It’s won naval battles for us before, Demansk thought sourly, shifting his injured left arm to test it. A little pain, not too bad—not nearly as disagreeable as making Helga stay on shore had been; in the end he’d had to point out that coming might mean watching her precious Emerald die.
I just don’t like the implications of this formation. We’re conceding that the enemy are better than we are. That was true, on salt water; he still didn’t like admitting it. The Confed fleet was fighting the way Emerald phalanxes had, in the old days; shield to shield, all spears out. It had a lot of punch—one of Demansk’s ancestors had written in his memoirs that seeing four thousand men come over the brow of a hill in perfect alignment was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen in his life—but it lacked flexibility. That was how the Confed armies had beaten the Emeralds, using small units under independent command to work around flanks and into gaps, coming to close quarters with the stabbing assegai.
“At least it’s calm,” he muttered, and the sailing master nodded again. A calm sea was like fighting on a flat, even field—everything in plain sight, no surprises, no broken ground to disorder the formations. If he had to fight in a phalanx, that was the best place to do it.
Thing is, I just don’t like fighting a battle this way, relying on brute strength and massive ignorance, he thought. It was . . . uncraftsmanlike.
He had to admit that the fleet made an imposing sight. The working parties that had gotten them ready for sea hadn’t stinted on paint and gilding, either. The hulls and upperworks were almost as bright as the helmet plumes and armor of the officers, lacking only the fierce glint that the sun broke off edged steel. Each craft had a figurehead in the form of a snarling direbeast; there was a remote mythological connection, to the legendary pair who’d supposedly been raised by one and founded Vanbert. He was surprised that the Confederation made so much of that myth, sometimes—the rest of it wasn’t at all creditable, involving fratricide, kidnapping, woman-stealing and general mayhem. But then, Vanbert had been founded by a bunch of bandit fleecebeast herders, if you read between the lines.
“We’ve come a long way,” he said to himself, watching the vermillion-painted oars flashing in unison, churning the wine-purple sea to foam, the bronze beaks lunging forward and splitting V’s of white to either side. The oarsmen knew their business, hired men mostly, with some conscripted fishermen from the coastal villages. They were used to the shattering labor, but not really to working in teams; there had only been a month or so to train them.
Ahead, the Islander fleet was matching them stroke for stroke—backward, southwest, away from the shore, on a course that would take them out past Preble if it went on long enough; he could see the walls and stubby towers in the ocean beyond them. Demansk’s squadron was second in from the left, landward flank of the fleet, and that section had come a little forward; it gave him a good view down to the massive quinqueremes of the center, where Jeschonyk’s personal banner flew. The ability of the Islander fleet to back water as fast as the Confeds were advancing was dauntingly impressive, in its way—they weren’t charging, but the pace wasn’t leisurely, by any manner of means.
He stared ahead and to his right. King Casull’s banner there—standard formation, like ours, quinqueremes in the center, triremes on the flanks. The great ships rode the ocean like floating wooden walls, each with two banks of huge five-man oars swinging with ponderous force. Casull’s capital ships looked a little different, with low wooden forts on their forward decks, spanning the gangways along either flank. Hmmmm. That must make them a little more sluggish, he thought. I wonder why they’re doing that? Usually they stay as nimble as they can. And what’s that column of black smoke from behind the flagship?
He sincerely hoped it wasn’t some sort of incendiary trick. He was getting thoroughly sick of those. He also hoped Jeschonyk wasn’t just going to mirror their movement until the Confederacy fleet had been drawn well out to sea. Right now, the left flank at least was secure, anchored on the land. Out in deep water, the Islanders might get up to any amount of devilment.