Free Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) by Daniel Ottalini Page B

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