Chapter 8 – IFG Glorious

Fredrik felt like death was imminent every moment he stood in the tight decks of the IFG Glorious, the former MFG G31. The ship had a single internal deck that was made mostly of wood and seemed like it was designed to be thrown together as quickly as possible. Almost the entirety of the ship’s weight was in the forward of the ship, built of metal that was structured just to be able to survive launching the main cannon without tearing itself apart. The single cannon was ridiculous, being larger than the main guns on a ship of the line. With a cannon that size, it could even hit a ship at more than fourteen seconds out, and still cut through iron plates. Just to have any hope of using it, required the precise use of tables and range finders, and as such the ship had a lookout deck at the front of the ship, that grew out of the bottom of the ship like a frog in full croak or a cancerous growth. The lookout was so close to the cannon crew that the two could just talk directly, without needing pipes or relay officers.

That was beneficial, since the tiny vestal had a total crew compliment of twenty. To balance out the forward weight, the entire water supply was stored in that back and the oven-like boilers he had seen on the Flask filled out most of the mid. That cause a worrying discovery, when he found out that the armour above the boiler was actually just camouflage, as the armour had been stripped away to make room for the tall machinery. Having such an obvious vulnerable point was not something any sailor wanted to live with. It also highlighted just how little space there was. What little space wasn’t taken up by machinery, was taken up by supplies. The only space left after that was the bomb drop-bay and the operational space for the cannon crew. There was so little space that some crew had taken to setting up their hammocks above the drop-bay and the lookout. Even with that, there was only enough room while using hot bunking, sharing the hammocks in rotation, with two shifts awake and one sleeping.

The smell of paint was still fresh and noxious when pressed up against the ceiling to sleep, and Fredrik found himself avoiding it as much as he could. The ship was such a such an unbalanced and cramped mess, that there was no one in the crew that felt even slightly at ease in it, and no matter how little Lav paid for it, he felt that she had been scammed. Despite thinking that, he still couldn’t help but admire her strength. She hadn’t put her crew through anything she wasn’t willing to do herself, and she was also on that little ship of certain death.

The mission they had signed them up for was not as easy as they had been led to believe, and even the dullest of the crew could see it. They had been told to expect an ocean-bound navy and some land fortifications, but what they found was a fleet of boats mortars. It wasn’t a simple bombing run, but rather a mad dash while dodging bombs. What’s worse, the Glorious would have to dodge those bombs while blinded by the Flask’s steam-trail. The land-crew wouldn’t know they were there, things going right, but anything that missed the Flask could easily hit them.

The reason that Lav was on the Glorious was actually a practical one, despite talking it up to the crew for comradery, it was just to minimise the number of crew required. Although it was manned with twenty sailors, and was crammed with just those, it had an ideal crew count of thirty. As such, the Flask’s most versatile crew were manning it, filling double duty on anything they could. Both he and Lav were working the scouting and computing, all the while she navigated, and he translated the navigation flags that the Flask raised for them.

“New flags raised,” he called out to Lav. “More than allied airships ships engaging less than twenty ocean ships.”

There was a limit to how much information the flags could convey. The numbered flags were either raised right-side up for above the number, or upside down for less than it. They came in a two, six, twelve, eighteen and twenty-four versions. There was something of an art to the way messages were constructed, and a cleaver writer could convey a lot with them. There was also the risk of trying something too complex and confusing the recipient, so it was generally advised to only follow the patters that were written in the flags charter. The crew of the Flask new they were blind and had been keeping them apprised of what was happening ahead of them.

Then the flag they were waiting for was raised.

“Flask has been spotted! Prepare to charge!”

He yelled out for the whole crew to hear, his voice filling the whole deck, and they all burst into action. Crew started connecting extra water hoses to the boiler and the gun. Boxes of balls and boxes of stones were dragged out near the cannon to make loading it as fast as possible. When the extra water hit the boiler, it started thudding faster, its noise getting louder, and as the Flask likewise boosted its output and started to pull ahead. The Glorious was a significantly faster ship, but the Flask was pushing itself to deliberately make as much steam-trail as it could, giving them all the cover they needed.

There was the distant sound of popping, like fireworks, as the cracking of wood. Fredrik found himself wondering what was happening with the fleet they were supporting. Those concerns were immediately vanished when the firework sound cracked far closer, followed the sounds of dozens of small impacts, of metal bouncing off the metal hull. Through forward view, he could see the fading light of dissolving crystal dust that had filled a bomb of some kind. The impacts had been some kind of shrapnel, and the blast had cleared some of the clouds ahead of them.

“Coast port! Coast port!” he cried out.

They had to push deeper into the clouds, or else they could easily be spotted. Through the gap ahead, he could see the distant battle with the two colliding fleets. The Hilion fleet were composed of second- and third-rate ships of the line; they weren’t the largest ships that his nation could put forward but were very close to it. They were massive ships, six or seven decks and fitted with scores of cannons each. They were made with the strongest hardwoods that the world had to offer, grown in forests controlled by the royal family itself. Each was decorated with paints and carvings and represented the sheer wealth and power of the empire.

They were also set alight up the barrage or mortar fire.

The strength of the wood was nothing against the fragments of crystal loaded metal that riddled the decks. Even if the wood managed to stop the fragments, the crystals would still start the decks on fire. Despite the advantages in numbers and power, the Hilion ships were still taking far more damage than the ocean bound navy below.

The biggest difference was the type of ammunition that were being loaded into their cannons. The Hilion ships were loading standard heavy balls, lumps of round metal with a crystal at its core to increase range and at heat to the impact, but the explosive blasts that were being loaded into the Ernbale islander’s cannons made the real difference. The balls were launched with timed fuses that cause the ball to come apart, exploding in a wide radius. That radius was what mattered. Even shots that missed were still able to score some damage, while the Hilion misses were just wasted time. Some of the third-rate ships had supplemented the boiler’s power with dozens of sails, and those had gone up in flames. Even the extreme humidity that the cannons caused was doing little for the flames.

Fredrik was well aware of the performance of those cannonballs, after all, his own ship was loaded with them. They were a new development out of Aulin, and while they weren’t selling them to Hilion, the North Barkett Trading Corporation had no problem trading for them, using their status as an independent company out of Tumarn to get through any concerns the Aulins had. There was something of an understanding that they wouldn’t be used against Aulin assets, but the islanders were either Hilion citizens or independent Ernbalen, but definitely not Aulin, despite the weapons they were using.

His warning was heeded, even without waiting for Lav to repeat, and the ship listed sidewards, the ship shaking as it tried to push through thick air with the least aerodynamic side of the ship. A careful observer would notice the dispersal in the cloud that caused, but they could only pray that the active battle was enough of a distraction to let that go unnoticed.

More pops and shakes happened, and he continued to direct the boiler crew to shift the ship. He could see the red glow of metal shards dug into the Flask’s iron plates and was sure that the Glorious would also have shards. Those shards would slowly melt and fuse to the armour, increasing their weight and drag, like barnacles. Despite their efforts, the number of bursts hitting them increased, and it was clear that they had been spotted.

Lav twisted a cup sized cylinder and threw it out the side of an observation port. It exploded in three bursts, with three distinct clouds of flair dust. That signalled for the Flask to stop wasting effort on the cloud, and instead pulled away, trying to get outside of the mortar range while still taking shots at the fortifications. The Glorious then started its run. They were further away from the targets then was ideal, but still within a range where success was possible. The boiler was pushed to its limit, and almost all of its thrust pushed forwards, with next to nothing keeping the ship in the sky. They were about two minutes away from target and three minutes away from hitting the ground.

The main cannon shook the whole ship, slowing its forward progress as its powerful ball struck into the steam-works that was powering the turrets on the mortars. The initial explosion of the ball was followed by a cascade of launching crystals, as the factory’s supply met with water. Without the factory, the turrets would have to be hand cranked to aim, significantly slowing their aiming process. With how low they were flying for the bombing run; they needed every advantage they could get. The bombing-bay at the back of the Glorious slid down and the cannon crew started running between the two locations to get both jobs done. One man had a chart open and worked at setting the bombs with various fuse times in the orders they would be needed. Whenever he yelled out “now” a crewmember would set the fuse and roll nearest the heavy ball down the ramp. If the fuses were set right, the bombs would burst just above the ammunition and supply locations, destroying the buildings and setting the area on fire. Without supplies, the locals would have no choice but to surrender.

From the observation deck, Fredrik was the one who had to call success and failure, as well as warning against any avoidable shots. As the first two bombs landed and burst, he pulled the telescope round to look at the destruction. As the steam and dust started to clear, he could see first building was blown apart, walls pushed down and the contents burning.

“Target one: hit!”

A cheer went out by the crew as they continued their work. It was a boost to their spirits to see their plan start to work. Fredrik then started to look at the second bomb.

“Target two: Blast to early. Target on fire!”

With the building on fire, it was likely that it would be destroyed, but there was always a chance that the locals could get the supplies out or douse the flames. For their mission to succeed, they couldn’t rely on such unreliable outcomes.

The bombing run continued and three more targets were hit. At each of the targets, Fredrik could see the bodies of locals pulled apart by blast and debris. The faces of his hometown flashed through his mind as he saw the dead locals. His hands clenched around the telescope, but he pushed down those feelings and continued to make the calls. Fire was starting to spread throughout the local houses, and smoke was filling the sky.

At the end of the run, the Glorious suddenly pulled right up. Momentum was against the ship, and the run ended over the ocean. The ship skimmed the water and filled the observation room as the ship finally started to lift. Their low height was dangerous, however, as the many cannons of the remnants of the Ernbalen navy launched a barraged of shots. Holes punched clean through both sides of the thin rear armour and deflected harmlessly off the thick forward armour. With several new holes in the ship, they were able fly out of range.

The islanders called out with a horn as a flag was raised in surrender. The ocean around the island were aflame with the wreckage of Ernbalen and Hilion ships. The Hilion fleet had entered the battle completely outnumbering the island fleet, but it was obvious that the victory was pyrrhic. When word of the battle got out, Fredrik was sure that there would be a rush to scrap wooden ships and produce armour. From what he had seen, the thin plates that had been strapped to the s-class ships would do nothing to stop the blast fragments and might even hamper attempts at fighting the fire. Hundreds of ships would be retired or pushed out of combat rolls.

Fredrik then came to a strange realisation. None of the Hilion ships would survive long enough to get word back. Worse still, the weapons were produced by the Aulins, and there was no way that they didn’t understand the weapon they produced. His home country was already engaged in an arms race but weren’t aware of it yet. Ramping up wartime production was a slow process, and by the time they were aware, they could be hopelessly outgunned. He needed to find some way to get word back to his homeland or hope that even just one ship in the fleet made it back to port.

Next to him, he could see Lav opening up a bottle of whiskey and gathering all of the crew around to have a shot poured. They were celebrating a victory, one that had earned them a great profit.