Chapter 308: Trust Me!

Meanwhile, at sea...

Cold waves slapped against the bullet-riddled hull of a Brambleford galleon.

In the distance, a British warship was sinking, surrounded by flames, blood, and dozens of British corpses.

Behind Desmond’s galleon, two British warships were closing in.

They were third-rate ships-of-the-line, each with twice the firepower of his fifth-rate galleons, capable of sinking him in one broadside.

As Simon worried for him, Desmond had just survived a naval battle and was preparing to retreat.

Because he didn’t fully trust Tammy, Desmond hadn’t let him off the ship at the port.

Instead, he told the dock workers to bring the requested corn, peanuts, and potatoes first. Only then would Tammy be released.

To Desmond’s surprise, the British agreed that these crops weren’t considered valuable by them.

Still, Desmond remained cautious.

When the goods nearly filled all three galleons, Desmond was preparing to let Tammy go when he suddenly saw British warships slowly sailing out from the harbor.

That’s when he realized the whole deal had been a delay tactic.

The British didn’t care about Tammy.

They wanted the Brambleford galleons.

As one warship left the port, Desmond immediately ordered his ships to open fire.

The British returned fire at the same time.

Thanks to their agility, the Brambleford galleons dodged the next British broadside and returned fire again.

The British warship was sunk, but two more followed, trying to flank them.

One of the enemy ships heavily damaged two Brambleford galleons.

Desmond knew: if they continued fighting, they’d be destroyed.

He made a swift decision: retreat.

Their mission was complete. They had the goods. That was enough.

"Tammy! This is how you British treat guests?!"

Desmond’s eyes burned with rage.

They had killed dozens of his men, over thirty on his ship alone, and he didn’t yet know the toll on the others.

Though the ships hadn’t sunk, the damage was severe. They’d need repairs before sailing further.

He pressed a cold blade to Tammy’s throat.

"This wasn’t my fault!" Tammy cried, trembling.

"Any British officer seeing a galleon like yours would investigate. They would never let you go!"

Desmond looked back.

The British warships were still chasing them. One of their masts had already snapped.

"If we die, you die with us."

He pressed harder on the blade.

Tammy’s face turned pale.

"Don’t kill me! There’s a place only your kind of ship can pass through. The British warships can’t follow you there. I swear!"

"Captain, what now? Can we trust him?"

Desmond hesitated.

Then he looked at the pursuing warships and said grimly:

"We can die, but if we fail His Highness, everything is lost. Fine. One more chance. If we die, we die together!"

---

In the Brambleford military training ground, 500 soldiers from the Primary Battalion marched forward in column formation. Each carried a flintlock rifle on their shoulder, stepping in sync to the steady rhythm of a drum.

Collin marched alongside the formation, also keeping time with the drumbeat.

Since the Primary Battalion was equipped with flintlocks three days ago, they had been undergoing formation training.

At first, officers shouted commands during marching drills. But after two days, two small drums were delivered to the camp.

Benjamin randomly selected two soldiers from the battalion to serve as drummers.

"Because we fight in line formations, we need a unified rhythm. In future battles, without a consistent sound, it’s hard for the army to march in step. That’s why we use drums." Benjamin had explained when Collin asked about it.

He also mentioned this came directly from His Highness’s lectures at the Oxford Academy.

As he recalled that, Collin suddenly noticed a section of the line drifting out of place.

He picked up his staff and marched over, smacking the three misaligned soldiers once each.

Yelping in pain, they quickly corrected their steps and rejoined the formation.

Collin returned to his position and kept a close eye on the lines.

He didn’t fully understand why such slow, rhythmic marching was important, but he trusted His Highness’s decisions without question.

All he hoped for was the day when he too could go study at the Oxford Academy.

Meanwhile, Benjamin, Liam, Lancelot, Timothy, Ferrel, Ola, and Saka were attending a brand-new military lecture at the Oxford Academy.

After taking command of the Brambleford Army, Benjamin had promoted several outstanding junior officers, drawing from both the bold captains and the best centurions.

The army had grown to 20,000 soldiers, far more than when Lancelot had commanded just a few thousand.

Without enough officers, it would be impossible to lead in wartime.

All of Benjamin’s choices were reviewed by Simon, and he was pleased.

Their selections perfectly matched what he had in mind.

Benjamin had no selfish bias.

"My Lord, what is this?"

At the front of the classroom stood a giant sandbox model, six meters wide.

It displayed the terrain from Wondla, Preston, and Dunmere, stretching into territory held by the reaver tribes.

Markers on the map showed known enemy troop positions.

In the previous two days, Simon had been teaching basic flintlock tactics and had asked the officers to start implementing those ideas.

On the battlefield, flintlock formations were key, not accuracy, but mass volleys and continuous fire were what mattered.

"This is a battlefield simulation sandbox," Simon explained.

"On the side, you’ll find wooden pieces representing Brambleford troops and reaver units."

Benjamin picked up a wooden figure of a flintlock rifleman, about the size of a finger.

"This one’s artillery," Liam said, examining a cannon piece.

Lancelot wasn’t idle either; he took two cavalry pieces, one Brambleford, one reaver, and made them collide like toy soldiers.

Benjamin looked over the map and the figures.

He quickly grasped how to use them.

He placed an artillery unit at Dunmere and a reaver cavalry marker at the Sunderland Tribe’s encampment.

The other officers suddenly understood, their faces lighting up with excitement.

Benjamin truly had a general’s instinct.

He quickly understood the reforms, and Simon praised him.

"As you can see," Simon said. "This sandbox is just a detailed battlefield map. Today, we’ll simulate how to drive the reavers out of West Ham."

"Also, I’ll demonstrate a flintlock formation designed specifically to counter cavalry. You must memorize it and train your troops to form this hollow square formation quickly."

The officers nodded.

Benjamin spoke first:

"My Lord, defeating the reavers in West Ham will require cavalry. Francis’s recent performance has been outstanding; his Squad Divincox now numbers 6,000. Although our flintlocks have the range and firepower to fight the reavers in an open field, without cavalry, we’ll have a hard time chasing down retreating enemies. I recommend we combine the Squad Divincox with Brambleford’s own cavalry for joint training."

"Agreed." Simon nodded.

"We can’t only train the rifle units; cavalry must also undergo strict training. On the battlefield, success depends on combined arms."

"Then, should cavalry be equipped with flintlocks too?" Asked Timothy, a cavalry commander.

"Yes, but not long-barreled rifles," Simon replied.

"You’ll get short-barreled carbines. You can’t use long rifles on horseback. Also, your plate armor will be phased out."

"No armor?!"

Timothy was shocked.

"Without it, how do we stop reaver arrows?"

Simon thought for a moment.

"Plate armor restricts mobility. But you won’t go into battle unprotected; you’ll be equipped with breastplates, sabers, and become cuirassiers."

Simon had his reasons for this.

In the 18th century, cuirassiers were widely used on European battlefields.

Napoleon revived them to great success; their protection and survival rate were much higher than those of light cavalry.

Against reaver archery, a helmet and breastplate offered good defense while still allowing speed and maneuverability, ideal for chasing enemies or clearing the battlefield.

The only downside: short-barreled muskets were like triple-barreled hand cannons, good for two shots at most, then useless.

But in formal battle, even one volley could break enemy morale or frighten their horses.

Silent, stealthy attacks, however, still required crossbows like the Squad Divincox’s old compound bows, since flintlocks were too loud.

Simon explained this clearly to Timothy, who eventually nodded in agreement.

Benjamin laughed.

"No matter the cavalry type, training and discipline are our true weapons. Captain Timothy, don’t rely too much on gear."