Copper Centurion (The Steam Empire Chronicles) by Daniel Ottalini

the artillery deck tube.
    Alexandros closed his eyes for a moment and imagined the carefully slotted doors being slid open all along the bottom deck. He could see his gun crews deploying their weapons and triggering the release of the tension pent up in their heavy ballistae and scorpion throwers. He opened his eyes to watch the flight of the gunpowder-filled bolts, then the flash as they exploded against the side of the enemy ship almost in unison. A few missiles went awry, and Alexandros could almost hear the gunnery officers screaming at the unlucky artillery crews of the misaimed weapons.
    The brisk wind pushed the smoke from the explosions away quickly as the ships surged past each other. Alexandros could see great rents in the wooden hull of his opponent, and pieces of debris, the detritus of war, raining groundward. “Pound them!” he snarled, watching as the Nortland vessel began to move beyond range of his weapons.
    The enemy’s shots were hitting home too, and distant alarm claxons began to wail again as the Scioparto shook under the assault. “Mr. Travins, take charge of the damage repair teams,” Alexandros ordered. “I want us ready again immediately.” The bridge door banged behind the first officer as he raced off to comply.
    As much as Alexandros would have loved to turn his ship about and chase down the wounded warship, he knew the necessity of staying in formation to support the rest of the fleet. A formation is only as strong as the weakest member, Alexandros remembered his former instructors warning at the Air Fleet Academy. That was over thirty years ago, he realized . The advice had stuck, and he’d seen it proven time and time again.
    “Rear batteries are free to engage,” he ordered. Although he doubted the trio of rear pieces could blow his opponent from the sky, there was always a chance of a lucky strike.
    “Sir, the Hasta has begun firing upon the Nortlanders,” his watch officer called, ear jammed into the speaking tube linked to the lookout post.
    “Where are the other enemy vessels?”
    “Three enemy airships are out of action. Wait—four. Hasta and lookouts report the Falk- class airship has been shot down.” A loud cheer erupted on the bridge as another airship before them caught fire under the combined bombardment from the flagship Seguro and the mid-weight Marcum . It cartwheeled out of the sky as its gasbag ruptured in multiple locations, leaving a trail of dirty black smoke behind it.
    “I seem to be mistaken,” the watch officer stated glibly. “ Five enemy vessels down. The rest are fleeing. “ The men cheered again at the lopsided victory.
    After a second, Alexandros ended their excitement with the stern, “Keep an eye on the other three; I don’t want us to be surprised by another trick. These barbarians have already pulled a fast one on us. And order all main batteries to reload and refit as necessary,” he added. The watch officer affirmed and shouted along his orders, refocusing the deckhands on their assigned duties.
    The captain slumped into his leather command chair, its indentations familiar with his body after years of use. He felt the adrenaline seeping out of his body as if he were an old wine bag.
    The message bell rang again. “Sir, new orders from the admiral. We’re to identify the location of the second fleet of enemy ships and set course for them in formation Beta.”
    Alexandros leaned forward in his chair at this news. “Well boys, looks like we’ve still got work to do.”
    Chapter 7
    Julius
    T he brief air battle had taken only two minutes, but it felt like a year to Julius. The young centurion had his men standing in battle formation all up and down the exposed decking, creating a shield wall to protect them from the brief exchange of projectiles between the ships.
    Junior Centurion Gwendyrn marched along with his commander, and the two had cheered with the destruction of the Nortland vessel just aft of their airship. From his vantage