by N. C. Reed
“Surely you didn't think we would escape unscathed from this battle, did you?” The older man's tone was slightly condescending, but also the tone of a teacher. An instructor.
“I. . .no sir, I knew we would take losses,” Merrill replied, swallowing hard. “I just. . .I didn't expect them to come right at us this way.”
“And why not?” Selvey returned his eyes to his glass, looking at the approaching enemy vessels as the first shots began to land among them. “We threaten their homeland, Mister Merrill. I warned you many times, did I not? Say what you will of them, the Southerners are not cowardly nor are they ignorant.”
*****
“Taking fire, Admiral,” Nettles reported.
“So I see,” Semmes nodded. “We'll soon see-” He was cut off as the forward mounts on the Wabash fired, hurling half-barrels of flaming pitch and red hot iron at the Imperial ships.
“- how effective our own fire is,” Semmes finished as crews forward raced to reload their weaponry. “Would you be so good as to find Mister Hoag for me, Mister Nettles?” Semmes asked calmly. Wayland Hoag was the sailing master of the Wabash, making him the senior sailing master, or maritime expert, in the fleet.
“At once, Admiral,” Nettles nodded and sent two runners scurrying to find the requested man, adding himself to the search on the after decks so he was still within hearing of his Admiral.
Two minutes later Wayland Hoag appeared, his shirt sweat stained and face grimy.
“Admiral?” he almost demanded. Unlike the others, Hoag was not an officer, but the senior enlisted man in the entire fleet that was now at sea. He had more practical sailing and shipping knowledge that all of Semmes' officers could muster combined. Experience in command they had. Experience in actual ship handling they left to seasoned hands like Hoag.
“Mister Hoag, I've had a thought,” Semmes said evenly. “I need your input before I signal the order, but I'm afraid I must have your answer forthrightly as time is of the essence.”
“About?” Hoag was wary now.
“I'm curious about our speed. . . .”
*****
South of the battle, the Keyhorn Squadron continued to close at full sail, benefiting from a favorable wind for the moment.
“Lookouts report seeing fire to the north, sir,” Riddell reported to Commodore David. “Enemy is engaging with fire.”
“Very well,” David nodded, his eyes never leaving the horizon. Only his lookouts could see the enemy as yet, but his own ships were closing quickly.
“Signal all ships to maintain position,” he ordered suddenly. “Front rank will take whatever fire the enemy can muster in our direction once our presence is known to them while the rear rank will concentrate on the troopships as they come into view.” He gave Riddell his full attention for a few seconds.
“All frigates are to ram the nearest troopship to them that is still unengaged.”
“Sir,” Riddell began but David's look stopped him.
“You have your orders, Mister Riddell. Carry them out.”
“Aye, sir,” the younger man nodded and headed for the signals officer.
Anthony David turned back to the horizon, looking toward an enemy he himself could not yet see, but he knew was there, nonetheless.
*****
“Admiral, it's not that this won't work, but understand that you'll lose enough speed that it will affect your follow through,” Hoag said flatly. “You won't have the speed to continue on once the cruisers ram, sir.”
“As I suspected,” Semmes nodded. “Still, we can at least succeed in the first attack, still. Yes?”
“Yes sir,” Hoag nodded carefully. “Barely,” he forced himself to add.
“That is acceptable Mister Hoag,” Semmes nodded. “I thank you and you may return to your post.”
“Sir,” Hoag stiffened slightly and hurried on his way.
“Admiral,” Nettles began, then stopped himself. He had overstepped enough for one day, he decided.
“There is only one condition of victory here, Mister Nettles,” Semmes said softly. “We are here to determine the status of this enemy force. If they have troops, we must sink them. If they do not, we must know it, and so signal the cutters behind us. Fail and we lose this battle, regardless of whether we survive or not.”
“I for one would rather die succeeding than simply die fighting,” he finished.
“Yes sir,” Nettles nodded, admitting that he felt much the same though he would highly prefer surviving as well.
“Prepare the signals,” Semmes returned to business. “Prepare for moving broadside.”
*****
Hampton Rhode looked at the signals message with a frown. Had Semmes lost his reason?
“Sir?”
He turned to see his runner waiting.
“Send the signal, son,” Rhode handed the message back. “Quickly now. You!” he pointed to a runner standing by waiting for orders. “Advise Commander Layton to prepare ballistas for moving broadsides.”
The runner nodded and took off at a run.
Rhode could only shake his head and hope his Admiral knew what he was doing. Rhode certainly didn't.
*****
“We're overshooting,” Merrill observed. Selvey almost snorted at the unnecessary comment, but managed to stop himself. It wasn't dignified, after all.
“Their commander increased speed as we prepared to open fire. Excellent tactics.”
“We'll get the range, sir,” Merrill said and once more Selvey had to stifle his reaction to the unneeded comment. Sometimes Merrill really wore on him.
“I'm sure we will, Mister Merrill,” he settled for saying. “Unless and until their commander does something else unexpected.”
*****
“Their shots are scoring, Admiral,” Nettles said, using his glass to scan their own ships. “Belle and Seawitch have taken hits. Belle's foresail is aflame.”
“Very well,” Semmes replied, not looking for himself. “They'll carry on as best they can I'm sure.”
Nettles said nothing else, continuing to look across at their own ships. He would keep Semmes apprised of their damages so that Semmes could concentrate on issuing orders to the fleet.
Forward, the Wabash's chase weapons fired again, the thrump felt and heard throughout the ship. Their own artillery was getting the range as well.
*****
“One of their ships is aflame, sir!” Merrill sounded more enthusiastic.
“Yes, I can see that,” Selvey fought to maintain his calm. “What of our own vessels, Mister Merrill? The enemy is turning fire.”
“Sorry sir,” Merrill's face reddened at the dressing down as he turned his glass to their own ships.
“Well?” Selvey asked when Merrill didn't immediately reply.
“Sir, Sorcerer is ablaze,” Merrill said quietly, his earlier enthusiasm gone. “Stitch and Velvet Glove are also burning,” he added. “Their men are good shots.”
A cruiser and two frigates burning, possibly out of action. In return, the enemy had one frigate burning and another that had minor damage. Not the best exchange.
“Signal all ships to stand by rowers,” Selvey ordered a runner. “We'll have to move soon,” he added to himself more than anyone else.
He turned his attention back to his enemy. His very capable and resourceful enemy as Indina's weaponry hurled another volley across to every narrowing expanse of water.
*****
“Two enemy ships ablaze, sir!” Riddell read the message from the lookouts. “Two of our own appear damaged as well,” his face fell somewhat as he continued. “Second line of ships match silhouettes for known Nor merchant and troopships, sir.”
“That's our target,” David said at once. “Signal the squadron to make full sail at once and stand by rowers and chase weaponry. We will fire the moment the enemy seems to take notice of us.”
“Sir,” Riddell nodded and ran to issue the orders.
“Hold on Admiral,” David said to the ho
rizon. “We're coming.”
*****
“Now,” Semmes ordered calmly to the signals officer standing by to raise the orders he posted. The man ran the banners up the main signal mast quickly, tying the line fast.
The Soulan fleet trained its ship commanders and sailing masters hard. Command went to those officers who could think on their feet and showed a talent for handling their vessels under pressure. Sailing masters were the most seasoned sailors the Royal Navy could muster from all walks of the kingdom, selected for their knowledge of ships and seas.
But there was no way to communicate from ship to ship that didn't involve visual cues. Flags were a time proven way to get orders out, but they took time to disseminate through the fleet. That meant that only the most general of orders were usually given, the individual ship commanders being left to implement those general orders as best they could given their conditions.
Despite all the training and preparation however, a fleet of ships under full sail simply could not turn on a line. Orders would be a few seconds ahead or behind another ship and turns would be faster or slower depending on ship size, weight, and the skill of her handlers.
Problems were bound to occur. Semmes was hoping for the least possible amount of those problems with this set of orders, made on the fly.
He was to be disappointed at least somewhat.
“Sir, Seacat is hit!” Nettles reported. “The Warrior has rammed them in the turn, Admiral! Seacat is listing and Warrior has lost her momentum.”
“Understood,” Semmes said gravely. He had hoped to avoid that, but had known it was possible. Another frigate lost, and a cruiser, the Warrior, without enough momentum left to stay with the line. It was a loss, but hopefully it would not be decisive. As that thought hit him, the starboard broadside of the Wabash fired in unison, shaking the cruiser from bow to stern.
Shaking off the losses, Semmes raised his glass to see the result of his change in orders even as his ships began to heel to starboard to expose their port broadsides.
*****
“What-”
“Mister Merrill, if you cannot cease your babbling then kindly call for your relief and remove yourself from this bridge!” Selvey had finally had enough.
“Sir-” Merrill began, then cut himself off, trying to regain his lost calm. He was not acquitting himself very well in the Admiral's eyes so far, and that could have negative consequences for his career.
“Damage report?” Selvey demanded, again reminding Merrill of his responsibilities.
“Sir,” Merrill said again, quickly moving to survey their ships.
*****
“Good hits on first volley, sir!” Nettles reported. “Two enemy cruisers and three frigates are hurt badly!”
“Well done, lads,” Semmes said softly. “Prepare the signal for ramming speed as soon as the port broadsides are expended. Fire from chase weapons to resume as soon as they bear.”
“Aye sir!” Nettles raced to the signal platform where the fleet signals officer was already prepared to hoist new orders. The Wabash fired again before he made it.
*****
“Illini and Razor are listing heavily, Admiral,” Merrill managed to maintain his calm this time. “Rouge, Gypsy and Wind Jammer likewise heavily damaged. Rogue is likely lost,” he added. “At least three other ships hit but still capable.”
“Very well,” Selvey kept his own calm voice as well. Again his enemy had caught him unaware. Even as he watched, the Southern Fleet continued to turn, unmasking their port batteries.
“Signal fleet to execute scatter!” Selvey ordered at once, but still far too late.
*****
“Port broadsides away, Admiral,” Nettles returned. “Orders posted to resume course and speed.”
“Excellent,” Semmes nodded. “Damage report?” The Imperials were still firing.
“Their targeting is off because of the turns, sir,” Nettles reported. “Wasee has taken a hit but is still in formation. Webb and Donovan are hit, Webb falling away and on fire, Donovan still in formation for the moment but also with sails alight. Agamennon also has after sails ablaze but the fire appears contained.”
Better than he'd hoped. Another cruiser hit, still another with a sail on fire but both still in line. A frigate surely lost, another burning but still fighting at least for the moment.
It was in the hands of his captains, now. He had done all he could for the moment. He raised his glass to see what the latest volley had accomplished.
*****
“Sorcerer and Razor are gone, sir,” Merrill reported quietly. “Both are hulled and sinking. Illini is listing, but the fires will get her first. Vagabond and Wanderer are now hit as well, with Vagabond burning.”
“They've had their turn,” Selvey's voice was grim, almost savage. “They can't risk another turn like that to unmask without losing more speed than they can afford. Our weapons should bracket them now.”
“Sir,” Merrill nodded, keeping his eyes on their own ships this time. Selvey's none too subtle reminder of his place was still ringing in his ears. He felt the Indina shudder as her weaponry fired a volley at the approaching enemy.
*****
“Tinsee is lost, sir,” Nettles reported flatly. “Holton is fully ablaze but her sails are still full, I think Captain Ring will still try to ram before the fire can destroy his ship. Vaughan, Forsythe and Willis are now falling out of line as well. I think Forsythe is lost sir, and Willis may be as well. Two others have fires aboard but are still in line.”
The report finally ended and Semmes tried to keep his face impassive. He'd known it would be rough, he reminded himself. He'd lost half the ships he'd entered the fight with and was still not quite into ramming range. Atop of that, the troopships that were his target were still safely behind the remaining Imperial warships.
He had to face the fact that he might have failed his Sovereign.
“Sails! Sails south!”
*****
“What?” Selvey snapped as the warning came.
“Many sails South-Southwest! Ships in view! At least ten ships abreast!”
“How the hell did they get so close!” Selvey bellowed.
Above him, his lookouts had been watching the battle and not watching the horizon. The fires had obscured their vision as well, forcing many to cover their faces in order to breathe. Whichever cause was responsible for their inattention, that negligence had allowed Anthony David's Keyhorn ships to approach to striking range unnoticed.
“Signal the fleet to close in!” Selvey shouted. He had just issued the order to scatter in order to avoid the expected broadsides from the Royal battle line and some of his ships were still maneuvering. Now they would have to reverse course and do it quickly in order to meet this new attack.
Selvey's insistence on issuing all orders himself was about to cost him and his men heavily.
*****
“I think they see us, sir,” Riddell grinned in spite of the possibility of his approaching demise.
“I'd have to agree, Mister Riddell,” David grinned back. “Orders stand. Signal all ships to fire at will.”
*****
“It's David!” Nettles cried out. “The Keyhorn ships are behind the enemy front!”
“Well done, Anthony,” Semmes breathed. His losses had not been in vain if David could get at the enemy troopships.
“David only has four cruisers, sir,” Nettles reminded him.
“I am aware of that, Mister Nettles,” the Admiral replied calmly. “He knows his duty, as do his men. Signal all ships to close and ram, then stand by for close action. And raise the black flag, I suppose,” he added. “Give them something else to think about.”
*****
Selvey watched the black flags appear one at a time above the Soulan ships, his mouth set in a grim line.
I should have expected that, he told himself savagely. We're threatening their homeland. Of course they'll fight to the death.
“Sir, the troop
ships are taking fire,” Merrill reported. “The new ships are concentrating on them for some reason.”
“You can't possibly be that stupid, Mister Merrill,” Selvey sounded tired. “Those troopships are the sole reason for our being here, you little moron! If they can get word back to. . .” He stopped, turning back to see. . . .
Yes, the two cutters were still there. Through his glass he could just make them out. Sails down, oars out, waiting.
Waiting to tell their leaders if there really is an army aboard these ships.
The thought hit him solidly even as Merrill babbled yet another useless report. The damned Soulanies never intended to fight him in a real naval duel they knew they couldn't win. They were sacrificing themselves in an attempt to sink the troopships. Even if there were soldiers aboard, if the ships were sunk then the troops would largely be lost in the ocean.
And if the southerners discovered there were no troops, then Selvey's mission would be a failure. Complete and abject failure.
“Signal the fleet to protect those ships at all costs!” Selvey yelled directly to the Idina's signal officer. “Disregard all other concerns and protect those ships!”
*****
“We're hurting them, sir.” Riddell reported. “Three ships on fire and another listing sharply. Hulled, I think.”
“Any sign of enemy troops?” David asked, looking for himself.
“Not as yet, sir, though there should be, considering. They should have men ready to repel boarders or deal with damage to the ship if. . .” the younger man trailed off suddenly, recognition dawning.
He directed his glass to the troopships' water lines, ignoring their minimal weapons and deck actions. He went swiftly from ship to ship, surveying all of them in his view.
“Sir, none of those ships are riding heavy,” he said finally. “I. . .I don't think they're carrying anything other than their own crews and stores.”
“I do believe you are correct, Mister Riddell,” David nodded as he lowered his own glass. “We can't make that assumption just yet, however,” he added sadly. “We're going to have to see for sure.”
