The ambush group waited at a certain distance from the battle, hidden in the night twilight it waited for the right moment to attack. The Kimo clan's fleet was numerous and distinctive.
After thinking carefully, the clan's military leaders had selected two strike groups from the great multitude of ships and vessels. The clan ships were small compared to even the small luger of the invasion fleet, and this had to be actively used.
The first to attack were the mekura-bune, small ships armed with cannons. To an outsider they might remind a turtle, for they were covered with thick trunks of bamboo from the side and up to the roof, in which small holes for the cannons had been carefully cut.
These small but very skittish ships moved thanks to oars, so they did not depend on the wind and could move in any direction. The fact that the small cannons of these ships fired red-hot cannonballs gave additional piquancy.
This feature, of course, was accompanied by a huge risk of spontaneous combustion, but the efficiency exceeded all expectations, especially on these ships recruited the best sailors - the pride of the Kimo clan.
The second type of ship called into the fray was the quadra-bune, rectangular boxes that floated on the waves propelled by oars and the power of oarsmen. On the massive roof of these vessels stood the Kali Clan's gifts, fiery trebuchets, fiery because the projectiles for these impressive machines were barrels of burning oil.
But the Kimo clan would not be themselves if they did not throw some of these archaic siege weapons ashore. In their place they had hastily pinned up a battery of their favourite rockets.
Rounding out the formation were the small half-sized ships, the para-bone. Small and sailing, they had almost no weapons on board, but their strength was in the boarding party, which was made up of battle-hardened veterans.
There were many more ships of various types and construction at their disposal, but it was decided not to throw them into the thick of the battle, in view of their total uselessness against modern ships.
The whole armada of about a hundred ships was quietly surrounding the foreign squadron from both sides, clamping them in pincers.
That was exactly the picture that Maser saw. Nervously swallowing, he climbed down on the cable and catching Alan, ordered him to get through to the neighbouring frigates and order them to form a firewall.
He didn't know what he was talking about at first, but a healing slap from the massive man brought him back to his senses.
After making sure that his deputy understood everything, Maser ran into his quarters and in a couple of steps reached the chest, and with the obsession of a man about to be killed began to rummage through the junk, scattering it all over the room.
When he reached the bottom of the steel box, he pulled out a small box that was covered in a thick coat of dust. Maser, with a smile on his face, took it under his arm and... dropped it. The ships shuddered and staggered, reacting to the very close burst of a missile against the water surface.
Running out onto the deck, the man opened the box containing the flare gun with trembling hands. Loading a small cylinder with a red line on its side, Maser exhaled heavily, the captain had already broken into seven sweats, but he aimed at the right flank of the fleet and pulled the trigger.
The glowing shell flew into the air leaving a plume of red smoke behind it, Maser looked hopefully into the sky, those five minutes lasted for him like hours, the man was not directing the battle, not paying attention to the rockets bursting, cannons firing and people screaming.
Hopefully he looked up at the sky, 'If they don't pick up the signal, we'll be ringed,' Maser turned towards their flagship. 'This behemoth will break free of course, maybe some of the frigates too, but the fate of the rest will be unenviable.'
As several red missiles lit up the night sky, he breathed a sigh of relief, and climbed onto the bridge to prepare for the coming battle.
Kimo's fleet moved slowly, trying not to give away their location, but seeing that they had been spotted the commanders gave the order to 'get on the oars'. Loud and resounding voices of the commanders sounded along the chain.
Judging by the enemy's actions, they had been spotted, the Kimo captains were not idiots, they realised that their fleet was nothing compared to the Webi fleet, an old wreck not worthy of attention.
The ships of both sides were rapidly closing the distance, cutting the water surface with their hulls. The excitement of battle was on their faces, and every man, down to the last rower, was waiting with bated breath for the real battle of the sea to begin.
A group of frigates, led by the Red Sandstone, stood in a solid wall, covering the main fleet. Maser stared into the night darkness with his hand on his pulse, the air around the man viscous and sticky enough to be touched with his hands.
Drops of sweat covered his entire face, pooling together they rolled down his chin, and the moment another large cloudy drop hit the floor, the man shrieked at the top of his voice.
"Fire!!!"
No one needed to repeat twice, the sound of many hundreds of guns literally flew into the bay, with triumphant fanfares signalling hundreds of cast-iron balls already flying towards the enemy.
Almost the entire salvo went into the milk, but the outermost ship found its target, the cannonballs striking the green roof of the small vessel, piercing it with a mighty crunch.
It was only a matter of time before a return volley followed, and it was much fatter. But every sailor could see in person the red-hot cannonballs flying in their direction, glowing in the darkness like little stars. Rockets flew after them, and what was most surprising to the Midgardians were the huge barrels flying in their direction from somewhere in the sky.
The blow was painful, and accurate, Maser held tightly to the wheel, but even he found it hard to stay on his feet, the ships were hit almost simultaneously by a pair of nukes, and a barrel that smashed against the side of the ship, sprinkling it with black oily sludge. The fact that the barrel did not catch fire was a miracle, but the captain had no time to notice it, he was in charge of the battle.
A real naval battle is first of all time, manoeuvres, cannon fire, reloading all took time. The two fleets fought a fierce battle, shells flew over the water surface, and sometimes met with enemy ships. The ships burned, the hulls burst, the men died by scores, and whether struck by cannonballs, set on fire by the fire mixture, or cut to a state of meat salad by buckshot and fragments of splintered nukes and hulls, they settled as dead weight on the deck.
The Maser had the advantage in the number of volleys and the power of the guns. But there were at least three times as many locals, so the battle was raging, not even thinking of subsiding.
Maser, standing on the bridge, could see the battlefield quite clearly, considering the ships with trebuchets the main threat, he ordered to concentrate fire on them, their shells were simply terrifying.
Maser turned his head for a moment, one of the frigates was literally burning like a torch in the distance, two barrels had flown into it, the man looked at the panicked sailors trying to put out the burning oil.
Turning away, he continued to direct the battle, after an hour of continuous firefighting, there was a clear advantage of technology over tradition. A third of Kimo's fleet was sinking, dozens of sieve-hole ships slowly sinking to the bottom. The rest, taking advantage of the advantage of the rowers, began to lead the group of frigates away from the bay.
Seeing this, the captain of the compound, only smirked cynically, and ordered to stay put, an idiot, of course, would have rushed after the seemingly fleeing enemy.
Except that he himself had used such a trick more than once, gazing into the dark distance he rightly expected to see a second wave of attackers, and he did not miss.
Under the cover of the fire of allied ships to the group of frigates moved a whole horde of small vessels under sail. Their purpose was clear to Maser without words - a boarding party.
After giving a couple of orders, the man sent several frigates to intercept the rest of the enemy's fleet, and ordered the rest to concentrate fire on the approaching ships. Those went with a steadfastness worthy of the best application, in them flew countless cannonballs, knippels, the crew was mowed down by buckshot. But not one of them retreated or tried to get away.
Each sailor of the Webi compound worked like a well-oiled cog in a perfectly made machine. The fire was conducted without command on readiness, everyone knew his place and laboured in the sweat of his brow, not surprisingly, after all, these people obviously wanted to kill them, and man is such a creature - wants to live always and under any circumstances.
Many boarding ships had been sunk, but more had broken through the barrier and were going straight ahead, forgetting all sense of self-preservation.
Maser pulled back from the helm, and looked at the approaching armada.
The waters of battle lit up the burning and blazing ships, and the captain was able to get a good look at the enemy's men. Angry faces, clad in armour ancient in Maser's view, they held spears, swords, halberds, crossbows rifles, bows.
'Stop, bows!' - As soon as the man thought this a razor-sharp arrow ripped through the air and flew a couple of centimetres from his head, the projectile bit into the wooden railing, and after entering it a couple of centimetres, stopped. Only the mottled shank, painted in red colours, hinted at the considerable power of the projectile, jerked back and forth in quick movements hardly visible to the eye.
Maser instinctively started up, and glanced at Alan, who had only the eloquent glance of his commander, and with a mighty shout called the landing party to the deck.
The Weberians were pounding the Kimians with accurate volleys of good guns, and the latter reciprocated and unashamedly showered the foreigners with thousands of arrows, bolts and bullets. The Weberians were clearly winning in this confrontation, mainly due to their more accurate rifles, which they were glad of.
As the Haro ships came close to the frigates, smashing into their hulls, the heavy cracking of wood and scraping of metal spread throughout the bay. The natives were actively throwing steel hooks, not giving the frigates a chance to get away.
"Well, girls, prepare for boarding! - Shouted Maser, drawing his favourite boarding sabre."