The first summer night

The first summer night

Twilight was gathering, turning into the first summer night of the year. Despite the clear skies, a strong northerly wind was blowing, so that the three-masted sailboat was occasionally tilting under the onslaught of the waves, straining the anchor ropes. Lights were lit ashore, the first stars appeared in the sky and it seemed to Elena, standing near the guard rail of the afterdeck, that land constellations were twinkling with heavenly ones. The rocking motion hardly troubled the elfin; she even held on to the bulwark with one hand, rather for convenience. When you've been at sea for hundreds of years, you get used to every conceivable hardship and inconvenience. Ships change from age to age. The sea stays the same.

The little boat, moving from shore to ship, often buried its nose in the waves, but time after time it emerged and persevered on its way. A burly sailor, skilfully working the oars, was in charge, and soon enough the boat came close aboard, bouncing on the crests of the waves almost under the mainsail. The midshipman in charge called out to the oarsman. He answered, and a lean young man, clad in a wet cloak, cautiously stood up from the bank behind him. With the help of the sailors and the boat's crew, the young man climbed to the deck, dragging his locker. The officer of the watch pointed him to the afterdeck. The newcomer hurried there, holding his hat in the palm of his hand. As he ascended the gangway steps the sailboat rocked with particular force. In his hurry he had missed a grip on something and landed on the steps, bumping his chin on the floor. His hat flew off his head, traveled slightly forward, and fell at Elena's feet.

— Hmm... — The elfish woman set her ears perked up and picked up the unwanted gift. Thus, holding the hat in her hands, she met her new officer.

— Captain, madam! — Climbing at last onto the bridge, the young man stood up straight and saluted. His face was crimson as the sunset, and his chin was marked by a bruise that was growing rapidly. — Ensign Karl Blanfeld has come aboard, madam!

— Well, midshipman... — the elfish woman handed him his hat, allowing herself a slight smile. There was no mockery or pity in the smile — the woman was making it clear that she was indeed pleased to see a new crewman. — Welcome aboard the "Third Star", the privateer of the Grand Duchy of Anelon.

— Thank you, madam! — Slipping his hat on, the young man saluted once more.

Elena shook her head. The midshipman was in uniform. Although the "Third Star" was technically listed as part of the elven principality's navy (it was called a 'cruiser hunter', though everyone used the familiar 'privateer'), no one on board wore a uniform. Clothes had to be clean, intact and comfortable — that was all the requirements. The captain herself set the example — her usual attire was breeches, blouse, gloves, embroidered waistcoat and mid-thigh boots. Now she only put her cloak over them. For the first few centuries of her naval service there had been no such thing as a uniform.

— You are an Elvartian, aren't you? — the captain asked. — But you volunteered for the Anelon freighter, right? What motivated you, if it is not a secret? — She smiled again at the corner of her mouth. — Wasn't it that the captain was a woman?

There was usually no problem with that. The Anelon people grew up surrounded by elves and accepted their culture, but sometimes there was confusion with newcomers from other countries.

— Madam, I'm not going to lie — I made the request largely for your sake. — The midshipman, who was beginning to calm down, started to frown again. — But not because you're a woman. I mean... you're very, very beau... ahem... But... it's just that as a child I read books that talked about your travels across the ocean. They pretty much drove me to join the maritime service. And when I heard there was a chance to serve on your ship... Madam. — Still unable to find a way to end the awkward speech, the young man saluted once more.

— You may go now, Monsieur Blanfeld, — Elena decided not to torment the young man any further. — Ask to have your locker taken to the midshipmen's room. And be prepared that it will take a long time to get used to the crew. I suppose you can guess that this is no ordinary ship. Let it not shock you that your captain may not know the specific terms and call a rope a rope. Terminology at sea changes faster than the weather. From my point of view, anyway.

Descending from the afterdeck, midshipman Blanfeld fell once more. It occurred to Elena that his nickname was now inevitable...

* * *

Twilight was gathering, turning into the first summer night of the year. Guns rumbled over the sea, and long tongues of scarlet flame reflected in the dark water. The Imperial frigate was approaching, bravely, not embarrassed that the enemy privateer it had encountered was fighting rather than fleeing. The two ships were of roughly equal size, and the frigate outnumbered the enemy in the number of cannons, but the "Third Star's" crew was better at firing, faster and more accurate. The Imperial captain was probably in a hurry to start the boarding, relying on a squad of marines and expecting to take the prize. Elena wasn't worried about that, knowing what her crew was worth in a close fight. If the frigate didn't sink from battle damage, she'd have the prize tonight.

— To board! — bellowed the woman into the tinny mouthpiece. — Ready!

The frigate and the privateer collided side by side with the deafening crack of wood. The Imperials came raining down from their forecastle on the "Third Star's" afterdeck. Marines in purple and yellow uniforms led the way, followed by a horde of sailors armed with sabers and blunderbusses. The Anelonians met them with a coherent volley of gunfire and immediately launched a counterattack, toppling the bullet-ridden front lines. Elena walked down the gangway without too much haste, drew her pistol, and shot a Marine in the chest who had jumped onto the gunwales. She trusted her quartermaster, and did not personally lead the boarders into combat, but tried to be at the forefront of her crew's eyes at times like these. Such a habit had its drawbacks, of course. After all, the captain was not only in full view of his sailors, but also of his enemies.

A bullet whistled nearby, jangling into the deck. It was fired from the frigate's masts. The elven woman took a few more steps to avoid being too easy a target. On the move she drew her second pistol.

The course of the skirmish turned a few minutes later. Having dispersed the Imperials, the Anelonians poured onto the deck of the frigate. Elena spotted the imperial sailors on the forecastle dragging the short-barreled coronade cannon away from the port, turning it toward the deck. The gunner turned the screw, tilting the barrel down.

— Shooters! — Elena raised her mouthpiece to her lips. The coronade was loaded with heavy buckshot, nothing to think about. Its shot would turn everyone fighting at the frigate's mainmast into meat jelly. — Fire at the coronade on the forecastle!

She raised her gun herself and pulled the trigger, aiming for the gunner. Someone had heard her — the mast gunners had unleashed a hail of lead on the coronade. And someone else's shot proved too successful. Elena didn't hear the explosion. Only saw a flash that split the frigate's forecastle. Then something hit the woman in the chest, lifted her into the air, tossed her with force...

Her eyes went dark, all sound was extinguished. All she could feel was a cold chill running through her whole body, and a pain in her chest, in her right thigh, in her shoulder — but not a sharp, muffled pain. The elfish woman's body still seemed to float in the thickened air, unable in any way to fall to the deck...

Something tugged painfully at Elena's arm. Then an unknowable force encircled her torso, squeezed until it crunched her ribs, pulled her upward. A few moments later the woman's head emerged from the water, and the captain coughed, blinked. Taking a convulsive breath, she coughed again. With the first gulp of air, consciousness returned to her.

— Ahem... ahem...— Elena blinked the salty water into her eyes and realized that she was bobbing in the waves behind her own ship. The "Third Star" was hurriedly backing away from the flaming imperial frigate, which was spraying men into the water. Frigate's mizzen masts was already in the water, and the mainmast was lurching sharply to the right.

— I hope the lads can at least look for the captain for good measure before they set sail, — a mocking voice said over her ear. It sounded like through cotton wool — the elven ear was sensitive to loud noises. Like the explosion of powder kegs on the deck of a ship.

Elena turned her head (almost fainting again from the pain flaring in the back of her head) and saw that the "Star's" quartermaster, Lieutenant Blanfeld, was supporting her under her back. The young officer's lips curved into a wicked smirk, the saber scar on his cheek from six months ago, still purple, gave his face a rather menacing expression.

— Lei...ahem...tenant, — Elena said with a reproachful but faint smile in her voice. — You abandoned command of a boarding party in the middle of a battle?

To come to the woman's aid so quickly, Karl had to jump overboard almost immediately after the explosion.

— It seemed to me that the outcome of the battle had already been decided, and I do not want to be the new captain, — replied the lieutenant in tone with her. The fervor of battle was fading in him, but a crooked grin seemed to stick to the man's face. — Madam, the water around us is turning red too fast. Let's row on to the Star before all the sharks are baited.

The sun had finally set. The blazing frigate lit up the night sea. The "Third Star" was launching a skiff...

* * *

Twilight was gathering, turning into the first summer night of the year. The farewell party was not held in the wardroom, but in the captain's apartments, with their high windows — but even here it was already getting dark. At Elena's gesture her steward lit the oil lamps.

— Have you learned that making a career on elven ships is a dead end, Monsieur Blanfeld? — Second Lieutenant Sanito, who is already a little tipsy, chuckled. — We are very fortunate that our beautiful captain is the only representative of her kind in the crew. — The officer bowed to Elena as if to indicate that he did not wish to offend her. — A position held by an elf is considered permanently sealed.

— Elves die too, Monsieur Sanito — Elena reminded him, pouring herself a glass of wine. The woman really wasn't offended — she knew her officers. Sanito was not restrained in his words, but truly loyal to her and the team. — As much from old age as from bullets. Or from other causes. Seven years ago you almost went without me when I fell overboard.

— No such thing, — the second lieutenant exclaimed. He and Carl were the only two officers at the table who had been involved in that old affair with the exploding Imperial frigate. — And if we had, Karl would have charged after the Star in a breaststroke and given us a good thrashing. He'd bite the mast with his teeth for you, madam.

— But he won't stay with me. — The elf woman sipped her wine and glanced at her first mate, squinting slightly. — The uniform of the Republic fleet would appeal to him more than the possibility of serving with an elven captain.

— Madam... — Karl sighed, staring into his nearly full glass. Elena hadn't seen him this embarrassed since the day they first met, nearly fifteen years ago. — It's not about career... We've already gone off on exploratory expeditions several times, visited islands in the tropics, crossed the ocean instead of fighting. The Empire will not leave Elvart or Anelon alone. The war will last a long time. I want to defend my homeland. I know it's not that important to you. You remember dozens of these wars. But I...

— Don't make excuses, Karl. — Elena put her hand up. — It's okay. Believe me, I know how to let go. And I'm very happy to say goodbye to a team member, seeing him off at the ramp instead of the coffin.

There was silence over the table for a second. Even those who hadn't participated in the conversation stopped clinking forks and tinkling glasses. Elena coughed into her fist. The wine seemed to have an effect on her as well.

— Captain, may I ask you a question? — Karl suddenly looked up. — I've been wondering, and if I don't ask now, I won't get a chance.

— Of course, Karl, — Elena nodded, setting her glass aside. She'd probably had enough for one day.

— Why you have a human name, we all know. — The first mate leaned back in his chair. — But why a human last name? The Elves simply take their father's name and add "Son" or "Dotir," as the Northerners do. But you...

— It's my husband's last name. — Without letting him finish, Elena shrugged her shoulders. — He was a sailor... the century before last. That's the whole story. Now, monsieur, how about a farewell game of cards?

* * *

Twilight was gathering, turning into the first summer night of the year. There were lightning flashes on the horizon — thunderstorms over the sea were common in these latitudes. Flashes of light occasionally illuminated the dark points at the very line where the sky joined the water. The main forces of the Imperial fleet had not yet shown themselves, but scout frigates constantly loomed in sight of the squadrons of the Elvart Republic and its allies.

The "Third Star" was getting lost in the numerous fleet. Here were frigates larger than her, and certainly against the lineships the three-masted privateer seemed like a toy. For this battle, however, allied commanders were gathering their forces. The light maneuvering ship would have her work cut out for her as well. Sails furrowed, the privateer approached the flagship. Elena regarded her with curiosity. If you've been at sea all your life, even if it's been seven centuries, seeing something truly new is rarer than most people think. Ships, at their core, are always galleys and sailing ships, with new features and in new forms. But they are always galleys and sailing ships. Elvart's flagship had sails too. And there was a soot-blackened chimney in the centre of the hull. And black steel plates protecting the sides instead of the usual oak armour. This type of ship was called a "battery ironclad," as Elena knew, and it was propelled by a propeller hidden underwater. The flagship was a hundred and twenty metres long — a lot for a relatively modest number of cannons, but it had to hold a steam engine inside. And when a ship's sides are nearly invincible to enemy fire, she might not have much firepower herself.

— Launch gig, — the woman commanded, pulling on her waistcoat. In her usual costume she would stand out among the naval officers with their blue uniforms. But... if she wore the uniform, not much would change — the elf captain would still be stared at.