Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer


Eleven.


“Bosun? Engineer here.”

Francois cocked his ears at the voice. “Yes?”

“Tell the Captain we’ve got to go wet,” the Engineer said. “We’re getting low on fuel.”

The lemur glanced over the rail. “How much?”

“Maybe another hour.”

“Right. I’ll tell him.” Francois headed for the quarterdeck, saluting the First Officer. “Soor, Engineer reports we’ve about an hour’s fuel left.”

“Thank you, Bosun.” The commander looked at his display as he fiddled with the controls on his bracer. “Captain Marchand and the Governor had tankers leave before we did; they should be – ah! Good, they’re supposed to be waiting for us at Naifaru. I’ll tell the Captain.”

“Yes, Soor.” A few minutes later signal flags went up to alert the other two ships, who acknowledged the message and relayed that they were in a similar situation. Captain Espinoza then gave orders for the Temeraire to descend to the water, while Francois started shouting orders for the deck crew to get aloft and prepare the sails.

“Double lookouts aloft!” the lemur said as the keel touched water and the rotors slowed to a stop, their bearings steaming, “and keep your damned eyes open!”

“Two frigates to starboard, forty degrees, five hundred meters and five kilometers’ range,” the starboard lookout reported about ten minutes later as the warship’s two antiaircraft mitrailleuses, mounted fore and aft, swung to face the indicated direction.

“It’s the Pétrel and Mouette,” the other lookout confirmed, and the gun crews relaxed, just a little.

The two frigates touched down, being in similar straits regarding their fuel supplies, and began sailing in ever-widening circles to scout for any sign of the enemy while the Temeraire’s galley began distributing water and sandwiches to the crew.

“Ship ho! Bearing astern, ten kilometers!” one of the lookouts sang out after perhaps an hour, with the second lookout verifying the information as a smoke plume appeared. Several of the crew switched into the lookouts’ visual feeds and cheered at the sight of the imperial Tricolor.

“How many ships?” Captain Espinoza asked.

“One, Soor,” came the response from the first lookout.

Francois, overhearing the conversation, frowned. With five ships in the flotilla, there was no way one ship could carry enough fuel to get all the warships airborne.

“Soor,” one lookout called out, “signal from the Mouette. They’re moving to hail the approaching ship.”

“Very well,” Espinoza said, and Francois tried to keep at least half an eye on what he could see of that conversation while making sure the third-rate was ready for sail. As it was, he missed quite a bit of the exchange of flag signals, but after a while flags went up on Audace as Captain Marchand signaled the rest of the flotilla.

The red-ruffed lemur stared at the signal and a rating asked, “What is it, Bosun?”

Francois cocked an eyebrow at him. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” he asked. “If you don’t, I’ll tell you where to go – and what to do with yourself when you get there.” The rating gulped and promptly ran off to his post.

Maybe an hour later a signal sounded in the crew’s earphones and Captain Espinoza said, “Officers and crew of the Temeraire! The three ships sent with fuel for us were ambushed by the enemy, and Captain Marchand has ordered that the fuel we do have be given to the Pétrel and Mouette, so they can fly and be our eyes aloft. What remains will be portioned out between us and the two larger ships, and we shall set sail for Kelaa. More fuel is being sent, under escort.”

“But I have better news. The rest of the fleet is on its way, to sweep the sea and sky clear. Good luck to us all,” and Espinoza shut off his microphone.

Francois disdained his microphone and shouted, “You heard the Captain! As soon as we have fuel aboard we break out the sails! Mitrailleuses, keep a sharp lookout!” The red-ruffed lemur began stalking around the deck, bellowing at ratings if he thought they were going too slowly.

With the ship on the water, the St. Elmo Field couldn’t be used without shorting out the entire ship’s electrical system. Its absence virtually guaranteed there would be casualties if the Temeraire sailed into a fight. Buckets of sand and fire extinguishers were readied.

Once the fuel was transferred, the third-rate raised its sails and took the lead in the formation, the other two big warships several kilometers to left and right with the frigates above and ahead. The steamship bearing their fuel was ordered to return to Malé by a roundabout route to avoid being spotted by an enemy ship.

“Bosun?” Captain Espinoza asked.

“Yes, Soor?”

“Everything ready?”

“Yes, Soor,” Francois replied.

“Of course,” and Francois heard the feline chuckle, “advancing on the water might be to our advantage, hm? They might not be expecting us.”

“Let’s pray they aren’t, Soor.”

“Yes. Always a good idea, Bosun.” The voice in his earphones went away and Francois glanced around to make sure no one was watching before turning toward the rail and surreptitiously crossing himself.




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