“Sir,” a crewman murmured, trying to do his job and respect the captain’s privacy at the same time. Alexandros turned and the crewman handed him a note. “From the admiral via the wireless.”
Alexandros bent to examine the note: All ships are to descend to 500 feet to avoid higher-level winds. Stop. Double topside crews to avoid snow weight overwhelming vessels. Stop. Reduce speed to half. Stop. Keep on the lookout for Nortland raiders. Stop Polentio out. Stop.
“Reduce speed by half and double the topside lookouts,” Alexandros ordered, his voice carrying through the din of the airship’s command center.
The pilot pulled back on a throttle, which ran to the engine room and told the engineers to reduce power. Another officer gave orders to several midshipmen as they buttoned up coats and donned fur caps, preparing to go aloft.
“Under-officer Gansus, make sure they take extra repeater bolts with them. I want to make sure they have everything they need.”
The officer nodded quickly, then resumed his instructions, his words flowing so fast that even the midshipmen were having trouble following him.
The captain grabbed a pair of binoculars, tested the extra magnification lever on the side, and stepped over to the port side observation bubble. The cold glass was beginning to frost over on the inside. Alexandros could feel the drafts of cold air leaking around the poorly fitted windows. At his motion, a crewman came over and sprayed an anti-ice solution over the windowpane. The antifreeze was indeed nearly as magical as the peddler selling it in Copendrium had claimed. Glad I took that chance on him. And it was only a few denarii! Now we can fly longer and farther north because everything won’t be freezing up on us. Earlier, the captain had sent men outside to spray the solution over the outside of the windows. It only cleared the glass for a while, especially when traveling overnight and in high altitude, but it was better than nothing.
Alexandros yawned to help pop his ears as the airship began to descend. Wisps of cloud flowed past the vessel, and Alexandros imagined how the airship, with the trireme-shaped hull and long ram, looked like from below. Like a vessel out of those ancient tales.
He held the binoculars up to his eyes, then played with the magnification for a few moments. The lenses blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again. Cursed things. He shook them for a moment or two, then tried again. Much better. The snow-covered mountains and thick pine forest stretched for miles, nearly filling his view. The cloud cover made the rest of the world a white blanket, and not a bit of blue penetrated the heavy snow clouds. The other airships in the small fleet stood out as black marks against the white, like spots of ink on clean bedlinens. His eyebrows furrowed as he noticed the snowfall increasing again, the flakes falling hard and fast.
A bell chimed behind him. “Message from topside, sir. Would you like to take it? Or should I take a message?”
Alexandros strode over to the captain’s chair, while another midshipman took his place at the observation port behind him.
“This is the captain,” he said into the speaking tube.
“Sir! This is Midshipman Decicus on the topside port. Snowfall is increasing. It appears to be falling at the rate of. .” A blast of wind took away his words. Alexandros found himself shivering involuntarily at the thought of those poor men forced to remain topside while he remained here on the heated command deck. The wind died down and Alexandros could hear the midshipman again. “. . can’t shovel it off fast enough. Some of the canvas is beginning to show signs of freezing over too, and we’ll have to patch that as well.”
If the canvas freezes over, then it can crack and release our buoyancy mixture. Alarm crept into the experienced captain’s heart at the thought of his ship plummeting to earth here at the far northern ends of the world. “Thank you, Decicus. Continue to work as long as you can. I’ll send a relief party up as well.” He caught the eye of Second Officer Ciseto and the man jotted a note and passed it to a runner. The man was out the door before Alexandros had even replaced the speaker tube.
“Send a message to the admiral. We’ve got a problem, and I bet we’re not the only ship that does.”
Several hours later, during a lull in the snowstorm that was blanketing the world around them, the aircrew captains were ferried down from their respective ships to the expedition’s base camp. While Air-Admiral Polentio was inside the command tent with General Minnicus, explaining that the fleet would no longer be able to provide support due to the weather, Alexandros took the opportunity to visit some friends.
“Captain Alexandros! A truly magnificent surprise!” Tribune Constantine Appius rose to greet him as he ducked inside, and they clasped hands. The legion’s command tent smelled like musty laundry with a hint of sweat and urine. Appius wore only a standard issue tunic and boots. He had obviously been in the middle of cleaning his armor, Alexandros realized as the sharp tang of leather polish and oil assaulted his nose.
“What can I do for you? I’ve got some just-caught rabbit and some warm wine, if you’d care for either. Supplies are a tad bit skimpy right now.” Constantine’s face darkened for a moment, then brightened. “Why are you here on the ground?”
Smiling, Alexandros ran his hand through his graying hair. “Thanks for the warm gesture. I’ll have a cup of the wine to warm me up, if you can spare one. Supplies are getting low, you said?”
The younger man walked over to a small brazier burning in the corner and pulled a flagon of wine from an attached pocket. The warm liquid left a thin trail of steam that billowed over the rim of the goblet that Constantine handed to him. “Take a seat.” The tribune deferentially offered his own campaign chair and perched carefully upon a rickety stool in the corner instead.
“The supply caravans are getting inconsistent. I know that there have been problems with raids, but still. The tales of wars and grand campaigns are nothing like the reality,” he remarked.
Alexandros snickered. “That’s very true, and old men always seem to make war out to be a grander thing than the reality. Don’t you ever wonder why the young fight the wars and their old leaders are the ones to send them off? It’s because the old men are too smart to actually fight in wars once they’ve really experienced it!” Alexandros didn’t have to feign laughter. And one of those “old men” is leading this column anyway! What does that tell you about him?
“So otherwise, how are things? Have your men recovered from the last fight? I have to tell you, I don’t think my men have. I’m still not sure how you managed to take out that big Nortlander who was boarding us,” Alexandros said. “Your men saved my ship, and you will always have our, and my, gratitude.”
The tribune put up his hands. “No, no, it really was both a duty and a pleasure to serve on your ship. I truly hope we will continue to work together in the future. I trust you, as do my men. We’ve already trusted you with our lives several times, if you’ve been keeping track.” He paused before continuing in a voice quieter and full of regret. “Not everyone made it, but they did their duty. Would you be able to attend a brief service today, for the honor of our dead?”
Hearing that, Alexandros rose from the comfortable chair. His back ached but he ignored it. “To the dead,” he proclaimed solemnly, raising his glass in salute, then downing the warm wine in one swallow. “I would like nothing more than to be present. Who will be presiding, so I know what to wear?” he asked.