The Little Ships (Alexis Carew Book 3)

by J. A. Sutherland

  I could grow quite used to this.

  “I brought a bit of a bite for you, as well, sir.”

  Alexis saw the tray with sandwich, glass, and wine on the cabin’s table.

  “Doubly thanked, then.” She rose and went to the table, which doubled as a large desk surface complete with a repeater of the quarterdeck’s navigation plot.

  Belial was still in orbit around Giron, still endlessly circling, and with still no sign of the returning transports or the rest of the fleet.

  Alexis keyed her tablet to call the quarterdeck. “Mister Artley?”

  “Yes, sir?” he responded after a moment.

  “Have the bosun pipe Up Spirits, if you please, and set the men to their meal afterward.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis set her tablet down and waited for Isom to pour her a glass, as the familiar bosun’s pipe sounded over the ship’s speakers. She could hear the rustle and tramp of feet even through her closed hatch as the crew responded to the call. Up Spirits marked the start of the daily rum issue, and none of the crew would miss that. It was a time to be a bit idle, chat with friends, and settle debts by giving over their daily tot for the man owed to take his sippers or gulpers.

  Most of crew was idle to begin with, as she’d ordered yet another make-and-mend day. With Belial in orbit for so long, there was little work for the men once the day’s cleaning was complete. They’d long ago completed even the least important of maintenance tasks. Alexis had let the ship fall into a routine of three days, where the port and starboard watches alternated liberty on Giron for a day each, followed by a make-and-mend day with all the crew aboard and at personal tasks, such as their hobbies or mending their uniforms.

  Still, she sensed the crew was growing restive. More and more their liberty time on Giron was ending in fights with the soldiers, and the injuries from those clashes were growing more serious. The army on Giron was not taking their idleness well either. There were more fights aboard ship, as well. Day after day spent on hobbies was beginning to pall and every uniform and bit of gear aboard had long ago been mended.

  Alexis eyed her tablet and the article it still displayed. The treatise on the techniques of attacking from darkspace to normal space might be dry, but she imagined the exercise itself would not be so.

  She keyed her tablet again to call the quarterdeck.

  “Mister Artley?”

  “Yes, sir?”

  “After the hands have finished their meal, we shall break orbit. And pass the word for the carpenter, if you please.”

  * * *

  “You’ll transition thusly, Boothroyd,” Alexis said, indicating on the helm exactly what she wanted the spacer to do. Nearby, Artley looked on as well, his brow furrowed in concentration. “Then you, Leyman,” she continued to the spacer on the tactical console, “must sing out as quickly as the sensors come to life.”

  “Aye, sir,” they both said.

  “And no sooner have we fired, then it’s back to darkspace, do you see?”

  Alexis saw their blank looks and didn’t blame them. This was so different from the sort of action that took place in darkspace. There, with no electronics or sensors other than the ship’s optics, an engagement at even a kilometer was rare, and most took place with the ships only a few hundred meters apart or even closer.

  “They’d never see us,” Artley said from his place at the navigation plot.

  Alexis looked at him.

  “Sorry, sir,” he mumbled.

  “No, Mister Artley, finish your thought, please.”

  Artley frowned. “Well, it’s that we left the target Mister Oakman made so far away.” He ran his fingers over the plot. “We’re here at L3, but we left the target almost as far away as Giron, just behind it in orbit here.” His brow furrowed. “If that target were a ship, then all it can see at L3 now is empty space, but when we transition …”

  “Go on,” Alexis prompted.

  “Well, they’d still not see us. That target’s almost a full light second away. When we transition, we’ll be able to see it … or how it was a second ago, but it’ll take that time for anything from us to reach it. If we can target and fire before they even see us …”

  Alexis nodded. “And then transition back to darkspace instanter.”

  “Any enemy’d be struck before they know we’re there and have nothing to shoot back at. By the time the light from our arrival got to them, our fire would be close behind and we’d be back in darkspace already.”

  Alexis clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You have it.”

  Artley smiled, but then frowned again. “But at such a distance, how’re the crews to aim?”

  “That’s the beauty of being in normal space when we fire, Mister Artley,” Alexis said. “We’ll have access to all of Belial’s sensors and electronics once we transition. The guns are all locked in place and the computers will track our first shot to calibrate where they’re aimed — after that, we simply need to designate our target after we transition and the computer will maneuver the entire ship so that the guns bear. We aim with Belial herself.”

  Alexis laid her palms flat on the navigation plot and smiled. This would be even more fun than a regular gun drill. There was an element of stealth to it that appealed to her.

  “On my mark, gentlemen.” She waited a moment, then, “Now!”

  Belial transitioned to normal space and the stars appeared on her navigation plot.

  “Locate that target, Leyman,” she said, but before she’d finished he’d done so and highlighted it on her plot. Alexis designated it as the target and the visual feeds from outside spun and twisted as the computer adjusted Belial so that her broadside faced the target.

  “Fire!”

  The order and its execution were still manual. The gun captains on Belial’s gundeck would still have to mash their hands down on the firing buttons, as well they’d have to reload by hand, but the guns were locked to the deck and Belial’s computer knew how their fire would diverge and disperse over the many kilometers to the target. The magnified view of the target showed hull material boiling away as at least some of their shot struck home.

  “Back now, transition!” Alexis ordered. “As soon as we’ve fired once it’s back to darkspace.”

  Most of the quarterdeck’s monitors went dark as her order was obeyed and they transitioned back to the darkspace. Only the optical feeds remained.

  Alexis grinned.

  “Let’s do it again, shall we?”

  * * *

  “Match our speed and vector to the target, Boothroyd.”

  Alexis watched her plot as Belial closed with the target, what was left of it after hours of drill. She could have left it drifting, she supposed. Eventually its orbit would decay and it would drop into Giron’s star, but she didn’t feel it was right to clutter up the system like that. Also, she wanted the crew to see how successful they’d been. The target, fashioned to look like one side of a ship’s hull, just a bit smaller than Belial’s, was pocked with holes where their lasers had blasted through the tough thermoplastic. The force of the plastic vaporizing had set the target spinning and changing vectors after every shot, making their next even more difficult.

  “Mister Artley, once we’re alongside, detail some men to cut the target into manageable sections and bring it inboard for Mister Oakman.” The carpenter would be able to recycle what was left back into Belial’s tanks for future fabrication. “And inform Mister Dobb that we shall ‘splice the mainbrace’ on our way back to orbit.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Alexis had to smile at the rustle of anticipation from the helmsman and other spacers on the quarterdeck at her words, but they’d worked hard and deserved it. An extra issue of rum with each man receiving his full measure and without sippers or gulpers for debts owed. The three hours’ transit time back to Giron would give them ample opportunity to enjoy their reward.

  A soft ping from the tactical console cut through her thoughts.

  “T
ransition, sir,” Leyman announced. “At L1.”

  “Belay that order, Mister Artley.” A transition at L1 would mean a military ship, as merchants typically used the larger and more stable L4 to transition into a system. The arriving ship was probably a packet, either from the fleet and on its way back to New London, or from New London in search of the fleet. Either way she’d best take Belial back to orbit instanter. “Boothroyd, set a course for —”

  “Transitioned out, sir,” Leyman said.

  Alexis frowned. That was what ships were supposed to do when approaching a system without a pilot boat where there might be the possibility of a hostile fleet; transition in and then back to darkspace quickly, so as to have a glimpse of what was going on in normal space and be prepared to flee if an enemy was present, but the packets had proven themselves quite lax in that regard during her time at Giron. Most hadn’t bothered.

  “No signals or colors, sir,” the spacer on the signals console reported.

  “Leyman, send that transition sequence to my plot, if you will.”

  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.”

  Chapter 46

  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 o
n 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 directions 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.