They were clumsy vessels those dromons, as I suspected. Some variations of the dromon were designed to harry a retreating enemy, but definitely not those. We rowed leisurely and they were hard at our tails. They were already out of their precious nook.
"Abu Musa!" I bellowed at my quartermaster when the first of the Roman arrows found their way onto our deck. The command echoed onto the other ships in my entourage, and in a split second, we picked up our pace, putting some distance between us and the pursuing Romans.
Speed and mobility, I thought to myself. It was key to Arab success on land as well as sea.
The units to the south and north, those commanded by Abu al-A'war and 'Amr would notice our change in pace. That was our signal. They would be dipping their own oars into the water now and charge headlong against both current and wind. Meanwhile, my twenty ships were met by the thirty we left behind. The Romans must have now realized they were walking into a trap. It was too late. It had been too late the moment they set oar out of their cove.
It would take an eon for their lumbering vessels to turn and race back into the shadow of their guard towers and crags. By then, we would have either cut them off or risk the remaining two commanders crashing into their flanks.
Now all they could do was stand their ground and give themselves a fighting chance in their resplendent war machines. There were two levels of rowers, a hundred and twenty in total. There were oarsmen below decks and a plethora of benches on the main deck. We could use that abundance of oars to cripple them.
The three ships were all adjacent to one another now, hovering over the water and growing farther apart, I noticed.
They were facing fifty ships now. And twice that number was headed their way from either direction. They needed to act fast and sink us. The ships on the left and right were swerving away from their central counterpart in an effort to flank our column and disperse. The distance between each vessel was that of five or six normal ships. I nodded to myself, a plan forming in my head.
I rushed to the deck and called for my son, 'Abd al-Ka'aba, on the ship to our right. We were in the front line, biding our time, delaying so that Abu al-A'war and 'Amr could close the distance.
"Head for the right-most ship!" I bellowed at my son, who was wide-eyed and alert, donned in his usual red turban and all his war gear. "Go steady. When I swerve right, let me pass and cover me!"
He did not know what I had planned but he nodded briskly, and I smiled in pride. I would not let any dark-robed bastards lay a finger on him ever again. I strode back to the stern and explained my plan to Abu Musa. He howled with laughter, spread his arms wide and threw his head back.
"You are a mad bastard, ibn Ka'b! May Jesus watch over your madness!"
I'd prefer the gods and goddesses of war, I thought.
I needed one more ship. I spoke briefly with the officer in charge of the ship to our rear and filled him in on his role in what was to come. He gulped, looking nervous but he repeated his orders clearly to me in a steady voice. The plan was set into motion.
Abu Musa bellowed commands to move us forward and the rowers dipped their oars, jumpstarting us toward the central dromon. In their arrogance, perhaps the Romans would think we were about to ram them headfirst or attempt a boarding.
I snuck glances at 'Abd al-Ka'aba from beneath my shield as we were showered with arrows from archers on deck and on two elevated platforms. Some of my boys were struck down by arrows let loose from other ships; it was the advantage of having those two damned forts on a ship. They could multitask. I felt my rage fill me, bursting through my body, and it consumed me. The loss of men strengthened my resolve and I bellowed in anger beneath my shield as a dozen more arrows pounded against the wood relentlessly. There were arrow shafts sticking through the wooden board of the shield, mere inches away from my face.
Such is the reality of battle. You are thrown into this world of chaos that was unlike any other. You stand shoulder to shoulder with thousands of men, well-equipped and well-trained. Yet, you cannot help but feel alone.
The moments where a swarm of arrows darken the sky pass as though hours. You are helpless but to stand your ground and observe. Observe these pieces of iron and wood push you back with the force of their impact on your shield. You watch as they fly past, buzzing by your ears as though flies.
And you watch your friends die and suffer.
No matter how experienced one is, no matter how hardened a veteran. It is in those moments that even the strongest of men know fear.
As our own archers allowed us a few moments' respite with an answering volley of their own, I peaked over the iron rim of my shield and saw that we were close enough to unravel the plan. The enemy ship to the right had swerved enough to begin to stray clear of us, aiming to flank the column of fifty ships. It was a substantial distance away from the others.
I roared at Abu Musa, but the man was competent enough to have already rasped out the necessary orders and begin steering us clear of the central ship. With a sudden lurch, we drifted to the right and several men lost their footing, sliding on the already slippery deck flowing with water. I grabbed ahold of the railing and laughed madly as the wind lapped against my hair, slapping it on my cheeks.
We picked up our pace, moving out of bowshot from the ship that had been harassing us.
'Abd al-Ka'aba's men had performed their part astutely. They slowed as soon as they glimpsed our change of course and let us slide past. They drew their arrows and harangued the central dromon with a maelstrom of projectiles, allowing us to maneuver away from them unhindered. As we put distance between us and the front lines of the fight, 'Abd al-Ka'aba's ship also dug their oars into the surface and raced at our heel. The third ship with the nervous officer was also in tow, directly to our rear.
The enemy ship to the right noticed our approach and they began raining down hell upon us from their decks and from atop their bloody towers. But they were overwhelmed, their attention deflected; they had three ships rushing toward them, and so the volleys weren't as deadly as they would have been.
As we neared the dromon, 'Abd al-Ka'aba's ship leered sideways and slowed their pace. They were now in bowshot. They began harassing the Romans with volley after volley. They were covering our approach, softening the Romans and soaking up their arrows. We were moving at lightning speed, relatively unhindered, yet raising our shields was a wise and necessary precaution.
We were closing the gap, the exposed flank of the Roman ship nearing us, the turning of two decks of oars increasingly frantic and desperate as they failed to steer in time to avoid collision. We were close enough to see the panicked faces of the Romans aboard the ship and hear their terrified cries.
They had a right to be terrified. For we crashed into their side.
"Brace!" I bellowed. "Brace, you bastards!"
My grip on the rail was knuckle-white and I huddled against it, crouched. I shut my eyes and grimaced, anticipating the impact. But all those precautions were in vain once we slammed into the Romans.
The sound was hideous. It was as if a great beast was roused from slumber, rising with a vengeance, its roar a fearsome sound that shook the heavens. Layers of wood splintered, and yet more crashes and roars sounded from the Roman hull. On collision, my fingers slipped from the rail and I was sent sliding down the deck, my vision a blur, my shield lost. I remember shrieks of terror and triumph alike. I remember flashes of the water-sprayed deck. I remember pain surging through me as I thumped against either a rowers' bench, the mast or the rail. For a moment, the world blacked out. But when I regained consciousness, our ship had steadied, and there was a momentary calm.
It was the calm before the storm.
I sat up, tasting blood in my mouth. Our ship lulled in place. Our men's faces as well as those of the Romans were open-mouthed in awe. The moment passed, and we resumed hostilities, for the archers atop the towers and those aboard 'Abd al-Ka'aba's ship never ceased their incessant volleys.
We did not drift away from the Roman ship nor did we sink it. The hull was too thick. But we did considerable damage. Yet, it would all be for naught if we didn't drift away rather than continue lulling in our place, our prow still connected to the enemy ship's flank.
"Abu Musa?" I yelled at him inquisitively.
He shrugged. "We must have snagged on some section of the hull."
I glanced again at the ship and grunted in satisfaction. We may not have entirely destroyed the hull, but the damage was substantial. We had crippled many of their oars, on both levels. Had I been able to witness the ramming, I would have seen the oars strike the rowers in the chests as they flew upward from the impact. Such a strike was enough to break a man's ribs, if not outright kill the rower. The oars, of course, would have either snapped in half or plummeted into the sea.
But now, we had a problem. I needed our third ship, the one with the nervous officer, to capitalize on the fresh vulnerability and ram the Romans in the exact spot we just did. But it looked as though our ram had caught onto something on the inside of the dromon. We were locked in tight.
By the gods, I hope that bastard of an officer can improvise.
I could, though. Without a moment's hesitation, I barked out orders to form three rows of archers spanning the entire length of the ship. Each archer's unit would be covered by a dozen or so men – the rowers who would pick up their shields and do their part until we were free of the clingy Romans. I hurried back to the stern, where I raised my shield to protect Abu Musa and myself.
Now, our adversary would be showered with arrows from our vassal, 'Abd al-Ka'aba's, as well as the third one approaching. The latter made for good speed and thank the gods the nervous officer knew to improvise when the plan had gone awry. Attached to the dromon, we felt the jarring of the crash as we heard it. The noise was truly deafening. The sound of the mortal realm being torn asunder. Oars snapped in an instant and rolled in their looms to break some Roman bones.
The Roman ship's flank was entirely crippled. It initially had thirty oars on the top level and twenty on the lower, on this side. Now, it was deprived of more than half those numbers. It only managed to flail in place, the morale of the troops on board as shattered as their hull. They could only stand there, hapless and defenseless, hemmed in with arrows from three different vessels.
The second collision formed another gaping hole in the ship's hull and helped us break free. There was a prolonged, agonizing creak followed by a snap. I felt the blessed unsteadiness of the deck return and we drifted sideways, away from the now sinking galley. Instantly, I bellowed orders for the rowers to abandon their shields and return to their benches, lest we drift off course or collide with a friendly ship.
Over the double masts of the sinking ship, I could see that 'Amr's contingent had finally arrived. They were close enough for me to make out their faces. The Roman hull was now flowing with water, and the prow was dipped below the surface. Romans were shrieking and praying aloud, dropping their bows. During the collisions, the archers atop the fortifications had lost their footing and plummeted to their deaths. We ceased our own volleys, letting the monstrous ship succumb to its fate. Now, there were two left.
'Amr was closing in as was Abu al-A'war. They would flank the remaining ships or take them from the rear. We would make short work of them. Shield in hand, I grinned at the distant watch towers on the beach. Doubtless, they were spectating all the while, watching the battle unfold. Fear probably gripped their hearts now, for they knew they were next.
Still wearing a dastardly grin, I unsheathed my blade and held it high above my head, eyes fixed on the watch towers and the sentries manning them, promising them a bloody death. I doubt they saw me, but they did not need to.
They were dead men.