engagements, Weatherby felt such a formation was ideal for most circumstances, allowing the ships to scatter and engage or form up into a single line with equal facility.
Returning his attention to where he stood, Victory herself seemed in fine form. He had never been her captain, and thus did not know every inch of plank and sail as Searle would, but Weatherby knew well enough her rhythms and ways. There were two sets of planesails upon each side of the massive, three-decked warship—a first rate, and England’s largest—and plenty more sailcloth upon her three masts. For such a large ship, she handled in the Void like one that was much smaller, though certainly not as fast as any would like. Thankfully, her guns were effective compensation for the lack of speed.
“Signal from Thunderer !” came the call from the lookouts above, more than 150 feet above the maindeck. “Enemy sighted! Ten ships!”
Weatherby nodded at this, though Searle seemed less pleased. “Ten! That’s a full fleet, then. Orders, sir?”
“Another signal to the fleet, then. We shall scatter and engage as soon as Victory fires. Let’s hope they’re as hidebound as the last ones,” Weatherby said.
“You’d think they’d learn,” Searle commented after passing Weatherby’s commands to his officers. “Nelson’s tactic at Trafalgar should’ve been a clear enough warning.”
Weatherby simply shrugged. “Understand, Captain, that so many of their finest sailors, their career officers, were purged during the revolution. And then again in the Terror. And again after Napoleon came to power. They may build ships well enough, and they can sail, but tactics…that’s experience. That’s why we’ve maintained supremacy at sea and Void, and I’m quite unwilling to give it up today. Now, let’s run out. Where’s Thunderer ?”
As Victory ran out dozens of guns from her flanks, the lookouts spotted Thunderer heading back toward Weatherby’s fleet in something of a chaotic trajectory—likely because she was being followed. O’Brian did not wish to provide a clean shot upon his stern, the least defensible portion of any ship, and the wide, swooping turns and spirals in the Void allowed him to fire upon the two ships following.
One of which, as the ships came into clearer view, was a Xan ovoid.
“Damn it!” Weatherby cursed, snapping his glass shut. “We keep telling Vellusk there are partisans aiding the French, and yet he does nothing!”
The Xan, natives of the rings of Saturn, were nominally a pacifist race, but for the better part of the past decade, a small but growing faction had sought more warlike ways—and allied themselves with the French, no less. England had, of course, sought alliance with the main body of Xan, led by Representative Vellusk, but these worthies remained committed to their precepts of peace, unlike their fellows, and would offer naught but verbal support against the partisans, and the aforementioned promises of attention to their increasingly strident faction.
And yet there was an ovoid—the queer, egg-shaped vessels half the size of a frigate and three times the speed of the fastest brig—and it was quite a problem. Their strange electrical-alchemical armaments could cripple a 74-gun ship with but four or five well-placed shots.
Searle paled. “Change in orders, sir?”
“Aye. Signal Swiftsure to come up alongside, and Thunderer to come sail toward us. Let us see if we may crack this egg before it hatches.”
As the signal flags flew, Weatherby spied ahead with his glass. The ovoid was among the ships counted by the lookout, which was good news. The rest were closing fast and, aside from Thunderer ’s pursuers, were hewing to older naval tactics by forming a column of ships, bow to stern. At sea, this would be most prudent, as battles were fought in two dimensions. Out in the Void, however, vessels could take advantage of the third dimension through canny use of their planesails. Likewise, the
Returning his attention to where he stood, Victory herself seemed in fine form. He had never been her captain, and thus did not know every inch of plank and sail as Searle would, but Weatherby knew well enough her rhythms and ways. There were two sets of planesails upon each side of the massive, three-decked warship—a first rate, and England’s largest—and plenty more sailcloth upon her three masts. For such a large ship, she handled in the Void like one that was much smaller, though certainly not as fast as any would like. Thankfully, her guns were effective compensation for the lack of speed.
“Signal from Thunderer !” came the call from the lookouts above, more than 150 feet above the maindeck. “Enemy sighted! Ten ships!”
Weatherby nodded at this, though Searle seemed less pleased. “Ten! That’s a full fleet, then. Orders, sir?”
“Another signal to the fleet, then. We shall scatter and engage as soon as Victory fires. Let’s hope they’re as hidebound as the last ones,” Weatherby said.
“You’d think they’d learn,” Searle commented after passing Weatherby’s commands to his officers. “Nelson’s tactic at Trafalgar should’ve been a clear enough warning.”
Weatherby simply shrugged. “Understand, Captain, that so many of their finest sailors, their career officers, were purged during the revolution. And then again in the Terror. And again after Napoleon came to power. They may build ships well enough, and they can sail, but tactics…that’s experience. That’s why we’ve maintained supremacy at sea and Void, and I’m quite unwilling to give it up today. Now, let’s run out. Where’s Thunderer ?”
As Victory ran out dozens of guns from her flanks, the lookouts spotted Thunderer heading back toward Weatherby’s fleet in something of a chaotic trajectory—likely because she was being followed. O’Brian did not wish to provide a clean shot upon his stern, the least defensible portion of any ship, and the wide, swooping turns and spirals in the Void allowed him to fire upon the two ships following.
One of which, as the ships came into clearer view, was a Xan ovoid.
“Damn it!” Weatherby cursed, snapping his glass shut. “We keep telling Vellusk there are partisans aiding the French, and yet he does nothing!”
The Xan, natives of the rings of Saturn, were nominally a pacifist race, but for the better part of the past decade, a small but growing faction had sought more warlike ways—and allied themselves with the French, no less. England had, of course, sought alliance with the main body of Xan, led by Representative Vellusk, but these worthies remained committed to their precepts of peace, unlike their fellows, and would offer naught but verbal support against the partisans, and the aforementioned promises of attention to their increasingly strident faction.
And yet there was an ovoid—the queer, egg-shaped vessels half the size of a frigate and three times the speed of the fastest brig—and it was quite a problem. Their strange electrical-alchemical armaments could cripple a 74-gun ship with but four or five well-placed shots.
Searle paled. “Change in orders, sir?”
“Aye. Signal Swiftsure to come up alongside, and Thunderer to come sail toward us. Let us see if we may crack this egg before it hatches.”
As the signal flags flew, Weatherby spied ahead with his glass. The ovoid was among the ships counted by the lookout, which was good news. The rest were closing fast and, aside from Thunderer ’s pursuers, were hewing to older naval tactics by forming a column of ships, bow to stern. At sea, this would be most prudent, as battles were fought in two dimensions. Out in the Void, however, vessels could take advantage of the third dimension through canny use of their planesails. Likewise, the
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