A Mighty Fortress

by David Weber

  .IV.

  HMS Chihiro, 50,

  Gorath Bay,

  Kingdom of Dohlar

  The Earl of Thirsk turned away from the stern windows as Lieutenant Bahrdailahn ushered his visitors into Chihiro’s great cabin. “Gentlemen,” the earl said quietly. “My Lord,” Caitahno Raisahndo, as the senior officer, replied for all four of them.

  “Please,” Thirsk gestured at the four chairs facing his desk. “Be seated.”

  They obeyed the politely phrased command, and he stood for a moment longer, considering them, before crossing to sit behind the desk.

  All of them—especially Raisahndo and Rohsail—looked exhausted. In addition, Rohsail was in obvious discomfort, despite a determined effort to hide it. His left elbow had brushed the arm of his chair in sitting, and the fingers of his left hand had twitched in an automatic pain reaction where they protruded from the sling.

  There was more than simple exhaustion, or even pain, in the shadowed eyes gazing back at him, however, and he folded his hands on the desk before him.

  “I’ve read your reports, and those of your first officers—your acting first officer, in your case, Captain Krahl. There are, of course, certain inconsistencies. Given the confusion of a sea action, it’s scarcely surprising none of you observed exactly the same things. Despite that, however, I believe a clear and consistent picture emerges, and I have so advised Bishop Staiphan and Duke Thorast.”

  He paused, and the tension in the quiet cabin could have been sawn into chunks.

  “I have also advised them,” he continued after a moment, in the same calm voice, “that I fully approve of your actions. That, in fact, I believe they reflect great credit upon all four of you and upon your ships’ companies.”

  No one actually so much as moved a muscle, but it was as if four sets of lungs had simultaneously exhaled, and the earl permitted himself a small smile. Then he leaned forward slightly over the desk.

  “Don’t mistake me, Gentlemen. I would have been even happier if you’d managed to take one or two of the Charisians. Or, for that matter, if we hadn’t lost five ships out of the convoy and both galleys of the close escort, as well.” He smiled again, a bit more thinly. “Which completely leaves aside the little matter of Prince of Dohlar.”

  None of the captains facing him replied. Which didn’t exactly surprise him.

  “I’m sure it comes as no surprise to any of you that I should feel that way,” he continued. “For that matter, I’m confident each of you agree with me. But what ever we might wish, no one can simply snap his fingers and magically produce victory in a sea fight. True, you had the enemy outnumbered, and I won’t pretend I haven’t heard a few comments—all of them from individuals who weren’t there, I might observe—to that effect. In every case, however, I have reminded those making the comments that your vessels were individually smaller, your guns were lighter, and that Cayleb of Charis would have hand-picked his most experienced captains for a deployment this far from Charis. In other words, Gentlemen, in your very first battle, you were up against the other side’s very best.

  “Obviously, we don’t want to get into the habit of assuming we’ll always need a numerical advantage of two- to- one. Nor, for that matter, do I think that situation will obtain indefinitely. For the moment, however, given the relative inexperience of your ships’ companies and your officers, and how new all of us are to this style of naval warfare, I think you did extremely well. For the first time, a Charisian naval squadron has been turned back short of its objective. Yes, you lost one of your own vessels. And your casualties—especially yours, Sir Dahrand—were severe. But at no time did you allow the engagement to degenerate into a rout, and your crews fought well from beginning to end. I see no evidence of defeatism on anyone’s part, unlike the complete collapse of morale we suffered the first time we encountered Charisian galleons.”

  His bared teeth bore very little resemblance to a smile. “Trust me, Gentlemen. What I saw in Crag Reach when Cayleb came sailing out of the teeth of a gale in the middle of the night was just that—a complete and total moral collapse. I saw ships under my command run themselves on shore, set themselves on fire, rather than face the Charisians in combat. I understand why that happened, and the shock of their firepower came as just as great a surprise to me as to anyone else. But what strikes me most strongly about your engagement is that no one panicked. You didn’t, your officers didn’t, and your crews didn’t.

  “I’m sure you also learned a great deal. That experience is going to stand the entire Navy in extremely good stead, and I’ll be asking all of you to share it with your fellow captains. From a long-term strategic perspective, that will be a priceless advantage.

  “As for our relative losses, while I’m sure all of us regret Prince of Dohlar’s loss, we need to remember how far from home the Charisians are. It’s evident that at least one of their galleons was severely hammered. Their casualties may well be as severe as your own, and they, unlike you, are thousands of miles from replacements. By the same token, we have fully equipped dockyards and shipyards to deal with the damages to your vessels; they don’t. At best, they have Claw Island, and I would hardly call Hardship Bay an ideal place to make repairs. Not to mention the fact that first they have to get there. Under those circumstances, I believe any impartial judge would be forced to consider the outcome of your battle as a draw, at the very worst. In my own opinion, it was in fact a strategic victory.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sure some might conclude I’m simply trying to find a bright side to look upon. If anyone should decide that, however, they’ll be in error. I’m not saying all your decisions were perfect, because they weren’t, and in a few minutes we’ll begin discussing where mistakes were made, what lessons can be drawn from them, and how they can be corrected. But you fought and fought hard, and completely irrespective of the casualties and damage you inflicted, the enemy’s going to think two or three times before he divides his forces into such small squadrons again. That’s going to have a significant impact on his ability to interdict our shipping.

  “I’ve made those same points to Bishop Staiphan, to Duke Thorast, to Duke Fern, and in my own written report to His Majesty. And I’ve also made the point that our strength is steadily increasing. I intend, shortly, to take the offensive, Gentlemen, and when I do”— he looked them in the eyes—“you and your ships will be in the van.”

  All four of the captains, even Rohsail, were sitting straight in their chairs now. They were still weary and worn, but their eyes glowed, and he nodded in satisfaction. He’d meant every word he said. Oh, he’d dressed it up a bit, glossed over a few parts, but in the main, he’d been completely sincere.

  Because theydid do well—damned well, he thought. Even allowing for honest overestimates on their part—hell, even allowing for a certain amount of deliberate exaggeration on their part!— they hammered the crap out of at least one of the Charisians. And the Charisians know that as well as I do. It’s going to affect the way they think, how willing they are to take risks. And it’s going to do the same thing for our own crews. We’re not going to magically turn into the scourge of the seas overnight, but this action is the first step in convincing ourselves—and the Charisians— that Cayleb’s navy isn’t really invincible. And that, my friends, is worth every man you lost. Yes, and Prince of Dohlar into the bargain.

  “And now, Gentlemen,” he said with a smile, “since I’ve reassured you of my approval, let’s start examining those mistakes. But don’t worry. I promise”— his smile grew a bit broader—“to be gentle.”

  .V.

  HMS Dancer, 56,

  Trove Island,

  Gulf of Dohlar

  Sir Gwylym Manthyr glowered across the dark, blue- black waters of Chelm Bay. The sun had disappeared beyond the bulk of Trove Island behind him, and shadows had stretched themselves across the bay, turning its surface into ink, but the upper yards of Squall and Shield were gilded by the last level rays of sunset, reaching across T
rove’s heights.

  HMS Dart’s weren’t, since she didn’t have any upper yards.

  Work parties labored steadily on Captain Pawal’s ship. They’d already set up a new mizzenmast and a new main topmast, and given the ingenuity and skill of Charisian seamen, Manthyr was confident they’d make the damage to her rigging good before Thirsk could react by sending a more powerful squadron to evict the squatters on Trove Island.

  On the other hand, I think we can take it as a given that he’ll besending that squadron. Manthyr shook his head. And before he does, I’m going to have to rethink my estimate of his combat capability.

  He let his eyes rest on the fourth galleon lying to anchor in the small bay. Repairs to Prince of Dohlar had actually been faster and easier to make, and although working parties still labored on her, as well, she was essentially ready for sea. In most ways, Manthyr was glad to see her. Her guns didn’t match those of any of his other vessels, and all the ammunition he had for them was what was already in her shot lockers. Still, she represented a useful boost to his overall strength, and her capture was evidence of what Manthyr’s captains and crews could accomplish even at three- to- five odds.

  As were the fifty percent casualties Captain Stywyrt had inflicted upon her Dohlaran company.

  Manthyr scowled as that thought reminded him of his own casualties . . . and why his gratitude at seeing the captured galleon wasn’t unalloyed. His eyes moved back to Dart, and his scowl deepened.

  Eighty- four of Pawal’s crew had been killed or wounded in the battle. Squall had escaped with only three wounded, but Shield had suffered another thirty- two casualties. That was a hundred and nineteen sailors and Marines out of action, and seventy- one of them were dead. It was likely a third of the survivors would be permanently disabled, as well. Even if they weren’t, it would be a long time before they returned to duty. But the pressing point was that those casualties represented a third of a galleon’s total complement, and his supply of replacements was limited.

  Verylimited.

  The admiral crossed his arms across his chest, leaning one shoulder moodily into the window frame as he contemplated that unpalatable fact.

  He’d anticipated personnel losses. Even aboard a Charisian ship, there were always ways a man could be killed or injured. Falls from aloft, accidents at gunnery practice, hands or feet accidentally crushed moving any of the myriad heavy weights aboard a warship ....Unlike some navies, at least drunkenness was seldom a factor in the ICN. Other navies—the pre- conquest Corisandian navy and, especially, the Imperial Harchongese Navy came forcibly to mind—provided daily issues of rum to their crews. The men in those navies looked forward to their daily “tots” as a palliative for the boredom, drudgery, and (especially aboard Harchongese ships) misery of their lives, and more than a few spent as much of their time in an alcohol- induced fog as possible.

  Manthyr was a naturally abstemious man, yet he had had nothing against alcohol. Nor did he begrudge his men what ever small pleasures they could find. The Charisian Navy’s position for over a hundred years, however, had been that drunkenness on duty was unacceptable. It was one of the few offenses for which the Navy still prescribed flogging for an enlisted man; in an officer’s case, it cost him his commission. Fortunately, conditions aboard Charisian warships were far better than most of those other navies could boast. Charisian seamen seldom felt the need to escape into a drunken haze, and even if they had, opportunities would have been few. Not that alcohol was completely banned aboard Charisian warships. Their crews were issued beer (and good beer, at that) every day, usually for their mid day meal; for supper, at other times. And rum was often issued for medicinal purposes or on celebratory occasions. But it was kept under lock and key between such instances and was nowhere near as available as in other navies.

  As a consequence, the accident rate aboard Charisian warships was barely a tenth as high as that aboard, say, a Harchongese galley.

  Accidents still happened, though, and despite all the Order of Pasquale could do about diet and hygiene, the packed living conditions aboard any warship, with its manpower- intensive crew and inescapably damp environment, too often became breeding grounds for disease. So, yes, he’d allowed for a certain number of casualties even exclusive of any which might be inflicted by enemy action.

  Unfortunately, it was evident his estimates had been low. The battle off Dragon Island represented the first true test case for what was likely to happen when the Imperial Charisian Navy confronted equally determined, properly designed enemy galleons, and it was clear to him that he’d been overconfident. Pawal’s small squadron had triumphed despite a significant numerical disadvantage, and Manthyr strongly suspected his ships had inflicted heavier casualties than they’d taken. Yet from the squadron’s reports, he also suspected that if the Dohlaran commander had been prepared to haul off to make repairs, then renew the action, the result might have been much less satisfactory.

  And what ever happened here, I’m down half a galleon’s crew—probably more than that, by now, in the squadron as a whole, allowing for accidents and disease—and I’ve just added an additional ship. So where, exactly, do I find the men to man them?

  The question had a certain pertinency, yet at the moment it actually came second to a more pressing concern. The Earl of Thirsk was a tough- minded professional. He’d draw much the same conclusions Manthyr had. And, unlike Manthyr, Thirsk was in a position of steadily increasing strength. It was unlikely a man like that, with the evidence of how well his captains had done at Dragon Island, wouldn’t be looking for ways to use that growing strength.

  We should have brought more schooners, Manthyr thought. What I really need to do is to send a couple of dozen of them out to operate in dependently and raise Shanwei’s own mischief. Let them pounce on Dohlaran and Harchongese shipping in as many places as possible. That would force Thirsk to spread his galleons out, and he’d play hell running down any of the schooners. But I don’t have enough of them to be everywhere they’d need to be, which means he’s going to be able to cover his most important shipping in convoys, like he did at Dragon Island, and still free up the strength—if not now, soon enough—to try something a bit more offensive. And the only way I’m going to have the strength to stop him is going to be to keep my own galleons concentrated.

  He didn’t care for that conclusion. He was supposed to be whittling down the Church’s naval forces, and his new appreciation of the Dohlaran Navy’s combat worthiness was going to make that more difficult. He knew he’d already imposed a significant delay on the Dohlaran building program. He’d captured or sunk too many cannon- laden coasters and shipments of turpentine, pitch, spars, and every other variety of naval stores imaginable for any other result. And he was confident he could inflict still more delay, still more damage. But he was going to have to operate more defensively, and the less aggressive he could be, the less effective he was going to become.

  And if Thirsk is willing to commit to offensive operations of his own, the first item on his list is going to be Trove Island. And even if Major Wyndayl’s Marines had enough heavy artillery to hold the anchorage forever—which they don’t—there’s a limit to how long a siege they could stand. If Thirsk has the galleon strength to drive us off, he could isolate the island with just a handful of old- style galleys. And if I don’t have the strength to break through and lift Wyndayl out, Thirsk will eventually starve him and his men into surrender, however willing to hold out they might be.

  He sighed as he admitted that.

  Well, it’s not the end of the world, Gwylym, he told himself philosophically. Trove’s been convenient and useful as hell, but it’s not essential. You’ve got the transportsWyndayl arrived on, so it’s time you pulled him out and sent him back to Claw Island. That’s a lot more defensible, anyway, and by the time Thirsk starts getting any ambitious ideas about Claw, he’s going to be a hell of a long way from his own ports. And in the meantime, you can probably raise quite a bit of hell with the Harch
ongese.

  He nodded sharply, turned and walked to the cabin door. He opened it and poked his head out.

  “Yes, Sir?” Lieutenant Rahzmahn said, looking up and then rising from his seat behind Manthyr’s desk, where he’d been working on the squadron’s accounts.

  “I’ll want to meet with Pawal, Aiwain, Stywyrt, and Captain Mahgail after supper to night, Dahnyld,” Manthyr told him. “See to it that they’re informed, please. And I suppose you’d better warn Naiklos, too.”

  .VI.

  HMS Ahrmahk, 58,

  The Charis Sea,

  and

  HMS Dawn Wind, 54,

  Carter’s Ocean

  What do you think about Gwylym’s new plans, Merlin?” Bryahn Lock Island asked quietly.

  At the moment, the high admiral was stretched out in his cot aboard HMS Ahrmahk, his fifty- eight- gun flagship. Given the normal sounds of a ship underway through six- foot seas, no one was likely to overhear him even if he spoke in a normal conversational tone. He had no intention of risking being wrong about that, however.

  Merlin Athrawes, sitting on the stern galley of HMS Dawn Wind while he gazed out at the early dawn several thousand miles to the east, had no problem with that. He was just grateful Cayleb had made it a priority on his return to Tellesberg to bring Lock Island fully into the inner circle before the high admiral returned to his fleet at sea. For the moment, Lock Island—like everyone else immediately after being told the truth—was being compulsively cautious, which was a trait of which Merlin approved.

  “I think they make a lot of sense under the circumstances,” he said now, in reply to the earl’s question.

  “I have to admit I was a bit taken aback myself by how effective Raisahn -do’s squadron was,” he continued. “I don’t suppose I should’ve been—we’ve all been reminding ourselves for months that Thirsk is probably the most dangerous commander on the other side—but I was.” His lips quirked. “Maybe I’ve been a Charisian long enough to start suffering from that . . . exuberant self- confidence that makes you so universally beloved by every other navy.”