by David Weber
“Oh, crap,” the Desnairian Army lieutenant in charge of the observation post on the tip of Terrence Point muttered quietly, but with great feeling, as he bent to peer through the tripod- mounted telescope at the apparently endless column of Charisian ships.
“See what I mean, Sir?” his sergeant asked respectfully.
“I do, indeed, Sergeant,” the lieutenant acknowledged, straightening his back and glaring out to sea. “What I don’t see is what kind of bee got up their arses for them to suddenly be doing this kind of shit!”
He stood glowering at the Charisians, then sighed.
“Well, I suppose we’d better get the message off.”
“And so yet another brilliant strategy goes astray,” the Duke of Kholman murmured, gazing at the transcript of the semaphore message from the Terrence Point observation post. He shook his head, then laid the transcript on his desk, very carefully and precisely, and looked at Baron Jahras.
“You know,” he said almost whimsically, “I don’t know how much Cayleb Ahrmahk pays his spies, but it obviously isn’t enough. They must’ve known about our instructions almost as soon as we did!”
“Not necessarily,” Jahras disagreed. The duke frowned, and Jahras chuckled sourly. “Oh, I agree they know what’s going on, but they could have found out as much as a five- day or more after we did and still managed to arrange this.”
He flicked an index finger at the sheet of paper on Kholman’s desk.
“You’re right about another ‘brilliant’ plan going straight into the crapper, though,” he continued. “And it’s obviously another case of Vicar Allayn getting too clever for his own good. I can understand why he didn’t want us sailing prematurely. But the way it’s worked out, we’re screwed, at least until—and unless—Harpahr and Shaiow get close enough to threaten these people from the north.”
“That’s not precisely what we’re supposed to be doing,” the duke observed, and Jahras shrugged.
“Tell me something I don’t know, Daivyn! I’m not too clear on exactly how we’re supposed to ‘follow the plan,’ though. They haven’t put anything heavier than schooners and three or four galleons into our coastal waters for months now. Oh, I don’t doubt they’ve had more ships farther out to sea, ready to whistle up if we’d been foolish enough to come out, but they’ve obviously been relying on a distant blockade strategy. They didn’t want to keep us sealed in port; they wanted to draw us out where they could pounce on us in deep water, which is precisely why I had no intention at all of going there!
“Now, suddenly, they’ve got the next best thing to thirty galleons trailing their coats less than fifteen miles offshore. And there are more of the bastards farther out to sea. I’d say it’s pretty obvious they know we’ve been ordered to sortie . . . and they don’t plan on us doing anything of the sort!”
“The Captain General’s orders aren’t exactly discretionary, Urwyn,” Kholman pointed out.
“Oh, yes they are,” Jahras demurred. Kholman arched an eyebrow, and the baron snorted. “They say we’re supposed to make all preparations to insure that, when ordered to by semaphore, the fleet can sail—and I quote—‘at the earliest practicable moment.’ ”
“Which obviously means as soon as we get the order to put to sea. I am assuming that’s why they want us to prepare to go to sea, you know.”
“But that isn’t what they said.” Jahras smiled thinly. “If that’s what they meant, they should have said to sail ‘immediately upon receipt of the order.’ That’s nondiscretionary. ‘Practicable’ means I’m supposed to sail as soon as I can successfully get to sea and carry out my assigned mission. Which is going to be just a bit difficult, given that it looks very much as if the Charisians have massed at least fifty or sixty of their own galleons—bigger, faster, more heavily armed galleons—specifically to intercept us as we try to clear the Howard Passage. And, just to make bad worse, the wind’s in their favor and it’ll probably stay in their favor, three days out of five, for the foreseeable future.” He shook his head. “If I try to tack out of the Gulf of Jahras into the broadsides of that many galleons, they’ll pound my ships into driftwood before I ever clear the Passage, much less make it to the Tarot Channel. Which isn’t exactly the definition of ‘practicable,’ according to any dictionary with which I’m familiar.”
Kholman tipped back in his chair, frowning. He rather doubted Allayn Maigwair and Zhaspahr Clyntahn were likely to share his cousin- in- law’s interpretation of the order they’d meant to give him. Despite that, Jahras obviously had a point about what would happen if he took his own inexperienced ships into the teeth of that much highly experienced firepower. And even a confirmed landsman like Kholman could see the baron was also right about the added, deadly disadvantage of the wind. The Howard Passage was less than sixty miles across. After allowing for various banks and shoals, it was actually considerably narrower than that . . . and at the moment, the wind was blowing almost directly into it off the Gulf of Mathyas.
“They aren’t going to like hearing that,” he said mildly, and Jahras shrugged. “They also haven’t sent us the execute order yet,” he pointed out. “In fact, our instructions are very clear on that point. We’re supposed to prepare to sail but wait until they tell us Harpahr and Shaiow are far enough along, then sortie. It’s always possible Harpahr will never get close enough for them to issue that order. And if they do and it’s clearly not ‘practicable’ for us to obey it, we can tell them that then. If they want to amend our orders and tell me to sail at any cost, obviously I will. But not until they get a message back to us telling me they’re prepared for us to sustain the sort of losses I’ll take trying to obey. Which, even with the semaphore, will take a five- day or so.”
Kholman considered that, as well. Then he shook his head.
“I don’t disagree with you about how . . . unwise it would be to sortie into that kind of opposition. And this is clearly the sort of situation where the exercise of a certain discretion by the officers actually on the ground seems indicated. But the Temple’s declared Holy War. That kind of letter- of- my- orders argument may not work for the Grand Inquisitor. Especially if it comes at him cold.”
“I’m not a lunatic, Daivyn, and I don’t want Vicar Zhaspahr pissed off at me any more than the next man.” Jahras’ voice and expression alike were grimmer than they had been. “At the same time, I’m not going to lead our Navy into a sausage grinder when I know damned well what’s going to happen to it.”
“I don’t think you should. I just said this better not come at the Temple cold. I think we should send them a report on the current situation. We need to formally acknowledge our receipt of their instructions, anyway. So we tell them we’re storing the ships, rounding up as many of the men we still need as we can lay hands on, and generally preparing to sortie—as soon as ‘practicable’— when they order us to. But we also tell them we’ve got somewhere around two- thirds of the entire damned Imperial Charisian Navy offshore. Then, if they send us the execute order, and if the weather’s still against us and the Charisians haven’t reduced their strength, we send them another message that says that in light of the Charisian numbers which we had previously reported, coupled with unfavorable wind conditions, we believe the sortie isn’t ‘practicable’ without our suffering losses severe enough to prevent us from carrying out our end of the mission.”
It was Jahras’ turn to frown thoughtfully. It was always possible—even probable—the message Kholman was proposing to send would pass the actual execution order in transit. It might not, too, given how long it would take the northern force of galleons to approach the Gulf of Mathyas. In either case, though, preparing the ground ahead of time offered obvious advantages.
And the truth is,he reflected, with this damned many Charisians mucking around in the Gulf of Mathyas, we’ve already drawn off a huge chunk of their available strength. As Daivyn says, this has to be two- thirds of their total galleon strength. If Harpahr and Shaiow can’t break through Cayleb’s
remaining thirty or so ships with over a hundred of their own, we’re all totally and completely screwed already, anyway. Hmmmmm ...“I’d say you’re on the right track,” he said out loud. “The one thing I think we should add, though, is to point out how large a percentage of the Charisians’ strength we’ve drawn into our own waters. It might not hurt to plant a seed or two of our own by suggesting that what we have here is the opportunity to trap the Charisians between the anvil of our coast and Harpahr and Shaiow’s hammer.”
“Now that, Urwyn, strikes me as a very good notion!” Kholman said approvingly. “In that case, it would make perfect sense for us to sit tight, continuing to keep them drawn into our waters, until Harpahr and Shaiow can hit them from the other side, wouldn’t it? They may actually go ahead and change our orders to do exactly that, in light of the Charisians’ change in deployment.”
“I certainly won’t object if they do,” Jahras agreed. And not just because it’s a lot less likely to get my crews slaughtered, he added silently. Because the fact is, you’re right—that would be the most effective blow we could strike out of this whole over-elaborate operation of Maigwair’s.
“All right, Master Lathyk,” Sir Dunkyn Yairley told Destiny’s first lieutenant as the sun settled into a glowing bed of red and purple embers on the western horizon. “I think it’s time to stand a bit farther offshore before we snug everyone down for the night. We’ll bring the column to a north- by- northwest heading, if you please.”
“Aye, aye, Sir,” Rhobair Lathyk replied, and gestured to the signals midshipman to pass the order to the other ships.
Yairley left him to it, walking aft to stand at the taffrail, watching the galleons astern of Destiny while Lathyk’s orders sent the signal flags soaring up the halyards. He hoped the other ships were already prepared for the course change, which had been due about now under his standing orders. Sail drill was actually what most worried him about his entire mission, since it was what seemed most likely to alert the enemy to the truth. Those other galleons simply didn’t have the sort of manpower Destiny did, which was going to make it more difficult for them to carry out sailing evolutions with the sort of snap, precision, and speed that were hall-marks of a Charisian man- of- war.
Not too surprisingly, Yairley supposed, since Destiny and her sister Mountain Root were the only two real men- of- war in that entire long column.
We must’ve used up every can of black, white, and red paint in the entire city of Tellesberg,he thought now, shaking his head as he watched evening settle in. Who would’ve thought we could disguise an entire fleet of merchantmen just by slapping paint on their sides? Now all I have to do is make sure no one from Desnair gets close enough to smell the fresh turpentine.
.III.
HMS Ahrmahk, 58,
Markovian Sea
High Admiral Bryahn Lock Island stood pondering the chart on his table. Brilliant sunshine reflections danced across the cabin’s beams and deck-head, bouncing in through HMS Ahrmahk’s stern windows. They glittered and flashed in the hearts of the crystal paperweights anchoring the chart’s corners, and his brass dividers gleamed like tarnished gold where they lay across the heart of the Markovian Sea.
Ahrmahk’s estimated position was indicated on that chart, eight hundred miles northeast of Hammer Island and three hundred and sixty miles southwest of Selekar’s Point. In actual fact, as Lock Island knew, that “estimated” position was almost exactly correct. And, as he also knew courtesy of Owl, the reports from his schooners thirty miles farther north were also accurate . . . if somewhat incomplete.
He leaned forward, bracing himself on the table, trapping his position and the enemy’s between the index fingers and thumbs of his two hands.
Right about where you expected them, he thought. Well, actually, be honest—you didn’t really expect them to come this close to keeping their schedule, did you?
He pursed his lips, considering what he knew of the opposing commanders.
He knew quite a lot, actually, given Owl’s remotes. The commanding officer of the Temple Lands– built contingent—and the overall commander of the entire force—was Bishop Kornylys Harpahr, of the Order of Chihiro, who’d been named Admiral General of the Church’s navy. Of course, the Church had never had a navy before, and Harpahr had no experience commanding warships. He did, however, have extensive peacetime experience in the Temple Guard, and despite his silver hair, he was also relatively young—little more than fifty—and vigorous. Smart, too, from everything Lock Island had been able to see. That was unfortunate. And so was the fact that he was obviously a Temple hardliner.
Fortunately, no one in the Temple had any idea of the sort of staff arrangements towards which Earl Thirsk was working, but the men responsible for planning the organization of the newly christened “Navy of God” clearly possessed working brains. They’d divided their galleon strength into six- ship squadrons, each under the command of a senior prelate with Guard experience, and then assigned each admiral- bishop a flag captain from the Church’s coast guard, customs, and courier ser vice. That experience wasn’t remotely the same as commanding a warship in action, but it meant each of the bishops at least had an adviser with an understanding of the limitations on a ship’s maneuverability.
Bishop Kornylys’ flag captain was Father Ahrnahld Taibahld, the Schuelerite upper- priest who commanded NGS Sword of God, Harpahr’s flagship. He was ten years younger than his admiral, and even more energetic. Dark- haired and dark- eyed, he was anything but a fool, and he’d spent close to twenty years in the Church’s coast guard. The two of them got along well—another unfortunate thing, from Lock Island’s perspective—and, even worse, Taibahld knew Harpahr was not only willing to listen to his advice but expected him to volunteer it.
They’re going to make mistakes,Lock Island mused, but they won’t be stupid mistakes. Not like the ones Malikai made at Rock Point. No, they’ll be inexperienced mistakes. The sort smart people make when they have to do something they’re not really trained to do. I’m going to have to keep that in mind.
The Harchong contingent, on the other hand, had a far more satisfactory command structure. Lock Island found the Imperial Harchongese Navy’s rank titles a little ridiculous, but that was probably to be expected from a force that was technically the largest navy in the world, yet kept fewer ships in commission than Corisande, alone. Of course, they’d always maintained an officer corps big enough to command all of the ships they didn’t have in commission, as well. Worse, once a man earned the equivalent of captain’s rank, all promotion in the IHN was based solely on seniority.
As a consequence, the senior officer afloat was one Chyntai Shaiow, the Duke of Sun Rising, who rejoiced in the title of Admiral of the Broad Oceans. A cousin of Emperor Waisu, he’d served (officially) in the IHN since two years before his actual birth. That, coupled with the appropriate bribes and the inherent corruption of all things Harchongese, had gotten him commissioned a captain of winds the month he turned sixteen. Of course, he’d never actually set foot on a naval vessel until he was twenty- one, but that sort of subterfuge was standard in Harchong, probably because it was the only way for anyone to attain flag rank when he was still at least theoretically young and vigorous enough to do some good.
Admiral of the Broad Oceans Sun Rising flew his streamer in IHNS Flower of Waters. He was currently seventy- five years old, his health was poor, and he tended to go off on long rambling discourses at captains’ conferences. No one would have dared say anything of the sort—not in Harchong!— yet Lock Island knew at least some of Sun Rising’s subordinates realized he was the wrong man in the wrong place. Unfortunately for them, he probably came the closest to being the right man of anyone of the appropriate seniority. Besides, his towering birth made him the only possible candidate for such a prestigious and important command.
Captain of Winds Shoukhan Khowsan, who commanded Sun Rising’s flagship, was rather a different sort. Obviously, he had to be oppressively well-born to hold his
current command, and although his own title was simply that of the Count of Wind Mountain, he was also the second son of the Duke of Dancing Water. And the Duke of Dancing Water, like every other Harchongese duke, was one of the emperor’s cousins.
That was about the sole point of similarity between Wind Mountain and Sun Rising, however. The captain of winds was twenty years younger than the admiral of the broad oceans, and there was nothing wrong with his brain. He had far less experience than a Charisian officer chosen for his position would have had, but he was more experienced than just about anyone else the IHN might have chosen. Fortunately, his father and Sun Rising detested one another, which meant his relations with his admiral weren’t remotely like the mutual respect which flourished between Harpahr and Taibahld. “Icily correct” was probably the best way to describe them, which suited Bryahn Lock Island just fine.
What was it that fellow Merlin was talking about the other day said?Lock Island frowned, trying to remember the man’s name. Napoleon? Something like that, anyway.
The high admiral’s frown turned into a grimace at his inability to remember the name, yet as he pondered the other side’s command arrangements, he understood exactly what whatever- his- name- was had meant when he called another general fortunate because he only had to fight coalitions.
Any coalition’s only as good as its coordination,he thought. And until the Group of Four have been smacked around enough, I don’t think they’re likely to do the kind of arse- kicking necessary to make something like the Harchongese Navy coordinate with anybody. For that matter, I don’t know if anyone short of God or a genuine Archangel could kick that kind of aristocratic arse!
The thought was comforting... but only until he remembered that only nineteen of the ninety- three armed galleons coming his way were Harchongese. The other seventy- four had all been built, armed, and manned by the Temple Lands. That was another kraken entirely, and not just because of the difference in the officers corps involved, either.