Mediterranean Hegemon of Ancient Greece Chapter 961: Counterattack in the Saros Sea

Half an hour later, a fast ship returned and reported to Admika: upon reaching the coast, the Daonian Fleet had turned north, passed by Sant'Ibinia, and was preparing to round the northern tip of Sardinia Island.

Hearing this news, Admika's worries mostly evaporated. It seemed the Daonian Fleet was returning to Alalia.

Admika's fleet commenced a full-scale rescue operation. They pulled the surviving sailors from the water, settling them aboard Warships that had been ravaged by the Corvus Warships; they bandaged the wounded, transferring some to other vessels; and they performed makeshift repairs on lightly damaged Warships while rigging the heavily damaged ones to be towed. Carthage had too few Warships left; every salvaged hull counted. Admika also fished as many Daionian crewmen out of the water as possible. This was hardly out of the goodness of his heart—these prisoners could later be exchanged for the Phoenician civilians the Daonian Fleet had captured in previous raids. They would also serve as trophies to flaunt his military exploits once the fleet returned to the Port of Saros. Compared to Annobas, who had been utterly routed, Admika had at least secured some measure of victory.

Admika's crewmen kept busy with this grueling work. Meanwhile, several Warships that had originally served under Annobas trickled in and rejoined the fleet.

It was not until the setting sun dyed the western sky crimson that they finally set sail, the entire fleet slowly charting a course to the east.

Underway, the crew of one Warship invented a cruel game to amuse themselves. They forced the captive Daionian sailors to sprint naked across the slippery deck. If the prisoners slowed down or stopped, they were beaten with wooden clubs; if they slipped and fell, they were lashed with leather whips.

The crews on the other Warships quickly followed suit, and the sadistic practice spread rapidly. Watching the prisoners flail in comical agony and listening to their miserable screams served as a perfect outlet for the resentment they had bottled up after multiple defeats at the hands of the Daunian Navy.

Some crewmen devised other ways to humiliate their captives, such as:

Inside the Flagship's hold, the boatswain grabbed a captive's leather helmet. Stroking the red crest on top, he asked, "Looks like you're a captain?"

"Boss, he doesn't understand a word you're saying," one of the sailors jeered.

"He will." The boatswain smiled coldly, whipped his hand out, and delivered a heavy slap to the captive's face.

The captive cried out in pain, half his face rapidly swelling up.

The boatswain shrugged at his men. "See? He understood."

The sailors burst into raucous laughter.

The captive cursed furiously.

Frowning, the boatswain suddenly lowered the leather helmet and pissed into it.

"Ugh..." the sailors groaned in disgust.

But when the boatswain thrust the helmet into the captive's face and forced him to drink, their excitement reignited.

The captive glared back and spat right in his face.

Enraged, the boatswain clamped one hand fiercely around the captive's throat and forced the helmet against his mouth with the other.

The captive thrashed wildly, his face turning dark red, but eventually, he had no choice but to open his mouth to gasp for air.

The boatswain seized the opening and poured the piss straight down his throat. The captive choked and broke into violent coughing fits while the sailors howled with laughter.

Admika watched the scene in the hold through a gap in the deck. Though a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, he felt obliged to call out a warning. "Careful down there! Don't kill him!"

"Don't worry, my lord. We'll be very careful while 'entertaining' him," the boatswain replied respectfully, playfully patting the captive's head.

Admika snorted. Standing up, he walked to the bow and stared ahead, lost in thought.

From the rescued crewmen, he had pieced together the general course of the preceding battle and recognized the blunders Annobas had committed. He was currently pondering how to word a letter to Mago—patriarch of the Magonid family and supreme military commander of Carthage—so that Mago could use it to launch an attack against the Hanno faction in the Senate and snatch back command of the navy.

"My lord, a Warship has appeared to our rear!" The loud shout of the lookout atop the mainmast shattered his reverie.

Before Admika could even respond, the lookout spotted more faint silhouettes emerging behind that single Warship on the horizon.

Shielding his eyes from the blinding glare of the setting sun, the lookout squeezed his eyes tightly shut, then snapped them open. The blurry images in the distance sharpened into focus—it was a multitude of Warships!

"My lord, it's not a single Warship, it's an entire fleet!" the lookout screamed in panic, clinging to the mast with one hand while pointing toward the rear with the other.

"Whose fleet?!" Admika tensed up, urgently needing to figure out if they were friend or foe.

Since there was only a mild southeasterly wind, neither Admika's fleet nor the approaching armada had raised their sails. The lookout had to strain his eyes to make out the details. "...Black bows! It's the Daonian Fleet! My lord, they're approaching very fast!!"

The lookout's words crushed the last traces of hope in Admika's heart, leaving him utterly bewildered.

...

Midorades had led the Third Fleet on an accelerated course eastward, only slowing down when his lookouts reported that the Carthaginian Warships in their rear had abandoned the pursuit.

Though he ordered his ships to reduce speed, he continued trailing the large contingent of routed Carthaginian Warships. He watched with his own eyes as the battered enemy fled frantically into the Port of Saros, and only then did he command his fleet to resume its journey north.

Upon reaching the northern tip of Sardinia Island, he feigned a return to Alalia. In reality, he led the fleet in a wide, looping maneuver, perfectly dodging the probing Carthaginian fast ships. Tearing away from the coastal waters, he drove his fleet straight to the west.

He intended to lead the Third Fleet to strike the Carthaginian Fleet situated to the west. He was acutely aware that his own forces were missing nearly ten Warships—they had undoubtedly fallen into the hands of that Carthaginian Fleet. As the commander of the Third Fleet, it was his duty to reclaim the lost Warships and rescue his captured crews.

He also knew very well that, according to standard naval protocol, that Carthaginian Fleet would be busy clearing the battlefield, plucking sailors from the water, and assisting their crippled Warships. This operation would consume a massive amount of time, rendering their entire fleet bloated and sluggish.

More importantly, King Davos had assigned him one clear directive: defeat Carthage's new fleet. Now that such a golden opportunity had presented itself, there was no way he would let it slip through his fingers!

However, despite the vast maritime experience shared by Midorades and his captains, hunting down a specific target in the boundless ocean was no easy feat. The entire fleet sailed all the way to the west of the Carthaginian Fleet, losing precious time. By the time the sun began to dip below the horizon, they were on the verge of abandoning the search and had started steering back east. Who could have expected that, shortly into their return voyage, the scouting fast ships up ahead would suddenly report back: the Carthaginian Fleet had been found!

Midorades was instantly thrilled and ordered all Warships to prepare for battle.

In truth, the Third Fleet's navigational error was a blessing in disguise. Precisely because they had overshot their mark, they ended up directly behind the Carthaginian Fleet. Admika had not bothered to deploy any fast ships to his rear, completely dismissing the possibility of an enemy assault from the open sea. As a result, by the time the Third Fleet advanced into visual range, the Carthaginian Fleet was caught entirely off guard.

Hearing the lookout atop the mainmast detail how the Carthaginian Fleet ahead was moving at a crawl with several battered ships in tow, Midorades knew his deductions had been dead on. Suppressing the wild joy surging in his chest, he roared his command: "Sound the attack bugle! Raise the red flag and the black triangular pennant!"

When launching an offensive, the Daunian Navy typically deployed the "Starry Sky" formation. Forged through the trials of prolonged combat, this naval tactic had proven to perfectly maximize the strengths of the Daonian Warships. Its signal flag was black, and it had several variations: the standard version placed the Corvus Warships in the front and the Fast Warships in the rear, signaled by a rectangular black flag. The triangular black pennant raised right now, however, meant the Fast Warships would take the vanguard while the Corvus Warships brought up the rear.

Midorades chose this variation because he wanted to exploit the high speed of the Fast Warships, intending to carve into the enemy ranks as quickly as possible and further disrupt the already unprepared Carthaginian Fleet.

The sailors in the holds heard Midorades bellowing commands from the deck, and a wave of excitement rushed through them.

The boatswain spurred them on. "Brothers, the time has come to rescue our comrades and establish glorious merit! Prepare for battle!"

"Ho!!!" the sailors roared in unison. Battle lust ignited in their eyes once more as they crammed the last of their rations into their mouths and tightened their grips on their oars.

Although the crewmen were exhausted from the previous bitter fighting and prolonged pursuit, they had managed to rest by rowing in shifts upon returning to the coastal waters. More importantly, during their wide detour sailing east to west, they had hoisted the sails to catch the southeasterly wind. This saved them a tremendous amount of exertion and allowed them to regain a good portion of their strength.

"Accelerate," the boatswain signaled to the flutist.

"Toot! Toot! Toot!..." Following the sharp, rhythmic piping of the flute, the two hundred-plus wooden oars flanking the Warship swept through the water like the churning legs of a centipede.

The Warship acted as a razor-sharp blade, effortlessly slicing through the surging waves. Sea spray parted timidly around the pitch-black bow, leaping onto the deck and drenching Midorades.

Midorades did not care in the slightest. He stood stock-still, his gaze locked dead ahead. Watching the Carthaginian Warships draw closer and closer, he signaled his subordinate to bring him his helmet—the one adorned with a purple-and-red crest—and solemnly put it on.

Just then, a Fast Warship surged up from behind and zipped past the Flagship's port side. Standing on its deck, its captain snapped a solemn salute to Midorades.

Midorades solemnly returned the salute.

A moment later, another Fast Warship blurred past the Flagship's starboard side, and Midorades returned the salute once more.