Battle of the Strait

The second scene in this chapter is the one I cut from last one- it's a tad philosophical tho. Also, this marks my 25th chapter of actual story- what a ride. This chapter is mainly focused on the naval battle… so let's goooo!

Lelouch had gathered a portion of the garrison in one room along with an admittedly worrying amount of gunpowder and supplies, and laid out a plan. Instead of the more normal duties of a garrison- keeping watching and the like- this portion would be focused on making mines.

Not to say that they were going to be digging even deeper into the Rock of Gibraltar; rather, they were going to be making naval mines- the name was admittedly, a little strange, drawn from the context of siege warfare, a tunnel dug under a wall to collapse the whole thing- explosives not always necessary. You couldn't exactly cause a boat to collapse by removing the water under it, but the concept was similar- explosions near the bottom of a thing were not conductive to the continued existence of that object.

After some discussion, it was decided to work on the sparking mechanism in another room, for obvious reasons. Luckily, they had all the supplies they needed- they weren't lacking for flints or steel, courtesy of the muskets left behind by their Britannian friends.

There were a number of curious problems they had to solve before these naval mines- how much gunpowder to put in so it didn't just sink, how to make a device that would spark when the mine hit a ship, how to make it all watertight…

How to make it spark when struck by a boat, without exploding due to the normal back and forth swaying of the waves? Maybe some sort of mechanism that require significant jarring- the sort that would be caused by being hit by an entire boat, cutting through the waves at great speed?

The mechanism had turned out to be harder to make than they thought- they had facilities for metal working, of course- how else did they maintain guns and the like- but the sparking mechanisms were a real trick. They just couldn't get enough to truly cover any large stretch of water like they hoped. They did have a lot of barrels, however…

"You ever hear of Pelagius?" Alberto asked, his voice quiet in the limestone tunnels, as he and Pietro carefully carried a keg of powder- no one was quite brave enough to bring hot pitch anywhere near their major powder stores, meaning it had to be carried by the cask. Safer that way as well.

"Who?"

"Yeah, that's what I thought." Alberto sighed, "He was a Britannian theologian, long before the King's great great great grandfather was a gleam in his pappy's eye. A heresiarch- he thought that men could be saved without grace. That all by themselves, humans can reach perfection."

"What got you thinking about theology all of a sudden?"

"This," Alberto would have probably made a sweeping gesture with his hands if they weren't full- in places, you could still see bloodstains on the stone, where cleaning it away wasn't a priority. "This whole war- what we're about to do, what we've already done- it makes me wonder if if there's a nugget of goodness inside us anywhere."

"What about all those acts of charity in the world?" Pietro asked. "Surely we're not all bad- people who spend their lives for the sake of others."

"Perhaps soldiers are a different breed-" Alberto shrugged, "it reminds me of the Crusades. Men who spent their entire lives training to kill, riding off to clean away their sins… by killing more."

"What we did… it was good for Italy, wasn't it?"

"If that's what lets you sleep at night…"

"What do you mean?"

"What is Italy but a construct of our minds, an illusion we all believe in?"

"But the land-"

"Sure, there's a peninsula in the Mediterranean which we mostly agree belongs to 'Italy', which holds people called Italians- but Italy itself? The state? Nothing."

"Well there's an army, a king and a senate, even a flag in the works-"

"Window dressing- a checklist of things which tie the illusion to reality, acting as if it were real-"

"You know what? This is kind of a bummer. Why sign up at all if you're so skeptical?"

"All I'm saying is that you should remember that Italy is a construct- one you follow, one you live in, one you're fond of- but it is the work of men, Pietro." Alberto said. "Men just as fallible as you or I."

The Straits of Gibraltar weren't exactly lacking in traffic- it was the one connection between the Mediterranean and the rest of the world's oceans, an artery through which commerce flowed. For Lelouch, that meant that there were a lot of false alarms and panics- when every ship was a potential threat, and the strait was filled with commercial craft… well, the results were obvious, if uncomfortable.

Still, there were probably worse places to be keeping watch at- or maybe that was just the novelty talking. Once that wore off and the boredom of regular watches and patrol set in, it would probably drive men mad. Discipline might begin to fail with time if the men were allowed to grow too idle- so Lelouch rotated them around, keeping them busy with just about everything: maintaining the ships in port, preparing as many mines as they thought reasonable, and generally keeping an eye on things.

Sometimes they would even let the men out to do a bit of sailing on the strait, 'checking with' ships that passed through the area- changing out flags to deceive the foe wasn't a novel tactic, after all. Did it probably give them a bit of a thuggish look, stopping ships as they moved through the Straits of Gibraltar? Absolutely- but Lelouch would not let a single Britannian set foot upon the shores of Italy if he could do anything about it.

Any ships that belonged to the Britannian merchant marine were told in no uncertain terms to turn around or be sunk. Thankfully, the ships largely complied when they realized that Gibraltar was no longer a friendly port of call. They also managed to cow several Portuguese ships the same way, even with some translation issues- better to be safe than sorry, when it came to Britannian allies.

Still, Lelouch was glad that the first Britannian ships he saw were very obvious- the three ships proudly flew the Britannian naval jack, making their intentions quite clear. Immediately, the men at the Rock were on high alert, and the Italians began to launch their steamships, which had already been prepared for a fight.

Quite obviously, the Britannians were coming in from the west- if they had sailed in from the east, the Mediterranean, there were much bigger issues. Lelouch had to admit that they were certainly striking, as ships came, with lots of black paint and even sails that were darker than usual, likely dyed with something to preserve them, and that wasn't even mentioning their design- they were built strangely and were faster for it.

Still, the Italians were confident as they took to the sea, with Lelouch among them. There was something off about those ships, and he wanted to be up close, to see what Britannian might throw at them in the future. While the Italians may have had the edge with their exploding shell guns, that didn't mean they could think of themselves as completely invincible.

Due to the way their ships were designed, just about every craft they sailed into battle against was taller than them, to the point that it sometimes felt like staring down a wall. Especially with all the masts and sails, ships could begin to tower above even the greatest feats of architecture on land- and knowing you had to take one of them down wasn't always a great prospect.

The three Britannian ships sailed in tight formation, staying close together to prevent anyone from exploiting their small numbers- preferably, Lelouch would want to fight a superior fleet by picking off individual ships and destroying them piecemeal, but that wasn't really an option for Lelouch, considering how he only had the one bottleneck.

Lelouch didn't really feel like starting off the battle by having his fleet eat a broadside from those particularly well armed frigates, so he drove his fleet almost straight at them, weaving back and forth to avoid any shots from the Britannians.

As they closed in, the Britannians responded with a few shots from their chasers- the guns placed at the front of the ships for scenarios just like these- which mostly missed, thanks to the weaving. Even then, the Italians took a few minor casualties, cannonballs bouncing off a deck and sending splinters flying or clipping a turret. Thankfully, none took any damage to their paddlewheels.

With a series of roars, the Italian guns fired off, sending a volley directly at the ship's prows, hoping to close off the battle decisively by punching straight through the ship's fronts and having the shells explode inside the craft.

And then the shells bounced, simply falling away into the sea, where they were completely useless. For a few moments, the Italians were simply awestruck, staring at these seemingly invulnerable craft- and the Britannians responded with the shrieking of rockets, which leapt from the ship's prows.

They arched smoothly through the air, trails of fire traced in the air behind them, until they landed- fortunately, almost all of them missed, about half falling too short and about half flying too far. Unfortunately, Lelouch knew that the men aiming those rockets would only get more accurate with feedback, the longer those ships stayed in the fight- it was possible that the rockets hadn't been tested much at all before now. They seemed unusually straight-flying for rockets, perhaps they were a new model?

They began a retreat, waving back and forth, left one moment and right the next, hoping to make the Britannian's jobs just a little harder as they continued firing, trying not to alert them that anything was off as they dropped barrel after barrel behind them, some of them filled with a deadly payload.

Ever so slowly, the barrel drifteds in the chop, tiny circles of brown practically drowning in blue, waiting for a potential victim to sail into it, and eventually a Britannian ship and the barrel met, the boat pushing the much smaller object to the side with force...

From Gibraltar, they watched the naval chase with rapt attention, hoping to provide what little aid they could if Lelouch managed to bait his foe within range. They couldn't really get the specifics of the action except for the occasional odd man with a telescope, but they stared anyways- and certainly got a story to tell out of it.

The dreadful rumor that the Italian cannonballs were bouncing did nothing to help their enthusiasm- "And we thought our ships had sides of iron!"- and things only got worse as they watched the Britannian ships belch rockets from their sides, sending the fleet scurrying…

Howls of disappointment and even terror rang out as ships fell to the spray of rockets from the Britannian fleet, the projectiles screaming through the air in volleys and landing with a sort of dread synchronicity, sinking or disabling the Italian warships they struck.

They retreated in a zig-zagging pattern, leaving billowing trails of smoke behind them which brushed against Britannian sails and intermingled with the smoke from the Britannian ship's bow chasers as the two fleets exchanged fire. The Italians could still bring most of their firepower to bear, courtesy of their turrets, but their exploding shells still bounced, even as they valiantly tried to land a shell on the frigates' decks.

Everyone knew that the exploding rounds were almost completely useless once they hit the water (which tended to extinguish the fuse, quite obviously) and the Italian fire began to slow as the battle raged on, even as the crew scurried to drop something behind the ship- the mines?

There were thousands of men stationed at Gibraltar- and that was probably the only thing that would make their story believable, as one of the ships rose out of the water, lifted by a tremendous explosion which ate it up from the inside. The explosion from the ship's powder store was so loud that it was heard on both sides of the straits, shocking Andalusian peasants working in their fields and Moroccans doing business in Spanish Ceuta.

Planks and splinters soared through the air as the great stores of powder exploded, the massive conflagration sending the dozens of rockets in the hold soaring into the sea if they even launched at all. With grim certainty, the garrison knew that there weren't going to be survivors from an accident like that.

A few muttered prayers, both Italian and English, were given as they stared at the carnage, the mass of flotsam and debris that had once been a fine ship, held dozens of sailors…

The Britannian admiral was no fool- he saw something being dropped from the back of the Italian ships, but simply dismissed it as tossing dead weight- not a mistake he would make twice, now that they were missing one ship. It would already be a stain on his record to come back home having lost one ship to deceit- no need to inflate that number.

As quickly as they could, they brought their ships to a halt, the hulls so beautifully designed to cut through the water suddenly turning into a disadvantage when the ocean in front of them was teeming opportunities to have a very rapid, very explosive death.

Still, that was no reason to not keep up the pressure as they continued firing their chasers and carefully aimed their rockets. When handled with care, the rockets were incredibly flexible, capable of being pointed just about anywhere, unlike a cannon. The concern was making sure that they weren't being aimed in such a way that they would tear straight through the sails.

At the very least, packing up their sails would make quashing the Italians a lot easier- after beating the Italians back with rockets, maybe they could just let those damned trapped barrels drift away? Otherwise, their only real option was somehow attempting to handle them with the rowboats for landing…

But that was the future- for now, the rockets kept on flying through the air as they kept a very careful eye on Gibraltar. Even if they weren't within the range of Gibraltar's guns, the ships that were kept moored there were a threat. Not necessarily a tremendous one, but it would be good to keep an eye on them- battles were not won by ignoring the facts.

Napoleon II was watching from Gibraltar, a number of wooden ships under his command, to reinforce Lelouch and strike where the foe would least expect them. Admittedly, he was a little upset- here he was, stuck tending to all the wooden ships while Lelouch got to go off and handle the real naval weapons. Admittedly, the Italians were more used to taking commands from Lelouch and his sister, but it wasn't any less grating.

They were out there, exploring the frontier of naval warfare- damn, he would have to see if he could get some iron ships for Corsica (or buy them from Italy, as dependent as that would make them on the Italians)- and here he was, tending to ships that should be chopped apart for firewood.

His opinion of wooden ships was changed slightly by those strange ships the Britannians brought to bear- although something told him he wouldn't be able to make ships like that- it was either a technique he didn't know or materials he didn't have access to, making those marvels of ships completely useless unless they could somehow manage to capture one…

But before you could capture a ship, you did have to actually beat it- and that seemed like a bit of a stretch at first, considering how much the Italians struggled to land an effective shot on the things, at least until they tossed out the mines and…

Sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph- the ship was gone. Sure, there were a few planks sitting around, vague remnants of the sweeping line of a hull or length of a mast, but in mere moments, an entire frigate just disappeared. He needed to figure out how to make some of those….

It seemed like the Britannians were stunned by the sudden change in the battle as well, rapidly slowing their ships as the Italians crowed their victories- and continued dropping mines in the water. With increasing boldness, the Italians crept towards the two ships, tossing barrels overboard wildly- in fact, far too many barrels for the number of mines they made…

A fake out. Give the impression that the water ahead was completely seeded with explosives, and they would be forced to stop- and it would certainly be a feat to even attempt a turn- your rudder couldn't do much unless you were moving. So they were stuck, just sitting there- still, that wasn't much if their weapons weren't effective…

How the hell were they supposed to sink a ship if their cannonballs just bounced off the ship's sides, like children's toys bouncing against a wall?

Napoleon took inventory once again- all the guns of Gibraltar (useless), several transport craft (boarding was possible but risky), a few normal warships (same issue as the Italian's ships), and a couple of bomb ships…

Napoleon's grin was devilish. Mortars were typically useless at sea thanks to all the moving inherent in naval combat, but against a still target… well, typically such a target was a land based fortification which had several inherent issues with movement… but why not aim at a ship that was sitting still?

"Grab the carcass shot, and prepare the bomb ships!"

The trick with the bomb ships was going to be getting them lined up without getting them destroyed by enemy fire- and that meant that they needed to move en masse. If they just sent out the two bomb ships they had, they would surely be destroyed or crippled by a withering hail of rocket fire.

So the ships took to the sea, forming a rough semi circle in front of the real power houses- the bomb ships. It would certainly be tricky, getting in close enough to strike at the Britannians without evoking their fury- but battles couldn't be won without a little sacrifice, from time to time.

The warships weren't really staffed fully, with just enough men to sail and no more- if cannons wouldn't work, there was no real reason to bring any more crew, right? Even though he left out some particular transport ships- no use in marooning themselves on the Rock- there was a notable force, both Britannian and Corsican, proudly sailing towards battle, and almost certain doom. That was acceptable- the ships were crewed lightly, and they wouldn't be as useful in the long term.

Of course, the Britannians noticed their approach almost immediately, sending rockets their way as they tried to divide fire between the two fleets; however, even being hit by just half of the rockets caused considered damage, rockets diving deep into the bodies of the ships- there would be major losses in munitions (the ships were loaded for a fight after all) but not so much when it came to men- the ships were staffed by skeleton crews.

The knowledge that casualties- other than the boats themselves- were going to be fairly light didn't help the sinking feeling in his stomach as he watched ships slowly come to a halt, their bellies filling with water from where the rockets had burst on the inside.

Still, the men soldiered on, if such a term was appropriate for navy men, cutting through the water as they made their way towards the foe, striving towards the range where their mortars would be effective- but that would require stopping the bombships to aim properly- making them sitting ducks.

Bonaparte himself hung back on a smaller sloop- agile, nimble, and not as massive of a target as the bomb ships, which were not only big and slowed, they had to be crewed to fire as well. He could faintly hear the men rushing around the deck, moving munitions and preparing to fire, when the roars of cannon and hellish shrieks of the rocket didn't drown them all out.

Finally, the mortars fired, belching out their heavy carcass shot, which arched through the air- before falling painfully short. To be expected, certainly, but regrettable nonetheless- the longer the men dallied, the more likely it was that a rocket would be sent their way.

Sure enough, as the mortars were reloaded, one of the two Britannian ships begin to send rockets their way, arching over the remaining wooden ships, striking the waves at first- until one landed, striking the ship near its front- not disabling the gun, thank goodness, but severely damaged the forecastle, sending the whole of the bowsprit and figurehead into the sea.

That was going to be a pain to repair- he supposed the particular bomb ship was going to become a floating bombard in the short term, but the men continued to load the gun anyways. More rockets fell, half of them directly Napoleon's way and the others heading toward Lelouch, an ardent hail of fire that continued to tear away, striking at ships of both iron and wooden make.

Thankfully, the rockets began to slow- the Britannians didn't have infinite ammunition, after all, and with less pressure from the foe, the mortars fired once more, sending more projectiles high into the air- and one struck true, the shell plunging into the deck of one of the ships, crashing straight through- and the ship began to sag slightly. Had it punched straight through? And here was hoping for another explosion… He made sure his men followed up with lots of fire- punching hole after hole in the ship's bottom.

At the very least, Napoleon could appreciate the sheer tenacity of the Britannians, who continued firing with everything they had, even as the cannons began to slowly sink into the water, the black iron blending into the black sea.

He stopped admiring their tenacity after they fired just about every rocket they could at the bomb ships- that certainly wasn't good.

"Thank goodness for Napoleon…" Jeremiah muttered to himself, and Lelouch bit back the urge to make a comment- certainly not words that a proper Britannian would say, although Lelouch wasn't any less grateful- Bonaparte had undone another one of the three ships.

They had already lost of a couple of the steamships, and a third was basically completely crippled, the turret blown into pieces by those damned rockets- thankfully, the last ship seemed to have run low on rockets, although that meant they were aiming even more carefully now, picking their targets as best they could.

A rocket landed behind them, sending up a plume of water, and moments later, another one struck in front of them- "Full steam ahead, hurry!" Even as he shouted, he could see the next rocket tracing a path through the air, he turned his head to watch it land at the paddlewheel, splintering the wood which propelled the ship- and then a screaming pain cut across his face, from the left.

He tumbled the rocking deck, holding his hand up to left eye in a desperate attempt to protect it, even as he felt a horrifying warmth on his hand, flowing over his fingers… "Your majesty!" That was Jeremiah, which he could see on his right.

They needed a solution to that ship that didn't involve ineffectually tossing cannonballs at it for the next few hours- how to cripple them? Normal cannonballs wouldn't work- their next best option, on top of waiting for Napoleon to do something, which was risky, considering the salvo sent his way…

What else could they possibly throw at the ship? Oh wait- they did have something they send their way, didn't they?

The Britannian admiral was thoroughly spooked now- he had lost two ships, the Badb and the Anand, leaving on his flagship behind, the Macha. This was going to be a major mark on his record- but that would be better than not having a record at all and dying out here.

Those damned barrels, while a knavish trick, crippled his ability to flee, leaving them to try to turn the ship around without sailing forward- a task that was, to put it quite simply, fiendishly difficult- he had sent some men to use the anchor to pull them back, ever so slowly, but it wasn't enough to give them space to move.

Then one of the Italian ships began to steam forward, its paddles straining fiercely- what did they plan on doing with that crippled turret? Hell, he could even see men jumping overboard, as if they realized the futility of their charge- oh.

At the very least, the ship would be destroyed by those naval traps the Italians had set up, those barrels- but the ship drove on through without issues, sending the casks to the side without so much as a spark. Was it something inherent to the Italian ships- or had they been duped? He didn't get much time to consider that question before the entire ship was rocked by an impact as the nearly unmanned ship crashed into his, metal hull striking the wood and tearing a gash, leading to the Macha taking on water.

Of course, he sent men down in an attempt to control the damage inflicted, but this was no small gash by a cannonball- it was the result of an entire damned ship crashing into them. Perhaps… perhaps it was time to surrender with dignity and take whatever terms they could get.

Lelouch was glad that the battle was won, of course, but he had some other issues on his mind. "How were the casualties, Jeremiah?"

"Shouldn't you take the plank out of your eye before removing another man's splinter, your majesty?"

"Ha ha, very fitting- but I'm not being a busybody if I actually have to run an army, am I?"

"We've lost some men and several of the ships were sunk or are otherwise completely unsalvageable… we may have to ask for more supplies from Italy, and we'll have to be careful with what ships we have left…"

Lelouch nodded- "We'll have to drill more- hopefully, we won't be seeing more ships like those, but we need to think about how we'd approach the enemy in more detail. What if they bring out the ships of the line? A broadside would still be fatal…"

"Of course, but your majesty, we really must do something about your eye."

"If you must bring out the surgical tools, can you at least clean them? Preferably with boiling water?"

"Your majesty?"

"Remember our discussions about cholera, Jeremiah?" Lelouch whispered, "Just indulge me, please- I would prefer not to die of infection- or I'd like to lower the chances."

The surgeon didn't tell him anything he couldn't already figure- a spray of splinters had hit the left side of his face, digging into the temple and cheek, on top of blinding his left eye. The way it was looking, the surgeon might need to make some cuts to extricate the splinters- wonderful.

Honestly, this was one particular experience he had hoped not to share with the men, but there was little he could do about it- Cornelia took his hand and someone passed him a leather cartridge box, which he was to bite- to distract him from the pain, and to keep him from biting his tongue or cracking his own teeth while caught up in the pain.

So Lelouch bit deep into the leather and tried his best to brace himself for the upcoming surgery- he should probably apologize to Cornelia once it was all over, he'd probably grip her hand like a vise… Lelouch started imagining upcoming battle plans- raiding the Algarve or Portugal, perhaps- in hopes that it would distract him. He was supposed to be dignified and stoic, after all.

They had sailed up to Britanny, and from there, hopped to Ushant and then Scilly (crossing the open sea was still kind of unnerving even with a compass), meaning that they were finally back in Britannia proper. The nearest bit of mainland Britannia to them now was Cornwall- not exactly London, but none of them were bold enough to try attacking London with a few meager boats.

Afterwards, they sailed north, into the Irish Sea- to the east they could strike at Wales or Northwestern England, and to the west they would find Ireland, although if Collins could be picky he would prefer not to cause too much trouble there.

It would certainly be tricky- they were at the throbbing heart of empire now, where the crown could react the fastest to any threats, but the sheer amount of terror and unrest attacks on the heartland could cause would be worth it, he thought. The plan was simple enough- raid coastal towns for provender, surprise any particularly isolated garrisons, and disappear just as quickly. If things got bad, they could ditch the boats and melt in the population, try to stage attacks from there...

They would have to be very careful about where they chose to stay the night, but it was workable- not raiding Ireland might be a good idea, just to have a place to hide out in. That wasn't to say there weren't royalist holdouts- he just liked his chances on the Emerald Isle a little more.

"News from the Piedmont," Euphemia remarked, holding a missive from the region. It was her job to review as many of them as possible, after all. "It seems that there are some issues with French immigrants- some want to join the legion, but there are still a lot of them."

"Why?" Nunnally asked.

"I can't be sure, but if had to guess, maybe the Bourbons did something particularly intolerable?" Euphemia shrugged. "If they don't cause too much trouble, I don't see any reason to complain- more people is Italy's gain, no?"

"Most of the Foreign Legionnaires are French, aren't they?"

"Yes, but that might just be proximity- we certainly haven't received any Great Russian volunteers. Many men from the Danube as well- Italians, of course, but some Slovenes and Croats, too as I gather."

"Speaking of strange cultures- how is Malta?"

"Alright, I think- there's been a bit of unrest, but nothing major enough to warrant reinforcement. All our materiel is heading straight for Gibraltar."

Omake: Life at Gibraltar

"The water here tastes like piss."

"How do you know what piss tastes like?"

"I suppose I walked right into that one, Alberto." Pietro sighed. "Seriously though, I could go for some cider or wine or something- the water here is brackish."

"Why not drink water from the well? There are a few here."

"I found a leech in some of that water."

"You what?" Alberto inhaled deeply. "I wonder if it would possible to distill the ocean water- make it potable?"

"Distill… like how you'd make brandy?"

"Well I certainly hope that the water here will be cheaper than brandy."

They had naval mines around the Revolutionary War Era, but they were kind of dismissed because of them being "not fair and honest warfare"- something our man Lamperouge isn't really worrying about.

Why ocular trauma? I had thought of the idea for a while- part of it would be humbling Lelouch, part would be a sort of callback to Geass, that terrible power which affected the eye. I took a bit of inspiration from Admiral Yi Sun Sin (who y'all need to read about) with the whole injured in battle thing, but still going on to win. Of course, Lelouch didn't die in battle. Unfortunately, nobody's figured out anesthesia yet...

The plank bit is inspired by Matthew 7:3- I was reading it recently and it stuck. Don't worry about the sawdust/splinter in your buddy's eye when you've got a plank in your own. Preach.

The term Great Russian refers to Russians in the sense of like, Muscovites and Novgorodians and the like- a Lithuanian at this time might technically be "Russian" but not Great Russian. You might refer to a Ukrainian as a Little Russian and a Belorussian as a White Russian.