5.Death of Chaos
CXXII
Freetown Port, Freetown [Candar]
THE LINES OF uniformed troops, each with blue-steeled rifle and cartridge belt, stand waiting on the piers that jut into the Great North Bay.
From the bridge of the Emperor's Pride, Marshal Dyrsse surveys the tan blocks of troops arrayed below.
“I trust you find the numbers sufficient,” says Fleet Commander Stupelltry. “More than ten thousand just there. Recluce has less than three thousand, and they are scarcely trained to our standards. Nor are they armed with rifles.”
“The troops will be sufficient, Fleet Commander, provided your ships and guns are adequate.” Dyrsse smiles out at the hulls in the bay that seem to stretch for kays. “I trust they are rigged for storm running and heavy seas. Very heavy seas. They will encounter those.”
“I have ensured that, Marshal. We are ready to undertake our duty, and all are aware of the ordeal ahead.”
“Good. Perhaps you would care to join me later, in a glass of true Hamorian wine, to celebrate the beginning of accomplishing our duty to the Emperor, since you have found the local vintages to be less than adequate?”
“I must ensure the loading goes according to plan.”
“And after that?”
“We steam.”
“Then you will join me?”
“Then I will join you.”
“Good.”. Dyrsse nods and steps toward the rear of the bridge, his hand briefly touching the polished wooden rail, before he steps out into the sunlight and onto the iron ladder.
Stupelltry does not smile, nor does the captain, nor the ratings who have stood silently on the hard iron plates of the bridge deck.