A Notable Account

Capitaine Jacques Guinyard felt the Shapiro’s deck heave underneath him as his gun crew fired another ragged broadside into the Dominion battleship Olluna, just fifty yards off on Shapiro’s port side. Timber fragments sprayed from the airship’s side and gunsmoke swirled through the air, leaving behind the familiar acrid taste Jacques had come to associate with battle. They’d been fighting for a good while, but the issue was no longer in doubt. Olluna was on fire, a plume of smoke trailing behind it like a distress signal, and its remaining cannons were only firing sporadically.

Jacques stood on deck in front of his airship’s pilot house. The forward window panels of the structure had been folded open to allow him to give orders from outside. Like France’s sea captains, he felt he needed to be on deck to properly grasp the intricacies of an engagement, though he had to balance the resulting advantage against the risk of enemy sharpshooters.

This fight, though, was almost done. Olluna’s Fey commander had been either inexperienced or poorly trained. And the ship’s crew of goblins, orcs and other Fey denizens had been green, as well, at least in military operations. Probably impressed from the Dominion’s cargo fleet just for this sprawling fleet action between the Dominion and the allied aerial fleets of Europe.

His first officer, Lieutenant Clovis LaRue, stood next to him, diligently scanning for other enemy ships that might be interested in responding to Olluna’s obvious predicament. Not unlikely, given the hundreds of airships of all types and sizes involved in today’s absurdly large fracas.

“Incoming to starboard,” LaRue shouted, his voice cutting through the din of battle as he pointed to a new threat. His first officer raised a looking glass to his eye to get a better view.

Jacques directed his eyes to where LaRue was pointing. A Dominion frigate, smaller than Shapiro but looking fresh and undamaged, was about a thousand yards away and angling toward them.

“Moria,” LaRue shouted, proudly demonstrating his ability to read the Elven runic script with which the Dominion labelled their ships. “Looks to be twenty guns, sir.”

Jacques leaned into the pilot house, smiling at his ordonanze, Otto, standing by the window ready to relay his orders to his second officer, Lieutenant Hubert. His second officer was standing at the helm next to the ship’s pilot. Bulky, broad-shouldered, and solid, Otto had followed him into service as his manservant.“Frigate to starboard,” Jacques said. “I want Pasqual and the other sharpshooters softening them up. And get the starboard guns ready. Mister Leclair to fire at his discretion.”

Otto repeated his commands at full bellow. Jacques nodded, satisfied that his commands were being properly relayed.

Returning his attention back to Olluna, he spotted the subtle attitude change as their pilot tried to sideslip the burning ship toward Shapiro.

He leaned back into the pilot house. “Sideslip, starboard. Now!” The pilot reacted to his command before Otto had a chance to repeat it. “And let’s disengage…they’re done for.”

Jacques watched as Olluna drifted toward them. Boarders, including goblins, orcs and a few Fey creatures he didn’t recognize, lined up at the beleaguered ship’s gunwale. Then howls of rage and disappointment arose as they realized Shapiro was sideslipping to counter their approach. A couple of the largest orcs were close enough to throw grapples, a few of which caught hold on Shapiro.

Their efforts proved fruitless, though, as Jacques’ airmen chopped the ropes apart with axes.

Beyond Moria, Jacques’ vista was full of airships fighting, swirling in and out of view in the haze that shrouded the vast airspace of the battle. The fluffy white clouds that had originally dotted the sky had been dwarfed by the billows of gunsmoke that contributed to the general murk. Forty degrees to port and higher than them, a stack of allied battleships furiously exchanged fire with a stack of Dominion airships anchored by a dreadnought in the center of the formation. Off in the distance, a fireball briefly penetrated through the pall as a ship exploded—no telling from this distance which side had just lost a ship. And everywhere, the sound of battle permeated the air, a never-ending rumble like thunder, punctuated by nearby sounds like cannon blasts, the crack of small arms, and the screams of dying combatants.

Olluna slipped away behind them, now fully engulfed in flames. Seeing no need to waste any more ammunition on the burning ship, especially Shapiro’s precious store of the new explosive munition, Jacques directed his pilot to slow and maintain their heading. If Moria wanted a fight, he’d be happy to oblige—they were welcome to experience his starboard broadside.

Jacques spotted a small frigate plummeting bow-first out of the sky perhaps a half mile behind the approaching Dominion ship. It took him a moment to realize that this was a precipitous descent, not a fall, and that the ship, which looked to be a small frigate, was neither French nor Dominion. He shook his head admiringly as the new airship suddenly started to level out in an arc that would bring it underneath Moria from behind.

If he’d tried that maneuver with Shapiro, he’d have his heavy cannons tumbling free and punching holes through the forward bulkhead, no matter how well secured they were for normal operations.

“What’s the ship?” Jacques asked, as he raised his own looking glass to get a closer view.

“Don’t know, sir,” LaRue answered. “That’s some fine ship-handling, though.”

The new frigate was perhaps two thirds the size of Moria, a fact that was easily discernible as the airship slid underneath the Dominion airship. It tilted over until it was almost on its side and then fired a broadside up at Moria’s lifters. Even through the billowing gunsmoke, Jacques could see debris raining down from the underside of the Dominion ship.

Jacques momentarily took his eye away from the looking glass to glance at his first mate. “A perfect up-the-kilt shot.”

“Aye, sir.”

Moria started falling by the stern, sliding backward and down as its attacker scooted away at a good clip. Jacques waved at the allied airship with his left arm, focusing his own looking glass on the other ship’s pilot house with his other hand. Previously incurred battle damage had ripped away part of the structure, so Jacques could clearly see the figure standing at the airship’s helm, long, dark hair streaming away behind…her. The woman waved back as they headed away to find new prey.

“I’ll be damned,” Jacques said. “They’ve got a woman pilot.”

From behind him, Otto said, “I think that’s Vingador, sir. Only airship I’ve heard of that has a woman as a pilot, though I think Sweden has a woman as one of their captains.”

“The Portuguese privateer?” Jacques said, surprised. “The one that was plaguing French shipping in the Caribbean?” Of course, that was all before the Dominion War started. Now they were all fighting the Elves and their Fey allies.

“Aye, that’s the one.”

“Hell, I never thought we’d be fightin’ alongside of her.”