We had hired a local merchant kite to do the heavy hauling, with escort provided by HMS Dauntless and HMS Aphid. Not much of an escort considering the Aphid is merely a scouting element and Dauntless barely more than that, but as I have said I am somewhat skeptical of the fearsomeness of American artillery. The Americans aren't bad chaps, for all that they're a nation of farmers who can barely win a war against their own wogs. Give me a modern, rifled American gun with an American gunner who can count to ten without his fingers, and I'll at least do him the respect of firing back when he shoots at me. But, old boy, we're talking about wogs. And we're not talking about rifled guns, but old worn-out smoothbores that were powder-stained when the American Civil War began. Frankly, I thought Dauntless and Aphid could handle it.
Part of the plan was to use superior speed to outstrip any pursuers. We were over desert open to the horizon, and on the return trip the kite had the wind to her back, so that probably would have been all the protection we needed. The Navy captains were nervous, though, and took us through a sandstorm we probably should have waited out, to the effect that the kite broke her mainsail yard and had to reef in a considerable amount of canvas. The next day, what do you know, three wooden ships hie into view on an intercept course the kite can now no longer avoid. Inspection, when they were close enough, showed the handiwork of Boston and Birmingham hanging across their gunwales, and we all socked in for a good fight.
Our escorts left us behind to engage separately. The transport had some guns of its own, but they were just the little smoothbores the natives make locally and with native gunners to boot, so we all knew Dauntless and Aphid would be the ones doing the real fighting.
Dauntless took some early hits. The Martians were firing a bunch of American 68-pounders; enough shots at close range put meaningful dents in her steel hull. They also had one-inch Gatling machine cannon, which was a surprise, but not a very effective one against our armor plating. There were also a few really big guns, like a fifteen-inch and a couple of big landside mortars. The fifteen could probably have done some real damage if it had ever connected. Might have torn the Aphid near in two. But have you ever seen the size of the shells that sort of gun fires? It was a comedy act watching the Martians try to reload it, not to mention get it cranked back up to the gunwale to fire again. Same with the mortars, along with the fact that a ship is the darnedest target to hit with mortar fire. I've commanded mortar batteries before, and they are no end of use in bombarding a large stationary target like a fort, or even a slow-moving one like a line of infantry soldiers. But these Martians were trying to drop big plunging shells onto the decks of a couple of Her Majesty's slimmest, fastest warships. All they did is make a mess of the desert.
After the first fierce exchange, the Martians broke through to approach my vantage point on the transport. I could see then why the escorts had moved in so close and braved the near-range fire of the enemy. They'd come into the effective range of their Hotchkiss machine cannon, and raked the gunwales thoroughly. Thanks to this display of spunk, good British marksmanship, and not a little luck, that first ship you see approaching us had lost more than half its guns. Their kite was no better off, although the third ship still had all its pieces firing. Our own native gunners gave 'em a good lead salute, and after that their hull was too badly damaged to maintain boarding altitude.
This is where the Dauntless got fairly badly hurt. She flew in between these two privateers to get a double broadside - and accounted well for herself - but took enough fire that she was forced to drop altitude to maintain her trim. After that she was shooting up at a considerable angle, which even as a land-lubber I could see was not a good position.
The wogs started slowly pounding pieces out of our hull with their remaining guns, and a couple of lucky shots managed to near-cripple the Aphid. I confess I was worried for a few minutes, because the only of our guns that retained the high point were manned by natives. I decided something had to be done to bring good British steel back into the crux of things, so I called over the native captain for a brief conference.
I would have preferred to take down the galley that still had all her guns (well, most of them - at that moment the indomitable crew of the Aphid were busy blowing apart her machine cannon). But the one that presented her stern to us was the kite. The transport captain, at my insistence, brought his ship about and down, reefed in sail, and grappled us fast to the enemy.
Do you remember that grand adventure we both had on the slopes of Olympus Mons, when my men were pinned down in their trenches and you leveled the Martian artillery with plunging fire from the air? Don't think I've forgotten it, or all your ribbing about how it takes the Navy to win a land battle. Now it will be my pleasure to repay you in kind. Once we were grappled, I had the entire complement of Comstock Fort firing into the rigging and onto the deck of the enemy, and swinging across on ropes. In very short order that ship, which the Navy had failed to take down, was by the Army secured and scuttled.
At the sight of that the other two vessels turned and fled, taking with them only a fraction of the American guns they'd come in with. You sometimes have to hit a wog in the head with a pretty big stick to make him see reason, but Her Majesty's Army specializes in big sticks. Dauntless and Aphid survived to drydock.
