The Plains of Pluto
Copyright© 2025 by Lumpy
Chapter 24
Alexandria, Egypt
Valdar watched Alexandria grow in size as his fleet approached the city, holding onto the low ceiling of the heavily armored riverboat that wasn’t meant to operate in open seas, even one as calm as the Middle Sea.
The trip here from Britannia had been harrowing. Worse, he’d started with eight ironclads, but one had been lost to the waves just before they’d crossed from Oceanus into the Middle Sea. Thankfully, it had been one of the ships refitted as a transport and it had yet to be loaded with legionaries, but the loss had required a readjustment to the plan that Valdar hoped wouldn’t result in another devastating loss.
“There goes the fleet,” someone said.
Valdar turned to look out one of the side viewing ports to see the two dozen wooden-hulled vessels slowing down, made up mostly of commandeered merchant ships with a few armed caravels mixed in, separating themselves from the seven squat figures that continued to steam toward the port, black columns of smoke pouring from each of their smokestacks as they shoveled in the coal, pushing the boilers to their max.
Alexandria had changed since his last time there. At the mouth of the harbor, on either side of the breakwater, stood a large stone fort, again copied from the designs used by Valdar at Port Vikhavn.
Valdar shook his head in wry amusement. He knew impersonation was the height of flattery, but he wished that his development there hadn’t been so popular.
It turned out that facing heavily gunned forts like this was much less satisfying than hiding behind them.
The Western Fort was much larger than its eastern twin and dominated the harbor approach, its curved walls bristling with cannon emplacements. The Eastern Fort, though smaller, was well placed on a rocky promontory sticking farther out, allowing for interlocking fields of fire across the harbor mouth. Together, they mounted at least fifty heavy guns, more than sufficient to destroy any conventional fleet attempting entrance to the port.
“Ships are trying to flee the harbor,” someone else said.
A dangerous move. If his people hadn’t been so thorough in sinking every Egyptian ship that had been out of range of forts like these, down to the smallest fishing trawler, the now fleeing ships would have had warning and been able to escape before his ships were almost in the mouth of the harbor.
Instead, they had to try to make a run for it before the shells started falling, even if it meant sailing past the broadsides of the enemy.
Or maybe they didn’t recognize these as warships. They hadn’t been seen outside of the continent, so most ship masters would have no idea what the long, slope-sided things coming toward them were.
They were probably more concerned with the masts of the more traditional ships sitting just off the coast.
“Let them pass,” Valdar ordered. “The caravels outside will deal with them.”
Their hasty departure did create an unexpected complication, however. The fleeing merchant vessels choked the already narrow approach channel, forcing his ships to push closer together, lest one of the panicked ships collide with them in their haste to leave.
One passed within a few dozen paces of his ship, close enough to see its sailors staring with open dismay at the squat, smoke-belching monsters.
The wake of the ships caused his ships to pitch and roll.
“The eastern position appears less heavily manned. Perhaps...” Aelius, who had been assigned to take the port and establish a foothold on Egyptian soil, started to say something while standing next to him when he was cut short by a thunderous boom from the Western Fort.
A fraction of a second later, a waterspout erupted fifty yards off their port bow.
“And so it begins,” Valdar said. “Signal the gunships to begin the attack on their assigned forts.”
The ironclad fleet had split in two when they got into the harbor, with three holding back just outside of the harbor as the other four came all the way in, putting themselves in line with the guns of the forts. Now, those four separated again, two heading to the Eastern Fort while Valdar and the other ship headed for its western sibling.
The Egyptian gunners found their range quickly. More cannon opened fire from both forts, a mix of solid shot and explosive shells arcing toward the ironclad formation. Valdar’s ship shuddered as the helmsman threw her into a zigzag pattern, steam engines protesting the sudden directional changes.
The ironclad trembled as her cannon replied, firing each time the ship’s wild turning brought a broadside into range.
An Egyptian shell struck the water ten yards from the flagship’s bow, drenching the forward deck with spray. Two more followed in quick succession, bracketing the vessel but failing to score a direct hit.
The same could not be said for the other ship with his, steaming along to the starboard. An Egyptian round smashed through her forward observation port, ripping through the thinner metal in the protrusion. The lookout stationed there simply vanished as the entire housing was smashed flat.
The ironclad engines labored at full capacity, pushing the ungainly vessels through the increasingly turbulent waters. From both shoreline fortifications, Egyptian cannon maintained a punishing rate of fire. Across the bay, three shells struck the water directly beside one of the vessels attacking the Eastern Fort, lifting her starboard side partially from the water and throwing crewmen against the bulkheads.
Aelius braced himself against the pilothouse wall as the flagship executed another evasive maneuver. “This is madness.”
Valdar smiled to himself. Aelius was used to open field battles and hiding in trenches. Navy men were used to riding into withering fire, with ships pounding each other with cannon fire, ripping the very ground out from under you.
“Welcome to the navy, Legate,” Valdar replied, smiling.
Not that he didn’t harbor concerns of his own. This was very different from facing land forces with a handful of cannon.
A tremendous impact rocked his flagship, the sound of tearing metal reverberating through her hull. Valdar steadied himself against the chart table as reports flooded in from below.
“Direct hit forward armor plate!” shouted the damage control officer. “Outer layer buckled but holding!”
The Egyptian shell had struck the vessel’s forward armor square on, denting the reinforced plating but failing to penetrate. The impact transmitted through the entire vessel, rattling men’s teeth and loosening fittings throughout the ship.
“Helmsman, bring us to five hundred paces and closing.”
“Sir,” the helmsman glanced back in surprise but did as he was commanded.
The flagship turned toward the Western Fort, exposing less of the ship but briefly taking her guns out of the fight as it closed on the fort. The other combat ironclads maintained their zigzag approach, drawing fire from both fortifications.
As they got close, the helmsman turned the ship again, bringing its guns very close to the walls, which opened up as soon as the broadside cleared. It also put them closer to the enemies’ guns, which now pounded his ship, with each hit sending fragments of scale and rust raining down from the ceiling. But the iron armor continued to hold.
This close, they could clearly see the effects as the Britannian shells struck the stone fortifications with devastating effect, each impact sending chunks of masonry flying. Several Egyptian gun emplacements had already fallen silent, their crews either dead or driven from their positions by the continuous barrage.
“We’re hurting them,” Aelius noted.
A tremendous impact against the vessel’s superstructure cut short any reply. The pilothouse filled with acrid smoke as alarms sounded throughout the ship.
“Forward smokestack hit! Stack collapsed, boiler pressure dropping!”
Smoke poured across the deck as the damaged ventilation system failed, reducing visibility to near zero. The flagship’s speed dropped noticeably as reduced steam pressure affected her engines.
The battle had raged for nearly thirty minutes, and casualties were mounting. A messenger arrived from below decks, his face blackened with powder.
“Gun three crew reports five wounded from fragment penetration through gun port, sir. Two serious.”
“Tell them to bring in replacements and keep firing.”
Things were going much worse with the Eastern Fort. One ironclad had taken serious hits to its pilothouse and had stopped putting up signal flags, which suggested its captain might be dead. It didn’t stop fighting, so that was a problem for later.
The other ship had fared worse, in practical terms. From here it looked as if it had suffered damage to her steering or propulsion. She had stopped maneuvering entirely, although she still had her broadside pointed at the Eastern Fort, that position put her in serious danger, as most of the Eastern Fort’s guns were now concentrated on the lamed vessel.
This was war and there would be setbacks. In spite of the damage his ships had taken, they were doing their job. Aelius was right. They were hurting the forts. The rate of fire from both Egyptian forts had diminished significantly, one side of the Western Fort seemed to be down to only two guns.
The battle continued for another ten minutes, the ironclads maintaining position despite accumulating damage as they pounded the forts.
The lamed ship’s luck, or lack of luck, continued as an Egyptian shell found the vulnerable seam where two armor plates joined near her waterline. The impact tore through the weaker connection, breaching her hull and causing her to start listing.
Valdar watched as the stricken ironclad began to drift, black smoke pouring from her damaged hull. He knew it was bad when the guns were retraced from two of the gun ports facing him and buckets of water began to be tossed out of them, as the men tried to keep her from going under.
There was nothing to be done for it now. The other ship on that side was in no condition to come to their aid, and they couldn’t stop the fight now. The battle had raged for forty minutes and the tide was turning.
They just needed a little more time and luck.
“Look there,” Aelius said, pointing to the Western Fort’s lower wall section where concentrated Britannian fire had taken its toll. “The wall structure is failing.”
Through the smoke, Valdar could see that the legate was correct. The stone facing of the fort had begun to crack under the relentless pounding, one bastion showing signs of imminent collapse.
“Helmsman, close to two hundred paces. Signal all guns to fire at that section of wall.”
“Two hundred, Sir?” The helmsman’s voice betrayed his concern. “The charts show shallow rocks that close to the breakwater.”
“The gods take you, do it or step aside for a man with a spine.”
The man paled and did as he was told.
The flagship pushed forward, closed the distance to the Western Fort until he could have thrown a rock and hit the fort’s masonry walls. At such a close range, the ironclad’s guns could hit its target easily. The Egyptians must have thought he’d gone insane, since his ship was as easy of a target, and they redoubled their efforts.
The ironclad’s keel scraped against submerged rocks with a horrific shriek of metal on stone. The impact threw men off their feet throughout the vessel, but her shallow draft allowed her to continue where a deeper-keeled warship would have foundered.
“Concentrate all fire on the lower wall section. Maximum elevation.”