Alexis Carew: Books 1, 2, and 3

by J. A. Sutherland

  She bent over the plot to study the brief image of the ship’s transition. Into normal space and then back to darkspace in only a second or two. The ship’s masts were stepped and sails bent on, but uncharged — useless in normal space, but ready to charge and flee in darkspace if necessary. Not only that, but three-masted.

  “Not a packet,” Alexis mused. More than the masts, the number of gunports piercing the ship’s hull spoke to a very different purpose. “That’s a frigate.

  “Kill the drive,” she ordered quietly. She turned to the signals console. “Chevis, no signals at all until we know who this is. Kill the hull lights as well.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis studied the image while she waited. There was something odd about it, but she supposed she’d know soon enough. Likely as not the visitor was a frigate from the New London fleet and she’d receive a dressing down from her captain for hiding like this.

  “Your thoughts, Leyman?”

  “Hard to say from the angle we have, sir, but look here …”

  Alexis crossed to the tactical console. Leyman had the image magnified and was pointing to the ship’s bow.

  “Do you see here, sir? How the bowsprit seems to angle up a bit?”

  “And the masts aren’t quite equidistant,” Alexis added.

  “Aye, the fore and mizzen are a few degrees closer to the main than a proper frigate’s should be.”

  Alexis took a deep breath and held it. She clapped a hand on Leyman’s shoulder.

  “Well, and we’ll know for certain in a moment when she analyzes what she saw and returns, but I believe you’ve seen the right of it. That’s a Hanoverese design.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and considered what to do next. Belial was no match for a frigate, that was certain, and there was no way of knowing what other Hanoverese ships were about to transition into the system. If she were in orbit, she might contact General Malicoat, but the general would know as much as she did already. The satellites in orbit around Giron would have alerted him to the frigate’s transition. Any message Alexis sent now would only serve to betray her position if the frigate returned.

  “Transition,” Leyman said. “It’s back and making way for the planet.” He paused and hunched over his console, his description of the other ship, it rather than she, making it clear he’d determined the newcomer was hostile. “Transition — another ship at L1 … Multiple transitions … L2, L4, L3 … multiple transitions, multiple ships.”

  Alexis turned to the navigation plot as markers for these new ships began appearing, Belial’s computers marking their locations and courses as the light and electronic emissions reached her. That last, L3, was where Belial had spent the day in drill and Alexis was glad she’d left to recover the target when she had. Ships were appearing in a constant stream that made its way toward Giron. L5 was out of Belial’s sight, behind the planet from her position, but Alexis assumed the same was happening there.

  “That first frigate’s closing on the planet, sir,” Leyman said. He hunched over his console. “I’m losing the signals from our satellite constellation there, one by one.”

  “Well, that settles their intentions, doesn’t it?” Alexis caught her lower lip between her teeth and worried at it. “Can you determine what type of ship the others are?” she asked, knowing the answer but needing it confirmed.

  “Transports, sir, the lot of them.”

  Forty-Six

  Alexis’ eyes burned with fatigue. She’d been on the quarterdeck for more than thirty-six hours, counting the time Belial had spent in drill. Those drills seemed like an eternity ago, now that she’d spent so much time watching the Hanoverese land their forces. Ship after ship streamed into orbit around Giron, dropped its boats full of soldiers, and then made way back to a Lagrangian point to leave the system. Alexis had lost count of how many, but her estimate of the total number of troops made her gorge rise.

  Seventy thousand, at least. Perhaps more.

  General Malicoat’s New London forces would be outnumbered at least two to one. He’d have an advantage in men if he included the French, but they were untrained and only a fraction of them had been equipped with modern arms.

  Malicoat had made only one encrypted transmission after the Hanoverese began arriving and had then been utterly silent.

  “If you can get loose, Carew — certain of it, I mean — then hurry word of this back to New London. But only if you’re certain. Better for word to be late than never come at all.”

  And so Alexis had kept Belial dead stopped, much as it galled her to do so — and galled her further not to be able to respond to Malicoat. She thought Belial was somewhat safe where she was, hundreds of thousands of kilometers from any of Giron’s Lagrangian points, and the distance increasing as Giron moved on in its orbit. Without any lights or firing engines, and with the tumbling length of hull material they’d used as a target, Belial would likely be mistaken for random debris, if she were even spotted at all.

  “Have you seen any more frigates than the five, Leyman?”

  “No, sir.”

  They’d identified five Hanoverese frigates amongst the invading force. One was in orbit around Giron, obviously guarding the transports in normal space. The others appeared and disappeared, transitioning at random intervals and at random Lagrangian points, both Giron’s and those of the other planets in the system.

  Alexis noticed her fingers were tapping the surface of the navigation plot and forced herself to be still.

  Even if we could move unnoticed to a point for transition, one of those frigates would likely be in position to intercept us in darkspace.

  She reviewed Malicoat’s message again. No, she was far from certain she could escape the system, certain she couldn’t, in fact. Not with those frigates about.

  She’d have to wait and see what happened when the Hanoverese finished their landing. In the meantime, she had no idea what might be happening on Giron’s surface.

  It took three days for the Hanoverese transports to complete their landing. More transports arrived after the first batch. Alexis had tried to estimate the number of troops that might be landing and kept coming up with a number that spelled nothing good for General Malicoat and the New London soldiers, much less the French recruits.

  At last, the final Hanoverese ship transitioned out of the system. Alexis was at first surprised that they’d left no warship behind, but with Admiral Chipley’s fleet at large in darkspace, they’d likely thought protection for the transports more important. There was little one frigate could do here if Chipley returned in any case.

  Much as there was little we could do when this lot arrived.

  Even after the last ship left, Alexis kept Belial still, dark, and silent. She worried that one might return. As soon as she moved and tried to contact Malicoat her presence would be picked up by any satellites the Hanoverese had left in orbit and reported to those on the surface. Finally she thought it was safe and contacted Malicoat.

  Alexis watched General Malicoat’s expressionless face on the screen as she waited for his response. She’d let Belial fall back as the planet continued in its orbit while waiting for the Hanoverese ships to leave. The result was that Belial was a full six light seconds from the planet.

  “No,” Malicoat said. “I realize your orders were to stay and support me, Carew, but there’s little you can do at this point. I need you to return to New London space and report our situation. I need those additional troops.” He frowned. “The Hanoverese outnumber us by a decent margin, even taking into account the locally raised troops. And some of the French have been abandoning the idea ever since the Hanoverese arrived in system. I can’t say that I blame them.

  “The one bright spot in this mess is that I have no fixed position I must defend, and so I’m free to maneuver. Tell whoever’s in charge of the incoming forces that I plan to split my force into multiple columns. The Hanoverese have done the same — their plan seems to be to come at us from all dir
ections so that we can’t maneuver free. If I keep my force together, their columns will be able to keep us engaged long enough for the others to catch up and outnumber us. I’ll split my force in such a way that each can maneuver faster and likely take on any one of their columns — two would be a stretch, but I hope to be able to avoid that.

  “Once we’ve broken out of their attempt to encircle us, I’ll be free to bring the force back together and maneuver anywhere on the continent that I like — they’re as limited as I am with their ships and boats gone, so we’ll all be walking. Don’t mistake me, though — breaking free and running is the best I hope for. After that, they’ll be able to bring their entire force together and come hot on our heels. It’s only a matter of time before they catch up.”

  Alexis wanted to ask questions, but Malicoat wasn’t stopping.

  “If the reinforcements aren’t coming for some reason — lord knows there’s always some sort of cock-up — tell them I need those transports back. All of this is in the report I’ve sent to your ship, obviously, but you’ll have to be my voice in this. And if it’s come to that — that they’re sending ships to pull us off — then tell them we need enough for the French troops as well. And whatever civilians we can take off with us. We’re already getting word of reprisals down here and it’s a vile bit of business.

  “Whatever you’re about to say, forget it, Carew. I can see on your face here that you don’t like the idea, but this is what I need from you. There’s nothing your ship can help with by staying and you must get word of our situation to Chipley or whoever might be in charge back on Alchiba. Once they’ve made a decision, I’d admire it if you hurried back here with word of it, though, so I know whether my backside will be going into the pan or the fire.”

  Malicoat paused and after a moment of silence Alexis assumed he was done. No, she didn’t like it — it seemed like she’d be running back to the safety of New London space and abandoning Malicoat and all his men, but she realized he was correct. There was nothing Belial could do to help their situation.

  “Aye sir.” She nodded. “You’re right that I don’t like it, but … I’ll deliver the message and be back with their response as quick as I may.”

  “Good girl,” Malicoat said.

  Alexis couldn’t even bring herself to bristle at that; the situation was too dire.

  Forty-Seven

  The long sail back to Alchiba was a further exercise in frustration and impatience. Belial performed beautifully, racing before the darkspace winds as fast as any frigate — certainly faster than a ship of the line like Shrewsbury — but neither her ship’s performance nor her joy in sailing her could ease Alexis’ mind.

  When they arrived at Alchiba, her worst fears were realized. Not only had the transports never returned to Alchiba, but there was no Naval presence in the system at all. The next nearest system she could be sure of having Naval officers was two weeks’ sail farther into New London at Lesser Itchthorpe. Even Dansby and Marilyn had moved on, though she heard that he’d been back and forth to Alchiba several times since the fleet sailed.

  She sent copies of Malicoat’s messages and her own report on with a merchantman bound for Lesser Itchthorpe, along with a Naval draft for the merchant’s captain to sail there directly. She hoped the port admiral there would honor it and not give him too much trouble over it coming from a mere lieutenant.

  What she should do — sail for Lesser Itchthorpe or some other station herself, remain at Alchiba in the hopes a fleet happened by, or return to Giron to assist Malicoat in some way — she didn’t know.

  Finally she decided. It came down to feeling she was needed back at Giron. She had no idea what use she could be, but nothing else seemed the right course. To cover it all, though, she sent additional copies of her reports off to Lesser Itchthorpe by yet another merchantman, and one farther along to Penduli for good measure.

  If she was to return to Giron, though, and place Belial alone in the face of a Hanoverese fleet possibly returning there, she could at least see that Artley and Isom were safe. She wished she could leave her entire crew behind on Alchiba to keep them safe, but needed them to sail the ship. They, at least, were proper Navy. Neither Artley nor Isom should face these risks, she thought.

  Isom objected, but accepted her orders when she told him she wished him to watch over Artley for her. As for Artley, she told him that she wanted him there to pass on her reports and his own observations, should a New London force enter the system. He’d be her representative, responsible for seeing that any ships that could do so would come to the rescue of Malicoat and his men.

  “You understand what I need of you, Mister Artley?” Alexis asked.

  “I do, sir, I suppose … what you’ve asked of me, at least. I don’t understand the why of it, or why you have to go back. It seems hopeless.”

  “History is full of times that seemed hopeless.” She thought of a few of the examples she’d read about since Eades’ humiliating comments on her knowledge of history. “Masada, Thermopylae, Agincourt, Third Rosada, our own ship Shrewsbury’s original namesake, come to that.”

  “Seems a few of those were quite hopeless, sir.”

  Alexis thought hard for a moment. “I think, Mister Artley, that it is the trying which echoes most loudly through the ages. The striving against odds. For in that striving, no matter the losses, comes hope. Perhaps, even, the knowledge that some will fight against those hopeless odds may deter the evil itself at times.” She shrugged. “I don’t understand it fully myself, but I feel as though my place, Belial’s place, is back at Giron. Perhaps on the sail there it will occur to me how one ship may be of some use.” She gripped Artley’s shoulder. “I’m depending on you to send me what help you may.”

  “Aye, sir.” The lad frowned as though still thinking it through. “I’ll not disappoint you.”

  Forty-Eight

  “No sign of them at all?”

  General Malicoat’s shoulders slumped. Alexis had thought he looked exhausted when she’d arrived to give him a report on her journey to Alchiba and back; now he looked simply defeated.

  “Nothing, sir. I’m sorry.” She waited while Malicoat filled a glass from the bottle of bourbon she’d brought down with her. Supplies for the constantly retreating army were low all around and she’d thought he might appreciate a bit of a drink with the news she’d brought for him. “Our transports never arrived back at Alchiba and there was no sign of them on either leg of our journey there and back. No sign of either of the war fleets. Neither any sign of the Hanoverese transports returning.”

  Malicoat grunted. “Small favors.” He drained his glass and poured another. “Thank you for this. There’s hardly a drop left in the camp.” He turned to a large display behind him and was silent for a time.

  Alexis studied the display. It showed the path the army had taken since breaking through the Hanoverese lines and fleeing Atterrissage. The line snaked across the continent, changing direction here and there to make the best use of terrain. Still Alexis could see the notations made where the Hanoverese columns had caught up and engaged the army’s rear. There were far too many of them for her liking.

  “They brought in more transport than we have,” Malicoat said as though responding to her thoughts. “We manage to disengage and rush off to gain a few hours’ time — as we have now — but they’ll always catch up with us.” He tapped the screen near one of the marked actions. “They brought heavy cavalry, as well. Caught us here at Sauqueuse — the 451st drove them off, but the casualties …”

  Malicoat reached for the bottle again, but capped it and held it up.

  “I’ll just keep this, if you don’t mind, Carew?”

  Alexis simply nodded. There was nothing she could think of to say and if the general wanted to drink in private later on, she’d not gainsay him.

  “Thank you. There’s more than one lad in the hospital train who’ll not say no to a last wet. God knows I can’t offer them anything more.”

 
; “Is there nothing we can do, sir?”

  “You’ve done what you could, unless you can load a few tens of thousands troops aboard your ship.” He shook his head. “No, with no relief coming and no ships to evacuate us, the best we can do is draw it out. Don’t get me wrong, that’s what I’ll do. Especially with the civilians pouring in.” He rose and walked to the tent’s front to peer out the flap. “More every day — the Hanoverese reprisals have been bloody. Towns razed, executions in the square — before you returned and took down their satellite constellation they were transmitting them planetwide.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “They’ve said they’ll salt every patch of earth a traitor’s trod upon …”

  Alexis winced. She couldn’t see how it had come to this. They’d been so sure, so certain, back at Alchiba that it would be a certain thing. Eades had been giddy as a schoolgirl at the prospect of the beginning of the end of Hanover. Now the people of Giron were paying the price. Only Malicoat had argued that they weren’t bringing enough forces in the first wave … Dansby and Mynatt had seen it too, now that she thought about it, but no one had asked them.

  “You were right,” she whispered.

  Malicoat nodded. “Small comfort.”

  Alexis left Malicoat’s tent and made her way through the camp back to Belial’s boat. Dobb and the others trailed behind her, but she was lost in thought. There was no doubt that Malicoat’s situation was dire. She thought there must be some way Belial could assist other than constantly running back and forth to Alchiba crying out for aid.

  She must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, because she found herself leaving the military encampment and entering that of the civilians fleeing with the army. If the army’s encampment had been less orderly than she’d expected, this was chaos. Tents made of anything that could be strung between two posts, piles of household goods and valuables the people were trying to keep with them and further piles of those discarded as the march grew longer. The makeshift tents were arranged in small groups, some with a fire at the center and the occupants huddled around it.