Chapter 31: The Battle of Sluys
[EDWARD'S POV]
November 8, 1337
Walter Manny's recent ill-fated assault on the port of Sluys mirrors historical events. Manny commanded 85 ships with approximately 1,450 troops and 2,200 mariners in his reckless attack. Although news of his failure hasn't reached me yet, it's anticipated that he will redirect northward to land with his forces at Cadzand, a desolate, marshy area housing small fishing villages at the entrance of the Hondt.
The moment I've been patiently awaiting for the past six months has arrived today. Leading my fleet of thirty-three ships, manned by 1,500 seasoned seamen well-versed in naval warfare, we will embark on our journey. Traveling at a brisk speed of 10 knots, we aim to reach our destination by dawn the next morning. Our objective is not to assist Sir Manny in his anticipated battle, as I am confident in his ability to achieve a decisive victory in Cadzand. Instead, I am steering my armada toward Sluys, the primary base of the French Fleet.
The Battle of Sluys, historically won by the English, will come three years too late, in 1340. By that time, the French, employing galleys—a vessel type commonly used by Mediterranean powers—would have wreaked havoc on English coasts through constant raids. These shallow-draught vessels, powered by banks of oars, allowed the French to penetrate shallow harbors and engage in effective raiding. The French supplemented their fleet with galleys hired from Genoa and Monaco, disrupting English commercial shipping and raiding the south and east coasts with impunity. The operation of galleys demanded specialized skills, often sourced from the Mediterranean as well.
If these galleys are left unchecked, they could wreak havoc on the coastal towns of England. That's a threat I won't allow to persist. Thus, I am determined to swiftly neutralize them. Due to Manny's recent unsuccessful attack, their morale remains high. However, this very success shall lead them to underestimate the might of a well-equipped armada. Their fleet primarily consists of galleys, highly effective in hit-and-run engagements. Yet, when confronted head-on, a galley's chances of survival diminish significantly.
Capitalizing on their overconfidence, I will lead my fleet into Sluys's territory. Armed with my recently acquired skill, the "Virtual Map," I will have access to a real-time map of my location, allowing for strategic maneuvers with the ability to zoom in or out as needed. This advantage will play a crucial role in our mission to decisively end the threat posed by the French galleys.
Currently, I am back in Cromer to begin the journey to Sluys. I have summoned all seamen, who are to go and fight alongside me in this battle, near the harbor. Activating my skill "Amplify", I say my prepared speech:
"Today, my valiant comrades, we stand at the threshold of an extraordinary endeavor, a mission that calls not just for our unwavering courage, but for the fire that blazes within each sailor aboard these mighty ships! I stand before you not as a lord or a commander but as one among you, bound by the shared purpose that unites us on this perilous journey."
The once noisy groups were now all silent, hanging on every word uttered by their regent.
"Each wave beneath our bows carries with it the tales of challenges that await us, challenges that demand not just our strength but the brilliance of our minds. We embark not as mere individuals but as a thunderous collective force, a maritime brotherhood ready to face the tempest head-on and emerge not just victorious, but triumphant in the face of adversity!
Today, we sail not only to protect the sacred shores of our beloved England but to confront a menacing threat that dares to cast a shadow upon our coastal towns. The French Armada, with its galleys and lofty ambitions, seeks to darken the very essence of our freedom. We, my comrades, stand as the indomitable guardians of these shores, the defenders of our people's livelihoods!
Our fleet, an awe-inspiring assembly of thirty-three ships, is not merely a collection of vessels; they are the living embodiment of innovation, the culmination of craftsmanship that propels us years ahead of the adversary we face. From reinforced hulls that defy the fiercest waves to state-of-the-art weaponry that will make our enemies tremble, these ships are a testament to our determination to safeguard our homeland.
Though I am but fourteen winters old, I stand tall beside each of you, for age is but a trivial number in the face of the boundless sea that stretches before us. It matters not whether you are a seasoned sailor or a greenhorn; today, we sail as equals, bound by a shared destiny that transcends time and tide.
As we draw near to Sluys, let our collective strength surge not just through the timber and rigging beneath our feet but through the very fabric of our unity! We are more than a crew; we are a family, and families endure. The French Armada, with its galleys and misguided ambitions, shall face the wrath of our maritime prowess, fueled by the courage that has sustained sailors through centuries, from the dawn of maritime exploration to this very moment!
Let our battle cry roar across the waves, a resounding declaration of our unwavering determination and unyielding resilience! Today, we sail not just with the wind at our backs but with the spirit of every Englishman propelling us forward. For our sacred motherland, for the unparalleled freedom we cherish, and for the radiant future that awaits us beyond the horizon!
Charge! In the spirit of the olden days when King Arthur united this land, let us envision the formation of Britannia rising from the very heart of England. Just as Arthur led with unwavering honor and unity, so shall we stand united against the tempest of adversity. Onward, as one indomitable force, towards a destiny forged by the resounding echoes of our glorious past and the radiant promise of our boundless future!"
I drew my sword, 'Vanquish,' and lifted it directly into the sunlight, allowing its gleam to cascade toward the assembled men.
"Onward Britannia"
A resounding cheer erupted from the gathered men, and in unison, they uttered only two words.
"Onward Britannia!"
As the cheer subsided, I strode purposefully toward the recently completed flagship, the largest battleship in the fleet, bearing the name "Avalon," drawn from the Arthurian Legends to symbolize my significance to them.
Observing my approach towards my ship, the Commodores took charge, leading their seamen to their respective flotillas. Within the next five minutes, every man was efficiently boarded onto their vessels, showcasing their remarkable mobility. The emphasis on naval drills had transformed them into a highly adaptable force, capable of swift boarding or disembarking as the situation demanded.
A resonant horn echoed through the air, signaling the commencement of our journey. The armada swiftly unfastened its anchors, initiating the sail, and thus, the expedition to Sluys commenced.
—--------------
November 9, 1337
As the sun remained hidden beneath the horizon, we found ourselves deep within Sluys' territory, our anticipation heightened. Now, all that stood between us and our objective was patience, waiting for the signal from the two skilled operatives dispatched to eliminate the guards on the watchtower.
These elite individuals hailed from the renowned assassin group known as 'The Silent Circle,' demanding substantial payments ranging from an astronomical £500 to undisclosed amounts for their services. Ten minutes had elapsed since their departure, and any moment now, the anticipated signal would reach us.
- Two Minutes Later -
A distant glow emanated from the northern-furthest watchtower, accompanied by billowing smoke. The impact of this fire had likely stirred awake a few soldiers, prompting them to investigate the source, unknowingly diverting their attention from our impending approach.
Silently, our fleet advanced toward the unguarded and unmanned French Armada, which awaited its fate as anticipated. The returning assassins signaled the success of their mission. A sense of urgency permeated the air as approximately 500 seamen swiftly disembarked, strategically setting ablaze the nearby ships. Within minutes, they regrouped, and the orchestrated destruction commenced.
Despite the primitive nature of the cannons, their effectiveness against substantial targets like ships couldn't be underestimated. Precision may have been lacking, but the sheer size of the vessels made them unavoidable targets. Each ship, boasting two cannons, unleashed a barrage of cannonballs at a rate of one per minute. With a formidable fleet of thirty-three ships, the resulting onslaught began obliterating the enemy armada and anyone unfortunate enough to obstruct its path. The air resounded with the thunderous roar of cannon fire, marking the commencement of total annihilation.
----------------------
[UNKNOWN POV]
Heading to relieve the next shift of guard duty, a sudden conflagration shattered the calm of the night. My urgent cry tore through the air, rallying my comrades into action. Within moments, we were all fervently using seawater to douse the flames. As I passed a bucket to the next man, a sudden explosive sound reverberated in my ears. All around me, my comrades turned, their faces etched with fear. I shifted my gaze to find several masts, their banners distinct from our familiar blue field, adorned with rows of fleur-de-lys devices. A whispered revelation from one of our commanders reached my ears, "The Golden Lions, The Plantagenets." The despair on his face was palpable—mouth agape in shock, eyes wide enough for dust to settle, and sweat profusely streaming from his bald head. This was the first time I had witnessed Captain Renaud in a state of panic. Known for being quick to act and calm in every situation, his ability to maintain composure had propelled him up the ranks at the young age of 35.
A frantic rush ensued as men sprinted toward the ships, driven by the fear that if the vessels were obliterated, they would become the next target with no avenue for escape. It was evident that their primary goal was to board a galley, leveraging its speed to distance themselves from this perilous scene and seek refuge in Paris.
In a matter of seconds, anguished screams pierced the air from the direction where the men had hastily fled. The diminishing sunlight obscured a clear view of the range and trajectory of the cannonballs, leading to many unfortunate souls being crushed under the projectiles as they attempted to close in on the vessel.
A distant cry shattered the air, carrying the weight of the news, "Admiral Hugues is dead!" The impact of this single utterance altered the course of events. Suddenly, the majority of the men succumbed to panic, rushing frantically toward the safety of the vessel. Some, in desperation, leaped into the water, swimming fervently in the ice cold waters of November. My own senses were paralyzed by shock, rendering me a mere observer. The enemy fleet, however, revealed a formidable sight—swarming with men, clad predominantly in red and adorned with striking gold embellishments.
In the midst of chaos, a realization struck me with a jolt: if their ranks boasted such a multitude of men, why weren't they launching a direct assault while our forces were in disarray? The answer surfaced in my mind—there was no need for an immediate attack. Their primary objective lay in the destruction of the French armada, a significant portion of which was now entangled in the narrow confines of Sluys. Furthermore, the panic among our soldiers seemed to be an ally in itself, diminishing the need for direct intervention from the crimson and gold-clad adversaries.
My gaze fixated on a pile of sheep wool, recently arrived from Bruges. In a sudden burst of inspiration, I sprinted toward the heap, leaped into its midst, and swiftly burrowed my way to the center. Though the air within was stifling, I found solace in the concealment it provided. Better to endure the discomfort of woolen confinement than face the impending doom of being crushed by a leaden projectile.
The passage of time seemed to drag on, or perhaps the barrage was so swift that its relentless rhythm distorted my sense of time. Each count echoed the impact of a cannonball landing. It wasn't until I reached 965 that the onslaught ceased. Emerging from the woolen sanctuary, I was greeted by the radiant sun on the horizon, seemingly urging submission to the departing fleet. My vision blurred with the blood of fallen comrades, and only a scant few still exhibited signs of life. In the deafening aftermath, my only coherent thought echoed: "The war has begun!"
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
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