How Firm a Foundation (67 page)

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.