by David Weber
Yet despite all that, Sir Domynyk Staynair truly was as confident as he looked. He didn’t expect it to be easy, but then again, few things worth doing were, and he smiled slightly as he recalled a discussion with Prince Nahrmahn.
“I have to say I didn’t expect Jahras to put together such a nasty reception for you, Domynyk,” the little Emeraldian had said over the com. His tone had been somber, obviously concerned, but Rock Point had only chuckled grimly.
“He’s worked hard at it, I’ll give him that,” the admiral had replied. “And given his disadvantages, this is probably about the best plan he could’ve come up with. But there’s a big difference between ‘best plan he could come up with’ and ‘a plan with a chance in hell of succeeding,’ Nahrmahn.”
“I realize this is your area of expertise, not mine, but it looks ugly enough to me,” Nahrmahn had said.
“That’s because you’re not a professional seaman.” Rock Point had shaken his head. “Oh, if we didn’t have the exploding shells and Ahlfryd’s ‘angle-guns’ it would be a lot nastier, I’ll give you-and Jahras-that. But we’d still take him in the end, even with nothing but old-fashioned round shot. The butcher’s bill would be a hell of a lot higher than it’s going to be, but we’d still take him.”
“How can you be so sure?” There’d been only honest curiosity, not disbelief, in Nahrmahn’s question, and Rock Point had shrugged.
“A warship is a mobile gun platform, Nahrmahn, and Jahras doesn’t have the kind of experience a Charisian flag officer has. He thinks he’s taken mobility out of play, but he’s wrong. To a landsman or an army officer, I’m sure his position looks downright impregnable. What a sailor sees, though, are the rat-holes in his ramparts, and I mean to shove an entire fleet right through them.”
That’s what I said, Your Highness, he thought now, and that’s what I meant. Now to demonstrate how it works. . VI.
Outer Roadstead and Inner Harbor, Port of Iythria, Empire of Desnair
The guns on Triangle Shoal opened fire first.
Stupid, Sir Dunkyn Yairley thought. We’re still at least a mile out of range, you idiots! Probably the damned Army; even Desnairian naval gunners would know you couldn’t hit anything-especially with Desnairian artillery-at four miles.
Still, he had absolutely nothing against watching enemy gunners waste powder and shot. The first, most carefully prepared and aimed salvos were always the most effective, which was the reason most captains reserved their fire until they were close enough they figured they couldn’t miss. Of course, fortress guns had the advantage of nice, solid, unmoving firing platforms, which no naval gunner ever had. That was one of the reasons no sane naval commander ever fought a well-sited, well-protected shore battery.
Or that was the way things used to be, at any rate. Charisian galleons had successfully out-dueled masonry-protected harbor defenses at Delferahk, after all. Still, even the majority of Charisian naval officers regarded that as something of a fluke… which it undoubtedly had been. For one thing, the rickety fortifications in question had been in less than perfect condition-indeed, some of them had been about ready to fall down on their own. More importantly, however, Admiral Rock Point had confronted old-style artillery, with a rate of fire less than a quarter that of his own, and he’d had the advantage of total surprise. Not surprise at being attacked, but astonishment-and probably sheer disbelief-at the sheer volume of fire his ships had been able to produce.
That particular surprise no longer applied, and judging by the rapidity with which the Triangle Shoal fortress was pumping out round shot, it had been equipped with updated artillery, as well. If those shore gunners had modern guns, on modern carriages, and were using bagged charges, then the stability of their footing should actually allow them to serve their pieces even more rapidly than the Charisian gunners could.
On the other hand, there’s a difference between rapid fire and effective fire, Yairley reminded himself. Blazing away and not hitting anything is just a more spectacular way to accomplish absolutely nothing, and anybody who’s going to open fire at this range is unlikely to be the most accurate gunner in the world at any range.
He stood on Destiny ’s quarterdeck, hands once more clasped behind him, feet spread, shoulders deliberately relaxed, and concentrated on looking calm.
I wonder if one reason I’m feeling so smug about the standard of Desnairian gunnery in general is that gloating over what lousy shots they are is one way of reassuring myself that they’re not going to hit anything. Like me.
The thought made him chuckle, and he shook his head at his own perversity, then looked at Lathyk. The captain was bent over the binnacle, taking a compass bearing on the smoke-spurting fortress. Then he straightened and glanced up at the masthead weathervane with a thoughtful frown.
“Well, Captain?”
“I make it about another mile and a half before we alter towards them, Sir. Perhaps thirty more minutes.”
Yairley turned to gaze over the bulwarks, considering angles and rates of movement, then nodded.
“I believe you’re right, Captain. I think it’s time to make the signal to Captain Rahzwail.”
“Aye, Sir. I’ll see to it.”
Yairley nodded again, then looked around at the unfolding panorama. At least all the men who were about to die had been given a lovely day on which to do it. The sky was a deep, perfect blue, with only the lightest scattering of high-altitude cloud and the water was a gorgeous blend of blues and greens, creaming in white under the galleons forefeet, in the early afternoon sunlight. The seabirds and sea wyverns who’d followed the Charisian galleons, swooping and bobbing as they hoped for garbage in the ships’ wakes, seemed confused by the sudden, rolling bursts of thunder on such a perfect day. They were circling away from the ships, although they didn’t really seem panicked yet. On the other hand, they were probably bright enough to realize that what was about to happen was none of their business.
The rest of his squadron forged along in Destiny ’s wake, and astern of them was a moving forest of masts and canvas weathered to all different shades of gray and tan and dirty white. The imperial standard flew from mastheads throughout the fleet-some of the more enthusiastic captains had one at each masthead-and the long, thin, colorful tongues of flag officers’ command streamers blew from mizzenmasts for rear admirals and commodores, from mainmasts for admirals, and from foremasts for the newly introduced rank of vice admiral. Up until the last year or two, Yairley couldn’t have imagined seeing that many ships in one place, all bent on a single mission under the command of a single admiral. Even now the sheer magnitude of the spectacle seemed preposterous.
He couldn’t pick Destroyer out of the mass of her consorts, but she was back there, sailing along in the middle of that huge sprawl, rather than leading the way as he knew High Admiral Rock Point would have preferred. But that exposed position wasn’t the proper place for a high admiral-not in something like this. No, that was more properly left to a more expendable flag officer… like one Sir Dunkyn Yairley.
“The signal to Captain Rahzwail is ready, Sir,” Ensign Aplyn-Ahrmahk said respectfully, and Yairley gave himself a shake.
“Very well, Master Aplyn-Ahrmahk, let’s get it sent,” the admiral said with a crooked smile. “And then I think we should probably signal the squadron to reduce sail, don’t you think?”
***
“They don’t seem very impressed by General Stahkail’s gunnery, My Lord,” Captain Mahlyk Ahlvai observed dryly.
“No, they don’t, Captain,” Baron Jahras agreed.
They stood on the poop deck of HMS Emperor Zhorj, Jahras’ forty-eight-gun flagship. Unlike the majority of the Desnairian Navy, Emperor Zhorj was a purpose-built war galleon, with much heavier framing and planking than her converted merchant consorts. Despite that, she was considerably smaller and more lightly armed than the ships sailing steadily towards her.
Jahras had strongly considered remaining in his shoreside office. With access to the semaphore
and the signal flag mast on top of the main dockyard building, he’d actually have been better able to send orders from there (at least until smoke obscured all signals), especially with Emperor Zhorj ’s masts truncated because of his orders to send topmasts and topgallant masts ashore. It would also have been considerably safer, in a personal sense. But while Jahras had steadfastly avoided combat with the Imperial Charisian Navy, there was nothing wrong with his personal courage. If his fleet had to fight, his proper place was with it. And from a somewhat more cynical and calculating perspective, he was more likely to avoid condemnation for the debacle about to occur if he could point out to Vicar Allayn and Vicar Zhaspahr that he’d commanded from the front, in the very heart and fury of the action. He didn’t know how much more likely to avoid condemnation he might be, but anything was worth striving for.
At the moment, however, he could only endorse Captain Ahlvai’s opinion. General Lowrai Stahkail, the commanding officer of the Triangle Shoal fortress, had not been Jahras’ choice for his job. He could think of at least a half-dozen officers he would have preferred to see commanding that fort, but Stahkail had friends at court and a reputation-mostly self-bestowed-as an artillerist. Jahras had never seen any evidence he deserved it, although, to be fair, he was an Army artillerist, not a naval gunner.
Not that the baron was interested in being any fairer to Stahkail than he had to at the moment.
He raised his telescope and picked up the white flaws of round shot skipping across the waves. Perhaps Stahkail was trying to ricochet the shot into the ships, extending his range by bouncing the projectiles the way an artillerist could sometimes do on land. If so, he didn’t seem to be succeeding.
You really should be at least a little fair, Urwyn, he told himself. There’s not much chance the Charisians are going to come into his range. If he wants to hit them at all he’s going to have to do it from a long way away.
Unfortunately, Stahkail’s… enthusiasm seemed to be contagious, and some of the floating batteries closest to Triangle Shoal were beginning to fire sporadically, as well. Their guns were much closer to the water, giving them even less range than the fortress, and he lowered the glass with an angry grimace.
“Signal to the floating batteries if you please, Captain!” he snapped. “Cease fire! Do not waste powder and shot!”
“Aye, My Lord,” Ahlvai replied, then cleared his throat. “Ah, should I address the signal to General Stahkail, as well, Sir?”
“By no means, Captain.” Jahras actually managed a smile. “First, he’s got a lot more powder in his magazines than any of the batteries do. Second, I don’t think he quite grasps that the Navy is in charge of Iythria’s defense. There seems to be some confusion in his mind as to the exact structure of the chain of command, and I’d hate to overtax his clearly overworked brain trying to explain it to him in the middle of a battle.”
“I see, My Lord.” Ahlvai seemed to be having a little difficulty keeping his voice level, Jahras observed. Well, it wasn’t as if his opinion of Stahkail should come as any surprise to his own flag captain, although he supposed he really shouldn’t be throwing more fuel on that particular fire.
The captain turned away, his shoulders quivering with what certainly looked like suppressed laughter, and beckoned to his signals lieutenant. Jahras watched Ahlvai for a moment or two, then turned back to the oncoming Charisians as they began reducing sail.
Stripping down to fighting sail, he thought. Langhorne, I hope you and Chihiro are both keeping an eye on us down here, because I think we’re going to need you.
***
Sir Dunkyn Yairley had little attention to spare for the line of anchored galleons and floating batteries, even though that was his own squadron’s immediate objective. He was too busy watching Captain Ahldahs Rahzwail’s ship and her half-dozen sisters.
HMS Volcano was an… odd-looking vessel. She was actually larger than Destiny, although she was rated at only twenty-four guns and showed only twelve ports on a side, and all of her guns were mounted on the spar deck, which put her ports a good twenty feet above her designed waterline. Her bulwarks were higher than most galleons’, and the ports piercing them were disproportionately tall, as well. She was disproportionately beamy and massive-looking, too, although that was less evident watching her in profile the way Yairley was at the moment.
There was a reason for her odd appearance, and also a reason she’d been built at King’s Harbor, rather than one of the more publicly accessible yards the Navy was using for the majority of its construction these days. No one had wanted anyone getting a close look at her or her sisters and wondering about their peculiarities. In fact, even though Yairley had seen Volcano herself on the ways, he’d never noticed most of the unusual features of her design until they’d been pointed out to him by High Admiral Rock Point.
The reason she carried so few guns was that each of the ones she did carry weighed more than twice as much as one of the new model krakens on Destiny ’s gundeck. Despite that, the gun tubes looked short and stubby, and their carriages looked downright bizarre. Not too surprisingly, he supposed, since each of those guns had a ten-inch bore and those ridiculous, tall carriages were designed specifically to permit them to be elevated to absurd heights. That had required some tricky engineering, particularly given the recoil forces involved. The mammoth guns took either a hundred-and-fifty-pound solid shot or a hundred-pound shell, and the stresses when one of them fired were… extreme. The downward thrust engendered by their high elevations had to be absorbed by the ship’s deck, which helped to explain Volcano ’s extraordinarily massive frames and thick deck planking. All war galleons were basically mobile gun platforms, but Volcano and her sisters took it to ridiculous extremes.
That had been Yairley’s initial reaction, at any rate. Before he’d sailed to join Admiral Shain, however, he’d had the opportunity to exercise with Captain Rahzwail’s squadron, and he was rather looking forward to sharing that experience with the Desnairians.
***
That’s odd, Baron Jahras thought, watching the half-dozen or so galleons which had peeled off from the rest of the advancing line.
It was obviously a planned and deliberate maneuver. The meticulous order the Charisians were maintaining as they advanced to battle was sobering for someone who’d tried to get his own fleet organized to at least all sail in approximately the same direction on the same day. It had proven to be an exercise all too like trying to herd cat-lizards, but those galleons were maneuvering with the kind of precision and discipline for which Desnairian cavalry was famed. Given Jahras’ unhappy experiences with his own fleet, he had altogether too good an appreciation for how difficult that was. Despite the vast size of the fleet sailing towards him, there was no sign of confusion anywhere in that mountain-range mass of canvas and masts.
Which made the antics of the ships which had caught his eye even more perplexing. Instead of bearing away from Triangle Shoal, they were actually headed for it, and he realized they had cutters and longboats out in front, taking soundings with lead lines to determine the depth of the water.
No, he realized as one of the longboats put a buoy over the side, they’re running lines of soundings, matching them with the depths on their charts to help determine their exact positions. But why? And that buoy is inside Stahkail’s extreme range. He’s not likely to hit anything on purpose, but if they anchor that close in and he fires enough shots, blind, dumb luck is likely to give him a chance to hurt them after all.
It made no sense. There was no need for them to enter the play of Stahkail’s guns!
Perhaps not, yet that was clearly what they had in mind. In fact, as he watched, the first galleon dropped a stern anchor. Her companions continued onward, and then a second ship anchored by the stern, as well. Then a third. A fourth. They were actually anchoring, forming a line and making themselves unmoving targets, and Jahras frowned in disbelief as he realized they had springs on their anchor cables. They were deliberately courting an artiller
y duel with heavy fortress guns protected by thick masonry walls!
Thin white waterspouts began to pock the surface of the waves around the anchored Charisians, but they went calmly about the business of taking in sail. Then they began adjusting their positions, using the springs to wind themselves around until they presented their broadsides directly to Stahkail’s fortress. They seemed in no hurry, almost as if they were unaware of the plumes of smoke rising from the furnaces Stahkail was using to heat his round shot until they glowed cherry-red. One or two of those heated shot lodged in a ship’s timbers could turn it into an inferno, yet they appeared unconcerned by the possibility. What kind of madmen-?
***
“All guns cleared away and prepared to fire, Sir!” Ahldahs Rahzwail’s executive officer informed him. “Elevation thirty-five degrees.”
“Very well, Master Byrk. You may open fire.”
***
Baron Jahras’ fingers tightened convulsively on the barrel of his spyglass as the first of the galleons fired. He could actually see the trajectory of their shot, and they arched impossibly high, lofting across the blue sky in a delicate arc that took them over the top of the fortress’ curtain wall and dropped straight into its interior.
