The endless historical battlefield that began with World War I

The North Star began to adjust its course. In those ten or so seconds of turning, its sails were not taking in the wind, its speed slowed down significantly, and the ship lay sideways on the sea, becoming an ideal target.

Thomas waited for his chance. He squinted and watched the opposite ship roll sideways. Once, twice, and on the third roll, the ship rolled to the angle he had calculated.

"Fire!"

At least six shells hit it. One of the secondary sails of the Polaris broke in the middle, and half of the sail collapsed, covering the gun ports below.

A section of the hull flange was completely torn off, and an important support cable on the mainmast was also broken.

Paddy nearly jumped up on the foredeck, his voice almost drowning out the cannon fire: "His sails are ruined! He's finished!"

The foresail of the Polaris was actually in relatively good condition; only one auxiliary bar and a few auxiliary rigging ropes were broken. However, the French sailors on the opposite deck were in complete chaos, some tearing at the canvas, others cutting the tangled ropes, busy as bees.

The two wings weren't idle either. A salvo from the North Point swept across the foredeck of the North Star, sending wood chips flying. Meanwhile, McKinnon was yelling in pain as a shell from the Lucky Star hit the North Star's aft mast barre, deforming the iron hoops on it.

George watched as the warship opposite him became increasingly damaged. Paddy was still cheering from the front, while Thomas was already urging the guns to assemble the next round. The cannon fire from the North Cape and the Lucky came from both sides, one shot after another.

An idea popped into George's head uncontrollably.

We are going to win this battle.

-----------------

But there was one person on the Freedom who didn't laugh.

Ezra's white hair was blown about by the wind as he looked at the chaotic deck opposite him.

"The French ships are being attacked," he said.

Danny's eyes lit up as he stood beside him: "Thomas ripped his boom! The auxiliary ship next to him also took several hits..."

"The French ships are being attacked," Ezra said again.

Danny turned to look at the old sailor with some confusion; there was no joy on his face, which was etched with deep lines by the sea wind.

"After all this fighting," Ezra said slowly, "the French haven't made a single charge."

Danny was stunned.

That's right. The Polaris had thirty-two guns, which, in terms of firepower alone, far surpassed that of the Freedom.

If the Grey Wolf is determined to charge at full speed and bombard us with heavy artillery at point-blank range, the Liberty might not be able to withstand it.

But the gray wolf didn't charge; it stayed in place, enduring round after round.

What exactly does he want to do?

-----------------

On the Polaris.

For the past half hour, Renard had been standing on the stern of the Polaris. A shell shattered the plank two steps behind him, splintering wood onto his shoulder. He calmly raised his hand to dust it off, without moving.

He didn't care about the damage at all. Broken rigging could be repaired, and damaged booms could be replaced. For the past half hour, he had been observing George's playing style.

He had already figured out how George's three boats were working together:

The flagship drew fire from the front, while the two armed ships chipped away at it from the flanks. Before each sail adjustment, the Freedom would raise a flag from the masttop, followed by the movement of the sails.

The enemy's rate of fire was indeed frighteningly fast, but the salvo from both flanks was always five to eight seconds slower than that from the flagship because they had to wait for a signal first.

He turned his head slightly and looked at the North Point.

The ship was originally to the left and rear of the Liberty, but as the battle progressed, its position gradually moved forward.

This can't be blamed on its captain. The North Point's hull and sails are different from the Freedom's, so even with the same wind direction and the most favorable sailing angle, it's always a little off.

To maintain the firing angle, the captain of the North Point chose a forward route, which did make the cannons more accurate, but the ship also broke away from the formation.

Now, it's stuck right on the edge of the Freedom's fire support.

Grey Wolf lowered his right hand from the bulwark and gripped the signal whistle at his waist.

A signal flag was raised on the mast of the North Star.

"George, they've raised a signal flag over there, but I don't understand what it means," Zachary said.

George raised his binoculars and examined them for a while. He couldn't recognize all the French flag signals, but this flag... looked like it was signaling the auxiliary ship to come closer.

Is Grey Wolf going to call the support ship back?

George felt relieved; it seemed the three-pronged attack had worked, and the Grey Wolves couldn't hold out and were trying to shrink their formation.

"Maintain pressure, keep the deployment unchanged."

He noticed that the North Cape was positioned a bit too far forward. However, the North Cape was currently firing smoothly, and if they were ordered to retreat now, their firepower would be interrupted. The Grey Wolf had already begun to retreat, and if two more volleys were fired…

The bow of the Polaris began to turn.

George watched as the 32-gunship adjusted its sails and slowly turned south, towards the direction of the French auxiliary ship.

"He can't hold on any longer!" Paddy shouted from the foredeck, his tone smug. "He's going to run off and rendezvous with his two small boats!"

George didn't respond, continuing to observe the North Star's sails through his telescope. The sails were changing, and so was the speed; it certainly looked like they were heading south.

"Maintain firing course, North Point and Lucky Stars unchanged."

The Liberty fired another round from its starboard side. Through the gaps in the smoke as the wind parted, George saw the North Cape still to its port fore-southeast, its gun crew reloading, their rhythm perfectly steady.

Any captain standing here would probably make the same judgment.

But when Polaris reached the thirtieth second, it suddenly stopped rotating.

George's body reacted before his brain did, and a chill ran up the back of his neck.

The Polaris did not continue south; its sails were tightened again, and the bow turned to the right, but not in the direction of the Liberty.

It's the North Point.

"Zakali!"

"I see it!" Zachary was already pulling the signal tether. "North Cape in danger, evacuate immediately!"

A red and yellow danger flag shot up to the top of the mast.

But a sailboat isn't a horse that can be turned around with a pull of the reins. It only takes a few seconds to raise the flag, but for the captain of the North Point to see the signal, order a rudder turn, get the sails back into the wind, and for the ship to begin to yaw, the whole process takes at least two minutes.

But the North Star wouldn't take more than two minutes. The Grey Wolf had been under fire for several tens of minutes, and its gunners had already loaded their guns but hadn't fired yet.

This was the angle he was waiting for. The North Point was a wide ship, and its sails were already inefficient at picking up wind. Now, if he wanted to avoid it, he would have to turn the rudder first and then adjust the sails.

But the Polaris only needs one step: turn around and open the gun ports at the same time.

On the port side of the 32-gunship, the dark gun barrels of the sixteen gun ports were pointed menacingly at the North Point.

The North Point was still turning its rudder when the captain's short shout came from the deck. The rudder wheel had just started moving, but it was too late.

The North Star fired a salvo from its port side.

"boom--!"

The twelve-pound iron ball slammed into the starboard side of the North Point, and a series of cannon shots rolled across the sea, making people's chests feel tight.

The North Cape's starboard side was wrecked.

Its hull was already thinner than the Liberty's, and at this distance, it simply couldn't withstand a twelve-pound bomb.

Splintered wood, broken ropes, and tattered canvas all mingled together and exploded outwards. The partition between the two gun ports flew off in one piece, instantly exposing the gunners of both cannons in the breach.

Immediately afterwards, a second iron bullet smashed into the gap, sweeping away the loading rack along with the ammunition pouch on it.

"North Cape—!" Paddy shouted until his voice was hoarse.

Screams began to erupt from the opposite deck. Two of the foremast supports on the North Cape had also broken, causing the sails to tilt and the ship's speed to drop drastically.

"Its sails have collapsed!" shouted the lookout at the masthead.

George ordered from the deck: "Hard port! Towards the North Cape!"

"Hard to port!" the helmsman shouted.

The Liberty began to turn, but it too took time to turn. The sailboat had no throttle, and Paddy yelling "Hurry up!" at the sailor was of little use.

The North Cape was bleeding, but thankfully its captain hadn't panicked. His voice came through the smoke: "Plug the leak! Abandon the starboard guns three and four! Get everyone to port!"

Of the six cannons on the starboard side, only four remained. The fifth cannon's carriage had one leg severed by shrapnel, and the barrel lay askew on the deck, muzzle pointing upwards, with a man trapped underneath him. Two sailors were desperately trying to pull him out.

"Tomlin! Tomlin's legs!"

"Drag it out first! Take it away first, then we'll talk!"

The North Point finally caught the wind little by little. Its foremast was missing two support cables, so it turned very slowly, and the sails flapped wildly in the wind.

"Push the rudder down! Push it down!" the captain of the North Cape roared.

He saw Zachary's signal and was retreating, but by then it was too late to retreat quickly.

On the deck of the Freedom, Paddy remained silent.

From the start of the fight until now, his mouth has never stopped. He cheers, curses, encourages the sailors, and makes up rhymes about the gray wolves. The entire foredeck is already used to his noise.

But at this moment he just stood there, gazing in the direction of the North Point, without saying a word. His two fists were clenched tightly, and the veins on the back of his hands bulged out.

George didn't look at him; he kept staring at the hull of the North Point.

Three months of training, a standardized loading procedure, and a firing rate of 90 seconds per volley—the first six volleys overwhelmed the Polaris. The slight advantage gained in the early stages was completely wiped out by a single volley of 12-pound shells from the Grey Wolf.

George put down his binoculars, mentally replaying the past few minutes over and over again.

The Grey Wolf did not retreat, nor did he intend to rendezvous with the auxiliary ships. He made George think he was going to retreat, and then seized the few dozen seconds when the North Cape was forward and turning slowly, and fired the North Cape with its entire broadside guns.

George's deployment was correct, and the North Cape didn't go too far. But different ships in the same wind direction will have different angles, which is unavoidable.

The gray wolf saw the difference and immediately knew how to use it on the battlefield.

"Lucky Star to meet North Point Star, proceed according to plan!"

Zachary signaled, and McKinnon's Lucky began to turn and move closer to the North Point.

This was a pre-arranged plan during previous training sessions: if a ship was damaged and had to evacuate, the nearest friendly ship would provide cover.

But the Grey Wolves did not let them follow the plan.

On the secondary battlefield, the French light ship with ten cannons suddenly accelerated.

At the same moment that the North Star bombarded the North Cape, the small boat cut straight into the course of the Ikaruga.

It wasn't there to attack the Banjiu; its few small cannons couldn't penetrate the Banjiu's hull at this distance. But it was enough for it to block the way.

The Ikaruga now has only two choices: either force its way through, risking a close-range volley of bullets, or swerve to go around it.

Reed didn't want to gamble with the Dove on something uncertain, so he veered two compass points to the right, bypassing the light ship's interception line.

The whole process took only thirty seconds.

But thirty seconds ago, the French 16-gun armed ship was still within the range of the Dove's restraints; thirty seconds later, it broke free.

The 16-gun armed ship charged northward. It wasn't targeting the North Cape; the North Cape was already retreating.

It had its sights set on the lucky number that was turning to meet it.

"To port aft! French armed vessel! 300 yards!"

When the lookout shouted, Captain McKinnon of the HMS Lucky was on deck berating the gunners for being too slow to load.

Three hundred yards was already too close. The Lucky had just turned halfway, the sails had been switched from one side to the other, and the speed had just dropped to its lowest point, with most of its starboard side directly facing the enemy's cannons.

McKinnon looked back and saw eight dark cannon muzzles pointing directly at him.

"Get down!"

The French 16-gun armed ship fired a salvo from its starboard side. Iron bullets struck the upper half of the Fortune's starboard side, tearing off a section of the hull edge, snapping a support cable on the stern, and causing the mast to tilt several degrees to the left.

The shockwave pushed the cannon, along with its mount and gunner, back and they crashed into the opposite bulwark.

The Lucky Star lurched violently, and several people on the deck lost their footing. Some cursed, while others called out their companions' names.

McKinnon stood up, supporting himself on the steering wheel, and spat out a mouthful of blood; he had just bitten his tongue.

"Get up, all of you!" His voice was so loud it could be heard across the river. "Load all the guns on the port side that are still firing!"

How many doors are left on the port side?

"Five gates!"

"That's enough! Protect the North Point first!"

The Adventure also arrived from the flank, positioning itself between the French armed ship and the Fortune, using its hull to block the line of fire. Patrol boats advanced from the other side; although they had few cannons, their angles were precise, meaning that if the French wanted to engage the Fortune, they would have to endure fire from two directions simultaneously.

The French 16-gun armed ships did not linger in battle; they fought and then left, turning south to regroup with another group of light ships.

After two rounds of attacks, two ships in George's fleet were damaged, and the situation was reversed.

On the Freedom, Danny stood next to Ezra, his voice trembling slightly: "The North Star... is turning."

"Which way to turn?"

Danny's voice changed.

"Towards the Freedom."

As the smoke slowly dissipated, George put away his binoculars on the deck.

The North Point was retreating, its sail half-hung, and deck crew were busy plugging leaks and fighting the fire. The Lucky Star was positioned beside it, but its own starboard side was also missing a piece. Even across the sea, McKinnon could be heard yelling, "Who the hell told you to stop! Load!"

Ten minutes ago, six boats were surrounding the gray wolf.

George turned to Zachary.

"Signal: North Cape withdraws from combat and retreats to a safe distance for repairs. HMS Lucky, HMS Adventure, and patrol boats proceed to the secondary battlefield to assist HMS Dove in blocking the two French auxiliary ships."

He paused for a moment. "The Freedom is going up against the Polaris."