“Colonel,” he said, and Rick nodded for him to proceed.
“Sir,” Martins continued, “I understand the mission is to retain control of the containers at all costs.”
“It would also help if we could get them back to the mainland,” Rick observed, and Martins nodded, jotting grease penciled notes into the field manual.
“So our essential tasks include defending the containers,” Major Baker took the cue, “and the ships to carry them back. Specifically the ship Nikeis modified to move them here.”
“We’ll have to keep a fleet in being to guard those ships,” Art Mason chimed in.
“So for the moment, we need to defend Nikeis,” Jimmy Harrison said.
“Why not just take the contents of the containers and leave?” Martins asked in a neutral tone. “We could leave the empty containers behind.”
Clavell and Harrison looked sour, and Saxon blinked in shock. The room was silent for a moment, then several people murmured in approval.
“The Romans have an alliance with Nikeis,” Warner said. “I don’t know Publius as well as you do, Skipper, but I doubt it would sit well with him if we just cut and run. And those are his ships. He’d have to come with us.”
“Agreed,” Rick replied. “We might or might not be able to square it with him, but abandoning one ally is hardly the way to cement an alliance with another.”
“And for that matter,” Mason interjected, “is Taranto that much easier to defend than Nikeis? Here we have the Nikeisian militia. On the mainland we wouldn’t.”
Of course, on the mainland we wouldn’t have to leave Saxon’s goodies in Taranto, either, Rick thought. I doubt the pirates would care to follow us too far inland! Probably better not to mention that, though.
“Tactically, cutting and running might appear to be a better option,” he said out loud. “Strategically, though, the consequences of abandoning an ally would be bad. Besides, we’d have to fight our way out; the Signory won’t let go of those containers easily.”
“Very well, I’ll list maintaining alliances as a mission constraint,” Martins said, jotting more notes. “Any changes in our tactical situation since we were given this mission?”
Someone chuckled and most of the room smiled at the tension-relieving absurdity of the question.
“We have a better idea of when the enemy will arrive and a better estimate of their forces,” Baker said. “And a better estimate of friendly forces. But the mission remains the same.”
“So our mission statement is as follows,” Martins read from his notes. “Defend the cargo containers, defend Nikeis, maintain our alliances, and retain the means to move the containers to Taranto in the face of an enemy fleet.”
“That’s good enough for now,” Rick agreed.
“So, factors to consider,” Martins said. “Enemy forces. It’s estimated we face over one hundred ships and fifteen thousand men from at least three nations.”
Yeah, Rick thought. And I still don’t know how this coalition came together so fast. Does someone else have radios? Are we all just pawns in some galactic game?
“Like I said before, some of the men on those ships are slaves,” Warner pointed out. “They’ll be less likely to fight.”
And what the hell am I supposed to do about them, damn it? They sure as hell didn’t choose to get involved in this.
“Friendly forces?” Martins said.
“The galleys and those harbor boats—the fustas they told us about,” Rick replied. “Ashore, they have about five hundred professional halberdiers and crossbowmen. The halberdier regiment we saw at the Battle of Ottarn is in Pavino, which is good and bad. We could use them here, but there’s always the chance the armada could take Pavino as a staging base if we don’t hold it. So that leaves us with the rest: irregular forces and militia formations.”
“Yes, Sir, they do have militia,” Harrison said. “That’s every man in the city. They all have some weapons, even the boys. Spears, mostly. They drill every month—some months girls join the boys and practice fire drill with buckets. Other months it’s military drill with spears, a few shields, but mostly spears. In theory, we’re talking up to fifteen, maybe twenty, thousand. Can’t say I’ve been much impressed, but you never know.”
“Probably fair, Colonel,” Clavell said. “But they do know the city a lot better than we do and probably a lot better than any pirate.”
“A valid point,” Martins acknowledged. “And we have the Roman ships and the galleys we captured en route.”
“Plus a thousand Roman soldiers, plus eighty-odd star lords, counting the Gurkhas,” Mason added. “And two hundred musketeers, a hundred Tamaerthan archers, and the Colonel’s personal guard.”
Martins nodded and kept writing.
“Relative Capabilities,” he said. “The pirates certainly have numerical superiority, especially if the militia doesn’t stand its ground.”
“True,” Baker said, “but their force is as much a polyglot improvisation as ours is, and much larger. Controlling it will be a serious challenge, particularly if a goodly portion of it are pirates. Discipline will be suspect, at the least.”
“How will that affect how they organize to fight?” Mason asked. “For that matter, how do galleys usually fight?”
Jimmy Harrison stood, and Rick nodded to him.
“I think I can offer something on that,” Harrison said. “Most of what I know I saw on the big paintings in the Doge’s Palazzo. I was studying them while Lance was teaching. Colonel. Some of those paintings get into a lot of detail, and every one of them makes it plain, naval battles are like land battles. They get close and swarm in. Try to ram, lots of crossbows and bows as they close, but mostly they try to board. In a swarm, Colonel. Then it’s close-in fighting. Smaller ships bring up reinforcements when the original forces get thin, and then it’s a race, who can throw in the most troops to take over the ship. After that, it’s on to the next one.”
“Sounds like a mass cavalry battle,” Mason offered. “But once engaged, forces are even harder to recall.”
“In this case, the sea and the wind have a major effect, as well,” Martins added.
“And leadership will have to be in the front.” Mason nodded. “No radios.”
“What about our own forces?” Rick asked. Need to watch the pace. Hard to balance getting the right inputs from everyone without getting stuck in rabbit holes and wasting what little time we have.
“To start,” Baker said, “our forces may be thrown together, but each element has a well-established chain of command, assuming we don’t mix them. Further, we have the benefit of the motivation of survival rather than greed.”
“And we know one thing,” Larry Warner said. “Sir.”
“What’s that?”
“We have as much experience as anyone on this planet on using massed rifle fire against a galley,” Warner pointed out, and Major Baker nodded with a chuckle.
“I should have brought that up myself. Good point, Mr. Warner.”
“Noted,” Rick said. “And the effect was decisive.”
“Until we run out of ammo,” Bisso muttered.
“Will they stand against that kind of firepower?” Warner asked.
“Chancy to rely on their not standing,” Lieutenant Martins said.
“I agree with you, Lieutenant,” Rick said. “The one thing we can’t risk is being overrun, land or sea. The pirates don’t know what they’re facing, so rifle fire will be a surprise to them. But until that happens, they have no reason to be overly cautious about attacking. And in any event, they have to know their biggest advantage is numbers. Assuming they have any intelligence at all, they’ll try to swarm us. No reason not to.”
“We’ve got other weapons,” Warner continued. “We have the LMG, the Brens, and the Carl Gustav. Mortars, too, if they get ashore.”
“Might not want to use mortars inside the city,” Rick observed.
“No, Sir,” Warner agreed. “But it’d be best of all if we
kept them from ever getting there. And one hit from the recoilless, and a ship will be out of it.”
“Probably,” Mason qualified. Warner looked at him, and Mason shrugged. “Taking a hit from Carl Gustav would have to be a major psychological shock, Larry. But it’s a lot smaller than one-oh-five and these ships are built pretty tough. Sure, hit them in the right place, and they’re out of it, but that could be easier said than done. If we had any Willie Peter left for the recoilless, I’d be more confident of taking them out with a single hit. White phosphorus has that effect on a wooden ship, and no way in hell to put out. But unless you hit ’em center of mass, and preferably below the waterline, you could probably blow lots of bits and pieces off without actually knocking them out.”
“And, again, only until we run out of ammunition,” Martins pointed out. “We’re still evaluating what we have to work with. Until we’ve done that, we can’t properly develop possible courses of action, and we certainly shouldn’t be choosing one at this point.”
“But—”
“Larry,” Rick intervened. We don’t need Warner and Martins butting heads at this point. Need to get Larry thinking about a task; strategy and tactics aren’t his thing. “I’m confident that between you and Mr. Saxon you can come up with some additional surprises. Mr. Saxon, do you have any magic in those containers you can whip up in the next few hours?”
Saxon had been trying to hide in the background, and he seemed embarrassed at having been brought into the foreground, instead.
“Well, we have some diesel fuel in the containers,” he said, quietly at first. “It’s supposed to be for the generator.” His voice became more forceful as his thoughts solidified. “And some white gas for our cooking stove . . . If we can find some strong alcohol and bottles, I can combine it with tar from the Arsenale to make some Molotov cocktails.”
“Sargent Clavell,” Rick said. “You mentioned the Nikeisians were experimenting with gunpowder. I think it’s time they put some of their cards on the table. We’re going to need all they have if this is going to work.”
“Colonel,” there was a note of caution in Warner’s voice, “we don’t know what the quality of their powder’s going to be like, and we don’t have time to test. Could foul our muskets.”
“Noted.” Rick nodded. “I don’t intend to use it for our guns. I do intend to make some surprises for the invaders.”
Rick turned back to Clavell and Harrison.
“Remember when you traded with the Nikeisians for that shipment of bird guano for the University?”
“Who could forget?” Clavell grimaced. “Tons of bird crap that smelled to high heaven, but it turned out to be great fertilizer.”
“Do they still have any?”
“I’m sure they do, but why?”
“Mr. Saxon, do you think you can do anything with bird guano and tar?”
“Yes, I do,” Saxon said with a smile. He paused and thought for a moment. “The results won’t be as explosive as refined petroleum, but it would make for a pretty good firebomb. And, like I said, we have some diesel fuel if you want real explosives.”
“Larry,” Rick said, “work with Mr. Saxon to get as many of those cocktails and bombs together as possible. Sargent Clavell, get with the provisioners the Nikeisians have assigned to us. Make sure Mr. Warner and Mr. Saxon get whatever they need. These firebombs and explosives might just be the edge we need.”
“Colonel,” Warner pointed out, “the Nikeisians are certainly going to be able to copy us.”
“It’s a risk we have to take,” Rick replied, then turned back to the rest of the group.
“What else? How about nonfirepower things?” he asked and saw Baker nod in agreement.
“We’re defending an island fortress,” Mason said. “That’s a pretty fair advantage.”
“Unfortunately, those fortresses and mud-flat defenses are going to be less effective than they might’ve been,” Rick pointed out. “You’d think they’d have at least chains across the canals into the lagoon, but I haven’t seen any sign of them. And the forts on the approaches don’t seem to have been well maintained.” He shook his head. “I’m wondering if there may have been a bit of ‘the wooden walls of Athens’ in their thinking.”
“May have been, Sir,” Mason said. “But Lance was telling me about what all they’ve got built up on top of those hills. Sounds to me like we could probably evac most of the civilians and pack ’em in up there. That’d at least get them out from underfoot and make moving our troops around the flats a lot easier.”
“Another good point.” Rick nodded. “Of course, there’s still the little problem of how we hold the flats.”
“I think we can be confident in the discipline of the Roman forces as well as our own,” Baker said. “Other than motivation for defending themselves, I can’t speak for the Nikeisian forces.”
“The Romans have a pretty healthy respect for Nikeisian ships,” Rick replied.
“And we have some nonkinetic capabilities which can enable our allies,” Martins offered.
“Go on.”
“We have watches for timekeeping, and compasses which seem to work even here on an alien planet, so—”
“There has to be a magnetic field for life to exist,” Warner put in. Rick gave him a “not now” look, then nodded for Martins to continue.
“The bell tower on the Doge’s Palazzo gives us an advantage in height of eye for command-and-control,” the lieutenant said. “We also have binoculars, radios, signalmen, and signaling rockets.”
“The top of the bell tower’s about a hundred feet above sea level. What does that make the visual horizon?” Rick asked, thinking about the view from its top. Judging distances could be hard enough under any circumstances; with only a featureless stretch of seawater, it got even more difficult, and he wanted a harder number if they were going to incorporate it into their planning.
Martins pulled out a pocket calculator and punched numbers.
“Approximately twenty-one and a half kilometers to the horizon, Sir,” he said. “Thirteen and a half miles.”
“There’s an even higher tower available,” Clavell offered. “It’s up in the upper city, off the Palazzo San Marco Maggiore. Has to be over two hundred feet above sea level. Probably closer to three.”
“Make that twenty-eight kilometers—seventeen and a half miles,” Martins said. “Thirty-five kilometers, at three hundred feet. And with the three-twenty mounted that high, we could bloody well send a signal back to the mainland. Can’t do that with the handhelds, though, because they’re outside its frequencies. But even the civilian base repeater ought to give us a good hundred fifty kilometers from that height. Certainly enough for our tactical needs, at least.”
“How high are most ships’ lookouts?” Mason asked.
“Maybe . . . sixty or seventy feet, max,” Harrison said.
“So that would be just over fifteen kilometers,” Martins said.
“Which means the Colonel would be able to see twice as far as the enemy commander,” Baker observed, and Rick glanced at him. You guys are maneuvering me into a box, probably with good reason, he thought.
“Okay,” he said out loud, “what’s next?”
“It’s not just the land and the sea,” Baker said. “It’s the interface between them. Tricky place to be.”
The major’s eyes were looking up and to the left, as if he were remembering something vividly.
There’s a story there, Rick thought. Okay, I’ll bite.
“Tell me about it.”
“When a fleet conducts an amphibious landing, it’s at its most vulnerable,” Baker replied. “Out to sea, it can maneuver, but once it puts troops ashore, it loses that maneuverability.”
“Weren’t you at Port San Carlos, Sir?” Martins asked.
“Back in 1982.” Baker nodded, and looked at Rick. “Argentina captured several of our islands in the South Atlantic, the Falklands, and we sent a naval task force to take them back. At some poin
t, we had to put troops ashore to remove the Argentines. The fleet was able to fight pretty well when we had room to maneuver, but once we assaulted a port in the middle of the main island, Port San Carlos, the fleet was essentially stuck in place, unable to maneuver while we reinforced and supported the troops ashore. We called it Bomb Alley. The Argie Air Force knew exactly where to find us and concentrated their effort on the ships sustaining the landing. The troopships in particular. Fortunately, they made some mistakes and we were successful. I was with another Gurkha regiment at the time.”
Argentina and Great Britain? Rick thought. Wonder what else has happened since we got abducted. Have we really been gone for fourteen years? He recalled the conversation between Martins and Warner about the collapse of the Soviet Union. In the end, the United States won the Cold War. So much has changed, both on Earth and here on Tran.
“The point is,” Baker continued, “that our opponents are coming to us, and they’ll have a real challenge when they cross that frontier. Think of it as crossing a river or a moat, but immensely thornier.”
“And they’ll have to make multiple river crossings in this case,” Mason observed, pointing to the map on the table. “If we can maintain control of the inner lagoon, they’ll be on foot and channeled to the bridges. It would be like fighting from the outer courtyard to the inner keep in a motte and bailey fortress.”
“Good point,” Rick said. “Let’s take the analogy further. If the outer lagoon is the castle wall, we need the containers in a keep.”
“So we need to get the other two containers to San Marco,” Mason said. “Be even better if we could get them to the upper palazzo.”
“Not enough time to move them up that slope,” Baker objected.
“You want to make walls with them, Colonel?” Mason asked.
“Yes. This building looks as if it would burn. Stone walls, but all this paneling and tapestry is flammable. And there was plenty of flammable material in the Doge’s Palace. Mr. Saxon, how fireproof are these containers?”
“Colonel, I have no idea,” Saxon said, shaking his head, “but I’d sure hate to try that experiment.”
“I would, too, and we have no idea what the pirates can do by way of pyrotechnics. The Romans throw fire pots, so we have to assume the pirates can do the same, and if they can, and they hit a palace that isn’t fireproof, we could lose anything inside it. We know the containers are made of a good steel, though, so they can be a part of the fortification, and I think they’d be safe against a couple of hits with fire pots in the open. They don’t have to stand up to firearms, and the rise in sea level means we’ll have plenty of water nearby. Anyone disagree?”
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