David Weber - How firm a foundation

“It’s good to see you, Ahlfryd,” Rock Point said. “I apologize for not getting out here sooner, but-”

He shrugged, and Seamount nodded.

“I understand, Sir. You’ve had a lot to do.”

The commodore’s eyes dropped to the enormous rottweiler lying quietly beside his desk. Rock Point had inherited the acting rank of high admiral from Bryahn Lock Island, but Seamount had inherited Keelhaul. Frankly, the commodore was more than a little surprised the big, boisterous dog had survived his master’s death. For the first couple of five-days, he’d been afraid Keelhaul was going to grieve himself to death, and he still hadn’t fully regained the exuberance which had always been so much a part of him.

“Yes, I have.” Rock Point inhaled deeply, then crossed to one of the office’s armchairs. His peg leg thumped on the stone floor, the sound quite different from the sound his remaining shoe made, and he seated himself with a sigh of relief.

“Yes, I have,” he repeated, “but I’ve finally managed to steal a couple of days away from all the reams of paperwork. So why don’t the two of you dazzle me with what you’ve been up to while I’ve been away?”

“I don’t know if ‘dazzle’ is exactly the right word, Sir,” Seamount replied with a smile. “I do think you’re going to be impressed, though. Pleased, too, I hope.”

“I’m always impressed by your little surprises, Ahlfryd,” Rock Point said dryly. “Of course, sometimes I’m not so sure I’m going to survive them.”

“We’ll try to get you back to Destroyer undamaged, Sir.”

“I’m vastly reassured. Now, about those surprises?”

“Well, there are several of them, actually, Sir.”

Seamount crossed to the slate wall and reached for a piece of chalk. Rock Point watched him a bit warily. The commodore was a compulsive sketcher who had a tendency to illustrate his points enthusiastically.

“First, Sir, as you… suggested last time you were both here,” Seamount continued, “I’ve had Commander Mahndrayn and the Experimental Board finishing up the work on the rifled artillery pieces. Master Howsmyn’s provided us with the first three wire wound pieces, and they’ve performed admirably. They’re only twelve-pounders-although the shot weight’s actually closer to twenty-four pounds, given how much longer it is in proportion to its diameter-but as proof of the concept, they’ve been completely satisfactory. Master Howsmyn is confident he could go to production on much heavier weapons if and when you and Their Majesties should determine the time is right.”

“That’s excellent news, Ahlfryd!” Rock Point’s smile of pleasure was completely genuine, even though he’d already known what Seamount was going to report. Ehdwyrd Howsmyn had kept him fully informed. Unfortunately, Seamount wasn’t part of the inner circle, which meant explaining how Rock Point could have come by his knowledge would have been a trifle difficult.

“I’m not sure how our sudden acquisition of so many galleons is going to affect that decision,” he continued. “On the one hand, we’ve already revealed the existence of the shell-firing smoothbores, and I’m sure that bastard Clyntahn is going to provide dispensations right and left while the Church works on duplicating them. I still don’t see the additional theoretical range being all that valuable in a sea fight, what with the ships’ relative motion, but I’m beginning to think that if Ehdwyrd has the capacity available it might not be a bad idea to begin manufacturing and stockpiling the rifled pieces. That way they’d be available quickly if and when, as you say, we decide to shift over to them.”

“I’ll look into that, Sir,” Seamount said, chalk clacking as he turned to make a note to himself on the waiting slate. “It’ll probably mean he needs to further increase his wire-drawing capacity, as well, so the additional leadtime would almost certainly be a good thing.”

Rock Point nodded, and Seamount nodded back.

“Second,” he continued, “at that same meeting you suggested Commander Mahndrayn give some thought to the best way to protect a ship from shellfire. He’s done that, and discussed it with Sir Dustyn Olyvyr, as well. We don’t have anything like a finished plan yet, but a few things have become evident to us.”

“Such as?” Rock Point prompted, and Seamount gestured for Mahndrayn to take over.

“Well,” the commander said in the soft, surprisingly melodious tenor which always sounded just a bit odd to Rock Point coming out of someone who seemed so intense, “the first thing we realized was that wooden armor simply won’t work, Sir. We can make the ships’ scantlings thicker, but even if they’re too thick for a shell to actually smash through them, we can’t make them thick enough to guarantee it won’t penetrate into them before it detonates. If that happens, it would be almost as bad as no ‘armor’ at all. It could even be worse, given the fire hazard and how much worse the splinters would be. Another objection to wood is its weight. It’s a lot more massive for the same strength than iron, and the more we looked at it, the more obvious it became that iron armor that prevented shells from penetrating at all or actually broke them up on impact was the only practical answer.”

“Practical?” Rock Point asked with a faint smile, and Mahndrayn chuckled sourly.

“Within limits, Sir. Within limits.” The commander shrugged. “Actually, Master Howsmyn seems to feel that with his new smelting processes and the heavier hammer and rolling mills those ‘accumulators’ of his make possible he probably can provide iron plate to us in useful thicknesses and dimensions within the next six months to a year. He’s not sure about quantities yet, but my observation’s been that every one of his estimates for increased productivity has erred on the side of conservatism. And one thing’s certain-we haven’t seen any evidence that anyone on the other side would be in a position to match his production for years to come.”

“That’s true enough,” Rock Point conceded. In fact, it was even truer than Mahndrayn realized, although that didn’t mean enough small foundries couldn’t produce at least some useful quantities of armor, even using old-fashioned muscle power to hammer out the plates.

“Assuming Master Howsmyn can manufacture the plate, and that we can come up with a satisfactory way of securing it to the hull, there are still going to be weight considerations,” Mahndrayn continued. “Iron gives better protection than wood, but building in enough protection out of anything to stop shellfire is going to drive up displacements. That’s one of the problems I’ve been discussing with Sir Dustyn.

“I understand Doctor Mahklyn at the College is also working with Sir Dustyn on mathematical ways to predict displacements and sail power and stability. I’m afraid I’m not too well informed on that, and neither is Sir Dustyn, for that matter. He’s a practical designer of the old school, but he’s at least willing to give Doctor Mahklyn’s formulas a try once they’re finished. In the meantime, though, it’s obvious hull strength is already becoming an issue in our current designs. There’s simply an upper limit on the practical dimensions and weights which can be constructed out of a material like wood, and we’re approaching them rapidly. Sir Dustyn’s been working on several ways to reinforce the hull’s longitudinal strength, including diagonal planking and angled trusses between frames, but the most effective one he’s come up with uses iron. Basically, he’s boring holes in the ships’ frames, then using long iron bolts between adjacent frames to stiffen the hull. Obviously, he hasn’t had very long to observe the approach’s success at sea, but so far he says it looks very promising.