Sky Above, Sea Below
A Capital Ship sequel
© 2025 by Walter Reimer


Five.


The feline First Officer, Commander Espinoza, was seated on a coil of rope on the opposite side of the ragged mess that had been the port fantail. His head was bandaged, as was the stump of one arm. He held a visor display up to his eyes with his remaining paw and said into his throat microphone, “Steer two-two-zero and fire by division as the guns bear.” He nodded at the acknowledgement and as the Temeraire slewed around and fired again he glanced up at Francois. “Bosun, you’re hurt.”

“Oui, Soor,” the lemur said after he saluted. “Not badly, though,” he added with a nonchalance he didn’t really feel, but appearances had to be maintained. “I’ll have it looked after later.”

“Good. Get a couple crewmembers and rig a lanyard,” Espinoza said. “I need to tell Audace what’s happened to Captain de Ville, so Captain Marchand can take over the flotilla.”

“Yes, Soor,” and Francois started bawling orders at a few ratings. He paused to salute as Ensign Timuríde came up from the gun decks. The tiger was disheveled but appeared unharmed as he nodded to the red-ruffed lemur.

“When you’re done, Bosun,” Espinoza murmured in his earphones, “I need a damage report.”

“Yes, Soor,” Francois replied via his throat microphone.

Once the lanyard was secured, several signal flags fluttered up, and after Espinoza received a reply the Temeraire circled at its current altitude of eight hundred meters while slapdash repairs were made.

“Six dead, including the Captain, Soor, and fifteen injured,” Francois reported a short while later. “Damage to the hull near the sea rudder; the Engineer reports that the aft port rotor’s out of balance, and the mizzenmast’s half-gone.”

“The British haven’t tried to finish us off,” Espinoza remarked, “so I guess Audace and Furieux are keeping them – “ There was a thunderous roar and crewmembers flinched as fragments ricocheted off the St. Elmo’s Field.

Francois checked his visor, connecting to the undamaged lenses scattered about the hull. “One British ship’s blown up, Soor. Shot to her magazine, probably. The other’s running.”

“Signal from Audace, Sir,” Ensign Timuríde said, the tiger gazing fixedly at the flotilla’s new flagship. “Captain Marchand’s compliments.”

“And?” Espinoza sounded tired.

“We are to land at Malé to repair the ship,” the tiger said. “Mouette and Pétrel have driven off the landing force. One Mughal ship destroyed, one heavily damaged, one with minor damage. The two damaged ships are withdrawing. Furieux is seeing off the other British ship.”

“Good.” The feline licked his lips. “Help me to the orlop deck. I think I should see the doctor,” he added as two ratings came forward to help him to his feet. “You’d better come with me, Bosun,” he said to Francois. “You want tending as well.”

“Yes, Soor.” Francois signaled to a senior petty officer to take his place as he headed below to have his injuries tended.


***


“A few fragments of metal nicked your tail, Bosun,” Dr. Mirabeau said as he washed his paws in carbolic acid. He then dipped them in a basin of clean water and toweled off as he added, “and you took a splinter in the shoulder. A couple stitches was all I needed to do.”

“Thank you, Doctor,” Francois said as he got to his feet and gathered up his equipment, tunic and shirt. The fur around the wound had been clipped and shaved, and he felt very conspicuous.

The back of his head seemed to throb at a memory, as did the tattoo under the white fur there.

The buck wagged a finger at the lemur. “A day’s rest will help you heal, Bosun.”

“Yes, Soor, but – “

“But we’ve landed, under repair, and Commander Espinoza is asleep in his cabin,” Mirabeau said. “I can order anyone to their bunk, Bosun, but I hope a simple push in the right direction will be enough for you.”

The lemur smiled and nodded. “Thank you, Doctor,” and he left the orlop deck. Once out of the deer’s sight, he pulled on his visor and headset to see how things were going.

The Maldives were a long, straggling archipelago of islands arranged in several atolls, roughly north to south. The commander of the garrison had perhaps a hundred Indian prisoners under lock and key, and the Mouette and Pétrel were overhead, scouting after refueling and rearming.

The Temeraire had landed in one of Malé’s harbor cradles, and work crews and the ship’s engineers were working on the damage to the hull and the after port rotor. Supplies were being gathered, and the Audace and Furieux had docked as well to refuel and rearm.

“Thank Allah you’re well, Bosun,” and Francois turned and saluted as Ensign Timuríde came up behind him. The tiger returned the salute and asked, “Has the Doctor released you to full duty?”

“No, Soor,” the lemur admitted. “I just had to take a look around before I find my bunk.”

A ghost of a smile flicked the corners of the tiger’s mouth. “I’m sure it’s in the usual place.” The two shared a chuckle and Jahan said, “Carry on, Bosun.”

“Thank you, Soor,” and after looking on as the remnants of the mizzenmast were removed, Francois went below to get some rest.

Getting a cup of coffee from the mess he went to the small area that housed his bed and belongings and sat down on the bed, drinking deeply. The chief gunner, Ratsiraka, came in with his own cup. “Hard day,” he ventured.

Francois nodded. “Yeah.”




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