49th of Summer 5860
Off the coast of Esmira, The Light Sea
The inland sea. Home to many species of fish, algae, and of course, the humble galley.
A long, slim hull, a small vessel whereupon hundreds of men rested their boots. On its masts flew the light blue defaced with a white lighthouse, the banner of Esmira. The lighthouse in question could be seen even so far away in the coast, even when the rest of the land had disappeared.
Most of the men on board were the rowers, experienced free men with the toughest arm-muscles in Gemeinplatz, who each held one oar. The oar was too noble of a tool, its proper use requiring much training and experience, for a slave to ever go near it.
Accompanying the rowers were the marines, standing by with their shields and spears. Professional soldiers, once a rare sight in Gemeinplatz before the advent of the Army of the Republic and the Protection Squadron. But the Esmira Marines were there first, armed to the teeth with the best steel plate that even a hand cannon may struggle to penetrate through. They'd sink to the bottom of the ocean with that much armor on if they ever fell offboard. A horrible fate to be sure, but nobody else in Gemeinplatz had anywhere near to what could be called a navy to oppose them, so it was a fate that none of them were worried of. In total their numbers were smaller than a land army, but one didn't need too much men to fill a galley.
In the middle of the formation of around fifty galleys (plus supporting non-combatant ships) was the flagship of the captain, identified by his personal standard, a larger trading galley which had been repurposed to carry armed men instead of cargo. A great galley for a great man such as the senator-captain on board. He was seated on a chair, enjoying the summer sun. Well, more accurately burning under the sun due to being in the open sea in a clear day with no roof over his head, but a sailing man got used to it after a while. The slow, calm pace of the sea made a man slow and calm as well.
«No signs of Achilleans today, sir» reported an aide to the captain.
«Better that those pirates keep to their island than bother us. They stay where they are, and we stay where we are. Simple as that.» The captain couldn't see the isle of Achilles off the coast of Esmira from where he was, but he cursed in their general direction anyways. Marine landings weren't exactly their specialty, especially to an island that was so forested and mountainous, inhabited by big burly mountain men who wanted them out.
The aide stretched his arms, and yawned. «It seems today will be a peaceful d-»
The captain almost smacked the poor man right in the face with how quickly he brought his finger to his face. «You know what they say about setting off flags.»
As if the Divine above had heard them, a red wave spread throughout the fleet. The red wave being red flags raised on the ships, a code for alert. One ship had raised it, and the others who saw it raised it, until every ship in the squadron had received the red alert. «What's happening?»
«I don't know sir.» Now was the time to wait for the game of telephone to filter through to the captain as word reached from galley to galley. The shouted word that is, as the red flag and a few other very simple signals were the only standardized ones that the Esmira fleet had. Soon enough however, before news reached the flagship, it became pretty clear what the flag-raising event was.
Flags appeared on the horizon, saffron banners belonging to the Empire. First a lone one peeking out from behind the waves, then a few more… until all of the masts of the enemy fleet were visible. «Did the Imperials have this much navy?» The captain asked that question to himself, standing up, his naked eyes straining to make out the little splotches of saffron.
«They still seem to have fewer ships than us, sir. I'd be surprised if the men above board were anywhere near as good as our marines.» As they got closer, the aide began making out the details of the ships. «Sir, these seem to be… judging from their hulls, merchant ships with armed men on them. They're not galleys fit for combat.»
«They've either lost their minds, or they have something planned.» Taking a look however, the captain couldn't tell anything that would allow the Imperial fleet to overpower them. Other than the helmets of the men glaring light back at him and… what seemed to be spears in their hand, he couldn't make out any details. «Indeed, these are simple merchant ships.»
«What do we do, sir?»
«Surely, they have something planned if they're approaching us so boldly. It might also be a bluff. Either way… if we retreat, they'll most likely proceed to blockade Esmira, and that will not do at all. The best we can do is to meet them in combat.» With that, the decision had been made. The red-and-black flag was raised on the flagship's mast, signaling an attack order.
The Esmira Fleet began rowing full-speed ahead. The marines raised their shields towards the enemy ships, anticipating a potential rain of projectiles. The troops on the galley lacked ranged weaponry, as they wouldn't be able to use it in the tight shield formation they were situated in, while a few of the allied auxiliary ships following the galleys rowed into range to begin pelting the enemy with arrows and bolts. The matches of the hand canons often failed to stay lit in the damp conditions on the sea, and keeping highly flammable and explosive gunpowder on ships wasn't seen as wise, so there were no firearms or canons present on the Esmira side.
Closing in, the expected hail of projectiles didn't rain down upon the Esmiran fleet. In fact, the enemy seemed to show no resistance to the ships approaching them, as if… «They want us to get close.» The captain figured that part of the plan out, though he still had no choice if he was to board the enemy ships. In the absence of canons to damage enemy ships, boarding them was the only choice. It was the only form of naval combat that they knew of. The marines, the galleys, everything was designed around closing in to a melee and slaughtering the enemy men on board.
The rowers of Esmira rowed, closer and closer, until the enemy suddenly started rowing the opposite direction while continuing to face them. The captain didn't have a long time to think about the why, as a wooden flap on the bow of the Imperial ships suddenly flapped open, revealing a metal tube.
BOOM!
It was a bit too late to realize that it was a canon by the time that it fired. There were a few new unintended holes open in the galleys which was not part of their original design, but that was not a concern. Galleys were hard to sink after all; they'd still be floating even with the ruptured hull. The problem was rows of men suddenly turning into red mist as the shrapnel from the canons tore into the tightly packed ranks of marines. Years of training, countless libra of armor, and so many human lives were destroyed in the instant that the heavens were torn asunder in twain.
Those who were left behind by left with disorientation, and before they could get back on their footing, the Imperial boats began turning around to show their sides. Their sides, which were packed with Protection Squadron troops armed with hand canons that lacked easily-extinguished matches. Flintlocks, if the Esmirans could get close enough to observe the flints within the firing mechanisms. Which they wouldn't get to as the line of firearms began firing into them and covering the sea with gunpowder smoke.
Suddenly the Light Sea wasn't so light.
The torrent of bullets washing over the Esmiran fleet was overwhelming. Their enemy had decimated them and disappeared behind a cloud of smoke. Their captain was dead, so was their aide, so it was up to the last few men alive on the flagship to scramble to raise the white flag before another volley could hit them.