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Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Three.
By the time Francois had reached the top of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck, a quartet of ratings had hoisted up a net across the stern of the ship, and he squinted through his visor. Yes, there he was; the bat had expended all eight of the phlogiston rockets on his flying harness and was using the extended wings on the harness to help him glide toward the Temeraire.
At the last second, he pulled up into a stall, folded both sets of wings and grabbed the net with his paws. The net crew lowered him to the deck, and he took off his flight helmet. Spotting the First Officer he said, “Permission to come aboard, Sir!”
“Granted,” the feline said as Captain de Ville walked over.
The bat saluted and fished a paper from his pocket. “Seaman Van Ginkel, Sir, from the Mouette. Captain Lagarde’s compliments.”
De Ville nodded, reading the paper. The French bulldog’s ears twitched and he said to the bat, “Get something to drink and reload your rockets. I will have a reply for Captain Lagarde presently.”
“Yes, Sir,” and the bat hastened to obey his orders, his helmet tucked under one arm.
“What is it, Sir?” the First Officer asked.
“Trouble,” came the laconic reply. Captain de Ville touched a stud on his forearm panel, and a warning tone sounded in the crews’ earphones. “Attention, everyone, this is the Captain. The frigates Mouette and Pétrel have sighted two British East Indiamen aloft, escorting at least three seaborne Mughal ships toward Malé. We can surmise that this isn’t a courtesy call. Engines, increase power; I want one thousand meters and increase speed to full, and make sure the St. Elmo’s Field is ready. Guns, stand ready. Bosun.” Ntsay’s ears perked. “Battle flag.”
The red-ruffed lemur nodded and ran to help two ratings open the flag locker as de Ville added, “Relay the signal by flags to the Audace and Furieux, along with my orders.” De Ville added the course given on the message, and his yeoman wrote down his reply as Seaman Van Ginkel came up. He had eight new rockets strapped to his flight harness.
De Ville gave the reply to the bat, who pocketed it, put his helmet on, and jacked it into the helmsman’s panel, giving him the updated course back to his home ship. Removing the cable, he saluted the Captain before jumping over the stern rail.
The bat fell several meters before extending the wings on his harness and igniting the first pair of phlogiston rockets. Trailing smoke, he soon dwindled out of sight.
Captain de Ville watched him go, muttering, “I wish they’d get that new Popov device small enough to fit on the ship.” He looked up and studied the acknowledgements from the other two third-rate ships and glanced at the stern flag staff as a huge banner bearing the Imperial tricolor broke clear in the Temeraire’s slipstream. “C’est bon,” he said.
The other two ships also broke out their battle flags as they kept station with the Temeraire, gaining altitude and increasing speed while signal flags told Captain de Ville that they, too, were prepared for possible strife.
“Do you think the British spotted the frigates, Sir?” the First Officer asked Captain de Ville.
“I will hope not,” de Ville replied. “And as long as they stay higher than the Indiamen, they’ll be at an advantage.” He looked pensive as he turned to see Francois looking at him. “Yes, Bosun?”
“Begging your pardon, Soor,” the lemur said, “but reporting that the ship’s ready for action.”
De Ville smiled. “Well done, Bosun. Double the watch at the bow and crow’s nest and have one of our messengers get up here. I need to inform the Admiral at Antsarinana.”
“Soor,” and Francois relayed the order as he took his station amidships.
By the time the bat had received his orders and the enciphered message, and set off south, the third-rate had reached an altitude of a full kilometer. The deck crew were all wearing safety harnesses, with more than one of the newer ratings looking over the rail and swallowing. One of them noted Francois looking at him, and the young lemur’s ears went back. “Sorry, Bosun.”
Francois smiled. “Don’t be. I was your age once.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Puked the first time the ship flew.” He raised a finger. “Tell anyone, and I’ll have you scraping the hull – while we’re flying.”
The rating gulped and nodded before going about his business.
Francois checked the chronometer on his display before squinting up at the sun. Based on the course Captain de Ville was making, the flotilla was maneuvering to not only have an altitude advantage over their potential adversaries but would have the setting sun silhouetting the East Indiamen.
The situation the bulldog had outlined for the crew made the lemur pause as he checked the bow lenses. Everyone knew that the British business had supported the old Mughal Emperor, Jahan’s father; who were they backing now? One of the tiger’s brothers, or a third party? Either way, acting as if they would invade the Maldives would not be considered a friendly act by the Admiral back in Madagascar.
Of course, that was Francois’ opinion.
“Helm, Captain,” a voice spoke in the lemur’s ear.
“Yes?”
“Frigate two points off port at twelve kilometers, hundred-fifty meters above . . . it’s the Mouette,” the rabbit reported.
“Any signals?” de Ville asked.
“Moment, Sir . . . ‘Staying out of range’ . . . ‘Mughal ships firing’ . . . ‘Forts firing back.’”
“Very well. Signal to Pétrel and Mouette to give me the enemy positions. Bosun?”
“Soor?” Francois asked.
“Battle Stations.”
“Aye, Soor,” the red-ruffed lemur said, touching studs on his control bracer to sound the alert and feeling his heart start beating harder in his chest.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer
Three.
By the time Francois had reached the top of the stairs leading to the quarterdeck, a quartet of ratings had hoisted up a net across the stern of the ship, and he squinted through his visor. Yes, there he was; the bat had expended all eight of the phlogiston rockets on his flying harness and was using the extended wings on the harness to help him glide toward the Temeraire.
At the last second, he pulled up into a stall, folded both sets of wings and grabbed the net with his paws. The net crew lowered him to the deck, and he took off his flight helmet. Spotting the First Officer he said, “Permission to come aboard, Sir!”
“Granted,” the feline said as Captain de Ville walked over.
The bat saluted and fished a paper from his pocket. “Seaman Van Ginkel, Sir, from the Mouette. Captain Lagarde’s compliments.”
De Ville nodded, reading the paper. The French bulldog’s ears twitched and he said to the bat, “Get something to drink and reload your rockets. I will have a reply for Captain Lagarde presently.”
“Yes, Sir,” and the bat hastened to obey his orders, his helmet tucked under one arm.
“What is it, Sir?” the First Officer asked.
“Trouble,” came the laconic reply. Captain de Ville touched a stud on his forearm panel, and a warning tone sounded in the crews’ earphones. “Attention, everyone, this is the Captain. The frigates Mouette and Pétrel have sighted two British East Indiamen aloft, escorting at least three seaborne Mughal ships toward Malé. We can surmise that this isn’t a courtesy call. Engines, increase power; I want one thousand meters and increase speed to full, and make sure the St. Elmo’s Field is ready. Guns, stand ready. Bosun.” Ntsay’s ears perked. “Battle flag.”
The red-ruffed lemur nodded and ran to help two ratings open the flag locker as de Ville added, “Relay the signal by flags to the Audace and Furieux, along with my orders.” De Ville added the course given on the message, and his yeoman wrote down his reply as Seaman Van Ginkel came up. He had eight new rockets strapped to his flight harness.
De Ville gave the reply to the bat, who pocketed it, put his helmet on, and jacked it into the helmsman’s panel, giving him the updated course back to his home ship. Removing the cable, he saluted the Captain before jumping over the stern rail.
The bat fell several meters before extending the wings on his harness and igniting the first pair of phlogiston rockets. Trailing smoke, he soon dwindled out of sight.
Captain de Ville watched him go, muttering, “I wish they’d get that new Popov device small enough to fit on the ship.” He looked up and studied the acknowledgements from the other two third-rate ships and glanced at the stern flag staff as a huge banner bearing the Imperial tricolor broke clear in the Temeraire’s slipstream. “C’est bon,” he said.
The other two ships also broke out their battle flags as they kept station with the Temeraire, gaining altitude and increasing speed while signal flags told Captain de Ville that they, too, were prepared for possible strife.
“Do you think the British spotted the frigates, Sir?” the First Officer asked Captain de Ville.
“I will hope not,” de Ville replied. “And as long as they stay higher than the Indiamen, they’ll be at an advantage.” He looked pensive as he turned to see Francois looking at him. “Yes, Bosun?”
“Begging your pardon, Soor,” the lemur said, “but reporting that the ship’s ready for action.”
De Ville smiled. “Well done, Bosun. Double the watch at the bow and crow’s nest and have one of our messengers get up here. I need to inform the Admiral at Antsarinana.”
“Soor,” and Francois relayed the order as he took his station amidships.
By the time the bat had received his orders and the enciphered message, and set off south, the third-rate had reached an altitude of a full kilometer. The deck crew were all wearing safety harnesses, with more than one of the newer ratings looking over the rail and swallowing. One of them noted Francois looking at him, and the young lemur’s ears went back. “Sorry, Bosun.”
Francois smiled. “Don’t be. I was your age once.” He looked around and lowered his voice. “Puked the first time the ship flew.” He raised a finger. “Tell anyone, and I’ll have you scraping the hull – while we’re flying.”
The rating gulped and nodded before going about his business.
Francois checked the chronometer on his display before squinting up at the sun. Based on the course Captain de Ville was making, the flotilla was maneuvering to not only have an altitude advantage over their potential adversaries but would have the setting sun silhouetting the East Indiamen.
The situation the bulldog had outlined for the crew made the lemur pause as he checked the bow lenses. Everyone knew that the British business had supported the old Mughal Emperor, Jahan’s father; who were they backing now? One of the tiger’s brothers, or a third party? Either way, acting as if they would invade the Maldives would not be considered a friendly act by the Admiral back in Madagascar.
Of course, that was Francois’ opinion.
“Helm, Captain,” a voice spoke in the lemur’s ear.
“Yes?”
“Frigate two points off port at twelve kilometers, hundred-fifty meters above . . . it’s the Mouette,” the rabbit reported.
“Any signals?” de Ville asked.
“Moment, Sir . . . ‘Staying out of range’ . . . ‘Mughal ships firing’ . . . ‘Forts firing back.’”
“Very well. Signal to Pétrel and Mouette to give me the enemy positions. Bosun?”
“Soor?” Francois asked.
“Battle Stations.”
“Aye, Soor,” the red-ruffed lemur said, touching studs on his control bracer to sound the alert and feeling his heart start beating harder in his chest.
<NEXT>
<PREVIOUS>
<FIRST>
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Lemur
Size 120 x 97px
File Size 59.5 kB
“Seaman Van Ginkel, Sir, from the Mouette. Captain Lagarde’s compliments.”
(The Seagull?)
"How fares First Mate Chekov?"
"Still out, with that nasty ear infection, Sir." /Ah, Parisiens,/ thought the Flemish, /always insisting that everybody else drop their 'h's, too./
“Relay the signal by flags to the Audace and Furieux, along with my orders.” De Ville added
, "The Audace is nice and all, but it remains a shame the Rapide couldn't join in."
Captain de Ville watched him go, muttering, “I wish they’d get that new Popov device small enough to fit on the ship.”
Clearly, not everyone things radio technology is rubbish! Then again, maybe the captain's been present for a demonstration somewhere, and it has been another five years.
“Battle Stations.” “Aye, Soor,” the red-ruffed lemur said, touching studs on his control bracer
"This is not a meme. Repeat: this is not a meme!"
In all seriousness... I was quiet until now, but I've been looking forward to these every Friday, this year
(The Seagull?)
"How fares First Mate Chekov?"
"Still out, with that nasty ear infection, Sir." /Ah, Parisiens,/ thought the Flemish, /always insisting that everybody else drop their 'h's, too./
“Relay the signal by flags to the Audace and Furieux, along with my orders.” De Ville added
, "The Audace is nice and all, but it remains a shame the Rapide couldn't join in."
Captain de Ville watched him go, muttering, “I wish they’d get that new Popov device small enough to fit on the ship.”
Clearly, not everyone things radio technology is rubbish! Then again, maybe the captain's been present for a demonstration somewhere, and it has been another five years.
“Battle Stations.” “Aye, Soor,” the red-ruffed lemur said, touching studs on his control bracer
"This is not a meme. Repeat: this is not a meme!"
In all seriousness... I was quiet until now, but I've been looking forward to these every Friday, this year
Good thing it was a plastic one in front of the camera XD
I've made referenced to the spillover happenstances from that before...
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/14...../#cid:87540881
... although it's arguably an unfairly deep cut.
I've made referenced to the spillover happenstances from that before...
https://www.furaffinity.net/view/14...../#cid:87540881
... although it's arguably an unfairly deep cut.
Oh, I was being silly... and going on about Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan in some detail. https://www.furaffinity.net/view/59.....#cid:183834192
Anton Chekhov is the famous playwright who wrote The Seagull among other works. Pavel Chekov (sic) is the fictional once-and-future Enterprise crewman who at one point, specifically while serving as second-in-command on a different starship, was forced to take a parasitic alien in one ear.
French has a reputation for, among other things, having many words start with the letter 'h' but never pronouncing it. That goes for people from Paris for sure, but I honestly don't know whether or not that applies to all Francophones from Toulouse (just an example of somewhere a ways to the south) to Walloon (French-speaking, to the north, though outside of l'hexagone de France). Either way, Parisiens are the French with a reputation for being pushy about language; people in the countryside, not so much.
The bat has a Dutch name, so my imagination went and cast him as being Flemish, a next-door neighbor to French-speakers. I threw in that detail just as part of the joke delivery, along with the notion of the Téméraire's captain being from Paris.
I make no canonical claims to step on our author-host's toes, though
Anton Chekhov is the famous playwright who wrote The Seagull among other works. Pavel Chekov (sic) is the fictional once-and-future Enterprise crewman who at one point, specifically while serving as second-in-command on a different starship, was forced to take a parasitic alien in one ear.
French has a reputation for, among other things, having many words start with the letter 'h' but never pronouncing it. That goes for people from Paris for sure, but I honestly don't know whether or not that applies to all Francophones from Toulouse (just an example of somewhere a ways to the south) to Walloon (French-speaking, to the north, though outside of l'hexagone de France). Either way, Parisiens are the French with a reputation for being pushy about language; people in the countryside, not so much.
The bat has a Dutch name, so my imagination went and cast him as being Flemish, a next-door neighbor to French-speakers. I threw in that detail just as part of the joke delivery, along with the notion of the Téméraire's captain being from Paris.
I make no canonical claims to step on our author-host's toes, though
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