Before Gaspar Castle, one week later
The weather was a very mixed bag today. Clouds chased themselves all over the sky, there had been several rain showers, but also lots of sunshine. The fields that lay before Gaspar castle had started to sprout green things before Andy Thrope`s army had arrived. They would not amount to much. Too many feet trampled the ground, too many horses, mules and oxen ate everything they could reach and the real estate was needed for other things. The General who directed the army milling before the besieged castle was new to his job and had tried to improve his knowledge by reading. One pf the first books he had cracked open on that subject had been "Infantrie greift an" (Infantry attacks) by Rommel, what Englishman could refuse that. One sentence had struck and ever since then he preached it.
"Sweat saves blood."
By now he was preaching to the choir as the results of that were seen and felt in his army. The former serfs knew everything about working hard and when their lives depended on it they applied themselves with a will. They had thrown up their normal field fortifications, heavily based on Roman camps. They were finishing a long palisade on an earthen wall that went all around Gaspar castle and were starting on a second one just for good measure. Nobody would get inside or outside of that castle easily, that was for sure. But that did not win him that place and he needed to take it. His binoculars added detail to an already depressing picture. Gaspar castle was old and the style of fortifications made that all too clear. The walls were rounded, with no redoubts, lunettes or anything. The walls were high, made of local stones and not protected by earthen berms. There was a motte which he planned to cut from the stream that replenished it and a drawbridge that was pulled up. There was just one set of walls and a keep that would be the final line of defense.
All in not very impressive, even pre-Weltensprung artillery from the Empire or the Dawi could have torn it down quickly. Which was all fine and dandy if he had any guns, but he had not. And storming that Castle without breaching the walls first would be a nasty undertaking. Simply laying a siege would tie too many soldiers down, so he had to do something. He had been promised something that would help and in anticipation to that he had set his eager beavers to do more work. A trench zig-zagged itself from his line towards the castle. It would terminate in a bunker that would house his Pierre special, whatever that might be.
This approach had not been described by Rommel, he had learned that one from C.S. Forester. The book was called "The Gun" and had been a novel. He was banking a huge campaign and the lives of countless people on an old novel and the promises of a French Engineer.
Andy Thrope shuddered.
Soreil, same time
"Merde"
"Merde indeed, this is not good."
The Chapel of the Lady had a high tower that had been used to spot the ships entering and leaving Soreil`s bay and harbor since time immemorial. Currently the platform used to that was taken by several Rebels, including Pierre Laval and Jean of Dubois. They shared a binocular between them, but that did not improve the sight. The ships they watched were huge for their kind, even if unimpressive when compared to German ones. Masts that seemed to rise to the cathedral`s height carried great white sails bearing the Royal`s heraldry. A checkerboard pattern on the hull`s sides indicated where the many cannon waited for their chance. Many, many sailors manned the masts and weapons and they looked like they knew what they were doing. There were several Galleons and Bucaneers, all in a pretty tight formation.
"Do you think they would try to land an army?"
"Don`t think so, and if they try I do believe we can contain them. The new regiments are still a bit green but at least not seasick."
"So what do you think they are doing?"
"They want to blockade us."
"Malefic."
"Malefic indeed. We have huge outstanding orders in Germany and they have to arrive via port. And at the same time we want to ship the latest batch of refugees, they are eating too much. So these have to go, and I do not know how."
"Can we kill them with cannon?"
"We have nothing that can reach so far and they`d simply get farther away from us. That will not work."
"So?"
"So I do not know yet."
"Merde."
At the walls of Grasgar Castle, Bretonia
Pierre watched General Thrope step forward, too far forward to his taste. The bloody Royals did not think the Rebels were honorable and if they would respect a flag of parley was everybody`s guess. With the general who had kicked their noble asses in open battle it was even more unlikely. The general lifted a funnel-shaped thing to his lips and pointed it at the castle that were a bit more than 200 paces away.
"Bonjour Grasgar Castle. I want to speak with Baron Ney."
Pierre tired not to smile too much. Thrope`s Breton was pretty good by now, but there was still a funny accent to it. It did not become any better when the General had to shout. Still, he was easily understandable and the answer did not take long in coming.
"A pox on you. The Baron will not speak to rabble of your kind."
"Fair enough whoever you are. Know then that if you surrender before we breach your walls you will be allowed to leave with whatever you can carry or put on the beats and carts in your castle. You will have free passage to the next territory held by the Royals. If you choose to surrender after we breach the walls, then you may leave with what you have on your back. And if you try to surrender after we storm your castle you will find surrender will be very difficult then.
"We will never surrender to the likes of you. The walls stood Frodo the Believer, they have withstood the best Beastmen, Greenskins and the followers of the Fell Gods could do. We have enough food for years and we will see your head on a pike."
"Have it your way then."
With that the General retreated and the Tericos were taken back to their stations. In Pierre`s case that meant more drill and he was not looking forward to that. The Rebel army had captured a great lot of armor and arms. There had been fierce competitions about who would gather what and Pierre had demonstrated the strength, stamina and determination to receive new gear. He had been so proud of that then, one man in three had been chosen. Now he was not sure if that had been worth it at times.
He had gained a chest plate, vambraces and mail protection for his arms. The best were the armored gloves that would keep his fingers from being loped off when the next knight tried to get them with his sword.
He also got himself a sword for those times when a pike was the wrong weapon. A sword was an honorable weapon and till he joined the rebellion he would have been punished to take one up, even in defense of his life. It was all very good until the point that he realized that he had received nearly 20 kilograms of gear and was supposed to march and fight with his comrades who had not been so "lucky" as him.
He had been pretty sure that he was in great shape before, the first drills in the new gear disabused him of that notion. The first days had been utterly miserable, with a back that felt like it was frozen solid, with legs that cramped from the strain and blisters in places he never had them before. The latter were from the straps of his new armor and he had a hard time getting used to it. Fighting with sword and shield was very, very different from what he had done before. So there was more pain, more being screamed at by the instructors and more hematoma from the wooden practice swords.
This was much more difficult than using the pike and he knew very well that he could not hope to take down a knight in glorious single combat. He would fight as with the pikes he was used to: as part of a group. They would watch each other's flanks and they would strike at any target that presented itself, honorable duels were for nobles and idiots, with a large overlap between these groups.
His troops mostly kept to that in the practice they has once they stood down from their watch. They still lost, their trainers were nobles who had been taught to wield the sword since they could hold one, but they did not lose too badly.
Pierre favored his right leg when he went back to camp, a strike he had not seen had struck there and would leave a nice hematoma. Shedding his armor he still had to work keeping up with his comrades when they made for the woods. The troop did a job that could normally be done by one, but nobody was stupid enough to wander into these woods alone. Grasgar castle might be under siege which did not mean all Royals were under watch.
They got lucky, a number of the traps they had set yesterday had indeed caught rabbits. They would make the stew taste so much better. They also found some wild garlic to add some taste and it was approved by their officers who talked about something called vitamins.
The real price were the two hedgehogs that went into a ball when spotted. These two would be lovingly seasoned, clad in mud and buried in the ashes of the troops fire. They would taste so good, even better as they had never been allowed to hunt when they were still serfs.
Galleon Paravon, Soreil, at night
Both moons had retreated behind the Warhammer World and a great lot of stars were occluded by passing clouds. At the far end of the darkness a number of lights showed where the town of Soreil was, a few moving lights indicated the position of those who wanted the town harm.
The harbor of Soreil was under a different kind of siege. The wooden walls that enclosed it was movable under sails and they certainly did not lack cannon. Three galleons and a number of Buccaneers kept station before the harbor and denied the traffic the rebellion depended on.
"Paravon" was a ship of the line, carrying 60 guns ranging from the 24-pounders in her lower gun deck, 12 pounders on the upper one and swivel guns on her deck.
Her crew of 500 was mostly asleep while a watch kept the ship running on course and observed the waters around them. Most sails were reefed in, if "Pavaron" would have too much cloth aloft the ship would be too fast. She would have to jibe too soon to keep station and that would be an all-hands maneuver. Much better to do that when the watch was changed anyway. So like the rest of squadron she made 4 knots in a more or less straight line.
Boat No. 4, Soreil, same time
The boat that made its way through the dark waters of Soreil bay was unique, no such thing had existed in this world before. Its maker, Pierre Laval, thought that there had not been something exactly like this in the world he came from.
It was a hasty improvisation, bringing separate parts together that normally should not be in the same place. It was totally untested except for a spin in the harbor basin after night to keep the vital element of surprise. A few days ago it had been a pinnace, rowing all over the harbor and bringing goods and people where needed.
The rowers, their gear and their banks were gone now, replaced by ranks of batteries. The crew of two had been warned to keep these dry if at all possible. Not only would that leave them without propulsion, they were also warned of arcs, possible fire and poisonous fumes.
Currently there was no danger of that given that the boat made about 5 knots. When it would accelerate to its untested top speed a huge sheet of plywood, bent into the shape of a whaler bow, would hopefully keep things in that state. All parts of the boat, whether new or old were painted in a flat black that made it nearly invisible in the darkness. The two man were sitting back to back. One was steering the boat and tried to spot the enemy in the moonless darkness, the other watched the lights of Soreil. Two of these lights were not so devoid of meaning as the others were. At times, he could see only one of them, sometimes the other and when things were right both of them.
He had been told that somebody was manning the Cathedral`s tower with a magical device that would allow him to see in darkness. He would be able to see the boats and the enemy. The lights showed the way which was a good thing as the two men did not see anything but these lights and a few stars. They had been proud to volunteer, it seemed a much grander way to help the Rebellion that bringing in the fish. They had been given their instruction by Pierre Laval himself, the man who insisted daily that he was not a mage and wrought miracles.
That was all behind them. It had been easy to swear to tackle the enemy, so easy to remember the many hurts the tax and excise had visited on them at a whim. They had gladly accepted their peer`s praise and the not-mages thanks. Now that they were alone in the cold, damp darkness all of that seemed very far away. Now they were no longer sure if they could do what they had promised, now they were not so sure if the miracle they rode was safe, now the possibility of a watery grave did not seem so far away. They were no sailors, trained for war, they were simple rowers who earned their living inside Soreil`s harbor. Attacking ships armed with dozens of cannon seemed more like an harebrained scheme by the minute. Despite the doubts, despite the fears they pressed on. Whether it was the knowledge that these ships had to be removed, whether it was that they would not face their peers if they broke of their mission they could not say. It simply did not matter.
The two man in boat no. 4 had no way to tell the time but by the stars and with every passing minute they became surer that they would not find the enemy in time. They looked at the lights that supposedly guided them, they looked at the stars to see whether it was time. And then some of the stars were simply gone. They came up again quickly enough and blinked out again after a second. Both men breathed easier for a second as they had finally spotted their target and tensed up as this meant they had to commit to the attack. Aiming the bow at a point before the ship that could be barely seen the helmsman pushed the simple lever at his side all the way forward. The batteries did not give any sound, the small engine just increased its whining, but the water behind the boat started to splash and gurgle in earnest. The screw that drove the boat had been hastily casted using the one fixed to Laval`s houseboat as a sample. The cast had been rough and the screw made for a different engine/boat combo which meant it was inefficient. Not only did that mean the boat was slower than it could have been, the screw also churned the waters in ways that dragged up the local maritime small lifeforms. Said lifeforms exhibited phosphoresce nearly immediately, leaving a glowing trail that started a few meters after the boat. The boat whose first and last line of defense was stealth.
Paravon, same time
The lookout drew his arms around his bony chest in a search for any warmth. During the day, the weather was nice enough, at night there was still a nasty chill exacerbated by the wind that went through the rigging. He was two hours into his watch which meant two more hours of cold boredom. He knew that things could have been much worse, it was not raining, the ship wasn`t making really nasty moves, but still. He stomped his feet again a couple of times before he made for the side of his lookout again. In the far distance, there were the lights of the Rebel city that they did not bombard for some reason. Besides that and a few stars there was nothing to see but a great lot of blackness. As always his eyes made up for the lack of sensation with ghostly green images that swam through his vision. The green trail blended in with them just too well and it was just when it persisted that he realized that something was off. He looked, looked again and found only a small, elusive shape of different blackness riding a bit before the green trail. The lookout could not make neither heads nor tails about it, the only thing he was sure of was that it was heading for "Paravon".
"Attention, attention on deck. There is something coming from the east, closing fast."
"What is something you blind son of a gun?"
"Can`t make it out for sure Sire, maybe a small boat. But it is about a mile away, coming fast."
"Merde"
The drum rolls began a few seconds later, the boatswain`s shrill pipes and their coarse shouts joined them heartbeats later. "Paravon" had action station drills about every other week when they were at sea. And while they might not be the ship with the fastest time for that, it was far from the slowest. Every man on board knew what he had to do and even the pitch darkness did not slow them down measurably. The men stowed their hammocks which they had hung in the gun decks, they removed the canvas partitions, they dropped sand on the deck so nobody would stumble on oil.
An old wizened noncom light the light that would illuminate a compartment below the waterline through a glass window. The flickering light shone in many neat stacks of cloth bags containing black powder. This was the magazine, only one man was allowed inside and neither flame nor spark would ever enter. A small line of boys formed up at the opening through which he handled them the charges and they sped to the waiting gun crews. They might be called "powder monkeys", they were on the bottom of the totem pole on this ship and without them "Paravon" would surely lose.
Chintz covers were pulled from the for gins that were places in the captain`s cabin while that worthy donned his sabre and made for the bridge. "Paravon`s" crew was fast enough to keep the boatswain`s swearing to acceptable levels and the lashes they applied for motivation were mild by the seaman`s standards. Their ship was part of a fleet with a long and proud history, the Bretonian vessels arguably some of the best ever to sail the seas. Usually they could spot any enemy hours before any engagement could be fought and still their standard was to be ready within eight minutes. Paravon was nearly good after five and at that time a small troop of marines had scaled the main mast. At a third of its height a small platform held a couple of swivel mounts. These guns were best suited to repel small boats and that was what the soldiers were about to do. They pulled a safety pin and removed oiled canvass covers before pulling the muzzle upright. One of their number pushed a small bag of black powder inside and followed it by a small bad that contained a double dozen lead balls. Both were rammed down followed by a wad that would keep things inside the barrel. At the other end of the gun another Marine fitted a flint stone inside the lock and added a bit of finer powder into the pan. No slow match would be allowed in the rigging where dry wood, sails and tarred ropes just waited to start a conflagration.
When all was ready they got the permission to fire, just that there were no bloody targets. Looking around the Marine found the same green trail the lookout had seen and before he could make out anything more a number of shots were loosened from other guns on the ship. He could see the waterspouts that rose from them but doubted that they had hit anything vital. They still had their use as the muzzle flashes illuminated something in the water. It was a few meters before the trail, sleek, black and seemingly featureless. The Marine wondered for half a second whether the Rebels had summoned some sea monster before deciding it did not matter. Aiming to the front of the trail by best estimate he pulled the trigger. This time there was no water spout.
