Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two

by N. C. Reed

  “Begging your pardon, Admiral,” Commodore Anthony David, commanding officer of the Key Horn Squadron raised a hand. “That could also indicate that this is a trap designed to lure our fleet in and destroy it.”

  “That is correct,” Semmes again his pleasure at the observations of his commanders. “The enemy had been very clever indeed this time, gentlemen. They have presented us with an issue we cannot ignore, regardless of their intentions. They have managed to place us in a position where we have no choice but to attack them. With that decision taken from us, as well as the place of the engagement, we have only two items left that we can influence.”

  “When we attack, and how,” Thomas George, Commodore of the Savannah Squadron nodded firmly. “We must choose the time of the engagement and set the terms for it.”

  “Precisely,” Semmes nodded. “The 'when' is as soon as possible. With that in mind, we strike anchor tomorrow at sun-up. We should have moderately favorable winds for most of the day, but we will also make use of the oars where necessary because time is our enemy and a Norland ally. Every day we allow this engagement to be drawn out and left undecided is another day that the southern corps cannot ride to the aid of the northern army groups. We cannot allow this situation to continue. It will be a race as it is for our men to arrive before news of the Nor fleet's defeat reaches their army in the west.”

  “This will be our plan of attack.” For the next twenty minutes Semmes outlined his plans. When he finished he had the expected results. Some were anxious to go, others showed concern.

  “This is a complex attack plan, Admiral,” Hampton Rhode, Commodore of the Sunshine Squadron noted with a frown. “If our timing is off, we run the risk of being defeated in detail.”

  “I know,” Semmes nodded. “Understand gentlemen, our defeat, even our destruction as a fighting force, is acceptable so long as those troopships are sunk. If they have soldiers aboard, then most will perish in the sea. If they are empty, then we'll know that too. So long as our messenger cutter survives to carry that news to the Prince, we will have done our duty.”

  Somber faces looked back at him from around the room at this declaration.

  “I know that your training dictates the conservation of your ships and men when and where possible,” Semmes said gently. “Further, the loss of even a single man should be anathema to a good Captain, as should the loss of a ship under his command. In any other situation that would be true but here,” he slapped the map with his right hand, “that situation is different. We cannot win this war ourselves, out here on the sea. We can decide who wins on the land, however, with this engagement. Therefore, we will prevail, even if it means the loss of every ship and every man in this fleet. If you do not believe that you can follow those instructions, now is the time to say so.”

  “I will not punish a man who thinks he cannot do his duty to crown and kingdom in this one instance,” he said flatly. “You will be returned to shore and reassigned to some other duty. There will be no mark against a man who chooses that path.”

  There would of course. It wouldn't be official and the Admiral himself, should he survive, would not hold it against a man professionally, but any Captain who walked away from a threat to his land would not be forgiven by his peers. Those present at the battle would forever look upon him as having deserted his ship and mates, while those not present would be angry at his having passed over the opportunity they themselves would have given all to have. That was the way of fighting men the world over. Many things might differ from nation to nation, but the honor and dignity of the men who did the actual fighting would remain in some form no matter what banner they fought under. There were a few unwritten rules that applied almost everywhere.

  No one asked to be replaced. Instead a grim aura of acceptance settled over the room as the assembled commanders looked at friends, classmates, former ship mates and in some cases kinsmen, wondering silently if they would have the opportunity to sit together at the same table in this lifetime.

  “Squadron commanders, you have your specific orders for the general outline of out attack. How you implement them I leave to you, but make sure your best signal men are on deck when the action starts. Also, should our timing be good and all squadrons arrive in time to attack in concert, watch Wabash for general orders to be issued in the event that opportunity or threat presents itself. Are there any questions?”

  “If they strike colors?” one man asked.

  “Sink them,” Semmes replied flatly. “All operations of the Soulan military as of this moment, actually as of near two weeks ago, are now Black Flag operations. There will be no quarter offered or accepted. We will fight to the last man, to the last drop of Soulan blood, to throw these heathen out of our lands for good.”

  “Marshal McLeod issued such an order?” Commodore David looked surprised.

  “Marshal Parno McLeod issued such an order, yes,” Semmes dropped his final bombshell on them. “Marshal Therron has been relieved of his duties for health reasons. Prince Parno McLeod has taken his place. And before any of you rush to judgment,” Semmes raised a hand, “you should know that Prince Parno has produced the only victory over the Nor forces to date in this conflict.” News of the cavalry battle had not yet reached Semmes as he was at sea.

  “In a battle for the Cumberland Gap, Prince Parno and his personal regiment, along with a short brigade comprised mostly of militia and two battalions of regulars, destroyed a Nor army some ten times their size. Details of that battle are not yet available to me, but the general description I received was that less than twenty percent of the Nor force in that battle survived. They are even now being run to ground and eliminated.”

  Looks of shock and a few whistles of surprise echoed around the room.

  “The Black Sheep prince has claws, gentlemen,” Semmes smiled grimly. “And we will as well. You have your orders, so report back to your vessels and brief your men. Ensure that we are prepared to get under way with the coming of the sun. I expect it to be a long, warm day.”

  *****

  Fleet Admiral Jason Selvey had always been an early riser, and today was no exception. As the sun came up in the east he was on the command deck of the Imperial naval cruiser Indina, his command vessel for this operation. Though there was nothing to see he still swept the horizon all around with the powerful glass on the swivel near his 'sea' desk. Selvey preferred to remain on deck as much as possible, to the point of conducting business there when weather conditions permitted.

  He noted the wind was westerly today. That was both good and bad. Good in that it might prompt the apparently reluctant Soulan Navy to seek engagement, and bad in that his ships would be at a disadvantage if battle were joined while the wind was at the enemy's back.

  “Morning sir,” Captain Caleb Merrill said as he climbed the stairs to the deck where Selvey stood.

  “It is indeed, Captain,” Selvey nodded. Merrill was the Indina's commander and Selvey's Flag Captain. While not officially of any higher rank than any other ship Captain, his position as Flag Captain placed him in a position that transcended time in grade. And he had earned his position with merit and skill rather than political influence, a sign of the changes brought about by the current Emperor.

  “I notice the wind might favor the Soulanies this day, sir,” Merrill said casually. “If they decide to come out and face us, that is.”

  “Oh, they will, Captain,” Selvey said firmly. “Never doubt that. Whatever they may be otherwise, the Soulan Navy are not cowards. But neither are they stupid.” Selvey turned to face Merrill. “Our force is a large one, Captain, larger than any we've ever put to sea in fact. Their forces are strung out in penny packets along their coastal waters to prevent smuggling and raider attacks. Assembling a force sufficient in size to tackle us will take time. That being said,” Selvey returned his gaze to the horizon, “I think they've had time to do so by now. And this wind will certainly encourage them to seek engagement. We'll conduct readiness exercises this morning in
order to be prepared for such an eventuality. See that those orders are posted, if you please. Signal the fleet to be ready at oh-eight-thirty hours to commence a full fleet drill by squadron if you please.”

  “Right away, sir,” Merrill nodded and left to order the signal be sent. He wasn't sure he approved of such a drill at this point, believing it better to be prepared for the appearance of the Soulan fleet at all times. He was not the Admiral, however, and would never oppose Selvey's orders.

  Merrill shared his generation's contempt of all things Soulanie, something Selvey discouraged among his commanders any time he had the opportunity. Merrill believed in being respectful of an enemy's capabilities, but he also had the arrogance that came with indoctrination that had yet to be tempered with actual combat. While Merrill had great respect for Selvey, he did not share his commander's wariness of the Soulan fleet.

  The Norland Imperial Navy had never known defeat. The fact that this wasn't strictly true was not taught at the Imperial Fleet Academy where Merrill had been educated. True, no fleet engagement of this size had ever been lost by the Imperial Navy, but then no fleet engagement of this size had ever been fought by the Imperial Navy, either. That little tidbit was often overlooked by many.

  In wars past, the Imperial Navy had won a number of smaller engagements against Soulan naval forces, always with the element of surprise. Attacking in strength against a divided and unprepared enemy was not the same thing as inviting attack by a prepared and organized enemy fleet led by competent officers and fought by well-trained men.

  Merrill objected to their orders in general, though he was careful not to voice those objections. Dangling the fleet out here just a few miles off shore of the Soulan coast seemed a waste of resources to the young Flag Captain. Had he been in command, the Imperial Fleet would be attacking shore installations this very morning, using their Marine contingent to sack Soulan ports and do as much damage to Soulanie infrastructure as they could before putting back to sea.

  The largely empty troopships that were part of the deception simply added to the complication of this operation in his mind. Lost on him was the fact that those troopships were the only reason for their presence off the Soulan shore. It didn't occur to him that the Soulan Army would have to honor the threat those troopships might represent. He likewise didn't consider that the presence of those very troopships would be what spurred the Soulan Navy to attack the Imperial Fleet.

  While Merrill was a satisfactory ship captain, and even Flag Captain, he was not a strategic thinker. Few officers in the Imperial Fleet were. While the Emperor had gone to great lengths to select only the best possible men for leadership positions in his revamped military arms, those like Merrill were still a product of the Imperial thought that Size Mattered. The Imperial Navy was larger, ergo better, than the Soulan Navy. Simple as that.

  Even as he passed the Admiral's orders along, Merrill's thoughts were that the whole thing was a waste of time.

  *****

  “We are making good time, sir,” Nettles mentioned quietly as Semmes paced the command deck of the Wabash.

  “I'm aware of that, Commander,” Semmes nodded, his voice not as curt as his words might indicate.

  “Beg pardon, Admiral,” Nettles said easily.

  “No pardon needed, Commander,” Semmes assured him. “I am anxious to see this done, that's all.”

  “You don't expect us to prevail, do you sir?” Nettles asked carefully. He was on thin ground here, but part of his job as Semmes' aide and Flag Secretary was to give the Admiral a private sounding board. He was good at his job, even at the risk of the Admiral's ire on occasion.

  “I expect victory, Pyrrhic though it may be,” Semmes surprised him. “Our mission is to sink those troopships, or prove they are empty. Either is a victory for us, Commander. But their forces outnumber ours by a smart ratio, perhaps two-to-one in total vessels. Hopefully some of those ships really are troopships, but still; those are long odds. We will have one good pass with the wind at our backs, but after than we will be at the mercy of the fortunes of war and weather. Should the wind abandon us, or worse shift to the Nor's favor, then we will be in dire straits, make no mistake.”

  “We can always wait for better conditions, sir,” Nettles suggested, knowing that it wasn't true.

  “No we can't, Commander, and you well know that,” Semmes chided gently. “I've known since this started that our forces would be fortunate indeed to escape this engagement with more than a corporal's guard. That being said, we still have no choice. If we are to survive as a kingdom, sacrifices have to be made. The Army has been making those sacrifices since the war began. You've seen the same dispatches I have.” Nettles nodded his agreement, reluctant though it was.

  “Today is our turn,” Semmes continued. “The Nor have acted very shrewdly indeed, Mister Nettles,” Semmes was almost in lecture mode. “They have followed the Art of Conflict very carefully, placing themselves in a position that we cannot allow them to retain, therefore we must attack. Even if we know that we are doomed to fail, we must make the effort because the survival of our kingdom, our way of life, is at risk. Very shrew indeed,” he repeated.

  “Why is it they attack us, Admiral?” Nettles asked suddenly, changing the subject. “I've never been able to grasp why it is that the northerners insist on attacking our people so often. We've given them no provocation, have we?”

  “They need none,” Semmes almost spat. “For as long as there has been a Southern Kingdom and a Northern Empire, there has been aggression by the Nor. They insist that we belong to them, to the Empire, that we should be subject to their Emperor. They desire our land, our people, our resources for themselves, Mister Nettles, and they have spent many lives and much treasure over the centuries to acquire them. This time, however, they have added a new element. One lacking in all previous attempts to subjugate us.”

  “What element, sir?” Nettles asked, interested in Semmes discourse.

  “Intelligence,” Semmes said flatly. “The North has always been led by fools, Mister Nettles. Attacking when they should withdraw, committing blunders of strategic importance even while making tactical advances. This time their leadership has been very careful with planning and implementation of that plan. In the past it has been the Imperial way to attempt to simply bowl us over with sheer strength. They have come close a number of times in doing just that, mind you,” he admitted. “But always they have over committed, trusting in numbers rather than in training and skill. As I said, this time things are different.” He stopped pacing suddenly, looking at Nettles.

  “I've no direct knowledge of how we came to have advance warning of this attack, but consider this, Mister Nettles; had we not had these several months to prepare, what would our situation be like? Even with that warning we are desperately pushed just to hold what we can. What if such an overwhelming attack had been launched while we were still on a completely peace time footing?”

  “The war would likely already be over,” Nettles admitted. “There might still be isolated fighting with the southern corps and supporting militia, but most of the kingdom would lie in Imperial hands by now.”

  “Indeed it would,” Semmes nodded firmly as he resumed his pacing. “As I said, this time is different. And that means we must fight differently. Hence the Black Flag order. We cannot afford leniency or mercy this time, Commander. We stand on the verge, on the very precipice of disaster. Defeat. Only savagery and abandon can win this war, Mister Nettles. Prince Parno had proven that already.”

  “You admire him, don't you sir?” Nettles asked. Like most, he had only peripheral knowledge of the youngest member of the McLeod family. That knowledge was less than ideal.

  “Never met him,” Semmes replied flatly. “Heard a great deal about him of course, as I'm sure you have,” he added. “But his victory at the Gap was decisive, Mister Nettles. Bloody to be sure, and also Pyrrhic in that he lost something like eighty percent of his command if early reports were correct. But he utterl
y destroyed a force ten times his own and sent the survivors into full flight, protecting the heartland and the Royal City from almost certain destruction. That alone might have ended the war before it had really begun.”

  “I hadn't considered that, sir,” Nettles admitted.

  “No reason you should,” Semmes nodded absently. “You're trained to fight at sea, Mister Nettles. Trained as well as we can manage it, in fact. But fighting here, on the ocean,” Semmes' arm swept the water around them, “if a far cry from battle on land. Whatever Parno McLeod's failings might be elsewhere, he is a fighter, have no doubt. No man who was not a fighter could have managed that. Especially with a regiment of men taken from prisons and wanted posters,” he added.

  “Sir?”

  “Parno McLeod's 'personal' regiment is comprised almost entirely of prisoners and wanted criminals, supplemented by army rejects and near wash-outs,” Semmes told his aide. “Yet the Prince took those men and transformed them into a force that was capable of destroying a foe many times their own number. True, he had terrain on his side,” Semmes allowed, “but that does not negate the fact that only a superbly trained force that was extremely well led could have defended that position against such an overwhelming adversary.” He stopped his pacing again, once more giving Nettles his undivided attention.

  “And now that man is leading our military against the Norland invasion,” he said flatly. “That was the first piece of good news I have received other than word of his victory at the Gap.” Semmes looked toward the front of Wabash, the heavy cruiser cutting the sea with her iron reinforced bow.

  “Now, we have to do at sea what he did on land. And we cannot expect our costs to be any less than his own.”

  *****

  “The good commander must consider all costs in war, young prince.” Cho Feng's voice was gentle, meant only for Parno's ears as the column walked their horses for a few minutes.