“Oh. Thanks,” Mason said, and Warner laughed slightly.
“I never quite understood that, but it’s for sure that the Romans gave up the corvus. The point is that it’s a good idea but not one we want until we’re really desperate, and we haven’t got time to rebuild the ships anyway! But look, the way they fight here, it’s got to be ram and board. They don’t have guns.”
“They’ve got bows,” Rick said.
“Damned big arbalests on the Roman ship,” Cargill said.
“I’d think twenty of my lads with their rifles would be more than a match for any kind of galley,” Major Baker said. “Just keep the engagement at range.”
“If we can get them to go aboard a rowboat,” Martins said. “Not sure they’ll like that.”
“Aye, that may be a problem,” Cargill said. “They’re nae keen on boats.”
“So far morale is fair,” Baker said. “They still think this is a mission, and they’re happy enough that they won’t be disbanded and sent home. But they still think they’ll get home eventually, of course.”
“Sergeant Major suspects something is wrong,” Martins said. “He was due for retirement, and now he’s off on a mission in a very strange place. He knows this isn’t Earth.”
“I expect they all know that,” Rick said. “You tell me they aren’t fools. They knew it the first time they saw a centaur, if not earlier.”
“Yes,” Baker said. “They know. So far they haven’t made any great point about it, but they will when we don’t tell them when they get to go home.”
“The word is getting around,” Martins said. “That we don’t expect to go home again, so why should anyone else? That hasn’t entirely sunk in yet, but it will.”
“Will they fight for us?” Rick asked.
“You saw them do it,” Baker said.
“I did indeed, Major Baker. Can you get them on the boats?”
“Sergeant Major can,” Baker said. “And he’ll do it. More out of habit than anything else, I expect, but he’ll do it. So far the Gurkhas are loyal, at least to the Queen, if not to us. No guarantees on what happens when they find we’re not the Queen’s men anymore.”
“We’ll have to get them aboard,” Rick said. “It’s our only way of defeating superior numbers. On water anyway.”
“What we need is cannon,” Warner said. “Get me a good bronze foundry and some time and I can make naval cannon.”
They all looked at him.
“Well it may take some experimentation, but yes, I can do it,” Warner said. “So could you, if you’d try. There are foundries in Chelm, and some good ones around Edron, too, but the Romans have the best foundries from what I can tell. Wouldn’t surprise me if we find out the Romans have built a couple of cannon. They’ll sure be experimenting with them.”
“Edron’s going to be an island,” Rick mused. “Possibly within a year, certainly within ten. For a short while it will mean forests near the sea. Foundries already there. Not hard to build shipyards.”
“Your pardon, Sir, but that’s all wishes for the future,” Major Baker said. “Steam engines wouldn’t hurt as long as we’re wishing.”
Rick nodded.
“Yes, sorry, I got ahead of myself. We’ll have to develop both, I think. Naval cannon and steam engines. Wood at first, but it won’t be long until we’re making ironclads.”
“Your best powder mills are near Armagh,” Mason said. “Maybe we should think about putting a garrison there while we still can.” He shook his head sadly. “We just about abandoned the place, now we have to get back there. Maybe things are better with Ganton now.”
“They are,” Rick said. “Thanks particularly to Major Baker and his merry men. Who should I put in charge there?”
“Left to me, I’d put Elliot there,” Art Mason said. “He can’t be happy being under Lady Tylara’s eye. Hell, let him choose a bodyguard and go back, they’re used to him being in charge.”
More goddam decisions.
“Make it happen, Art. Use the semaphore.”
“Yessir.”
Abandon Armagh. Get to Chelm, then go right back to Armagh. Monkey motion. That’s how Elliot will see it, Rick thought. Maybe he’ll be used to it. Anyway, it’ll have to do.
“We’ll need Armagh if we’re going to build industries,” he said. “And shipyards. Time to start looking for another base, just in case.”
“Cannon, steam engines, powder mills,” Warner mused. “Paddle-wheelers first, I think. Then side-wheelers. Propellers are better, but I don’t know much about designing them. Except that it’s a hell of a lot harder to get it right than most people think.”
“Warner, maybe we need to secure Armagh, but we’re not going to develop cannon and oceangoing sidewheelers in the next couple of weeks!” Art Mason said. “And from what I’m getting, that’s about how long we’ve got.”
“Yes, Sir,” Warner said. “Sorry. We won’t have them in weeks, but I’ll bet you anything you like that in well under five years naval battles will be fought with cannon and steam. And ironclads in under ten years. Probably a lot less. But given the present situation, Major Baker’s right, isn’t he? All we have to do is get twenty riflemen a hundred yards from an enemy galley and they can put it out of action pretty fast.”
“Assuming there’s no storm, our men aren’t seasick, and for that matter, that we can find the bloody enemy,” Baker said.
“We don’t have to find them,” Rick said. “We just have to keep them from sacking Nikeis.”
“Which may solve the problem of how we get the Serene Republic’s attention,” Warner said. “They’ve got to have heard about this upcoming pirate raid.”
“And if they haven’t, we can certainly tell them,” Major Baker said.
“A hundred yards may not be enough,” Mason said. “I’ve seen them arbalests at work.”
“I share your concern and Major Baker’s,” Martins said. “As much as I respect our troops, they are not Marine Commandos. Our strategies should not be overly reliant upon rifle fire, particularly on the water. Fortunately, we have other capabilities at hand which can enhance the Roman fleet.”
He paused, and Rick looked at him speculatively.
“And those capabilities would be—?” he invited after a moment.
“Galleys are designed to fight primarily to the front,” Martins said. “They usually have a ram on the front, often the arbalests we’ve seen, a place for the marines, grapnels, a boarding ramp, on Earth maybe a corvus. All of their combat power is forward. The sides are for the oars, the stern for command and steering. The sides or the stern of a galley are very vulnerable. If you can flank them, their numbers become irrelevant, in fact a liability. Within reason, at least.”
Rick leaned back, gazing at him with pursed lips.
“And how do we gain that flank? I tend to suspect they’d be at least as aware as we are of what a bad idea it would be for them to let us do that.”
“If what we’ve seen on land holds at sea, we have significant advantages they can’t match, Sir. We have radios, backed up by your semaphore, and signaling rockets. We have binoculars and we have compasses. Those should give us significant advantages in maneuvering for position.”
“We’re talking considerable odds. You’ll have to be decisive at the point of contact, even if you catch them on the flank.”
“Yes, Sir. That’s where our firepower can come in handy.”
* * *
When the conference ended, Major Baker waited until the others were gone.
“A word with you, Sir.”
“Yes?”
“Risky business, putting my lads onto boats. None of us know a thing about sailing. Martins has a little yachting experience, but not much. We’ll have to trust the boat crews to know what they’re doing. Sure you want to do that?”
“No, I’m not sure at all,” Rick said. And I’m not sure how much to trust Martins, either, but he’s onto something. “But we can’t let these newcomers and t
heir containers fall into the hands of pirates! Particularly if they’re the instructors you said Agzaral was sending.”
“I’d think that less dangerous than letting any knowledge from Earth loose unsupervised in Nikeis. Or anywhere else for that matter.”
“Now there’s an interesting thought,” Rick said. “Actually, that’s likely to happen no matter what we do. Once they know it can be done, the Nikeisians will probably develop technology nearly as fast as we can. They can sure do more with the technology than Drantos. Closest thing to a free society on the planet.”
“You know this?”
“No, of course I don’t know this,” Rick said. “Guessing from the reports I had from Clavell.” And what I remember of the Venetian Republic, and how it fascinated the Framers, but this isn’t the time to talk about constitutions. Not now, but someday . . .
“Your free society may just have your men in a dungeon, you know,” Baker said. “Are you certain you aren’t romanticizing? Freedom, liberty, Yankee Doodle—Beg your pardon, Colonel, but I’ve seen Yanks do that before.”
Rick frowned, then grinned.
“You may be right. And my first concern is my troops.”
“As is mine,” Clyde Baker said. No smile. He seemed very serious, and Rick nodded slowly.
“We both have the same problem. Tell me, Major, do you enjoy power?”
“I enjoy order,” Baker said. “It’s why I chose to be a professional soldier. Can’t say I never thought of having a run for Parliament after retirement.” He smiled thinly. “Not such a good idea now. No Parliament, and not much prospect of retirement.”
“Mamelukes,” Rick said, and Baker frowned.
“I’ve heard the word,” he said. “Egyptian soldiers, weren’t they? Napoleon defeated them. Can’t say I know anything else about them.”
“They were slave soldiers,” Rick said. “In Egypt, yes, but all over the Middle East.”
“Like the Janissaries?”
“Yes. Only in Egypt the Mamelukes took over. Threw out the local government, set up their own—and decided to stay slave soldiers. They were mostly from the Caucuses, Circassia, and they bought more Circassian slaves. Trained them well. Mastered their military skills. Napoleon said one Mameluke could defeat a half dozen Frenchmen, possibly more. Professional soldiers. Elected their own officers. Promoted on merit—they were all slaves, you see.”
“And they ruled the whole country?” Baker looked thoughtful.
“They sort of supervised it. Appointed civil governments and left them alone unless they got too far out of line, in which case they threw them out and put in new ones. Worked for a couple of centuries, and they pretty well avoided a lot of the civil wars the rest of the world was going through. Lasted until Napoleon brought in the French army.”
“And that’s us?” Baker said.
“One model, I suppose.”
Baker looked thoughtful.
“Indeed. Is this what you contemplate? Someone has to be in charge. Have you ambitions to be Caesar?”
“No. Not sure what I want, but my ambition is to retire to Chelm and raise my children. That takes peace and we’re not going to have any of that. Not right now, anyway.”
“That won’t ever work,” Baker said.
Rick frowned.
“Pardon my bluntness, Colonel, but this is important. Whoever controls that knowledge will pretty well direct this planet’s progress.”
“Possibly. Knowledge spreads fast, you know. It’s very hard to keep secrets. A few years, perhaps, but once something is known to be possible, it gets out fast. I’m sure the Romans are hard at work on gunpowder, for example. They know the formula by now, and they have foundries. I’d bet they’re forging cannon, and I wouldn’t be astonished if they have experimental harquebus formations already! Knowledge can outrun conquest.”
“Renaissance,” Baker said. “Yes, Sir, I understand that. But doesn’t that give us a certain responsibility? At least to try to ensure some sort of order?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Rick said. I hate it, but he’s right. Damn all.
“Which brings us to the key question,” Baker said. His voice lost all the bantering tone and became very serious. “I pledged loyalty to you, and I meant it. Still do. I didn’t commit to any council of officers.”
“Even if you’re on it? You certainly would be.”
“I’d expect to be. At the moment my status is simple. I’m a mercenary hired out to you. You play the political games, and it’s complicated by your status in this Chelm place wherever that is, but in effect you’re a mercenary who’s hired out to Drantos. All of which is very well, but where do we stand with the Galactics who brought us here?”
“For the moment I’m growing their damned crops and selling to them,” Rick said.
“Colonel, you’re making things pretty damned complicated if that’s your simple goal!”
Rick went over to the side table and poured two glasses of the local port wine. Port. It couldn’t be Port, there wasn’t any Portugal here, but this was a lot like what he used to call Port . . .
Rick shook his head and handed the handblown glass of wine to Baker.
“Cheers. You’re right, of course. I assume that in twenty years or so the Shalnuksi traders will lose interest in Tran. They always have. About twenty years and they’re gone, sometimes bombing the hell out of the place on the way out, sometimes not. I don’t have any control over that. Agzaral may have plans, in fact I’m sure of it, and last I heard he wasn’t for bombing this place, but he’s made me no promises. His plans change, too. He let you come here, and that sure didn’t fit the situation he described to me.”
“Of course, he has plans,” Clyde Baker said. “He was quite explicit about my best choice being to work with you.”
“Or he could simply be working to concentrate his targets,” Rick said and Baker frowned.
“Do you believe that?”
“No. Thinking back to my interviews with Agzaral, he was always acting as if we were being recorded and he couldn’t be straight, but he’d like to be.” Rick shrugged. “Of course, he’d act that way if he were a villain, too. Gwen—that’s Gwen Tremaine—got to know one of the human Galactics pretty well—”
“Had a child by one of them, I believe you said.”
“Yes. She doesn’t talk about it a lot, but she’s clearly fond of Les. The pilot who seduced her and abandoned her on this dump. And from everything I can infer, the human Galactics don’t have any ill will towards anyone on Tran, star men or natives.” Rick shrugged. “Major, it’s beyond me. Gwen wanted to go native and hide, but she seems to have changed her mind about that. Whether that’s because of something she learned from Les or just a change of mind I don’t know, but she’s got three kids to look out for, and she’s not trying to hide any longer.”
“Will he warn her if they’re coming with bombs?” Baker asked.
“I’m quite sure he will if he can.”
“How long will we have?”
Rich shook his head slowly.
“Major, I don’t know. From what I can get out of Tran history, we have a good ten years and probably more. I’ve been working on that assumption. I’ve also assumed that it’s contingent on our being worth our keep, so I’ve worked pretty hard to gather a good harvest of madweed. We’ve got quite a lot for the next trade, which ought to happen in the next few months, possibly sooner. Another reason to get things settled here!”
“And then?” Baker prompted.
“My goal’s clear enough. I’m hoping to have some control left after the Galactics leave and we’re on our own. Since I’m not immortal and I have no way of knowing if my kids will be any use, what’s left? I’m responsible to my men, Major Baker. You don’t like a council of officers much, and neither do I, but what are our alternatives?”
Baker nodded.
“Timocracy, I think Plato called it. I don’t see anything better coming, and there’s no urgency in decision. Unless you get you
rself killed,” Baker said carefully. “That would produce a messy situation.”
“I’ll try not to.”
“Good. So what’s our plan, Colonel?”
Rick shook his head, trying not to show his dismay.
“No immediate details. Keep pissing on fires until we have some time for real plans. Some things are damned obvious. We have to secure those containers. Time enough to dispose of them when we know what’s in them! I doubt they’re empty, but all I can do is guess what they’ve brought. Or why the Galactics let any technology get through at all. Maybe the Earth guys who brought them will know. But first we have to get possession! When we’ve done that it will be time to sell more dope to the Shalnuksis. I’ve got plenty enough to keep them happy. So we meet the Shalnuksi traders, and with luck we’ll learn something from that. Then there’s a Five Kingdoms army sitting on my land that’s got to be chased out of there—”
“Assuming it doesn’t just melt away now,” Baker said. “Your friend Ganton had the Five Kingdoms people scared enough there was talk of recalling that army. That was before my lads put Ganton on the run, but I rather doubt they feel very secure now that we’ve changed sides. And your musketeers and pikemen may not be much of a threat to my lads, but they’re sure a match for the locals. And then some. I wouldn’t be much concerned about chasing that army out of your backyard. I expect your wife is well on the way to doing it now.”
Interesting, Rich thought. I suppose he’s been talking with Mason about Chelm and Tylara. He poured each of them another glass of port.
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