Zeppelin Quest I: A New Adventure!

[7734]

Sighing, you looked around the grounds under your airship. Aside from the scorched grass where fire from the scuttle dump had happened, the ground under your ship was practically untouched. More importantly, aside from a small splotch of burning anthracite on the lawn, everything had already been shoveled up and was just awaiting transport up the chain hoist back into the scuttle. As you shook your head, you noticed a glint on the horizon- an inbound lighter, moving towards your area. Shaking your head, you checked your straps on your day suit and moved over to the docking tower, looking at the inbound. It was about ten minutes later it arrived, a proud footman opening the side hatch to the deep lighter. Coming out like a shot was Iskander, ogling at your airship like a boy seeing his dream for the first time.

Moments later, Ayse walked out in a stunning dress, the pale cream blending into her skin, making her outline a warm blur. Moving forward, you took her hand up to your lips for a kiss, before accepting a peck on each cheek in return. Smiling, you kicked your brain over into French, before turning to let her take your arm.

"So, Ayse, what brings you to my humble ship today?" you asked, letting your gaze drift over the disaster zone that was the reloading of the fuel bunker. You'd need to call down a chain hoist from the fore lift station… if it was even operable.

The smile you got was slim, almost a smirk. "Well, you did agree to take my little brother on as a midshipman, after all. I was wondering though, since you don't have your own lighter- would you like a loan of this one to do any shopping?"

"That depends." You replied, keeping an eye on your Espatiers' looks of annoyance at the babbling boy asking about going up on the bucket hoist. "Do I have the pleasure of your company for the trip?"

"Of course! Besides, you'll need a translator. A shame my brother's first day on the job is paperwork, though."

"Life is paperwork. There's no real escape I've found, even when you stand at the prow as the headwinds try and tear you off the proud peak of a ship."

"A sad truth." She said, smirking, before yelling to summon Iskander back to the lighter. "Shall we be off?"

"Certainly." You replied, stepping off towards the smaller airship with a practiced step. Once inside, you made your way to the centeral diva again, settling down for the flight. Suprisingly, Ayse pulled in next to you tightly, almost letting her skirts rest on your suit. Making small talk for the flight, you were surprised when she pulled out a slim cigarette case once you were over the Golden Horn.

"Tell me, do you smoke?" she asked, carefully.

"Sometimes. I'll admit, I don't get to partake often. When you're surrounded with bags of flammable hydrogen, the thought of carrying a spark isn't very tempting."

Her face twitched slightly. "Is it safe here, then?"

"Mostly. This is a suspended gondala, which makes it slightly worse in terms of airworthiness, but we can smoke in it. Trying to ride it in the rain, though, you'd have to pay me for. We'd be soaking wet before we even left the storage barn."

Ayse smiled slightly, taking a thin cigarette in her teeth and lighting it with a flint match. At this point it'd be rude not to take the invitation, and you accepted the cigarette she offered you. Seeing her head tilt in to let you light off her cigarette, though, you almost dropped the smoke. This wasn't something you were used to- it was new, and to an extant slightly terrifying.

---

When you reached the Grand Bazar of Istanbul, you breathed out in shock. Tents and buildings crowded the area, and the sights and sounds pulsed at you, pushing and pulling you with the bright colors dazzling your senses. Stepping carefully, you let Ayse take the lead, with your supposed escort sticking close by in the confusion of the market. Soon, you were moving, diving deep into the massive area. Soon, you'd been lead into a coffeehouse, the warm brew helping to warm the foggy chill that was settling into your bones.

"What on earth?" you asked, the stub of your cigarette going into the table's ashtray. "It was clear and sunny, then there's a wall of fog!"

"It rolls in off the Black Sea. The worst it ever does is make it a little hard to sea, but it's not too bad today. Sometimes, it gets caught up between the buildings and leaks out in these rivers of mist."

As a pair of coffees came down to the table, you shook your head slowly. "So, how long does it last?"

"About long enough for a pair of coffees and starting another cigarette. Maybe a bit less if you don't want to leave."

"This wasn't in any logs of the city in my Navigation classes." You muttered, shaking your head. "The only thing of note was your berthing facilities needed ships to have independent unloading systems."

"You did mention your ship was new- so why did she have them?"

"Redundancy." You explained, tapping on the table with a hand. "Modern bulk cargo moving depends on setting up a horizontal winch system to a synched boom, which you then load the cargo onto a traversing carriage and is pulled to the other side, unloaded, and then sent back across. It's faster and safer than vertical unloading, but the issue is it requires a clear-through cargo hold arrangement and internal inter-cargo deck lifts. Getting those interal lifts is hard, and most designers figure if you're putting a weight-loading system into the load decks, you might as well rig it to operate outside the hull."

"So they're an additional capability, not a substitution." Ayse declared, and you raised a finger.

"Not quite! Horizontal systems need the synchro boom to keep the landing platform at the correct angle for the payload to not misbehave and the line to stay tight, so that means building horizontal loading and unloading ports into the hull, on the balloon or on the gondala. Since we only have a bow gondola and some aft gondala for the rear engineering propwatch station, we'd need to mount the horizontal loading and unloading into the balloon, which means putting a load-bearing deck right in the ship's high point. It can be done, mind, but in the doing you end up overly subdividing your lift cells and adding a lot of weight for little capabilities."

"So, why not topside then?"

"Then you need to make it so one frame is taking the load from the winches, maybe two if you were willing to sacrifice spinal weapons and Aetheric sail for the arrangement. Even then, the power requirments of the system means it would take an engine of no inconsiderable size to drive the winches, or a direct system from the main engine. Crankshaft or hydraulic, it doesn't matter- it's too much weight for too little benefit."

As the conversation flowed naturally from there, you smiled and started letting your guard down. Ayse was quite curious about the vagaries of life as an airship captain, and in return you were curious about the state of affairs in Istanbul. Before you knew it, two cups of coffee were gone, and you were back into the Grand Bazar- this time with a direction and purpose.

As Ayse had explained, the Ottomans never had any official, licensed merchant aeronautical like America and England had. Rather, almost like olden-day pirates, they had Letters of Commission, which authorized a trader to own and operate airships, fly the Ottoman flag, and be treated as an Ottoman citizen abroad no matter any other items such as nation of origin. They weren't very hard to get, but the issue was that the Captains issued these Letters of Commission needed to pass a certain bar with the Ottoman Navy Aeronautique. Normally, this involved a sponsorship, a written test (or more sponsorship), a physical test of mettle involving combatant arts (or more sponsorship), and an aircraft handling exam. Noticably, there was no way to get out of the exam, even though it was just the standard helmsman exam all Navy Aeronautique pilots and officers had to perform. Even if everything else failed to pan out, Ayse was quite confident in your ability to get one. There was just one problem- the physical test included a shooting portion, and you didn't own a gun currently.

As you dived into the richer parts of the bazar, you decided that Ayse had planned to help you fix that. It was when you walked into the first weapon store, though, that you had to turn around and walk right back out.

"What was wrong with them?" Ayse asked, catching up to you and snaking an arm through yours. "Was it something you saw?"

"Smelled." You replied. "The store smelled like the inside of a magazine, and not in a good way. Loose powder is never good, and very distinctive…"

As your voice trailed away, you headed for the next store you saw with a pair of crossed revolvers on the sign. Making your way in, you took a deep breath. It smelled familiar, like a real weapons shop would- of grease and wax. Going up to the counter, you smiled at the attendant, working on what looked like an old Webley.

"Good afternoon, monsieur." You said, smiling affably. "Could I see a catalog of wares?"

Your response was to see the old man shoot a wad of chewing tobacco into a spittoon, stand up, and yell at you in rapid-fire Turkish. Looking for Ayse, you noticed her in the back, by the window looking at a rack of derringers behind glass. Shaking your head, you moved over to your cracked German.

"Do you have a list of guns?"

More incomprehensible gibberish in Turkish, and some hand-waving this time. Finally, you groaned. "Do you have any idea that I'm trying to buy a pistol here?!"

"Now you're talking bloody sense!" the gunsmith yelled, standing up to glare at you. "God damn, and here I thought nobody in this godforsaken pit understood the Queen's English!"

"Great, great." You said, waiving your hand. "Listen, I need a pistol. Reccomendations?"

"Webley. Works every time, kills men, horses, and not half bad in a bar fight."

You raised an eyebrow. "Pull the other one, it's got bells on. If I wanted a revolver, I'd go for a Colt. Got aby autoloaders?"

"Batch of Lugers model 1898s came in, but they're still in parts. Some idiot up in Germany probably thought that if they bought enough scraps, we could piece together the gun. Got some C-93s- want to see?"

"Sure."

A moment later, you were holding a gun that had more in common with a saw but than any revolver you'd ever handled. Whacking your wrist with the back of the spring casing, you hissed.

"Yeah, no. What else you got?"

"Ever hold a Mauser?"

You raised an eye. "I've shot Mausers, yes, but I need a pistol here."

"Say hello to the C-96, then. Same round as the -93, but more kick, and better ballistics. Goes clean through most body armor, too."

The next gun you got was far more comfortable in your hands, the broomhandle grip settling in comfortably. Checking the hammer, you nodded, and looked it over carefully.

"How many rounds does it hold?"

"Ten."

Taking a moment to pull the hammer back and let it down again, you nodded. "I'll take it, and a thousand rounds of ammo. You carry any bulk products?"

"Not really." The gunsmith replied. "I've got a guy who's sitting on a mess of old Gras, though, if you need to arm a group. Bought 'em off the Cypreans, so they're not in amazing shape, but they're still good enough to pass muster for a militia."

"Can I get fifty, and five thousand rounds?"

"Piece of cake. Where do I send the bill?"

Pulling out a pen and paper, you wrote the name of your business account on it, as well as your docking slip. Coppying it over into Turkish, the proprietor handed you a box of ammunition, as well as a few stripper clips. Loading up and dumping the spare clips and rounds in a pocket, you nodded affiably as you left the shop. It was a good bargain, and you'd finally gotten armed back up again.

"So, Aleksander, anything else you want to do today?" Ayse asked, smiling at you. You'd have to think on it a moment- but here in Istanbul, time to think was at a premium.

---

Votes

[] You know, that ship swap deal has been sitting on your mind, and your ship could stand being moved to the Dardanelles.
[] Call up your officers, try and move that officer's meeting forward and have it over an early evening meal. Not like someone's gonna try and steal your ship.
[] Go back to the ship and start hashing out that theoretical rebuild to unfuck your ship. Your budget's too tight to really do a good refit, but you should be able to get the Caroline Anaheim Aether-worthy. You hope.

 

[Strypgia]

You know what this thread needs? An Omake.

Cristoforo Colombo

+++

Primo Tenente di Vascello Garibaldi jerked out of his brown study and sat more erect in the Captain's chair. "What was that, Sotto Capo?"

The young man on the with the bulky headset on talker duty touched one hand to his headphones, listening for a moment, then repeated himself to Garibaldi. "Sir, aft lower lookout reports at least two ships approaching, bearing 0245, range 18 kilometers, altitude 8,000 meters and climbing towards us. Small, no flags. They're not responding to hails or the signal lamp."

Garibaldi felt his hands grip the armrests of the chair harder. No markings, and no communication attempts? Over a known lawless area like the central Agean Sea? Only one thing those ships could be.

"Pirates..." he muttered. He took a deep breath and turned to the Sergente behind him. "Tell the lookout to keep signaling, and sound general quarters." The man began to move, but halted when the XO continued. "And...send a runner to go wake Capitano Schettino," he said less energetically.

The Sergente winced, but nodded, and ran down the gangway at the aft end of the bridge. The general quarters alarm began to sound throughout the ship. R.Dir. Cristoforo Colombo was far from the newest or best light cruiser in the Regia Aeronautica, but her age, decaying armament, and indifferent crew were not the biggest problem that they'd bring into the first actual fight they'd run into in this so-far very boring anti-piracy patrol they'd been on for the last few weeks. No, the biggest problem was Capitano Schettino himself. The reason Garibaldi was at the conn himself, instead of supervising the crew trying to repair the stuck portside lower Gatling array, was Schettino. Schettino the raging alcoholic.

Their less-than esteemed Capitano was currently sleeping off the results of last nights drinking, as he was most mornings. Primo Tenente di Vascello Garibaldi had quite the report ready to turn in to the Naval Attaché at the Italian Embassy in Istanbul when they arrived in a few days, carefully and logically laying out why his nominal superior needed to be promptly relieved of command for the good of the service. But that was later. Right now, their less than sterling zeppelin had to deal with two pirates that had apparently mistaken them for a wayward merchantman. Which was indeed the point of their slow speed and camouflaged exterior. Two pirate ships versus one actual military Zeppelin, even one as ragged as theirs, shouldn't be too much to handle.

He wouldn't have any worries if it wasn't for Capitano Schettino's inability to even organize an orgy at a whorehouse.

+++

"Sir! We've lost contact with the fore topside lookouts! Last report was another ship approaching, east-northeast!"

Garibaldi shook his head, trying to stop the ringing. He blinked at the Sergente shouting at him. That last blast had stunned him pretty badly, and torn a gaping hole in the hull near the aft damage control station where they'd retreated to. He looked around. He had only a dozen men left, all wounded, and only 2/3 of them armed.

The pirates had been far more creative and sharp than they'd expected. Capitano Schettino had lazily ordered them to open fire on the approaching smaller airships only a few minutes before they'd suddenly lost contact with the aft topside lookouts. Only the screams and gunshots that followed informed them they'd been boarded.

A running gunfight had followed, the Cristoforo's unprepared crew rapidly overwhelmed by the boarding party. The situation only got worse as Schettino delayed before issuing contradictory orders, and the third pirate ship that had approached from above while they were focused on the two below got close enough to grapple and send more boarders.

And now the last word they were going to get said yet another pirate ship was coming to pick their bones. It was too much to hope that the new ship was a merchantman foolish enough to try rescuing a military airship with three others grappled to it, or another military ship that might stand a chance. They were doomed. He sighed. So this was it.

"Sergente, get the men to the lifepods. I'll set the scuttling charges," he told the senior surviving NCO.

The older man paled, but nodded. They weren't retaking the ship with a dozen wounded men, and the pirates weren't in the prisoner-taking business. Taking to the wilds of the Agean Sea at night this far from land was rolling the dice with your life on the line, but a better set of odds than the pirates would give. The real terror was the scuttling charges. Thermite charges placed on the fuel tanks for the engines and on each gas cell were capable of turning the ship into a flying inferno in less than 30 seconds. Grappled as they were, the pirate ships with them would stand no chance of escape. It was the best revenge they could accomplish.

Scuttling charges that could only be set off from the bridge... or by hand.

If there was any Regia Aeronautica sailor still alive on the bridge to set the timer, he'd eat his hat. So he'd have to do this the hard way. He-

"Sir!" One of the wounded at his feet tugged at his pant leg. "They've stopped shooting!" He pointed out the gap in the hull.

Just in time to see the first grappling hook fly in and catch.

+++

The knock at the door to his office was a welcome distraction to Capitano di Corvetta Mennella from the time-filling drudgery of his paperwork. It was frankly amazing how much was generated by the Embassy, when he didn't even have any ships, sailing or airship, under his purview.

"Yes?"

One of his underlings poked his head in, holding out a message slip from the wireless room. "Sir, note from the airship portmaster. The R.Dir. Cristoforo Colombo is three days overdue."

Mennella grimaced. That light cruiser was supposed to be his ride home, no less. And now it was overdue? Schettino had a reputation as sloppy, but still, that's why a young hotshot like Garibaldi had been settled as his XO, to keep the ship flying. Overdue from a patrol was not a good sign, but he had confidence in the crew.

"Thank you, Martino. It's probably just weather. Send the portmaster my regards, and ask him to put out the word for any other European warships headed that way to let us know if they sight her."

It was probably nothing.

+++

There, @7734! Have an omake that may or may not leave a slightly-crappy Regia Aeronautica CL in pirate hands in our path. I'm a helper!

 

[7734]

As you walked along to the restaurant, you bid Ayse a fond farewell with a kiss on the cheeks and a pleasant smile. An Ottoman lady might have made for a fine day in the market, but it was time to get down to business. Your table had been reserved by a runner, the Port du Monde being a common airship captain's watering hole. Once you'd entered, the cloud of hookah smoke blurred your vision before you made your way to the largest table in the entire restaurant.

"And I told her, 'Elizabeth, if you can't at least try on the corset, at least for the love of God take off the dress!' And she did!"

Homing in on Czeslawa's half-drunk story and the luminescent blush your Navigator was giving off, you adjusted course and started triangulating for their position carefully. Soon, another mangled line pitched towards you, Thomas' gravely Scotts accent pushing out through the Turkish babble.

"Oh, you got to go clothes shopping? I had to try and find us a designer willing to work with split load decks, and ain't that like trying to drag water out of the desert. No translator, no service, that's what it is!"

Thomas. Had to be Thomas. Now provided with a sound track, you moved in like lightning, grabbing the one free seat at the table and stealing your neighbor's drink- in this case, Donald's. Your first mate could glare all he wanted, but you needed a beer to cut the hookah smoke out of your lungs. The female members of your crew were all sharing a bottle of vino, while Czeslawa and Lauri were taking turns pulling shots of vodka from something that was distinctly not a local bottle. Swiping a piece of pita bread and the humus ramekin, you took a scoop out before chipping in your own two cents.

"I take it you had trouble?" you asked, grinning slightly at your Engineer. Thomas' shaking hand from drink was exactly enough to tell you how bad it was, but you needed to hear it in his own words.

"We can't get a designer, and the fucks at Zeppelin AG won't take us in. Our only option is taking it to the yard at Yalova or Tekirdag; and from what I've seen of their representatives neither knows shit about working with an aluminum-frame design. We'd need to supply a deck plan and stringer plan too."

After flagging a waiter down for more vino and a glass, you waved your hand around angrily. "So what are we paying them for, then? Material and labor?"

"Yep. And they want to charge us through the roof, too. Prime rates."

Rolling your head back dramatically, you tabled the discussion with a wave of your stolen beer bottle. You saw the food coming in, and three platters heaped high with chicken, beef, rice, and lamb was something you couldn't ignore, or the salads and sauces they came with. Soon, you were neck deep in good food and decent wine, and by the time you were done the sun was considering slipping over the tree line. With everyone now mostly sharing port and a few good American cigarettes that Lauri'd squirreled away for the trip, it was time to get down to business.

"Alright." you began, making sure you weren't going to get ash in your wine. "So, we're kinda on a time limit to swap the cruiser out or start repairs on ours. The decision's happening tonight. Now, as you are all shareholders in the crew to the tune of six per cent apiece, this means you're all vitally important to making sure we're still afloat financially as well as legally and physically. Our options are take the ship swap or leave it; there's no middle ground."

"Can we abstain?" Donald asked carefully, looking over to you. "As First Mate and general head of the ship's crew, no matter which way my vote goes it's a mess. I say switch, we've got to do crew retraining and expansion. If I don't, we're gonna be patching the ship up in flight until something bigger than our parts locker can fix breaks."

"I'll take it." You replied, sipping the sweet port. "Jacob, thoughts?"

"I vote keep. Sweet ship, hot to handle, and aside from the Caribean kerfluffle she's handled just fine."

Shaking your head at the young pilot, you ticked him off the chart you were keeping with toothpick lines in your ashtray. "Czeslawa?"

"Keep. I like my medical bay, and I know most military ships are crewed so they need two or three nurses. My mother worked on the Constellation; and even a frigate has two nurses."

Another vote. Moving along the table, you looked at Elizabeth. "Comments from Navigation?"

"I like the Caroline Anahiem. She's got a nice navigation suite, and a skywatching dome. I say keep."

Great. Three for keep, which meant if there was one more in favor of keeping then you were designing a deck plan. Sipping your port, you looked at Lucia. "Your thoughts?"

"Go for the cruiser." She said, without heasitating. "Our ship's an internal nightmare, and my Espatiers keep getting called in to help with damage control because the unrated airmen can't get the job done before we've got to check the internal drains."

"Lauri?"

"Go for the new. It'll have a central rangefinder."

Ahh, Finns. Always short and to the point. More importantly, this looked like a solid tie. Still, formalities had to be observed, especially now. Looking over at your engineer, you grinned slightly. "Donald?"

"Take a fucking guess."

"I'll put you down for swap, then. It seems we're tied, then- three for, three against, and one abstention. I'll be thinking on this, but I'll have my mind made up by tomorrow."

Making your way out of the restaurant, you settled the bill at the counter before taking out your last cigarette. Moving down the street, something peaked out of the corner of my eye- Ayse's dress? Moving towards it, you carefully turned the corner, each glimpse leading you deeper into the alleys until what you were chasing caught you.

"Ahh, Aleksander!" Ayse said, coming on to you in a burst of perfume and color. "Come with me!"

Shaking your head, you moved back some. "Where?"

"Your ship, of course! I have something I want to show you!"

Shaking your head, you followed behind her as she moved to the taxi airship pad. It was a bare half-hour before you got back to your ship. Another ten minutes got you inside, and as you led Ayse to your captain's cabin, she smiled as she closed the door behind her.

"So, what do you want to show me?" you asked, annoyed. "It's been a long day."

Smirking at you, Ayse crept closer, her shawl drifting off her shoulders to reveal a light, almost carmel-like skin. Creeping closer, one hand wound it into your jacket, undoing the buttons to help it off your shoulders.

"You know…" she said, smiling faintly. "My father was quite insistent on having a resourceful young captain like you in the family. If you were Ottoman, he'd have proposed my hand in marriage at the dinner last night. It'd go better than one of his marriages, I think. I know I like you, after all."

Letting her help you out of your coat, you threw it on to the one peg you had for that sort of thing. Sitting down and sighing, you patted the bed next to you for her to sit. Thank heavens you made it while you were in port. "So… I don't get it. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I'm sick and tired of bouncing around this city waiting for things to change. I've lived here all my life, I know the city proper and all the suburbs, I've been from the halls of the Sultan's harem to the docks on the Golden Horn. I want out- and you're my ticket. The fact you look better than the greasy slobs that've been asking after me is just a bonus."

"Wait, you think I can just steal you away?"

As you barely noticed the wandering hands divesting you of your vest and unbuttoming your shirt, Ayse moved up to give you a very French kiss and to turn you parallel to the bed so she could perch herself right over your hips. "It's funny." She muttered, finishing the task of divesting you of your shirt. The alcohol had been deadening your reactions, and even if you had eaten well, the wine and beer and port of the Officer's Dinner was slowing you down.

"How?" you asked.

"That you think I'd risk you slipping free."

Moments later, as your pants left and Ayse's dress did too, you had finally figured out how she planned to manage this a fait acompli. Unfortunately, your ability to logically debate her course of action had fallen by the wayside in a haze of lust. While your higher functions tried to figure out the morality and ethics of this plan, they weren't available to take over the more primal urges that were prompting you to action. Shifting positions to get Ayse's creamy skin under you, a few nips and bites teased her while you got ready to continue.

"Minx," you muttered, grinning. It was hard to stay angry at a willing woman who was enjoying herself. "How'd you know it would work?"

"When you bring a boatload- mmm… of French harlots, it says things." Ayse replied smugly, stroking the side of your face. "Besides, it's all in fun, no?"

Shifting slightly, you grinned. "Yes."

---

The morning sun the next day pried you from sleep about as much as the constant uneven morning keel of the ship did. Raising an arm to blot out an abortive hangover, you sat up in an empty bed with nothing except a sharp floral perfume teasing your nose and a small silk handkerchief holding down a note on your cubbies that served as a bench. Reading it and kicking your brain back into French, you had to smile.

Aleksander

J'espère que cette note vous trouve bien. Je serai dans les cours des Dardanelles. Je souhaite vous y voir aujourd'hui, avec votre dirigeable.

Ayse.

Chuckling, you scrounged up a washcloth to clean up with, along with a fresh pair of pants and a shirt for today. It was time to make up your mind- after coffee, of course.

___________

Votes

[] Take the ship swap; Caroline Anahiem for Cruiser 12
[] Do not take the ship swap; keep your ship
-[] Do not refit in Istanbul.
--[] Where refit? (Write in large city within 800 nautical miles of Istanbul)
-[] Refit in Istanbul
--[] Small refit; just enough to limp along.
--[] Medium refit; enough to take a straight shot to Delhi.
--[] Large refit; enough to get back to America. (WARNING; may exceed budget)

(AN: There's one write-in option here, and that's by design. Any votes with a write-in other that the city doing a non-Istabul refit will be discarded.)

 

[7734]

Reporting to the foreword ballast control station instead of the bridge with a cup of coffee in hand, you looked at the loadmaster standing there with the look of the dead in his eyes.

"Captain." He stated, a lustful gaze at your mug of steaming black goodness cut short by your cough.

"How's she doing?"

"Fixed the ballast issues; and we're down to a quarter degree tilt on the hull. Aft end's still heavy, but that was because there was an issue last night with a crossbreeze."

You nodded. "Draft some help from the loose hands, get them adjusting whatever needs adjusting. Do we have sandbag ballest so we can even the bubble without playing with the tanks?"

The loadmaster shook his hand back and forth. "We've got some, but there's not a lot of room to put it on the cargo deck to correct roll. The ship's only got wet trim tanks, so we've been having the worst kind of fun keeping her even. Between leaks and the pumps trying to short on us, it's been a hassle.

Nodding, you patted him on the shoulder. "Good news for you, then- we're doing a local flight to the Dardenelles today, and this piece of junk's getting sold."

The malicious look in the Loadmaster's eyes almost made you start, but you remembered back after you crashed your third lighter that you'd insured to the nines after someone tried to steal your second one. There were few things happier than seeing that Oldsmobile-Tannenbaum's charred wreck on the beach and knowing that with all the cash Fats was sitting on, you'd be getting a brand new Ford Model L for your trouble. Still, it would be best to make sure everyone knew about the transfer, so you left the loadmaster's station to go put a notice up in the mess hall.

---

Once the mess hall notice was up, you got back to check in with Donald about your crew status. After conducting the necessary payouts, issuing of shore leave time, and assorted sundry, he let you know that you did have a flying crew on hand, with about half the rates in the city proper and unlikely to be coming back. This done, your path to the bridge was uninterrupted until giving Jacob a swift kick in the shins so he'd wake up and get on the pilot's station.

Why pilots slept on the bridge compulsively, you never knew. Either way, you were good to go, and it was time to get the show on the road. Standing by the signal pipes, you grinned happily.

"All hands, prepare for liftoff. All hands, prepare for liftoff."

As warning bells went off along the ship signaling free float, you grinned. "Bow station, execute undocking from tower."

{Handle Ship: 1d100=18 +17(Leadership) +15(Pilot); 50/55, Small Failure)

"Bow station to bridge, we're detached, but the seals on the water uptake system got yanked. We're shutting systems now, requesting Damage Control party."

Rolling your eyes, you assented. "Bridge to bow station, affirmative. Directing damage control party to you now. Bridge to forward ballast control, please dispatch damage control team to bow station for water line failure."

"Forward ballast reads affirmative, dispatching damage control."

{Damage Control: 1d100=18 +10 (Fresh Crew) -5(Ship penalty) = 23/30, Small Failure)

"Bow station to bridge, we cannot control flooding at this time. Requesting forward ballast station drain bow ballast and fresh water tanks to rear at this time."

Groaning, you just put your head in your hand. God, you were so happy to be getting rid of this hunk of junk. "Bridge to bow station, confirming relay. Bridge to forward ballast control, shift all ballast out of forward tanks please."

As you got an affirmative, you watched the bridge clinometer tilt slowly until it read you were at a three degree up angle. It wasn't a bad result, as far as you were concerned, but it would complicate your altitude control over the sea. Still, it was time to get moving.

"Bridge to Engineering, full power please." You requested, before you got an angry engine noise back.

"Engineering to Bridge, we're having some problems getting the number two boiler lit."

Rolling your eyes, you replied back carefully. "Well, let us know before you start revving up. Get us best speed on the shafts, and we'll be about it.

From the pilot's yolks, Jacob coughed loudly. "If you don't mind sending down some bridge crew? Because I'd like this one last time with the poor ship you're dooming to the breakers, if you please?"

Sighing, you rolled your eyes. "Jacob, this ship is a flying cowpat. Not ten minutes ago, we had the front end go a-kilter for absolutely no reason. I can't throw good money after bad on it."

"Fine. And if I sell my shares; what then?" he asked, growling.

"Then I'll wish you well, and cash your shares at our earliest convince. Probably going to be Delhi, considering the rate of events."

Jacob's smile twisted upwards. "You misunderstand me. I said sell, not cash. The Hellenic Postbank has an officer in Constantinople- I wonder how your new bitch's family will feel about your ship holding Greek ownership?"

Jacob's words stopped you cold for a minute, before you sighed. "Jacob, this isn't a good plan. They'll never buy your shares in an experimental hauler that's falling apart at the seams."

"But an Ottoman cruiser fresh off the blocks? I figure I could squeeze them for a few thousand drachma, and possibly shares in one of their privateers- excuse me, 'salvage ships' to boot."

"Why, exactly, are you telling me this?" you asked, eyes flinty. "This whole plan would much better behind my back, after all."

"Favorable conditions for a buyout." Jacob said, chuckling as he rolled a drachma through his fingers. "One hundred and fifty dollars a shareholding percent, twelve hundred dollars total."

Hissing to yourself, you meantally calculated the cost of his offer. A hundred and fifty dollars a share was absurd- they were worth about seventy-five apiece, you reckoned, considering that each share was valued against the ship's company and cargo, but not the ship's value. Even if you took into account the ship's value, they might be worth a hundred dollars, if you were lucky.

After taking on an Ottoman cruiser, and as decadent as they were rumored to be, and considering how much a ship's furnishings could raise…

"We'll need to discuss this later, Jacob." You said, cold. "You have the con."

---

Arriving at the Dardanelles Yards, your ship was greeted by a military patrol vessel to guide you to your berth. This one, thankfully, was a barn berth, giving you a little more maneuvering room in terms of docking. Jacob handled affairs well enough, while you got your Espatiers ready to make a show of affairs. Deploying off the ground elevator, you came out in your sterner attire to meet with the Ottoman yard delegation. You weren't at all surprised when Mustafa greeted you, his boisterous laugh and handshake warming you back up after the mess that was your interaction with Jacob back on the bridge.

"Ahaha! van Riebeck, I knew you'd be here!" the chortling designer said, laughing. You nodded, stepping along smartly. "I take it you want to see your new ship?"

"Of course." You replied crisply, moving with him on to the outside. A small motorcar was there, puttering away in idle as you and Mustafa got in. Moments later, you were at a retrofitting barn, and you got your first good look at the Cruiser 12.

Physically, it dwarfed the Carolina Anahiem, being nearly twice as long and a third again as wide. Unlike the slightly flattened shape of your current ship, this one was totally round, although it did boast the dubious feature of a superstructure. As Mustafa led you in, you blinked in admiration. She was a reasonably well-appointed ship, with sound grate flooring and solid walls of doped fabric. Layout-wise, though, she was incrediablly different from the Carolina Anahiem's low-slung grace. Rather than a long coredore of inhabited space at the ventral keel, Cruiser 12 had a centeral citadel inside her armored bulkheads in which the crew compartments and engines were located with a reasonable amount of subdivisions between them, with the assorted tankages located outside the citadel except for a select number of internal damage-control tanks and reserve pipe lines. Underneath the citadel was the doubled spine of the ship, along with a relatively large provisions and freshwater hold, with the blackwater moving system inside as well. The ship was quad-shafted, with direct shafts to the motor control room that transmitted the energy up to the four fans. As Mustafa explained during the tour, the main issue was repeat loss of power on the starboard upper motor, with secondary issues in the ship's engines related to steam distribution. Your personal bet was loose seals somewhere, but it wouldn't matter as your ability to perform in-flight engine plant service was limited.

Fore and aft of the citadel were the bomb and cargo bays, two giant caverns that were slotted into spacing of the frames and horizontal adjusters for the vertical frames to allow for the giant voids in the ship. The aft one was only half as tall as the second due to the need to fit the shaft alleys inside around it, above which were the main auxillery crew quarters. Still, you weren't quite happy with your tour. As much as you'd seen, you felt that there was a catch that you hadn't seen yet.

When you found it, though…

"Mustafa, I'm no expert in Ottoman ship construction, but normally there aren't four Zeppelin devices on American airships."

Nodding, Mustafa looked at you and grinned. "There was another issue Cruiser 12 has- one of the Zeppelin devices is a little spotty."

"Which one?"

"Back right. Thing is, the ship generally flies on two Zeppelin devices with her full ammo and fuel load. If you're careful and don't decide you need to haul eight tons of bombs, though, you should be able to squeak by on one."

Putting your head in your hands, you sighed. "Alright, alright. Has the ship been deeded yet?"

"Of course!" Mustafa replied, beaming. "We'll take this over to the bridge for the contract signing, and then you can get to work on transferring your crew and whatever you feel like taking off your ship."

Nodding, you went up to the bridge. It was time to sign some papers.

---

Cruiser 12 Unabridged Stat Block

Ship Name: Cruiser 12
Ship Type: Medium Cruiser

Ship HP: 130
Ship Max Lift: 345
Ship Standard Lift: 135

Raw Bonuses
-Crew Use Bonus: +5
-Engineering Bonus: +0
-Damage Control Bonus: +10
-Weapons Bonus: +10
-Handling Bonus: -10
-Medical Bonus: +0
-Boarding Action Bonus: +0

Weapons Slots
-Prow Spinal
--EMPTY
-Aft Spinal
--EMPTY
-Dorsal Port Broadside
--EMPTY
-Dorsal Starboard Broadside
--EMPTY
-Port Broadside x2
--EMPTY
-Starboard Broadside x2
--EMPTY

Hull Slots
- Crew Quarters (Standard)
- Armory (Standard
- Auxiliary Crew Quarters (Cramped)
- Zeppelin Device x4 (Zeppelin License Pattern)
- Aetheric Sails (Medium, Dual)
- Powerplant, Large x2 (Zeppelin License Pattern)
- Motor, Medium x4 (Zeppelin License Pattern)
- Cargo Bay x2
- Bomb Bay x5
- Internal Belt
- Central Rangefinder
- Unused Space x4

---

THE BIG VOTE

Vote by Plan please.

Guns
[] Mount all your guns on Dorsal mounts. (Pros: All guns gain Central Rangefinder bonus. Cons: All guns will be disabled in event of a boarding action.)
[] Mount your 6pdr spinally, and the Gatlings in Waist mounts. (Pros: Some guns unaffected by boarding actions. Cons: Waist guns do not get Central Rangefinder bonus.)

Bomb Bays
[] See if you can deck them into subdivisions for cargo space. (Pros: Gains more cargo slots. Cons: Adds weight, which may bring a second Zeppelin device online and increase fueling costs.)
[] See if you can deck up the tops of the bomb bays, while not affecting the rest. (Pros: Middle ground option. Cons: Wastes some space.)
[] Leave the bomb bays as they are. Maybe you'll find a use for them- perhaps your own lighters? (Pros: Free, no weight additions. Cons: No additional cargo room)

Unused Space (You may vote multiple options; you have four units of space to work with)
[] Create a dedicated passenger's quarters. (2 space)
[] Create a dedicated Navigator's study. (1 space)
[] Create an additional Cargo bay. (2 space)
[] Create an office for your slowly expanding reams of paperwork (1 space)
[] Create a sparring area and athletics zone (1 space)
[] Create extra fluids tankage (1 space)
[] Create an emergency fuel scuttle (2 space)
[] Create a second infirmary (1 space)
[] Leave space empty
[] Write-in (SUBJECT TO QM VETO)

Hiring Policy
[] You're short on hands, but you can train in the air. Hire indiscriminately. (Loose 1 crew quality to a net -1)
[] Hire the bare minimum to keep this new, larger ship afloat.

 

[7734]

Sitting in your new captain's cabin with Thomas, you looked over the Cruiser 12's deck plan carefully. It was a good design, with a few traditionally German features such as the location of the shafts, but in all other respects it was rather bland.

"So, these empty spaces…" you muttered, tapping the fore end, in the bow. "I'm thinking we put in a passenger section, a Navigator's office, and a salle. After that Black spot, I don't want to hit another Blank spot, and good navigation's been what's keeping us ahead of the averages on our deliveries."

Thomas shrugged, and pointed to the gunnery map. "And the guns? I've talked to the translator for the yard- they've already got the guns and their ammo out of the Annahiem, and they're waiting for directions on where to put 'em in at."

"Belt mounts, I'm thinking, on the fore end mounts. We do have the lift budget to do that, right?"

"Yeah, there's sectional lift budget for it. The Turks came up with some decent workarounds for their weight issues from a wooden frame."

Smirking, you pulled out a cigarette, before remembering you were aboard a ship and stuffing it behind your ear. Tapping the design, you looked over to Thomas, and checked your modifications to the plans. "Any last concerns?" you asked, gesturing over the documents.

A chuckle was what you were met with, and Thomas smirked at you. "I was going to ask you that, you know. Not nervous about a new ship?"

"I barely had time to get used to the last one, you know." You huffed. "We had her for what, three weeks tops? With most of that spent in port to boot."

Thomas nodded sagely, and pulled out a hip flask. Raising it to you, you responded with raising up your cup of coffee in an impromptu toast. After both of you drank a little, Thomas grinned slyly at you.

"You remember those passengers we had, right?" he asked, smile shifting over to shit-eating without blinking. "So, when were you going to get them and introduce them to the new ship?"

Snorting, you swore as coffee went up your nose as you ran over to the door to your bedroom. Ducking in, you yelled out quickly at Thomas.

"Find me one of the officers, and call for a lighter!" you yelled out. "I need to get changed!"

"They're passengers, not anything important!" Thomas laughed back, the toast pushing him up a few notches in terms of almost-drunkeness. "C'mon, man!"

"I am not going out there without some protection from getting sucked into another drinking party!"

"How?"

"I just need to find something I can wear my sword with!"

---

About two-thirds of an hour later, you glanced idly at your pocketwatch to confirm it was just a touch after three in the afternoon. You had to time this carefully- too early would draw you into a hair of the dog and some maniac misadventure, too late and you'd be walking into a party, which would most likely involve tumblers of dark rum and some arcane fruit juice over ice. Fortunately, as your hand danced over the hilt of your sword anxiously, your backup plan stood up and stretched, drawing your eyes and that of every red-blooded male on the boat. Meandering over, she leaned on the rail and smirked at you slightly as you realized that maybe bringing a sword to a hotel was a little overkill.

"Captain." Czeslawa said, her smirk widening a little. "So why the long sword?"

Looking down briefly, you shifted a leg to get your sword out of the way. It was fairly long, the old cavalry sabre bumping your leg carefully.

"In my experience, gentlemen bringing swords either get no drinks, or all the drinks."

Your nurse's eyes glinted. "So what's the response to the second?"

"You." Was the response, followed by a wavy hand gesture. "I remember Toulouse very well, thank you."

"That wasn't so bad!"

"The bottles of vodka I saw on the receipt say otherwise."

Huffing, Czeslawa turned away in half-jest. Your response was a chuckle as the lighter came to the ground with a slight thud, throwing Czeslawa backwards. Catching her easily, your ass hit the deck about the same time you realized that she was heavy- more than heavy enough to overwrite your personal inertia. Still, it as you helped her and yourself up and off the boat, you thought to yourself that she'd handled most of the rough patches on the way over just fine. Eh, must just be her first time on a small boat in a while.

Stepping into the lobby of the hotel, you blinked carefully at the opulence. Truly, here did the east meet the west as you passed under arches and around columns, the area commanding an innate respect from it's pale, nearly golden stone polished to a luster. Carpets and rugs made the area homey, while your eyes were drawn to the magnificent facades and appointments.

"Monseigneur van Riebeck! Just the man I was looking for!" you heard a voice shout from the grand stair at the end of the cavernous lobby. Looking up, you saw Lee standing there, entcourage following him down enthusiastically. "I noticed a discrepancy at the docks- your ship was gone! Were you trying some mercantile trick, or were the winds of fate particularly strong that day?"

Rolling your eyes, you advanced up to the foot of the stairs in time to meet your passengers coming down. "I'll admit, business was afoot." You replied, grinning. "I doubt you'll recognize the ship overmuch when we get back- she's not the same one as last time?"

"No?"

"I might have been able to upgrade." You said, waiving your hand carefully. "It was a bit of an adventure, but good business is good business."

Behind you, Czeslawa chuckled. "I don't know if worming your way into the arms of the Turks was good business, but it was still well done."

Lee started, and shifted himself to bring Czeslawa into the conversation. "You cut a deal with the Turks? For what?" he asked, eager. The entcourage was starting to surround you, and in the distance you saw a footman filling up a tray with sniffers of brandy. Time to exit vous, si'vous plies.

"Nothing major, just some fairly equivalent exchange. The Caroline Annahiem was leagues over their own work, so they tendered an offer to buy her. I found their terms uniquely generous, and found myself accepting before I knew it."

"Are you sure it wasn't a trap, Captain?" Lee asked, pulling in conspirially close to you. "The Moslems here, they are devious creatures and canny in the ways of accounts. I have seen many of what they call the dhimmi homeless and destitute for their failure to ascern the pagan bookkeeping done here."

Your started smiling, as you patted the Englishman on the shoulder. "Lee, my friend, I will let you in on a small secret. My father's accountant, one Nathanial Gregarious, was a Jew in high accord with his synagogue, and he was who taught me the first of my numbers. I could read the house ledgers by the time I was eight, and could balance my own accounts at ten."

"You would challenge the Turk with the Jew?" Lee asked, stroking his chin. "Quite wise of you. Still, I am going to be worried for a while yet-"

"Aleksander!"

Starting at the shout, you looked across the lobby in surprise. Dressed in a silk morning dress was Ayse, cigarette smoldering in a holder. She was shocked to see you, and likewise you to see her. Striding over, her smoke cloud parted the sea as she carefully cut in between you and Czeslawa, the nurse letting her in with a look of trepidation. That changed to mild incredulity and slight shock when Ayse kissed you three times on the cheeks in a pleasant greeting.

"Aleksander, what on earth are you doing here? You're still supposed to be in Dardanelles!"

It took a moment to throw your brain over to French, and another moment to marshal your thoughts so you didn't sound like a Quebecois rube. "Ayse, please! There was still work to do on the transfer, and I had to talk to one of my financiers."

A raised eyebrow met you carefully. "Your financiers… are English."

"Some of them, yes. Considering how much money he's payed, I'll be happy to cart him around until he gets to where he's going."

Screwing up his face and responding in some of the worst French you'd heard in years, Lee finally tried to step into the conversation. "Your accents are terrible."

You looked at Ayse, who looked at you, before you both looked at Lee and started laughing. A couple of the French girls tittered politely, before Lee got the idea he might want to shut up.

"There's a decent restaurant at the Dardenelles I was hoping to see you at tomorrow." Ayse mentioned carefully, looking over at Czeslawa. "Bring some of your officers- Mustafa wants to talk a little business. Your time in Istanbul is coming to a close, after all."

You nodded carefully. "That it is. I've still got a few things to handle here, but once those are done, we'll be out on the morning thermals."

With a smile and a wave, Ayse left with one last parting gift. "I'll see you tomorrow, then, Aleksander. I hope you're ready."

You hoped you were ready, too. Soon, you'd be making way again at last.

---

VOTES

The Jacob Problem
[] Jacob dies
-[] Legally
-[] Subtly
-[] Obviously
[] Jacob lives
-[] In prison
-[] In the hinterlands
-[] In misery

Future Areas of Interest
[] Egypt
[] Arabia
[] Palestine
[] Crete
[] Persia
[] Chaldea
[] Kurdistan
[] Omar

(Note: Your job offers next update will be in the three most popular Areas of Interest)

 

[7734]

After getting home back to Cruiser 12 without too many missteps, you sighed carefully as you slouched into the chair in your Captain's Cabin. It was a really comfy chair, angled just so so your dress coat wouldn't get rumpled. Good for thinking in, really.

For example, thinking about what, exactly, you were going to do about Jacob and his adventures in personal sales. While murder might have been an efficient option, you had your personal doubts on the realities of the solution. At the very least, the issue of hiding a body that didn't involve air-dropping it sans parachute into a large body of water would need to play into your equations. That would be conspicuous, even if you were almost an honorary officer in the Ottoman Navy Aeronautique. With murder out of the question, that left other means to get him under control.

Although… you could comfortably ask a small favor out of Mustafa, and the byzantine nature of the Ottoman government meant he probably knew a fixer or two. If Jacob was cooling his heels in prison, then that meant he was out of the way and you could get going. Of course, this meant you'd be the new Chief Helmsman, and you had a whole hour of stick time on this new ship, but that wasn't such a concern. You'd probably need to pick up more pilots anyway, seeing as you couldn't be wedded to the wheel and sending someone from Signals wouldn't work forever. Which reminded you that you needed more Signals hands, who'd probably be drawn from your current non-rate pool which was shrinking fast. That meant advancing people up into mates, which meant training, and God forbid a formal class…

You were starting to understand why Thomas drank so heavily right about now. Still, you had to get to bed for when tomorrow came around.

---

Waking up, you luxuriated in the oddly large bed for a minute before remembering you were in fact still airborne. Getting up and dressed, you put on the base layer to your semiformal rig, deciding to leave the full coat behind for a waistcoat and your pistol. Checking the drop on the holster, you stepped out of your cabin and into a distinct chill. Right, the mist. Turning around to get that coat, you set out to try and get to the lift down to the ground.

After getting out of the citadel of the ship and to the ex-bomb bay rearward, you hunted down a Loadmaster to run the lift to get you down to the ground. Passing the frames of the decks being slowly installed, you chuckled a little when you realized the "lift" was really the ship's bomb loading arm holding a cargo cage. It was still more than steady as you got to the ground, and stepping off it retracted to the ship quite promptly. Still in the airship barn, you hailed a young man who led you to a motorcar. It was time to be going, now.

Arriving in time for a brunch, you decided your Red Sea Rig was the right choice as the heat of the day came in with a thunderstorm. The restaurant was quite weatherproof, though, and shortly you came to a table with Mustafa and an unknown officer in uniform. Taking your seat, you smiled at the pair, who just shot you back some rather smug grins.

"Aleksander van Riebeck, might I introduce Mirlay Bora Fuat? He is a friend of mine with the tasking portion of the Navy Aeronautique, and he's assembled a few jobs we think would be fair test runs for your ship and crew. He's about a captain, not too far off yourself in rank."

You nodded, smiling. "Wonderful to meet you, Mirlay Fuat. What's on the table for work then?"

Three manilla dossiers hit the table.

"We've got three possible items here." Fuat said, tapping the first. "Job one, you serve as escort while the training ship Marshal Omar Pasha conducts her class's instruction on bombardment at the Cretian target ranges, before traveling to Egypt and participating in an event with the English. It would be presumptuous to say this is at all safe, but reports on the Bulgarians and Greeks indicate they are currently more concerned with preying on the Italians after the loss of a patrol schooner over the Dalmatian coast."

You nodded. It would by necessity force you into lower air, considering the dangerous crosswinds at greater altitudes, but the Mediterranean was nominally a calm sea this time of year.

"Option two is more dangerous, but well suited to your nominal independence from us." Fuat continued, not touching the second dossier. "We have raised a short regiment of raiders, who need delivery to Medina. Unfortunately, due to security concerns, we cannot divulge further details at this time: however, I have been authorized to tell you not to conduct overflight of Italian Eritrea or any of the Somali sultanates. If you accept, I'll recommend you stop work on the modification of the bomb bays so you can better handle a unique cargo for secondary objectives. "

This time, an eyebrow went up. On one hand, this sounded like the sort of adventuring that could make you rather large amounts of money and good connections. On the other hand, orders not to conduct overflight were usually reserved for when piracy was getting severe, and it was all too believable that if the Italians had lost a ship over the Adriatic of all places, then their African possessions would certainly be in dire shape as well. There'd be thoughts for that one, yes there would.

"And then there's option number three." the Ottoman officer said, grinning. "Persia, of all countries, has requested we send a ship to them to aid in transport of assorted medical supplies and possibly serve as a mothership to their small fleet of lighter than air surveyors working on updating the maps of Azerbaijan, which are woefully outdated."

"When were they last updated?" you asked, curious.
"The last major surveying effort was in the early tens and twentieth years of last century." Mustafa said, hands moving quickly as he gathered up some notes of his own to give to you. "The Persians have been quite insistent on making good maps of several areas near the border, and if they're willing to bury old grudges to do it, so much the better."

"If the pay is worth the effort, I'd be more than happy to help." you reply, chuckling. "Once I get my manning back up, I'll be ready to move out- tomorrow or the day after, most likely."

"And your mission of preference?" Mirlay Fuat said, looking at the papers before him.

"I'll need to get back to you when I have a more sound knowledge of my ship's abilities." you replied smoothly.

"Fair enough." Fuat said, nodding. "I'll be in Dardanelles until next Tuesday, so don't be afraid to ask to meet."

"Of course!" you laughed. "Until I'm ready, I presume this will be it?"

"Yes." Fuat said. "A pleasure, Captain van Riebeck."

---

Returning to the Cruiser 12, you hummed to yourself and boarded carefully. The ship was rated to run comfortably at three hundred souls of crew, with a skeleton of seventy-five to cover all needed watches and a war manning of three hundred seventy five to four hundred sixty. With quarters for up to twenty five officers, this cavernous ship could easily eat your current crew of eighty five and have room left over for lunch. You'd need to put at least two of your officers on recruiting, and you'd still be launching barely above the skeleton line.

Oh well. All else failed, you could just top off on crew in India, whenever you got there. Time to get everything ready, so you could launch soon-ish.

---

VOTES

Crusier 12's New Name
[] After your Mother
[] After a belief
[] Write-in (Subject to GM Veto)

Next Job?
[] Mission 1: School Ship Escort
[] Mission 2: Troop Delivery to Medina
[] Mission 3: Survey of Azerbijan

Recruiting Officers (choose two)
[] Thomas (Bonus to Engineering)
[] Donald (Bonus to Mates)
[] Czeslawa (Bonus to Trades)
[] Lucia (Bonus to Espatiers/Deck Crew)
[] Lauri (Bonus to Gunnery/Deck Crew)
[] Elizabeth (Increase Navigator Acquisition Chance to 5%)

---

AN: Yeah, this was kinda dead for a while. Sorry. I'm now going to be attempting a one update a month schedule, and hopefully a few of my friends interested in this can help smooth out the content train. I'm still looking for a useful co-author, sadly. In other news, the dice side of the quest is going to get smacked around a little so the math is less agony-inducing on my part.

 

[7734]

So, because I'm bored, I'm going to do a quick gloss on Crew.

The Crew Hierarchy

Ranks
The Captain (you)
The First Mate (Donald)
The Second Mate (empty)
The Third Mate (empty)
The Division Chiefs
-Deck Division: Lucia
-Engines Division: Thomas
-Steward Division: Czeslawa
-Pilot Division: (empty)

Division Officers
- Division officers are required to be ABA, and in a position to begin working on their Third Mate's licensing. These are career airmen who have normally at least two years float experiance and are trusted by their division leader.

Division Petty Officers
- Division petty officers are required to hold an unlimited ABA certificate, any specialty training related to their position, and be in good standing with their division chief. In addition, Petty Officers are expected to know certain skills related to their division- deck POs for example are to be trained how to conduct the ship on a straight and level course, elevation change, heading change, and wind stabilization.

Division Airmen
- Division airmen are required to be Able Bodied Airmen and certified as such after twelve to eighteen months afloat. These are the skilled hands on a ship, performing most specialized tasks and must be ready at all times to perform damage control duties.

Ordinary Airmen (Ratings)
- Ratings are the unranked airmen who have no significant float time, certification, or skills. These hands are mostly dedicated to matinence, along with other work of less technical types.

Division Jobs

Deck Division
-Loadmasters (ABA only)
-Damage Control Party
-Cargo handlers
-Lookouts
-Espatiers and Fusiliers
--Note: Espatiers are, in addition to their soldiering duties, ABA certified. Fusiliers are not.
-Small Craft
-Weapons (ABA only)
--Note: Weapons only encompasses the gun layers and armorers; ammobearers and tenders are all ratings. Gun layers must also hold a Gunner's Certification.
-Aether Sail
-Signals

Steward Division
-Cooks (ABA/ Float Chef certification only)
-Mess Attendants
-Janitors
-Sanitation Control
-Laundromat
-Plumbing (ABA only)
-Service Corps
-Medical/ Barber (ABA/Float Medicine only)

Engineering Division
-Loadmasters (ABA Only)
--While Engineering Loadmasters and Deck Loadmasters share a title, the former handle the ship's lift allocation, while the later handle safe cargo storage. Both must make sure all changes to the ship's standing lift distribution are reported to the Third Mate however.
-Trimmers
--These crew handle the loading of fuel in scuttles, and the safe storage thereof.
-Tankers
--These crew handle the ship's freshwater, feedwater, graywater, and blackwater tanks as well as distribution between them.
-Fabricators
--Responsible for repair and building new parts
-Electricians
-Controlmen
-- Responsible for matinence of the ship's control surfaces and lines

Pilot's Division
-The pilot's division is unique in its small size and exclusive nature. Here, the ship's pilots exist in the organizational table, along with the Senior Pilot and Aprentice Pilots. Pilots are licenced as pilots, and are the only ones authorized to put a ship through a full range of maneuvers. Often, merchant ships only have one or two pilots, while a military ship could have four or five.

 

[7734]

Guantanamo Bay, 1898

"All hands, brace for engagement." Captain McCalla muttered, looking over his control boards carefully. Guantanamo Bay was below him, the obsolete fortifications standing ready. The guerrillas had already proven adept with light airships to steal and raid from impenetrable jungle bases, so the old fort was in possession of a pair of high-angle six pound guns, as well as rumors of a new one-pounder rapid fire piece. Against a trio of American air-schooners and an older cruiser, it wouldn't be enough to ground them, but a shell at the right time could seriously damage them and turn the landing zone into a killing ground.

"Aye sir." came the reply from the helmsman. The lead ship, Constellation, came into a gentle swoop, her hull's sleek lines hiding a devastating payload- ten one-thousand pound bombs, designed to shatter fortifications to gravel. Her sisters, Chesapeake and United States, were both carrying general purpose bombs of five hundred pounds to suppress the suspected artillery or ships. Not many countries had done definitive testing on the effects of an aerial bomb of more than seventy-five or a hundred pounds, presuming that more were needed to hit their targets and that thousand-pound fortress crackers couldn't be carried in numbers to guarantee a hit. At five hundred pounds, however, there was a sweet spot in penetration and number carried that let you cover a grid square in death, as well as presume a kill.

Right now, that presumption was going to very much be put to the test. As Constellation moved in on her attack run, United States began patrolling the estuary where the gunboats were presumed to be while Chesapeake kept her altitude in overwatch. Once the fort and blockhouse were shut down by a pair of the titanic bombs apiece, the overladen cruiser Columbia came down in a serene arc. Her contents, the Ninth Cavalry Airborne's Third and Fourth squadrons, immediately started advancing from the landing zone and into the brush. A bare few in the Navy had argued in favor of using Marines for the operation, but the singular intact Marine regiment that could be retrieved at short notice had already been deployed with reinforcements for the Asiatic squadron. As such, the operation fell to the Army, who had generously placed one cruiser zeppelin and embarked troops into the Naval Air Arm's welcoming embrace. Aviators would keep safe their own.

Night fell, and with it the pretensions that anything less than a war was ongoing. The Spaniards had abandoned their positions in poor order, leaving a great deal behind in their haste to escape the American airships who demolished their stationary defenses. The Columbia had departed after depositing the last of her supplies, her mission complete here. The Army Air Corps was mostly 'cruisers' like her, barely more than transports- but when all you needed was transportation, it was enough. Now the Columbia was tasked for supplies to keep the Northern Force hale against the yellow fever, an enemy more deadly than any number of Spanish soldiers. The beginnings of the Southern Force had to keep this in mind as well, taking the time to torch the abandoned buildings and fort in an attempt to ward of the disease. Light trench lines were dug, in preparation for a squall as much as anything else, and the Ninth's men bedded down.

Naturally, that's when the Spanish attacked. From the light of burning embers, marksmen started firing on the Third Troop, while hidden in the jungle the Spanish regulars opened up on Fourth Troop. It was a mad scramble, the men of the Ninth with barely any cover and almost no artillery. As the front soldiers pushed, signalmen frantically lit flares to direct fire.

Chesapeake did not disappoint. Flying a wide arc around the camp, she let her bombs go one at a time, each blast sending shrapnel in deathly arcs. When she was done, the firefights had gone from a blazing exchange to a dull roar. The enemy had either been killed where they fought, or retreated in order.

Skirmishers next morning proved the later. Fast, smokeless rounds made handling the enemy difficult, as the cavalrymen would need to decimate entire swaths of forest to even hope to suppress the enemy. Calls for airborne bombardment were not made again, as it was known that the Naval squadron had a limited supply of weapons. Once their effort was spent, they would need to rearm at the hastily constructed Miami Aerodrome or the more established Mobile Bay base. Fortunately, a small band of the local guerrillas friendly to the Americans had been found, and with their advice a march was decided for Cuzco's Well.

The heat was bad, the humidity was terrible, and as the two troops moved out there was little optimism in the force. Neither troop was well-embraced with logistic material, and most of it was dedicated to food and munitions. Water was provided by United States every evening to top off reserves, the ship's boiler crews desalinating the water and using it as ballast until giving it to the troops. When the small force finally reached Cuzco's Well, though, the battle began nearly immediately. The men of the Ninth needed to push for the hills to get out of the jungle, while the Spanish needed to spread out their superior numbers to avoid destruction by bombing. It was a race to the high ground, while the Naval Airships quickly learned their mastery of the sky was not absolute. The Spaniards did in fact have the rumored anti-air guns, and they began firing on the Chesapeake. While six-inch guns weren't a large threat by themselves, as the schooner advanced the enemy proved they had a depth of guns with the opening fire of the one-pound QF piece. Not enough to ground the Chesapeake, it did manage to throw off her attack run considerably, the majority of her weapons falling long.

This bought time for the high-soaring Constellation to get into position, however, and a thousand pound bomb cared not for altitude in accuracy. The enemy battery was silenced in short order with the titanic explosions, and even though they were not aimed at the main force, it still rattled the Spaniards who were fighting for their lives. Spanish hornets or no, the men of the Ninth had captured the crest of the hill, and they were digging in with fervor. Without the anti-air battery stopping the bombardment from the sky, there was only so much the Spanish could do before morale flagged. Cuzco's Well was already lost, either destroyed wholesale in the bombing, or utterly indefensible with the presence of the Ninth's men on the hill. As the evening crawled around, one Spanish unit after another disengaged and made their way out of the area. Guantanamo Bay had been definitively secured, and with small losses.

It would be a brief salve for the blood-soaked victory at Santiago a week later.

---

AN: Updates might be once a month, but sometimes I'll be able to produce side work like this. These aren't updates, nor do they close voting. They can be presumed as cannon to the story.

 

[7734]

Approaching the Airman's Bazzar on a quiet gust of wind, the lighter you'd rented from the aerodrome thrummed quietly. You were taking Jacob to the market to scout for more pilots, or so he thought. The new pistol harness digging into the side of your leg said otherwise, though, and the lantern you were steering for was well past the market's landing pad.

"Color me surprised you're actually going through with this, Captain." Jacob said, his face in a light sneer. "Never took you for the type."

"This is very much a temporary arrangement." You shot back, hands steady on the tillers. "I need a pilot, and if you betray me to the Guild then I'm hosed. Not a kind fork you've left me in."

"You knew I was a mercenary bastard when you met me back in Detroit." He countered. "Business before pleasure, I'm afraid."

"Quite."

As you brought the lighter forward carefully, Jacob moored you to the small tower you were docking at with an expert floor, before jumping out with feline grace. Taking a minute to loose the cover on your pistol, you followed. On the solid ground, you looked carefully. Nobody on this rooftop it seemed, but a steady glowing light the next over had what you hoped to see on it- a pair of constables, smoking happily as they observed. Pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, you watched Jacob watch you carefully.

"I don't understand how you smoke." He muttered. "Seeing as how we live in a firebomb waiting for a place to happen."

You chuckled. "It's an acquired skill. Much like making friends."

When you'd explained the situation to Mustafa and Ayse in the back of her family's lighter yesterday, she'd nodded along sympathetically and mentioned her cousin Mirac had some friends in the naval police while Mustafa agreed to brief the lawyers. A telegram to Mirac had gotten you the address of Asden, who'd directed you to Duboy who happened to agree with you wholeheartedly and also wanted the prestige of bringing in a foreign criminal engaged in… well, you said illegal finances and conspiracy to commit crimes with Greek nationals. You also suggested roughing him up so he couldn't talk, though, so you hoped Duboy was a creative soul.

While Duboy might not have spoken English, you'd drilled him in recognizing that phrase, the signal for him to come out and take Jacob into custody. You'd expected a pair of provosts.

What you got was ten rifles pointed in the general direction of you and Jacob, along with Duboy coming out with a swagger stick and a grin. "Jacob Young, you are under arrest!" he yelled, broken English prompting a moment of confusion, before he switched over to French. "You, conspirator! On the ground!"

It took a minute before you realized Duboy was talking to you. "What are you talking about?" you asked, frowning. "It's me, Captain van Riebeck!"

"Nonsense! This was authorized by Mustafa bin Iskandar; he made no mention of a van Riebeck!"

"Cut the shit, Duboy! You saw me in person this morning!"

The cop grinned crookedly. "You'd need to remind me."

Gasping, you sputtered. He had the gall to demand a bribe now? This wasn't cooperation, this was robbery!

Sighing, Jacob interrupted in his broken French. "How much?" he asked, dryly.

"Oh, three hundred drachma should do it."

Damn, damn, and double damn! If Duboy was asking for drachma, he was either Greek or a conspirator himself! You couldn't tell from the face, but you knew this could go sideways at a moment's notice. You needed a plan, something to get you out-

"Fuck that." Jacob hissed, before walking up to Duboy. The cop didn't step back, but raised his stick threateningly before rushing in. A deft twirl put the corrupt policeman in front of Jacob, though, and there was a knife at his neck.

"Now that we're on the same page-" he said, grinning, before a gunshot rang out. You'd seen the opportunity for what it was, drawing and firing in a second to put the shot right under your traitorous pilot's arm and through his torso. Falling, he jerked the knife a little to scribe a red line under Duboy's chin while you shifted your aim point a few inches to the right.

"Grrk!" Duboy choked out, before falling and grabbing at his neck. The slice wasn't deep enough to be worrying, or his blood would be pooling out on the rooftop with Jacob's. Stepping closer, you kept the Mauser trained on him as he coughed and pissed himself in fear and shock.

"I believe we may be in a position to renegotiate." You said carefully, mad as hell. "You'll take responsibility for the body and we'll make our separate ways. In return, I won't explain to Sanjek-bey Iskandar that there's a rat in the Naval Police."

"Η Αθήνα ποτέ δεν θα πεθάνει!" he growled, before his deputies' rifles trained on him. Spitting on the downed man, you went back to your airship, climbing in and unmooring in a second. Puttering off back towards the Dardenelles, you heaved a sigh of relief as the ship started jittering slightly. Was something wrong with the boat?

No. Just your hands shaking like leaves for what you'd done.

----

Sitting at your desk on the Cruiser 12, you hissed and rubed your arm carefully. The shaking in your hands hadn't calmed down any, and you were getting tired with sloshing your drinks. A neat whiskey shouldn't be jostled like you were prone to, right now.

As you were about to reach for the decanter on your desk, there was a knock on your door. Folding your hands on your lap, you smiled disarmingly and called out for them to come in. Entering cautiously, Elizabeth slid in like a cat before shutting the door behind her.

"Hello, Captain." She said, coming in to sit by your desk. You kept a spare chair for just that reason, the light thing easily moved so Elizabeth could sit next to you. It was unusually forward of her, you noted offhand as you suppressed your jitters.

"You can call me Alek, you know." You said calmly. "I can't call you Navigator all the time, after all."

"Alright, Alek." She said meekly, pouring a tall glass of the whiskey out. The tumbler on your desk was nearly overflowing when she finished, too full to safely pick up right now. "So, where's Jacob?"

You froze. She didn't.

"You were going with him for business, supposedly to pick up new pilots. He wanted to leave, though, I know that much. So, where is he now?"

Reaching out to get that too-full glass, your hand stopped when Elizabeth picked it up with both hands, sipping lightly. "I didn't like him." She said, setting the drink down. "He was brash, cocky, and rude. He wanted to be king of the skies, unchallenged, unconquerable."

"You're not wrong." You said, moving the tumbler quickly enough not to shake any of the amber liquid loose. A sip made you more comfortable holding it, and you lowered it for another set of words. "I needed a pilot, and not some hack. Someone who could handle the ship."

"Yes." Elizabeth muttered. "Someone with strength."

You took another sip.

"The strength to hold a woman down, and tell her she was coming with him whether she wanted to or not."

The first drops sloshed over the rim. You were struck dumb.

"The strength to try and get through a Navigator's clothes, through her dignity, through me." Elizabeth said, a tear falling from one eye as she took the glass in both hands, downing it all and spilling some onto the high neck of her dress. "The brute!"

"What did he do?!" you asked, a heat to your voice. If you hadn't shot Jacob dead not two hours earlier, then his blood would stain your hands for this.

"He wanted me to Navigate for him, on a new ship." Elizabeth muttered, standing up to pace angrily. This was the most emotion you'd seen on her doll-like face, and the rictus of rage made the petite woman look like a snow leopard, wroth spilling over. "A clipper he said, Italian make and fit with a rough Aether rig. I denied him three times, so he went for my skirts."

"Did he try-" you began, standing in anger as Elizabeth slammed your desk to cut you off.

"No, he wasn't going to sate a lust!" she shrieked, sending the empty tumbler flying. "No, I could read him better! He wanted a child- some pet Navigator! I will not found a bloodline out of wedlock or my own desire!"

Crashing back into your chair, the ramifications started to make themselves clear. The Navigator Houses were few and far between, and Elizabeth herself wasn't a legitimate cadet branch of one. Cook was an alias- she'd been born Elizabeth St. Charles, to a mother who swore her father was Arnold Cook, an unmarried navigator who at the time would have been in Montreal to do the deed.

"Tabernac." You muttered. "That bastard!"

"What would have been my bastard!" Elizabeth roared, slamming your desk again as you moved out from behind it to catch her arm before she broke her hand on the wooden fixture. Catching it, you felt the liquid courage ease your movements, before Elizabeth fell into you from her own alcohol destroying that precarious sense called balance. Holding her like a feather, you leaned her against your desk carefully.

"Do you need anything?" you asked, trying to focus as your vision swam. How much had you drank? "Anything at all?"

"Sec-!" Elizabeth said, hiccupping. "Security! I'll stay by you, tomorrow, and make sure that rat has what's coming to him if he tries again!"

"Agreed!" you roared, false courage in your veins.

"To your bed!" the Navigator called.

"What?" you asked, as Elizabeth toddled through the door to your bedroom, before you heard a too-small poomph! as something hit your bed. Moments later, light snoring came out the door to your confusion. Did… did your Navigator just claim your bedroom to herself?

---

VOTES

Elizabeth?
[] (Write-in)

Flight Route to Tabriz, East Azerbijan
[] Aether Route; Constantinople to Lake Urmia, local flight to Tabriz
[] Local Route; Constantinople to Kars, Kars to Van, Van to Tabriz
[] Direct Route; Constantinople to Tabriz at high altitude
[] Write-in (Subject to GM Veto, max altitude for normal transit is 8,000 feet Above Sea Level, can move to 10,000 for short periods)

 

[Strypgia]

This write-in brought to you by copious amounts of Fuck-I-got-no-sleep-last-night and as much Apocalyptica as I could make YouTube play while I wrote.

"To your bed!" the Navigator called.

"What?" you asked, as Elizabeth toddled through the door to your bedroom, before you heard a too-small poomph! as something hit your bed. Moments later, light snoring came out the door to your confusion. Did… did your Navigator just claim your bedroom to herself?

Click to shrink...

[X] Write-in - SLEEEEEEEP!

Bed! That sounded great! And... well, Elizabeth was small, cute, and had demanded you go to bed too! And she'd just confessed that that asshole Jacob had tried forcing himself on her? You felt even less regret about shooting him than before. Very good that he was off your crew and ship for good, that!

Where were we? Oh, right, drunk, tired, still shaking, and with a tiny bundle of cute Navigator demanding we sleep with her, for security. Right!

Alek wobbled towards the bed, had just brains enough left after half a bottle of whiskey on a mostly empty stomach to remove his boots and coat, and flopped into the so very warm and welcoming bunk. Elizabeth was just the right size to be a cuddly armful as he snuggled up behind her. She made quiet, drunk, but happy noises, then began to snore. Alek was right behind her.

+++

"We've tracked down the oversteer on the port rudder; cabling was loose and the gears were misaligned in the mechanical transfer box. The vibrations in the number two engine we're still working on. Still getting that repeat loss of power on the starboard upper motor, too. Looks like you're right about the loose seals. We'll get that sorted in a day or so." Thomas looked up from his clipboard. "I could use some extra hands. Is Lucia going to be-"

"She'll be down after lunch," Alek said smoothly.

"Of course."

Donald stuck his head into the compartment. "Consignment of medical supplies just arrived. Czelawa?"

"She'll be down after lunch."

Donald nodded, unsurprised. "Right. Miss Iskandar has the most excellent ideas, does she not?"

"She was very persuasive," Alek confirmed. "Navigator Cook will have our course worked out too. We should be ready in all respects no later than Friday. How is the crew recruiting going?"

Donald shrugged. "We've had worse. We'll be able to get along until we reach Delhi, and pick up the rest of the complement there."

Alek snapped his small notebook closed. "Very good, then. Alright, Thomas, I'll leave you to your work. I have a lunch appointment I'm not about to miss."

The passageway from the engines to the Captain's Quarters was not long, and all within the armored box of the ship's citadel. It still felt too long. Alek made himself walk at a dignified pace, however, despite the urge to trot or even run. Lunch!

He entered the Captain's Quarters without knocking, of course. It was his, after all. His and hers and hers and hers and hers, now.

"Welcome, my dear Captain," Ayse greeted him with an elaborate bow that mostly ended up showing off just how much cleavage a diaphanous top of barely-there fabric could not-at-all-conceal. "Ready for lunch?"

"Famished," Alek replied with a smile. "How are the dancing lessons going?"

"We all seem to have different ideas of 'dancing', though we're working things out," Lucia said from the cleared space of deck near the bunks. Her sheer silken trousers were an excellent match for her own midriff-baring top that showed off her rippling abs to best effect.

"Lucia is the only one with easy grace at this sort of thing," Czelawa said, slight envy in her tone. Czelawa raised her joined hands over her head and did a very interesting shimmy with her hips. "Though I do find this outfit lets me show off some of my own 'advantages', no?"

Alek gave her a very appreciative look. The gauzy top that let Ayse show off let the curvy Polish nurse really show off. The harem pants let her showcase her hips too. "Just a bit, my most bountiful dear."

Elizabeth managed a precise spin in place that left her balanced on one foot and holding a tray loaded with grapes and fruits, not a single one out of place. "Good balance and spatial sense help on their own, you know."

Alek took a grape, popped it in his mouth, then picked Elizabeth by her hips and placed her in his lap as he sat down in the plush chair that had been recently placed in his quarters with just this sort of 'double occupancy' in mind. Elizabeth was a small, cute lapful, and dressed like the others in a silky harem outfit that showcased her petite form to best effect. "And you always know the best space to be in, don't you my dear Navigator?"

Elizabeth smiled back at him, with only a hint of smirk. "That's why I was the first one to agree to this idea of Ayse's. Your bed is much nicer than sleeping alone in my own."

Ayse patted her on the head as she took a grape of her own, then fed the next one to Alek. "Alek, there's something you need to do."

He chewed at the grape for a moment before shaking his head. "What?"

"Alek."

"What? I'm right here."

"Alek, wake up."

"Huh?"

She put her hand on his shoulder and shook him. "Wake up, Alek!"

+++

He blinked at her. When had she been standing up sideways? Wait... no, he was laying down, Elizabeth still wrapped warmly in his arms. Plenty of room.

"Hi, Ayse. Come to join us? Please do. My bed is always open to beautiful, wonderful women like yourself," he mumbled, a good part of the whiskey still doing the driving.

She tapped her lip with a finger for a moment, then shrugged. "Mm, it is not as if I am unfamiliar with the concept of harems, Alek."

She slipped off her shoes and then her dress before laying down and cuddling up to his back. "And I can think of worse places and people to start one with. She is cute, isn't she?"

Alek merely mumbled something about sandwiches and grapes before falling back asleep.

+++

He had a headache. He really needed to find a toilet. His right arm was feeling oddly stiff. And... there was someone pressed up against his back? And front?

Alek pried unwilling eyes open. Ah, another lesson on why you shouldn't have that much whiskey on its own, despite the day. Wait... Elizabeth said 'To your bed!', and I... followed her? I...'

He blinked. Yes, there she was, still snoring gently in his arms, back pressed right up to him. So who was...?

He craned his neck slowly around. Ayse was snuggled right up behind him, one leg hooked over his, and not wearing very much. On second look, that hadn't been part of the dream. And the reason his arm was feeling stiff was Elizabeth was laying on it and holding onto his hand.

He was very thoroughly pinned. And now quite awake.


Now what?

[ ] PANIC
[ ] Escape
[ ] Fuggit. Go back to sleep.
[ ] Figure out how to get a 5-person bed installed in your quarters, just in case.

Note: These are joke options. I'm not the QM.