The Battle of the Min River Mouth
The prow of the Fuchuan reared like a watchtower, and Husayn, standing atop it, glared at the enemy fleet as it drew steadily nearer.
"Ten large ships, my lord. And some sixty smaller, faster ones."
"So. They've more small craft than we do."
Husayn's Ispah navy counted ten Fuchuan, and some fifty lighter sailers besides, dhows among them. A rough glance might have called the odds unfavorable — and yet.
"In the end, this will be settled by the big ships. Their fighting ships are half the size of ours, at best."
He smiled as he watched them come on: the same sort of fighting ships the Yuan navy manned, vessels he had met more than once. A Fuchuan sat deep in the water, and that deep draft bought stability and height alike; three tiers of towers rose from the deck, so his men could look down on the enemy, and the sheer height of the bulwarks made it a hard climb onto the deck. And if the Muslims' great mechanical crossbows, mounted on towers and watch-platforms, poured their bolts down onto those naked enemy decks — what then?
"They'll flail about with no idea what to do, then break down bawling in terror. You all know the cowardly Yuan navy is no match for us."
"Kah-ha-ha-ha! Foolish unbelievers!"
"This time we'll teach them proper fear of the Ispah navy!"
Aboard the greatest ship of all, the flagship, Husayn's own warriors bared their teeth and laughed.
Most of the fighting men on the ten Fuchuan were Persian elites in chain mail, round shields on their arms — white turbans wound over their helmets, handsome mustaches on their faces. A round shield in one hand, an axe or a curved shamshir in the other, they loosened their shoulders: seasoned warriors of the sea, confidence written on their faces, already savoring the fight to come. Husayn was certain, in the end, that victory would be theirs.
"Raise the red banner!"
Above the flagship's tower the red flag snapped in the wind. Imam Ali's sword, Zulfiqar, drawn in white upon the standard — and that red was the blood of martyrs, the emblem of Imam Husayn, betrayed and left to a miserable death. It was exactly as Husayn had charged his commanders beforehand. At the banner's signal, dozens of ships began to move.
The great Fuchuan worked their sails with practiced hands and drew out into a single line, the center of the fleet. The smaller craft, lateen-sailed dhows at their heart, swung away to left and right and formed the two wings. Persian and Arab warriors stood at the dhows' rails, and with them pirates out of the southern seas — skins burned dark, chests bare — drawing their blades.
Husayn stood at the prow, lifted the beautifully curved shamshir high, and shouted.
"The sword of Imam Ali! In the name of Zulfiqar! The Almighty, and the holy house of the Prophet, are with us!"
"God is great!"
Every warrior on the flagship answered until their throats tore.
"Death to the unbelievers! Victory — or nothing but martyrdom!"
"God is great!"
"There is no hero like Ali, and no sword like Zulfiqar!"
"God is great!"
With the roar came trumpets blown to bursting and the pound of drums from the flagship. From the Fuchuan stretched to either side, and from the dhows of both wings, answering cries shook heaven and sea.
Allāhu akbar!
Allāhu akbar!
True warriors of the faith, swinging their swords at the sky. Husayn smiled at the blaze of their morale.
Sails spread wide, the fleet drove forward, and almost before he noticed, the gap to the enemy was closing fast. From tower, prow, and stern he shouted to the soldiers groaning at the windlasses as they spanned the Qaws al-aqqar, the mechanical crossbows.
"Wait until we're as close as we can get! Right on top of them — then we all loose at once! Understood?"
"Yes, Qa'id! We obey!"
Everything was ready now. Husayn stood at the prow and studied the enemy center — the ten fighting ships of the Duke of Yue — and his brow tightened.
Seamanship lacking, perhaps: they had only half their canvas spread as they formed line. Then, absurdly, they began to shorten sail again. That would only slow them...
"They've lost their nerve. Now that they're close, they've seen how big our ships are — isn't that it?"
"Maybe..."
Husayn was nodding, fingers worrying his mustache, when—
Thoom. Thoo-oom. Thooooom...
Thunder without number, and white smoke belched up and hid the ships.
"What? What in the—"
Eeeeeee—
Eee — seeeeeeee—
A keen, thin sound that raised the hair on his back.
Crack-boom! Boom!
Shaaaaa—
A sudden roar, and dust and splinters burst outward. Spray exploded off the water and sheeted across the deck, soaking his face. Husayn had been standing close to the prow; splinters and that dust took him full in the face, and he went over backward.
"Aaaagh!"
"A— Allah, save us..."
Dust in his eyes, and pain across his face.
"Qa'id! Are you hurt?"
Hands hauled him up in a rush, and he barely got his feet under him before a scene of horror opened in front of his eyes.
"Aaaagh! My eye! My eye!"
A man clutched at the wooden splinter driven into his eye and screamed. A corpse whose head had been torn away lay staining the deck with blood, its legs twitching, twitching. A warrior with a face gone chalk-white, his shin blown clean off and blood pouring, flailed a hand and begged for help.
"H-help me..."
"What — what in God's name is — ugh!"
Husayn lurched upright and yanked the small wooden splinters from his face, flinging them aside.
"What is it? What is it, damn you!"
He staggered to the prow, glared forward, and howled.
Boom. Boom-boom. Boom!
Louder reports now, one after another, and white smoke rolling up.
Eee — seeeeeeee—
"Down, Qa'id!"
His men dragged him with them, and Husayn was flung flat onto the deck.
Less punch than I'd expected.
"Fire!"
Booooooom—
Two 9-pounder field guns on the lower deck poured flame and smoke without letup. A round struck the enemy great ship, in to two hundred paces now, and dust and splinters burst from her hull. I could see it well enough with my own eyes — and still she didn't stop. She kept coming.
Two guns, and only twelve-pounder class at that. Sinking a ship of that size with them was too much to ask, of course.
"Reload! Grapeshot!"
"Grapeshot!"
I took the gunners' bellowed repeat-back as my music and studied the field.
Ten great fighting ships in the center, two field guns at each bow, all of them spitting fire. On either wing, five Black Dragon Ships apiece, refitted to mount a single field gun in the bow. Every one of them was hurling thunder without pause. The flagship's gunners were throwing weight of metal past four hundred meters and hitting about half the time — so the training had taken, at least. Break their spirit, kill fighters and sailors, and the guns had already earned their keep.
"The mast! Their mast is broken!"
And sometimes a lucky shot landed, like that Fuchuan whose mast had snapped, the great hull slewing around in a slow circle.
"Your Excellency! How — however can such power be? To strike an enemy ship dead true, from so great a distance?"
"Not dead true every time, no..."
I soothed Liu Ji, who was fairly hopping with excitement, and read the battle again.
The Ispah navy had come on in fine style. A little while ago thousands of them had been shouting Allāhu akbar loud enough to carry all the way here; now they seemed to hesitate. Their spirit was broken. Our turn to move.
"Raise the signal flag!"
"Yes, my lord!"
A black signal flag, hauled on its line, climbed to the masthead and snapped in the wind.
Bwoooooo—
Bwooooooo—
Bwoooooooo—
A conch blew from the flagship I stood on, and the note ran outward from fighting ship to fighting ship on either hand — a signal devised because, at sea, sound does not carry far. It spread to the Black Dragon fleets on both wings.
Makdong on the left, Huindungi on the right: thirty Black Dragon Ships under each of them began to move.
"Good! Hoist two more cloths of sail! More speed — we hammer their center!"
"Two cloths of sail, he says!"
The ten fighting ships, flagship among them, surged forward and poured fire.
"Division Commander! Signal flag on the flagship!"
At the captain's urgent report, Huindungi turned his head. A black signal flag flew from the flagship's mast, and the other fighting ships to either side were raising their own and blowing conches, passing the order on.
"Fire!"
Booooooom—
The gun-roar stuffed his ears. Even so, Huindungi — a seasoned naval commander — gave his orders at once.
"Good! Spread every sail! We sweep those little boats clean off the water!"
"Yes, Division Commander!"
His flagship ran a black flag up the mast, spread full canvas, and took the lead. Thirty black ships hurried after her. They were fighting ships built for nothing but war, and on their decks rode not only sailors but soldiers of the Tiger Hunting Army, armed with matchlocks.
Whoooosh—
A beam wind out of the southeast filled the sails until they strained. Huindungi stood at the bow, glaring at the lateen-sailed ships closing fast, and shouted.
"Swivel guns, stand ready to fire! 9-pounders — load canister and wait!"
"Matchlockmen! Prepare to fire!"
The swivel crews, shifted out to the ship's side, narrowed their eyes. Tiger Hunting matchlockmen leaned into the bulwark, checked their burning matchcords, and locked their hands around the barrels. Every mouth was shut tight. Every eye was on the enemy ships closing until they seemed under the bow itself.
"All hands! Fire!"
Boom, boom, boom!
Crack, crack-crack, crack-crack-crack—
Thirty Black Dragon Ships that had been racing like mad things let fly all at once — weaker than the 9-pounders, gun for gun, but overwhelming in number.
"Gyaaaah!"
"Guhk... krrrgh..."
The Muslim warriors of the Ispah navy were already shaken, facing cannon they had never seen in their lives. Now a baptism of iron and lead poured into them at arm's length, and they went down where they stood, screaming.
"Kill them all! Every last one of them! Leave not a man alive!"
Like a school of sharks that has scented blood, the Black Dragon Ships plunged in among the enemy and began, savagely, to tear out their throats.
Thump, whip, eeeee, pip-pip-pip—
"Gyaaaah!"
"S-save me..."
Shield-boards had been raised along the bulwarks to stop arrows. Every time those thick wooden screens took a hole clean through, a scream burst out behind them.
Boom-boom-boom!
"Aaaaaagh!"
Grapeshot struck the tower. A soldier who had been frantically training a mechanical crossbow was soaked in blood and pitched into the sea.
"Down! Get down on the deck! Standing is death! Down, now!"
Husayn crouched low and screamed until his throat tore. The closer they drew to the enemy center, the harder those accursed things hammered the men on deck, and their power was only growing. Before, great iron shot had come in and smashed one body, or two, in passing. Now they flung countless small iron balls, and a man could hardly lift his head.
"Almighty Lord... why have You forsaken us?"
The Muslim warrior praying with his eyes shut, shaking where he lay, had none of his earlier confidence left in him.
"Haul the sheets! If we lose speed, we're finished! We have to close with them — somehow we have to close, or else—"
Husayn was still roaring when a lookout, who had risked no more than his head above the bulwark, shouted to him with a face gone white.
"Qa'id! Qa'id! The wings! The wings—"
"What? What about the wings!"
Husayn rose despite the danger and ran the deck. Black ships were hunting the lateen-sailed dhows without mercy, and at the wretchedness of what he saw his mouth fell open.
"This... this is impossible..."
Brave Muslim warriors who had roamed hard and dangerous seas, Muslim mercenaries hired out of the southern seas — butchered. On the deck of a dhow drifting with her mast gone, nothing moved but corpses slumped where they had fallen.
Boom. Boom-boom...
Crack-crack, crack, crack-crack...
Thunder, and a crackle like beans roasting in a pan. White smoke rose, and the warriors on the decks went down. Black-armored soldiers closed on the ships that tried to flee, leapt onto their decks, and swung their blades. Believers were dying at the hands of unbelievers.
"Qa'id, th-this is..."
"We have to turn the bow! Give the order to retreat..."
Husayn ground his teeth and shouted.
"Foolishness! If we run too, it's over! You think we can flee with those fast black ships hung on our stern?"
"Th-then what do we do?"
He surged to his feet and roared at the terrified Persian warriors.
"Their commander! We take their commander!"
The bombardment had hurt them badly, but the ten Fuchuan still stood. There were dead, and there were wounded — and still the Persian elites remained, armed in chain mail. And the enemy's great ships, somehow, were already under their bows.
"Do you fear the smoke and thunder the unbelievers spew? Open your ears and hear my voice! You who follow the house of the Prophet!"
Husayn's eyes were wide, and he shouted.
"There is still a chance at victory! Cut down their commander and take their ships, and our brothers in the faith will find their courage again!"
At his cry the Persian warriors, who had been wavering, set their teeth.
"Ali! Watch over us! When we come to the gates of Paradise, lead us before the Lord!"
"Ali! Husayn!"
And then a great Fuchuan was alongside an enemy ship. Ropes barbed with grapples flew, caught, and were hauled in with all their strength. Husayn drew his shamshir and screamed until his throat tore.
"The sword of Imam Ali! In the name of Zulfiqar!"
The warriors of the faith roared and hurled themselves over the rail.
Allāhu akbar!
Allāhu akbar!
A familiar cry, and the enemy came on like a wave. Waiting for them were the Tiger Hunting soldiers I had posted: matchlockmen in black armor, bayonets fixed, formed in two ranks.
"Fire!"
Crack-crack-crack, crack, crack-crack—
In the instant white smoke blasted across the whole deck—
"Gyaaaah!"
"Guhk... krrrgh..."
"Kh—"
The sound of bodies dropping, last screams, groans of pain, breath rasping — and then the white smoke thinned.
Aaaaarrrrgh—
Garshakan and the Kara Cho'oha went in howling. The Tiger Hunting Army advanced with bayonets dressed upright, ranks holding their line, and the sailors charged with them, shouting. I watched, expressionless, as the Muslim warriors who had dared the flagship were slaughtered.
For a first real use of the guns, they were a thin opponent.
I turned my head and gave the flagship's captain his order.
"Send the signal. Finish it — the large ships first."
"Yes, my lord!"
Time to start wrapping this up.