Altina the Sword Princess: Volume 6, page 12
Aside from that, however, their structure was fundamentally the same throughout: each ship was 120 cubits (52 m) long with a span of 34 cubits (15 m). The sails could also be folded away when the steam engine was in use, though the masts remained in place, with the tallest one in the middle towering at 130 cubits (58 m) tall.
The number of cannons on the broadside was rather modest for a ship of this scale, and they weren’t positioned much higher than water level. This was a considerable contrast to Belgaria’s Aeterna-classes, which proudly stood tall like castles floating on the sea. They gave off an air of utmost dignity as ships of the line, and the unique artistic flourishes that decorated each one made them akin to fine pieces of art.
Princess-classes, on the other hand, were low and plain. This did carry the advantage of making them harder to hit, but when the seas were rough, the lowest of their three gun decks was prone to becoming flooded. From there, it became near impossible to tell who was supposed to be operating the pumps, and who was meant to be manning the cannons.
This issue could not simply be ignored, especially since the waterline rose much higher than anticipated when the ship was fully loaded with coal. There was little doubt that the Princess-class boasted overwhelming war potential compared to the warships of other nations, but to the user, it definitely had its flaws. It was the first large-scale warship to be loaded with a steam engine, and was very much still a work in progress.
The ceiling in the cabin of a Princess-class was considerably low, and the door—which was five steps down from the main deck—was so small that one might assume it had been made for children. The passage inside led to even more stairs, and the ship’s thick, sturdy armor meant it was rather cramped. Only when it opened up into the bridge did this claustrophobic sensation subside.
At the center of the room was the helm. There was another on the quarterdeck, where there was a better field of vision, and this was the one that would be used in times of peace. After all, it was far easier to perform careful maneuvers such as docking and approaching allied vessels with a clear view of the ship.
During times of war, they would move to the helm inside the ship. Here, they were protected by the sturdy poop deck which, with some luck, could endure a direct cannon blast.
The captain’s quarters lay at the rear end of the bridge, and were far enough inside that their door didn’t need to be quite so narrow. Inside that room, a woman in a sailor’s uniform had a gentle smile on her face.
“Oh, good work, Captain Morins.”
She was nineteen years of age—a woman with blue eyes and glossy long blond hair which was bundled behind her head. There was a thin scarf wrapped around her collar, and she wore an overcoat that seemed a little too long for her short stature, so much so that the belt tying it down around her waist made it look as though she was wearing a skirt. Though she was, of course, wearing pants underneath.
Her name was Laurelin, and she served as an adjutant. While it was apparently rare to employ female officers in other countries, High Britannia was a country ruled by a queen and thus saw little need to place men above women in most fields.
“Is the conference over?” she asked.
“No, get this—we haven’t even discussed anything yet.”
“Are you serious!? It’s already past noon...”
“MacCunn’s taking things hard and we were all trying to cheer him up. His son was on the sixth ship, you know.”
MacCunn was the captain of the High Britannian Royal Navy’s first ship. He had refrained from taking his son aboard in case it was seen as favoritism, but now he was deeply regretting that decision.
“That’s some tough luck.”
“Yeah, and you saw how sudden that surprise attack was. I doubt he had time to jump overboard.”
“...To go without lunch.”
“Oh, were you talking about me? Well, I didn’t get anything to eat, I’ll admit.”
“Let me brew you some tea, then. We have biscuits, too.”
“I could really do with some jam.”
With that remark, Huey Morins—the captain of the Garnet—gave a wink and took a seat in his chair. The living area in the captain’s quarters also served as the conference room, lounge, and dining hall for the ship’s officers. It was here that the top brass would drink tea, eat, drink tea, draft plans, and drink tea.
Laurelin put a pot on to boil, measuring out some leaves before throwing them in. Their faint aroma imparted the captain with a sense of security, and it wasn’t long before he loosened up enough to leak a complaint.
“Seems the admiral thinks Belgaria will strike again.”
“Fufu... If they do, then we just need to sink them again. We won’t fall victim to such an ambush if we stay well away from the cape.”
“You’re right.”
“By all means, Captain.”
Laurelin placed a teacup on the table, and a thin trail of steam rose from the light-crimson liquid inside. As Morins brought the drink to his lips, a pleasant scent greeted his nostrils, its faint astringency blowing away his drowsiness and its gentle sweetness doing wonders to ease his fatigue.
“Mnn... Your tea is as good as ever, Laurelin. It makes me never want to go home.”
“Keep saying that, and your wife will surely chew you out again.”
“Ah, thinking about her makes my head hurt. Take it from me—never marry a bigshot’s little girl.”
“I don’t think that’s something I’ll have to worry about, Captain.”
“I suppose not.”
“As I recall, her father is an admiral in the navy...”
“Once upon a time, I was brimming with ambition. I wanted to become the captain of a warship, y’see. ‘This puny support ship ain’t good enough for me,’ I told myself. ‘I need one of the big boys.’ Ah, how wrong I was... Then this girl I met at a party falls head over heels for me. Well, I was quite a looker back in the day. I married into her house, and it was smooth sailing up to the point where Daddy’s recommendation made me a captain of the newest line of ships. It was all blue skies above—a rose-colored life, I tell you.”
“The way you’re speaking makes me think that isn’t the case anymore.”
“A woman changes when she’s had a kid.”
“I’ve never had one, so I couldn’t say...”
“That so? Wanna try for one?”
“With a bearded old man?”
“Aren’t beards manly?”
“I much prefer gentlemen.”
“Oh, I’m gentlemanly enough in bed, wouldn’t you agree?”
Morins reached out a hand and pinched Laurelin’s scarf, pulling her lips close. Her cold blue eyes stared deep into his soul.
“...It’s still daytime, Captain. What about the conference?”
“Don’t worry about it. If those Belgarian half-wits are coming back, it won’t be until tomorrow morning at the earliest. And the conference is pointless; that gorilla’s plan’ll be something straight outta the textbook.”
“Just to clarify—by ‘that gorilla,’ are you referring to our dear admiral?”
“What’s this I hear? Oi, don’t tell me you like the wild sort. Do rough ’n’ tough men get you heated? Hah, you shoulda just said so!”
“No, it’s just... that gorilla admiral of yours is... Mnn...”
Laurelin’s words melted away into a quiet moan as Morins’s lips suddenly met hers. A series of wet smacking noises could be heard as their tongues entwined, eventually parting with a small pop.
“You’re always... so forceful...” she murmured, her eyes misty and her cheeks red.
“Forget the admiral. I know I’ve already forgotten about him.”
“That’s quite hard to do when he’s right behind you.”
“H-Huh!?”
Captain Morins hurriedly turned around, just in time to see a hairy hand clutch his head in a claw hold, squeezing so hard that Morins was almost certain he could hear an audible grating sound. The pain was unbearable, so much so that he thought his skull was about to crack open.
Red, sun-bleached hair more evenly cut than a well-trimmed lawn, topped with the cap of an admiral. Two enraged eyes piercing straight through him. Bulging muscles that could easily be made out even beneath the man’s military uniform. It was the admiral of the Queen’s Navy, Lieutenant General Goliath Oxford—a man so large, it was a mystery how he had managed to make it through a door so comparatively narrow.
“Ahem, ahem... Can you hear me, Captain Morins?”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
“Have you finished your business that you deemed urgent enough to put our conference on hold, Captain Morins?”
“Sir! Yes, sir!”
“Then I would like to continue the conference.”
“Of course, sir! Admiral, sir! For our beloved homeland! For the fleet, our families, our bodies and souls! To the best of my ability, through thick and thin, at any and all costs—I intend to fight the Belgarian Empire! ...Incidentally, did you happen to hear my little joke?”
“‘Gorilla’?”
“I-I’m just a monkey myself, see? O-Ook! Ook! A-And the Belgarian Navy is a far more pressing matter than such meaningless jokes, Admiral, sir! They will most definitely attack again tomorrow morning! Yes, now’s not the time to be obsessing over something as trivial as a light gibe! I-I wasn’t being serious, really!”
“What’s your basis for saying they’ll come tomorrow morning?”
“In these parts, the wind blows in from the sea during the daytime. It’s already considerably weaker in the bay as it is, so that’s their only opportunity to launch a raid. Our transport ships are their target, and considering their size, it’ll take us two, maybe three, days to unload. This means tomorrow’s the only day that they can guarantee they’ll still be in the port. Once we’re out on the open seas, we’ll be a lot more wary of attacks, and it’ll be tough for them to identify our sea routes.”
“What countermeasures would you suggest?”
“We have four Princess-class ships, so let’s hide one outside the bay. That way, when the enemy enters, we can seal off their only exit. And if we’re attacking them from two sides, they won’t be able to get away like they did today. Even if the Empire outnumbers us, a majority of their units are mid-sized vessels that won’t be able to contribute to the battle. It was proven in that bombardment that their main ship’s armoring is thin; as long as they don’t have a means to escape, annihilating them is a simple matter.”
“And how do you plan to hide that ship outside the bay?”
“The Empire will certainly come in from the northwest, so it should be easy enough if we position it on the southwest side.”
“Hm?”
“Oh, I say they’ll approach from the northwest because the wind blows in from the southwest in Touranne at this time of year. A sailing ship would surely want to attack from the southwest for this very reason, but a commander that easy to predict wouldn’t have employed a bombardment from across the cape.”
“So you’re basing this on their commander’s nature...”
“Admiral Bertram was the one leading Belgaria’s fleet, and he’s a man who prefers mainstream tactics. But I presume someone else is holding the reins right now. Perhaps Bertram was dismissed for losing the Battle of Touranne.”
“I see... It does seem that way.” At that, the admiral effortlessly pushed Morins aside. “What do you lot have to say on the matter?”
Morins had been caught in Oxford’s vice-like grip for so long that it was like his very skull was throbbing with pain, and he rubbed his head with tears in his eyes. He hadn’t noticed since he’d been so engrossed in the conversation, but the other officers had gathered in the room as well.
Each and every one of them, boarding my ship without telling me... Morins grumbled to himself.
Meanwhile, Laurelin fixed her scarf and stepped away from the table, immediately getting to work preparing tea.
Just serve them seawater! Morins yelled on the inside. But rather than voicing his displeasure, he started brushing off the tabletop. “Welcome to the Garnet. Please, take a seat. Make yourself at home.”
“Good grief, what a smooth talker you are.”
The first officer to speak was MacCunn, captain of the first Princess-class. He was a hardy middle-aged man, wearing a black scarf wrapped around one arm—a look that had practically become his insignia. His eyes were bloodshot, and despite having only just lost his son, the man was so devoted to his work that Morins would go as far as to call him uncanny.
“Forget about the tea. I think the plan’s fine, a’ight? But I can’t stand that Morins is the one who came up with it.”
Next to chip in was Barrister, captain of the fifth Princess-class. While he was still a young man, he hailed from a famed house and was brimming with vigor and confidence. His assertive fighting style had earned him considerable military gains, and during both the Battle of Touranne and the exchange that had taken place in Épée Prière Bay, he was the first one to sink an enemy ship.
Oh really? Well, that goes both ways, asshole! Morins spat back in his head. He didn’t let his frustration show, of course; he was an adult, and carried himself as one.
Orsen, captain of the eighth Princess-class, was the only man in the fleet older than the admiral. He was a rare individual who came from a house of accountants, and had served as a chef in the royal palace before joining the navy. When the older model ship of the line that he had captained was retired, he was sure that he would be retiring along with it, only to find himself captain of a new Princess-class under the late Queen Charlotte’s recommendation.
“...Our objective is to deliver our supplies to the front line. That is why we guard the cargo ships and secure the port...” Orsen began. “If we overextend ourselves—if we make fighting the enemy a goal—then there is a chance that we might make a crucial blunder. I am reluctant to remove one of our valuable ships from the port.”
It was a cautious argument befitting an old captain.
Morins lowered his head in apology again and again. “Ah, of course! It’s all precisely as you say! My thought process was so cursory that I didn’t even consider such things!”
In all honesty, Morins didn’t care what plan they decided on—the important part was that he had managed to play off slipping out of the conference.
The gorilla—or rather, Admiral Oxford—thought for a moment. Morins could already guess what he was about to say.
“Hm. There is some merit to Captain Morins’s proposal, but I believe that focusing on defense is more in line with our orders.”
Knew it. Are you really all right with such a passive response? Morins thought. But he continued to listen on in silence, the fake smile plastered over his face not faltering in the slightest.
The admiral went on. “The assertion that the imperial fleet will come tomorrow morning is one that I agree with. Let’s double our patrols. I leave command in the hands of Captain Barrister.”
“Got it, Admiral. Put me on it, and I won’t let a single fish get away.”
“I would like everything to be unloaded by tomorrow so that we can set sail early the following morning. It’s earlier than scheduled, but please act with that in mind. Captain Orsen, I would like you to oversee this.”
“...Understood. I shall expedite the process as much as possible, and we will dump any cargo that does not make it off the ships in time.”
“Good. MacCunn, Morins—be ready for battle. Keep the steam engines running through the night.”
“Understood!” MacCunn gave a firm salute, and of course, Morins did too.
Laurelin set out enough drinks for everyone. “Please enjoy our finest Suriname tea.”
Hey now, don’t use the expensive leaves! Squeeze out the rags or something! That’s more than enough for them, Morins cursed to himself.
Oxford thanked Laurelin for her efforts, but then politely declined the tea. “My humblest apologies. We are in a situation where the kingdom’s fate is at stake, and we don’t have a second to waste. I must excuse myself,” he said, before promptly leaving the room.
Following suit, the other captains shambled off to their respective ships.
It was finally quiet. Five cups in total were set on the table, and now that Morins was finally alone with Laurelin again, he sat back down and picked one up.
“Good grief, how restless can they get? Forgoing good tea? Can you believe them?”
“Are you sure you should be relaxing? You were told to prepare for battle.”
“Belgaria won’t attack until tomorrow morning. We already know that, yet I’m supposed to be ready for battle? That means I can’t even disembark my ship.”
“...If you disembarked, you’d just end up drinking all night.”
“Well, how about it? We can pick up where we left off, going until the wee hours of the morning. It’s not like we can leave the ship, after all.”
“...You never learn, do you?”
“Hey, life’s too short to be a saint. Compared to brewing tea that no one drinks, this’ll be a much better use of your time.”
“As per navy regulations, ‘When told to be ready for battle, one must be prepared to immediately respond to any signals from the flagship.’ Did you know that?”
“Oh, I’m well aware. In fact, I’m already perfectly prepared. All that’s left now is to wait for the signal.”
“But you never wait... Ever.”
“You just don’t notice it. All the signals you’re sending me.”
Morins reached out his hand, and once again grabbed Laurelin by her scarf.
✧ ✧ ✧
Work continued late into the night for the Western Liberation Fleet, even though they had exchanged cannon fire with High Britannia that very morning. Regis did not get a wink of sleep, instead opting to ride a raft smaller than a fishing boat back into the port. It needed to be as small as possible so that they could slip through the enemy patrols undetected.
Moving under the cover of darkness, Regis issued detailed orders to the sailors, his voice shrouded from the enemy by the crashing waves. He was using those skilled at swimming to conduct work on the sunken Poseidam.
