And that, unfortunately, left only the even more unimaginatively named Main Ship Channel, between Sharyn Island and East Island. It was the deepest of the entry channels, and the combined tidal patterns and set of the river’s current scoured it, rather than silting it up. It offered plenty of depth, and while it was narrow, it was less narrow than the northern end of East Channel.
It was also, however, the most predictable route, if only by process of elimination … and the best defended.
All of Rhaigair Bay’s entrances had been fortified for well over two hundred years, and the Harchong Empire and Kingdom of Dohlar had cooperated to overhaul, modernize, and improve those fortifications once the Royal Dohlaran Navy decided to station its forward naval strength in Saram Bay. Rhaigair, by far the largest city on the bay and one of the two or three largest cities in all of Stene Province, had been the logical place to homeport those ships, and the Harchongians—who’d already begun investing in the upgrade of Rhaigair’s defenses—had responded enthusiastically to the proposal to turn the city into the Western Squadron’s forward base. Not surprisingly, since it had offered the opportunity to finish updating those defenses—and to a much more powerful level—with Mother Church picking up the tab.
Given the city’s current importance to both Harchong and Dohlar, its batteries had received high priority for the new rifled artillery, too. Most of the inner defensive batteries had been thoroughly rearmed, including Zhaztro’s current main cause for concern: Battery St. Charlz, the small spot on the chart Pharsaygyn had just tapped.
Located a good forty miles from the city, Battery St. Charlz was actually an artificial island in the throat of the Main Ship Channel. The entire island—which had been built up a hundred and ten years ago by thousands of Harchongese serfs dumping Hastings only knew how many tons of granite onto the single shoal in the entire channel—was little more than a mile and a half long, and less than half that wide. It was, however, one huge fort. Aside from a single stone quay, well covered by artillery embrasures, there were exactly zero landing spots, which ruled out any notion of taking it by assault. Its onetime masonry walls had been replaced with modern earthen berms, and the Harchongese engineers—made wise by others’ misfortunes—had mounted its weapons in individual masonry bays, well buried inside those berms. They’d also provided its garrison with thick-roofed, shell-proof dugouts from which to wait out any angle-gun bombardment, and its dozens of heavy rifled guns faced matching batteries on the islands to either side of the channel.
The passage east of Battery St. Charlz was wider than the one to the west … which was exactly why the pestiferous Dohlarans had sunk barges and old galleons to block it. There were rumors the powerful currents had shifted some of those blockships, but even if that was true, they hadn’t been moved far enough to clear the way for a City-class like Eraystor. On the western side, where the path was still open, the channel was barely two miles wide and it was less than five miles from St. Charlz’s guns to those in the batteries on East Island. That was barely 8,500 yards, and given the reported 9,000-yard range of the Temple’s newest and heaviest Fultyn Rifles, any ship trying to attempt that passage would be forced to run an eight-mile gauntlet while under heavy fire from both sides.
Well, that’s why you’ve got all this nice armor, Hainz, he told himself. And just hope to Langhorne the seijins’ information about the sea-bombs is right.
“I’m inclined to think you’re probably right about what Raisahndo would’ve done if he’d thought the batteries could stop us, Alyk,” he said out loud. “Of course, the fact that he doesn’t seem to think they can doesn’t mean they actually can’t, but given how quickly we’ll be past them, they won’t have very long to work on us. These ‘Fultyn Rifles’ are a lot more dangerous than the Desnairians’ forty-pounders were at Geyra, but the latest spy reports to Earl Sharpfield suggest they won’t be enough more dangerous to stop us.
“To be honest, the one thing that really does worry me is that the seijins might be wrong about those sea-bombs, because Lywys is dead right. If these people do have them, this is sure as hell the place they’d use them,” he continued, tapping Battery St. Charlz’s position on the chart himself. “I genuinely don’t think they do, but difficult as it may be for you two to believe this, I’ve been wrong once or twice in my life.”
He smiled quickly, briefly, then stood back from the chart table.
“So we’ll proceed as planned, except for one small change. Lywys,” he looked at the commander, “please draft a signal to Captain Gahnzahlyz. Inform him that Bayport won’t be leading the column after all.”
“She won’t be, Sir?” Pharsaygyn didn’t seem especially surprised, Zhaztro noted. Well, they’d been together for a while now.
“No. Cherayth will take the lead.”
“Of course, Sir.”
No, the chief of staff definitely hadn’t been surprised, Zhaztro thought, and turned to Cahnyrs.
“Please go ahead and clear for action now, Captain,” he said, rather more formally than he normally addressed his flag captain. “I’d like to proceed while we have the tide with us.”
“Yes, Sir.” If Cahnyrs was perturbed by the change, it didn’t show. “With your permission, Sir,” he continued, “I’d like to make our speed about six knots when we engage the batteries. I know we’d originally planned to make the run at ten knots, and the slower speed would mean they could hold us under fire for roughly a half hour longer, but it would also make our return fire more accurate. I think that would probably pay a dividend for us on our own way through, and anything that lets us knock out more of their guns has to be helpful to the rest of the Squadron when it’s their turn.”
And it will also give your lookouts a marginally better chance of spotting the buoys of any sea-bombs the Dohlarans may have planted, Zhaztro thought. That probably wouldn’t be a huge help, but you’re the sort of fellow who plays for anything that might keep your men alive a little longer, aren’t you, Alyk?
“She’s your ship, Captain,” he said simply. “How you fight her is your decision.”
* * *
“It would appear the heretics have made up their minds.”
Lord of Foot Kwaichee Bauzhyng stood on the outer platform, just in front of the sandbags protecting the observation tower at the south end of Battery St. Charlz, gazing down-channel through a spyglass while his orderly held the parasol to keep the sun off his head. Given the fact that the temperature was only a little above freezing—and that the wind had strengthened and the oncoming clouds threatened to do a far better job of blocking the sun than any parasol—that struck Major Ahdem Kylpaitryc as an even more useless affectation than usual.
“So I see, Sir,” Kylpaitryc agreed out loud.
His own spyglass was far less ornate, without a trace of the gold and silver inlay glittering from Bauzhyng’s—which must have cost at least two hundred marks, just for the inlay work—but he suspected the lenses were actually better. Dohlaran spyglass makers were more concerned with what someone could see through one of their instruments than with how beautiful it looked.