Sexy Steampunk Babes: Chapter Fifty Nine

Marinna grinned fiercely, her flight goggles reflecting the flames below as she banked her airship over the smoldering wreckage of an enemy vessel. The ship in question was still afloat, even as it burned, the mithril core within still performing its function. Though it was only a matter of time until the aether ballasts or pipes within burst, at which point the blazing inferno would drop down to the city below, further adding to the confusion and fires already present.

The veteran pilot had seen such scenes before, but they never lost their grim majesty. She wasn’t driven by cruelty, not really, but by the satisfaction of flawless execution. Every maneuver, every shot from her aether-cannons, had culminated in this night’s grim symphony of destruction.

She took a deep breath, savoring the acrid scent of scorched metal and coal-tainted air as her gloved fingers danced over the brass controls of her craft as she changed course again, swooping over the bow of the ‘undership’ she was escorting.

It was an ugly beast. All-patchwork welds and hasty mage-smithing. So much so that it was hard to believe that it and others like it had been responsible for tonight’s victory.

She wasn’t alone in her initial skepticism about the Underships. The very concept of descending beneath the ocean’s surface in an airship – practically kraken bait - had felt like tempting fate.

And as for emerging at sea level, directly into a live combat zone?

The tactical disadvantages were glaring.

Altitude was life after all  - every shard pilot and airship captain knew that. Whether you soared across the skies in a nimble fighter craft or commanded the bulk of an airship, altitude was both your sanctuary and your weapon.

A fact she’d spent the last two hours driving home to any colonial beatnick that was foolish enough to try and tangle with her sisters in the sky. After clearing up the initial fleet launches in short order, she and her colleagues had turned on any foe that dared to launch from the beleaguered airfields that dotted the city’s outskirts – reducing them to shrapnel within moments before sending their mangled remains tumbling back to the ground in showers of sparks and aether.

It had been a slaughter – and not because the enemy pilots were entirely incompetent. What few had managed to survive long enough to engage in something that might have been called a fight by the charitable had been decent enough.

At least half-life standards, she thought as she glanced over at a small chip in her craft’s paint where one of those craft had in fact managed to clip her with a fire-bolt before being savaged by Marinna’s wingmate.

Now, either the enemy were out of shards, or they were biding their time for reinforcements. It mattered little either way. Marinna and the fleet would be long gone by the time the latter showed up.  Already, she could see figures descending from airships hovering over both the ‘palace’ and the ‘academy’.

Dark Elf Stormtroopers. Elites who would make short work of any enemy opposition and swiftly claim whatever it was they’d traveled all this way for.

Though what that objective was, Marinna couldn’t say - and didn’t particularly care. It wasn’t her concern. Her mission was simple; keep the skies clear for the commandos’ insertion and extraction. Yet as she hovered at altitude, watching streaks of vibrant spellfire whip out from the palace grounds at the descending mage-commandos, frustration gnawed at her at her inability to perform her role to the fullest.

“Wing Two still not resupplied yet?” she muttered under her breath.

Casting a glance toward The Merciful, its massive bulk cutting an imposing silhouette against the star-dappled night sky, she clicked her tongue irritably at the ongoing presence of the “Maintain Operations” lights above her launch bay.

By all appearances, the enemy had exhausted their flight assets, but Marinna knew better than to assume the skies were hers. The Lunite Empire hadn’t thrived for centuries by embracing complacency. Fleet doctrine demanded unbroken aerial coverage, with shards cycling back to their carriers for resupply in carefully calculated shifts.

Any lapse in cover, no matter how brief, was a risk the Empire wasn’t willing to take.

Unfortunately, that left her hovering here with guns that were near empty after the last two hours spent savaging enemy shards, which meant she couldn’t afford to waste any striking ground assets until she’d been resupplied, lest she end up being caught without ammo against a real threat.

“Probably Ahmada and her damned Firebolt,” she muttered.

The Firebolt, damn thing was a hangar prince, its once-proud legacy as a frontline shard reduced to that of a second-line burden. Sure, its bolt-cannons packed a punch, but their feed mechanisms jammed often enough to be a nightmare in protracted battles or even while resupplying.

Ahmada swore by it, claiming its quirks were manageable, but Marinna suspected the woman loved the shard more for its rarity than its reliability – given the interest it tended to generate from young men with an above average interest in shards.

She paused, her muttering cut short by a distant sound.

A low, ominous droning, barely audible against the sound of cannon fire and the rushing wind. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the murky skies, searching for any sign of a new threat. The fires below offered some visibility, their flickering glow casting long, dancing shadows across the fractured cityscape, but little beyond that. The world beyond the city limits was filled with little more than darkness.

Worse still, she knew the flames below meant that the fleet and her own shard would be all too visible for an outside force looming in the darkness. Unfortunately, she couldn’t risk repositioning to the outskirts of the city to take advantage of that self-same darkness. Abandoning her current post would leave the ships offloading commandos below dangerously exposed.

And still, as her thoughts raced, the droning grew louder.

Something was closing in.

Marinna’s pulse quickened, her grip tightening on the controls ever further. She wasn’t unwomaned by the unknown, but her nerves stood on a razor’s edge, ready for anything.

Unbidden, a memory surfaced. As a child, she’d once thrown a rock at a wasp’s nest, spurred on by a mix of bravado and a desperate desire to impress a watching servant boy as much as her friends with her ‘bravery’. Unfortunately for her younger self, the rock struck true. However, instead of the admiration of her friends and the attention of a cute boy for her bravado, she earned for herself a swarm of ticker-nats.

Fortunately, they’d been near a lake at the time, and as such, she, the boy, her friends, and a number of her mother’s dinner guests for that particular outing, managed to escape said swarm by leaping into a nearby lake.

Naturally, her mother had been rather unimpressed with the whole ordeal.

With that said, as great as the punishment after had been, she never forgot the sound of all those insects bearing down on her. The terror as they swarmed about her like a singular living being.

The sound of that enraged swarm? It had been a lot like this.

She shook her head, ignoring the way the hairs on the back of her neck raised as the droning swelled, the low hum turning into a layered, resonant thrum that set her teeth on edge. It wasn’t just sound now - it was vibration, a palpable pulse in the air, rattling her shard’s cockpit.

Glancing over at her wingmates, she was relieved to see that she wasn’t alone in noticing the oncoming threat – whatever it was.

‘Climb’ the raised flag on her squadron leader’s shard indicated.

“Thank the Fae,” Marinna muttered, her voice low and tight.

Sure, they’d be leaving the commandos a little more exposed, but they’d also be better positioned to engage whatever it was that was making that noise.

She adjusted the shard’s altitude slightly, her stomach sinking slightly as the craft entered an incline. Her eyes flicked to the skies overhead, but no threat presented itself just yet. Merely the clouds and the stars beyond.

“Wait, is that-”

Then it happened.

From the skies above, she had but a moment to see it as something flashes and nearly a dozen peculiarly shaped shards illuminated themselves against the darkness as their wing mounted guns flung hot death at the enemy below them.

Enemies that included her.

“Fuck,” she barely had time to hiss, yanking hard on the controls, but it was too late.

She watched, the world seemingly coming to a half for just a moment, as one of those lines of fire lanced towards her – and then the air was filled with the shriek of tearing metal as a rapid staccato of bangs erupted all around her, vibrating through the frame. Each one sent brutal shocks through the elf and her and the controls as the world tilted violently.

Controls aren’t responding, she thought as she wrestled with the now limp control stick. I need to-

Something slammed into her chest, a brutal, numbing force that stole the air from her lungs. She gasped, her fingers scrabbling weakly at her harness as her vision blurred. She was dimly aware of the world spinning, but it all seemed so distant now, muffled by the roaring in her ears.

And then… nothing.

Darkness claimed her, swift and merciless.

-------------

This new variant of the Corsair was a beast, and Xela was barely holding it together. It was absurdly fast, almost like it wanted to break free of her control, and the guns - stone, the guns- were something else entirely. The first time she squeezed the trigger, the violent kick from them had rattled her entire frame, sending a jolt of adrenaline through her.

They were loud. Louder than even this new false core.

She continued to hold down the trigger though, watching as a streak of tracers tore through the night, cutting a blazing line straight into the target she’d been aiming for – silhouetted against the city behind it. The enemy craft buckled under the assault as it spun out of control, aether bleeding from it as it tumbled toward the city below.

There were no attempts by it to stabilize as it tumbled. No signs of an ejection either.

Xela blinked, her breathing heavy in the tight confines of the cockpit. It seemed she’d just gotten the first ‘kill’ of the engagement in more ways than once.

Around her, the rest of the twenty-shard formation had not been idle, filling the sky with blazing lines of tracer fire as they picked their own targets from the formation below. To Xela’s eyes, it was as if the heavens themselves had opened up to unleash fury upon the enemy fleet, caught off guard as they were beneath the concealing veil of cloud cover.

Xela’s eyes flicked across the chaotic scene, catching sight of plumes of aether as enemy ballasts exploded in brilliant flashes. Of course, it lasted for just a moment before the enemy scattered, the location of their new foe established as they broke off.

The moment of surprise had passed, and Xela knew any kills from this point forward wouldn’t come so easily. The enemy had been caught off guard initially, silhouetted against the burning city as her formation dove through the clouds to strike from above.

Now though, they’d be getting ready to strike back. Getting ready for Xela’s formation to break off and pursue, at which point the enemy shard’s superior agility and experience would allow them to quickly reverse said pursuit.

They’d downed what? Four craft in that initial attack? That meant there were still about nine left based on her rough count in that split second before she’d fired.

Based on what they’d already done to the city’s defenses, Xela would wager that was more than enough to tear apart her formation of green pilots – no matter what wonder machines they were piloting.

Fortunately, her people had come on from a very steep angle, this new corsair having a much higher max altitude ceiling than she was accustomed to. A feat that had likely played a role in why the enemy had been so caught off guard.

“Remember kids, don’t get lured into a dogfight. Do as we trained. Dive. Fire. Pull off. We have the energy advantage. Use it.”

Around her, some of the craft that looked like they were on the verge of pursuing their foes down to the deck, pulled back. The wood elf smiled.

Radio. Oh, what she wouldn’t have given to have had this when she was still in the navy.

“Corsair-5, I repeat, pull off. They’re luring you,” she stressed.

Once upon a time, she’d have been powerless to do anything but watch as a green pilot from her squadron fell into an enemy trap, outmaneuvered and cut down in the chaos. Now, with the comms system in place, she could intervene - at least to some extent.

“Aye, ma’am,” came the shaky reply, the pilot’s voice laced with the tension of her first battle but obedient.

Xela breathed a sigh of relief as her five plane squadron continued to climb, leaving their pursuers on the deck.

Of course, she knew the new communication system wasn’t being utilized to the fullest. How could it be when it had been sprung on the Instructors turned squadron leaders barely a few hours ago? And the cadets themselves less than an hour ago?

Theoretically, they could have been using the radio to allow each pilot to call targets and coordinate their attacks - but that wasn’t the kind of system that could be implemented in less than an hour. Instead, it had been limited to instructors only, to allow them to direct the fight better.

Of course, the moment she had that thought, she saw it - a break in the formation. Now hers. Someone from squadron one or three. One of the planes there had drifted out, nerves or bloodlust getting to the rookie pilot within, as rather than break off to climb, she continued her pursuit of her target, guns blazing away recklessly as the enemy craft danced around her crosshair. The girl’s squadron leader either hadn’t noticed or was too preoccupied with their own target to use their comms.

Xela wanted to bark a warning, to snap the pilot back into position as she saw, rising through the smoke another craft - but she couldn’t. Cursing, she started fiddling with the unfamiliar radio system as she desperately tried to recall how to tune into another squadron’s channel.

She wasn’t fast enough though.

Like the veterans they were, the first shard had seamlessly lured the pursuing corsair into the perfect position for one of her wingmates to take a shot. A shot the second shard did not miss.

The strike was almost surgical in its precision, barely a half a second squeeze of the trigger, the enemy pilot no doubt conscious of her flagging ammo reserves. Still, the half dozen bolts she unleashed was more than enough as they struck the corsair at the base of the wing.

Xela wondered idly if the enemy pilot was as surprised as the wood elf herself when rather than receiving a burst of aether from her target in response, the shard instead burst into flames in a brilliant flash of light.

Indeed, they must have been given the speed with which they broke off, no doubt fearing the now blazing craft was a result of some kind of new spell.

It wasn’t though. The pilot inside wasn’t capable of such.

But the alchemical concoction that held her craft aloft was.

Contained explosions, Xela absently recalled.

She hadn’t fully grasped how that might be a problem at the time. At least, not specifically. She could see it now though, as the craft burned merrily as it darted across the skies. Her hands tightened on the controls, as she held her breath, waiting for the faint, hopeful plume of a parachute.

None came.

As the plane began to dip, she realized she’d just watched one of her students die.

The weight of it settled heavily on her chest.

…She’d had the tools to prevent this, to warn them, to guide them - but the damned system, and the chaos of William springing it on her at the last moment, had tied her hands.

Her jaw clenched as she forced her focus back on the battle. Regret couldn’t help that young woman now.

She’d need to have a talk with William after this though. Changes needed to be made.

“Ma’am, should we-” one of her cadets began, their voice hesitant, no doubt having just seen the same thing Xela had.

“Keep climbing,” Xela snapped, her tone sharp as a blade. “Do not get suckered into a turn fight. And don’t use the radio for anything less than emergencies!”

“I’m being shot at, ma’am!” another voice squawked. “Permission to break formation!?”

Xela glanced out at her cockpit glass to where, sure enough, at the rear of the formation an enemy shard had turned its nose upwards and was taking potshots at them.

“Something just sparked!” Sela continued, the rising pitch of her voice betraying her nerves.

Xela clenched her jaw, suppressing the urge to bark back. Instead, she spoke as calmly as she could, “Move that stick an inch in the wrong direction, and I’ll make sure you’ll do more than catch a few sparks up your ass, cadet.”

The enemy’s tactics were painfully obvious. They weren’t just trying to bring Sela down outright. No, they were trying to rattle her, force her into a sudden maneuver that would bleed her speed and allow them to catch up. They only needed her to hesitate, to panic and bank too hard, just enough for them to close the gap and get within the optimal range of their weapons.

“Maintain your climb - don’t slow down! At this range, their guns will be lucky to do more than scratch your paintwork.”

Of course, even as she said the words, Xela knew she wasn’t being entirely honest. If the enemy did ‘get lucky’ at this distance, there was every chance they could clip the corsair's elevator, props or flaps - crippling the craft’s ability to maneuver.

It was unlikely, but possible.

The enemy’s shots served a dual purpose: keep her pilots on edge, while increasing the odds of a critical hit.

“Sela, listen to me,” she said firmly, forcing a calm tone into her voice. “Keep your nose up, stay on course, and don’t let them box you in. You’re faster if you keep climbing. They can’t keep this up forever.”

The Corsair had the energy advantage, having just come out of a dive, and a more powerful engine. It would out climb a craft that had been sitting on the deck. And that craft was taking greater and greater risks the longer it kept its nose up. The more speed it burned maintaining that position, the more it turned itself into a sitting duck for other corsairs in the area.

A beat of silence passed before Sela’s voice came through, still shaky but resolute. “Aye, ma’am.”

Sure enough, barely a second later, the enemy fire stopped. They were out of range – or their attacker had either stalled out or run out of ammo.

Hopefully the latter.

Still, with the altitude advantage firmly secured once more, they were effectively untouchable by anything beneath them. The enemy would have to claw their way up, losing precious speed and energy in the process. Meanwhile, her formation could dictate the terms of engagement, picking their targets at will. The enemy, by contrast, would be forced to take whatever engagement came at them.

William had called it ‘boom and zoom’. In Xela’s experience, the navy referred to it as ‘eagle striking’.

Different names, same principle: dive in fast, unleash a volley, and use your momentum to climb back out of weapon range before they could retaliate. It wasn’t an intricate strategy, and that simplicity made it all the more effective.

She glanced at her instruments, ensuring her shard was primed for the next pass. “Alright, Wing One,” she called through the comms, her tone cool and commanding. “Turn around and line up for another run. Now that the enemy knows we’re here, we’re going to go sequentially. Squadron-One will be acting as bait. Once the enemy locks onto them, we’ll have a clear window to take them out. Remember, we’re here to clear a path for the bomber wave, either by cutting down their numbers or draining their ammo. Remember to keep your speed up and your heads steady. You’ve got this.”

The formation shifted smoothly, each shard banking into position with practiced precision. Xela smiled faintly. It wasn’t perfect yet, but it was damn close for a group of rookies.

Her thoughts briefly flickered to the second wave that had likely already been launched from the Jellyfish’s hangars. She knew what payloads they’d be carrying. Even seen them in action, in a way, via the medium of William’s dreams.

She could only hope they would be half as effective in reality as they were there.

Because I have a feeling we’re going to need it, she thought as she stared down at the two disparate fleets hovering over both the palace and academy, their cannons occasionally roaring as they rained fire down on the defenders below.

That wasn’t her problem though. For the moment, that was the protective screen of shards that stood between the second wave and those ships.

Shards that needed to be gone before the second wave arrived.

Slowly, she pushed her insane reality defying corsair into a dive, the roar of its fake-core somehow more… comforting than it had been when she’d first started the great metal beast up.

Around her, the rest of the now nineteen shards that made up one half of the Jellyfish’s flight complement dived too.

She also knew that now the enemy knew they were coming, there’d be a lot more casualties on their side with this second clash.

The best she could do was make them pay for it.

--------------------------

Willaim frowned as the woman on the other end of the orb repeated her command.

“I’m sorry ma’am, I must have misheard you,” he said slowly, his voice only slightly higher than normal to compensate for the ambient noise generated by the controlled chaos of the bridge. “You’re saying you don’t want me to move to support the palace’s defense, but the academy?”

“You’d be correct, Count Redwater,” the admiral on the other end said. “Her Majesty claims that while your support would be appreciated, it is also unneeded at this time. She has it well in hand. To that end, she’d rather you focus your efforts on safeguarding the future of Lindholm from these… aggressors.”

William’s nose twitched as he tried to read into that. Was that Yelena’s way of saying that the recipe for gunpowder was actually being held at the academy rather than the palace? Or was the tactical situation at the palace not as bad as it seemed?”

He didn’t know.

What he did know was that this new request wasn’t… undesirable.

After all, both Griffith and the twins were both located at the academy. At least, he hoped they were. He was very aware that it was entirely possible all three women had been part of the initial doomed defense of the capital.

Though he hoped that wasn’t the case.

“So be it,” he said. “The Jellyfish will focus her efforts on defending the Academy rather than the palace, ma’am.”

“Excellent. Good hunting to you, Lord Redwater,” the woman said crisply, before departing from the orb’s cone of vision, no doubt busy with a myriad other tasks.

Taking a breath, he turned around, coming face to face with the complicated emotions playing across the features of three of his teammates – Bonnlyn being downstairs preparing to launch as part of the second wave in one of the Jellyfish’s two remaining aether-driven craft. Of the three he could see now, confusion was most definitely the most predominant emotion. As had been the case from the moment they’d launched the first corsairs.

It didn’t help that none of them really had any duties to see to. Theoretically, they did, but those duties had been effectively superseded by the many other mages he had aboard. Even the role of captain, which Olzenya was slated to take up, had swiftly been robbed from her the moment it became clear that the capital was under an actual attack.

To that end, the ship was now being commanded by one of Marline’s aunts, while the other two served as both the ship’s saboteur and defender.

And while there was nothing saying that Marline, Olzenya and Verity couldn’t also take up those roles, they seemed to have universally ignored that option in favor of following him about like a gaggle of lost ducklings.

“Well,” he said slowly. “It seems we have a few minutes before I’ll be needed elsewhere for the dashing rescue of my fiancees, and I take it you all have questions?”

They did, though it was hard to answer any specifically when they all spoke at the same time.