293AC
There were 47 ships in all.
A mixed fleet, one Heavy Frigate, Four Galleons, seventeen little cutters, and then twenty-five assorted cogs and other mid-sized primitive ships. It wasn't every remaining ship in my company's possession, but it was damn near close to it, and aboard its decks were an army of around three thousand regular infantry, and five hundred marines, with almost half that many support staff, engineers and the like. It was a significant portion of my company treasury sunk into it as well, indeed it had put me back into my only recently cleared debt with the iron bank.
Fortunately, my "credit score" with them was excellent, and my interest rate was further lowered due to this being part of the war effort. I had no real worries about any issues paying them off, even were my efforts unsuccessful. My model still hadn't been copied yet, owing I suspected to a lack of liquid capital in Westeros and a lack of contact on my part with Esoss outside of Braavos.
That would be ending with this campaign as well, and I suspected my monopoly on sensible trade would be ending with it.
Either way, now wasn't the time for such thoughts.
No, now was the time for hugging my mother.
Selyse Baratheon was heavily dressed as she always was these days, but the sad smile on her face told me all I needed to know about her feelings.
I pulled her into a hug and felt her hand play along the top of my head. "My child…" she said sadly, before straightening the shoulders on my uniform. "Good luck."
I nodded sharply, before turning towards my siblings. They were both fancy-dressed little balls of cuteness, Shyreen was a little princess now, with eyes as bright as mine. I had worried that things might have soured between us over my magic, but I could see none of that now, only a smiling little girl, content that her big brother was going to go help her daddy win the war.
Eric was similarly enthused, and I engaged them both in a short conversation, with lots of hugging and ruffling hair. It was nice and happy, and it took my mind off of other nonsense for the moment.
Then, without even time to think I was stepping up onto the gangplank away from them, waving goodbye on what might very well turn into a multi-month excursion.
The war plan was initially fairly simple. My captains would be acting as something along the lines of conquistadors. Acting in groups of three with at least one cutter each, they would be moving amongst the Stepstones, conscripting, arresting, or killing the pirates therein. Once the given island was secure, they were to begin construction of a fort on the island and put a garrison of fifty men in it, before moving to any smaller surrounding islands that needed subjugation. Since there nine such groups, and nine major islands other than Tyrosh in the stepstones, things should ideally work out.
There were few major settlements in the islands outside of Tyrosh, which I obviously did not intend on combating. Mostly mid-sized fishing towns of around ten thousand men, and salt-port on the south side of Bloodstone, the largest of the islands. That town was as big as Dragon stone at least.
Many of these catered to pirates and might resist occupation, but I suspected that cannons and breech-loading rifles would make a solid case for their relatively peaceful surrender. A few hundred of my men could take any city in the isles I was sure.
Of course, that would bring about the question of governance, and one that I wasn't particularly keen on answering at least for the moment. Eventually, I intended for it to be its own kingdom, but I would rather ask that after the war, win or lose. The Islands were almost comically underpopulated for their size, as much of this world seemed to be outside of the Reach. Though I supposed that here it was understandable due to slavers. Still, the largest of the islands were only a bit smaller than Tarth but held populations of less than a hundred thousand by the reports of their few villages and towns. This despite being noticeably more fertile than nearby Dorne.
It was odd, but just one amongst many off things, like half of the North being almost completely abandoned. Still, we were talking a combined land area around the size of England holding less than six-hundred thousand people altogether.
Just didn't look good to be outrageously power-hungry when your father and uncles were out dying you know.
Of course, bad as it might sound, that was ultimately what I intended. The siege of Myr didn't seem to be going anywhere, and at last news, my Uncle had smashed the Volantenes at the Rhoyne, though Qohor had apparently taken Norvos, little as that significantly mattered to our war effort since their army was already gone, and they were far away from anyone else.
A ground attack on Braavos would be essentially suicidal, and Lorath was protected by the Waters. Penton might be under threat, but that would risk losing their territory to small armies from the former powers and being cut off from Qohor and their supply lines.
No, if the army of Qohor had any sense they would avoid biting off more than they could chew.
So that meant it would be land-war and something I could scarce do much about. Better to hunt my pirates and pray for my Uncle's success, since my Father had already found his victory.
I stared down at the map of the stepstones in my cabin, the paths of all the ships traced out ahead of time. I would be sailing to Grey Gallows, the second largest of the islands which sat in the middle of the rest, it was mountainous and rocky by reports, and its rocky coastline was covered in deep gorges that pirates loved, allowing for sheltered makeshift ports in the stormy stepstones. The inland of the island was protected by high cliffs, though slaves still sometimes raided there, it was known to be quite fertile and populated by the mixed men of the stepstones like most of the others. Rhoynar and First men, Andals and Valyrians all mingled together in the isles, unsurprising given their central location. Several rivers ran into the mountain range at its east side, which was tall and sharp, and rarely visited, at least by outsiders. Shielded by thick pine forests in its foothills.
I would be beginning my assault by circling the island, clearing out its rocky crags, before making my way up onto the cliffs and moving to secure the inland. I'd probably need to deal with a few village heads or the like, then we'd build our fort near a helpful village or town, to help it grow into a future capital, and then press on to reunite with the rest of the fleet.
The Island was a good bit smaller than Tarth, but it still had more than enough room on it to have its own politics, a facet of it which I was painfully unaware of.
I tugged at my brow. It wasn't as if that was really worth worrying about, to begin with, at least before I got there.
I glanced at the rifle displayed on my wall, plain and uniform as any of the men in my army, but capable of firing ten times a minute.
It put a smile back on my face, recalling back to a rather… repurposed quote I had used in my interview the day before.
"Whatever happens, we have got the needle gun, and they have not."