William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

The precision of the operation, the practiced ease of the crew, which went about its duties as if they were routine, only reinforced to Sean what seemed inevitable: in the forthcoming battle the empire would sweep the seas.

“Interesting that they had a patrol plane this far out,” Hazin said. “Tell me, is that normal?”

“Not really. I don’t know where we are, though, so I cannot judge.”

“One hundred and ninety leagues from the Constantine coast, according to our navigator. He’s the emperor’s best, but he has been known to be wrong.”

“Then we are inside the treaty line.”

Hazin nodded.

“So they know. They must have been looking for us.”

Sean turned to look back to the northwest. The plane had disappeared into the clouds. It had been barely more than a speck in the sky. He wondered who the pilot was.

“I would think it was Cromwell,” Hazin said.

Though he had tried to get used to these insights, nevertheless they continued to startle him. Never could he be sure if it was simply an uncanny ability to read subtle indicators, or was it truly the ability to step into another mind.

“The emperor, I can imagine, will be all astir. He had hoped to gain their coast and launch the first attack without their notice.” He laughed softly, turned, and walked away.

Shaking the fatigue, Richard lined up on the landing field as Igor called off the airspeed. Buffeted, the plane rolled onto its portside wing. Both of them strained on the rudder pedals and crossed the controls to keep the wing down and crab in.

He felt the wheels touch, they bounced lightly, came back down, and held the ground. Turning, Igor pulled the quick release to drop the little remaining hydrogen left in the aft bag. In the stormy twilight, ground crews came running in from either side to grab the wings. They rolled to a stop, and Richard collapsed back in his chair. The side hatch popped open, and a ladder was extended up. He tried to get out, but his legs refused to cooperate. Finally a crew chief had to climb in and help him down. Reaching the wet grass, he sat on it heavily, gladly accepting the flask of vodka. Igor plopped down beside him.

The ground crew took over the massive plane, rolling it toward its hangar. Richard saw a horse-drawn carriage bumping across the field. Carefully he came to his feet, glad for the help of a ground crewman with unbuttoning his flight coveralls.

The carriage rolled up and stopped, portly Admiral Bullfinch stepping down.

“Your buzzing over my headquarters leads me to believe you spotted them.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me.”

Richard gave his report standing in the middle of the landing field, with Igor laying the chart against the side of the admiral’s carriage. The driver shielded it with a poncho from the splattering rain that came down in heavy drops.

Several of Bullfinch’s staff rode up, dismounted, and joined him, taking in every word that Richard said, looking at the chart, and then back to Bullfinch.

As Richard spoke, Bullfinch looked over several times at Igor, who nodded in support, and Richard wondered if he truly believed him and needed someone else’s approval for confirmation. vHow was the weather coming back?”

“Like this, sir, getting worse all the time. Lines of storms building all the way out.”

“Not a cyclone yet,” one of the staff announced.

“Could be to our advantage, though,” Bullfinch stated. He looked at the chart again.

“How much do you think they know of our coast?” the admiral finally asked, looking back at Cromwell.

Richard realized that the true question was, how much would Sean know and tell them along with any information that might have been gleaned from other lost ships and from Malacca pirates.

“They might know of the Minoan Shoals,” Richard volunteered. “It’s a fair marker.” He pointed out the shoal waters and chain of islands on the map, which stretched east to west off the main coast just ninety miles away. “They hit that, then it’s a straight run in, no blundering around off our coast, thus giving us additional warning.” Bullfinch nodded. “That’s where we form,” he announced.

Richard looked at him with surprise. Bullfinch slowly turned and smiled.

“A comment from the commander?”

“Sir, I spotted at least five of their battleships and thirty or more support ships.”

“And?”

“We have eight armored cruisers and twenty frigates. When I left last night, I heard the aerosteamer carriers are still coming down the Mississippi.”

“And won’t be here for another day and a half. I know that.”

“The Minoans will put our air corps at extreme range for full bombing loads.”

“Look at this weather, Cromwell. Do you think your planes will be flying in it?”

“I did.”

“Well, you might be a more gifted pilot, sir. I think it’s a fair bet, though, that we are in for a bit of a blow. Not a cyclone, as they call them here, but a fair blow nevertheless. I doubt if your airships will be doing anything for the next couple of days.”

He turned and looked back at his staff.

“Ten knots they’re making, according to Mr. Cromwell. That means they’ve closed over a hundred miles since he saw them this morning. Another hundred by dawn, which could put them near the Minoans at dusk tomorrow. We’ll meet them there.

“It should be blowing, visibility will be down, and as you heard in Mr. Cromwell’s report, their guns are big but useless beyond three thousand yards. In a good storm with high seas it will be even less. We race in, slash, try to get this red flagship. Sink that and their precious emperor goes to the bottom, and we break them. I just wish to hell we had some of those self-propelled mines that the Design Board decided to waste on their aerosteamer scheme instead.”

He turned and looked back at Richard. “Any problems with that, Commander?”

Richard looked at the chart, then at the admiral. He could see in the man’s eyes that the plan was formed and nothing would change it.

“Better than waiting for a nice warm sunny day and a good flat sea for your aerosteamer carriers and air corps. Meanwhile, they blast my ships apart, then come and blow this town apart and take it.”

Richard had to concede the point. There was a certain audacity to the venture, an audacity which the veterans of the last war were noted for, the betting everything on a single shake of the dice.

“Good luck to you then, sir. Any orders for the air groups and carriers?”

One of Bullfinch’s staff chuckled. “Come out and bomb the wreckage when we’re done with them. The Gettysburg might have been caught by surprise, but by damn we won’t be.”

Bullfinch turned, and his withering gaze silenced the officer. He motioned for Cromwell to follow, and the two walked off a few dozen paces.

“Look, Cromwell, I must admit I do not like you.” Richard stiffened, but Bullfinch’s tone was different, almost apologetic.

“I understand, sir,” Richard finally replied.

“No, I’m not sure you do. Yes, in part it was your father, but even I will admit that in his own way, before we came here and everything got unhinged, he was a good sailor and taught me a lot that I never learned at Annapolis.

“It’s just that you suddenly come landing in my lap with this wild tale about the Gettysburg being lost, the Kazan, an emperor that sounds like a fool, and a religious fanatic with a race of god-like men and Horde warriors.”

Richard could not help but smile. He nodded in agreement. “I can see that now, sir.”

“And then there was Pat O’Donald’s boy. No one likes to hear that a beloved friend’s son is a traitor.”