Travis Starnes
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The Wings of Mercury - Chapter 10
🕑 Added 2024-07-28 13:00:08 +0000 UTCFactorium
“… appreciate it, but I really came to find out how the steamship project is coming?” Lucilla said.
It had been a week since she’d received notice that the fuse test failed, and she hadn’t heard from the manufacturer since. She’d sent requests for updates, which had been met with, not silence, but demurs. Which was unusual for Hortensius and enough to prompt Lucilla to come see what was happening.
“We are working as fast as we can, Your Majesty. These things take time.”
“I understand that, but the Easterners are advancing into Germania at an alarming rate. We need something to stop them, and soon. They will be out of the mountains soon and into the plains, where the rivers will give us a chance to block them.
But only if we have the ships in place to make it work.
“I appreciate that, Your Majesty, and we really are trying, but it is becoming much more difficult than we’d originally thought. The main issue we’re facing is creating a compact, high-pressure boiler that’s efficient enough to power a ship. The Consul’s plans were thorough, but we’ve yet to have a successful test.”
“Is it really so different from the scaled-down engines we use for trains?”
“Yes and no. The principles are similar, but the scale and application present unique challenges. A ship’s engine needs to be much more powerful and reliable than a locomotive’s. Primarily our issue has been with pressure regulation and fuel efficiency. We’ve managed to create a boiler that can generate the necessary steam pressure, but maintaining it consistently is proving difficult, especially over the distance needed. With trains, we have the luxury of space and proximity. The engine sits close to the boiler, and the power transfer is relatively straightforward. On ships, it’s not so simple.”
“Why not?”
“On ships, the boiler must be situated deep within the vessel’s core for protection. But we need to transmit that power to propulsion systems at the ship’s extremities. It’s a matter of distance and efficiency.”
“Couldn’t we simply scale up the engine?”
“No, in fact, we need to scale it down, as much as possible. It’s a problem of size and weight, especially for river vessels. A larger engine might solve our power transmission issues, but it would render the ships too heavy for shallow waters. It wouldn’t be an issue in larger screw-driven ships intended for ocean use, or even in the larger rivers, but for the paddle wheel design needed for the smaller rivers, it just doesn’t work. If I had my preference, I’d concentrate on the screw design. It has broader applications, including ocean-going vessels. However... that’s not possible.”
“That’s fine. But we need to accelerate the progress. I know that’s asking a lot, and you’re already pushing as hard as you can, but we need to begin building a technological advantage over these people, and we cannot wait until the end of summer to do it.”
“I understand, your majesty, and I will push my people to go faster, but I am not willing to compromise on the quality of the work. Sending faulty equipment to the Consul is no better than sending nothing at all.”
“That’s fine, but please go as quickly as possible,” Lucilla said. “What about your other projects? Any further progress?”
“I messaged you about the fuse failure.”
“You did. Have you come to any conclusions since your report?”
“Only that it continues to be a challenge. We’re struggling to find the right balance of sensitivity. Too sensitive, and they’re unsafe to transport. Too stable, and they won’t detonate on impact. We’re aiming for that sweet spot in the middle, but it’s proving elusive. We continue to work on it and understand that it, too, is a priority.”
“Very well. So I guess I will just wait patiently to hear of some success,” Lucilla said, a little more bitingly than she intended.
She knew that Hortensius was doing his best and understood how important these were, but she needed something. Aside from promises, both here and from allies, little forward momentum had been achieved, which left Ky dangling dangerously unsupported in the east. She needed to do something to help him, and she needed to do it soon.
“Not everything has been a failure. We do have one success to report.”
“Really?” Lucilla asked, perking up. “What?”
“Come with me.”
He led her across the compound to the cluster of buildings dedicated to chemical research, finding Sorantius inside, bent over a workbench as always, all but oblivious to their approach.
“Sorantius,” Hortensius called out. “I brought Her Majesty to see the hydrogen tanks.”
The chemist looked up, blinking as if emerging from a trance, his expression becoming excited as the words finally hit home. “Of course. Of course. This way, Your Majesty.”
He guided them to a series of large, cylindrical containers connected by an intricate network of pipes.
“These tanks,” Sorantius explained, “are designed to capture and store the gas the Consul called hydrogen. Actually, we were already creating it as a byproduct of other processes, but it is odorless and colorless, and light enough that it floats away instantly, so we had no idea until the Consul explained it to us. With these tanks, we can then redirect the hydrogen as needed, although aside from adding it into a few other chemicals, I’m not sure what the Consul needs it for.”
Lucilla wasn’t sure either, but Ky had said it would become important, so she didn’t question it.
“I remember there being something in the instructions about the portable containers.”
“We’ve made progress there as well,” Hortensius interjected. “We’ve developed prototypes that can be filled from these larger tanks. However, we’re still in the testing phase, checking for potential leaks or corrosion issues.”
“I’m pleased you two have made progress on this,” Lucilla said. “I would have liked something more immediately useful, but that does not mean I don’t recognize the work you’ve both put in.”
“We understand, Your Majesty, and we will continue to push as hard as we can to get you the results you need.”
Sorantius looked a little perplexed at where the conversation had turned, but nodded along nonetheless.
“Good. I have faith in both of you to come through for us.”
Now she just had to hope it didn’t take too long for her faith to be proven out.
***
West of the Horn of Africa
Valdar had made the trip around the horn of Africa a dozen times by now, and had learned to both appreciate and, to some degree, mitigate its dangers. And yet now, as they neared the bottom of the continent once again, he was as nervous as he had been the first time, sailing into uncharted waters.
He and all of his men had been on edge ever since leaving Port Kalb and starting the trip south. Weeks of anxious, nervous sailing wasn’t good for a man, and yet there was nothing he could do to stop it. There was a fleet out there somewhere. Supposedly a large one, and he was hoping to stumble across it.
Worse than his concern of what would happen when he did find the enemy was the more catastrophic outcome… that he might not. That their fleets, and Valdar had no doubt they were out here, might sail past each other, putting an enemy fleet in his home waters and him, and more than half the Britannia fleet, an ocean away from them.
So he waited for those two little words that…
“Sail Ho,” came the cry from the crow’s nest.
Valdar shook off everything he’d been thinking and focused on the moment, pulling up his spyglass and staring into the distance. It took him a minute to find what the lookout had spotted. But he found them.
How could he not?
“Thirty-one... no, thirty-two ships,” he muttered.
“That many?” his first mate said.
He could be off, of course. Counting sails at this distance wasn’t an easy task, but even if he missed badly, he was still going to be outnumbered. He’d brought fourteen caravels and nine schooners. A formidable force, but if these ships were anywhere close to what had been described, undermatched for the mass of sails even now turning toward him.
“Bring us about. Signal the fleet to form up. We’re intercepting.”
His men snapped to faster than he’d ever remembered them moving. Of course, they’d been waiting for that moment as long as he had.
As the Britannian ships maneuvered into position, Valdar studied the approaching vessels. They were the same people he’d fought on the Sea of Reeds five years ago, he had no doubt. The horizontal design of their sails was unmistakable, and not used by anyone else he’d ever met.
And Valdar was pretty sure he’d met or encountered every captain who’d ever sailed beyond sight of land.
They weren’t exactly the same, however. The sail design was the same, but they had smaller sails too, much like his own sail plans. The bodies of the ships, though, were completely different. Closer to his own caravels, actually. Not exact, but very close. He could also start making out the square openings of exposed gunports. Which meant cannon.
“Signal the fleet. Line of battle formation. We’ll engage them broadside.”
The first mate nodded and relayed the orders. Flags unfurled as the signalmen waved the message across, sending it rippling down the line of ships. His men responded well, each vessel maneuvering into position.
Valdar left the details to his men, keeping his attention focused on the enemy, watching the distance close, maintaining the battle in his mind. Seeing the whole field, as the Consul liked to say.
“Bring us to windward,” Valdar ordered as the enemy crossed an invisible line.
The helmsman complied, adjusting their course with the rest of the fleet following suit. The enemy followed suit, taking a similar line formation, the two fleets angling toward each other to close the distance while keeping their guns more or less pointed in the right direction.
Who would shoot first? There was a benefit to being the first to fire. If your rounds could get on target, you might cripple some of the enemy’s tubes and lessen the damage they could do in return. Fire too soon, though, and your shots will invariably miss, leaving your men to reload as the enemy got a clean, and closer, shot in return.
They answered that question for him as puffs of smoke erupted across the line of enemy ships. Valdar didn’t call out a warning. His men saw it.
Besides, it was going to be short.
Moments later, his prediction held true after dozens of rounds splashed well short of his mind. How fast could they reload?
Valdar let the range close a little more than called out, “Let’s return the favor. Fire one salvo. Let’s get their range.”
The order was carried down to the gun deck, where the men had been waiting. His guns, and those of the rest of his fleet, roared to life in a wave of smoke and fire. They were at long range for his men, but they’d practiced these distances.
Valdar watched through his spyglass as their shots landed. Most fell short, but not all did. Rounds found their mark, tearing into a ship here or there, ripping through wood and flesh. Not all of the rounds. At this range, thick timber could bounce the iron balls off, and some did just that.
Still, he’d drawn first blood.
“Good shooting,” he said. “But we can do better. Adjust elevation and reload.”
The exchange of fire continued, with both fleets finding their range. Valdar’s ships proved more accurate, landing more hits on the enemy vessels. But the Eastern fleet’s guns were significantly more numerous, and his ships began taking damage.
“Report!”
“Minor damage to the Seadreki and the Hrafn, but both are still seaworthy.”
That wouldn’t last. The ranges were starting to close.
“Signal the fleet to loosen the formation and stay in line. Bring us northeast, tight into the wind.”
He could feel his men looking at him, but no one questioned his orders, as commands traveled to the other ships, which opened gaps between them. The line of ships turned wide, almost completely reversing course as they headed away from the enemy.
They were sailing straight, not exactly into the wind, but close to it, while the enemy adjusted almost twenty degrees more shallow east than they were, able to use more of their sail. The distances closed and the enemy had their guns still pointing more or less at his ships. The angle was oblique and most of the shots missed, but not all of them, and his rear two ships began to take a beating.
Valdar waited and watched as the enemy line pulled closer and closer, opening more of his ships to their fire.
“Sir. We’re losing ground and have no angle of fire on them,” his first mate said, unable to contain himself any longer.
“I know,” Valdar said, as the man looked almost beside himself at the answer. “Just a little bit longer. I want them to think they’re panicking and their captains rush to be the ones to get to us.”
And they were. The enemy ships were mostly in line, but they’d started to bunch, putting scant distance between themselves, causing a few to pull next to each other, partially blocking their comrades’ broadsides.
Which is what he was waiting for.
“Hard to starboard, swing us across their line. All ships, ready broadsides and fire as they bear. Mind their spacing.”
The line turned like a cracked whip, turning southeast, now sailing almost completely with the wind. The enemy didn’t try to change their trajectory, but they’d been caught off guard and were too bunched up to react quickly. He had the wind and was going to cross their T, as the Consul had trained him was the perfect position for an attacking force using cannons, allowing him to shoot down the length of their line.
If his ships shot high, they would as likely hit the ships behind their target and cannonballs wouldn’t just punch through and out to the sea, but rip long lines down the enemy ship and out their bottoms. It was a deadly result.
“Fire!” Valdar shouted.
The thunderous boom of cannon fire echoed across the waves as Valdar’s fleet let loose their devastating broadsides. Iron shot whistled through the air, smashing into the hulls of the enemy vessels with brutal force.
“Reload, damn you!” Valdar shouted toward the gun deck. “I want another volley before we clear. Roll out the guns!”
His men were doing well, working quickly and efficiently, and if he was being honest, they were making him proud. The long hours of training for exactly this moment were paying off, but he wanted more. Two volleys per ship before his ships passed and the following ships got into position. He might not get another opportunity like this, and he wanted to cause as much havoc among the enemy as he could.
He’d caught them off guard and he could see men scrambling through his glass as cannonballs tore into the lead several ships. A particularly well-aimed shot from the caravel behind his found its perfect mark, plunging down through the deck and tearing straight through to the sea. The way the ship suddenly started veering hard to the east told Valdar that it might have taken the ship’s rudder with it. Its rapid listing to starboard meant it had been a crippling blow. He could see the terror of the men trying to patch the hole now allowing a flood of seawater into the ship.
And then another ball slammed into it. And another, sending the main mast over its side, dragging the ship down even faster. It would be on the bottom in a matter of minutes.
He didn’t have to order his men to change their target as they switched to the next ship, pouring on the fire.
“That’s how it’s done, lads!” he shouted. “That’s how it’s done.”
The enemy wasn’t beaten. They’d taken a beating and, even as he watched, the next ship in line began to follow its comrade to the bottom, but they had started to react. Instead of straightening their line out, the enemy began following his line as it continued to bend, both fleets twisting more and more south.
“They’re trying to turn with us and punch through our line,” Valdar said.
He hadn’t spent the last five years idle. After the battle of the Sea of Reeds, he’d known a moment like this would happen, with his ships forced to face an enemy equipped with cannons in properly made seafaring ships, and not just a bunch of caravels.
And he’d practiced for it. If the enemy wanted to break through his line, he was happy to let them. They were too much to get clear broadsides from their entire fleet and tightly packed enough that his own could cause devastation if they could get them in a crossfire.
“Order the fleet to break after the Caer and take them on either side. They are to reform in position after we clear.”
Flags flew, passing the order.
The fleet responded well, splitting into two groups, each sailing almost directly south, the wind at their backs, flanking the enemy. The eastern ships, caught off guard by the maneuver, found themselves sandwiched between the Britannian vessels.
“Now!” Valdar bellowed. “Fire at will!”
Canon belched smoke up and down his line as they cleared. From both sides, Valdar’s ships unleashed a punishing barrage. Iron shot ripped into the enemy and wood splintered and cracked as the projectiles tore through decks and gun ports.
One of his men’s shots smashed into the base of the mainmast of a large enemy ship, sending splinters flying in all directions. Sailors tumbled from the rigging as the mast swayed precariously.
“Keep it up!” Valdar shouted to his gun crews. “Aim low! Aim low!”
The last thing he wanted was his fire to go over the enemy and into his line opposite them. It was going to happen, but he wanted to avoid it as much as possible. The ship’s hull buckled under the impact, water rushing in through the newly formed breaches. Another of the enemy vessel’s foremast toppled, crashing onto the deck and crushing several gun crews beneath it.
“That’s how it’s done!” Valdar exclaimed, allowing himself a grim smile.
The crossfire was taking its toll with many finding themselves taking hits from multiple directions. They were not, however, helpless. Some of their broadsides might have been blocked by their fellows, but not all of them, and the enemy cannon roared to life, free to fire their entire broadsides.
The Bellona shuddered as multiple solid hits struck home. Valdar stumbled but kept his footing.
“Damage report!” he barked.
“A breach below the waterline, sir!” came the reply. “Carpenters are on it!”
They were also focusing their fire. Two of the schooners on his end of the line took punishing fire, maybe because the enemy thought they would fall faster. Round after round slammed into them, ripping their hulls apart. He could see his men desperately trying to man pumps to push the water out and plug the holes, but it was a losing battle.
The first schooner’s bow dipped beneath the waves, its stern rising skyward. Sailors leapt from the railings, plunging into the churning sea. By the time the ships behind it maneuvered to sail around them, the vessel was already half underwater.
Its sister ship lasted a minute longer. A direct hit to its powder magazine resulted in a thunderous explosion that tore the ship in two. The bow and stern sections briefly stood vertical before plummeting into the depths.
His men kept up their fire. An eastern ship, taking rounds from both sides, exposed to twice as much fire as it could put out, began to come apart, literally splitting in half like a cracked egg before disappearing between the waves.
Another enemy vessel erupted into flames, with thick dark smoke pouring through its gunports. The fire didn’t stay contained and the rigging shortly followed, the fire spreading with terrifying speed. The ship listed heavily to port as the crew abandoned their posts to fight the blaze. But it was too late. The flames reached the powder stores, and another massive explosion sounded.
Two more enemy ships went down in short succession.
The enemy line, however, started to get its act together, spreading out, allowing clearing firing lanes for more of their ships. He lost two of his newer caravels, one sent wheeling out of line the other going down as it bore, plowing lower and lower in the water.
And then death came for the Tyrfing went down. Valdar had known Alfhildr since they were boys, first learning to handle a sail. He’d been the first to sign up when he’d put out the call for Scandi captains to join the fledgling Britannian navy.
And there was nothing he could do for it as his ships sailed on, leaving the sinking ship in their wake.
As his line cleared, Valdar watched two more of the enemy ships succumb to the fire of his rearmost ships, their crews diving into the churning, and now somewhat crowded, waters as their vessels began to slip beneath the water.
It came with a heavy cost, however, as the enemy began to turn their own line, allowing them to concentrate fire on the rear ships in his westerly column, sinking another schooner and a caravel.
“Signal the fleet to reform the line and prepare to turn west.”
He had positioned himself to set the enemy up to travel against the wind to the east, while he was on the western side of it. He hadn’t been thinking of escape directly, but part of positioning the entire battle area was keeping routes open. By pushing the enemy to the east and into the wind, they couldn’t just swing west and give chase. They would have to reverse their line to the east, putting distance between their fleets before they could come at him, while he could turn and run straight west, toward open ocean, perpendicular to the wind.
They might have copied their cannons, ship design, and sail plan, but it seemed less likely they had gotten ahold of the smaller, but still incredibly brilliant invention given to them by the Consul. The maps and charts he had drawn for them, the astrolabe and compass, and all of the other tools that Valdar could use to sail away from the coast. The fact that they had stayed close in to the shoreline suggested that, even if they had gotten those tools, they were not confident with them.
So if it came time to run, he had always wanted an escape west, away from Africa. And the time had clearly come. He had inflicted real damage on the enemy, but the exchange was too even, not even two to one, in ships sunk. The enemy had a large enough fleet that Valdar would run out of ships first.
His heart ached looking back at the shattered hulls of his own ships, those that had not yet slipped below the waves, or his men struggling in the waters. This had been the most costly day in the Britannian navy’s short history, and Valdar feared it would not stay that way. Not without something major happening to push the odds back in their favor.
