by Robert Brown
A swish of air and my boots hit deck
No cash, no fuel, no not a speck
Our grape shot’s made this bird a wreck
And a glance below deck shows a crew of nuns and orphans!
Chorus
With a crew of drunken pilots
We’re the only airship pirates
We’re full of hot air and we’re starting to rise
We’re the terror of the skies, but a danger to ourselves.
A MINOR REDEMPTION
When the boarding party climbed over the railings of the HMS Ophelia, we were greeted by baffled looks. “What happened? We heard a lot of gun fire, are you okay?”
“We’re fine. Wrong ship is all,” I mumbled, avoiding eye contact with anybody. I strode to the aft deck and pulled open my spyglass while the rest of the boarding party explained to the crew what happened. As Daniel explained the situation I tried not to think the stifled laughter was at my expense.
Gazing through my tarnished scope I could see what I thought we were looking for. There was a familiar cigar shaped gasbag and gondola combination – very similar to the Ophelia’s design – hoisting the brightly painted gypsy haul that had been lifted from the Neobedouins camp as we slept this morning. We had been looking in the wrong direction.
“Come about!” I yelled to the acting pilot, as I ran forward to the helm. And I added to the crew, “To the guns! Prepare for battle!” And once again the crew was in motion. My ears were filled with clop-clop of heavy boots, the sound of the rigging straining as the ship came about, and the now wind-muffled sounds of men yelling to each other.
The deck was still moist with dew, but I was now warm with my morning exertions, and the cool breeze worked wonders to drive the embarrassment of our botched attack from my mind.
I took the wheel from the acting pilot, and throttled up the props. It appeared that our new prey was flying by wind power alone, so catching them would be no problem. In fact, trouble would not begin until we came within firing range. At that point, we would be put to the test. This will be our first combat against another airship that had actually been outfitted for aerial combat. Until recently all our fights have been ground targets or sea targets, and we always held a huge advantage over them. Their shots had gravity working against them, whereas I could practically drop my boot over the railing and expect at least someone would get hurt.
There was also the problem of the cargo we were trying to recapture. A ten-ton, three-story, semi-truck sized haul hanging by ropes six thousand feet above the ground did not sound like an easy grab, but I was formulating a plan. Still, with all our misadventures lately, I was not walking into this without some apprehension.
“So, what’s the plan, Captain?” Daniel asked. Possibly a touch sarcastically? I wondered.
Now, the picture in my head of how the plan was to work made sense. It would work, but it did sound like things might get a little shaky, and it wouldn’t work if the whole crew was doubting me while we tried it. I decided not to divulge the details just yet, since the crew still lacked confidence in me, so I said, “We’ll just go up there and get’em!”
“Get’em? That’s your whole plan?”
“Hey, have a little faith!” I said, not sure if I did.
“Because that’s been working so great up until this point?” Daniel retorted, but our banter was cut short by a sound. The aft of our prey became obscured by four little puffs of gray smoke, followed by a muffled POOM! POOM! POOM! POOM! as the sound reached us. From these little clouds came four trails of smoke stretching out to our port side - obviously missing us. Each tendril of gray smoke was tipped with something spinning that glinted in the morning sun, and each emitted a strange mechanical whirring sound. The sound was comical. They sounded like a wind-up bird I heard once as a child.
Then, as the devices started to pass us, their trajectory began to change. They were arcing towards us! I just had time to yell “Brace…!” to our baffled crew when they impacted.
Now, to say the next few moments felt like time was standing still will seem like I’m trying to describe this instant using modern Hollywood action film techniques. That is not the case.
Here is what happened: three of the missiles hit the side of the ship, while the fourth missed. It was on a trajectory between our deck and our airbag. At the exact moment the missiles impacted there was a burst of pink smoke from the side of our ship, the exact color that the Chrononautilus filled with when they made the time jump. This cloud spread at an unrealistic speed across the deck, and whatever it hit it froze in midair. Men snapped to a halt mid-leap, swinging ropes and lanterns locked at unnatural angles, the fourth missile stopped in the air in front of me, and I myself froze mid-stride.
After the initial shock of being frozen passed, I was given time to really study my unchanging view. The second of the four missiles seemed to have punctured one of the glass orbs of our Chrononautilus device. The pink gas inside it seemed to change the temporal state of whatever it touched.
Directly ahead of me, I could see the fourth mechanical projectile that had been fired at us. It looked like an aerodynamic shark fin made with a brass frame holding aluminum panels, mounted with lots of rivets. It was weighted at the bottom to keep it upright, and there was both a rear propeller to propel it forward as well as a front-sideways propeller, which would kick in mid-flight to alter its heading in that arching course that so successfully hit us. This device must have been made solely for the purpose of airship-to-airship aerial combat. An airship (just like a sea ship) is a fairly small target if you are aiming at the front of it. But being tall and long, a wide arcing shot would have a lot greater change of hitting. Provided you know your distances and are skilled at timing the curve.
After what seemed like a long time (but was more likely just seconds) the pink gas started to disperse and turn into black fog. All the crew slowly regained motion. In fact, almost before my feet hit the deck the skies around us were filled with dark clouds. The missile that had been held midair in front of me slowly spun back to life, and whistled past and out of view.
My crew found footing and stood for a second, struggling to remember what was happening. Lightning from the newly formed clouds cracked and struck our ship, setting three ropes on fire. That woke me up, and I turned back to the wheel.
While time had frozen for us, the other airship had come about, and now their broadsides were pointed at us. Again, I heard the repeated POOM! of their cannons firing, and I pushed hard on the Elevator Wheel, in an attempt to loose altitude and dodge the shots.
The ship began to drop, but too slowly. Some of their shot hit the deck, some hit our sides, some our gasbag, puncturing it. This last hit would have been a huge problem for the Hindenburg, but Ophelia’s airbag was not only filled with non-flammable gas, it was also sewn in an internal honeycomb pattern (we made these changes in the Black Forest redesign). A few holes would not affect buoyancy very much.
“Daniel, take the helm!” I yelled, and leaped down the stairs towards the grappling mounts. Our grappling gunners stood by as we needed them. “Target the gypsy wagon, and FIRE!”
These guys were good! Both gunners hit their mark, and were now reeling in the cargo. Soon it hung at an angle between the two airships, and at about this time our guns returned fire.
As the cannon fire rang painfully in my ears, I did the stupidest and most impressive thing in my life to date. I unbuckled the sword that I wore on a massive belt over one shoulder, and looped it around the grappling tether. Then I put one arm through the loop, and pushed off from the railing. I slid downward like a zip-line tourist, and came to a perfect stop right on top of the haul as it dangled between the two airships, miles above the ground.
Above my perch on the dangling haul, the other airship was returning fire, and Ophelia was taking a severe beating. Pieces of shattered wood and glass were raining down underneath her. I drew my sword, and began sawing at the ropes that tethered the other airship to the haul.
When I cut through the first one, everything lurched, and I was nearly tossed off. In fact, I easily would have been except for some reason I had never unhooked my arm and belt from the tether I slide down on.
As the first rope was cut, the haul lurched round, and swung me off me feet and shook me like a rag doll.
Still, the plan seemed to be working, so I unhooked my belt, and ran to the other tether and re-hooked it. From here I could barely reach the last rope with my sword. Above me, it looks like Daniel, at the helm of the Ophelia, had decided to turn the Ophelia’s aft toward the other ship, in an effort to minimize the size of a target. Either that or he figured that captain’s quarters should take the majority of the damage, as a punishment for my bad decisions today. At the same time he was dropping altitude to get under the enemies guns, which would save lives in the short term but expose our airbag which could ultimately lead to our ruin.
With each volley the other airship launched, I could see her cannons fire, then they would pull the guns back in to reload. In another few minutes the guns would be pushed back out their hatch, to fire again. There were maybe ten gun ports on the ship, and only two or three cannons would fire at any time, each doing a significant bit of damage.As I sawed at the ropes, I watched the cannons all stop and all retreat into the hull. In a few seconds, they all pushed back out again, all loaded for one simultaneous volley that would easily burst the side of the Ophelia.
This was going to end up like our mission in Germany. Or worse, and Doctor Calgori was not here to bail us out of this one.
I felt helpless and hopeless down on the haul. Again, I led us on reckless heroics, and again they ended in embarrassment and disaster. If we lived through this, I doubted I’d still be captain – my track record was not so great at this point. Our Chrononautilus was cracked, so we were trapped in this dangerous time we didn’t understand. And soon our precious, beloved ship would be burst like a piñata, scattering crew and friends into the air six thousand feet above the plains.
Then they fired. Ten huge guns erupted at easy range to our gas bag, but at the same time the final tether holding the haul to the enemy airship snapped. The haul dropped and with its massive weight it jerked the Ophelia down and out of range of the enemies guns before their shot could reach us!
We plummeted, out of range of the enemy, back into the clouds. Our descent slowed after a thousand terrifying feet of brutal descent, and the ship started to turn on a new course and speed away as fast as she could. In clouds, the other ship would have a hard time finding us. We’d escaped with the cargo!
In a few hours the Ophelia found the Neobedouin Caravan. We lowered their haul down to them, and climbed down ourselves into the midday heat of the grassy Plains.
“We are indebted to you, Skyway Man,” said the old chieftain. “But your ship looks like it has seen better days.” Over my shoulder he could see the shattered hull, and the Chrononautilus, cracked, clear and empty.
I, too, was worse for wear. I was filthy, windblown, bleeding in a few spots, and so tired I could feel my arms shaking. “Yeah, we got your supplies back, but I’m not sure it was worth the price we paid.” And then I realized the true price we just paid. “At this point, we won’t be able to get back to my time. Not with the Chrononautilus broken.”
“Can you not repair it?” he asked.
“No. The only man who could has… well, he was also a causality of this journey. I’m afraid we can’t go…” I said, beginning to feel a deep aching in my chest. There was something that hurt deep inside. I could feel it gnawing at the edge of my consciousness, trying to dig out of someplace deep and dark inside me. My thoughts drifted to my band that died the night we collided with the Ophelia. And then to Lilith Tess, and Doctor Calgori, and Tanner. I was getting sad, angry and confused as I struggled in my exhaustion to figure out how these people were all connected.
The chief was looking deeply at me while I fought back these thoughts, and he interrupted my thoughts with, “Then don’t go there yet! It seems like you’ll have to do some searching here, first.” He raised his walking stick and pointing southwest he said, “Follow those coal fire streaks in the sky, and you’ll soon come to the city of High Tortuga. There you might find a trail of a man who can fix your airship.”
HIGH TORTUGA
We didn’t stay long, maybe another hour or two, as a few of the Neobedouin men asked to join our tiny ragtag band, and I discussed with their chieftain whether it would hurt their tribe.
Soon we were aloft, and following the coal-fire trails, black cloudy streaks like the vapor trails of commercial airliners. These were the coal-fire smoke of steam-powered airships, chugging like trains of old, headed to High Tortuga.
The heat of the plains warped our vision, rippling the air and confusing perspective. When I first saw the rickety old buildings of High Tortuga and the many swinging bridges between them, it was those ripples of hot air that I assumed explained their appearance of floating in the air. But as we got closer, I saw the true explanation was a hundred massive balloons and a thousand or more ropes held this city, a floating island, two miles above the wasteland prairies.
There were dozens of styles of airships pulling up to the docks that circled the city. Airships of all sizes, from massive clusters of balloons with several buildings underneath to sleek sloops like ours, to small one man units with propellers on back packs pulling cart-like baskets on their own balloons.
Standing near me at the wheel, Kristina asked, “I wonder why we don’t see airplanes? I mean, there are more kinds of flying machines than I could have imagined, but no airplanes.”
“No helicopters either,” Tanner said.
“I’ll bet it’s about fuel costs. Keeping a plane indefinitely in the air doesn’t sound cheap. These guys are doing whatever they can to stay above all those beasts below. They live up here!” said Daniel.
“Yeah, and I’ll wager landing on those precarious planks isn’t something you’d want to do in a biplane,” I added, apprehensive of the coming challenge of making this huge ship stop next to the docks without grinding into them or any of the other airships. “Even if a dock was long enough to work as a runway, you still have all the ropes holding things up. They could take off your wings. That just sounds like a bad time.”
The docks were crowded with men, women and children, tying ropes, unloading cargo, and selling birds and beasts like fish on a wharf. There were huge machines attached to gas tanks that filled the airbags of the airships, and small wooden cranes hoisting cargo in and out of the them.
We steered confidently in. Or say, I did my best to give the appearance of confidence as we headed towards one of the docks. Men came out and stood at the ready by yard-long mooring cleats, so we threw them ropes. Soon a gangplank was extended, and I walked down it to meet with a red-faced, barrel-chested smiling man, who said, “Aye, she’s a ’beaut! That’s the best replica I’ve ever seen!” He was looking at our ship. “She looks just like the pictures of the Ophelia in the old newspapers from the ruins. In fact, other than that shattered hull, I’d say it was the actual Ophelia. Oh, and shouldn’t there be a big glass orb right in the middle there? Even still, you guys must really love your history!”
I said nothing, and we set off down the sun-bleached wood of the streets of High Tortuga. The outer docks were a bustle of commotion, but once inside their rings streets were peaceful and sunny, with only occasional shadows from the massive balloons that held the city from far above.
There were birds everywhere, and many of the railings were covered with their filth. Small children chased them, fed them, or caught them in large nets to take home for the supper pots.
The people of High Tortuga were a mismatched bunch. All skin colors, from fair and pink, sunburned and freckled, to black as pitch and covered in copper tattoos. There were huge tri-corn hats, and helmets as well as all hair types; braided beards and colored Mohawks, and curly blond ringlets so fair they looked like they were made of clouds. Some of the
people wore huge coats, boots, and belts with swords or pistols in them. While others wore very little; vests, short pants and sunburned skin. Most had goggles on their eyes or foreheads, since there was often a strong wind blowing, making it hard to see.
The buildings where not tall, one or two storeys mostly. They were hand built of wood, mostly unpainted on the outer rings, but more ornate towards the center of the city, which appeared to be the favored homes.
We followed some signs, written in what looked like a stylized but readable variety of English, towards a pub called “The Weary Banshee”. Honestly, I’m not really sure why we were headed there, other than we were tired, and I hadn’t set foot in a pub in ages. It sounded like bliss.
We found the pub in a teetering building, hanging lower than the rest of the city. A porch and portholes that ran around the bottom floor had a three-sixty degree view of the grasslands and hills below High Tortuga.
We walked down a steep swinging bridge that led to a pair of doors, not the swinging saloon doors of the Old West I expected, but two heavy oak doors, with a big sign saying “Pull hard”. This we did, and in fact it took two of us to pull the massive creaking doors open, and we then stepped into a truly foreign place.
The first thing that struck us was the appearance that there was no floor! That wasn’t the case. The floor was completely made of thick glass, so the occupants could see what was going on under the city. Small, sturdy round aluminum tables were placed around the glass floor, with all manner of shadowy characters silhouetted against the sky beneath them. There were no candles or fires of any kind. Only a single large brass stove that sat in the corner of the room, with pipes and fans to push heat out. On the walls hung huge propellers, drawn swords, and framed sepia pictures of old airships, including…
