In some ways, that information was of purely academic interest, since no moving ship could possibly hit another ship at over seventeen thousand yards. Even assuming its gunners could see the target, ship’s motion would guarantee they missed it when they fired. In other ways, however, accurate range numbers could be extremely important. Even highly experienced gunners could misestimate ranges, and knowing the range—as opposed to simply guessing—allowed his gunners to set their sights accurately. That was still one hell of a long way from guaranteeing hits, but it took at least one of the variables out of the equation.
At the moment, however.…
“Pass the signal to Bayport,” he said, then blew down another voice pipe to sound the whistle at its far end.
“Gundeck, Third Lieutenant,” a voice announced.
“This is the Captain, Dahnel. Do you have the target in sight?”
“Yes, Sir. St. Charlz is in First Division’s field of fire.”
“Excellent. Unfortunately, I’m not going to be able to bring Third Division’s guns onto the target for a while.”
“Understood, Sir.” Something suspiciously like a chuckle came up the voice pipe. “I imagine young Paitryk can amuse himself with the batteries on Sharyn Island in the meantime if he has to.”
“As long as we’re not just wasting ammunition,” Cahnyrs replied.
Eraystor’s armament was divided into divisions on the basis of their fields of fire. The ironclad’s heavily armored casemate formed a lozenge-shaped superstructure, like two blunt-ended triangles set base-to-base and stepped just far enough back from the side of the hull to mitigate the wave action which would have washed far up over the gun ports of a ship like the original Delthak-class in a seaway. All of her weapons were broadside mounts, but the five forward guns in each broadside could fire only at targets no more than thirty degrees abaft the beam, while the five aftermost guns could train no farther forward than thirty degrees before the beam. That formed a logical basis for dividing them into numbered divisions: First and Second division, forward, and Third and Fourth division, aft. But she mounted a total of eleven guns in each broadside. The center weapons, located at the broadest points of the lozenge, could bear almost as far forward as First or Second Division and almost as far aft as Third or Fourth Division. As a consequence, those weapons were allocated to both divisions on their side of the ship, with control passing to whichever division could offer it a target.
Dahnel Bahnyface was Eraystor’s Gunnery Officer as well as her third lieutenant, a new position which placed a commissioned officer between the ship’s captain and the Chief Gunner, who was traditionally a warrant officer. The former Chief Gunner was now simply the Gunner, and served as the Gunnery Officer’s chief assistant and advisor, and in action, each division of the armament was assigned to one of Eraystor’s other commissioned officers. Or, in the case of Third Division, to a passed midshipman who remained two years shy of legal age for a lieutenant’s commission.
“I don’t think we’ll be wasting any, Sir,” Bahnyface told the captain now. “Not from the after divisions, anyway.”
“Are you confident of engaging St. Charlz from this range?” Cahnyrs asked.
“Reasonably, Sir.” Cahnyrs could almost see Bahnyface’s slight shrug. “The roll’s not bad, and it’s not like we’ll be shooting at a moving target. I don’t guarantee very many hits from this range, but we’ll score you at least some, Sir!”
“In that case, you may open fire, Master Bahnyface.”
* * *
“My Lord!”
Major Kylpaitryc had deliberately looked away from the heretic ironclad. At a range of over four and a half miles, the smoke-spouting thing was still tiny with distance, but there was something undeniably … ominous about its steady, unwavering progress. Perhaps it was because it was moving directly into both current and wind, its smoke banner blowing dead astern. Or perhaps it was that dense, unnatural smoke itself.
Or perhaps, he’d thought grimly, it’s the fact that it’s steaming directly into the converging fire of over fifty heavy guns and it doesn’t seem to give a spider-rat’s arse about it.
Whatever it was, he’d found other things to do than peer through his spyglass at it, which meant he was looking in the opposite direction when the lookout shouted to Lord of Foot Bauzhyng.
Now he spun around, eyes widening in surprise, as a dense, brown eruption of gunsmoke billowed from the ironclad. It was still almost bows-on to Battery St. Charlz, but it had slewed enough to starboard to bring its forward larboard guns to bear. It was also so far away that the thunder of those guns hadn’t yet reached his ears when six 6-inch shells came sizzling down out of the heavens ahead of the sound of their passage.
* * *
“Not bad at all, Alyk!” Zhaztro commented as the shells impacted. He had to raise his voice—a lot—to be heard through the thick earplugs protecting Eraystor’s crew’s hearing from the artillery’s deafening thunder.
Three of Lieutenant Bahnyface’s shells threw up tall, white columns of water—all of those had landed short—but three more erupted in dark, fire-hearted explosions that ripped into Battery St. Charlz’s berm. He doubted they’d done much damage to anything—or anyone—on the far side of that berm. Unless they scored a direct hit on one of the gun embrasures—and the odds of that at this range were effectively nonexistent—they weren’t going to seriously injure the heavily protected battery. One of the sail-powered bombardment ships might well actually have been more effective than Eraystor’s higher-velocity, lower-elevation broadside weapons, since the bombardment ship could have dropped its fire into the battery’s interior without worrying about its berm. Unfortunately, with wind and current both against them, working one of the bombardment ships into position would have been a time-consuming and potentially risky proposition. And whether or not they were inflicting actual damage at this range, it was at least likely to give the enemy commander “furiously to think,” as Emperor Cayleb might have put it.
I’d really like to get the bastard to return fire while we’re still as far out as possible, he thought, standing on his flagship’s exposed bridge wing with his double-glass to his eyes. Getting a feel for their range and accuracy before we get too close would come under the heading of a Good Thing. And I’d like a better feel for how likely those new “Fultyn Rifles” are to actually punch through our armor.
He grimaced at that thought without lowering the double-glass, because he was less confident on that head than he’d been prepared to admit to any of his officers, including Alyk Cahnyrs. He wasn’t unconfident … exactly, but he’d had enough experience with flagships getting pounded into wreckage to last him the rest of his life.
“Not bad,” Cahnyrs agreed from beside him, watching through his own double-glass. “Dahnel can do better, though.”
“And he will,” Zhaztro replied. “The guns are cold, the range is long, and his gun captains need to get a feel for her motion.” He smiled thinly. “And at least Eraystor’s a hell of a lot steadier than any galleon.”