Parno's Destiny: The Black Sheep of Soulan: Book Two (23 page)

“No,” Selvey shook his head. “He couldn't see from that far back. And signaling would be too difficult,” he added. “No, there's another reason. Perhaps they have medical personnel on board.” This more to himself than to Merrill. “Not a bad idea if so,” he nodded absently. A sailor ran up with a message for Merrill.

“Northern force now approaching abreast, sir,” Merrill read the message. “Six cruisers, seven frigates. No sloops or other ships in view with this force,” he added.

“Eleven cruiser weight ships and fifteen frigates,” Selvey said aloud. “That would account for most of their eastern navy.” The assembled Imperial Fleet had a total of eighteen cruisers and twenty-four frigates protecting eleven troopships and three cargo ships. Just about right for an invading army. Of course, those ships had only a handful of Marines aboard other than their crews.

“Numbers are more even than I expected,” Merrill admitted. He had counted on outnumbering the Soulan fleet elements heavily in this engagement. That wasn't looking to be the case, now.

“Always a safe bet to assume that your enemy outnumbers you, Captain,” Selvey replied. “You avoid surprises that way. Signal the fleet, Mister Merrill. Line abreast, primary targets are the cruisers. Soulan cruisers are built to ram so we need to keep them off balance as much as possible. I don't need to remind you that the wind favors them in this first pass?”

“No sir!” Merrill replied. He was already moving to where sailors awaited with flags to hoist for signals to the other ships. The Imperial Fleet was divided into three squadrons, but all ships would take their orders from the
Indina
rather than from their squadron commanders. It was something Merrill had argued against, but Selvey would not be moved in that. He did not trust his squadron commanders to act in the best interest of the navy overall rather than themselves, so he would issue all orders to all ships.

Of course, if something happened to Selvey, or the
Indina
, then there would be a time of confusion among the Imperial Fleet until command structures were back in the squadron commanders' hands.

A lot could go wrong in those moments.

*****

“We should slow slightly,” Semmes almost murmured. “Allow the Sunshine Coast contingent to catch up. But sacrificing that speed would cost us.”

“Sir?” Nettles asked.

“Talking to myself, Mister Nettles,” Semmes shook his head. “Ideally, we should slow our advance to allow Commodore Rhode's ships to catch us. But doing so would make us slower when we hit engagement range and I don't want that. I'd rather have gone in together.”

“Is the loss of speed worth the gain from waiting, sir?” Nettles asked.

“Excellent question,” Semmes nodded. “The truth is I don't know. We have no real idea what the Imperial ships are capable of, to be honest. Oh, we know roughly what they can do,” he added as Nettles started to object, “but what is the accuracy of their weaponry? How drilled are their men? How well trained are they? See what I mean? All those are unknowns to us for the moment.” He paused, considering.

“Signal the squadron to drop the three-quarter sail,” he ordered finally. “That should allow us to maintain enough momentum while allowing Commodore Rhode the time to come up in support.” He raised his glass to the south, searching for the Keyhorn ships of Commodore David's command.

“Perhaps they'll see us soon, sir,” Nettles offered as he departed to relay the signal orders.

“Perhaps,” Semmes said aloud to no one. He swept the southern horizon once more before turning his attention back to the Imperial Fleet.

They would soon be in theoretical range of ballista and catapult. Things would certainly liven up then. Perhaps he should slow to half-sail, allowing his gunners more time to engage before resuming ramming speed.

*****

“Total Soulan count remains at eleven cruisers and fifteen frigates, sir,” Merrill reported.

“I can see that Mister Merrill,” Selvey replied calmly. “I expected more ships,” he added after a moment. If he noticed Merrill's red face he ignored it.

“Perhaps their king rushed them to attack with whatever they had,” Merrill offered, almost hesitantly after the last retort from his Admiral.

“That is a possibility,” Selvey nodded. “No doubt we're putting pressure on them with our presence here. But why would he order them to attack us with numbers so small that our victory is all but assured?”

“Sir, is it possible that this is all there is?” Merrill asked cautiously. “We were at peace for a long time, and we were talking peace right up until the war began. Maybe they had drawn down their forces and this is all they have.”

“Again, that is possible,” Selvey mused. “But judging from the readiness of their army, we dare not make such an assumption I fear. I think your first suggestion would be closer to the mark, Captain. We have put such pressure on the southerners that their King has ordered them to do the impossible.”

Selvey continued to watch the approaching enemy, unable to completely overcome the unease he was feeling. He told himself it was only natural to feel that unease. He was about to lead his ships into battle against a worthy opponent. If he failed, he might well perish. If he failed and lived, he would be a prisoner at best. Should he live and escape, he would then be at the mercy of his Emperor, as would his family.

Yes, there was plenty of reason for his unease. And not all of it was due to the number of ships his opponent was mustering.

*****

“Sir, top lookout is seeing sails to our northwest,” Commander Riddell reported. David nodded sagely, still considering his options.

“Any idea of the count?” he asked, not expecting one.

“Not as yet, but the enemy is facing west it appears, and there are two lines of vessels,” Riddell replied. “It's possible their troopships are the second line, sir,” he added.

“So it is,” David nodded. “That would be a great good fortune, would it not?” he almost grinned. “If we could take the troopships unaware, before their warships can intervene?”

“It would indeed, sir,” Riddell nodded. “But. . .our frigates aren't really rigged for ramming, sir,” he continued hesitantly.

“I'm quite aware of that Mister Riddell,” David replied.

“Their throw weight isn't great enough to sink a very large troopship, either, sir,” Riddell continued despite his reluctance to do so.

“Make your point, Mister Riddell,” David's voice was slightly brittle now.

“Sir, if our frigates attempt to ram such large vessels, they're almost sure to sink along with them,” Riddell took the plunge.

“That they are,” David nodded. “And we will do our duty if it costs us every ship in this squadron, Mister Riddell. The navy exists for the sole purpose of protecting the shores of Soulan.” He turned to look at the younger man. “You may have been taught that at Savannah. No?” Riddell's face reddened at the slight barb, but he nodded.

“Then there should be no doubt that our frigates will do what's required of them, should there?” David turned his gaze back to the northwest. “We will do what we came here to do, Mister Riddell. Make no mistake about that.”

“Sir,” Riddell nodded his acquiescence, thoroughly cowed by his Commodore's quiet scathing.

“Carry on, Mister Riddell,” David ordered. He looked at the sails above him, noting they were billowing more than before. The
Ocoee
, sister ship to the
Wabash
, was cutting through the water at a fine clip now.

“Signal line abreast, Mister Riddell,” he ordered suddenly. “The wind appears to be in our favor for the moment. Let's take full advantage of that.”

“Will do, sir.”

*****

“Wind appears to be shifting,” Merrill noted the same thing aboard the
Indina
. “This may favor them more, Admiral,” there was no need to add.

“So it may,” Selvey nodded. “Nothing we can do about the wind, Mister Merrill except pray that it changes to favor us in time of greater need.”

“Sir,” Merrill acknowledged.

“We'll open fire at maximum range,” Selvey ordered. “Ships may maneuver at will to unmask batteries, but line positions are to remain constant. Present broadsides as though needful but do not break formation.” He turned to look at Merrill.

“At times such as these, it is discipline that will win the day, Mister Merrill. We must maintain.”

“Yes sir,” Merrill nodded. “I'll have the signals sent.”

“Carry on.”

*****

“Imperial ships are maneuvering, sir,” Nettles reported.  As with so many of his 'reports', it wasn't really needed or necessary, yet it was his function to make sure that his Admiral knew everything there was to know.

“So they are, Mister Nettles,” Semmes nodded absently, observing the Imperial ships himself. “They intend to open fire at long range,” he added after a few seconds. “Signal all ships, make full sail,” he ordered. “By the time they decide they have us, we'll be gaining speed again. That will throw them off a bit at least for the first round or two.”

“Full sail, aye sir,” Nettles replied and nodded to a runner standing close by. The man nodded and took off toward the signal officers who were already hauling down the current signal flags.

“Order chase weapons to ready as well,” Semmes added after no more than a few seconds. “Ship captains are to allow chase weaponry to fire as soon as they believe they can achieve accuracy. They know their men better than we do.”

“Yes Admiral,” Nettles nodded. This message he carried himself, because of its importance. His other runner for the moment was a teenager who was so scared his face was white.

Nettles hurried to the signals officer, a commander who had been at sea longer than the young runner had been in the world, and quickly explained the order. The man nodded, making a quick note in his log even as he snapped out orders. His signalmen hurried to attach these new orders to the second of three lines used to replay signals. By the time Nettles had returned to his Admiral's side the signal flags were on their way up the line.

“Signals made, sir.”

“Excellent,” Semmes nodded. “We'll soon be in the fire, Mister Nettles,” he added. “I assume you've made ready?” he asked suddenly.

“I have, sir,” Nettles said gravely. “Today is as good as any other.”

“And perhaps better than some,” Semmes nodded again, in approval this time. “Soon it will be in the hands of the men, Mister Nettles. Our job is to give them a chance. To put them in position to win. Once we've done that, it's all up to them from that point on.”

“We have good men, sir,” Nettles agreed.

“That we do.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

-

There was little elegance to it, in the end. The Royal Navy of Soulan made full sail directly into the Imperial Fleet's line and the Imperial Fleet stood by to receive them. One side fighting for their home, the other for an ideal, or in some cases for their continued well-being.

Men of both sides prayed that their officers, their ships or their luck would see them through the coming battle. Their officers prayed they would give a good account of themselves, save their ship and be victorious. A rare few looked at the battle with a gleaming eye, hopeful for glory, reward and fame.

The ships themselves creaked and groaned under the strain of moving through water that was much heavier than themselves, bows splitting the ocean to allow the ships to pass as they prepared for battle. They were proud vessels, made by proud men and sailed by those who took great pride in the ship they served. Ships made for the art of war at sea, designed to outlast the enemy before they succumbed to damage themselves. A few of the ships, and a select few men on both sides had seen naval combat, but never before had the combined navies of each power faced each other in such a duel. The commanders on both sides were in uncharted waters here and had nothing but training, theory and discipline to fall back upon.

Each hoped it would be sufficient.

*****

“They intend to ram, Admiral!” Merrill almost shouted as the fact dawned on him.

“I believe you were taught that Soulan cruisers were built to ram other vessels, Mister Merrill,” Selvey replied calmly. “This tactic should not be unexpected.”

“Our ships won't be able to stand those blows, sir,” Merrill stressed.

“In all likelihood they will not,” Selvey admitted as the first catapults fired from his most forward ships. “That is why we have artillery, Mister Merrill. We must trust to our men that they will damage the enemy, at least some of them, sufficiently to prevent them from completing their runs. And they only get one,” he added, raising his glass again. “Once they've shot their bolt, it will be sword and arbalest and pike. Ballistas and boarding actions. You've trained for this Mister Merrill.” Selvey lowered his glass suddenly and looked at the younger man.

“Surely you didn't think we would escape unscathed from this battle, did you?” The older man's tone was slightly condescending, but also the tone of a teacher. An instructor.

“I. . .no sir, I knew we would take losses,” Merrill replied, swallowing hard. “I just. . .I didn't expect them to come right at us this way.”

“And why not?” Selvey returned his eyes to his glass, looking at the approaching enemy vessels as the first shots began to land among them. “We threaten their homeland, Mister Merrill. I warned you many times, did I not? Say what you will of them, the Southerners are not cowardly nor are they ignorant.”

*****

“Taking fire, Admiral,” Nettles reported.

“So I see,” Semmes nodded. “We'll soon see-” He was cut off as the forward mounts on the
Wabash
fired, hurling half-barrels of flaming pitch and red hot iron at the Imperial ships.

“- how effective our own fire is,” Semmes finished as crews forward raced to reload their weaponry. “Would you be so good as to find Mister Hoag for me, Mister Nettles?” Semmes asked calmly. Wayland Hoag was the sailing master of the
Wabash
, making him the senior sailing master, or maritime expert, in the fleet.

“At once, Admiral,” Nettles nodded and sent two runners scurrying to find the requested man, adding himself to the search on the after decks so he was still within hearing of his Admiral.

Two minutes later Wayland Hoag appeared, his shirt sweat stained and face grimy.

“Admiral?” he almost demanded. Unlike the others, Hoag was not an officer, but the senior enlisted man in the entire fleet that was now at sea. He had more practical sailing and shipping knowledge that all of Semmes' officers could muster combined. Experience in command they had. Experience in actual ship handling they left to seasoned hands like Hoag.

“Mister Hoag, I've had a thought,” Semmes said evenly. “I need your input before I signal the order, but I'm afraid I must have your answer forthrightly as time is of the essence.”

“About?” Hoag was wary now.

“I'm curious about our speed. . . .”

*****

South of the battle, the Keyhorn Squadron continued to close at full sail, benefiting from a favorable wind for the moment.

“Lookouts report seeing fire to the north, sir,” Riddell reported to Commodore David. “Enemy is engaging with fire.”

“Very well,” David nodded, his eyes never leaving the horizon. Only his lookouts could see the enemy as yet, but his own ships were closing quickly.

“Signal all ships to maintain position,” he ordered suddenly. “Front rank will take whatever fire the enemy can muster in our direction once our presence is known to them while the rear rank will concentrate on the troopships as they come into view.” He gave Riddell his full attention for a few seconds.

“All frigates are to ram the nearest troopship to them that is still unengaged.”

“Sir,” Riddell began but David's look stopped him.

“You have your orders, Mister Riddell. Carry them out.”

“Aye, sir,” the younger man nodded and headed for the signals officer.

Anthony David turned back to the horizon, looking toward an enemy he himself could not yet see, but he knew was there, nonetheless.

*****

“Admiral, it's not that this won't work, but understand that you'll lose enough speed that it will affect your follow through,” Hoag said flatly. “You won't have the speed to continue on once the cruisers ram, sir.”

“As I suspected,” Semmes nodded. “Still, we can at least succeed in the first attack, still. Yes?”

“Yes sir,” Hoag nodded carefully. “Barely,” he forced himself to add.

“That is acceptable Mister Hoag,” Semmes nodded. “I thank you and you may return to your post.”

“Sir,” Hoag stiffened slightly and hurried on his way.

“Admiral,” Nettles began, then stopped himself. He had overstepped enough for one day, he decided.

“There is only one condition of victory here, Mister Nettles,” Semmes said softly. “We are here to determine the status of this enemy force. If they have troops, we must sink them. If they do not, we must know it, and so signal the cutters behind us. Fail and we lose this battle, regardless of whether we survive or not.”

“I for one would rather die succeeding than simply die fighting,” he finished.

“Yes sir,” Nettles nodded, admitting that he felt much the same though he would highly prefer surviving as well.

“Prepare the signals,” Semmes returned to business. “Prepare for moving broadside.”

*****

Hampton Rhode looked at the signals message with a frown. Had Semmes lost his reason?

“Sir?”

He turned to see his runner waiting.

“Send the signal, son,” Rhode handed the message back. “Quickly now. You!” he pointed to a runner standing by waiting for orders. “Advise Commander Layton to prepare ballistas for moving broadsides.”

The runner nodded and took off at a run.

Rhode could only shake his head and hope his Admiral knew what he was doing. Rhode certainly didn't.

*****

“We're overshooting,” Merrill observed. Selvey almost snorted at the unnecessary comment, but managed to stop himself. It wasn't dignified, after all.

“Their commander increased speed as we prepared to open fire. Excellent tactics.”

“We'll get the range, sir,” Merrill said and once more Selvey had to stifle his reaction to the unneeded comment. Sometimes Merrill really wore on him.

“I'm sure we will, Mister Merrill,” he settled for saying. “Unless and until their commander does something else unexpected.”

*****

“Their shots are scoring, Admiral,” Nettles said, using his glass to scan their own ships. “
Belle
and
Seawitch
have taken hits.
Belle
's foresail is aflame.”

“Very well,” Semmes replied, not looking for himself. “They'll carry on as best they can I'm sure.”

Nettles said nothing else, continuing to look across at their own ships. He would keep Semmes apprised of their damages so that Semmes could concentrate on issuing orders to the fleet.

Forward, the
Wabash
's chase weapons fired again, the thrump felt and heard throughout the ship. Their own artillery was getting the range as well.

*****

“One of their ships is aflame, sir!” Merrill sounded more enthusiastic.

“Yes, I can see that,” Selvey fought to maintain his calm. “What of our own vessels, Mister Merrill? The enemy is turning fire.”

“Sorry sir,” Merrill's face reddened at the dressing down as he turned his glass to their own ships.

“Well?” Selvey asked when Merrill didn't immediately reply.

“Sir,
Sorcerer
is ablaze,” Merrill said quietly, his earlier enthusiasm gone. “
Stitch
and
Velvet Glove
are also burning,” he added. “Their men are good shots.”

A cruiser and two frigates burning, possibly out of action. In return, the enemy had one frigate burning and another that had minor damage. Not the best exchange.

“Signal all ships to stand by rowers,” Selvey ordered a runner. “We'll have to move soon,” he added to himself more than anyone else.

He turned his attention back to his enemy. His very capable and resourceful enemy as
Indina
's weaponry hurled another volley across to every narrowing expanse of water.

*****

“Two enemy ships ablaze, sir!” Riddell read the message from the lookouts. “Two of our own appear damaged as well,” his face fell somewhat as he continued. “Second line of ships match silhouettes for known Nor merchant and troopships, sir.”

“That's our target,” David said at once. “Signal the squadron to make full sail at once and stand by rowers and chase weaponry. We will fire the moment the enemy seems to take notice of us.”

“Sir,” Riddell nodded and ran to issue the orders.

“Hold on Admiral,” David said to the horizon. “We're coming.”

*****

“Now,” Semmes ordered calmly to the signals officer standing by to raise the orders he posted. The man ran the banners up the main signal mast quickly, tying the line fast.

The Soulan fleet trained its ship commanders and sailing masters hard. Command went to those officers who could think on their feet and showed a talent for handling their vessels under pressure. Sailing masters were the most seasoned sailors the Royal Navy could muster from all walks of the kingdom, selected for their knowledge of ships and seas.

But there was no way to communicate from ship to ship that didn't involve visual cues. Flags were a time proven way to get orders out, but they took time to disseminate through the fleet. That meant that only the most general of orders were usually given, the individual ship commanders being left to implement those general orders as best they could given their conditions.

Despite all the training and preparation however, a fleet of ships under full sail simply could not turn on a line. Orders would be a few seconds ahead or behind another ship and turns would be faster or slower depending on ship size, weight, and the skill of her handlers.

Problems were bound to occur. Semmes was hoping for the least possible amount of those problems with this set of orders, made on the fly.

He was to be disappointed at least somewhat.

“Sir,
Seacat
is hit!” Nettles reported. “The
Warrior
has rammed them in the turn, Admiral!
Seacat
is listing and
Warrior
has lost her momentum.”

“Understood,” Semmes said gravely. He had hoped to avoid that, but had known it was possible. Another frigate lost, and a cruiser, the
Warrior,
without enough momentum left to stay with the line. It was a loss, but hopefully it would not be decisive. As that thought hit him, the starboard broadside of the
Wabash
fired in unison, shaking the cruiser from bow to stern.

Shaking off the losses, Semmes raised his glass to see the result of his change in orders even as his ships began to heel to starboard to expose their port broadsides.

*****

“What-”

“Mister Merrill, if you cannot cease your babbling then kindly call for your relief and remove yourself from this bridge!” Selvey had finally had enough.

“Sir-” Merrill began, then cut himself off, trying to regain his lost calm. He was not acquitting himself very well in the Admiral's eyes so far, and that could have negative consequences for his career.

“Damage report?” Selvey demanded, again reminding Merrill of his responsibilities.