A Mighty Fortress

by David Weber

  Despite that, his ship was badly hit, and he knew it. He’d lost five guns out of his larboard broadside, and his starboard gun crews had been badly thinned by the need to replace killed and wounded in the other battery. He’d never had enough gunners to completely man both broadsides simultaneously; at this rate, he wouldn’t have anybody at all on the starboard guns entirely too quickly.

  Someone cheered suddenly, and he wheeled back around just in time to see Grand Vicar Mahrys’ mizzenmast pitch over the side. The Dohlaran galleon slowed abruptly, and it was obvious the wreckage was hampering her steering. As Pawal watched, her main topgallant followed the mizzen and the battered Dohlaran fell off before the wind, drifting down to leeward.

  Something loomed in the corner of his vision, and he looked to starboard just as Shield came forging up on his disengaged side, leaning hard to the wind with the reefs shaken out of her topsails and her courses set below them. Her lee gunports were barely two feet above the wave tops as she heeled heavily, and he knew instantly what Aiwain had in mind,

  He snatched off his hat, waving it at the other ship. “Look at that, boys!” he shouted. “Shield’s going to bloody those bastards’ nose for them!”

  At least some of his men heard him, and he heard them raise a cheer in reply. It wasn’t much of a cheer, not with so many of them already down, but it was far from defeated, and he bared his teeth in a fierce grin.

  Of course, there’s still the two bastards Aiwain was fighting before, he thought harshly. I’m sure they’ll be alongside us soon enough. But let the lads cheer for now.

  Even with her increased sail, Shield had needed a good fifteen minutes to overtake and pass Dart. She’d been out of action that entire time, and Harys Aiwain had felt the dull ache of his clenched jaw muscles as he heard the renewed thunder of artillery from behind him. He knew the fourth and fifth Dohlaran galleons were crowding in on Dart, battering away at the badly wounded flag-ship with fresh fury, yet there was nothing he could do about that. Pawal was just going to have to hang on while Shield dealt with Rakurai and Bedard.

  At least the respite had given time for him to reorganize his gun crews, reload carefully, and carry out some of the most essential rigging repairs while Shield forged ahead, leaning to the pressure on her canvas. He felt himself urging her along as she crept steadily ahead of Dart, and his brain clicked like one of the newfangled abacuses, calculating ranges and bearings.

  “Brail up the courses!” he shouted as the abacus in his head came together with a glimpse of the lead Dohlaran’s mastheads above the thinning smoke. Hands dashed to sheets and tacks and clewlines, and the sails began rising like huge curtains drawn by invisible hands.

  The smoke was even thinner now. Shield was well ahead of Dart and still traveling considerably faster, and . . .

  There!

  “On the uproll!” he barked, then paused a moment and—

  “Fire as you bear!”

  Caitahno Raisahndo stood drumming the fingers of his right hand on the binnacle and squinting against the omnipresent, choking smoke as Rakurai crept slowly but steadily ahead. Another ten minutes, fifteen at the outside, and he’d be far enough ahead to come still farther up to windward. With the Charisian’s rigging damaged, Rakurai was certain to be able to get closer to the wind. With just a very little luck, he was going to cross Dart’s bows and—

  Another ship’s bowsprit and headsails pushed suddenly clear of the smoke, and Raisahndo’s squinted eyes flew wide. It was the second Dohlaran galleon, and she’d set her courses without his noticing through the smoke and the confusion.

  And through my concentration on their lead ship, he admitted, and cursed himself for letting it happen. He shouldn’t have permitted his attention to narrow, but it was too late for that now.

  The Dohlaran captain was running a risk carrying that much canvas in the middle of a battle. The wind pressure on the additional sail area increased the strain on his rigging badly—even a normally minor hit aloft could produce serious damage to masts or spars under those conditions—and too much heel could drive his opened gunports under, flooding his ship. But he’d accomplished what he wanted, and his untouched courses, already disappearing as he cleared the obstacle of his flagship, looked impossibly white and pure against the dirty gray walls of smoke and the torn and stained canvas above them.

  Raisahndo didn’t have long to contemplate their beauty, however. Even as he began to bark orders of his own, fire flashed in Shield’s gunports.

  The range was just under two hundred yards. That was long range for a naval engagement, but Shield had been given time to get ready for it, and for the first time, she was firing on the uproll, not the downroll. The carefully aimed and prepared broadside scorched across the water between her and Rakurai, and the Dohlaran ship’s foremast disintegrated.

  “Damn it!” Raisahndo swore viciously as his foremast went over the side. His main topgallant mast went with it, and Rakurai wallowed at the sudden loss of sail area. The abrupt disappearance of the headsails made bad infinitely worse. Their most important function was to counterbalance her rudder and mizzen during maneuvers; with them gone, she fell off even more quickly than Grand Vicar Mahrys had.

  Shieldaltered course as well, preparing to swoop down on Rakurai and finish her off, but Bedard charged forward to intercept her as Captain Krahl interposed his ship between her and his own damaged flagship.

  Zhon Pawal staggered, all but knocked off his feet as one of his quarterdeck Marines slammed into him. For a moment he thought the corporal had been hit, but only for a moment. Just long enough for the Marine to shove him out of the way of the toppling mizzen.

  The falling mast crushed at least three other members of Dart’s crew, and the galleon staggered almost as badly as her captain had. Like the upper sections of the mainmast before it, the mizzen plunged over the side, dragging at the crippled ship, and once more axes and cutlasses flashed amid the wreckage.

  Pawal took one heartbeat to slap the Marine on the shoulder in ac know -ledg ment and thanks, then turned back to the battle as HMS Guardsman and HMS Prince of Dohlar charged up to complete Dart’s destruction.

  Captain Mahrtyn Zhermain couldn’t see what was happening ahead of the Dohlaran flagship. In fact, he couldn’t see much of anything through the choking smother of gunsmoke. It was everywhere, blinding watering eyes, tearing at noses and lungs. Despite frequent gunnery practices, he truly hadn’t realized until this moment just how thick and totally obscuring the smoke from so many cannon was going to be. But he could still make out the ghost- like, foggy shape of the target he’d been closing in upon for so long.

  “Fire!” he shouted, and Prince of Dohlar’s first broadside ripped into Dart.

  An entire section of Dart’s midships bulwark disintegrated. Two of her carronades were dismounted, and another twenty- three of her crew were killed or wounded. Captain Pawal staggered into the carnage, shouting orders through a throat that felt ripped raw, lending his own hands to clear away the wreckage.

  She can’t take a lot more, he thought. She just can’t.

  “Stand to your guns, boys!” he heard himself shouting. “Hammer the bastards!”

  The enemy’s fire was finally beginning to falter, Mahrdai Saigahn thought, and about damned time, too. Now that his own Guardsman and Prince of Dohlar had gotten to grips with her, the Charisian galleon had been engaged against all five members of Captain Raisahndo’s squadron... and she’d given as good as she’d gotten to all of them.

  They may be frigging heretics, Saigahn thought harshly, but they’ve got Chihiro’s own guts! Not that it’s going to do them much good very much longer.

  “Pound her!” he shouted. “Pound the bitch!”

  Zhermain watched Dart’s mizzen crumple and, like Saigahn, he realized it was only a matter of time, now. He still didn’t know what was going on at the head of the line, but with three Dohlaran galleons against a single Charisian, he wasn’t too concerned about that. No, that was up to Rai
sahndo, Krahl, and Rohsail. He and Saigahn had their own kraken to land, and—

  “Fire as you bear!”

  It had taken far too long, but Ahrnahld Stywyrt felt his lips draw back in a hunting dragon’s grin. The smoke and the Dohlarans’ concentration on Dart and Shield had concealed Squall’s approach. He hadn’t been able to see the enemy much better than they could have seen him—assuming they’d been looking—but he’d steered by what he could see of their mastheads. Now, leaning dangerously to the wind with all sail set to the royals, Squall came charging out of the smoke, erupting almost directly across Prince of Dohlar’s stern at a range of barely thirty yards.

  Gunport by gunport, all down her starboard side, double- shotted new- model krakens and thirty- pounder carronades bellowed. There were eighteen guns in that broadside. They hurled thirty- six carefully- aimed iron balls, each six inches in diameter, down the full length of Prince of Dohlar’s decks. The Dohlaran galleon’s stern windows disintegrated, and round shot screamed the full length of her gundeck, killing gunners, dismounting weapons.

  Mahrtyn Zhermain never had time to realize what had happened before one of those round shot tore him in half. Another dismounted three of Prince of Dohlar’s quarterdeck guns. That single broadside killed or wounded a third of the galleon’s entire crew, and, even worse, one shot smashed into her tiller head, and her wheel spun loosely as her rudder flapped freely.

  With no way to steer, she fell off, pivoting to point her bow straight down-wind.

  “Hard a larboard!” Stywyrt snapped. “In royals and courses!”

  Acknowledgments came back, and the wheel spun to the left as the topmen poised aloft started fisting in the canvas.

  Squall’s rudder kicked to the right, and the ship turned sharp to starboard. Her speed had carried her past Prince of Dohlar, and her new heading brought her swinging back around onto a southwesterly heading.

  “Hands to sheets and braces! Back the main topsail!”

  With so many men tending to her sails, Squall had only enough men to man a single broadside, but she slowed abruptly as the main topsail was thrown aback. It reduced her speed even more quickly, steadying her up just as Prince of Dohlar fell completely off the wind and pointed her bow into Squall’s starboard broadside.

  “Fire!”

  Another broadside ripped into the staggering Dohlaran. There was no way for Stywyrt to know how devastating his two broadsides had been. Prince of Dohlar was obviously badly hurt, yet there was no time to finish her off. Guards-man was still furiously engaged against Dart— Stywyrt couldn’t even tell if the Dohlaran galleon realized what had just happened to her consort—and Dart’s fire was beginning to falter.

  “Larboard your helm!” he commanded once more, and Squall came sweeping still farther around, taking the wind on her starboard bow. “Brace round the main topsail, Master Mahldyn! Hands to the larboard battery, there!”

  Mahrdai Saigahn wheeled around in shock at the sudden eruption of cannon fire astern of him. For just a moment, his mind was completely blank, unable to grasp what it could be. Then, like the flash of Langhorne’s own rakurai, understanding struck, and he swore vilely.

  Damn it! Damn it! He’d known there were three of them all along, and he’d let himself forget. Let himself get so focused, so concentrated on the ship alongside, that he’d completely ignored the threat of its second consort!

  Even through the blinding banks of gunsmoke, he could see Prince of Dohlar’s masts swinging around as she fell downwind. Despite the fact that her rigging appeared intact, it was obvious she was no longer under control, which meant either her wheel or her rudder must have carried away. In either case, she was no longer able to maneuver, and Saigahn swore again as the third Charisian, main topsail briefly backed to slow her as she charged along under an insane press of canvas, poured a second raking broadside into Prince of Dohlar’s bows.

  Even as he watched, the Charisian galleon was slicing up to lay herself between Guardsman and her current opponent, and Saigahn felt his belly knot at the thought of suddenly finding himself engaged at two- to- one odds. Especially twoto- one odds half of which was the completely untouched galleon which had just effectively knocked Prince of Dohlar out of action with just two broadsides.

  “Starboard your helm!” he commanded, and Guardsman fell quickly off to larboard. She swung downwind, momentarily offering her stern to Squall, as she broke away to leeward.

  It was Ahrnahld Stywyrt’s turn to swear.

  Squallwas still moving faster than either Dart or Guardsman as he used her momentum to drive between the other two galleons. Even his well- drilled crew was frantically busy as gunners thundered across the deck from right to left and Guardsman’s abrupt turn exposed her stern. It would have been the perfect, lethal opening to rake his second opponent . . . if Squall’s own heading hadn’t robbed him of the opportunity. His larboard battery was loaded and ready, his starboard guncrews had gotten there in time to man the guns, but the two ships’ relative motion carried Guardsman outside the arc of Squall’s fire until she’d swung far enough to come almost parallel to her. Instead of the rake he’d almost achieved, the two ships passed in opposite directions, larboard- to-larboard on what amounted to reverse headings, with Guardsman to leeward of Squall. Stywyrt’s gunners were as disappointed as their captain by the lost opportunity, but they recovered quickly and poured a destructive broadside into their foe as they passed.

  Guardsmanwas unable to reply. She’d been engaged against Dart with her starboard battery. Her larboard guns had never been loaded or run out, and her crew was still frantically casting off lashings when Squall fired.

  The range was much longer than the range to Prince of Dohlar had been, and double- shotted guns were notoriously inaccurate at anything above half- pistol shot. On the other hand, Squall’s gunners were very good, and Guardsman staggered amid a chorus of screams as a fresh hurricane of iron blasted into her.

  Mahrdai Saigahn was no coward, or he would never have been hand picked by the Earl of Thirsk as one of his first galleon commanders. Yet he was no more immune to the effects of surprise than the next man, and he felt something entirely too much like panic as the Charisian broadside crashed into his ship.

  Stop it!he commanded himself fiercely. Yes, you let the bastards sneak up on you. Accept that—and deal with it!

  He shook his head, like a man shaking off a punch to the jaw, then drew a deep breath and looked around, assessing the situation.

  How did it go to shit so quickly?he wondered a moment later.

  Prince of Dohlarwas drifting on the wind, completely out of control. She’d cleared the worst of the smoke, as had Guardsman on her present course, and Saigahn could see her clearly now. Not that it was much comfort; judging from the chaos on her decks and the bodies hanging in her tops and draped over her hammock nettings, she must have been hit extraordinarily hard by the Charisian’s two broadsides. Worse, there was no evidence of any organized response to her difficulties, and Captain Zhermain was too good, too competent, for things to be . . . drifting that way if he were still on his feet.

  That was bad enough, but Grand Vicar Mahrys was even farther downwind than Prince of Dohlar or Guardsman herself. Unlike Zhermain’s ship, Rohsail clearly had Grand Vicar Mahrys under command, but her rigging had been severely damaged. It looked as if even Rohsail had had enough, and as Saigahn saw the streams of red oozing down her sides, human blood literally running from her scuppers, he didn’t blame the other captain one bit. And, just to make Saigahn’s day complete, Rakurai was making clumsily off to leeward, as best she could without foremast or headsails, as well.

  Which meant that, in effect, his own Guardsman and Krahl’s Bedard were the only effective Dohlaran galleons left.

  He looked back astern, where Squall had altered course yet again, coming up alongside Dart. Even as Saigahn watched, the Charisian flagship’s fore top-gallant and fore royal seemed to bend forward slowly, buckling into the smoke in a welter of snapping
shrouds and stays. No one had been firing at her at the moment, so it had to be the result of cumulative damage, but Saigahn wasn’t about to complain.

  More guns thundered from the southwest, and he turned his attention that way to see Bedard breaking off, as well. Ahndair Krahl was maintaining a brisk fire on his larger opponent, but his true purpose was clearly to cover his own wounded flagship until she could get clear.

  And what the hell dowe do? Mahrdai Saigahn asked himself harshly.

  Harys Aiwain watched Bedard veering away. Instinct urged him to follow up, crowding the smaller ship and pounding her into submission. Or at least driving her off while he finished his business with the Dohlaran flagship.

  Unfortunately, he still didn’t know what was happening astern of him. What he could see was that Dart’s fore topgallant and fore royal had gone by the board, leaving the flagship all but dismasted. Combined with the heavy casualties he already knew Pawal’s company had suffered, Dart would be all but helpless if anyone managed to get to grips with her. And while it was obvious Stywyrt had finally been able to bring Squall into action—apparently with crushing effectiveness—Aiwain had no idea how badly damaged Guardsman or Prince of Dohlar might actually be.

  He looked farther down to leeward and saw several columns of smoke rising from the sea. It looked as if Flash and Mace had managed to get to grips with the convoy, after all. He doubted they’d managed to pick off more than a few of the coasters before the others scattered, but some was better than none.