Story Fiction

What Prices Paid_Epilogue

by Jim Rapkins

The Black Swan

23 September 1909

The unnamed man moved quickly between the tables and chairs in the ramshackle bar, a well known hangout for the officers and crew of the French gany fleet. This job made very little sense, but the pay was good, and at the end of the day, a little more smuggling wouldn’t hurt anyone. Smoke hung in the air, assaulting his nostrils in a pleasant onslaught. It reminded him of his native Marseilles, though the people there were more friendly than these jumped-up sailors. That was true sailing, on the open ocean. He sat down at an unoccupied table and gestured to the serving girl for a cognac. The pay was very good.

Five or so minutes later, one of the officers moved past him, gesturing at the unoccupied chair opposite him. “Is this seat taken, monsieur?”

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 8

by Jim Rapkins

The Admiralty

23 July 1909

“Congratulations, Spence, I’ll be over there to congratulate you properly later on. Have some Bruichcladdich waiting for me.” Devon Cavendish replaced the receiver in the cradle, glad to be rid of the distraction. Of course Spencer was the new Prime Minister, the Opposition was in shambles, and Fisher had shot himself in the foot by refusing to offer up his protégé as a sacrificial lamb on the altar of public scrutiny. Asquith had been…persuaded…to remain on the sidelines, and Lloyd George…well, no one wanted a Welsh PM. But the election was won, and the Party well and truly in control.

Which brought his attention back to the matter at hand. He finished pouring the drinks the phone call had interrupted, placing them on the silver tray himself before turning to serve the three men seated in the small office. Large, brusque men who were ill suited to the small confines of the spartanly appointed room. All three wore the uniform of the Sky Fleet, though some wore it more easily than others. Cavendish again mentally berated the short-sightedness of the Admiralty that had left him with little choice other than to approach such men as this. At least in the Borderers, there had been men of class. He doubted these men even knew what Bruichcladdich was, let alone what it tasted like. They were impressed enough with the Glenfiddich he’d just poured each of them.

“What exactly are we here for, milord?”

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 7

by Jim Rapkins

Buckingham Palace

13 February 1909

“Goddamn it, John! What were you thinking?!”

Admiral John Jellicoe looked up sharply at his superior’s words. No sooner had the Skagerrak fleet arrived back in England, than he had been whisked off to London to face an inquiry at the Admiralty. That had been remarkably pro forma, with the questions aimed not so much at his handling of the so-called debacle, but Fisher’s role in the exercise. So having his mentor address him in such a way—especially in this place!—was a slight shock to the system.

“Ah, sir, I’m not certain I understand what you mean. You know what happened. The German fleet arrived in much more force than anticipated, and I made the decision to minimize any casualties.” Which was what you told me to do. He left the last unsaid, not sure how it would go down. The other man in the room took a deep puff from his pipe, the blue-grey smoke drifting listlessly towards the domed ceiling of the sitting room.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 6

by Jim Rapkins

House of Commons

12 February 1909

He let the commotion in the chamber wash over him as he leaned back, allowing his fellow backbenchers to support Ryan’s words. Form over substance—it was the modus operandi of these Parliamentary sittings. The Speaker would bang his gavel, both sides would yell at each other, the newspapers would get some good copy. But the real deals, the real power, lay in the backrooms of Parliament. Spencer didn’t understand that. He thought he did, but that was why they had approached Devon, and not Spencer.

He thought about the oath he had sworn almost immediately prior to this sitting, its words still lingering in his ears.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 5

by Jim Rapkins

House of Commons

12 February 1909

“The Germans!” Spittle flew from the rotund man’s lips as he spat out the words, as if they did him physical harm. His outburst did not go unnoticed. Parliament was more full than it had been in weeks, evidence of the anticipation—and dread—that many of the MPs were feeling as to how Jackie Fisher would extricate himself from this one.

“Order! The Member for Stoke-on-Trent will resume his seat or be removed from the chamber!” The gavel accompanying the Speaker’s words was lost in the cacophony of voices that exploded in contest. The Member for Stoke-on-Trent Central, the Right Honourable Kelvin Harris, MP, waved the newspaper in his hand menacingly at the man seated opposite the chamber before the Speaker grudgingly acknowledged him.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 4

by Jim Rapkins

HML Philopoemen

12 January 1909

Ratings spoke quietly into the speaking tubes before them as Christian continued giving rapid-fire orders. “Helm, bring us about, make sure those buggers can’t get a good shot at the boats.” Crippen nodded. Admiral Jellicoe’s plan was for the larger leviathans to shield the lighter, more nimble vessels with their bulk, whilst opening up their broadsides at the Germans arrayed against them. The Edward VII-class leviathans were well armoured enough to take whatever the Krauts could throw at them. In this fight, the Germans were simply outclassed. Even with a decade’s worth of neglect, the ocean-going vessels of the Royal Navy were still a match for any navy in the world—whether augmented by Levs or not.

As if to illustrate the point, the Philopoemen heaved under his feet as the designated batteries opened fire. The thundercrack of each gun was largely absorbed by the mass of steel and wood that served as the Philopoemen’s superstructure, and only the wavering of the pegs holding aloft from his map board the wooden blocks that served as representations of the various fleet vessels gave any indication of the Germans’ return fire.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 3

by Jim Rapkins

HML Philopoemen

12 January 1909

“This is a fool’s errand, lad. Mark my words. Bloody Admiralty thinks the Krauts will back down after this little display.”

As always, Petty Officer Alun Crippen struggled to understand exactly what his captain was saying. He knew his own Welsh accent was hard for some of the lads to decipher at times, but Captain Christian’s thick New Zealand brogue was nigh impenetrable. Especially when he was irritated, as he was now. But one didn’t have to be a linguist to understand the snort of derision that followed the words.

In any case, the captain was right. The Philopoemen was classified as a Battleship, a behemoth of the air; battle-hardened in the skies of the Dutch East Indies. And the Edward VII-class leviathan was not alone in the low clouds. Crippen knew there were another twelve of the Sky Fleet’s workhorses in the sky with them. But it was the rest of the vessels accompanying them that caused a looked of disgust to settle over the captain’s craggy features.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 2

by Jim Rapkins

HMS Excellent

Whale Island

Portsmouth, England

4 June 1908

“No matter how many times I see it, John, it still takes my breath away.” First Sea Lord John Arbuthnot Fisher, the ubiquitous “Jackie” Fisher, glanced up at the stoic figure standing next to him on the small jetty attached to the Commandant’s Quarters. Admiral John Jellicoe grunted in agreement. He followed Fisher’s steely gaze back towards the floating behemoth hovering languidly in the air as it moved away from its moorings, the newest addition to the Royal Sky Fleet taking its place with its brethren.

It truly was a breathtaking sight—thousands of tons of steel and wood filling the air with the crackling static of discharging electroid tanks. Jellicoe felt the exposed hairs on his rough hands come to attention; a familiar feeling for those that rode the Devil’s Breath. It might be a magnificent sight, but the leviathans were still beasts to be feared more than respected. Whale Island was dotted with the brass plaques bolted onto concrete pylons commemorating the “glorious sacrifice” of some poor farm boy who didn’t understand what a tether was for. Amongst other losses.

Read the rest of this entry »

What Prices Paid_Part 1

by Jim Rapkins

Chatsworth House

10 April 1908

“Damn them, Spencer. Damn them.” The younger man threw his cane onto the Chesterfield suite in disgust, the ivory handle bouncing lightly on the taut leather of the lounge before coming to rest on top of the printed pages that had elicited the action. Sir Devon Cavendish, MP of Riding, blew a snort of disgust as he sat down.

The other man in the walnut-paneled room took a deep draught from his snifter, savouring the brandy’s smooth aroma, before responding to the other’s outburst. The fire in the corner crackled as the log recently placed upon it shifted slightly. After several moments’ silence, he turned to address the figure on the chaise.

“And who, pray tell, are “them”, Dev?” Sir Spencer Cavendish, heir to the Duchy of Devonshire, was nearly two decades the senior of his younger brother, but even now he felt the familiar pull of his brother’s fiery rhetoric. If only he could channel that energy…

Read the rest of this entry »

A Monster In The Sky_The End

by Steven Mohan, Jr.

Togo scanned the horizon and saw Nevsky’s sister turning. She was maybe ten, twelve thousand yards to the south-southwest of Mikasa at an elevation of two hundred feet. The leviathan was wreathed in smoke and she was burning amidships, a yellow flame throwing a column of black smoke into the blue bowl of the sky.

But she was moving.

Togo watched her for a second.

The leviathan’s squat bow was swinging left.

Togo’s hand tightened on the binoculars. She was coming left, coming left and picking up speed.

And descending.

Togo dropped his binoculars. Fuji and Mikasa were bow-on to the skyship, most of their batteries masked by the angle of the ships. Togo’s mouth suddenly went dry. He felt time and distance ticking away as the Russian sky cruiser picked up speed.

He leaned in to the voice tube. “Captain, forward gun mount acquire the cruiser. Fire at the cruiser.”

Read the rest of this entry »