“Not unlikely, actually,” he said. “Which makes one less problem to worry about. But we still have to deal with the Five Kingdoms. Southern refugees will be coming in floods, and we’ll have to settle some of them on the Fivers. Then we’ll still have problems with Westmen, more could start coming down the passes.” He drank a big swallow.
“Since you seem to be playing matchmaker, perhaps I should learn more about these Westmen.”
“As you’ve seen, Westmen are Oriental in appearance,” Rick said. “I don’t know the culture they came from, or when, but ethnically they look to me to be the nearest thing to Gurkhas I’ve seen. Primitive culture, polytheists.”
“That could be interesting.”
“The tribes I’m allied with have a settlement west of Chelm,” Rick said. “You’ll meet more of them, if we get past this crisis.”
“No lack of work,” Baker said, raising his glass in salute. “That can’t be all bad news! Cheer up, Colonel. If I come up with a better plan I’ll tell you, but I’m not unhappy with my decision.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
LEARNING THE ROPES
“Colonel, Major Baker’s here,” Bisso said, and Rick looked up from his desk with a stab of irritation. They were scheduled to meet with Publius’ fleetmaster tomorrow morning and they’d probably be sailing from Taranto by afternoon, or the next day, at latest. Finding a moment to write Tylara something longer than a semaphore message was always difficult, and he doubted he’d have another opportunity before they sailed.
“And did the Major say why he’s here?” he asked, laying down his pen.
“No, Sir. Just that he’d ‘appreciate a moment of your time.’” Bisso shrugged. “He was real polite, Sir, but I think he thinks whatever it’s about, it’s important.”
“I see. In that case, you’d better send him in.”
“Lieutenant Martins is with him.”
“In that case, you’d better send both of them in.”
“Yes, Sir.”
The sergeant disappeared. A moment later, he returned with Baker and Martins.
“Gentlemen,” Rick greeted them without rising, then pointed at a pair of backless Roman chairs. “Sit. Tell me what this is about.”
“Of course, Colonel,” Baker said. The Brits settled onto the chairs, and the major glanced at the writing desk.
“First, I apologize for interrupting you,” he said, “but there’s a point we haven’t had the opportunity yet to discuss.”
“What sort of point?” Rick asked. God, I hope he’s not coming up with some reservation about accepting my command at this late date! He seemed happy enough last night, but—
“Let me begin by spreading a few well-deserved compliments,” Baker said, smiling as if he’d read Rick’s mind. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation, and in the process, about how much you and your men have already accomplished here, Colonel. And you’ve done bloody well—even better than I’d thought. Better, if you’ll forgive me for saying this, than I would ever have anticipated out of a lad straight out of you Yanks’ college ROTC.” He shook his head, his eyes very level. “The situation you got thrown into, first in Angola and especially here on Tran, is mind-boggling. The fact that you’ve not only survived but created the support base you have, is . . . well, let’s just say that I doubt very many men in your position could have done either. Certainly your Andre Parsons didn’t!”
Rick’s eyes narrowed. But—
“I appreciate the testimonial, Major,” he said dryly. “How well deserved it is would be a judgment call, of course. I seem to sense a ‘but’ lurking in there somewhere, though.”
“Because there is one, Sir,” Baker said levelly. “I meant it when I said you’ve done bloody well, but it’s always possible to do better, and it seems to me that you’re a bit thin on what one might call the staff functions.”
“I see.”
Rick leaned back in his chair, regarding the two British officers, then shrugged.
“That depends in part on what you mean by ‘staff functions,’” he said. “Obviously, I had to build pretty much from scratch. I was the S-2 in Africa, but there weren’t a lot of intelligence sources here, initially. We didn’t have an operations officer, or a logistics officer, or a plans officer—Hell, Parsons and I were the only two officers who made it to Tran! I’ve filled most of those billets, functionally, at least, but I’ve had to play it by ear more than I would’ve liked. I would love to have some of the field manuals my ROTC classes had! In fact, I’ve requested them. But the Shalnuksis don’t seem to think about that sort of thing.”
It was Baker’s turn to sit back with an expression that looked a lot like relief, Rick thought.
“Colonel,” the major said after a moment, “I’m more reassured than I can say to hear what you’ve just said, for two reasons. First, it confirms my observation that while you may be a bloody amateur, if you’ll pardon the term, you’re an extraordinarily competent bloody amateur.” He smiled crookedly. “And, second, it suggests that you’ll take the suggestion I’m about to make in the spirit in which it’s offered.”
Rick said nothing, simply gazing at him steadily, and Baker nodded to Martins.
“Get out your little book, Richard,” he said.
“Yes, Sir.”
Martins reached into a pocket on the front of his field jacket and pulled out a small olive-green binder. The Velcro-fastened cover bore the stencil commanders battle book, and he leaned forward to place it on the corner of the desk.
Rick looked down at it, then raised his eyebrows as he looked back at Baker.
“Is this what I think it is?”
“I believe it might be called a step in that direction, Colonel,” Baker said with a slight smile. “It’s rather a fetish object for our junior officers, but a useful one.”
There was a tearing sound as Rick opened the cover and read the title page. tactical aide memoire, it said, and he flipped to the table of contents, ran his eyes down the neat column of subject listings, then turned through the clear-plastic-coated pages. Finally, he looked back up at Baker.
“I would have killed for this,” he said quietly, one hand resting on page 1-13-1, the template headed squadron/company group orders, breaching and obstacle crossing.
“As it happens, we have three copies of it,” Major Baker said, “and also as it happens, Leftenant Martins is very good with it.”
“I’ve been trying to develop a general staff from scratch ever since we got here,” Rick said. “With this as a model,” he tapped the binder with his forefinger, “we might just be able to develop a real one.”
“Colonel,” Baker’s tone was very serious, “I can’t begin to tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that.”
“Major, there’s a line from a Clint Eastwood movie that was released a few years before my adventures in Africa that I think applies here. He said, ‘A man has to know his limitations.’ Trust me”—he tapped the binder again—“more than a decade on Tran ensures that he does.”
* * *
Fleetmaster Gaius Junius wore armor and decorations like any other senior Roman army officer, but his boots had no hobnails, and he wore no spurs. Rick was told that Junius ranked as a legate, and while it wasn’t common, officers did go from naval to land commands, but Junius had spent his entire career as a naval commander.
The harbor headquarters building was called the Praetorium but it had a distinctly naval atmosphere, although Rick would have found it difficult to say why he had that impression. It was built of limestone on the typical Roman model, apparently replacing whatever had served when Taranto had been unambiguously a part of the Kingdom of Drantos. Many of the harbor buildings more closely resembled the gothic styles favored in Drantos, but the Praetorium was purely Roman, atrium surrounded by pillared open hallways and small rooms on two sides, leading to a grander building across the atrium from the gate.
A map of the Inner Sea had been painted on a large table in the meeting r
oom of the Praetorium. Rick studied it with satisfaction.
“This is accurate?” he asked.
“As nearly so as we can make it,” Junius said. The admiral seemed pleased that Publius was attending the meeting and asking his advice. It was clear that Junius thought the Navy sadly neglected and looked forward to the opportunity to convince Caesar of the importance of maritime matters.
Rick traced the labyrinthine passages through the complex of small islands and marshes that guarded Nikeis.
“Not an easy place to get into.”
“Not if you have to fight your way in,” Fleetmaster Junius said. “Of course we’ve never had to do that. They remain allies, for the record.”
“For the record,” Rick said.
“They need our help,” Junius said. “If they had time they could put together enough force to resist this pirate alliance, but they don’t have time, Friend of Caesar. I believe there will be enough pirates to overwhelm the Nikeisian defenders.”
“We can’t allow that,” Rick said.
“Can we defeat the pirates?” Publius asked.
“Heir of Caesar, I don’t know,” the Roman admiral said. “With what I can take to Nikeis now, I think not, even with the favor of God. Unless Warlord Rick brings great power.”
“We have great power,” Rick said. “And we believe we can defeat any enemies, on land or on the sea, but we have little experience fighting on the sea. What I need is some enemies to practice on.”
Publius looked at him quizzically.
“It cannot be difficult to find enemies. I have seldom found it so, at least.”
“No, but what I need are enemy warships,” Rick said. He looked up to Junius. “Are there any nearby?”
“Some pirates here,” Junius said. He pointed to a small delta of swamp and islands some sixty miles to the north of the port. “They’re clever. If we send the fleet, they disperse among the swamps and hide. If we send a single ship, they come together in such strength that we dare not risk battle. They raid the coasts of Drantos and the Five Kingdoms.”
“They must be a small threat indeed,” Rick said. “I’ve heard nothing of them. As Warlord I would know of any real danger to the realm.”
The Roman officer shrugged.
“There are few of them in these southern waters, and the local villages have organized a defense, so perhaps they never become a concern of the Wanax. Our merchants avoid the area by crossing to the Roman shore before going north to Nikeis, so it’s been of little concern to us. But those will be the closest pirate ships I know of.”
“How many?” Rick asked.
“Never many.” Junius shook his head. “Perhaps five galleys remain. There had been more, but patrols report that some of them recently went northward. From the reports of the frumentarii, it may be that they’ve joined the pirate coalition.”
“Five,” Rick mused. “Sounds about right. If we send three merchant ships will they fight?”
“It is likely. They would expect to win.”
Rick nodded.
“That’s what I want them to expect. Fleetmaster, we’ll need three merchant ships. Each will carry an officer and twenty of my men with their weapons. They’ll sail past the swamp while we follow at a distance with the rest of the fleet. We’ll go clean out that pirate nest on our way to Nikeis. May as well do something useful while we learn how to fight at sea.”
* * *
There were twenty-two ships in the expedition. Five were merchant craft carrying cargo to Nikeis. The rest were Roman warships, all smaller than the flagship the Romans called a “quinquireme” and everyone else on the planet called a great galley. Several of them, which the Romans called “triremes,” were simply smaller quinquiremes with only two masts, not three. The remainder were “liburnians,” which were basically Martins’ and Warner’s “classic galleys,” lighter, with only a single rower on each oar and—for the most part—only one mast each.
Fleetmaster Junius chose three of the merchant ships as decoys. Their masters weren’t pleased to have their vessels commandeered, but they didn’t care to argue when they found they were negotiating with Publius Caesar.
“You will be paid,” Publius had told them flatly. His frown had shown that he was concerned about where he would find the money, but he didn’t say that.
Rick left the details to Major Baker and his officers. Each merchant ship would carry twenty Gurkhas, an officer, a few Roman marines, and one of their nine radios, while their base radio remained aboard the quinquireme, where it would be safest. The soldiers aboard the merchant ships would remain hidden until the pirates had committed to action. It was the best plan anyone could think of, and Rick approved.
“Risking a lot, here,” Baker said carefully. “Lose one of these decoy ships and you’ve lost a lot. Lose them all—”
“I know,” Rick said. “Which is why we’ll be just over the horizon behind you with the rest of the fleet. And why you’ll be bloody careful.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” Baker chuckled. “Well, we can sound like sailors, anyway.” His expression belied his tone. Baker was worried.
“Yeah. I’ll be glad enough to get this over with. You’re Jellicoe,” Rick said.
Baker looked puzzled.
“British admiral at the Battle of Jutland in World War I,” Rick said. “Churchill called him the only man who could lose the war in an afternoon.”
“Well, perhaps,” Baker said. “Of course, you’re not risking anything you had before you met me.”
“Should I? I can come along with you—”
“No, Sir, that wasn’t what I meant. Anyway, I don’t expect any problems. We outrange them by a lot. It should be a piece of cake.”
“Maybe I should come with you,” Rick said. “I have to learn how this naval warfare stuff works—”
“With respect, Colonel, you don’t,” Baker said. “Your man Warner was right. There isn’t likely to be more than one more major naval battle with the kinds of ships and weapons that exist now. Once we defeat this pirate coalition and the secret about gunpowder and cannon gets out throughout the planet, the whole nature of war at sea—land too!—is going to change. We’ll have a hell of a job keeping up!
“Colonel, you have enough to worry about without having to learn naval tactics that will be obsolete in a couple of years. Leave that nonsense to me and the Romans. What you’d best be worrying about is what happens after we finish off these pirates.”
* * *
They set out at dawn. The three merchant ships went northward along the shore, and when they were barely in sight over the horizon, Rick followed with the Roman fleet, standing just out of sight from the land and keeping the merchant ships barely visible.
If the plan works, Rick thought. It should work. Need to watch the weather of course. And it’s important to know what we can do at sea.
After some thought, Publius had decided to join Rick and his staff on the flagship Ferox, and they had been introduced to Captain Pilinius, Fleetmaster Junius’ flag captain, as they came aboard. He was a cheerful man in his thirties, a seasoned professional seaman who didn’t seem much impressed by all the visiting dignitaries. He was clearly a bit embarrassed at the lack of accommodations for his powerful guests, however. Ferox was a large, multidecked vessel, but she was also packed like an Earth sardine can, and there was very little cabin space to go around.
Rick had been surprised to discover that none of Ferox’s oarsmen sat on its upper deck. Or, rather, that the ship had an upper deck, which served as a sort of roof for the rowers, rather than an open oar pit. From an offhand remark Pilinius had let fall, Ferox was “cataphract built,” which suggested that the “roof” was intended as armor, a feature designed to protect the rowers from missile fire. That made a lot of sense, and it also provided a much larger fighting platform for marines.
The mystery of the numbers had been solved as well . . . probably.
The quinquireme had three banks of oars on each side, which—l
ogically—should have made it a trireme, as far as Rick was concerned. The triremes, on the other hand, had only two banks of oars on each side, which should have made them biremes. Or that was what he’d thought. In fact, the ships’ designations were derived from the number of rowers, not the number of oars. A trireme had two men on each upper oar and one on each lower oar, so three of them were stacked vertically in what Pilinius called a “file.” The quinquireme was a bit longer and did have a few more oars in each bank, but it had two rowers on each oar in the upper two banks and only one on each oar in the lower bank, which produced files of five men each.
A solid upper deck might protect the rowers, but it couldn’t do much for ventilation, which Risk suspected had to be a vital consideration when it came to how long and how hard your crew could row, so there were several smaller hatches on the raised forecastle and quarter deck where wind scoops could be rigged. In addition, much of the ship’s midships deck consisted of a single huge hatch which could be opened to provide air to the oarsmen. The hatch could be closed and battened down in sections; when fully open, it was over fifty feet long and eight or nine feet wide. There was no sign of chains, and each rower had a short sword racked at his elbow where it would be readily available yet out of his way while he rowed.
Ferox was bigger than he’d expected, as well. The upper deck was just over a hundred and fifty feet long, and its beam was about sixteen feet at the waterline. It was closer to thirty-five at the upper deck level, though, because the oarsmen sat in a box that was built out from the hull on either side. In some ways, it reminded him of the way US Navy aircraft carriers’ hanger decks broadened their hulls. The edge of the upper deck was about nine feet above the waterline, although the sturdy, solid bulwarks—obviously intended to serve as protection against incoming arrows and crossbow bolts—increased its total freeboard to about fourteen feet. There were nettings on the bulwarks where the crew stowed its rolled-up hammocks each morning. That would increase their ability to absorb incoming fire, although Rick didn’t remember ever reading about the Roman navy of Earth doing that sort of thing.
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