by David Weber
And even at that, he realized, he was better off than his ship.
Smoke—much of it wood smoke now, not just powder smoke—streamed from shattered holes ripped through Saint Adulfo’s timbers and planking. Some of those holes looked big enough for a man to walk through. They weren’t, of course, but they looked huge compared to the much smaller holes round shot punched through a ship. Splintered and broken wood was everywhere, torn canvas and severed lengths of rigging littered the deck, he heard voices screaming in mingled agony and terror, and at least half the midships upper deck twelve-pounders had been knocked over like toys. The bulwark in front of them was simply gone; the deck edge looked like a cliff shattered by a hurricane, and he realized three or four of the Charisians’ infernal “shells” must have impacted almost together to produce that damage.
But there was plenty of other damage to go with it, and someone grabbed him, dragging him bodily out of the way as his galleon’s mizzenmast came thundering down.
“Fire!” somebody screamed. “Fire in the cable tier!”
Plyzyk staggered back to his feet once more, wondering who’d just saved him from being crushed by the falling mast, but it was an almost absent thought, lost in the terrifying thought that his ship was on fire.
“Away firefighting parties!” he bellowed, and the seamen who were detailed for that very purpose went rushing below with buckets of water and sand.
Langhorne! She can’t take much more of this, he thought. She—
* * *
“Fire!” Hektor Aplyn-Ahrmahk shouted.
Destiny’s second broadside smashed into Saint Adulfo like an avalanche, but this was an avalanche of iron and fire and a deadly freight of gunpowder. The six-inch shells slammed through the Desnairian’s planking, and this time all of them exploded.
* * *
One of Ensign Applyn-Ahrmahk’s shells exploded almost directly under Ehrnysto Plyzyk’s feet, and for him, the fate of his ship became forever moot.
.VIII.
Duke Kholman’s Office, Port of Iythria, Empire of Desnair
Daivyn Bairaht watched in stony-eyed silence as the two officers in Charisian uniform were ushered through the door of his office.
“Your Grace, Admiral Sir Dunkyn Yairley and his flag lieutenant, Ensign Aplyn-Ahrmahk,” their guide, Captain Byrnahrdo Fahrya, told him. “Admiral Yairley, His Grace the Duke of Kholman.”
Yairley and his ensign were immaculate, looking as if they’d dropped by for a state dinner, Kholman thought bitterly. Fahrya was another matter. His uniform was torn and filthy, reeking of powder and wood smoke. His expression was grim, tight and strained, but he was lucky to be alive. His ship, Holy Langhorne, had taken fire, burned to the waterline, and sunk under the devastating Charisian assault. She was scarcely the only Desnairian galleon that had happened to, and from the look of things Fahrya had spent some time in the water before he’d been recovered by the victors. He’d obviously done what he could to straighten his hair, wash his hands, wipe the powder grime from his face, but the contrast between him and the two faultlessly attired Charisians’ dress uniforms could not have been sharper.
Or more deliberate, the duke reminded himself as he realized he could even smell the Charisian flag officer’s fresh cologne. Yairley must’ve made damned sure the two of them would be as neat as pins. He obviously recognizes the value of setting the stage properly.
“Admiral,” he made himself say, his tone courteous but cold, and bowed very slightly in greeting.
“Your Grace,” Yairley responded with an even slighter bow, and Kholman’s jaw tightened at that abbreviated bow’s subtle insult to his aristocratic rank. Of course, it was possible—possible!—it hadn’t been Yairley’s intention to do any insulting. Then again …
“Before anything else,” he said, “allow me to express my personal thanks for High Admiral Rock Point’s message about Baron Jahras.”
“I’m sure I speak for the High Admiral when I say you’re most welcome, Your Grace,” Yairley said. “I regret the severity of the Baron’s wounds, but my understanding is that, barring any unforeseen complications, the healers are confident he’ll recover in time.”
And once he learns how to write left-handed, Kholman thought harshly. But at that, he’s lucky to be alive. And maybe the fact that he’s lost an arm will help protect him when Clyntahn gets word of this.
“I hope you’re right,” he said out loud. “However, I doubt you came ashore just to tell me my brother-in-law is likely to survive.” He showed his teeth briefly. “Somehow I don’t think you’re likely to tell me the same thing about my Navy.”
“With the exception of the floating batteries at the western end of Baron Jahras’ line, I’m afraid all your ships have struck,” Yairley said gravely, and despite the way he’d braced himself internally, Kholman flinched visibly.
At least the Charisian hadn’t said “all your surviving ships have struck,” although that would have been more accurate. According to Kholman’s most recent report, nineteen galleons and twelve of the floating batteries had burned, blown up, burned and blown up, or simply sunk as the result of battle damage. He didn’t know how many of the others were damaged, or how badly, and he didn’t even want to think about the human cost, but he knew it had been huge. For that matter, he’d sent over a thousand replacements into the maelstrom before he’d accepted he was simply incurring additional casualties in a lost cause.
All the fortifications on Sickle Shoal and Triangle Shoal had also surrendered, although they hadn’t hauled down their flags until they’d taken massive damage. That was what the reports said, at least, and Kholman had no reason to doubt them. Especially since only one of the four fortress commanders—General Stahkail, inevitably—was still alive and unwounded. Those accursed … bombardment ships were also why they’d lost so many of the floating batteries. The conventional Charisian galleons had declined to venture into the shoal water beyond the main shipping channel to engage them, but the bombardment ships had taken up positions where the batteries’ guns couldn’t reach them and started dropping those damned exploding shells on top of them. Their percentage of hits hadn’t been high, but every hit they had scored had been devastating.
Of course that word—“devastating”—pretty much summed up the entire battle, didn’t it? Once the eastern end of Jahras’ line was blasted out of the way, the Charisians had poured galleons through the gap. They’d doubled the line of Desnairian ships, sailing along it and engaging it from both sides, pouring their accursed exploding shells into their victims. They hadn’t bothered to anchor the way the ships who’d initially broken the line had. Instead they’d simply smashed one ship after another into splintered, all too often burning wreckage. By the time they’d worked their way along half the line, ships were striking their colors before they were even fired upon. Kholman didn’t want to think about how Zhaspahr Clyntahn was likely to react to that, but no reasonable man could possibly condemn them when they’d seen half their entire Navy turned to driftwood in barely two hours by a weapon they couldn’t possibly match.
“I see,” he said out loud, then stiffened his spine. “May I ask what message High Admiral Rock Point has sent you to deliver to me, Admiral Yairley?”
“You may,” Yairley said gravely. “Admiral Rock Point has sent me to require the surrender of all of your remaining harbor fortifications, your shipyards, sail lofts, ropewalks, cannon foundries, and naval supplies.”
“That’s preposterous!” The protest exploded out of Kholman before he could stop it, but he glared at the Charisian. “I have a garrison of over twenty thousand men in and around this city! You may have defeated—even destroyed—our Navy, but the Army is still fully capable of defending the soil of the Desnairian Empire!”
Neither Yairley nor the wiry young ensign standing respectfully at his side so much as turned a hair. They simply waited until he’d finished and stood glowering at them, at which point Yairley shrugged very slightly.
“First,
Your Grace, your garrison may or may not be able to defend this city. I mean no disrespect to the Imperial Army, but I rather doubt it would find itself as effective against the Imperial Marines and Army battalions aboard High Admiral Rock Point’s transports as it was against the Republic the last time you clashed with the Siddarmarkians. Second, however, we have no need to land troops to destroy your shipyards, at the very least. Admittedly, the foundries might be somewhat more difficult targets, but I remind you of what happened to your outer fortifications. The Imperial Charisian Navy is fully capable of carrying out the same sort of bombardment of your waterfront batteries and warehouses and, for that matter, the shipyards themselves, without putting a single Marine into Iythria. High Admiral Rock Point has instructed me to point out to you that by requiring the surrenders I’ve described, he’s attempting to minimize the loss of Desnairian life and collateral damage to civilian property.”
“I’ve had reports of what happened to the first of your ships to engage ours, Admiral,” Kholman replied in a chilly tone. “And you wouldn’t have the advantage of surprise this time around. No doubt you could destroy the shipyards—or damage them severely, at any rate—with a bombardment, but you wouldn’t do it without losses of your own! And I doubt you have the range to bombard the cannon foundries and our other facilities at all.”
“You might be surprised in that regard, Your Grace. Nonetheless, the High Admiral has instructed me to inform you that his terms are not negotiable.” The Charisian admiral’s brown eyes looked levelly into Kholman’s, and if there was any bluff in them, the duke couldn’t see it. “He will destroy those facilities—all of them—before he withdraws from Iythria, Your Grace. The degree and extent of additional damage inflicted is, in large part, up to you. Whether or not he’ll succeed in his mission is not.”
“He has a high opinion of himself and his capabilities, doesn’t he?” Kholman inquired acidly, and Yairley surprised him with a slight smile.
“I suppose he does, Your Grace. On the other hand, he’s earned the right to it, I believe. If you don’t think so, you could discuss the matter with Earl Thirsk, or perhaps Bishop Kornylys or Admiral of the Broad Oceans Sun Rising. Or, for that matter”—his eyes stabbed Kholman suddenly—“Baron Jahras.”
“That’s an impressive catalog of defeated foes,” Kholman said in a somewhat milder tone. “As it happens, I mean that sincerely. But it’s not enough to convince me to simply roll over in the face of such demands. If he believes he can accomplish them by force of arms, I invite him to make the attempt.”
“Your Grace,” any trace of humor had vanished from Yairley’s expression and voice, “I strongly suggest you reconsider that position.” He raised one hand in an oddly courteous gesture before Kholman could respond. “I’m speaking for myself, not High Admiral Rock Point, when I say that, Your Grace. The High Admiral truly is trying to minimize bloodshed and destruction here in your city, but he has no intention of shedding Charisian blood unnecessarily in the attempt.”
“I’m afraid he’s going to find it is necessary,” Kholman said coldly. “I have a duty to my Emperor … and to Mother Church.” He suppressed an urge to bite his own tongue for the way that came out, as if the Church was only an afterthought. “I’m responsible for defending this entire city, not simply commanding the naval forces which you’ve already defeated, Admiral Yairley.”
“Then I’m afraid I have an additional message for you, Your Grace.” Yairley’s voice was flat now, cold. “High Admiral Rock Point instructs me to inform you that should you choose to force him to bombard and invade your city, he will unfortunately find it necessary to free himself of the distraction of your surrendered vessels and fortresses first. In that event, he’ll be forced to burn his prizes and blow up the fortresses.”
This time Kholman managed not to wince physically. He doubted there was any way the Empire was getting any of those ships back, anyway. In fact, it would actually be better from his perspective if Rock Point did burn them. At least that way he could point out to the Group of Four that unlike Kornylys Harpahr’s ships, none of his would find their way into Charisian service against Mother Church!
“The High Admiral must do as he thinks best,” he said. “If he truly intends to burn all of those ships, I’ll make arrangements to take off their crews. I’m sure we can arrange a proper parole for them.”
“I’m afraid you didn’t fully understand the High Admiral’s position, Your Grace. Under the circumstances, he regrets to point out to you that it won’t be possible to land any of his prisoners or remove them from their vessels before he burns their ships.”
For an instant, it totally failed to register. Then it did, and Kholman’s face went white as the threat sank home. There were almost thirty thousand men aboard those ships, and that didn’t even count the crews of the floating batteries or the harbor fortresses which had surrendered!
“You can’t be serious!” he heard his voice say.
“On the contrary, Your Grace. The High Admiral is deadly serious.” There was no emphasis at all in Yairley’s voice … which made it the most terrible voice the Duke of Kholman had ever heard.
“That’s monstrous!”
“As monstrous as King Rahnyld’s decision to hand prisoners of war over to the Inquisition to be systematically tortured and murdered?” Yairley asked softly.
“I had nothing to do with that!”
“Perhaps not,” Yairley conceded. “But if we’d lost here instead of winning, and if Zhaspahr Clyntahn demanded the surrender of your prisoners, do you think for one moment Emperor Mahrys wouldn’t hand them over?”
Kholman stared at the Charisian flag officer, sickness churning in his stomach, because he saw the truth looking back at him out of those level brown eyes. Of course the Emperor would have surrendered them to the Inquisition.
“I was under the impression it was your Empire’s position that honorably surrendered prisoners of war would not be abused in that fashion,” he said, instead of answering the question.
“Whenever possible, that is indeed Emperor Cayleb and Empress Sharleyan’s policy,” Yairley replied. “That doesn’t mean their armed forces will incur unnecessary casualties avoiding … unfortunate consequences for those taken in arms against us, however. Unlike you, Your Grace, my Empire is fighting for its very survival, and you know perfectly well what will happen should we lose. We have no intention of losing, and however much we may regret it, we will do what we must.
“You talk about arranging parole for your personnel. Do you think we’re foolish enough to believe for an instant those paroles would be honored? Of course they wouldn’t! Even if you fully intended to honor them—and I’ll grant you the courtesy of believing you would—the Group of Four would never permit it. Anyone who tried to honor a parole to the Empire of Charis would be condemned by the Inquisition and probably suffer the Punishment of Schueler as a warning to anyone else ‘cowardly enough’ to entertain such an arrangement. So let’s be clear here. If High Admiral Rock Point returns your personnel to you, you and I both know none of our own surrendered people will ever be returned to us alive but we will see your people again under arms. He’s under no obligation to hand them back to you under those circumstances, but he’s prepared to do so in return for the surrender—and destruction—of the facilities he’s listed.
“Your Emperor and your Empire have agreed to serve the Group of Four. Perhaps you believe that’s the right thing to do. Perhaps you’ve agreed to serve only because you have no choice. In either case, however, the decision was made, and my High Admiral has instructed me to point out to you that decisions have consequences. The consequence of this decision is that you’ve ranged yourself with our enemies in what, for us, is a war for survival, and the price for your survival and the survival of your men is the destruction of all war-making potential in and around the city of Iythria.”
Tension hissed and crackled in the office, but somehow Kholman couldn’t look away from the Charisian admiral�
��s eyes.
“That’s High Admiral Rock Point’s message for you, Your Grace,” Yairley said flatly. “I do, however, have an observation of my own to add to it, if you’d care to hear it.”
Kholman made a curt “go ahead” gesture, and the Charisian admiral smiled thinly. It was not a pleasant expression.
“I’d recommend you remember what happened in Ferayd, Your Grace. And who was in command of that punitive expedition. And, for that matter, that there are significant differences between that expedition and today.
“Unlike the situation which existed in regard to the Kingdom of Delferahk at that time, the Desnairian Empire has formally joined the Group of Four’s jihad against Charis, and I invite you to remember what the Writ itself says about the rules of war where jihad is concerned. Many of those rules are specifically set aside under the provisions of The Book of Schueler, and while Charis didn’t begin this jihad, we recognize that there comes a point at which the only way to deter outrages against us or our people is to threaten reprisal. As you’ve pointed out, my Emperor and Empress have specifically rejected the notion of applying the Punishment to any of our prisoners, but they haven’t renounced the right to set aside the same rules of war which have been set aside against us.
“The Group of Four—excuse me, the Grand Vicar, speaking in the holy name of Mother Church in his own good judgment and with the guidance of the Archangels”—the contempt in Yairley’s voice was withering—“has officially declared what’s going to happen to Tellesberg and Cherayth on the day of our ‘inevitable’ defeat. I suggest you consider the terms of the destruction your Empire has pledged itself to help carry out when you consider High Admiral Rock Point’s offer. By simple reciprocity, this entire city is subject to the same treatment. Which means that if the time comes for High Admiral Rock Point to abandon his efforts to minimize death and destruction of Desnairian subjects and their property, your entire city could legitimately be burned to the ground with its citizens still in it. He doesn’t want to do that … but he will if he must. And”—the Charisian admiral’s eyes bored into Kholman once more—“if he has to begin by burning your ships, then so be it.”