runsforcelery wrote:And just to show that I can post snippets in proper order:
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“I think it’s about time to clear for action, Zosh,” Lieutenant Hektor Aplyn-Ahrmahk, known on social occasions as His Grace, the Duke of Darcos, said thoughtfully.
“I think it behooves us to tread a bit cautiously, Zosh,” he told Hahlbyrstaht for the benefit of the SNARC he knew Sarmouth had focused upon Fleet Wing. “I’m not too concerned about our ability to take this fellow, but we’re a long way from home, and I imagine the Admiral would really prefer for us to report back.”
“Probably a safe bet, Sir,” Hahlbyrstaht acknowledged wryly. “Matter of fact, I’m sort of in favor of the idea myself, now that you mention it.”
“In that case, let’s pass the word for Master Zhowaltyr.”
At thirty-five, Zhowaltyr was one of the oldest members of the schooner’s company, and he’d learned his trade as a gun captain in then-Commodore Staynair’s first experimental galleon squadron. Fleet Wing was damned lucky to have him, and Hektor had wondered occasionally if that was more than simply a happy coincidence. Zhowaltyr had been transferred into the schooner about the same time Hektor assumed command, and it was entirely possible Admiral Sarmouth had had just a little something to do with that. He’d certainly insisted that Stywyrt Mahlyk, his personal coxswain, go along to “keep an eye on” Hektor!
“Do my best, Sir.” Zhowaltyr grinned broadly. “The fourteen-pounder, I’m thinking?”
Charisian gunners were still the best trained and most experienced in the world, however. Other navies, even the Dohlarans who’d demonstrated they were the ICA’s only true peers, concentrated on maximum rate of fire at the sort of minimal ranges where hits could be expected...
It was a technique they’d learned from the Charisians themselves, but the ICN’s gun crews exercised with their weapons for a minimum of one full hour per day. And unlike navies who drilled solely for speed, going through the motions of loading and running out again and again without ever firing, the Charisian Navy also “wasted” quite a lot of powder and shot shooting at targets it intended to actually hit. Its rate of fire at least equalled that of any other navy in the world, when speed was needed, but its gunners were also trained to aim their pieces and to allow for their ships’ own motion.
Hektor intended to use that advantage as ruthlessly as possible. The last thing he wanted was to enter Serpent’s effective range for a broadside duel, and for a longer-ranged engagement, what really mattered were the opponents’ long guns. Although Serpent’s 18-pounders were heavier and she had two of them, Fleet Wing’s single 14-pounder was pivot-mounted, able to fire in a broad arc on either broadside. And unlike Serpent’s guns, it was rifled. The “long fourteen” had been famed in Charisian service for its accuracy from the moment it was introduced. Rifling only made it even more lethally accurate . . . and increased the weight of its projectiles. The schooner had received the new weapon only three months ago, and Hektor knew Zhowaltyr was eager to try its paces in action.
“Then I suppose you should go do your noisy, smoky best to make me a happy man.”
“We’ll do that thing, Sir.”
Zhowaltyr touched his chest in salute once more, then turned and cupped both hands around his mouth.
“Ruhsyl! Front and center!” he bellowed.
The tallish petty officer who answered his gentle summons had a sharply receding hairline. In fact, he was well along in the process of going bald, although none of his subordinates would be rash enough to describe it in precisely those terms. The hair fringing that gleaming expanse of bald scalp was worn very long and pulled back in a braided (if somewhat moth-eaten) pigtail that hung well down his spine. As if for compensation, he also sported a full, bushy beard and a magnificent specimen of what would have been called a “walrus mustache” on a planet called Earth. Both arms were liberally adorned with tattoos, a golden hoop dangled from his right earlobe, and there were strands of white in both that beard and pigtail. Not surprisingly, perhaps. At forty-seven, Wyllym Ruhsyl was close to three times Hektor’s age and the oldest man in Fleet Wing’s company.
He was also the schooner’s senior gun captain and effectively Zhowaltyr’s assistant gunner, with an uncanny kinesthetic sense.
“Fire!”
Wyllym Ruhsyl yanked the firing lanyard for what seemed like the thousandth time. The 14-pounder bellowed, smoke blossomed . . . and HMS Serpent disintegrated in a massive ball of fire, smoke, and hurtling splinters as a 4.5-inch shell drilled straight into her powder magazine and exploded.
That was a really long quote from RFC, but the selected bits show that Hektor is using the best gunners that Sir Dunkyn Yairley could provide. He is using a gun with superior accuracy and range. The battle is still lengthy and dependent on luck.
The ICN needs fire control. For small ships like the HMS Fleet Wing, maybe all that is needed is to control fire until the plane of the artillery platform reaches a defined point in its' movement.
We were not told whether there was any fire control for the ironclads, the rivers, or the cities. There really needs to be fire control for the King Haarahlds that is more than just notification from an observation balloon.
James
