Inferno

Chapter 67

Lynetten, island base for gunboats

In his lair a mile offshore, Krieger eased himself to a small desk in a musty casemate, the salt air on stone and the bronze twenty-four-pounder a peculiar tang in his nostrils. Word had quickly spread in Holmen that the navy was going to strike back at the invaders and boats had brought a stream of officers, who now waited outside.

He had before him their records but this was not needed – he knew most of them from the camaraderie of Nyholm.

It was going to be difficult: the time-honoured practices of a fleet square-rigger were not what was wanted now. A gunboat captain had to be quick-thinking, a strong leader and, above all, possess nerves of steel. To be sent against a ship fifty times the size under fire from great guns that could transform their command with a single hit into splintered wreckage and torn corpses took a different kind of courage.

And skill. With small size and agility their only advantage, to close successfully required first-class reading of the wind from the point of view of the enemy captain, and to know precisely when to douse sail and revert to oars against the same wind took a particular talent. Above all they needed to know how to act as an integral part of a team, working with others to tear down a mightier beast, like a pack in full cry, some to distract, others to go in at vulnerable points, the rest to lie off and pound.

‘Lojtnant Wulff, sir.’

Christian Wulff. Third of Skjold, a 70-gun ship-of-the-line, now like all its kind in ordinary in the naval dockyard within Copenhagen. Girl in Falster, a fine hand with a sketching pencil.

The young man entered, his manner tense.

‘You want to be a gunboat chief. Why?’

‘To sit idle while the kingdom is invaded? How could-’

‘That’s not what I asked, Lojtnant.’

‘This war against the English is going to get worse. We’re crazily outnumbered in our fleet – the only way we’re going to give ’em a bloody nose is with a cloud of hornets. I want to be in it!’

‘You’re out of a ship-of-the-line, therefore a stort skib fyr, a big ship sort. What makes you think a gunboat crew would follow you?’

‘Kommandor Steen Bille. He throws open the Admiralty College to any sea officer in idleness who would learn another thing. We could be taking on the Swedes again, who knows? I made myself useful by hoisting in the gunboat trade.’

Active and enterprising – he would do. ‘I believe I’ll give you Nakskov, a kanonchalup. How does that serve?’

A wide grin was his answer.

Krieger knew it would not be easy. The listing of available hulls he’d been given included every kind of gunboat there was, some with a full-size cannon mounted, others with mortars and howitzers, even flat pontoon barges with field pieces lashed to the deck that had to be towed into action. All had been designed for a very different conflict, against equals in the Scandinavian wars of the past, not the great battle fleet that faced them now.

There were small gun-brigs but they mounted carronades only and would be massacred if they stood up even to a sloop. And a half-dozen or so other minor craft – it was madness, really.

‘Lojtnant Zeuthen.’

‘Julius – you?’

The older, red-haired man looked offended. ‘And why not? I’ve smelt powder-smoke in gunboats, more’n most.’

He was well known in Nyholm for his buffoonery at mess dinners and a thirst for br?ndevin that, some said, should be measured in gallons. But he was right. He’d been in Algiers against the Berber princes and in the action at Tripoli. Even if his handling of men was abrupt he’d be relentless in leading and as stubborn as a bulldog.

‘Are you up to taking a kanonjolle at all?’ Caution suggested the smaller.

‘What about a kanonchalup?’

‘I’ve a notion you’re a close-action man, Julius. This’ll suit you better.’

‘Done!’

Before the morning was over Krieger had his little fleet. Counting every tiny craft Bille could send, he had twenty-six in hand, even now fitting out for combat. Suddenly restless, he got to his feet and went out to see how things were progressing. If he had to flog them to it through the night he was determined to have each ready to strike at dawn.

The view from the crenellated walls of Lynetten was commanding and formidable. Further out to sea was the massive Trekroner Fortress but beyond from horizon to horizon was the dense pack of English ships. Facing shore-wards he could see the entrance to the harbour with the naval dockyard on the left, and on the right the Citadel. The charming woodlands of Classen’s parkland garden were next, affecting in their innocence at a time of war. Not much further on were the red-topped houses and windmill of Svanemollen, the Swan Mill, where the British lines began. He peered out: was that the red flash of an enemy soldier?

Knowing he was under eye, Krieger refused to let his dismay show. He turned on his heel and stalked over to the leeward side to see how the work was proceeding. Clustered about the landing place, eight gunboats were swarming with men, working as if the devil was at their tail. He made his way down to see into the closest, a kanonchalup, Svendborg.

The men stood respectfully. ‘Don’t let me get in the way, the pokkers snejegaster,’ he threw at them. They grinned and resumed their work.

This was the largest class of gunboat, with a twenty-four-pounder low-mounted both on the fore-deck and stern-quarters, cunningly designed to operate on stout slides. With a gun bigger than any frigate, while admittedly having a fixed bearing, under oars the boat itself could be aimed. Broad and flat-bottomed, some sixty feet long, it was equipped with two masts that could be lowered to sit on crutches much as in his Viking ancestors’ longships. Setting a lugsail on fore and main it could make good speed in light winds, helped if necessary by a jib on a bowsprit and additional balancing trysail aft. A hornet indeed!

There was a price to pay. To achieve its greatest advantage – manoeuvrability in calms and ability to go against the wind – the heavy boat pulled thirty oars double-banked, which, with gun crews, required seventy or more men. When not deployed the seamen could be accommodated in a laid-up frigate or even in barracks in Lynetten, but if in battle readiness they had to live aboard in conditions of squalor and hardship. To be a naval officer in a gunboat was a unique calling, but Krieger knew he had the best.

Beyond the kanonchalup was a smaller vessel mounting a single gun facing out over the stern. This kanonjolle was rigged in the same way but called for only twenty-five men to take the single-banked oars. It also had to be manoeuvred to fire the gun. It was considerably more agile, however, and he knew he was right to put Zeuthen in this one.

Crowding in were several morterchalups, with the squat menace of a hundred-pound bronze mortar bedded deep into a flat hull, with four smaller howitzers spaced about it and supreme at hurling explosive shells into a hostile harbour. And beyond still was the kanonbad Aalborg, a gunboat completely outfitted with carronades and a pair of howitzers, smaller but with finer lines and able to reach the thickest part of the battle quickly.

These were his blades of war and he was damned well going to use them against the foe to his utmost ability.

Apart from the gunboats there were gun-brigs, more conventionally rigged sailing craft, but they had all the disadvantages of sail that the rest of his command were designed to overcome.

Not so clear was what he should do with those he was left with: several stykprams, glorified pontoons with field pieces lashed to their decks and needing to be towed into position; a schooner, no less than four yachts, galleys, a miniature mortar punt. Hardly calculated to strike terror into the enemy.