The Guns Above Page 33
“See?” Bernat said. “I told you that you have a knack for it.”
As she boarded over the side, she saw Jutes working on deck, and thought that his limp was worse after the exertions of yesterday.
Bernat followed her up the steps but lingered on the top one, with only his head showing over the rail. When he caught Josette’s eye, he said, “I realize that, as an avowed spy, you hardly have cause to—”
She cut him off with a wave of her hand. “Are you asking for permission to come aboard?”
“Would that, perhaps, be something you might allow?”
“In the signal corps, you don’t have to ask permission,” she said, and reached down to take his hand. “A hundred and fifty pounds coming aboard.” While the crew scrambled at some last-minute task behind her, Bernat came aboard in his usual uncoordinated style, requiring Josette’s other hand to keep him from slipping on the deck.
“A hundred and fifty?” he asked, as if his feelings had been hurt.
“If it makes you feel better, I can add another ten for ego.” Josette turned to the deck. She stopped cold when her eyes swept across it.
The whole crew was mustered there, standing at attention. Bernat, who seemed as confused as she, soon smiled and strolled to take position to their left.
Sergeant Jutes took a smart step forward. “Crew ready for inspection, sir.” He touched his knuckle to his forelock and stepped back in line.
She nodded and, unsure what else to do, walked down the line, in what little space was left on the crowded deck. The signal corps didn’t have such inspections, which she knew were common in the navy. So she walked down the line as she imagined a naval captain might, taking a look at each crewman in turn.
She noted the empty files, where the crew had left a spot open for a fallen comrade. She paused in front of the spot where Gears might have stood. Yesterday, she had helped move him onto a cart, and pushed a rolled-up blanket under his head for a pillow. He was bound for the hospital in Arle now, where he would die in the coming days, if he hadn’t already. Four other crewmen had been killed in yesterday’s battle, and another two would never fly again. Even the survivors bore an assortment of broken bones and flesh wounds. Fully half of them had one wound or another, and it showed in their bruised faces and bloodied uniforms.
When she reached Bernat, at the end of the line, he straightened his jacket and stood in his best approximation of attention, though his eyes repeatedly darted to the man next to him, to observe his example.
Josette walked to the opposite rail and turned to them. She looked over them again, studying each one with a critical eye. She looked at Kember, with her neck scarred and swollen; at Jutes, with his limp; at Grey, covered in layers of grime; and at Lupien, wearing a dead man’s trousers. Few of them could be called fit for duty. Not one was in proper uniform.
“You people are a ragged mess,” she said in a hard, harsh voice. She took a deep breath and let half of it out. A smile came to her lips. “I could ask for no finer crew.”
Jutes stepped forward. She desperately hoped that they wouldn’t cheer or any other such sap. Mercifully, he only said, “All right, back to work, you lazy bastards! Come on, come on! The sky ain’t gonna wait on your leisure!”
Josette tipped her head to him as he went up the companionway, and he returned a salute.
She took the captain’s spot on the deck, looked forward, and swung her arms behind her back. “Are we weighed off, Ensign?”
Kember replied from the forward rail, “We are weighed off, sir.”
“Then cast off mast and lines.”
The ensign cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, “Cast off mast! Cast off lines!”
From the keel, Jutes shouted aft, “Cast off lines!” The lines fell from the tail, and he shouted down the companionway, “We’re free aft, sir.”
Kember called from the rail, “We are free forward, sir.”
Josette looked to her right, where Bernat was standing shoulder to shoulder with her, in blatant disrespect to her sacred space at the center of the hurricane deck. She rolled her eyes at him, looked forward, and shouted, “Up ship!”
About the Author
ROBYN BENNIS works in biotech but dreams of airships. She lives in Mountain View, California, within sight of the historic Hangar One at Moffett Federal Airfield. The Guns Above is her debut novel. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Acknowledgments
The Mistral of the Air Signal Corps
The Gondola Section of The Mistral
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THE GUNS ABOVE
Copyright © 2017 by Robyn Bennis
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Tommy Arnold
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates
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New York, NY 10010
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Tor® is a registered trademark of Macmillan Publishing Group, LLC.
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-0-7653-8876-6 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-0-7653-8877-3 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9780765388773
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First Edition: May 2017