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"Butcher and Float"
Oct. 3rd, 2010 10:11 pmAugust 10th, 1881
In dawn's light, Her Imperial Majesty's Air Ship Kalima rose up over the snow capped granite mountains of Afghanistan's Safed Koh range. Glowing with a terrifying beauty, her pale gray orca shaped hull reflecting a reddish gold, the Kalima looked like Wrath Itself.
The reality was rather more prosaic. HIMAS Kalima's mission was simply to put the Fear of the Queen-Empress - once again - into the recalcitrant inhabitants of the Panjshir Valley, a scruffy lot of Tajik tribesmen who had a bad habit of raiding Her Imperial Majesty's border settlements on the other side of the Hindu Kush.
Back in 'the old days', this would have been done by a detachment of cavalry and horse artillery riding quickly through the Khyber Pass to shoot a few tribesmen and burn a few villages and then dash back, what was known as 'butcher and bolt'.
It had been a Rite of Passage for many a young subaltern. The Tajiks might be scruffy, but they were fierce and damn good shots.
With the introduction of Aeroships and the creation of the Imperial Naval Air Service, that process became cheaper, easier, and had nearly zero casualties – at least on the Imperial side - what one wag called 'butcher and float'.
The old Indian Army types bemoaned such 'luxury cruises' almost as much as the Royal Navy had bemoaned the creation of INAS. “Where are our young officers to get bloodied?” they cried.
“Taking service with one of our client Chinese warlords,” came the Official Answer, which was in fact a good reply. The border wars in Northwest China between proxy armies of the Anglo-American Imperium and the Russian Empire were a far more effective military training ground than occasionally shooting up the odd Tajik hovel and took place on a fairly regular basis.
So the INAS took over 'the trade' on the Northwest Frontier, plied by vessels like the Kalima.
HIMAS Kalima was a Durga class airfrigate, fourth of that class to be build by Westlander Aeronautics, LTD, of the Province of California, Grand Dominion of America. She was 383 feet long and was armed with four Mark IV 2 inch Ellis guns, six barred cannon driven by electric motors, mounted in gymboled turrets. She was manned by twelve officers and thirty eight crewmen.
Her bridge and crew quarters were in an armored gondola that was mostly recessed into the airframe. Fuel, ammunition, and stores were kept in central compartments.
She was powered by six Danning DTP-48 turboprop engines, each rated at 750hp, mounted on variable angle pylons, three to a side, and a Danning DIL-70 V-16 engine, 1800hp, powering a huge propeller in the tail. They all ran on a kerosene/peanut oil mix.
Kalima's frame was constructed of laminated wood, aluminum, and polymer composites and her hull covered with a interwoven canvas/Nylon sheath. Her lift came from six helium cells and was regulated by another four air cells with cooling and heating elements.
She was alone on this mission as it was only an Admonishment. If it had been a full scale Punishment, there would have been a half dozen aeroships and a large ground force. And the aeroships would have come at night without warning.
Coming at dawn let the locals know what was what and gave them time to evacuate their women, children, and livestock.
Commander Shamsher Szczepanski, Kalima's captain, had been up before first light, reclining in his bridgechair while sipping chai. His uniform was crisp and he was freshly shaved. This was his third Admonishment and he planned to do it by the numbers.
He was a perfect example of the creole professional military class of the Anglo-Indian Ascendancy. His grandfather, Franciszek Szczepanski, had been a cavalry trooper serving the Polish Republic during the Franco-Iberian Revolutionary Wars and had fled the wreckage of Europe when they ended.
Being a Polish Catholic and former Republican military, he was not welcome in the Dominion of America. But the East India Company army saw him as a experienced, literate, professional soldier and gave him a job.
He changed his first name to Frederick, married the daughter of Sepoy, rose to the rank of general in the Imperial forces, and died in his own bed a wealthy man.
Shamsher Szczepanski's parents were themselves both mixed blood members of the Ascendancy and named him after the Hindi word for Jaguar. His father was still on active duty as an officer in the Imperial Indian Army and his mother an influential society matron.
Great things were expected of him and he had no intention of disappointing. This was not a glamorous job, but he did it well and without complaint. If nothing else, he was a Professional.
After an hour or so, the Anjuman Pass slipped below and soon the first village came into sight.
“Firing turn here, Mr Shannon,” he told the helmsman. “Aye aye, Captain,” replied the craggy faced Warrant Officer at the controls. Kalima slowly orbited the village. “Three standard bursts. Fire!”
The rapid “Throomp Throomp Throomp Throomp“ of the Ellis guns shook the ship. Below, the mudbrick buildings of the village disintegrated into a cloud of dust and smoke. In the silence that followed, the 'ting' of rifle shots could be heard striking the gondola's armor.
Szczepanski grinned. “Cheeky devils, aren't they,” he muttered to no one in particular. He pointed to the nearest hillside. “Mr. Shannon, steer a course for that bluff.”
Kalima swung around menacingly and approached the hillside. The rate of 'tinging' increased.
“Three crisscross bursts, standard pattern,” said Szczepanski. “Fire!”
Once again the rapid “Throomp Throomp Throomp Throomp“ of the Ellis guns shook the ship. The rain of two inch explosive shells tore up the brush and rocks of the hillside, scattering their ruined fragments every which way. In the silence that followed, there was no more 'tinging'.
“Very good, gentlemen,” he said, “On to the next.”
By one that afternoon, Kalima had 'admonished' four more villages.
Szczepanski turned to a tall man in mufti standing at the back of the bridge and grinned. “And that's how we do things up here on the Northwest Frontier, Mr. Pennington.”
“Damn fine show, Captain,” replied Snapper returning the grin.
“Mr. Shannon, take us home, if you please. I have to show Mr. Pennington here some of the more interesting sights of Peshawar.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Shannon said with a leer.
The Kalima turned majestically over the now smoke hazed Panjshir Valley. On the valley floor nothing moved; not until she had passed overhead.
And there would no more raids...not for a while, at least. Life had maintained a certain pattern on the Northwest Frontier for centuries that even Her Imperial Majesty's mighty aeroship fleets could not alter. Not yet, anyway.
In dawn's light, Her Imperial Majesty's Air Ship Kalima rose up over the snow capped granite mountains of Afghanistan's Safed Koh range. Glowing with a terrifying beauty, her pale gray orca shaped hull reflecting a reddish gold, the Kalima looked like Wrath Itself.
The reality was rather more prosaic. HIMAS Kalima's mission was simply to put the Fear of the Queen-Empress - once again - into the recalcitrant inhabitants of the Panjshir Valley, a scruffy lot of Tajik tribesmen who had a bad habit of raiding Her Imperial Majesty's border settlements on the other side of the Hindu Kush.
Back in 'the old days', this would have been done by a detachment of cavalry and horse artillery riding quickly through the Khyber Pass to shoot a few tribesmen and burn a few villages and then dash back, what was known as 'butcher and bolt'.
It had been a Rite of Passage for many a young subaltern. The Tajiks might be scruffy, but they were fierce and damn good shots.
With the introduction of Aeroships and the creation of the Imperial Naval Air Service, that process became cheaper, easier, and had nearly zero casualties – at least on the Imperial side - what one wag called 'butcher and float'.
The old Indian Army types bemoaned such 'luxury cruises' almost as much as the Royal Navy had bemoaned the creation of INAS. “Where are our young officers to get bloodied?” they cried.
“Taking service with one of our client Chinese warlords,” came the Official Answer, which was in fact a good reply. The border wars in Northwest China between proxy armies of the Anglo-American Imperium and the Russian Empire were a far more effective military training ground than occasionally shooting up the odd Tajik hovel and took place on a fairly regular basis.
So the INAS took over 'the trade' on the Northwest Frontier, plied by vessels like the Kalima.
HIMAS Kalima was a Durga class airfrigate, fourth of that class to be build by Westlander Aeronautics, LTD, of the Province of California, Grand Dominion of America. She was 383 feet long and was armed with four Mark IV 2 inch Ellis guns, six barred cannon driven by electric motors, mounted in gymboled turrets. She was manned by twelve officers and thirty eight crewmen.
Her bridge and crew quarters were in an armored gondola that was mostly recessed into the airframe. Fuel, ammunition, and stores were kept in central compartments.
She was powered by six Danning DTP-48 turboprop engines, each rated at 750hp, mounted on variable angle pylons, three to a side, and a Danning DIL-70 V-16 engine, 1800hp, powering a huge propeller in the tail. They all ran on a kerosene/peanut oil mix.
Kalima's frame was constructed of laminated wood, aluminum, and polymer composites and her hull covered with a interwoven canvas/Nylon sheath. Her lift came from six helium cells and was regulated by another four air cells with cooling and heating elements.
She was alone on this mission as it was only an Admonishment. If it had been a full scale Punishment, there would have been a half dozen aeroships and a large ground force. And the aeroships would have come at night without warning.
Coming at dawn let the locals know what was what and gave them time to evacuate their women, children, and livestock.
Commander Shamsher Szczepanski, Kalima's captain, had been up before first light, reclining in his bridgechair while sipping chai. His uniform was crisp and he was freshly shaved. This was his third Admonishment and he planned to do it by the numbers.
He was a perfect example of the creole professional military class of the Anglo-Indian Ascendancy. His grandfather, Franciszek Szczepanski, had been a cavalry trooper serving the Polish Republic during the Franco-Iberian Revolutionary Wars and had fled the wreckage of Europe when they ended.
Being a Polish Catholic and former Republican military, he was not welcome in the Dominion of America. But the East India Company army saw him as a experienced, literate, professional soldier and gave him a job.
He changed his first name to Frederick, married the daughter of Sepoy, rose to the rank of general in the Imperial forces, and died in his own bed a wealthy man.
Shamsher Szczepanski's parents were themselves both mixed blood members of the Ascendancy and named him after the Hindi word for Jaguar. His father was still on active duty as an officer in the Imperial Indian Army and his mother an influential society matron.
Great things were expected of him and he had no intention of disappointing. This was not a glamorous job, but he did it well and without complaint. If nothing else, he was a Professional.
After an hour or so, the Anjuman Pass slipped below and soon the first village came into sight.
“Firing turn here, Mr Shannon,” he told the helmsman. “Aye aye, Captain,” replied the craggy faced Warrant Officer at the controls. Kalima slowly orbited the village. “Three standard bursts. Fire!”
The rapid “Throomp Throomp Throomp Throomp“ of the Ellis guns shook the ship. Below, the mudbrick buildings of the village disintegrated into a cloud of dust and smoke. In the silence that followed, the 'ting' of rifle shots could be heard striking the gondola's armor.
Szczepanski grinned. “Cheeky devils, aren't they,” he muttered to no one in particular. He pointed to the nearest hillside. “Mr. Shannon, steer a course for that bluff.”
Kalima swung around menacingly and approached the hillside. The rate of 'tinging' increased.
“Three crisscross bursts, standard pattern,” said Szczepanski. “Fire!”
Once again the rapid “Throomp Throomp Throomp Throomp“ of the Ellis guns shook the ship. The rain of two inch explosive shells tore up the brush and rocks of the hillside, scattering their ruined fragments every which way. In the silence that followed, there was no more 'tinging'.
“Very good, gentlemen,” he said, “On to the next.”
By one that afternoon, Kalima had 'admonished' four more villages.
Szczepanski turned to a tall man in mufti standing at the back of the bridge and grinned. “And that's how we do things up here on the Northwest Frontier, Mr. Pennington.”
“Damn fine show, Captain,” replied Snapper returning the grin.
“Mr. Shannon, take us home, if you please. I have to show Mr. Pennington here some of the more interesting sights of Peshawar.”
“Aye aye, Captain,” Shannon said with a leer.
The Kalima turned majestically over the now smoke hazed Panjshir Valley. On the valley floor nothing moved; not until she had passed overhead.
And there would no more raids...not for a while, at least. Life had maintained a certain pattern on the Northwest Frontier for centuries that even Her Imperial Majesty's mighty aeroship fleets could not alter. Not yet, anyway.
