Coming of the Red Anchor

Chapter 31 – A Punishment

Mid 299AC

Lordsport, Iron Islands

Dagmar staggered along the deck of the ship, half drunk from wine and ale. The war had not gone well for the ironborn. Their assault on the North had failed with only a handful of ships returning, talking nonsense and raving about ships that sent out booms which caused ships to erupt into piles of wood and water. He scoffed and staggered over to the side before hurling his guts over the edge. Wiping his mouth he chuckled at his drunkenness before flashing a crooked grin at one of his shipmates who was slumped half asleep against the mast. "Oi Cregan, when 'e off to 'uck the North again?" he asked, bored of all the sitting around. Reaving and pillaging was a heck of a lot more fun than what they'd done for the last moon or two.

"Don't rightly know Dagmar. Old Balon is just sitting in his hovel he calls a keep muttering and complaining about stupidity." Cregan gave a yawn and took a swig of the cup of wine he had, a larger bottle sitting a few feet from him.

"Too right though. Don't know 'ow the fools who went North lost. There was no fleet up there anyway coz those Britanicans were off fucking up the lions."

"Still are the way I hear it" the man replied with a dark chuckled.

"Sure would like some blonde cunt, nothing here but dried sows" Dagmar complained bitterly.

"Not got a rock wife then?" Cregan asked.

"Why have a rock wife when I can have ten salt wives" Dagamr answered with a lecherous grin. The two bantered and bickered some more about the state of the war until he caught the flicker of something out the corner of his eye in the distance.

"Eh? What's that?" he asked, the alcohol still stifling his mind as he squinted out into the dark.

"Looks like a light, probably on the mainmast of a ship, one of the ironfleet returning from patrol perhaps?"

"What fleet? The North sunk it" Dagmar spat resentfully.

"Britanican ships then?"

"Why'd they come 'ere? We have nothin' for those traders and they're greenlanders, they ain't got the balls to come fight us."

"Baratheon did" Cregan pointed out while staring at the growing light.

"Yeah well they gotta get lucky with some mad cunt who will make them come here at some point."

Anything further he would have said was cut off by a loud BOOM as a warehouse on the harbour side exploded in a fountain of rubble and wooden splinters. Several more booms sounded and a few splashes of cold salty water shot up from the sea while a wall collapsed and another building was demolished. Staring in disbelief he saw more lights come into view as a large three or four deck monstrosity came into focus, little port holes open in the sides with smoke coming from a few of them. More booms and a dozen more buildings exploded, sending debris onto neighbouring houses.

By now bells rang with alarm throughout the port town of Lordsport, the ironborn rousing themselves for a fight and yet no enemy seemed to make for the shore in order to land. A number of war galleys surged into the harbour, manoeuvring around the large fortress like ship that sent out further booms, and fired their complement ballistas and small catapults onto the quayside, setting fire to buildings and warehouses while also targeting the other ships moored in the harbour. No ship, regardless of purpose and size was targeted.

Dagmar began shouting below deck to wake the others while Cregan moved towards the single scorpion mounted at the stern of the longship. Two men shakily came up wearing their boiled hardened leather armour and moved to help Cregan. The three worked together to tilt the device and then slowly aimed it at one of the attacking ships and fired. The scorpion launched the bolt towards the war galley and smashed into the upper decks. They heard some screams and a few shouts to which they grinned before reloading. Suddenly their ship lurched to one side and rocked in the water as spray from the water swept over them. Dagmar looked over the edge in time to see the ripples of water fade. A catapult had shot their way.

"Hard to port!" he shouted as more crew moved into positions around the ship. Another splash and cold water swept across the deck from the opposite side, soaking the men but they were ironborn so they ignored it. He looked back towards the shore and saw devastation. Fires raged across the town as fireballs were launched from the war galleys into the heart of the port. The entire harbour area was ruined with the sea walls looking to have been breached in several places, letting in more sea water and eroding the remaining segments of the wall, while docks and warehouses full of supplies were aflame or lying in pieces on the ground. Screams and shouts could be heard from the scared and terrified populace as more building exploded into rubble and additional fires were started.

Seeing no other choice, since staying would mean death, he ordered the ship to breach the blockade and escape. Hopefully the enemy will be too busy destroying the harbour and the town to notice a lone ship slip by. He would not die in a pointless fight. He hoped Greyjoy got off his arse and finally did something as this was stupid. They were ironborn, rulers and reapers of the waves, none should challenge them. And yet for over nearly twenty years one house had fought them for control of the Sunset Sea. He would see them pay in blood and find out all their secrets. The Drowned God was everything, for what is dead may never die.

Unfortunately his hope of a quick escape did not happen, even with him getting the crew to reluctantly flee the attack and slowly edge around the large harbour towards to exit. The large monstrosity of a ship, now to be clearly seen sporting the flag and sigil of House Britanican, seemed to shift and turn, presenting a full broadside towards him. He swallowed uneasily, not liking the view of those port holes pointing his way. Nor how there were three decks of them before the main top deck was reached. "Full ahead lads, we serve the Drowned God still. Row hard and we'll make for Volmark on Harlaw, and pray the Reader take us in" he called to hearten his men. "Row now! Unfurl the sail!" he barked while trying to hide the nervous he felt staring at what was clearly the flagship of the enemy. It was a mad dash towards the harbour's exit and freedom. And life.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! It echoed across the harbour as multiple flashes of light and puffs of smoke came from the flagship. He heard a whistling sound as something flew overhead while others seemingly splashed harmlessly in the water on either side of the ship. More loud bangs sounded, luckily they evaded them before their luck then quickly ran out as a whistling went overhead. With a loud crash and an eruption of wooden splinters, the main mast cracked and split about half of the way up, much to his, and every other ironborn's, growing horror. A couple of his men cried out in pain and he looked down to see them with large chunks of wood impaled in an arm or leg, one man took a piece about the length of his forearm to the chest, killing him in a gurgle of blood. He gulped. "Row for your lives you bastards! Cut the mast loose, don't let it anchor us so we broach and sink!" he ordered, hoping the rowing and cutting the mast loose would get them moving.

More water splashed over the sides as men took axes to the collapsed mast. Dagmar shouted orders and got the rowers rowing but he knew not if it would work. A sudden loud crash and he was thrown forwards, hitting his head on the raised sides, towards the aft end of the vessel. Stumbling uneasily to his feet, he lurched again and the longship rocked in the sea by the end of the sea wall, so close to escaping the attack. He herd low splashed and shout as men fell overboard but he could do nothing for them. "Row!" he yelled but few obeyed. He turned to the stern and saw a large hole in the deck and side, like a beast from the depths had taken a bite from the hull. Water gushed in and he knew then that this was it it. "Abandon ship! Swim!" More cries went up in reply as more bites were taken out of the ship with splinters flying before he felt something pierce his neck. He had just enough time to reach for the point of pain before he collapsed to his knees, blood gurgling in his throat as he spluttered and fell to the deck. His body was quickly covered in cold sea water as the longship was swallowed by the waves to the cries of those below, cries which slowly fell silent as they too were subsumed by the sea.

xxxxx

Admiral Cosmo observed the scene from the main deck of the Victory. The harbour was in ruins and every ironborn vessel and boat was sunk or damaged beyond repair. This port would not recover any time soon either and neither would any of the others around these damned islands. As the squadron here attacked Lordsport so the rest of the fleet launched simultaneous attacks on every port and harbour they knew off, thanks to years of monitoring by drones and submarines. There were few soldiers with the fleet as most had landed at Seagard before marching to Riverrun with Warrington but he didn't need them. He had met the Victory and its two escorts there while the rest of their fleet under Gardener had returned back north to home. He had then taken the bulk of the Britanican fleet and begun his attacks. The crews he had were capable enough and most of the ships were high enough that boarding action was incredibly unlikely.

Jon Snow, or Jaehaerys Targaryen as he was getting more widely known as, would be getting two thousand well equipped men including a hundred with modern rifles which even now could rip a man to shreds. He agreed with Warrington and the others that it was now time they showed their muscles somewhat, especially now after many years of research and developing the right industries that they were able to make proper bullets, and not the lead ones used in the antique muskets (not that they'd used muskets here, dreadful inaccurate things). No but now they had the know how to make explosives and bullets, soon that would change to include missiles but they needed plastic for that. And for plastic they needed a reliable source of oil.

Oil was not an easy thing to find in a medieval world though they had been looking for years for what they needed in order for their vehicles, such as personnel carriers, planes and the ships, to work. So far all they had found were some the very small reservoirs tapped by Dorne and a couple of free cities which export ship loads of distilled crude oil for use in war such as for tar or pitch or for use in boiling oil barrels in a siege. They had of course purchased samples from all of said suppliers for them to test and refine into something more pure for use in aviation or engine fuel. Cosmo just hoped they found a large enough supply as whale oil or fish oil while working in a pinch were not a suitable alternative as they did not burn long enough to keep an engine going. Soon though, soon they would have a fix and no longer need to mothball the original fleet of the Americans and Brits.

Giving the harbour one more look he nodded to himself and barked out orders. "Cease fire, signal all ships to withdraw. Pass along my congratulations for their shooting and handiwork to the other captains. Lets leave this god awful place." The captain of the ship nodded and began issuing orders and passing along messages. He could hear the gun crews below relaxing and stowing their gear as they cleaned and sorted the guns before winching them into their resting positions, gun flaps shutting with a thud. The helmsman began swinging the wheel round and the crew began unfurling certain sails as the huge vessel began to turn to leave the harbour. There was only one more target for him, to cut off the head of the sake.


Pyke

Balon could hardly believe what had occurred. In fact he still didn't. The Iron Fleet, his Iron Fleet, should have crushed the measly force left behind by the Britanicans while they fed on the flesh of the lion and yet his fleet had somehow been destroyed nearly to a ship. Only a handful had escaped and they all swore by the drowned god that three ships, which were larger than anything they'd ever seen, had shot out booming sounds which then caused his ships to explode. He knew not what sorcery or magic it was. From what he heard those people weren't that religious in the first place so he doubted magic but what else could it be. No ships sent out a boom which caused others to sink. None. He sighed irritably when a guard gingerly knocked on his door and came in.

"What? Don't you know not to disturb me while I plot our return to mastery of the seas and me as your king?" he growled out. The guard shrank back but rallied and nervously approached him.

"Pardon Your Grace but ravens have arrived carrying messages."

"And that blasted maester didn't come tell me himself?!" Balon roared at the guard who shied away at the outburst.

"Beg pardon but he asked me to bring them while he got more. Apparently half a dozen arrived nearly at once." Balon huffed, annoyed at the failings of his men. How was he to rule when all he had were fools. Even Asha was lost to him as a hostage in Winterfell although one reaver claimed she might be held a Riverrun currently due to the war but she was as good as lost to him either way. A greenlander would never inherit the Salt Throne and with Damphair a useless wreck and unlikely to sire a child he was left few options. His wife still lived but was of an age unlikely to take any more children and so was useless to him. He had not gone reaving in years, being too busy running the iron islands, and so he had no salt wives. He could arrange an accident but he was not the heartless mad fool that Euron had been so he wouldn't do that. Which left him only to arrange for a kingsmoot after his death.

"Fine, bring them here" he spat out, reaching for the letters. Quickly skimming them he saw they were all calls for aid against an attacking force bearing the sigil of House Britanican. He noted the sigils on the wax seals and saw they were from the islands and areas nearest Pyke including Lordsport. His eyebrows then furrowed in concern as he noted it seemed to be a co-ordinated attack with the aim to remove all the vessels the Iron Born possessed and their ability to construct them. Even the secret shipyard on the far side of Pyke had sent a letter saying ships were attacking and razing the place. How? How could they know and target everywhere?

True the ironfleet was no more but each lord still had a few ships and yet by this it seemed the northerners were walking over them, sinking ships left and right. But what shook him was that a couple of keeps and holds had been attacked that were not too close to the sea that a ballista would hit them and, knowing his enemy like he did, he therefore suspected Pyke itself would be next. It sat almost in the sea, they wouldn't be able to resit not attack it. "Alert the guards, put the castle on lock down. Seal every gate and ready every scorpion and other defences we have. The enemy attacked Lordsport so we will be next."

He had barely spoken the order when he felt the castle shake gently. He frowned, almost thinking he'd imagined it but then his home shook again. He exchanged a look with the guard before storming out the room, looking for the nearest view out to sea. He stumbled to one side as the corridor shook with dust falling from the ceiling. He eyed it dubiously before hurrying on. Balon eventually found a medium size balcony big enough for four people and looked out. The sky was dark still but faint hints of light in the far east hinted at the coming dawn. Down below on the seas surrounding Pyke sat three large ships, one bigger than the others. He could just make out their shape and spotted dim flashes of light along with a lot of fog. He sniffed, no it was not fog but smoke. Why would there be smoke though? He could see no fires. The room shook and he spotted rock erupting from the island towers which held up much of Pyke above the sea and in line with the island proper.

His eyes widened in horror suddenly. The towers, if they took out the towers parts of the castle would fall into the sea. No, surely nothing could damage them enough for that, they were too thick. More distant booms echoed in the air before crashes were heard and he saw small parts of the Kitchen Keep fall into the sea below. He noted that the rock which made up the tower that was holding it up were cracked and were tearing apart, only getting worse with each successive hit which caused the Kitchen Keep to begin to ever so slightly sway. The rope bridges connecting the Kitchen to the other islands began snapping from the strain of its wobbling. He held his breath, surely not. But it did. Another series of blows from something struck the rock tower holding up the keep, like an axe chipping away at a tree trunk, blasting the rock apart and damaging the structure further. The Kitchen Keep was now very clearly wobbling uneasily and as he stood watching he could see it tilting from the impacts and strong winds.

BOOM! BOOM! Two blows struck the rock from different angles and then it went. Slowly at first, pebbles and small pieces breaking off but the momentum from its shifting weight which only sped up its collapse. Large chunks began breaking off from the tower and more segments of the Kitchen Keep began falling into the cold seas. He could hear the sounds of splashing and yells from the inhabitants trapped on the island as it piece by piece fell into the depths below. It took the ships of House Britanican only an hour from start to finish to demolish the tower. He stared at the spot where water now frothed and swirled down below. He knew not how long he did but daylight eventually broke and he realised that most of Pyke still stood. A warning. We can do this, do not push us. He gulped nervously and something broke deep inside, knowledge that the ironborn would never rise again for so long that the red anchor sailed these seas.

A jangle of chains announced the arrival of the maester which he barely registered as he slumped into his throne. "Your Grace, I have more messages."

"What do they say? What can I, Lord of Pyke, and King do?" he spat bitterly. He was king f some barren rocks, he had nothing, he barely held his crown.

"More attacks reported" the maester began nervously. "Orkmont, Blacktyde and Sealskin Point have reported attacks on their ports, harbours and shipyards. Also a raven from Old Wyk and the shipyard you ordered built there has reported great devastation with much burnt to the ground or destroyed. Every ship was burnt or sunk. Similar from elsewhere, including ships of every kind being sunk or burnt such as fishing boats and small row boats. I believe that -" he was cut off by an angry roar as Balon stood and flipped over a nearby table sending the food platter, jug of wine and some parchment flying and scattered across the floor.

"You're telling me we have nothing? NOTHING!?" he yelled furiously. The maester gulped and nodded choppily.

"Yes Your Grace, anything that floats has been burnt or sunk. Shipyards and ports have been razed or left crippled almost beyond repair." Balon yelled again before pacing a few times and then settling back into his throne.

"Our fleets?"

"Indications are that any ship found outside the ports and harbours are being chased and sunk as well. They are cutting us off completely from the sea and mainland. You know as I that we have no trees here, none worth mentioning at least Your Grace" the maester reported sadly.

"Leave me."

"My king?"

"Leave!" The old man bowed and left leaving Balon to his thoughts. This was the kraken's end. The islands had little ground to farm, perhaps a few would survive but cut off like they were with most buildings made of stone and all their former trees already used they needed the mainland for trees and food. With every boat gone they would starve, most likely killing each other for what little food they could scrounge up. He could not see a way to avoid it. None on the mainland would help, perhaps a few ironborn reaving the Narrow Sea or the Reach and Dorne might survive but would they return soon enough to be of use? The greenlanders wouldn't, they would cheer his demise and yet he felt he could not even curse them, his strength was gone. Just like all their ships and boats. He could not reave, and his people would not follow him after such a disaster, not now he'd lost a portion of his own keep and lost every ship or boat they had. Admittedly a few row boats might remain scattered around but not enough to fish enough for them all to live or travel far.

He heaved himself to his feet and walked idly though his corridors, noting some of the treasure his family had taken and other decorations reaped from their plunders. His family was dead, or as good as, and he would not be followed as ironborn value strength which he lacks. He found the balcony again, looking down at the broken remains of the Kitchen Keep. How many had died in that, how many could die if the rest of Pyke was collapsed. He shivered, whether by cold or by the dark thoughts it did not matter. He felt a presence behind him and saw it was the guard from earlier. "What?" he spat angrily. He wanted to be alone to think. He had to plan something. The guard didn't reply except to give a blank look before standing guard nearby. Balon growled before turning back to his view and quiet thoughts. What could he do? There must be some trick or plan to rebuild his people? Perhaps an appeal for support from the Iron Throne? In exchange for supplies to rebuild a fleet and thus trike back at House Britanican he would bend the knee again, for what is dead may never die but rises again harder, stronger. Nodding to himself and so lost in his thoughts was he that he did not hear the sound of moment or of metal grinding on leather before he felt a sharp pain in his back and then he was falling into the icy sea below with nary a yell so in shock was he.

AN: Hello and hope you liked this latest instalment. Sorry it took so long but I have been job hunting and lacking in motive to write so I'm sure you're all pleased to see this pop up. I have no idea when I'll put out another chapter, probably next month, maybe sooner if I feel like writing.