Encounter: The Bayonet's Promise
Stockholm, Early June 1670
General Erik Dahlbergh, the acclaimed military engineer and architect of fortresses, stood before a large, detailed map of the Baltic Sea in a discreet, heavily guarded chamber within the War College. His uniform, though plain, bespoke authority and experience. His gaze was fixed on the map, envisioning strategic defenses.
Count Oxenstierna, his customary subtle smile replaced by a look of grave satisfaction, entered, accompanied by a small retinue. Dahlbergh snapped to attention, but Oxenstierna waved a dismissive hand.
"At ease, General," Oxenstierna said, his voice a low rumble. "The wind carries more than just news of Rome's woes. It carries opportunity. The documents are spreading as we speak – in Brandenburg, Holland, soon even in Spain. Rome is in disarray, the conclave paralyzed. Their Inquisition, once a fortress, is now a crumbling wall."
Dahlbergh nodded slowly, his gaze returning to the map. "A fine stratagem, Count. Most… disruptive. But the disruption, if it leads to a wider conflict, must be managed. Our position, strategically, remains paramount." He pointed to Karlskrona, then swept his hand across the southern Baltic coast. "Our new hub, Karlskrona, grows. Its deep natural harbor, its strategic position… it is indeed the key. But a key must be well-guarded."
"Indeed," Oxenstierna replied, stepping closer to the map. "The Sith Company's operations will draw fire, General. The Dutch and the Danes will not suffer their 'Moeder Handel' to be choked. Their reaction is inevitable, a matter of when, not if."
Dahlbergh traced a finger along the Danish coast. "Their fleet remains formidable, particularly the Danish in the OreSund. And the Dutch, though engaged elsewhere, still possess the largest merchant marine in Europe, capable of rapid conversion and a powerful battle fleet when aroused. If they are pushed hard enough by the Sith Company's 'commercial' provocations, they will move. And when they move, it will be against us, the nominal banner-bearers of this burgeoning enterprise."
"Precisely," Oxenstierna affirmed, a glint in his eye. "Which is why we must discuss our preparedness. Those heavy boarding frigates, constructed in France and England under the Sith Company's commission... they are formidable vessels, built to our specifications, but they are still a relatively small force. Our own Royal Navy, General, what is its state? Our fortifications, especially here in Karl's Harbor and along the Öresund? Can we withstand the initial shock, before our… allies… find their own casus belli?"
Dahlbergh turned, his expression resolute.
"Our fleet, while not possessing the raw numbers of the Dutch, is well-drilled and boasts excellent ships. The reforms of Gustavus Adolphus still echo in our ranks. We have prioritized firepower and maneuverability for our line of battle. Karl's Harbor, as you know, is still under heavy construction, but its defenses are being built to the highest standards. Its new dry docks and arsenals will, within a few years, make it the strongest naval base in the entire Baltic. Its approaches can be made impregnable."
He then pointed to a few critical locations.
"The Sund forts, while Danish, are our immediate concern. Should open hostilities commence, controlling those choke points will be critical for our long-term objectives in the Baltic. We must be prepared to reinforce or even neutralize them. Our land forces, positioned in Pomerania and Bremen, also stand ready, a deterrent against Brandenburg or other Imperial incursions should our focus shift to the sea."
Oxenstierna's hand then moved to a musket leaning against the wall, a standard infantry firearm, but with a peculiar addition. He presented it to Dahlbergh.
"And there is this too," Oxenstierna said, gesturing to the musket with the bayonet fixed. "Count João de Carrasca presented me that, when we discussed the commissioning of the frigates. The soldiers can shoot and still have their bayonet fixed. He did not think about using those on the fields, but I think it can be considered otherwise."
Dahlbergh picked up the musket, his practiced hands feeling its balance. He ran a finger along the gleaming steel blade, then sighted down the barrel, his eyes narrowed, not in confusion, but in a flash of strategic insight. He leveled the musket, imagining a line of infantry, then a swirling melee on a ship's deck.
"Remarkable," he murmured, his voice now devoid of any professional formality, replaced by a quiet awe. "Truly remarkable. A musket that is also a pike… this changes everything."
He handed the weapon back, his gaze intense. "On the fields, yes, for certain. It eliminates the need for separate pikemen in our formations, allowing pure musketeer companies to hold their ground against cavalry charges without breaking rank to fix bayonets. A revolutionary concept for infantry."
His attention then snapped back to the naval context. "But for boarding tactics... this is a game-changer, Count. Imagine our marines, our guardsmen, landing on an enemy deck. They fire their volley, then immediately, immediately, they are ready for the mêlée.
No fumbling to pull out a sword, no discarding a spent firearm. They maintain their offensive power and their defensive reach seamlessly. The Dutch, the Danes... their men will be facing a wall of lead followed instantly by a wall of steel, with no moment to breathe or react."
Oxenstierna's subtle smile widened, a sign he recognized the immense value of the simple yet profound tool. "Indeed, General. It seems our friends have brought us more than just capital and advanced ship designs. They've brought us the future of infantry combat, both on land and at sea."
Dahlbergh nodded, his mind already racing with tactical diagrams.
"This is not merely an improvement, gentlemen. This is a fundamental shift. A truly formidable addition to our arsenal."
"And the cost, General?" Oxenstierna asked, his tone hardening slightly. "The capital provided by the Sith Company is vast, but our own coffers are not inexhaustible."
Dahlbergh met his gaze directly.
"The cost of inaction, Count, would be far greater. The opportunity to break the Dutch stranglehold on the Baltic, to establish Sweden as the undisputed master of this sea, is worth every coin. The Sith Company is our cutting edge, yes, but we are the anvil.
We must be ready to absorb the blow it provokes, and then to deliver our own, decisive counter-strike. Our defenses are being strengthened. Our strategic position is sound. We will be ready."
Oxenstierna paused, then slowly nodded, a subtle, satisfied smile returning to his lips.
"Good, General. Keep me informed of every nail driven, every gun mounted. The chessboard is set. And with these recent… revelations… our opening move is proving most effective."
_______
João and the Gunpowder Obsession: A Tale of Coal, Iron, and Unmet Dreams
The cold bite of the Baltic wind whipped João's cloak as he stood on the docks of Danzig. Around him, the familiar cacophony of commerce—creaking ropes, shouting porters, the scent of timber and salt. But João's mind was miles away, consumed by the dark lumps being loaded into his ship's hold.
"More coal, Capitão?" chuckled old Finn, the seasoned quartermaster, his breath pluming in the crisp air. "Enough to fuel a dozen hearths."
João turned, a strange glint in his eye. "More than hearths, Finn. Much, much more. A new kind of fire, a different kind of power." He clapped Finn on the shoulder. "This, my friend, is not just cargo. It's… possibility." His words hinted at a stirring conviction: that this coal might hold the secret to a new kind of gunpowder. Tales from England spoke of coal's raw energy—and he imagined that by treating it as the purest charcoal, refining and shaping it with fire and smoke, a breakthrough in explosives awaited him. This was no mere cargo run; it was a quest for a new gunpowder, a chance to change the limited and hard-to-obtain resources of the old world.
The voyage to Sweden was a blur of churning seas and restless nights. João spent hours in his cabin, poring over hastily drawn diagrams, the scent of coal dust clinging to his clothes. On deck, he often stared at the horizon, lost in thought.
"Dreaming of gold, Capitão?" a young deckhand, barely out of boyhood, once asked, pointing to the setting sun.
João smiled, a distant look in his eyes. "Of a different kind of gold, lad. One that roars. One that shapes destinies."
Upon arrival in Sweden, his obsession intensified. In a makeshift forge, João's experiments with the coal began, fueling it with every sulfur he could put his hands on, driven by a desperate hope. Day after day, the air filled with acrid smoke and the clatter of his makeshift tools.
"Just smoke and soot again, Master," sighed Erik, a local lad he'd hired to help, one cold morning, wiping grime from his brow. "The black lumps merely burn."
João slammed a charred chunk of coal onto the anvil, frustration boiling. "Damn it all! It should work! The very essence of fire!" But the coal refused to transmute into gunpowder. The dark lumps burnt hot and long but yielded no spark of explosive alchemy. His hopes for the alchemist's roar dimmed, but João was no stranger to return on investments.
Turning from fleeting dreams of gunpowder, João set his goal on something equally vital—iron. A nobleman now, granted a Swedish countship as reward for Karl's Harbor's foundation, and savvy, he purchased a modest but promising iron mine deep in Bergslagen's forests. Portugal, his homeland, still imported iron in bulk, and João felt a weighty responsibility to find a better way—both for his adopted country and the one he had left behind.
He summoned Lars, the famed Swedish smelter, a man whose hands and mind knew iron as if it were flesh and blood. Lars, a man of few words but keen observation, scrutinized João's "black stones."
"This… this is not charcoal," Lars rumbled, turning a piece of coal over in his calloused fingers. "It burns differently. Hotter. Cleaner."
João, initially deflated by the failure of his gunpowder quest, felt a flicker of renewed interest. "It's what they call 'coal' in England, Lars. My experiments for… other purposes, yielded this."
"Hmm," Lars grunted, peering into the blast furnace. "Let us see what your disappointment can truly do."
Together, they studied the mine's ore, the furnace fires, and the coal João had brought. The coal—or rather coke, as their trials revealed it to be—was not gunpowder, but it was something new altogether: a fuel capable of hotter, steadier fires than the charcoal the local artisans relied on.
Days turned into weeks, and the forge roared brighter than ever. Lars, typically stoic, watched the glowing metal flow with a rare gleam in his eyes. "The yield, Count!" he exclaimed one evening, the heat on his face. "And the quality! This iron… it hardens more evenly. Remarkable."
Though the blast furnaces still produced pig iron—far from the steel João secretly yearned for—the incorporation of coke hinted at vast improvements in yield and quality. The iron hardened more evenly, the furnaces burned longer, and Lars's forge sang a clearer note under the improved metal.
But as the forge's fire grew brighter, João's thoughts grew heavier. The elusive gunpowder remained out of reach; the ambition that had propelled him across seas gave way to a bittersweet pragmatism. He was richer, a noble of Sweden, a successful mine owner who advanced ironmaking, yet the alchemist's dream of new explosives escaped his grasp, and it was already the second time.
In quiet moments, João contemplated the steady flow of iron into Portugal—sturdy, dependable. He wondered if his journey had been for more than just commerce or advancement. Perhaps he would never find that new gunpowder. Yet, the iron mine became quite profitable, while money from the common purse of the crew continued to fuel Karl's Harbor's development.
________
1670 Karls' Harbor developement
Karl's Harbor: The Swedish Might
The air in Karl's Harbor, this August of 1670, thrummed with a controlled frenzy. What had been a rough coastline just six or seven months prior was now a sprawling testament to industry and relentless will.
The English engineers, accustomed to the methodical pace of older projects, often shook their heads in bewildered admiration at the sheer speed of progress—a pace made possible by the near-limitless coffers of the Sith Company and its will to bypass any supply weakness.
"No, Master Davies," Luis had declared in the early days, his voice firm as he pointed to a detailed map of Sweden.
"We will not import timber from just anywhere. Not when our own forests, vast and ancient, yield pine and oak superior in strength and density. Not when our own mountains hold stone waiting to be shaped."
And so it was. The Swedish landscape, far from being a mere backdrop, was actively contributing to the harbor's birth.
The Roar of Progress
Towering pines and sturdy oaks, felled from the surrounding forests, were constantly arriving, hauled by teams of oxen along newly cut tracks. These colossal timbers, milled on-site by roaring sawmills (perhaps themselves an early Sith Company innovation, powered by water or even by some adapted "furnace" mechanism), became the massive piles driven deep into the seabed for the quays. The rhythmic thump-thump-thump of pile drivers, echoing across the bay, was the new heartbeat of Karl's Harbor.
The two normal docks were already bustling. One, in particular, was near completion, its heavy timber and rough-hewn stone quays already accepting supply ships. Sailors, accustomed to rickety jetties, marveled at the solid ground beneath their feet. The second was rapidly taking shape beside it, its sturdy framework a testament to expert carpentry.
Connecting the island to the mainland, a robust timber bridge now arced gracefully, its freshly cut planks smelling of pine resin. It buzzed with activity, carts rumbling across, carrying earth, stone, and tools, transforming the logistics of the site.
Rock, Water, and Fire
The site for the dry dock was a veritable hive of activity, now a colossal pit carved from the earth and rock. Here, the raw power of the land met ingenious engineering. Massive chunks of granite, blasted from the bedrock, lay in neat piles, destined to form the dock's formidable walls. The very method of their extraction was a spectacle:
"Another one, guys!" bellowed a foreman, his voice rough.
A deep, muffled thump vibrated through the ground, sending tremors up from the depths of the excavation. Barrels of black powder, carefully lowered and strategically placed by experienced miners, Poles, renowned for their expertise, had done their work, loosening sections of the stubborn rock underwater or within the excavated basin.
Teams of laborers, a mix of hardy Swedes and the Danish-speaking "New Swedes" swarmed in with picks and shovels, leveraging capstans and block-and-tackle systems to haul the newly broken stone out.
The scale of the excavation was immense, with the dry dock's full dimensions now clearly defined, its lower walls beginning to ascend from the bedrock.
Nearby, the forge, a robust stone and timber structure, belched smoke from its chimney. Its rhythmic clang-clang-clang of hammer on anvil signaled continuous production.
Here, skilled smiths, often working in shifts under the watchful eye of the English engineers, fashioned the countless iron fittings, bolts, chains, and specialized tools needed for this gargantuan undertaking.
The iron, partly sourced from João's own burgeoning mines in Bergslagen, gleamed with the promise of future strength.
In just these few months, Karl's Harbor was no longer just a vision or a collection of temporary structures.
It was a burgeoning nexus of Swedish raw power and foreign engineering prowess, relentlessly driven forward by the Sith Company's vast wealth and ambitious leaders. The land itself, rich in timber, stone, and iron, was yielding its bounty directly to the hands that shaped the future of Sweden's naval might.
______
A Town Rises from the Wetlands
Parallel to the port's industrial core, a new town was rising with astonishing speed, its growth fueled by the profound hope of its inhabitants.
"The Swedes promised us land, Master Schmidt," an old Polish man, his eyes shining, had declared while felling a pine for his future home.
"No more serfdom, no more forced labor for a distant lord. Here, we build for ourselves." This palpable hunger for freedom powered every swing of an axe, every stone laid.
The nearby river proved a double-edged sword: a vital source of fresh water, but also a cause of marshy ground.
Thus, a significant portion of the initial work focused on drying the land for the town's expansion. Miles of drainage ditches now crisscrossed the area, diverting water from potential building sites and turning sodden ground into usable plots.
The Swedes, with their experience in reclaiming land, directed the Polish and local laborers in these crucial efforts.
Thousands of simple, yet sturdy, timber houses dotted the landscape, many already inhabited.
These were hastily built, reflecting the urgency of settlement, but designed for functionality and quick erection. Beyond the nascent town, vast swathes of forest had been aggressively cleared, transforming dense woodland into open fields.
These new agricultural lands, blessed by southern Sweden's more fertile soil, were already being prepared for autumn planting, a stark visual promise of future sustenance and self-sufficiency for the new settlers.
At the core of this burgeoning settlement, the main roads were now clearly defined, leading from the new living quarters towards the bustling port.
The foundations of important public buildings—a central administrative structure and a simple, yet dignified, wooden chapel—were well underway, signaling the establishment of a formal community.
_____
Under the Watchful Eye
Overseeing this entire, ambitious endeavor, a Swedish battalion maintained a constant, watchful presence. Their disciplined patrols ensured the security of the burgeoning port and the rapidly growing town, a clear message of Swedish sovereignty and protection. This military oversight provided an essential layer of order and deterence, allowing the frantic pace of construction to continue unimpeded.
In this August, Karl's Harbor was no longer just a vision or a collection of temporary structures. It was a rapidly emerging, partially functional naval and commercial hub, complemented by a thriving, if still rough-hewn, new town. It stood as a testament to the Sith Company's power, Swedish resources, and the fervent hope of its new inhabitants.