David Weber - How firm a foundation

With the West Gate closed, he’d turned his attention to the North Gate and anchored his galleons directly across the ship channel. He’d moored them in a long chain, running twelve miles from east to west, with barely fifty yards between each ship and the next in line. Under normal circumstances, the interval would have been two or three times that great in order to give the vessels room to ride to their anchors with shifting tide and wind without fouling one another. Jahras clearly wasn’t particularly worried about that; besides, each ship had put out no fewer than two bow and two stern anchors, with springs rigged to each of them. Those ships weren’t moving, and he’d laid buoyed hawsers between them, as well. According to Owl’s SNARCs, each of those cables was a good ten inches in diameter, and there were four of them between each ship. Obviously, they were intended to keep anybody from passing through the narrow gaps Jahras had left between his galleons.

In addition to the galleons, he’d managed to throw together thirty genuine floating batteries, essentially just big rafts with heavy bulwarks. He’d run out of naval artillery, so he’d requisitioned every field piece the Desnairian Army could get to Iythria in time, which meant the rafts were armed with an incredible hodgepodge of ancient cannon on every conceivable sort of improvised carriage. Most of them hadn’t even been cast with trunnions, although the Iythrian artillery works had been welding banded trunnions onto them as quickly as possible. The batteries’ fire was going to be a questionable asset, but there were still a lot of them, and he’d anchored them in the shallower water at either end of his line of galleons. Obviously, he intended for them to close as much as possible of the remaining water gap between his ships and the fortifications on Sickle Shoal and Triangle Shoal.

Backing up both galleons and floating batteries were fifteen or twenty old-fashioned galleys. They didn’t have much in the way of artillery, but their job was to lurk on the inner side of the galleon line and to pounce upon and board any Charisian galleon foolhardy enough to force its way between Jahras’ battleships.

It was obvious the baron had paid close attention to the reports he’d received about what had happened in the Markovian Sea. His awareness of the advantage the Charisians’ exploding shells bestowed upon them was probably incomplete, but it was clear enough to explain his flat refusal to lead his fleet to sea against Rock Point. And he’d done what he could to protect his ships and batteries against the new threat, as well. He’d ransacked the entire Gulf for every length of chain he could find and draped it over his galleons’ sides in an effort to make them at least a little more resistant to shellfire. He didn’t have enough of it and it wasn’t heavy enough to stop short range fire, but it was a clear indication he was at least thinking hard about the threat he faced.

The poorly armed floating batteries were actually better protected than his galleons. He’d had their already thick bulwarks fitted with frameworks which extended three or four feet, then he’d filled the frameworks with sandbags. The weight did unfortunate things to the rafts’ stability and reduced their flotation margins dangerously, but a four-foot depth of sandbags was far better armor against smoothbore shells than the chain he’d draped down the galleons’ sides.

Taking everything into consideration, Rock Point had to admit Jahras’ preparations were both more thorough and more competent than he’d anticipated. Obviously, the baron realized that even with exploding shells the Charisians were still going to have to come into his range if they wanted to engage him. His anchors and springs should allow him to turn his ships in place and concentrate a devastating weight of solid shot on anyone approaching his line, and he’d done everything he could to prevent his line from being penetrated and doubled. Nor had he neglected the landward defenses. The waterfront batteries had been reinforced; he’d drafted entire infantry regiments from the Imperial Desnairian Army to reinforce his Marine contingents against the possibility of boarding actions; his decision to fight only from anchor meant he wouldn’t need any seamen for maneuvering and that every man of every crew would be available to serve his guns; and he had something like twenty-five thousand additional men in Iythria’s garrison, from which boats could ferry replacements to his galleons and batteries as they suffered casualties.

Yet despite all that, Sir Domynyk Staynair truly was as confident as he looked. He didn’t expect it to be easy, but then again, few things worth doing were, and he smiled slightly as he recalled a discussion with Prince Nahrmahn.

“I have to say I didn’t expect Jahras to put together such a nasty reception for you, Domynyk,” the little Emeraldian had said over the com. His tone had been somber, obviously concerned, but Rock Point had only chuckled grimly.

“He’s worked hard at it, I’ll give him that,” the admiral had replied. “And given his disadvantages, this is probably about the best plan he could’ve come up with. But there’s a big difference between ‘best plan he could come up with’ and ‘a plan with a chance in hell of succeeding,’ Nahrmahn.”

“I realize this is your area of expertise, not mine, but it looks ugly enough to me,” Nahrmahn had said.

“That’s because you’re not a professional seaman.” Rock Point had shaken his head. “Oh, if we didn’t have the exploding shells and Ahlfryd’s ‘angle-guns’ it would be a lot nastier, I’ll give you-and Jahras-that. But we’d still take him in the end, even with nothing but old-fashioned round shot. The butcher’s bill would be a hell of a lot higher than it’s going to be, but we’d still take him.”

“How can you be so sure?” There’d been only honest curiosity, not disbelief, in Nahrmahn’s question, and Rock Point had shrugged.

“A warship is a mobile gun platform, Nahrmahn, and Jahras doesn’t have the kind of experience a Charisian flag officer has. He thinks he’s taken mobility out of play, but he’s wrong. To a landsman or an army officer, I’m sure his position looks downright impregnable. What a sailor sees, though, are the rat-holes in his ramparts, and I mean to shove an entire fleet right through them.”

That’s what I said, Your Highness, he thought now, and that’s what I meant. Now to demonstrate how it works. . VI.

Outer Roadstead and Inner Harbor, Port of Iythria, Empire of Desnair

The guns on Triangle Shoal opened fire first.

Stupid, Sir Dunkyn Yairley thought. We’re still at least a mile out of range, you idiots! Probably the damned Army; even Desnairian naval gunners would know you couldn’t hit anything-especially with Desnairian artillery-at four miles.

Still, he had absolutely nothing against watching enemy gunners waste powder and shot. The first, most carefully prepared and aimed salvos were always the most effective, which was the reason most captains reserved their fire until they were close enough they figured they couldn’t miss. Of course, fortress guns had the advantage of nice, solid, unmoving firing platforms, which no naval gunner ever had. That was one of the reasons no sane naval commander ever fought a well-sited, well-protected shore battery.

Or that was the way things used to be, at any rate. Charisian galleons had successfully out-dueled masonry-protected harbor defenses at Delferahk, after all. Still, even the majority of Charisian naval officers regarded that as something of a fluke… which it undoubtedly had been. For one thing, the rickety fortifications in question had been in less than perfect condition-indeed, some of them had been about ready to fall down on their own. More importantly, however, Admiral Rock Point had confronted old-style artillery, with a rate of fire less than a quarter that of his own, and he’d had the advantage of total surprise. Not surprise at being attacked, but astonishment-and probably sheer disbelief-at the sheer volume of fire his ships had been able to produce.