Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty

By Jeremiah D. Schmidt

The Great Skies War rages through the Inner clusters, threatening to spill into the Sargasso Sky now that Midport has fallen and King’s Straight lays wide open to the hungry jaws of the Iron Empire...

Off in a quiet corner of the Erie Expanse, the Royal Airship Chimera is on a deadly mission of its own, far from the front lines but with more profound ramifications for the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella should they fail. Tensions are already running high among this brave crew of aeronauts, but as their mission objective draws closer it’s only made worse under the tyrannical leadership of Lord Captain Moore.

When Moore's sinister intentions become known to the crew, things take a deadly turn. Chaos, mutiny, and mayhem run rampant above and below decks, leaving an unlikely ensign by the name of Bar Bazzon to hold the beleaguered airship together.

Already fighting against nearly impossible odds to restore order, this reluctant hero finds those odds stacked further against him when an imperial hunter-killer appears on the scene.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremiah D. Schmidt
• Release date: Oct 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311049278

Jeremiah D. Schmidt

Jeremiah D. Schmidt was born in Minnesota in the early 80's, raised in Maine during the 90's, and has frequented Florida when New England winters have proven tiresome. He attended the University of Maine at Orono during a time when the Black Bears hockey team was winning, and received his bachelor's degree in Anthropology back when a liberal arts degree seemed like a good idea. In the years since, he's worked as a furniture maker, a cinema projectionist, a grounds keeper, a GIS map technician, and an autobiography writer (writing autobiographies in the third person). He's always had a passion for storytelling, not verbally though (he was much to shy for that), and so handcrafted many a book in his childhood. Later, he would start to flush these stories out, after realizing they wouldn't write themselves, and that carrying drywall is a miserable job. Jeremiah's first real book, Aethosphere: Coalescence of Shadows and Light, is available for e-book purchase and has been read by perhaps a dozen adventurous spirits. His hope is to reach a dozen more.

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Aethosphere Chronicles: Winds of Duty

By Jeremiah D Schmidt

Copyright © 2015 Jeremiah D Schmidt

Smashwords Edition

All Rights Reserved

Cover Illustration Copyright © 2015 by Jeremiah D Schmidt

Cover Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella Design by Jeremiah D Schmidt

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

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Foreword

Greetings, potential reader. I’d like to take this opportunity to briefly explain to you what you’re about to read.

As the title implies, this story is part of the Aethosphere Chronicles, which is a loose assemblage of interrelated stories written not only to entertain, but to enrich the storyline of the Aethosphere series of books. However, this shouldn’t dissuade anyone unfamiliar with the main series from giving this story a read, as it requires no prior knowledge of events or characters from Aethosphere (or of the other Chronicles for that matter). It has been crafted to stand on its own.

So please, think of this as an opportunity to vet the series if you’ve never been exposed; or as a chance to enrich the experience if you have.

Enjoy!

Table of Contents

Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella

Prologue: The Admirals’ Inquiry

Chapter 1: Four Days Prior

Chapter 2: A Swing Towards Sinister

Chapter 3: Put to the Question

Chapter 4: Rumblings of Conflict

Chapter 5: Mounting Crisis

Chapter 6: Flashpoint

Chapter 7: Take Up Your Burden

Chapter 8: Ascent into Turmoil

Chapter 9: Descent into Madness

Chapter 10: The Engagement

Chapter 11: Unity Under Fire

Chapter 12: The Admirals’ Decision

Epilogue: The Terrible Truth

Thank You

Discover

Connect

R.A. Chimera

Map of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella

Prologue: The Admirals’ Inquiry

Do you know why we’ve ordered you here today, Ensign Bartholomew Bazzon? The voice rumbled throughout the vaulted chamber of the gothic-style hall; accusation hidden in the emphasis on ‘why’ as it came rebounding off gray sandstone walls carved from the same living rock as the rest of the surrounding mountainside. At the room’s end, where a vein of pink granite dominated the back wall like an open wound, Sky Marshal Titan DeGanten leaned back, becoming just one of many foreboding faces lingering beneath the hanging flag of the Unified Kingdoms of Ascella.

Bar Bazzon glanced up to the flag, finding his attention caught in its vibrant field of gold; in stark contrast to the rest of the room’s ominous décor. Boxed within the flag’s red borders reared the crimson gryphon, the winged beast so representative of the ancient nation’s strength and courage, though Bar couldn’t help but feel it was poised against him, looking more like an executioner than an emblem to draw comfort from.

Guess we’re not here to praise my ‘victory’, he mulled bitterly, fixing his weary gaze back on the veritable cannonade of admirals sitting barricaded behind their rocky dais; carved from the same pink stone as the wall behind it. The admirals each held the young aeronaut in their focused sights as the officiating member of their ranks waited impatiently for an answer. Ensign Bazzon shifted beneath their scrutiny in the uncomfortable wooden chair they’d sentenced him to for the proceedings. Looking up into Sky Marshal DeGanten’s age-chiseled face he swallowed hard. Unknown in the seasoned man’s sandy-hued eyes was any sort of compassion. It seemed the concept was just as lost and foreign here as it was on the deck of the strata-frigate Chimera, no more than four days prior.

The marshal’s words rattled around in Bar’s skull, elevating his sense of discomfort. Left alone to the cavernous room’s center, Bar held no cover, no place to escape. Never was it so apparent how out of his element he’d become then at that very moment. Instead of open sky, there was only pressing rock. Gone was the safety of his airship… his home. Better, perhaps, I had just taken the Chimera and fled… what remained of the crew would never have tried to stop me. Nay, most, in fact, would have welcomed it.

The prepared speech he’d so diligently practiced in the hours preceding the hearing was all but lost. His only thoughts resting on the stitches fastened across his left cheek, where they’d begun to itch, and the throbbing in his arm, where a shard of wood was still working its way out. The new military dress jacket he’d been issued was stiff, and the thick onyx canvas dug mercilessly into the scabs, burns, and bruises riddled all across his battered body. He attempted to readjust, but the chair beneath him creaked in angry protest of the man’s muscular build.

I’m assuming it has to do with the engagement, he finally ventured, trying his best to keep his deep voice steady and even, confident but not defiant. Bar Bazzon knew better than anyone present that he was lucky not to have been shot on sight after the R.A. Chimera put in at Ragnarok Cloudfortress.

"Yes, the engagement, as you so eloquently put it, Ensign, is at the heart of these proceedings, but is not the matter with which we are most concerned. The issue that has ultimately brought you here involves the reports preceding this so-called battle with an imperial hunter-killer."

A ghost-faced admiral leaned forward. We’ve brought you here to shed light on the confusing amount of incongruities. He looked to be forged of the same dust as the surrounding walls.

Bar sought an ally beneath the ornate stone buttresses that supported the roof—but conspicuously absent was Admiral Lockney, and the one man Bar Bazzon could legitimately count on as a friendly soul. If anyone could vouch for his character, perhaps offer justification, or at least some insight—perhaps even a measure of sympathy—well, that would have been old Bernard. But where is Admiral Lockney? He’s a man of reason and honor; loyal to the Unity. Did they remove him? It wouldn’t surprise me; Lockney was from Cloudvale. Godsdammit it’s the Iron Empire that’s supposed to be our enemy! Have they forgotten that?

Indeed, chimed another admiral darkly, "incongruities like why the Royal Airship Chimera chose to engage an imperial craft, when its orders were specifically to the contrary. Even more disturbing are the undertones surrounding the mysterious deaths of so many crewmen, namely the ship’s captain, and enough of her senior officers to warrant you, a junior-grade ensign, to assume command on the eve of this ill-attempted combat mission."

As dire as that statement was, it sounded all the more damning coming from the stern lips of a highly-decorated admiral, and a kinglander at that; they all were kinglanders in fact; a veritable King’s Isle monopoly. Bar’s eyes dazzled at the richness of all their snow-white overcoats, the glimmering fields of medals fixed upon their chests, nebulous wrappings of belts and cummerbunds and draped gold aiguillettes—enough trappings of office to string Bar up on high from the Gods’ Bind of King’s Isle.

I was unaware— started Bar, but a lump filled his throat. He’d just become infinitely aware of how blank the front of his own uniform was—how void of insignias and medals and veteran accolades as compared to the men arrayed before him. He was like the Chimera, when her guns were simply too inadequate to deal with the threat of an unstoppable war machine. Bar had nothing to shield him from their scrutiny, just a pair of wings that hardly classified him as anyone important. Even the brass ensign pin at his collar gleamed with a newness that only the recently promoted could possibly possess. Worst of all, he held no badge of nobility, which counted for everything in the Royal Air Navy of Ascella. No doubt each of those noble King’s Isle elites held him as contemptible as the lowest Glenfindale street thug.

"It is our understanding that reports of this nature can become muddled—to an extent—given the high emotion and stress of a combat encounter, but never have we been witness to such flagrant inconsistencies as we’ve suffered through here this day. We’ve talked with all the other surviving crewmen and each has given a different sworn deposition in the very seat you now occupy, and now we’re curious to see if you can shed some light of truth on this incident, as the commanding officer." Sky Marshal DeGanten smiled subversively.

Suddenly the room felt strangely still after the years Bar had spent swaying on the deck of an airship. It made him feel nauseous, and he would have given anything just to be back on the Chimera, and out in the boundless skies of Aethosphere at that very moment. I would gladly, he began, fidgeting. The seat felt more unstable than when he first sat down, as though it was imbued with some magic power to cause its occupants to disgorge the truth against their will. "But perhaps this council can enlighten me on some of these debatable points in question, so that I can better address them more specifically." As he finished, he hoped it didn’t sound too much like he was fishing for insight. An admiral’s rebuking laugh told him otherwise.

I wonder how much they already know, he wondered, suspecting they might already have found him guilty. And maybe they would be right to. The simple fact of the matter was the truth had become a nest of vipers, and Bar squirmed within its tangled mass.

Mr. Bazzon, one admiral responded, highly agitated, "perhaps you don’t understand the position you’re in, so let me expedite this evasive song and dance of yours. You’re a common born and a man of mixed heritage. Your rank is the byproduct of political posturing, and not based on any notable achievement, and by the looks of it, is about all you have in this world. No noble house is going to arbitrate on your behalf, and you have earned no commendations to sway our opinion otherwise. Let’s make one thing clear. You made it back alive from that engagement, and that’s the only reason you’ve been given this opportunity to state your case. The moment we feel you’re wasting our time, Ensign, you will be made to regret it."

Yes, agreed the esteemed sky marshal with an aloof nod of satisfaction. So, Mr. Bazzon, it’s best you start from the beginning, and stick closely to the truth. At this point, it’s all you really have.

The word truth, so casually slung around by DeGanten and his crowny friends, was an inconsistent mistress who herself lied to make men into monsters and devils into saints. Could her cold lips alone properly convey the series of events that had plagued the Chimera on that fateful voyage?

We were patrolling the Erie Expanse between the Barrier Shoal and the Ascella Cluster when it happened, stated Bar, picking each word carefully, making sure each echoing syllable was clearly understood by those privileged men of high-rank, despite his own low-born accent. At the time we were about six-hundred kilometers from Midport. The captain had just put us on an elevated alert status as of that morning. As the combat systems manager I was charged with readying the weapons with a handful of assigned skymen…

Chapter 1: Four Days Prior

The gun deck was a sulfurous cave, reeking of grimy bodies and pungent gunpowder, all crammed between a low overhead, a high deck, and ten of the Royal Air Navy’s finest seventy-five millimeter tri-barrel cannons. The guns gleamed, the powder fresh, and Bar reveled in that pride he only got from a day’s hard labor. He wiped his greasy brow across his forearm and took a deep and satisfied breath whilst the men of the weapons, combat, and engineering departments rejoiced together. They were a motley crew to be sure, ghastly to behold beneath the thick soot that coated each sweat-slickened body. Polishing the guns, swabbing the bores, and inspecting the munitions was hard and dangerous work, but each man wore a jack-o-lantern grin regardless, for they’d earned themselves a two