a round wooden shield above their heads. Instantly, there was a thunk, thunk sound as the razor-sharp bomblets cut into the wood, but the shield stopped them as effectively as an umbrella stops the rain.

  "You might try to move a bit more quickly next time, Mr. Hope," said the captain. "It doesn't do to watch the bomblets coming down, pretty as they look, because it may very well be the last sight you see."

  Like Alexander, some of the sailors had been too slow, and the bomblets had caught them with devastating results, slashing through arms, shoulders and scalps. Several men now lay sprawled on the deck, bloodied and groaning. Captain Bellingham lowered the shield and was gone, marching down the deck shouting orders. Alexander marveled that the captain had very likely just saved his life, as casually as if he had helped him down from a carriage.

  Several of the enemy gryphons circled back after the bomblet attack. Some dived through the rigging to harass the Marine snipers, while others landed directly on Resolution's spars and sails. The gryphons clawed at the canvas and the French riders hacked at the lines and pulleys with swords and boarding axes. Great slashes appeared in the sails.

  The Resolution was far from helpless. Alexander heard Lieutenant Jones of the marines shout "Fire!" and another volley ripped out. A single French flyer toppled from his saddle and plunged into the sea like a falling stone. The enemy gryphon was unharmed, and circled the ship with angry cries, seemingly unsure what to do without its rider. On deck, sailors aimed their pistols at the gryphons, but the French were mostly out of range or flew so swiftly that they were almost impossible to hit.

  It was their own flyers who had the most telling effect on the Napoleonists, engaging them in air-to-air combat. As Alexander watched, two gryphons charged each other and nearly collided mid-air. The gryphons reared back, held in place by their enormous beating wings, clawing at each other with their hind legs. Swords clanged as the flyers fought. There was something familiar about the British pilot, and then he realized the flyer was Captain Amelia. Her sword flashed again and again as she attacked the enemy flyer. He wondered what the Frenchman must think, discovering that he was fighting a woman.

  The French gryphons had just one rider each, indicating that they must have flown a great distance as rapidly as possible. Alexander could quickly see the advantage of two riders. One flyer piloted the gryphon and attacked or defended from the front, while the stern rider defended against attacks that came from another direction, or fired shots at the enemy. It was a strategy that made the Royal Navy gryphons a formidable foe.

  Overhead, Alexander watched the two gryphons locked in combat as they rolled and grappled, trying for the advantage, all the while screaming their deafening battle cries. Like war eagles, he thought. He saw Captain Amelia's sword flicker quick as lightning and then the Frenchman went limp in the saddle. The enemy gryphon gave a final cry of defeat before flying off with the wounded flyer slumped across the beast's neck. On deck, others had been watching Captain Amelia's duel with the French flyer, and a cheer went up from the sailors.

  The Napoleonists were not defeated. Far from it. A fresh wave of bomblets rained down, and this time Alexander dived beneath one of the cannons on deck. The bomblets tinged harmlessly against the iron barrel, but elsewhere on deck the sharp spikes found their mark and sailors cried out in agony.

  He got back to his feet. Everywhere that Alexander looked, the enemy gryphons seemed to be tearing the Resolution to shreds. As he watched, a French gryphon settled high in the rigging and began biting at the lines and tackle.

  "Dear God, he'll leave us helpless!" Captain Bellingham cried. "Someone shoot that devil-beak!"

  Several pistols popped, but the gryphon was too high above the deck for the balls to have any effect. But then a British gryphon swept in and Alexander could see that it was Lemondrop, piloted by Lord Parkington. The Frenchman leveled a blunderbuss at Lemondrop and there was a burst of flame and smoke. Alexander held his breath.

  Lemondrop veered away, apparently unhurt, but one of the British flyers was not so lucky. The stern rider slumped in the saddle, badly wounded by the blast. It's very likely he would have fallen if he hadn't been securely strapped in. Lord Parkington and Lemondrop hadn't been hit. Alexander remembered to breathe again.

  He turned his attention back to the deck, wondering how he could help. The battle seemed to be taking place high above, beyond his reach. The screeching battle cries of the gryphons had become so awful that he wanted to cover his ears.

  Just when it seemed the situation couldn't be any worse, someone shouted: "Sail ahoy!"

  Already, several of the sailors were pointing in that direction. Alexander could make out a ship bearing down of them under full sail. The enemy ship was smaller than the Resolution, but with her sails sliced to ribbons and flapping uselessly, Resolution would be fighting with one hand behind her back. These were just the tactics Alexander had been warned about: an aerial assault to render the ship unable to sail properly, and then an ambush by a ship or ships that had been lurking just out of sight. The Napoleonist ship was still very far away, but it would be here soon enough.

  Even with damaged sails, this was an enemy that a British ship of the line could defend against. Sailors ran to their battle stations, rolling out guns and clearing the deck for action. Then another wave of bomblets came down upon the heads of the unsuspecting sailors, creating more chaos on deck.

  Alexander was still trying to figure out what to do with himself when he was astonished to find the deck beside him suddenly filled with a gryphon. One minute the deck had been empty, and then the gryphon had landed lightly as a cat. The rush of wind from the wings, however, almost knocked him over. He slipped and nearly fell. He realized, horrified, that he had lost his footing because there was blood on the deck. The French bomblets had had a telling effect.

  "Take him off! He's badly hurt!"

  Alexander recognized Lord Parkington's shrill, commanding voice. Several sailors rushed forward to help the wounded stern rider out of the saddle. Alexander recognized the hurt flyer, but did not know his name. He appeared to be unconscious.

  "Mr. Hope, get on!" Now his lordship was shouting directly at him.

  "What?"

  "Are you deaf? I need a stern rider, and Benson there is out of commission. Come on!"

  Even in the midst of the battle and the carnage on deck, Alexander might have argued. But as he stepped closer to the gryphon, several hands caught him and lifted him onto the gryphon's back. He swung one leg over the saddle. Someone strapped him in and he recognized Jameson, who was one of the few men tall enough to reach that high. "Good luck, sir," he said as the heavy brass buckle clicked into place.

  "Better take these, sir!" A pair of loaded pistols was thrust at him, and he stuck them through his belt. Then someone gave him a cutlass. He tossed his bi-corn hat to Jameson for safekeeping.

  "More guns!" Parkington cried. "Doesn't anyone else have a pistol?"

  Alexander grabbed at the pistols being offered up, and either jammed them through his belt or into his boots. He slung the cutlass and scabbard over his shoulder. The air around them was filled with the cries of war gryphons and injured men, punctuated by the crack of muskets. Overhead, the enemy gryphons had reformed and were coming again to pelt the Resolution with bomblets. Lord Parkington must have seen them, because he shouted at Alexander to hang on, and then gave Lemondrop's reins a shake.

  Alexander felt the gryphon's muscular rear legs tense beneath him, and the next thing he knew the deck fell away and they rushed upward past the Resolution's rigging fast as an arrow, driven higher and higher by the gryphon's powerful wings.

  Alexander gripped his saddle in utter fe
ar. Beneath them, the Resolution was now the size of a toy boat. At a command from Parkington, Lemondrop stopped climbing and beat his wings in the same way someone might tread water to stay afloat. After the rush of wind in his ears, it was oddly quiet as the gryphon treaded air. They were above the formation of enemy gryphons bearing down on the ship.

  "We're going to dive right through them," Parkington shouted. "Get your pistols out. You'll only have time for a shot or two."

  The thought of what they were about to do terrified Alexander. "How am I supposed to hang on with pistols in my hands?"

  "You're not going anywhere as long as you're strapped into the saddle."

  "What the devil will you be doing?" Alexander asked.

  "Flying." He kicked his heels into Lemondrop's sides the same way that someone would urge a horse to gallop. "Now!"

  Alexander’s stomach lurched sickeningly as the gryphon plummeted toward the enemy gryphons. Alexander was as terrified as he had ever been, and he fought the urge to toss away the pistols and hang onto the saddle for dear life. Down below he glimpsed the Resolution, helplessly waiting as the enemy gryphons approached. This was his ship now, his home, his corner of England. The thought that the Napoleonists were intent on attacking the ship filled him with outrage. He cocked the pistols and gave a wild war cry that the wind threw back at him.

  Lemondrop shot down like an arrow and wind shrieked in Alexander's ears. All at once, the sea loomed closer. This was madness, but the sheer terror of it all was somehow thrilling as they shot toward the French formation. At the last instant, Lemondrop rotated to come at them with his talons. The lurching stop nearly tore Alexander from his saddle. They swept among the squadron, catching them by surprise. Lemondrop swiped at a French gryphon and drew blood.

  Alexander raised the pistols and fired wildly at the nearest French flyer, too excited to take aim. He was so close that he could see the Frenchman's mustache and the look of surprise on his face. The shots missed, but he made the French flyer duck and pull back on the reins, causing his gryphon to fall out of formation.

  And then they were suddenly below the French and racing away. They were too badly outnumbered to stay and fight, but they had singlehandedly caused the enemy attack to fall apart. Alexander heard cheering from the deck of Resolution.

  The Napoleonists were not going to let them get away unpunished. They were stirred up as madly as hornets. One of the gryphons broke away from the remnants of the French formation and rushed toward them with powerful bursts of the beast's wings. Even from a distance, Alexander could see that it was the gryphon and flyer at whom he had emptied his pistols.

  "They're after us!" he warned.

  "I'll try to lose them," his lordship shouted above the wind. "You guard the rear."

  Lemondrop hurtled toward the ship and suddenly rotated so that one wingtip pointed toward the sea, the other at the sky. Alexander found himself flying sideways and was thankful that he was strapped in. The maneuver allowed the gryphon to slip neatly between the masts. Musket fire cracked and Alexander worried that the Resolutions had mistakenly fired at them, but realized that they were aiming for the French gryphon on their tail.

  They swept away from the ship and Alexander glanced back to see the enemy gryphon still bearing down upon them.

  Parkington saw it too. "By Jupiter, they’re fast!" he cried. He handed back a pistol. "Give them a taste of lead and see if that doesn't slow them down!"

  Alexander took aim, struggling to steady the pistol. He fired at the Frenchman's head, but his shot went wide.

  "I swear you bloody sailors couldn't hit a target the size of Buckingham Palace with a pistol!" Lord Parkington cried. "Hang on!"

  Lemondrop dove toward the sea at a speed that threatened to rip Alexander's hair out by the roots. Just when it seemed they were about to crash into the waves, they pulled up and skimmed along so close to the water that Alexander's boots got wet. Behind them, a pistol cracked and a bullet zipped audibly between them. The French gryphon seemed to be gaining.

  "He's closer!" Alexander shouted. Try as they might, they couldn’t seem to shake off the Napoleonist. The enemy flyer was raising another pistol and Alexander had the helpless feeling that he or Lemondrop were in the sights.

  "Now, do it now, Alexander!" Lord Parkington cried.

  "What?" He was confused. He had no weapons left except the sword, which was useless at that distance.

  "Why do you think I flew us so close to the sea? Use your power!"

  It was impossible. Alexander's heart hammered and he could barely think. He looked back at the Frenchman and saw that he had raised a second pistol, so that he was now holding one in each hand. The enemy gryphon was very swift and had gained on them until Alexander could see a grin of triumph on the French flyer's face. He couldn’t miss at that range.

  "Mr. Hope, sometime today would be helpful!" Lord Parkington's voice was shrill, almost pleading.

  He closed his eyes, then dipped his foot out of the stirrup until it just touched the waves. If he lowered his foot any further, the force of the water would rip him from the saddle, harness or not. In his mind's eye, he imagined the spray from his boot whirling in the wind ... joining together in a long stream of water ... whipping around and hitting the Frenchman like a hose ...

  Nothing.

  And then in frustration, Alexander willed a wave to leap up like a wall.

  Behind them, they heard a cry. Alexander opened his eyes to see the enemy gryphon smashing into the rogue wave. Flyer and gryphon toppled into the sea.

  Lemondrop swerved upward and spun round, flying back over the Frenchman. He and his gryphon appeared to be extremely wet but unhurt. Gryphons were strong swimmers, much like horses, and as long as the Frenchman stayed on the beast’s back he would be fine. The Frenchman shook a fist at them. Lemondrop, Lord Parkington and Alexander flew toward Resolution.

  The Napoleonist attack was broken. The Resolution's gryphons had rallied and driven them off, with help from the steady fire by the marine sharpshooters. Lemondrop was the last gryphon to return, and they were greeted by cheering from the deck as they swept overhead. Alexander's head throbbed dully, but he still managed to wave. If this was victory, he thought, it tasted awfully sweet.

  He fumbled with the big brass buckles of the harness and managed to undo them, then swung down off Lemondrop. It felt terribly good to feel the solid wooden deck beneath his feet.

  "Look!" someone shouted. "They're coming back!"

  He looked skyward and saw that a handful of the French beasts had reformed into an attack formation, though there weren't as many as there had been. They formed a dark wedge against the sky, and he thought he had never seen anything so sinister. Even from a distance, he could see the telltale sacks of bomblets hanging from the beasts' sides. And there was a new threat—the enemy gryphons seemed to be trailing smoke. They would be dropping incendiary bombs. Fire was a terrible threat to a wooden ship. The Napoleonists had saved the worst for last. He felt his joy at what he thought was victory melt like a lump of sugar in hot tea.

  The enemy retreat must have been a feint engineered to catch them off guard. It had worked splendidly. The marine sharpshooters were already climbing down from the rigging, muskets slung over their shoulders. Several of the gryphons already had landed and were unsaddled in the gryphon port. Lemondrop was the only British gryphon on deck that still had a flyer in the saddle. Without waiting for Alexander to return to the saddle, Lord Parkington launched Lemondrop into the sky with a tremendous leap.

  Lemondrop was a powerful and enormously fast gryphon, and he hurtled toward the French, scattering their formation. Lord Parkington's sword flashed, and one of the enemy beasts went spinning away, crying in pain, and turned toward the French coast. That still left four against one, and they quickly counterattacked. Pistols cracked and swords gleamed as the enemy came at Lemondrop. Watching from deck, Alexander could only watch helplessly.

  "They'll shred 'em to pieces!" cried one sai
lor, aghast.

  More shots rang out. Then Parkington slumped in the saddle. Without thinking, Alexander cried: "No!" Sensing victory, the Napoleonists descended on the British gryphon and wounded flyer. Lemondrop rolled and dodged, trying to save himself and his flyer. With a burst of speed, he broke free of his attackers and rose higher and higher, trying to get above them, all the while headed away from the ship as if to draw off the attackers. The last glimpse Alexander had of Lemondrop was a tiny dot against the gray sky, pulling away from the pursuing enemy gryphons.

  Headed toward the French coast.

  CHAPTER TEN

  The officers of Resolution had gathered in Captain Bellingham's cabin. Night had fallen, so that the room was lighted by gently swaying lanterns and candles. The faces illuminated here should have been happy, or relieved at the very least, because the ship had survived a fierce attack early that morning.

  Fortunately, the small Napoleonist ship had turned tail and fled after a full broadside from the frigate, having discovered that Resolution still had plenty of fight in her. The rest of the day had been spent repairing damage, tending the wounded, and otherwise setting things right. The group standing before the captain was grim-faced and quiet rather than content.

  Alexander wasn't quite sure why he was there—none of the other naval ensigns were—but he had found himself grabbed by the arm and almost forcibly marched there by none other than Captain Amelia.

  "We've lost Parkington and Lemondrop," the flyer captain said without preamble, now that the meeting had begun. A fresh bandage gleamed white against her temple where a French sword had nicked her. "And we should like to get them back."

  "Get them back from where?" the ship's captain asked. He added gently, "Amelia, they must have gone down and been lost at sea."

  "We've been flying patrols," she said. "Wider and wider rings each time. There's no sign of them on the sea. If they were there, my Desdemona would have seen them. Believe me. They must have reached France."