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.”