Chapter 26: Northern Wistla River

A cascade of animals running down the river, away from the alien chugging sound, preceded the sight of the metal behemoth coming around the river bend, smoke puffing away out of its three metal stacks, making so much noise that it would be impossible for the ship to sneak up on anything.

Even with the noise and the fear it caused the local wildlife, Captain Leodgar was happy with his charge. He’d even admit, to himself if not others, that it was an ugly beast. A flat bottom with an elongated triangle jutting out of it, rounding off at the top, a dark brown where the steel had already started to change colors. It was low in the water and dark, but to Leodgar, it still felt sleek and dangerous.

And that was riding inside of it. He couldn’t imagine what others would think seeing the row of cannons sticking out the side, waiting for their first target. He’d considered this day for the weeks since he’d been given command of the ship for its terrifying journey along the coast and into the mouth of the Wistla River for its long journey into the continent.

The curiosity and mild confusion had not been the reaction he’d expected, but it was what he was getting.

The enemy force was where the mounted scouts sent from the Consul’s army had said they’d be. According to their local guide, this was the first crossable ford north of the Consul’s army, at least in the fall. There were apparently other spots in the height of summer when the river dropped to its lowest point, but the enemy missed their moment to have access to those.

Leodgar had been watching the area he’d been told they’d be in through the spyglass, and as his vessel rounded the bend, they came into view. Instead of charging forward or running away, the men had paused, as if confused by what they were seeing and were trying to figure out what to do next.

By the time he’d pulled even with them and slowed the engines, the majority of the men had dismounted and formed into lines, apparently guessing correctly that his boat was a new form of Britannian warfare. Of the roughly seven hundred soldiers coming toward the ford, five hundred were infantry, who’d dismounted and formed tight firing lines before starting forward, along with two small cannons, each being pulled by a single horse, following along either side of the infantry formation. The remaining two hundred cavalry hung back, perhaps letting the infantry spring this trap and save themselves the pain.

If so, they were smarter than their friends on foot.

“Load shells and prepare to fire, but hold. Wait for my command,” he called down to the gun deck below, hearing the gunner captain relay his words to the men working the cannon, which were more like the ones on board navy ships than those now being used by the legions.

Leodgar allowed himself a smile. This iron monstrosity wasn’t the only thing being tested today. Although the Consul had gotten the first shipment of the new shells, he’d been loaded up with them as well before sailing out of Britannia and, as far as he was aware, the legions had not actually deployed them in combat yet.

Although their inventor, Hortensius, had been kind enough to give Leodgar a demonstration before he sailed, the German still wasn’t sold on having stack after stack of powder-filled metal tubes with charges just waiting to go off on his ship. He also wasn’t convinced that these things would really do what he was told they would when used in combat and not on a predetermined range.

But they said use them, so he’d use them.

Finally sorting themselves out, the enemy infantry began moving forward. Leodgar watched and waited, listening to the water hitting the metal hull, estimating when they would enter the correct range to begin firing.

And then they crossed the imaginary line, where they were far enough to allow multiple salvos if they decided to come forward, but close enough that they would have to endure several before they could make it out of range.

“Open fire!”

The men had been standing by, constantly watching the range and making adjustments, cannons loaded and fuses at the ready. The order was barely out of his mouth when the first cannon roared. The Isarna shuddered as her guns spoke, belching flame and smoke. Leodgar tracked the first shell’s arc through his spyglass.

The shell struck dead center in the Easterners’ formation. Nothing happened for the briefest of moments, enough for him to think about nothing happening and to wonder what went wrong. Before he completed the thought, however, a follow-on series of tremendous booms sounded, as the place where the shell landed burst into a ball of fire, sending men ... and parts of men, flying in all directions.

And then the next shell went off, and then the next. He had five cannons on each side, and all five on that side fired shells that impacted along the enemy line, only to explode moments later. The orderly Eastern lines dissolved into chaos as men were flung about like rag dolls.

And then his men finished reloading the cannons and fired again, more shells slamming into the tightly massed men. Even away from the explosions, men fell as the shards of metal from the shells became bullets, ripping across the open ground and into unarmored men.

“By the gods,” muttered Leodgar, lowering his spyglass.

He’d seen the demonstration, but this ... this was something else entirely. He’d seen rifles fired and marveled at their destructive ability, which had been unheard of ten years ago. This was another whole level of death and destruction.

Leodgar was again surprised by the enemy. Instead of running for the hills, the men who survived closed up their ranks, forming up again over the bodies of their fallen comrades and marching forward.

It was impressive, or it would have been if not for the few who tried to run. Crazed men who threw their weapons on the ground and made for the rear only to be cut down by what Leodgar guessed were officers placed there for just that sort of moment. A brutal system that certainly made for men brave in the face of combat, but would ultimately backfire on them.

“Keep firing!” Leodgar ordered. “Don’t let up!”

The gun crews needed no encouragement. Sending more shells toward the enemy lines before his command was even finished.

The enemy must have gotten as close as they needed, because horses carrying the two much smaller cannons came charging up and turned around, they were unhooked quickly, leaving the guns in place to begin firing as the horses were pulled back, out of the danger area. It was a fast movement, and very well timed.

And futile, although the enemy didn’t know that. His ship might not be invulnerable, but the enemy cannons were very small caliber pieces, smaller than any of those carried by their own legions and would throw a comparatively small shot. Seeing how quickly they could move and deploy, he could see the value of the cannon, able to keep up with mounted infantry, but he felt relatively safe in his metal box.

He wasn’t convinced his ship was invulnerable, and if hit by rounds shot by ship-sized weapons, he worried the metal would not be enough to prevent penetration, but he wasn’t facing that here. He, in turn, not having to carry his guns, had large shipboard cannons, allowing him to fire the largest primed shells available.

It was not an even match-up.

A puff of smoke erupted from one of the enemy guns. Moments later, there was a loud clang as the round connected. From this side, he couldn’t even see where the round hit.

The infantry must have also finally gotten to range, because they stopped and let loose a volley, creating more pings, although none were enough to really reverberate like the cannon shot did. They, however, had a little more luck. A gunner screamed from below where a shot must have found a lucky opening, allowing a bullet to get through and into one of his men. Leodgar hoped the man was not too badly hit, but he had to trust his subordinates to deal with it. For now, his attention was focused on the cannons, which fired another salvo, again banging off the hull.

“Silence those two guns,” he called out.

If the rifles could get a lucky shot, so could the cannon. They may not be able to get through the hull, but they could break something, like one of the smokestacks, which would require the boat to stop and make repairs before continuing its patrol.

His men’s training did them well, although it was a lot easier to hit a target with an exploding shell than solid shot, since for these shells close was good enough. After four rounds, they got close enough to the first gun, landing a few steps away, the blast pushing the small cannon on its side and shredding the men working it.