Chapter 106

Saltpans was much like some of the other towns along the coast of the Narrow Sea that I'd besieged. It was close enough to the crownlands for certain architectural similarities to crop up. Notably, this included such things as the layout of the fortifications, with castle, harbor, and town all being clearly delineated. The Case stood on a hill overlooking the Harbor, which itself was fortified with two wooden towers that strung a chain across the entrance of the harbor, barring entry by any hostile ships. The Town had its own wall, a thick wall of quarried granite that would withstand a lot of gunfire thanks to its thickness, alongside round towers to better prevent undermining. To the west of the town, the Trident flowed into the Bay of Crabs, bringing silt with it that made for fertile farmland, though that wasn't House Hawick's main thing.

No, that would be the many salthouses in the town, where salt from House Cox and local fish from the Bay of Crabs, or local cuts of pork and beef, would be cured and salted, preserved while also being sold as far afield as Pentos, Gulltown, and King's Landing. This salting industry for the production of salted pork, beef, and fish had given Saltpans its name. At the same time, that industry had been supplemented by Saltpans' own salt flats, which contained a number of mineral salts I personally found quite useful, though that was a very recent thing for the Town. Still, between that and the salthouses, Saltpans was incredibly wealthy and it showed in the state of the fortifications, which were of good stone, the town, which was in good repair, and the defenders, which were a combination of sellswords and well-drilled militia.

And I was going to have to take this town swiftly if I wanted to have a chance to take Maidenpool before Littlefinger could send reinforcements from the Vale. Somehow, looking at what lay before me, I doubted that would happen. Two thousand of the forces arrayed against me here were militia, while a further two thousand were sellswords, and they weren't all sellswords from the group we'd been fighting so far either. I spotted a couple of new banners, the Blue Rose on Gray banner of the Company of the Rose and the Black and White Checkerboard Banner of the self-evidently-named Free Company were also present alongside the Tattered Standard of the Windblown, the White Lance on Yellow of the Long Lances, and the Red Bull on Black of the Lost Legion. Between Sellswords and Militia, the enemy had a Formidable collection of manpower here that currently outnumbered our own force.

"Between sellswords and militia, there must be seven thousand enemy troops here." Mused Ser Roger Groves.

"Aye, and with us only having five-thousand-three-hundred men ready to fight. The Tattered Prince has played for time and casualties and it has worked well for him. I should like to meet the man when this is all over and shake his hand. A man who can outfox me like that is due respect." I agreed.

"If we survive, you mean." Huffed Ser Raymun Darry.

"Cheer up, Ser Raymun, all is not lost yet. We're on the coast, after all." Opined Ser Harry Ruskyn.

"And? With that harbor chain, even Salhador Saan won't be getting into range to bombard the town. The Baidak's guns don't have the range to effectively bombard the battlefield from the coast. They're not that kind of craft, after all." Pointed out Ser Denys Irons.

"They don't have to. We're on the coast." Blinked Ser Bryen Farring, suddenly realizing what Ser Harry meant.

"Indeed. We have a massive combined fleet in the Narrow Sea. It should only take them a few days to get into the Bay of Crabs." I nodded.

"So that's the plan, eh? What do we do until they arrive?" Questioned Ser Roger.

"Delay battle for as long as possible." I answered.

"I mislike that plan. It sounds like cowardice." Scoffed Ser Raymun Darry.

"You wish to fight without the fleet, Ser Raymun?" Queried Ser Harry Ruskyn.

"We'd likely be defeated." Cautioned Ser Bryen Farring.

"Still. Is there no other strategem to employ?" Asked Ser Raymun Darry.

"I can't think of one." Shrugged Ser Denys Irons.

"That being the case, I think we have our plan." I insisted.

And like that, we had our plan for the Battle of Saltpans ready to go. Salhador Saan and Ser Harry Ruskyn both sent messages to the fleet, hoping that their ravens would get through if the Tattered Prince shot down the others' ravens. Then we tried delaying battle. Fortunately, on the first day, the Tattered Prince was content to sit behind his fortifications, to attempt to make us assault him while he had the benefit of good stone towers and walls to put between us. Instead of trying to blast him or dig him out, however, we simply set up a siege camp and launched a few desultory bombardments from the landward side to keep the enemy on their toes. The Tattered Prince was no fool, however, and seemed to realize that we were simply trying to keep his force penned in place.

On the second day, the Tattered Prince switched his tactics and began launching sallies from Saltpans to probe our camp. Constant attacks whistled our forces down as we repelled them, to just about five thousand men over the course of the day still ready and able to fight. The constant, probing, raids had even managed to wound the redoubtable Ser Denys Irons. He'd been leading a force to plug the gap in the line of defenders that had been opened up through strategic use of the Windblown's Musketeers when he found himself face-to-face with one of the Captains of the Windblown, Caggo Corpsekiller, a hulking Dothraki with a rare Valyrian Steel Arakh. I watched to duel happen from my command tent, helpless to arrive in time to stop it.

Ser Denys gave a good accounting of himself, exchanging a dozen blows with Caggo Corpsekiller before the Veteran Sellsword disarmed him using the sickle of his Arakh to hook Ser Denys' Runic, Arsenal Steel, Ironborn Battleaxe out of his grasp. What followed was a swift slash that parted the Boiled Leather over Arsenal Steel Chain that Ser Denys had been wearing and cut a large gash along Ser Dennys' chest. Ser Denys fell back, wounded, and had to be carried off the field. Fortunately, before Caggo Corpsekiller could press his attack into the camp, more reinforcements arrived to drive off his sally party. Ser Denys, thankfully, had the presence of mind to juke backward as Caggo Corpsekiller struck the final blow. The Dothraki Sellsword hadn't hit anything vital and with rest and a trip to the surgeon, Ser Denys would recover to fight another day. He would have a massive scar, though, and would be out of action for a while to boot.

It was the third day when the Tattered Prince decided to stop playing around. Early in the morning, he marched his force out of Saltpans to array themselves for battle on the plain between our siege camp and Saltpans. He must have sensed that time was running out for his force because he had clearly decided to stop playing around. If we didn't do likewise, the enemy force would be free to assault our siege camp. We had to array ourselves for battle as well, there was simply no other way. The only problem was that the Fleet was still hours away. If we engaged the Tattered Prince now, we would lose a lot of men unnecessarily. However, if we didn't, he would attack our siege camp, potentially causing a lot of damage anyway. Both of our options were bad here. That was the mark of a good commander though, the ability to force your opponent to have to pick from various bad choices. Now I really wanted to shake the Tattered Prince's hand.

"When in doubt, attack." I mused.

"My Lord?" Questioned Ser Roger Groves.

"Array the men for battle. We'll meet the Tattered Prince on the field." I ordered

"Is that wise?" Queried Ser Harry Ruskyn.

"Whether it is or not, it's less potentially damaging than allowing him to attack our camp." Pointed out Ser Raymun Darry.

"You just want to actually fight." Pointed out Ser Bryen Farring.

"That doesn't make him wrong, Ser Bryen." I chimed.

"The Fleet Elements under Lord Crabb are still hours away, can we last that long?" Asked Ser Roger Groves.

"We have to try, at least. Besides, this will give us a shot at avenging Ser Denys." I insisted.

"Aye, from what I hear, he's gone mad with how little there is to do laid up in a cot in the Surgeon's Tent, unable to so much as get up to take a piss without tugging dozens of stitches keeping his chest from splitting back open." Smirked Ser Raymun Darry.

"Very well, My Lord. We'll follow your lead." Nodded Ser Harry Ruskyn.

"Aye. Hopefully, Lord Crabbe will sail in and be able to contribute, stranger things have happened, after all." Shrugged Ser Bryen Farring.

"Indeed. Now let's be about that business. Muster the men." I commanded.

And with that, horns were sounded, drums beaten, and men equipped and mustered. By the time morning was fully underway, our force was arrayed for battle opposite the Tattered Prince's Force of Militia and Sellswords. They outnumbered us by just about two thousand troops, though, and I was hoping that Lord Crabbe and the Fleet detachment would arrive in time to aid us. It was an unfamiliar position to be in for me, having to hope to effectively be rescued by something that may or may not actually happen. It stank of desperation, which was an unusual cologne for me to wear. I was so used to being in control of a situation by now that facing the very real possibility of losing felt wrong to me somehow. Wrong or not, it was the situation that I found myself in, however. I would just need to do my best and hope that things worked out.

As the Battle of Saltpans began with an exchange of cannon fire, the rumbling of guns from both sides cut through my lingering doubts, ending my introspection like punctuation ends a sentence. The flame, sound, and smoke that boomed out from batteries on both sides were punctuated by the screams of dying men as cannonballs found their marks. Unfortunately for us, it seemed that Lord Hawick had drilled his gunners well. More of their shots hit the mark than had been usual for my enemies so far. I watched as a battery from The Skulls was hit with three separate cannonballs from enemy four-pounder guns, ricocheting inside the fieldworks that the battery had dug to protect themselves but had instead become the tomb of the gunners. We took out a battery thanks to some of my gunners from Bloodstone, but a battery from the Isle of Women went up in an explosion as another of Lord Hawick's batteries hit their powder barrels. That battery in turn was pounded into dust by a Battery from Morne.

As the Artillery duel continued, I realized that the relative prosperity of the Eastern Riverlands had allowed Lord Hawick to focus plenty of funding on his artillery force. They were going shot for shot with our own artillery force in a bloody duel. Unfortunately, I couldn't worry about that now, as the Windblown Skirmishers had entered musket range, their matchlocks ripping out a volley. Our own snaplocks answered them, and dozens of men fell on both sides in another brutal contest. The enemy was scarily accurate, the Tattered Prince must have drilled them relentlessly for precision, knowing he would be unable to compete with our snaplocks for rate of fire with Matchlocks. It was proving brutally effective, I had to say.

Just before the musketeers on both sides withdrew, and the lines clashed together, I realized something. The Tattered Prince had made a meat grinder here, one that I could not afford to engage with for long, yet which I had apparently just walked right into, suckered into it by my opponent's tactics and my own ego. Even if we won here, if the fleet arrived and turned the tide, allowing us to take Saltpans, there was no way we would be able to push on Maidenpool afterward. We wouldn't have the men for it. That would allow Maidenpool to be reinforced by the Vale, which would technically accomplish the Tattered Prince's objectives for this campaign. It was a master-stroke of strategy from the Man. Honestly, it sort of scared me how brilliant that was.

"So this is what it's like having competent enemies? How frightening." I mused.

Then there was no more time for thinking about grand strategy as the lines met and all was chaos. . .

XXXX

AN: Dun Dun Dun! Cliffhanger! Guess you'll have to keep reading to find out just how bad things get. Sorry, not sorry.

But yeah, the Tattered Prince is no joke. He realized early on that the only way to accomplish the objectives he'd been given by his employer was to play for time, bleeding Ricasso in little battles while fortifying his own capabilities. Convincing Lord Hawick to get reinforcements from other Sellsword Companies, drilling his existing forces relentlessly, and then betting big on an engagement designed to inflict maximum casualties on the enemy. It's working for him really well so far. Even if Ricasso wins here and takes Saltpans, he won't have the ability to take Maidenpool before the Vale can send reinforcements, at which point, the Eastern Riverlands becomes a major front to replace the Crownlands Front.

At any rate, the next chapter will be the remainder of the Battle of Saltpans and the resolution of the Cliffhanger.

Stay tuned. . .