Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) (8 page)

A midshipman with a slider descended almost right on top of the observation window, cheekily waving to the captain as he dropped past. Leaning outward to follow the man’s trajectory, Alexandros watched the junior officer land gracefully and set about directing the ship with a pair of brightly dyed flags.

Hearing a polite cough from a man beside him, Alexandros realized that he was interfering with normal landing procedures.
I’ve got to stop doing that; I’m preventing the crew from doing their job! Must be the exhaustion
. As if the thought had summoned it, fatigue welled up within him, and he had to put his hand out to steady himself. He held himself there for a few more moments, until he heard the steadying boom and jolt of the ship meeting the ground and, confident that the ship had touched down safely, he gestured to his first officer. “I’m taking a rest in my cabin. Wake me if anything critically important comes up.” With that, Alexandros at last retired to his cabin.

The piercing clang of alarm bells woke him from a dead sleep. Reflexively shoving off his covers, Alexandros turned in his bunk and blinked at the clock.
I’ve been asleep for nearly twelve hours!
He was wiping the sleep from his eyes when someone pounded on his cabin door.

“Captain! You’re needed on the bridge immediately! Enemy airships closing fast!”

They would pick a dawn attack,
Alexandros grumbled as he hurriedly pulled on his protective canvas captain’s jacket with the thin metal plates sewn into it. He grabbed his sword and scabbard and raced out the door.

In the hallway, he navigated around knots of legionnaires trying to be as unobtrusive as heavily armed and armored men can be. Many of them also appeared to have been abruptly awakened by the clanging alarms. Dodging around one such group, Alexandros came face to face with Tribune Appius. “Tribune Appius! I’m glad to have your men on board. We may need them if things get dicey,” he said, honestly glad to have
some real soldiers on board
—Not just my airmen, who don’t know one end of a sword from another.

The tribune smiled. “Anywhere you need my men to be? Or should we just stay out of your way as much as possible?”

Alexandros considered for a moment, then knew exactly where he needed help. “If you could send some men down to the artillery deck, they could use some strong arms and backs to help in winding our scorpions and ballista. If it comes down to a boarding action, we may need you to clear our decks or take the fight to them.”

Appius immediately started barking orders to his men. “Centurion Caesar! Take six squads outside to secure the ship against boarders. Durcius, take two squads down deck to help in the artillery gallery.”

The tribune turned back to the captain, but a voice from the loudspeaker cut him off: “Captain Alexandros to the bridge, Captain to the bridge immediately.”

Travins sounds worried,
Alexandros noted
. He’s
never
worried. This can’t be good.

“I’ll keep two squads in reserve to assist where needed,” Appius called after Alexandros, who was already moving.

“Just keep your ears open!” he called back as he ran for the bridge.

Pushing open the bridge door, Alexandros scanned the interior. His officers were huddled around the main controls, while deckhands raced this way and that, adjusting gauges and communicating with various stations around the ship.

“Captain on deck!” a rating cried and all movement paused as the men turned to salute their captain, fist to chest.

“As you were,” Alexandros replied. “Status update. What in the name of Jupiter is going on?”

“Sir, less than an hour ago, skimmers came back reporting that the Nortlanders’ main airbase at Ragunda was empty. Air-Admiral Polentio ordered double lookouts in every ship and sent all skimmers back out to try to find those missing ships. According to our latest reports, the Nortlanders may have as many as ten heavyweight ships of our caliber, but we don’t know how many they may have built or converted since we got this information.” Travins shuffled the thin pile of reports, seeking any additional information.

Alexandros grabbed his binoculars and scanned the horizon. “Where exactly am I looking?”

A deck lookout pointed to a series of small dots just on the horizon. “Right about ten o’clock to our fore, sir.”

The captain fiddled with the settings on his binoculars, zooming in on the small dots. He counted eight airships closing in on their fleet. “What’s the status of our fleet?”

“I believe we’ve got about twelve ships on station currently. We finished loading up the 13th Cohort of the XIII Germania late last night, and the other ships have taken up the rest of the legion—so we’re flying a bit heavy, but we’re also well prepared for any boarding actions.”

A small ring interrupted him.
Incoming wireless message from the air-admiral, I hope,
Alexandros thought as the door to the closet-like wireless room slid open and the operator emerged.

“Message to all airships from the air-admiral, sir.”

Alexandros took the thin sheet of parchment and unfolded it to read the hasty scrawl twice. “We’re to form up and orient ourselves on the flagship. Formation Beta.”

Nodding, Travins gave the specific orders to the pilots and crewmembers and the
Scioparto
moved toward her position in formation, to the left of the flagship. The smaller
Scioparto
was about half the size of the
H.M.A.S Seguro, t
he Emperor-class airship swinging into the lead position. A diamond formation was slowing taking shape as the other airships moved into their assigned slots by class.

Alexandros watched the slow dance from the starboard observation windows as the airships gradually created a powerful wall of firepower. He could see the entirety of the formation from the
Scioparto’s
position on the leftmost “point” of the diamond. The skimmer carrier
Vohar
took its place in the center, within the protected confines of the diamond. It continued to launch the small scout ships and collect others.

Alexandros paced the deck awhile, as the two forces closed on each other. The Roman fleet had left Sundsvall behind as it moved northward to engage the enemy. Below, miles of dark, thick forest, with only the occasional road cut or small village, flowed over the landscape. An hour passed, and Alexandros could feel the tension building on the bridge. He made a few comments to his men, told a few jokes, and tried to settle them down.
Don’t want to burn off all their combat energy on waiting
.

The bell rang again as more messages came from the
Seguro
.

“Increase to combat speed and avoid boarding actions as much as possible,” Alexandros repeated aloud. The whine of the ship’s turbines grew louder as the airships ate up the ground more rapidly. Airmen called out the quickly dwindling amount of time before the two sides reached each other.

“All hands to full battle stations. Maximum preparedness. Legionnaire forces to action stations,” Alexandros ordered. He could hear his orders being repeated over the loudspeakers throughout the ship.

“Sir! Topside lookouts report that they’ve seen multiple unknown airships approaching from the west,” the midshipman at the speaking tubes called out.

“Forward that to the flagship. Tell those lookouts to keep me updated every five minutes. Nothing we can do about them for now.” Alexandros leaned against the burnished railing that ran the length of the long bridge windows, as if urging time to go faster. He could feel the steady pulsating thrum of the engines vibrating through his ship, almost as if it too was eager to get into action.

Alexandros could pick out details on the enemy airships now. They were about the same size as the
Scioparto
. None of them appeared to be as large as the
Seguro
, which gave Alexandros a feeling of confidence. Roman tactics almost always proved a deciding factor against the more undisciplined opponents that Rome faced, and this time they also had size and firepower on their side.

His first officer appeared at his side. “Looks like we’ll be able to deal with this batch, then knock out the other ones before they can come into range,” he said, appearing to read Alexandros’ thoughts.

“Just remember that old adage, Mr. Travins: no plan survives contact with the enemy.”

“Entering target range . . . now,” called a crewmember.

Alexandros spouted off a series of orders as the ship bore down on her opponent, a smaller vessel with a heavily patched gasbag. He could see the airships in formation ahead of him firing off their ballistae and scorpion bolts, and the sounds of explosions and streaks of fire began to fill the sky. The enemy ships fired back wildly, evidently eschewing accurate fire to close with their more organized adversaries.

Quickly identifying the enemy airship, his intelligence officer shouted instructions to the chaotic gun deck below through the brass speaking tube. “Enemy vessel is a
Falk
-class airship. Mounts roughly twenty bolt or rock throwers. Recommend we target the engines and the exposed rudders.” Alexandros had given orders to wait for his order to fire the first volley—he wanted the enemy vessel rocked back on its heels.

“Topside lookouts report possible gasbag puncture. They are attempting to patch it,” called the communications officer.

Alexandros’ eyebrows furrowed. He’d spent his time as the topside watch officer more than once back in the day, and trying to find and patch a hole on the side of an airship in the middle of battle was an insane risk, but one that had to be taken. “Send additional airmen topside; I want them overstaffed for any additional problems.” The order was acknowledged and passed on.

Alexandros turned back to eye the
Falk
-class airship as it closed to within roughly half a mile. It looked to be sliding between the
Scioparto
and the rest of the fleet, sheltering its already damaged port side from his ship’s fresh weaponry. “Mr. Travins, you may give the order to fire.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Travins cried with relish and shouted the command down the artillery deck tube.

Alexandros closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the carefully slotted doors being slid open all along the bottom deck. He could see his gun crews deploying their weapons and triggering the release of the tension pent up in their heavy ballistae and scorpion throwers. He opened his eyes to watch the flight of the gunpowder-filled bolts, then the flash as they exploded against the side of the enemy ship almost in unison. A few missiles went awry, and Alexandros could almost hear the gunnery officers screaming at the unlucky artillery crews of the misaimed weapons.

The brisk wind pushed the smoke from the explosions away quickly as the ships surged past each other. Alexandros could see great rents in the wooden hull of his opponent, and pieces of debris, the detritus of war, raining groundward. “Pound them!” he snarled, watching as the Nortland vessel began to move beyond range of his weapons.

The enemy’s shots were hitting home too, and distant alarm claxons began to wail again as the
Scioparto
shook under the assault. “Mr. Travins, take charge of the damage repair teams,” Alexandros ordered. “I want us ready again immediately.” The bridge door banged behind the first officer as he raced off to comply.

As much as Alexandros would have loved to turn his ship about and chase down the wounded warship, he knew the necessity of staying in formation to support the rest of the fleet.
A formation is only as strong as the weakest member,
Alexandros remembered his former instructors warning at the Air Fleet Academy.
That was over thirty years ago, he realized
. The advice had stuck, and he’d seen it proven time and time again.

“Rear batteries are free to engage,” he ordered. Although he doubted the trio of rear pieces could blow his opponent from the sky, there was always a chance of a lucky strike.

“Sir, the
Hasta
has begun firing upon the Nortlanders,” his watch officer called, ear jammed into the speaking tube linked to the lookout post.

“Where are the other enemy vessels?”

“Three enemy airships are out of action. Wait—four.
Hasta
and lookouts report the
Falk-
class airship has been shot down.” A loud cheer erupted on the bridge as another airship before them caught fire under the combined bombardment from the flagship
Seguro
and the mid-weight
Marcum
. It cartwheeled out of the sky as its gasbag ruptured in multiple locations, leaving a trail of dirty black smoke behind it.

“I seem to be mistaken,” the watch officer stated glibly. “
Five
enemy vessels down. The rest are fleeing. “ The men cheered again at the lopsided victory.

After a second, Alexandros ended their excitement with the stern, “Keep an eye on the other three; I don’t want us to be surprised by another trick. These barbarians have already pulled a fast one on us. And order all main batteries to reload and refit as necessary,” he added. The watch officer affirmed and shouted along his orders, refocusing the deckhands on their assigned duties.

The captain slumped into his leather command chair, its indentations familiar with his body after years of use. He felt the adrenaline seeping out of his body as if he were an old wine bag.

The message bell rang again. “Sir, new orders from the admiral. We’re to identify the location of the second fleet of enemy ships and set course for them in formation Beta.”

Alexandros leaned forward in his chair at this news. “Well boys, looks like we’ve still got work to do.”