Between the Threads(WIP)

[MWBailey]

Two years on...

So, yeah. I've forgotten the song I was referring to. Various illnesses and other woes have distracted me and messed up my recollections of my intentions, so I'll be going with the original intended storyline, which is all I have notes for (you thought I was coming up with this cold? Sorry, I'm not that good ).

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

-------------------------------------------------------------
Book II
Under the Cobbles

Will We, Nil We Part Two: Terror in the Bog
The young man trudged along the path through the Bog; out here in the Dartmoor wilderland, it was pleasantly wild and the air, while occasionally tainted with the gas from the peat bogs, was by and large a welcome and fresh relief from the stinks of village and mill. As he walked along the familiar path, he eyed the errant banks of fog that seemed to hug the low spots in odd ways; the bog was always full of interesting sights and sounds, and sometimes they could be quite mysterious and ominous, even frightening, but he had his thorn walking stick in his hand, and the dagger that doubled as a jackknife, stuck in his left boot, so he wasn't worried about much of anything. So, he plunged into the first bank of fog that lay across the path with confidence that whatever lay within he could handle.

After about a half-hour of stumbling about in the fog, the boy began to realize that this was no ordinary ground phenomenon, and that although he was still on the path, it didn't look quite the same as it usually did. The cold, clammy wetness made dewy droplets on the bill of his tweed cap, and dewed on the back of his oilcloth mackinaw. He began to feel quite chilled, and his breath, despite the fact that it was late summer, billowed out from his mouth and nose as if he were smoking the pipe that resided unlit in his waistcoat pocket. He had just begun to shiver when he heard the sounds of footsteps behind him. "HALLO!" he shouted, far more loudly than he intended. "Be careful, the path's twisty back there!"

The footsteps stopped. No reply was made. The young man peered back along the part of the path that he could see in the grey-white murk, but only for an instant did he think he could discern a dark shape - and then it was gone as the fog swirled, and no more was to be seem. "Hmpf."  The young man grunted to himself, and thought about lurkers in alleys coming out to lurk in the fog. He turned back to his progress through the fog, and set off again, a bit quicker in his step than before. He heard no more steps until he heard the bells of the village church ahead. Odd, he thought, I was heading away from the village, wasn't I? Just then, the footsteps sounded behind him again; this time, they were quicker and accompanied by barely-audible sounds of exertion, or so it seemed. The boy stumbled forward in panic, and practically ran up the now-gravelly path; this was truly the village path, now, he cold see the wooden stile over the fieldstone wall. He clambered over the obstacle, and saw the Wayside Pub's lantern alight ahead, and turned around to find a shape on the other side of the low wall; the fog swirled, and it seemed to be a rather feral-looking girl, whose shadowed eyes seemed to bore into him. "Who are you, Miss? Can I help you? Are you lost?"

The only reply was a wild laugh as the sun burned through the fog and a sudden wind blew the remnant away. The green field that ran down to the bog-path below stood fresh and clean in the sun. The lad turned around and found himself face to face with the village's vicar.

"Beware the women ye meets in the mist, boy, they're not wha' ye think they be!" The old man said, tucking a bottle into one pocket of his cassock, and a cross into the other. "Crossroads're dangerous when the dark things're about. Ward yourself with a prayer, lad, the stick'll get ye wallopped, an' the knife'll draw blood to blood." The vicar turned and walked back toward the village church, the boy looking after him open-mouthed.

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

-------------------------------------------------------------
Book II
Under the Cobbles


   
Chapter 3: Will We, Nil We Part Two: Terror in the Bog
Dreyfuss threw another spadeful of coal into the captain's cabin's stove; there were electrical lines that ran from the dynamoes in the engine room throughout the ship; they supplied power to things like corridor and stateroom lights, teh automatc guns on the gun deck, and radiant-coil heaters for the cabins that resided against the outer hull, but they only heated so much, and when the ship went for high altitude to make use of the giant river of air that flowed at high speed around the world 'way up high, the cold at that altitude just kind of seeped into everything aboard, and was barely kept at bay by such measures. The coal stoves in the Officer's Country staterooms Dreyfuss had kept aboard out of a sense of nostalgia for the flying artillery batteries that he'd cut his air teeth on, but they had proved to be a godsend for flying at altitudes above the "freeze line," as airshipmen called it.  " 'Special Weapon,' is it?" he muttered as the chatter in his teeth slowly retreated while he lookedout of the glazed porthole down at the Amazon Basin far below. "let's hope it's a special furnace to heat this flying icebox!" He reflected that he'sd almost welcome another fighjt with a hell galleon full of vampires, just to warm up a bit.

He shivered in his uniform and pulled on the fur-lined high-altitude pants and long parka coat that hung on its pegs by the bunk, finally giving up on being strong and stoic.  The squawkbox by the door rang twice, and Irene's voice cut through his revelling at the warmth of the gear he'd just donned. "Heads up, Unc. We just overflew Sao Paulo, Capn' Ishmael says. He wants to know if we should try for a Canary Islands coaling-up; Jock also says he needs a hogshead of axle grease for the fan drive axles."

"Roger that, Niece," Dreyfuss fingerpunched the address button and answered. Sarcasm seemed to be their style of banter these days. He preferred it to having to haul his harridan-like niece off of the other two crewmembers when she was feeling cranky or just plain mean. "Tell the cap'n to plot course for Las Palmas. I'd say we'll be there by supper, if the skyriver holds out alright.

"Roger that, Unc. Niece Out."

Dreyfuss had to chuckle. She wasn't exactly warm and loving, but his niece did have a rather unique sense of humor, and she did occasionally seem to need to let him know he wasn't just some old fart relative to her. The damnedest things seemed to infuriate her, though. Any kind of affectionate talk merely made her sullen, and attempts to cajole an affectionate response from her tended to make her angry, sometimes to the point of violence. Still, Dreyfuss and the other men of the crew managed to maintain a level of peace with her. It was a balancing act sometimes, though.

Post to be continued...



->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles


 
Chapter 3: Will We, Nil We Part Two: Terror in the Bog
Dreyfuss threw another spadeful of coal into the captain's cabin's stove; there were electrical lines that ran from the dynamoes in the engine room throughout the ship; they supplied power to things like corridor and stateroom lights, teh automatc guns on the gun deck, and radiant-coil heaters for the cabins that resided against the outer hull, but they only heated so much, and when the ship went for high altitude to make use of the giant river of air that flowed at high speed around the world 'way up high, the cold at that altitude just kind of seeped into everything aboard, and was barely kept at bay by such measures. The coal stoves in the Officer's Country staterooms Dreyfuss had kept aboard out of a sense of nostalgia for the flying artillery batteries that he'd cut his air teeth on, but they had proved to be a godsend for flying at altitudes above the "freeze line," as airshipmen called it.  " 'Special Weapon,' is it?" he muttered as the chatter in his teeth slowly retreated while he lookedout of the glazed porthole down at the Amazon Basin far below. "let's hope it's a special furnace to heat this flying icebox!" He reflected that he'sd almost welcome another fighjt with a hell galleon full of vampires, just to warm up a bit.

He shivered in his uniform and pulled on the fur-lined high-altitude pants and long parka coat that hung on its pegs by the bunk, finally giving up on being strong and stoic.  The squawkbox by the door rang twice, and Irene's voice cut through his revelling at the warmth of the gear he'd just donned. "Heads up, Unc. We just overflew Sao Paulo, Capn' Ishmael says. He wants to know if we should try for a Canary Islands coaling-up; Jock also says he needs a hogshead of axle grease for the fan drive axles."

"Roger that, Niece," Dreyfuss fingerpunched the address button and answered. Sarcasm seemed to be their style of banter these days. He preferred it to having to haul his harridan-like niece off of the other two crewmembers when she was feeling cranky or just plain mean. "Tell the cap'n to plot course for Las Palmas. I'd say we'll be there by supper, if the skyriver holds out alright.

"Roger that, Unc. Niece Out."

Dreyfuss had to chuckle. She wasn't exactly warm and loving, but his niece did have a rather unique sense of humor, and she did occasionally seem to need to let him know he wasn't just some old fart relative to her. The damnedest things seemed to infuriate her, though. Any kind of affectionate talk merely made her sullen, and attempts to cajole an affectionate response from her tended to make her angry, sometimes to the point of violence. Still, Dreyfuss and the other men of the crew managed to maintain a level of peace with her. It was a balancing act sometimes, though.
----
A darkened room in a large, but otherwise nondescript cottage on a rocky portion of the Dartmoor Heath. The shuttered windows allow only sliver-like shards of light between the cracks, and a single candelabra holding seven lit six-hour candles stands beside a a grandiose high-backed mahogany and japanned oak chair, upon which lounges a raven-haired beauty of a woman, a goblet of what appears to be a syrupy vintage of red wine in her right hand, the elbow of whose arm rests upon the red-velvet upholstered arm of the chair. The woman arranges her brown silk dress so that it does not quite hide one leg, bare, from the knees down. On the large, dark green oval rug stretching from under the chair and the spindly side table beside it stand five slender, almost gaunt figures, two women and three men. Teh women, as far as can be seen in the dim light, are comely even in the austerity of their body forms. The males are the same, in the way of young males of aristocratic background. All bear a mien of barely-controlled savagery; one of teh young women even bares fangs at a male, who in turn bares his. Both individuals and teh rest of teh group are brought back to decorum and attention by a mid-volume hiss from the raven-haried beauty.

"We beg your pardon, Mistress Morganthe," the redheaded of the two girls says querulously, as if in fear for her life; the fear is real, as is the threat - Morganthe de Garibaldi y De Vega y Dreyfuss was a very powerful, and very ruthless and quick-to-anger crechemaster; she was also reputedly a bit insane.

"Pray tell me, Betrusha, what happened to our dear Ia?" the raven haired woman asked, an undercurrent of violence  running deep under the words.

"The St. Elmo's crew destroyed our force, sent the pocket Hell Galleon Demeter plummeting into a storm below us, and Commander Merovingia Harper-Chen  disappeared into a mass of lightning and purple flames."

"NONSENSE!" the blonde-haired male to Morganthe's right retorted. "The Baron is the only one who controls such magics!"

"Dimitry, calm yourself, mi sympatico," Morganthe snapped; there was little, if any, love in the tone of her voice. " I can assure you, from personal experience, that Jaisen Santiago Dreyfuss can do things that many would deem impossibly difficult. Too, his Uncle Caractacus could be the actual source of the phenomenon." her voice took on an air of reminiscence. "The man's house exists in three different timestreams that I know about, after all."

"The indications, judging from aetheric readings at the site, and the general legends of the area, would seem to indicate that it was more likely a localized natural occurence, though very rare as far as recorded occurrencs are concerned," the honey-brown-haird male, who sported a pair of pince-nec spectacles, interjected. "the legends state that people caught in such a storm travel to a different plane of existence; none know where, exactly; the most recent stories talk of flying machines having lately come through from the other side; flying machines with one, two, or more wings instead of lofting envelopes, and many-bladed airscrews for propulsion." He looked around the circle at the stares of disbelief, derision, and impatience, smiling a fang-pointed smile; Morganthe looked thoughtful. "So the stories say, at any rate." he shrugged, the fabric of his dark blue silk suit crinkling suggestively as he did so.

"Be these facts as they may," Morganthe said, "the fact remains that even if my Ia has not been destroyed by my damned exhusband, he has at least hurt her, and I will not let that go. Dreyfuss and his crew are to be captured and brought to me that I may turn and thrall them; the St. Elmo, THIS TIME, will be captured and held onto. There is no damnable Admiral Tzeda or his ridiculous monkey to argue for the spoils this time. WE take all of it! Spare no measure to build a force to effect that end. GO!"

Soon, The raven-haired Morganthe, Master Vampiress of what had been the Creche of Austin, and later the right vampiric hand of the Tsarina of St. Petersburg sat alone in her makeshift thronehall. There came from outside a sound of something like huge screeching birds of prey taking wing, and then the roar of steam-powered airscrews starting up and fading into the distance...

"In a little while, mi amor, I will have you again by my side," the vampiress gloated, then laughed a half-mad peal of sinister hilarity...

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles


 
Chapter 3: Will We, Nil We Part Two: Terror in the Bog
Screams.

A farm on the edge of the Moors, isolate from the e road that connected it and seven other holdings with the town of Grimpen Ward, rang with the sounds of outrage, pain, loss - and abject terror as lives were taken and souls stolen. eleven people, ranging in age from seven to seventy-two disappeared that foggy afternoon nerve to be seen again as humans. Across the moor at a certain prison, hell stalked, laughing, as the cellblocks emptied whilst  a dark underslung airship, a hell galleon similar to the Demeter, hung in the air outside as new-taken thralls of murderous and villainous mien were taken aboard: more than a hundred souls all told. Bearing the heavy load, the Fyodor Apraksin took laboriously to the air to join three others that passed overhead, strange winged creatures flying dispatches among them...

"I thought you said that aid was on the way!" Earl Sir Winston Bakersville said sharply, almost shouting, to the young be-derbied man standing in the Office of the Mayor of Grimpen Ward.

"Calm yourself, Sir Winston." Teh young mnan said, in a mild voice, almost creepily mild; it was more effective than a shouted reply or a slap to teh man's face would have been; teh Young man, known around teh moors only as "Mr. Black," was known to be very well-connected with teh government in London adn more than a dab hand in a brawl or fight.

"It takes time for an airship, of whatever variety, to fly from Shanghai, to to an Island off New Zealand, to a high altitude and on to teh Canaries, then Teh Midlands, then London for a special refit and to pick up a fighting force, and then proceed here. You have my word that the St. Elmo and  her company, Commodore Dreyfuss and his equally formidable niece among them, are on their way with all possible speed."

I hope you can explain that sufficiently to the families of those taken by those infernal vampire raiders!" the Earl shot back hotly. "And what about the prison? It's been emptied, and nothing but horror and some weird variety of ghoul inhabit those walls now. The guard-shift that was off-duty that day refuse to reenter the grounds out of the stark fear that consumes one upon entry there!"

"My people are already  dealing with that group of creatures, Sir Winston." Black's voice remained icily calm. "That prison is a very real problem, but not the main one to be dealt with here - and may I remind you that those hell galleons were outbound? They are on their way to intercept the St. Elmo, I'd wager. that's how much they and their unspeakable Mistress hate and very likely fear Dreyfuss and his crew!"

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles

The conference in the Mayor's office in Grimpen Ward continued; the Earl, concerned for his people, was proving to be difficult to soothe.

"Then, I hope that your Commodore Dreyfuss and company destroy the vampires and their thralls - but he'd better bring our people back to us," he said, his voice full of anger, fear and concern for his people, and promises of trouble should the demand not be met.

"I think..." Black began, and then pressed on, in an even harder voice, when Winston's head snapped up, his eyes glaring hot hate into Black's face, "That you should not expect much in that line. The creche of this Morganthe," his mouth twisted in distaste as he said the name, "is famous, notorious, even, for turning all prisoners or slaves whom they take; there has never been a known exception. Furthermore, I suspect that once he and his ship get into the actual battle, Dreyfuss' reputation and those of his people being what they are, he will not take prisoners or hostages, but will quite simply seek to destroy the enemy. Such has been his combat style since his days with the Marauder Mercenary Company, when he is attacked, at any rate."

That took the starch and fire out of the Earl; he sat down heavily on a chair at the conference table, "That is horrible. How can you say such a thing?! Have you no compassion?"

"I'd think it far less compassionate to lie to you and tell you that the frail hope you seek, but which is not likely to be, is in fact likely," Black answered, gently as he was able. "I will not lie to you, Earl." unless Sir Charles tells me to, he added in his head.

There was knock at the door, and a man in a black suit exactly like the one that Mr. Black wore, but with a blue ascot instead of Black's sable, stepped in and handed Black a note, bowed, and exited again.

"Ah." Black said, and nothing more, turning toward the window, through which the early evening moonlight poured.

"Well?! What is it!" the Earl demanded.

Black pursed his lips before answering, then unpursed them and said, "All of the hell Galleons have indeed overflown our southern watchers and proceeded out on a tangent with the expected course of the St. Elmo," he said. "The three that were provisioned here were joined by two others, making a total of five ships against the Commodore's ship. Given that the Dartmoor ships are at best underslung-type airships, essentially little more than sailing warships suspended under gasbags, they at least individually pose little threat to Dreyfuss and his ship. However," Black's voice became grave, then, "Given the fact that they are most likely, by now, all crewed by the damned and the turned, they may well prove to be tenacious enough to pose a very real threat - but then again, Dreyfuss once fought in such ships, so he knows their weaknesses. All too well, Black thought, remembering what he'd read of the Mad Anthony Wayne Affair, wherein Dreyfuss' underslung gunship was downed by having its cables cut by bar shot from a Louisianan privateer.

"I still fail to see, if they pose such a grave threat, why you have not engaged them with your own warships!" the Earl exclaimed, indignance and incredulity practically leaking from his pores.

"And what would you have us do, when they infect and turn the crews of our warships? Or crash-land into a densely-populated town, burning and crushing houses, and ravaging the population? Not to mention that the ships that joined the Dartmoor detachment are true Hell Galleons, completely armored and wellnigh invulnerable? No, it is much better this way, Sir Winston. Commodore Sir Jaisen Dreyfuss will, I trust, destroy those vermin at sea, 'dropping' their vessels 'in the drink' as it were, and thus remove the threat of that particular  creche from our land. That will leave only the secondary creches here, and that uncanny weirdness at Land's End..."

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles


An inkling of what awaited them in the offing came to the companions aboard the St. Elmo when a coded and rather hasty missive arrived via  telegraphic aetherphone.

Sir Charles Tayle, HMSS chair to Commodore Sir Jaisen Dreyfuss, RTAF St. ElmoSTOP

Agent Black reports your former wife is alive and all too wellSTOP

Morganthe and four demi hell galleons, with complement of new-turned convicts and yearling fledglings, commanded by Russian Vampire Corps remnants headed your way; others may join themSTOP.

Sources suggest Morganthe believes you have destroyed Merovingia Harper-Chen, who was dear to herSTOP

M. Has reportedly sworn vengeance against you for Miss Chen's lossSTOP

My apologies, your respectful orders are to destroy this fleet OVER SEASTOP

NO BOARDING, Destroy and down into sea, or blow apart in air at range. STOP

GOOD HUNTING STOP

Dreyfuss and Irene entered the bridge and received the translated message from Captain Ishmael. The Texian airshipman cursed. "She'll be wearing out pistons and props getting to us," he snarled.

"So, this would be my aunt-in-law Morga, would it? Papa heard about your getting hitched back up home, you know," she said, in response to Jaisen's surprised look. "Is she as much a bitch as everybody says? And didn't you say you'd killed her?"

"Mind yer manners, Irene, and yes, she is - or was. There was love there, once, and I've reason to think there still is, though she's got it buried deep by now, I'd wager. Intelligence I've seen from during th' Cold One wars say that she survived my blowin' her head off when she tried to turn her sister's daughters - and she went on to sire a whole army of vampire soldiers for Mother Russia. If that's all true, then she'll be nigh unkillable by now, accordin' to th' lore on vampires."

"Orders say no boardin', but that doesn't mean they won't be tryin' to board us," he added. "Forget all that stuff people say about how vampires can breed, the way they build their numbers is by turnin' humans. And make no mistake, niece, if you, Jock, or the cap'n here git turned, whether it kills you or not, I will definitely put silver in you and make sure you hit open water when you fall." his voice was deadly serious. He added, "I fully expect you-all to do the same for me. Don't give me that about your cute li'l picture, Irene. IF she can turn a British secret service operative who's been bespelled to resist vampirism as Merovingia was supposed to have been, I'd think it'd be equally possible she could get around your little arrangement. Remember, she, like you and me, knows about Uncle Caractacus and his wizardly ways."

"Sir, I have visual contact via spyglass with five targets approaching form North by Northeast," Captain Ishmael cut in apologetically.

"Right. run out the casemate turrets, and load the forward tubes with incendiary and high explosive rockets," Dreyfuss answered. "I wish we had deck guns up top like those Limey war zeps. as it is, it'll be longrange snipes and broadsides at bombardment range. And the rockets, though the damn things ain't the best for ranges over ten miles," he growled as he himself manned the torpedo rocket controls and began sighting in. "Irene, either go help Jock or man a window culverin. Do me a big favor and stay aboard and don't get bit, OK? Cap'n Ishmael, bring her to oh-seven-three, raise prow to seventy-eight degrees, nine minutes."

"same to you, you bossy old fart," Irene retorted tartly. "I'd hate to have to bury my uncle. Again..."

Dreyfuss smile dcrookedly, remembering the family's confusion over whether  he had died or not when the Mad Anthony Wayne had been shot down. "I'll remember that..."

"Oh seven five, four, three and seventy eight degrees nine minutes on my mark...  MARK!" Ishmael broke in at the end of their exchange.

"LOOSE ROCKETS!" Dreyfuss Roared as Irene bolted for the gangway. The twin rocket tubes on the prow of the gunboat hull portion of the St. Elmo spat smoke, flame, and two wickedly slim cylindrical forms that streaked up into the sky ahead, then back down into and through the envelopes and decks of two of the approaching demi hell galleons; the Ivan Subitj blew her gasbag in midair, and then the rocket blew itself apart inside her hold, blasting the iron-sheathed wooden hull apart and igniting the magazine, whose barrels of powder and projectiles detonated like a hellish firecracker string, blasting what remained of ship and crew to flinders. the other lead ship, a former British packet lighter purloined by the vampires, hastily armored and rechristened the Fyodor Apraksin II, escaped ignition of her gasbag, but suffered a crippling blow as the rocket blew out her entire stern. Her gasbag armor holed but the envelope's contents not ignited, she sank quickly to the waves  below, her surviving crew screaming in fear, as vampires  generally do not do well over (or in) sea.

The other hell galleons both demi and true began firing then, and it quickly became an aerial artillery slugfest as the ships blasted away at the St. Elmo, and the Texian warhorse fought back...

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles


Captain Ishmael proved his worth as a pilot that day, as he and Dreyfuss flew the St. Elmo and blasted away at the obsolete, yet still formidable ships of the would-be elite vampire soldiery that were trying to take them down. Jock the engineer managed somehow to both manipulate the engine room controls and manage the coaling and watering of the twin iron beasts that supplied the ships power. Everything was mechanically geared to run itself, almost an automatic system, but what with the sudden turns, dives, emergency ascents and complicated deployment of the ducted fans to literally stop the hybrid aerial man o' war in it's tracks, and then force it to blast forward again, or descend precipitously and then nearly leap skyward yet again, a human was needed at the telegraph and controls to keep everything running smoothly.

This was airship warfare the Marauder way, and was the reason why the Louisianan Pirate vessel had preemptively severed the gasbag of Dreyfuss' fuss' first command; Once the Marauder vessels got under way and started their attack and evasion maneuvers, none could match their crews and captains' insane bravado and seemingly impossible maneuvers. The St. Elmo had been designed with many of the Marauders' special navigational and control features, and the Commodore had added a few of his own invention as well, such the water-and-roller-weight mechanical ballasting system that made it possible to heel the ship over nearly 75 degrees and maintain all other attitudinal control. An example of the typical tactics as well as the Texian battlewagon's capabilities was presented when the St. Elmo was beset by attacks from above and below simultaneously. Dreyfuss simply ordered Ishmael to "HANG HO!" The maneuver thus ordered involved everyone gran=bbing the ships numerous handholds  and hanging on for dear life as Ishmael grabbed the handlebars on either side of the overhead-mounted lofting control that regulated helium  dispersal and reclamation within the ship's gas cells, causing the system to suck a massive amount of lofting out of the envelope and into the storage tanks,The ship thus plummetted like a stone - right on top of the Vampire ship attacking from below, the cruelly-sharp ram on the gunboat section's bow ripping into the hapless vampire's gasbag and continuing down like a massive saber-tip through the foredeck and stem, splitting the wooden hell galleon apart at the prow, causing the vessel to dip p form=ward and spill everything that wasn't nailed down - guns, ammunition, crew - to the ocean far below. The few beings who were able to take wing and do so were taken care of by the silver  flung by Irene's gunnery.

Damn!" she cursed as she filled her fist, pockets and every nook and spot of her uniform with culverin cartridges and kept up a single-shot rate of fire that was as phenomenal as it was devastating, "WHY can't he get some goddamn gatlings?!

Dreyfuss' handling of the remote-controlled gunnery system that he had  himself designed and built into his ship with the help of his contacts in the Texian Airfleet and it's drydocks was proving its worth as well, the five-chamber ammo cylinders in each gun being recharged from the hoppers atop the breeches. Powered by electricity generated by a pair of dynamos that ran off of the excess steam from the main boilers, the guns would keep firing until the hoppers ran dry of cartridges - and the hoppers each carried 100 rounds. The guns were not hugely calibered, but they were accurate, and their explosive warheads were devastating to the thin armor that was all that was possible in most airships - and the hell galleons armor, while formidable, was forced to conform to the laws of physics.

"You know what Morganthe looks like, don't you?" Dreyfuss asked as the enemy's numbers dwindled to two viable craft and one heavily damaged and burning ship that was held aloft by the flying beings  who survived from the other ships.

"I've seen an old picture from her days in the Russian Diplomatic Corps," Ishmael answered. "I'll scan the decks of those ships when I can, but if we keep up this rate of fire and maneuvering, they might not last long enough for us to find her."

"So be it," Dreyfuss answered, "But I'd like to at least give her the chance to surrender.

"But our orders -"

We're Texian first, Cap'n," Dreyfuss cut in. "She's a Texian native, whatever else she might be or've become. Protocol demands at least an effort."

"Aye, sir," Ishmael answered, but his eyes betrayed his dislike for the necessity...

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

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

Book II
Under the Cobbles

-more to come soon-

->|Book 2|<-

Critiques/comments/suggestions are appreciated!
PM me, or send to
mwbailey@hotmail.com
---=====<[[/{{"<(|)>")}\]]>=====---

[MWBailey]

Between the Threads
-or-
what came after the Cold One Queen
And Before
The Search for George

-------------------------------------------------------------
Book II
Under the Cobbles

Um... Yeah.

Well, there's supposed to be a new chapter here, but it's begun to take so long for BG's system, coupled with my computer, to load the the stories thread just for editing, not to mention actually writing anything, that I'm beginning to think that I should whack Under the Cobbles away from Shanghai Knife, and post it in it's own post, so I don't break the site or whatever - or eventually spend literal hours waiting for it all to load up.

Hopefully, I'll get that done fairly soon, and resume Dreyf, Irene, Tim and Jock's adventures again. Yeah, I know, famous last words, and the last time I said something like this, it took over three years for me to get back to it.

Anyhow...

I'm planning to alter some already-written characters names (such as Mina Harker, whose use in this work is in hindsight a very fan-fic-ish faux pas. I should be able to come up with my own name for the potentially antiheroic Mistress of the London Proper vampire coven, and not have to borrow Mr. Stoker's creation) so that they are not named the same as a published author's characters. This being a continuation of sorts of the old Steam London universe, the Steam London characters will have to stay the same, but surely I can come up with my own added characters and keep them original.

Thanks to Mr. Corsair for making me think about writing again...

Somewhere in the Greater Aether,

MWBailey, 12/12/2021