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    Red Sky at Morning
    Red Sky at Morning
    Red Sky at Morning
    Ebook93 pages1 hour

    Red Sky at Morning

    By Robert McGough

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The drunken mage Roymond Altool, convicted of murder and a coward, has been sentenced to life in the service in the armed forces of the Rodian Empire. Will he find redemption? Or his death?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLaser Blast Books
    Release dateSep 1, 2016
    ISBN9781533728913
    Red Sky at Morning

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      Book preview

      Red Sky at Morning - Robert McGough

      Table of Contents

      Red Sky At Morning

      Up River

      Radavan Station

      About the Author

      To my parents, for encouraging me

      to chase my dreams.

      Red Sky At Morning

      Captain Lewis Thompson stood on the edge of the skydock sipping a cup of coffee and watching the sun come up. He leaned into the strong wind that confronted him, causing the steam from his coffee to swirl about his forearm like a sinuous snake. His batsman, a young lad by the name of Gregor stood to his left, mutely watching his every move.

      His cold grey eyes took it all in as he twisted his impressive curling mustache. Look at the reds of that sky man. My old man, the Major, he always said that if you see a red sky at morning, skymen take warning. Sound advice I have found to be true over the years. Feel the way the wind is changing? North, then west and back again, just quick as you please? Without waiting for an answer he grinned imperiously. Going to be a wild one. Piss poor day for a battle, but what can you do eh?

      Tossing the now empty cup over the ledge he turned and strode down the metal reinforced dock, walking in between the hustling airmen who worked at readying the craft of the 7th Royal Rodian Flight Wing, the 'Night Ravens.' Arften Cloudhold was a pretty small rock, barely a square mile of usable surface. Not at all worth the trouble to colonize, but an exemplary location for an aerodrome he thought. Near the border of the Gaulia Republic, the ancestral enemy of the Rodian Empire, and not far form the convergence of a number of sky lanes. It was the last cloudhold to change hands before the signing of the Treaty of Uralia, which ended the war to bring down the Mad Sun King of Gaulia over two centuries ago, and Lewis was glad it wound up in Rodian hands.

      Grey rock which had been hammered smooth stretched out to make the parade ground where men were beginning to muster. To a man they were dressed in the dark blue of the RRA, crisp uniforms freshly pressed, and just re-shined brass buttons beginning to glint in the steadily increasing light. Over a hundred and fifty men were lining up, with a few more trickling out of the brick barracks that lined the western section of the parade ground.

      The captain strode to the front of the assembling men where several other officers, all captains, had assembled. Each led their own squadron of thopters as did Lewis, and as such treated each other as equals, ignoring protocol of seniority, at least until the battle started. Gaunt Eckels was actually the senior by several years, but so quiet and unassuming it was a wonder he had made it to the rank he had. Smith was the youngest, a ruddy complected lad who looked as though he had just graduated flight school. And lastly was Durant, who was actually a distant cousin to Lewis, and was smoking a foul smelling cheroot as he was want to do.

      Walking up and shaking hands with his fellows Lewis spoke. Looks to be a rough one lads. But should be worse for them, looks like the wind will be against them a bit more than us.

      Durant nodded responding Yeah, but it's not gonna do either of us any favors really. I'm just hoping for as few clouds as possible. Snuffing out his cheroot he continued. Hate that cloud to cloud shit. I remember one time when I was with the 14th down in Alamant…

      Smith began laughing. Damn it man, if I have to hear about you having to stab that griffon in the face after it latched onto your thopter in a cloud bank again, I may just puke. All the men cracked smiles except Durant, who cut a glare at the young man.

      With a sniff Durant sought to reclaim control of the conversation. Yes well, it goes without saying cloud fighting is rough stuff. That was my point you daft bugger. And you know how those Gillys are about using a bit of magic to tip things wonky. I barely trust that drunk of a wizard of ours as far as I can throw him. Hell I heard him up till about midnight, clearly sloshed. If he was one of mine, I'd have had him flogged. He pointed over to where the wizard in the dark red uniform of his office slouched against the flag pole about thirty yards away. On the eve of a bloody battle no less. The Marshall should do something about him, thats clear.

      Its not for us to question why, good sir, it is for us to do or die! said Lewis, slapping his cousin on the back. There goes the Marshall now, lets get lined up shall we. At that the men split off to go to their respective squadrons. Each squad consisted of fourteen men, ten to pilot and gun the two man smaller RFF Skyshark class thopters, and four to pilot and man the Thunderhead class heavy thopter. Of course there were countless support staff to keep the finicky machines running, but they were still loading and fueling the machines and were excused from muster.

      The rest of the men, who were all now in neat tidy rows by unit, totaled a touch over a hundred and forty. They were the crews and marines who would fly the much larger skyships of the 7th. Two elemental powered Jury class frigates, the Dauntless and the Indefatigable, as well as the wings flagship, the Pride of Evertorn, a Fortune class destroyer made up the rest of the ships.

      Marshall Eric Stugart, a greying grizzled veteran of a dozen border wars and expeditions limped to the front of the muster, his second, Commander James Orin calling the wing to attention. Two hundred pairs of boots stomped to parade attention as one, a noise that never failed to warm Lewis's heart. At ease men, said the marshall in a gruff tone.

      Today men we will be assaulting Crescent Cloudhold. As you know the Treaty forbids direct assault on any stationary cloudhold, but we are in luck! Crescent, though very slow moving, is not classified stationary. It makes a 48 year circuit in a languid sort of ellipse between the Rodian/Gaulic border. For the past 20 odd years its been firmly in Gaulia. But a week or so ago it finally crossed the buoys into our fair Rodian air, so it belongs to us. But the bloody Gillys haven't budged. They think it'll skirt close enough to the border that we'll just let them have it. A grimace of disgust crossed his scarred face. So today we budge them! I wont blow wind up your skirts lads, they may know we'll be coming for them. But we are the pride of Rodania! We are filled with a fighting spirit those damn elves have never even felt, save it came barreling out of one of our guns! We will triumph! We will return Cresent to its rightful place in the bosom of the empire! Rodania Forever!

      A cry went up from amongst the mustered men, and was echoed out on the docks by the busily working crews. The Marshall nodded, as close to a sign of pleasure as he was wont to give in front of the enlisted men. Looking to the front row of thopter captains and his three ship commanders he gestured to the docks. Officers, you have your orders, lets get airborn.

      Practically as one the mass of men sprinted to the docks, eager to get where they belonged, in the brilliantly coloured sky of early morning. Lewis headed

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