A Month Had Passed Since the Cannons
A month had passed since the cannons.
"Ahh... this is just another task piling up..."
"Why is it so busy? Why is it so busy? Why?!"
"I just wanted to prevent the department from being shut down, not drown us in work..."
"We finish one task, and another shows up? What the hell?"
The Weapons Research Lab was still alive and kicking. But the staff were busier than ever before. They used to wrap up their duties shortly after clocking in, but now they were stuck until quitting time. Of course, things had never been truly idle before. Even with the increased load, the workload remained manageable. At least they could still clock out on time.
In most departments of the Boern Empire, leaving on the dot was a rare event—maybe once or twice a quarter, if that. That's why the Weapons Research Lab still ranked high among departments with solid work-life balance. But there's a thing called relative deprivation. Their old workload used to be done in under two hours with time to spare, so now with it doubled, complaints started pouring in from the staff.
"If the workload's too much, I recommend transferring to another department."
"Ah! Director? No, sir!"
The staffer bowed hastily and scurried back to his seat. The director watched his retreating back for a moment before heading to his office.
Meanwhile, John Brown was buried in backlog paperwork.
Why are they loading bullets first and then pouring in powder? And double-loading—what's that about?
125 matchlocks had been supplied in the first batch. He was reviewing reports from the operating units.
Scribble, scratch.
Detach the barrel from the stock and clean thoroughly with the ramrod.
He jotted down solutions on the paper and moved to the next document.
Bullets jamming during loading or accuracy dropping after a few shots? That's...
Scribble, scribble.
Always clean the barrel interior after firing.
"Next... ugh, damn it."
Brown muttered under his breath at the report of a barrel explosion.
Scratch, scratch.
Use only the proper amount of powder.
I'll add the request for more matchlock resupplies... Wonder when the cannon operating reports will come in.
This had become his everyday routine.
"Stay sharp! We're entering pirate territory soon!"
At the captain's words, the marines tensed up.
"Hoo..."
Jack took a deep breath, scanning his surroundings. Today was his first real combat. The mission: patrol the seas and protect merchant ships from pirates.
Crazy psychopaths. They kill without hesitation.
If you're lucky, they kill you quick. Some stab non-vital spots on purpose to make it slow.
My buddy got captured by pirates, rescued, and came back a vegetable—totally broken.
Stories from his seniors flooded his mind, ramping up his tension.
Can I even fight?
He'd heard that in the worst case, boarding actions could happen on deck, so his grip tightened on his spear. One senior noticed and approached with a grin.
"Hey, rookie. You look tense."
"No, sir!"
"Nah, I was scared shitless at your rank too. Don't worry too much—these pirates ain't shit. Just follow your training."
"Yes, sir!"
"Plus, we've got cannons. Never used 'em in action, but theory says they'll be fine. They'll be done before they even get close, right?"
Jack relaxed a bit at his senior's words.
"But there's one pirate crew you can't underestimate: the Blackbeard Pirates..."
The senior's face hardened as he continued.
"They're not like your run-of-the-mill ragtags. They charge like maniacs and fight like pros—you blink, and it's over. If you run into them..."
Jack's expression stiffened again.
"Eh, don't freak. We only see those bastards once in a blue moon. Plenty of guys discharge without ever spotting 'em. Relax."
"...Understood, sir!"
"Good. Keep your head on..."
"Pirates at five o'clock!"
Before the senior could finish, a lookout shouted from the crow's nest. The captain pulled out his spyglass and peered toward the sighted direction.
Can we run?
Three ships. Outnumbered.
One large galleon and two medium ones, all flying the creepy skull flag of Blackbeard. Given the size difference and sail power, outrunning them to friendlies was impossible—they'd catch up first. They had to fight.
"Battle stations!"
The marines rushed to positions. Jack headed to his while eyeing the enemy.
"Fuck... it's the Blackbeard Pirates!"
A sharp-eyed marine yelled.
"!"
Maybe because he'd just heard the name—Jack started to waver. The others did too.
"Hard to port!"
At the captain's order, the ship turned, listing. Jack grabbed the rail to steady himself. The three ships were closing fast in the distance.
"Load cannons!"
"C-cannons, load!"
Jack worked with his seniors to load. They unlashed the fixed cannon, rolled it back, stuffed in powder and shot.
"Nngh!"
The cannonball, heavy even in training, felt heavier from nerves.
They finished loading, rolled it forward, and secured it to the rail.
"Hold fire until they're in range!"
Jack watched the pirate ships again. The big one halted; the two smaller ones sped toward them. As tiny figures became visible on deck, the order came.
"Fire!"
The senior touched a torch to the cannon.
BOOM-BOOM!
Cannons on the left side belched flame in unison. The shells arced through the air before slamming into the enemy ships.
"Three hits out of seven!"
One struck the right pirate ship. The other two hit the left one trying to swing around—wood splintered, debris flew.
One shell swept the left ship's deck, taking out anyone there...
"Reload cannons!"
No time to relax—the pirates hadn't slowed.
The left ship had slipped out of firing arc. The right one kept coming straight.
"What're you waiting for? Reload!"
"Y-yes, sir!"
They reloaded and secured again.
"Fire!"
BOOM-BOOM!
They'd adjusted aim slightly toward the pirates.
Four out of seven hit. One tore into the right ship's hull below the waterline.
The pirate ship slowed, listing as water poured into the breach.
The circling left ship saw it and turned tail to flee. The distant big ship followed suit. Jack cheered instinctively, the crew joining in. The battle heat turned to victory roars.
"Pursue?"
"No, assess ship status first."
The captain checked post-battle. No close quarters, just one-sided long-range pounding—no casualties, ship intact.
A first. Against decent-sized pirates, you'd brace for losses. Three ships? Normally, they'd lose outnumbered.
The new weapon, the cannon, had turned the tide. No—delivered a crushing victory.
They hadn't even let them close.
"Hmm..."
The cannon's power exceeded the captain's expectations.
"Good work. All hands except minimal crew: stand down and rest."
The captain headed to his cabin.
Lucky we're the test ship.
Without cannons, it'd have been hopeless. After a moment's thought, he began his report.
"Operating report, sir."
"Mm."
The naval admiral took the report from the captain and began reading.
"This true?"
"Yes, sir."
"Hard to believe... no losses... injuries?"
"Accidents from inexperience with cannons. Minor abrasions—treated and back on duty."
"...Cannons pack more punch than expected. Good work. Dismissed."
"Yes, admiral."
The captain saluted and left. The admiral finished the report and called his aide.
"Yes, admiral?"
"..."
Brown started reading the navy's evaluation.
...Seems to pair better with ships than I imagined.
Unlike the matchlocks with scant operating info, this battle report was packed: performance, handling details, request for more cannons.
Ship design consultation?
The last line requested Brown's direct input on ship designs.
Why me...?
Brown's Work History Updated