Chapter 270: All Hands Turn

July 23rd, early morning, clear weather, a gentle breeze over the Strait of Malacca.

Between blue sky and blue sea, a massive fleet emerged on the horizon.

The fleet numbered 236 oared vessels, 38 of which carried heavy cannon—most were heavy galleys designed by Ottoman shipwrights, balancing maneuverability and firepower, ideally suited for fighting in the doldrums.

The fleet's flagship, the World Wonder, was the pinnacle of Arab and Malay shipbuilding craftsmanship.

The vessel was sixty meters long and fifteen meters wide; counting the rowers, she carried eight hundred men in all, and mounted forty bronze cannons.

Her firepower and tonnage put most galleons to shame, and in the Strait of Malacca she was the undisputed king. Sultan Muda sat in the stern cabin of the World Wonder, calmly awaiting this long-anticipated decisive battle.

Lin Qian's fleet numbered nearly sixty vessels of various sizes—far inferior to the Aceh fleet, yet still a leviathan, almost impossible to hide in such a busy strait.

Each side knew the other's position; this sea battle was nearly an open contest.

Fighting in light winds, the Sultan was certain the oared galleys would have the edge.

Sultan Muda held a jeweled dagger, toying with it ceaselessly—after victory, he intended to use that very blade to cut off Lin Qian's viper's tongue with his own hands!

Mid-strait, 340 kilometers east of Banda Aceh.

The Nan'ao fleet anchored here. On the stern deck, the staff officers were arguing heatedly over whether to engage.

"The enemy fleet is hugging the Sumatran coast—that area is all mangroves and shoals, the hydrography is unknown, unsuitable for our fighting style. We should wait longer."

"Wait how? If we wait any longer, the enemy will run back to Banda Aceh!"

"We sent them women's clothes to force them out, and now he's using running back to Banda Aceh to force us!"

"The sun is good today, the sea and land breezes are steady—if we engage, at least we have the wind advantage..."

"What advantage? It's an even match at best..."

Lin Qian leaned on the railing, gazing across the deck. Every crewman aboard was looking toward the stern deck. On the mainmast, riggers were making final reinforcements to the spar.

The strait was oppressively humid and sweltering that day; the sailors were drenched in sweat.

Lin Qian suddenly called out: "Plane Li, how's the mainmast?"

Plane Li wiped his brow with his arm and replied: "The copper cables are nailed fast—even a Force 10 gale couldn't shake them loose."

Lin Qian asked the boatswain: "Have all the rigging been inspected?"

The boatswain answered: "Rest easy, helmsman. All rigging and shackles on the ship are checked once every day."

The stern deck fell quiet; the staff officers turned to look at Lin Qian.

Lin Qian asked: "How long until the Aceh fleet can reach port?"

One staff officer replied: "About three days, and the entire route is mangroves and shoals."

Lin Qian sighed inwardly—Sultan Muda was truly a great lord of his age, able to swallow a monstrous humiliation and still bide his time.

According to the Portuguese, the Aceh forces had never stopped besieging the city; the Sultan had left three thousand of his royal guards plus a small contingent of auxiliary troops at the siege camp, and had given the besieging soldiers the army's last remaining supplies. The fleet sailed carrying only enough water and provisions for a single voyage.

If Lin Qian let the Aceh fleet return to Banda Aceh, it would resupply and blunt the impact of the Ten Sins.

At the same time, over two hundred warships could reload their holds with provisions and sail back to resume the siege of Malacca.

This was tantamount to staking his own political reputation against Lin Qian in a contest of strategic nerve.

A position that should have been hopeless, and yet he had forcibly seized partial initiative.

Still, it didn't matter if the ships couldn't reach the shallows—so long as the cannonballs could reach them.

After long deliberation, Lin Qian said: "Set sail—the time for the decisive battle has come!"

The five-colored flag on the stern of the Candle Dragon fluttered.

Bailangzai ordered the ship to get underway.

The helmsman shouted: "Course due south, starboard running wind, half-starboard rudder!"

"Half-starboard rudder." The Candle Dragon's helm was below the stern deck. Two helmsmen received the order, shouted it back at once, then spun the wheel rapidly; once the rudder was in position, the two called out "Rudder half-starboard."

The Candle Dragon's hull slowly turned to starboard; the southeast wind blew in from the side, making the sails belly out slightly.

The navigator looked at the wind pennant and the waves, then called out: "Southeast wind, Force 4, wind speed 11 knots."

On the gun deck, the master gunner roared: "Prepare for battle—clear the gun deck!"

The gunners moved with clear division of labor, all surging toward the rear of the gun deck, where the officers' cabins were.

Zhang Fengyi watched as his own bunk was stowed away, the cabin partitions folded and lashed up to the ceiling, and all tables, chairs, and sundries passed down to the lower decks. In less than the time it took to eat a meal, a dozen officers' cabins were cleared in an instant, and the gun deck became one continuous open space—nothing left on it but cannon, shot, and powder.

On the companionway, bunks, conference tables, and chairs continued to be sent down into the lower holds.

Zhang Fengyi recognized that conference table—it was unmistakably the table from the stern cabin. He imagined the helmsman's stern quarters were likewise being cleared into open gun deck space.

Since no order to prepare the guns had been given, the gunports were still shut, and the gun deck was pitch black, with only a shaft of sunlight falling through the open grating of the deck above at midships.

Having cleared the deck, the gunners stood by at their respective cannon. On the humid, sweltering gun deck, the sailors were dripping with sweat, but no one complained—everyone waited in silence.

They sailed due south for two hours.

In the southwestern sky, a red signal rocket burst; a moment later, another rose and exploded.

Aboard the Candle Dragon, the three lookouts on the foremast, mainmast, and mizzenmast all stared toward where the fireworks had risen.

"The Hawk has made contact with the enemy—southwest."

Lin Qian looked southwest. The fleet was too far from the enemy—at this distance he couldn't even see the fireworks, only faintly hear the muffled crack of the signal rockets bursting.

"Set the fleet's course southwest, follow behind the enemy." Lin Qian ordered.

Bailangzai said: "Course southwest."

The helmsman said: "Half-port rudder, course southwest, port running wind."

The boatswain received the order and had the riggers prepare to trim sails.

"Rudder amidships!" Seeing the bow already aligned with the enemy's direction, the helmsman ordered the rudder straightened.

"Whoosh—" the southeast wind blew in from the port side, filling the sails.

"Compass." Lin Qian said.

His personal guard opened the compass and handed it over. The needle pointed to the wei position, roughly 30° south of west.

"What's the sailing situation?" Lin Qian asked again.

After the helmsman consulted with the surveyor, he reported loudly: "Our ship is heading southwest at 6 knots, wind from the southeast at force 4, wind speed 13 knots, light seas with white foam on the wave crests."

Lin Qian nodded in acknowledgment. He had chosen to sail southwest rather than intercept directly ahead of the enemy precisely because he feared the Aceh fleet would turn and flee. Oared ships were far easier to lead than pure sailing warships.

The wind was currently in Lin Qian's favor. Even if the wind weakened, he could raise the wing sails and skysails. If the Aceh fleet turned around, Lin Qian would be forced to chase against the wind, and the situation would be reversed.

Another hour passed. Sky-bursting rockets occasionally exploded ahead of the fleet, and the silhouettes of eagle ships could be dimly seen, but the Aceh fleet itself remained out of sight.

After calculations, the staff officers reported: "Helmsman, we are still 20 nautical miles from shore, arriving in approximately one and a half hours."

A soldier came to report: "Captain, lunch is ready."

Bailangzai said: "Eat in shifts."

Before long, the officers' lunch was delivered to the stern deck. Lin Qian opened the food box—it was a bowl of rice soaked in tofu soup, topped with salted bean sprouts and pickled radish.

Being able to eat lunch before battle was already good enough; there was no time for elaborate preparations.

Lin Qian sat directly on the deck and wolfed down his meal, finishing more than half in just a few mouthfuls.

"Whoosh—pop!"

At that moment, another sky-bursting rocket shot into the air.

Then the lookout on the mizzenmast called out: "Target sighted, direction southwest, distance approximately 18 nautical miles."

Qin Liangyu and her two companions were not crew members of the Candle Dragon, so they couldn't help and would only be in the way on the gun deck. The gunnery officer ordered them below to the hold to wait. But Qin Liangyu's archery was superb, Ma Xianglin's silver spear was unmatched, and Zhang Fengyi also had some martial skill—the three thought that if it came to boarding action, they could still kill enemies, so they went up to the upper deck instead.

Hearing the lookout's shout, the three grew tense, rose from the deck, and kept gazing toward the bow. But the southwest was nothing but a vast expanse of sea—there was nothing to see.

A sailor beside them laughed: "18 nautical miles—you can't see that far. It'll take a long time to catch up."

Just as he said, after a little over half an hour, the lookout called out: "Enemy fleet, southwest, 15 nautical miles, advancing close along the shore." By now, land and mountains could be faintly seen from the ship. Lin Qian pulled out his telescope and gazed southwest, where a blurry dark mass could be seen near the shore, like a swarm of fruit flies, slowly moving northwestward.

Lin Qian lowered his telescope and commanded: "Fleet heading, west by south thirty degrees."

The helmsman took out his compass and shouted: "Half rudder to starboard, heading southwest, port side running with the wind."

Moments later, the compass needle aligned with the shen position, and the helmsman called out: "Rudder amidships."

This was a corrected course calculated from the Aceh fleet's direction of advance—it would let them close with the enemy at maximum speed without scaring them off.

The Aceh fleet's choice to hug the coast limited their own maneuvering room. Whether they continued northwest or turned back southeast, they would eventually be caught by Lin Qian.

Another hour passed. Eagle ship sky-bursting rockets rose continuously, and the enemy fleet grew clearer in view. Through the telescope, the enemy's masthead lookouts could barely be made out as they shouted: "Enemy fleet, southwest, 6 nautical miles, total vessel count over two hundred."

Lin Qian raised his telescope and saw more than a dozen eagle ships cruising around the enemy fleet, half-encircling the seaward side.

The fleet had dispatched numerous light oared vessels that, like men swatting flies, feebly tried to drive off the eagle ships.

The main body of the Aceh fleet, as if it hadn't noticed Lin Qian at all, continued on its set course.

"The wind has dropped!" the observer shouted. "Wind force 3, wind speed 11 knots, direction southeast."

"Helmsman, should we raise the auxiliary sails?" Bailangzai asked.

Lin Qian said: "Wait a bit longer."

An 11-knot wind speed was right at the threshold between force 3 and force 4. Raising sails rashly could easily damage them. Besides, the auxiliary sails were Lin Qian's secret weapon—how could he use them right from the start?

It was now past 2 PM, the hottest time of the day.

The strait had seen no rain for days, and moisture had accumulated heavily in the air. Stifling heat compounded with humidity, plus the scorching sun—even the officers, who had no work to do at all, were drenched in sweat.

Fortunately, the fleet had shore support from the Sultanate of Perlak, so fresh water was plentiful. Before battle, every soldier had been issued a bamboo canteen filled with salted fresh water. There was no need to conserve it—drink as much as you liked when thirsty—and they could even pour seawater over themselves to cool off, so heatstroke was not a concern.

Around three in the afternoon, the distance between the two fleets had shrunk to two nautical miles.

From the deck of the Candle Dragon, the full extent of the enemy fleet could now be seen clearly.

Qin Liangyu and her two companions couldn't help but widen their eyes. Against the backdrop of Sumatra's mangrove forests, the Aceh fleet stretched nearly twenty li from front to back and nearly ten li in depth—its area roughly equal to that of a small county town.

Hundreds of masts pierced the sky, denser than the mangrove trees along the shore.

Sunlight fell upon hundreds of triangular sails, reflecting a dazzling halo of light. Even from two nautical miles away, it was blinding to look at. At this distance, shouts and alarm bells could already be heard coming from the enemy fleet.

Their fleet was not clustered into a single mass either, but arranged in a wedge formation—gun ships in the center, transport ships in the rear, and small warships scattered around the perimeter, forming five divisions: front, center, rear, left, and right.

Most of the warships flew green battle flags bearing a painted crescent moon.

Seen from afar, the banners stretched into one continuous expanse, like a swimming dragon—an extremely striking sight.

Even the sailors of the Candle Dragon could not help but look grim. The scale of the Aceh fleet surpassed every opponent Nan'ao had ever faced.

On the Candle Dragon, all the sailors fell silent, waiting quietly for the engagement to begin.

Inside the two gun decks, the gunners had no time to wipe the sweat from their brows, constantly blowing on their burning match cords. In the pitch-black space, dark red points of light glowed everywhere, and only the sound of waves and heartbeats could be heard.

In the silence, the lookout suddenly shouted: "Enemy fleet, due west, one thousand paces!"

One thousand Ming paces was equivalent to roughly 1,800 meters—exactly one nautical mile. This was already naval combat distance.

Lin Qian took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled, and commanded in a low voice: "Fleet, form line of battle."

Five-colored signal flags waved, passing the order.

The Candle Dragon took the lead; the Tianyuan, Zheng He, and other ships fell into line one after another behind the flagship. Fourteen gun ships formed a single line, four transport ships followed at the rear, and Pattani's oared vessels brought up the very back of the fleet.

On the Candle Dragon, Bailangzai said: "Prepare for battle."

The helmsman bellowed in repetition: "Prepare for battle!"

The entire Candle Dragon instantly erupted into activity. On the gun deck, the gunnery officer roared: "Gunnery preparation—open the gun ports, open the gun ports!" "Creak—" the teeth-grinding sound of hinges came as gun port after gun port swung open. Sunlight streamed in through the starboard gun ports, driving back the darkness like sharp swords. The gunners loaded the cannons from muscle memory and ran them out through the ports.

Through the gun ports, the port-side gunners could see the sea before them covered entirely with Aceh's oared vessels—green crescent flags stretching to the horizon, nearly covering the whole surface of the sea. On the upper deck, riggers scrambled up the masts to their positions.

Lin Qian raised his telescope and gazed out. The shore was a wilderness of vast rainforest, mangroves, and swamps—there was no beach at all. The boundary between sea and land was extremely blurred here.

The Aceh fleet was sailing at a distance of roughly fifty meters from the mangroves.

At such a distance, there was almost no room for the ships to maneuver to port.

But what they sacrificed in maneuverability, they gained in shallow water. The eastern coast of Sumatra had always been full of shoals—even a thousand meters from the mangroves, there was still risk of running aground. Sultan Muda's use of this tactic now was precisely because he knew oared vessels had shallow drafts while sailing warships drew deep water—he wanted Lin Qian's ships to run aground. Lin Qian moved his telescope, searching the enemy fleet for the Dutch warships, and after a moment found two Dutch yachts in the right division of the Aceh fleet.

Presumably, as long as they didn't cross the Dutch ships' course line, the probability of running aground would be greatly reduced.

"Eight hundred paces!" the lookout updated the distance.

Lin Qian lowered his telescope and commanded, "Run parallel with the enemy fleet, and close in slowly!"

The helmsman said, "Course northwest, port side with the wind, hard to starboard!"

"Hard to starboard!" the steersman shouted, and the two of them worked together to spin the ship's wheel rapidly.

The Zhulong made a sharp turn to starboard, the hull lurching to port and throwing up a sheet of spray.

The sailors planted their feet on the deck as if rooted there, their upper bodies utterly still while they reached out to steady the gear around them.

Qin Liangyu and her two companions, however, were thrown off balance with a stumble.

From this moment on, the ship's maneuvers would no longer consider passenger comfort—whatever pushed the vessel closest to its performance limits was how they would sail. The surveyor looked at the waves and saw them growing calmer, the crests shrinking, and reported, "Wind is dropping—Force 3, nine knots, blowing from the southeast."

Affected by the relative wind, the ship carried no instrument to quantify wind speed; the surveyor's reading was based on experience, strictly speaking using the Beaufort scale as his standard.

Though it was a subjective judgment, men who had spent long years at sea could more or less sense changes in wind and ship speed, and all knew the wind was falling. Bailangzai looked at Lin Qian.

Lin Qian glanced at the sky, estimating it was around four in the afternoon—the hottest part of the day had passed, and the sea breeze would gradually weaken. He gritted his teeth and said, "Wait a little longer."

"Six hundred paces!" the lookout called.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!" The starboard wing of the Aceh fleet opened fire first.

Their cannons matched the Siren guns entirely in range and power—they had simply fired too early. Several shots landed more than seventy paces off the Zhulong's port side, and all the crew felt on the deck was a faint cool spray.

After that first broadside, from the center of the Aceh fleet, a red flag rose from the top of the flagship's mainmast.

In an instant their formation scattered, ships swinging their bows about and charging toward Lin Qian's fleet.

Their vanguard cut off the fleet's path ahead, the rear guard blocked the retreat, while the right and center divisions turned hard to starboard and surged in to attack.

The formation spread like a jellyfish opening its tentacles, wrapping tightly around Lin Qian's fleet.

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

Most of the galleys' firepower was mounted at the bow, so once they turned their heads about, their strength actually doubled—the gunboats kept firing without pause, and the Dutchmen's two yachts were blasting away as well.

On both flanks of the Nan'ao fleet, columns of water thrown up by cannonballs rose without cease.

Several dull thuds came from the Zhulong's hull—she had been hit, but at this range the shots carried little power and did scant damage to her stout timbers.

"Five hundred paces!" the lookout called.

Bailangzai said, "Open fire!"

The order passed down the chain, and the master gunner roared, "Blast the bastards!"

"Boom! Boom! Boom!"

On the two gun decks, cannon after cannon fired in sequence, thick powder smoke flooding the entire hold.

Lin Qian raised his telescope and saw a wall of water columns erupt amid the enemy's center. Then the four warships behind the Zhulong fired at the same target. A dozen or more shots fell short, skipping across the surface and kicking up graceful sprays.

A galley that had charged furthest ahead took a hit at the stern; a moment later splinters flew from its tail, and its ferocious, unstoppable charge faltered. Ship after ship along the battle line opened fire, and in an instant the sea and sky shook as if with thunder, leaving men's ears ringing and their chests tight.

Across the broad sea five hundred paces away, skipping shots came without end, and several more galleys were struck, planks flying in all directions.

A few cannonballs bounced several times across the water, cleared the enemy fleet, and smashed into the mangroves beyond, snapping several trees. Startled water birds rose in a flurry.

Before the smoke had even cleared from the Zhulong, another round of firing began, and the gunsmoke soon veiled the whole battlefield in haze.

"Three hundred paces!" the lookout at the mizzenmast shouted.

Through the smoke, the Aceh fleet came on like a troop of cavalry at sea, charging the battle line in parallel ranks.

Their ships were large and small, spread flat across the water in utter disorder, and quickly covered most of the sea.

Though the Nan'ao fleet's fire was fierce and several rounds had stopped a number of galleys, such losses against that boundless fleet were like a single grain in the ocean. "Two hundred paces!" the lookout kept updating the distance.

On the poop deck, every officer including Lin Qian raised a telescope and aimed it to port. Through the smoke, a heavy galley was charging at the very front, like a sharp sword thrusting straight at the Zhulong.

"Boom boom boom…"

The Zhulong suddenly poured out her fire, the recoil heeling her to starboard. Deck and masts gave out faint creaks that traveled up through the soles of the feet and reached the ears with perfect clarity.

In the surging smoke, the galley was only a silhouette—and that shadow seemed to take a tremendous blow, several planks hurled into the air.

The four warships behind the Zhulong fired in turn, countless shots piercing the smoke. Dozens of planks could be seen spinning around the stricken ship's outline, and the sound of cannonballs punching through her hull came without pause.

The Zhulong gradually sailed clear of the smoke, revealing the enemy vessel riddled with holes, her bow sinking as she took on water fast. Most of her dozens of oars had stopped; a few still struggled and slid, like the death throes of a centipede.

The Nan'ao navy's battle line had been improved—what followed the Zhulong was not the Tianyuan or the Zheng He, but the four yachts Zhangzhou, Chaozhou, Quanzhou, and Huizhou. Behind the Huizhou came the Tianyuan, with three more yachts after her, and the Zheng He was arranged the same way.

The yachts kept their targets aligned with the capital ships, concentrating fire to the utmost to cripple the enemy.

Just as in this last volley.

"Helmsman, the enemy has us surrounded ahead!" a staff officer said, pointing toward the bow.

About three hundred paces ahead of the Zhulong, the sea was already covered with the Aceh fleet, forming an encirclement.

Meanwhile the main force of the Aceh fleet off the port side had closed to two hundred paces, their bow guns growing ever more accurate—the Zhulong had already taken several hits.

Lin Qian said coolly, "Prepare for a coordinated turn to starboard!"

"Prepare for a coordinated turn to starboard!" the helmsman shouted.

"Boom!" The signalman fired a signal gun from the poop deck, hoisted a five-color flag signal, and lit a yellow lantern on the starboard side. On the Zhangzhou following close behind, her signalman saw the order and shouted the report up to the poop deck, then the Zhangzhou likewise hoisted flags and lit her lantern. Ship after ship relayed the signal in turn.

After the time it takes an incense stick to burn, the lookout's voice cut through the deafening cannonade: "One hundred fifty paces!"

Lin Qian said, "Turn!"

The helmsman said, "Hard to starboard!"

The lanterns went dark, and the Zhulong swung hard to starboard in a wide turn, each ship behind her doing the same in sequence.

The helmsman held his compass, and when he saw the bow on the correct heading, shouted, "Midships!"

The wheel came back to center. The Zhulong's bow now sat at forty-five degrees to the battle line's axis, and every ship behind did the same. Seen from the sky, the entire line was shifting diagonally forward to the right.

In a Force 3 wind, the sailing warships ran one to two knots faster than the galleys. Relying on that slender margin of speed, they slowly shook off the Aceh fleet and slipped around the ships blocking their path.

This was the "coordinated turn maneuver" the Nan'ao navy had most recently drilled during the Guangxi campaign, designed specifically to counter boarding charges and flanking envelopments. In history, this tactic was first used in a battle line by the English at the Battle of Portland in 1653.

In the ninth year of Tianqi, when most nations had not yet fully understood the battle line, no man and no fleet had ever conceived of such a wildly imaginative innovation as the coordinated turn.

Aboard the Dutch warship Valiant, Reiersen watched this scene, dumbstruck as a wooden chicken.

The Dutch, hailed as the "wagoners of the sea," were still wavering between line-of-battle tactics and boarding melee in their naval doctrine at this time.

What was Lin Qian doing?

On the entire battle line, had all the ships turned almost simultaneously?

How were orders being relayed? Did Lin Qian have telepathy? Was he... was he even human?

Pink Round

Pen