The Depths of Neptune - Chapter 21

“You’re sure we’ve got them all?” Lucilla asked, perched on the edge of her father’s seat in the Imperial box, gazing down at the colosseum floor.

The  sandy stage for the glory of chariot races and the fierce athleticism of wrestling matches, had been transformed into a gruesome display. A wooden platform loomed, its sole purpose to hold the headsman’s block and a ghastly urn designed to catch the severed remains.

“All the ones he and the rest of the men we picked up could tell us about,” Ramirus said. “He was definitely in charge of what was left of your brother’s supporters here, but I won’t discount the possibility that the Carthaginians have their own people here as well, separate from the insurgents.”

“Which is to say, just because we finally caught Decius doesn’t mean we can loosen up on any of our security arrangements.”

“That would be my suggestion.”

“How many in total?”

“Sixty-three, so far, and counting. We’re still integrating several of the second and third-tier targets we acquired. Decius swears most of those men didn’t have the names of anyone outside of their cell, but since he didn’t keep records, we’re just going off his word for it.”

“What about the men who carried out the raid on the gunpowder storage? Did we get them?”

“Yes. We’ve rounded up everyone who survived. Several were still healing from wounds they got in the fight, and several others did not survive the interrogation, but we’re bringing the ones who can walk out with Decius.”

“Good,” she said, rising from her father’s seat and stepping forward to the edge of the box.

As the men were marched onto the arena floor and up onto the platform, their gazes met hers, and she could not help but feel the weight of what was about to happen.

“Like the men who stood on this same ground after trying to overthrow the Empire, you have all been found guilty of treason and your lives are forfeit,” she said, the words echoing off the colosseum walls. “You have given support to the people who have tried to destroy us and to kill every man and woman in the Empire. For your crimes, your lives are forfeit, while your families, or at least those who knew nothing of your treason and took no part, will be spared, your property is forfeit. With your deaths, we finally put the darkest part of our recent history behind us and leave it to the gods to judge you.”

“You will never be your brother,” Decius’s said with a snarl.

“No, I won’t,” she said coldly, giving a nod to the executioner.

Whatever retort Decius had prepared was lost as he was yanked to his knees, his head placed on the block and tied in place. The once-proud man now trembled like a leaf caught in a storm, his bravado gone, as the sword descended, severing his head from his body.

Lucilla didn’t look away. These people had tried to kill her three times. They would have too if it wasn’t for the tiny machines Ky had put in her body. She felt a cold satisfaction at seeing the men behind the deaths of her soldiers finally meeting their fate, but this wasn’t about vengeance. She had sworn to herself that every punishment meted out would be fair and impartial. She only hoped that this would put an end to this chapter of their history.

***

Off the Coast of Hispania

“Well done,” Ky praised, his enhanced vision capturing the same image Valdar observed through the spyglass pressed against his eye.

Beneath them, the guns roared to life once more, a thick veil of smoke spewing from the side of the ship. The vessel carved an elegant arc through the water, encircling the barrels they’d deployed for target practice. As they watched, water spouts erupted in a tight formation around one barrel before it shattered into a storm of splinters.

“For a while, I doubted we’d ever reach the point where we could hit anything, even stationary targets,” Valdar admitted, a wry smile playing on his lips. “But you were right. With enough practice, we improved. You made it look so effortless that first time; I think everyone assumed they’d share the same success.”

Ky chuckled. “The same could be said for sailing your ships. I’m sure plenty of landlubbers imagine they could master the skill the first time they set foot on deck. But everything requires time and practice.”

“Well, we’re not quite as proficient as you yet, but that grouping isn’t half bad. Especially considering our speed. I suspect we’d still struggle in rough seas, but give me time, and I might even excel there, too.”

“I admire your confidence,” Ky replied. “You won’t get much target practice on tours like this, since you’ll need most of the powder for sinking Carthaginians. But we must ensure your ships rotate through regular training stints when possible.”

“I will. We’ll also need to start training the men who’ve signed on to crew the four new ships, as they’ll likely be ready by the time the legions require transport to the continent.”

Ky nodded. “I spoke with Lucan before we left, and he agreed. We must maintain these patrols but rotate one of your three ships back for training until then. I understand it’ll make your job out here more challenging, but that issue will resolve itself as we increase our fleet. That won’t happen if we lack trained crews.”

Valdar furrowed his brow, concern etched on his face. “Are you sure? Even with fishermen and friendly merchants, it’s difficult to patrol such vast waters with our limited fleet. We’re bound to miss some Carthaginians.”

“I know, and we’ll have to accept that. They’re keeping most of their ships in the southern part of Hispania for now and relying on land routes for supplies. So, even if we manage to sink every vessel we find, it won’t significantly impact their response to our operations. They send the majority of their shipments across the Middle Sea and then overland. We won’t truly cut them off until we control the Middle Sea, but that requires more ships and a base for those ships. Once we achieve that, they’ll have to march around Persia to reinforce their forces on the continent. Until then, it doesn’t really matter.”

As Valdar opened his mouth to respond, a voice called down from the loft above the center mast, interrupting him.

“Sail!”

“I swear, that might be the best improvement you made,” Valdar mused as they strode to the opposite side of the ship, eyes following the lookout’s outstretched arm.

Ky understood his sentiment. In their older vessels, lookouts precariously perched at the prow, scanning the horizon with unaided eyes. On a clear day, the open sea offered expansive views, yet the horizon remained a steadfast barrier. Now, with the crow’s nest and spyglass in hand, they could identify ships kilometers away.

“I see it. It’s got our new triangular sails,” Valdar observed, squinting through his spyglass.

“It’s one of yours. The Skinbladnir, I believe,” Ky confirmed.

Valdar lowered the spyglass, a wry expression on his face. “I wish you could bottle your gift and infuse it into this,” he said, brandishing the glass. “These are incredible, but I can barely discern the sails’ shape. I bet you could tell me how many men are on that ship.”

“Only at the front. The back half remains obscured by the horizon. Give me a few minutes, though…”

Valdar merely shook his head and waved over his first mate. “Signal up.”

Ky acknowledged the crow’s nest’s usefulness but felt they underestimated the introduction of signal flags. Previously, ships had to sail dangerously close to communicate, risking boarding by hostile vessels. Signal flags and spyglasses now enabled communication at far greater distances.

While training, the ship’s signalmen developed a communication system and procedures for encountering other ships, allowing swift identification and coordination.

As the Skinbladnir drew nearer, the signalman commenced communication with a flurry of flags.

“They’ve sighted a small group of Carthaginian ships,” Ky revealed, not waiting for the signalmen to translate the message.

“How many?” Valdar asked.

“They don’t say. South by southeast. A few hours sail.”

“Signal back. How many ships and were they spotted,” Valdar instructed the signalman.

Flags flew up and down the pulleys to the crow’s nest, as Ky observed the Skinbladnir as it angled to meet them, facilitating communication.

“Eight ships,” Ky announced. “They don’t think they were spotted.”

Valdar nodded, eyes scanning the sails and rigging as he calculated in his head.

“Seventy degrees,” Ky said, anticipating his thoughts.

Valdar shot Ky a glance but didn’t question his knowledge of wind direction or required sailing angle.

“Sailing Master,” he bellowed to a man beside the main mast, “hoist the foresail and mainsail and trim for a close reach.”

As orders echoed and sailors scurried up the rigging, Valdar turned to the quarterdeck and bellowed, “Helmsman, make your course south by southeast, at seventy degrees.”

The helmsman consulted the large mounted compass Ky had designed for the new ships and the wind gauge, turning the ship wheel and altering their course.

“Signal the fleet to follow, south by southeast, at seventy degrees. Prepare for contact. Then signal our thanks to the Skinbladnir.”

The signalman rummaged through his stack of flags, hoisting them to the mast.

Valdar approached the quarterdeck, pausing near the hatch to the gun deck and the helmsman. Ky observed him glancing toward the foredeck, understanding the sailor’s thoughts. In the past, the captain would stand near the bow, directing combat and observing the enemy—a viable strategy when ships were mere wooden platforms for soldiers. Now, however, lookouts would spot enemy ships from a distance, communicating their findings with hand signals. It was more effective for the captain to be close to where he needed to issue commands. Combat was no longer up close and personal, unless they aimed to capture an enemy ship. It was a change that would take time for the old sailor to adapt to this new way of fighting.

“Boatswain, clear the deck and run out the guns,” Valdar yelled to a third man before turning to Ky, his voice softer. “Now we’ll see if our training pays off.”

The training had them sailing in a tight line, and Ky watched as the three ships gracefully maneuvered in a coordinated circle toward their new direction. Ky’s knowledge of sailing ships was limited to historical documents provided by Sophus, but he was well-versed in piloting fighters. Despite radical differences, he marveled at the shared fundamentals between these wooden vessels and their modern counterparts.

Giant capital ships, armed with missile bays, particle beam cannons, and high-intensity lasers, would travel in similar formations, exchanging broadsides with opposing vessels. Though it had been ages since anyone but the empire could build such formidable spaceships, the tactics remained the same. Ky hadn’t considered those massive training battles since crossing into this reality, but the sight of the three ships gliding in tight formation brought back vivid memories.

The speeds, however, were incomparable. These ships were swift for their time, especially in favorable winds, easily outmaneuvering anything Carthaginian. But compared to vessels traversing at fractions of light speed, they seemed to crawl towards their destination.

Hours passed as the small fleet sailed southeast, angling toward Hispania. It wasn’t challenging to deduce the Carthaginians’ location. Lacking sextants and compasses, navigating beyond the sight of land was perilous, particularly for galleys on the Atlantic. Carthaginian fleets invariably clung to the coast.

Despite this knowledge, the possibility of overshooting the enemy fleet remained, as they traveled south while the Carthaginians moved north. The vast ocean and the horizon’s limitations made locating the enemy difficult. Ky longed for his drone, which, while not perfect, could extend their visibility. However, Lucilla needed Sophus’s help to oversee the weapons’ construction, which meant she needed the drone. They’d have to manage when Ky took the drone for their invasion, so a little inconvenience now would grant Lucilla more time to arm the legions.

Thankfully, Valdar’s expertise rendered the drone unnecessary this time. He possessed an uncanny sense for where the wind might lead the ships. Yes, he consulted the compass and navigational aids, but also observed the sky, birds, and waves, making subtle adjustments to his course. Ky refrained from intervening. While he held knowledge and experience foreign to these people, it didn’t negate their own expertise. Valdar’s life revolved around the sea, understanding it as intimately as a farmer knew his land. Ky couldn’t contribute anything to improve the search.

“Sail!” cried the lookout from the crow’s nest.

“Ease off the sheets and brail up the topsails,” Valdar commanded. “Signal the fleet. Fire as we pass. Captains may select targets.”

Ky had provided extensive guidance on deploying guns and models for ship warfare, such as boarding actions, broadsides, and crossing the T, a maneuver every admiral in the age of sail attempted that enabled their ships to fire straight down the enemy line without taking return fire. But he’d also entrusted much of the tactical decision-making to Valdar. Most examples and strategies Ky and Sophus recommended were based on two equally armed fleets clashing. Few records existed of a cannon-armed, sail-based fleet engaging galleys with spearmen and archers, save for a nineteenth-century war between Britain and China, and even those weren’t an accurate comparison. Those vessels weren’t precisely galleys, and they still possessed cannons, albeit inferior ones with shorter range and reduced accuracy.

Ky had left it to Valdar to devise the best strategy until the Carthaginians adapted their weaponry. Valdar settled on a variation of the broadside. Aware that some Carthaginian galleys boasted catapults, he approached from well beyond their range, which informed most of the gunnery training.

Ky had observed all this during target practice, but hadn’t heard about captains selecting their own targets until now.

“Are you sure everyone isn’t going to end up pounding away at the same handful of ships?” he inquired.

“No. They’re watching ahead for the position of the ships in the line, keeping in mind the reload time. At our speed and distance, we’ll pass these ships rather quickly.”

The galleys reacted to the incoming threat. Clearly not warships, they attempted to scatter in different directions instead of facing the attack. They were no match for Valdar’s nimble fleet, however, as the caravels bore down on the eight sluggish galleys, now even slower as panic set in.

Survivors from the previous Carthaginian fleet must have returned home, recounting tales of Britannian prowess. And that had been with a single cannon on Valdar’s old flagship. These new ships, with their multitude of sails, must have appeared colossal, looming over the smaller galleys.

Then, the first cannons roared to life.

***

Devnum

“Ready to go?” Velius’s voice cut through the noisy docks, startling the commander who was lost in thought.

“Velius! I thought your men were still in the field training.”

“They are,” Velius responded. “I left them in Gordanius’ care. I heard you were sailing out today and wanted to see you off.”

Bomilcar smiled, grateful for Velius’s company. Their relationship had changed dramatically from the days when Velius questioned his every move, suspicious of Bomilcar’s loyalty.

“As soon as the Scandi captain finishes loading his ship. Apparently, there’s quite the demand for the excess arcuballista now that the Consul has approved selling the extra stock,” Bomilcar said.

“Just imagine what the demand for the lower quality rifles, muskets, or whatever will be. These will be outdated almost by the time they get into their new owners’ hands,” Velius replied.

“The Consul won’t allow those to be sold, except for use by our allies. At least not for a long while,” Bomilcar explained.

“You know they won’t stay in the hands of the people we sell them to. Some will be sold, some will be lost in battle, and some will be stolen. It’s going to happen,” Velius said.

“It will be a while before they can produce their own gunpowder,” Bomilcar said. “Even without needing the primer cap thing Hortensius demonstrated for us, they will still go through a good amount of gunpowder, and stealing or buying extra gunpowder from people we sell it to isn’t going to be enough.”

“It will eventually balance out. The secret of making gunpowder won’t stay secret for long. While we have had to set up massive operations to get it made in quantity, there will be people out there who will figure out how to get it done. I’ve found it generally best to assume that nothing remains secret or exclusive,” Velius said.

“Maybe. Either way, the market for these weapons is going to be short-lived,” Bomilcar said, his thoughts turning to the future.

“Probably, although I can imagine a secondary market will begin to appear between the original buyers and new people further out from us in Asia wanting to buy them. These will travel faster than the harder-to-get muskets,” Velius said, impressed by Bomilcar’s knowledge.

“You know a lot about trading for a general,” Velius said.

“Not trading so much as reconnaissance. Knowing what kind of weapons you might face and how people might arm themselves is critical, especially if the people you serve are bent on conquering the whole world,” Bomilcar replied.

Velius nodded, impressed by Bomilcar’s unique perspective. Unlike other Britannians, Bomilcar had experiences and knowledge that allowed him to see things in a different light. But in the end, it was all theoretical. The reality was that there were people who wanted to buy the arcuballista, and the Britannians needed raw materials. So, they would sell whatever people were willing to buy.

“I guess. Are they taking you into the Sea of Serpents?” Velius asked, using the Scandi name for the sea that separated the continent from the Scandi homeland.

“Yes. They’ll drop me as we pass through the mouth of the sea. According to Ramirus, several of the tribes I know have migrated there, trying to get as far north as they can, away from Carthaginian interference, while still being in their homeland. It will also be easier to deal with them if there aren’t a lot of Carthaginians around. There may not be enough Carthaginians on the northern coast to face off against our legions, but there’s more than enough to put one old man in shackles,” Bomilcar explained, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

“Are you sure they aren’t going to remember you simply as a leader for the people who’ve oppressed them, and kill you on sight?” Velius asked, worried for his friend.

“I’m not, but it’s still worth trying. I’m already on a second chance for my life, and I figure I might as well try and make good use of it. If I die, at least I die doing something useful for once. Who knows, maybe they’ll give me a chance to speak before they execute me,” Bomilcar said, his voice heavy with the weight of his past mistakes.

“I hope they give you more time than that,” Velius said, his hand outstretched to his friend as they saw the Scandi captain waving for his passenger. “Good luck and may the gods watch over you, my friend.

“Thank you,” Bomilcar said, grasping Velius’s arm.