The Chesapeake Bay Naval Battle Ends Too Blandly
The Chesapeake Bay naval battle came to a disappointingly anticlimactic end. Even if we only counted the large ships, our firepower held a clear advantage—and when you factored in the medium and small vessels, it was outright overkill. Admiral Graves's fleet was reduced to splintered wreckage and debris. Whether they'd heard the allied fleet's thunderous broadsides or not, Washington's army pressed forward toward Yorktown as well. General Cornwallis, left to hold the town, held his fire even as Washington's forces entered effective range, merely observing until they drew near the fortress. Then he raised the white flag.
"Enough. We surrender. What's the honor in dying like dogs? I am General Cornwallis. Charles Cornwallis. On behalf of all my men under my command, I surrender to the commander of the United States of America."
Cornwallis presented his sword to Washington, formally signaling his capitulation.
"General Cornwallis. Your courage is honorable. Your men will soon be allowed to return home. I promise terms of honorable surrender and honorable treatment."
George Washington accepted Cornwallis's sword and began disarming his troops. Every one of the disarmed British soldiers bore the same whip scars across their backs, crusted with scabs in the shape of lashes.
"Pitiful. Medic. Douse them with plenty of disinfectant."
*After the fall of Yorktown, thousands of British prisoners were handed over to the Americans. But this battle had always been nothing more than a naval engagement to cover the French and Spanish withdrawal. We'd won so easily at Chesapeake Bay that the allied fleet still had far too many shells and powder left over. It didn't matter for the Americans, but France and Spain needed to offload it somehow. They could give it to the American army or navy, but it felt like a waste to hand such valuables to the Americans, who were racking up losses on the open plains.
"This battle has annihilated the entire British naval presence along the American East Coast. Our losses are still being tallied, but only minor damage has been confirmed among the decoy forces. Most of it came from the American privateers. We have zero losses among our large and medium ships."
"A mixed blessing. At this rate, we won't have room to carry our volunteers."
"Our crews' morale is sky-high. The captains are petitioning to sail to Charleston or New York instead of Yorktown and unload their powder and shells with cannon fire."
"Hm."
Admiral Pierre sank into deep thought. With this battle and the fall of Yorktown, Charleston—now South Carolina—was completely isolated in the south, and New York was effectively blockaded. Having seized total command of the seas, it was clear Britain would surrender in as little as three months, or half a year at the latest. But even the vanquished deserved honor. Pierre had no desire to crush theirs just to hasten the war's end.
"For now, let's head toward New York and think it over."
That said, shelling New York was undeniably a tempting target. Washington's militia army would surely attack Charleston to seize the initiative on land. In this situation, a French-Spanish bombardment of New York would make Britain's American expeditionary force feel defeated before they could even mount a proper fight.
"Admiral, sir. Battle summary report. In the recent engagement, we lost 38 American-converted merchant privateers to sinking. Of the 16 low-grade Spanish medium ships used as decoys, they suffered heavy damage and were immediately transferred to nearby ports; the remaining 44 are undergoing repairs in Richmond due to severe damage. However, the main fleet reports zero losses. Enemy losses: 75 British large ships sunk, 36 medium ships sunk. Total annihilation. Most of the enemy sailors were killed or drowned. Surviving POWs confirm it was Admiral Graves's fleet, overall commander of the British Navy in America. Admiral Graves's body has not been recovered."
Pierre wasn't particularly surprised. With our overwhelmingly favorable formation, surprise attack, ambush, favorable winds, and a firepower ratio of 110 to 75, it was the expected outcome. The allied fleet might have found it underwhelming, but the shock to Britain would be immense. The disappearance of their naval commander in America, the loss of one-seventh of their entire navy—and if you just counted large ships of the line, fully 70%—was a catastrophic defeat.
"Admiral, sir. We've arrived off New York. We're outside the coastal guns' effective range, so no engagement yet, but their defenses are solid. If we attack, our losses won't be light."
"Mm. What's our current strength?"
"The American privateers have moved south to secure sea control after Chesapeake Bay, so we're left with about 150 covering the Northeast coast. Our fleet totals 110 large ships, 280 medium ships, and around 150 small ships. Even with Spanish low-grade mediums handling supplies, we'll need to expend about a third of our current powder and shells."
While Admiral Pierre pondered in silence, the allied fleet encircled New York's coast from beyond artillery range. The British fired sporadic harassing shots, but they fell harmlessly short of the fleet.
"Time to deploy the Lorraine steel cannons. Maximum charge, maximum range. Fire a barrage—just enough to scare them. That'll do."
*New York, British Headquarters. When the French-Spanish-American allied fleet packed the waters off New York, the headquarters plunged into shock.
"We sent Admiral Graves's squadron just days ago to rescue General Cornwallis—where are they, and how are these bastards here?"
"Supreme Commander, sir, we dispatched a urgent courier to Virginia, but the enemy right in front of us is the bigger problem. What are your orders? They're threatening us from beyond coastal gun range."
New York's geography offered some protection from one-sided bombardment, but sealing off the sea was pressure enough on Britain.
"Keep up intermittent fire from exposed coastal batteries to deter any closer approach, and hold the hidden ones in reserve until we can hit them. Send a herald... no, not yet. Wait for their intentions. They wouldn't just park that massive force off New York for no reason."
British overall commander Henry Clinton steeled himself for the possibility of surrender. But the allied fleet simply loitered off New York for hours, making no demands or moves.
A show of force, then.
Henry's tension suddenly ebbed, replaced by a splitting headache that forced him to close his eyes for a moment.
... BOOM!
"Sir! Enemy surprise attack!"
"Land or sea?!"
"Sea, sir!"
Henry Clinton snatched up his spyglass at his aide's report and scanned the ocean. The allied fleet had begun indiscriminate bombardment of New York harbor far from the governor's mansion, Long Island's shores, and the coastline. Harbor facilities, anchored small ships, supply depots, and some hidden coastal guns were blown to bits. But that was it. Most shells splashed into shallow waters, throwing up geysers and waves.
"Do those bastards... think war is a game?"
The fleet's volley did inflict some damage on the British. But out of a thousand rounds, only 20 or 30 hit land—and even those mostly cratered empty fields or forests, showing abysmal accuracy. The waves did devastate the extended piers and topple a few lighthouses struck by direct hits. But for thousands of shells fired in salvo, the damage was trivial.
"Does France have iron to spare?"
Afterward, the allied fleet proceeded methodically: ships advanced in turn, fired five or six broadsides, then withdrew south. Large or medium, they all followed the same pattern—firing from five or six gun decks at most, up to ten, then "expending" their ammo and heading south. It was almost like...
"Supreme Commander, sir. They're only firing select guns. Could they be... using us for target practice...?"
"Nonsense!"
Henry had considered it too. But he couldn't allow himself to think that way. New York was currently the British Empire's last bastion. To treat it as mere target practice was to view Britain not as a worthy foe, but as less than a defeated nation—savages, even. It trampled their honor as human beings. An insult to the lords of the sea, the proud nobility of the British Empire. But they couldn't fight back. Contact with the main fleet under Graves was lost, and the surviving small ships had all been wrecked or sunk by the bombardment's waves. To endure this humiliation right before their eyes was the greatest shame of all.
BOOM!! An explosion echoed from the hidden coastal guns.
"...Damn it."
A hidden battery was ablaze, apparently struck by a lucky shot.
"Supreme Commander, sir! Flash report! Some officers have lost their heads and are ordering excessive powder charges into the coastal guns. NCOs are trying to stop them, but several gun emplacements have burst their barrels and exploded as a result! All deaths were field-grade officers who personally ordered it—eight dead, three wounded."
Henry Clinton felt a flash of sympathy upon hearing the report. He quickly regained his composure and deferred punishment until the one-sided exchange ended.
"...Place every on-site commander who issued unauthorized fire orders on immediate suspension."
"Yes, sir."
"Those whose personal initiative undermines military discipline and causes needless sacrifice will face proper discipline later. Such breaches of order could turn defeat into victory. The incompetence of frontline commanders created today's debacle."
Henry gazed at the burning coast. As he said, the frontline commanders' incompetence had brought this about.