William Forstchen - Down to the Sea

“I never said he was a traitor, sir.”

“Well, it sure as hell sounded like it to me,” Bullfinch snapped. Then he sighed. “Look, son. Your coming back with this tale, it caught me-it caught all of us-off guard. In a way it made some of us look like fools for going along with this treaty as long as we did. Also, your tale that they could blow us out of the water, well, that is basically saying that old Admiral Bullfinch can be blown out of the water.”

“I never said anything like that, sir.”

“You’re obviously not someone who hangs around Congress,” Bullfinch replied sadly, “but believe me, that’s what will be said.”

“Sir, I was with the president and he has nothing but admiration for you. I think that’s what counts.”

“Be that as it may, you are, to many of us, a snotty lieutenant bearing a wild tale, who gets jumped in promotion, then comes back here as a special messenger from the president to tell me what to do. Do you get my drift, young man?”

Cromwell reddened. He was suddenly aware as well of just how exhausted he was. What little food he’d eaten before the twenty-hour flight had long since gone out the window. His stomach was in aching knots, the few sips of vodka had gone to his head, and all he wanted was some sleep. Everything else at the moment seemed to be drifting away. But he focused his attention, seeing the look in Bullfinch’s eye.

“Yes, sir,” he sighed, “I can well understand.”

Bullfinch hesitated and noisily cleared his throat. “And for that I apologize.”

Startled, Richard shook his head. “You’re an admiral, sir. I don’t think you need to apologize to me.”

Bullfinch laughed softly. “Well said, and from anyone else I would think that you were trying to kiss an admiral’s royal rump.”

Richard found that whatever hard feelings he’d felt had just burned out. He lowered his head. “I’m sorry as well, sir.”

“Fine, then. I want you to stay here ashore for a couple of reasons. I want you to get some rest and in the morning make a report, with drawings of the ships. Then have a courier take an express up to Suzdal. I’ll be gone by then, and dispatches also will be waiting to go, detailing my plan of operations.

“I’ve got a pretty good weather nose, Cromwell, and that young lackey of mine in the fancy uniform over there is right. There’ll be a bit of a blow tomorrow, maybe the day after as well. With luck we’ll get a punch in, maybe a couple of solid punches, and get back out under darkness and foul weather.

“Cromwell, I can’t simply stay here and do nothing, and for the next couple of days I don’t think any of you boys will be flying.”

Richard nodded, finding that he was in agreement.

“If the weather clears, you know where we’ll be. Bring in everything you have.”

“Yes, sir, but what about the aerosteamer carriers?”

“With luck, they can follow up on what is left.”

He stopped and looked off for a moment, then turned back.

“Actually, I think they might be the future, Cromwell, if we can ever figure out how to make the engines more powerful and get the speed up so your attacking a ship isn’t all but a guaranteed suicide. So for the moment I think they’re ahead of themselves, but what the hell, on this world, we’ve always been ahead of ourselves.”

Bullfinch extended his hand and Cromwell took it.

“I’ve included a personal note to the president in my dispatch. Hang on to it, and if something should happen- you know what I mean-see that he gets it.”

“I don’t plan on sending it, sir.”

Bullfinch withdrew his hand and smiled. “Son, we both know my chances. I’m sailing with my fleet. Just see that he gets it.”

Bullfinch did not even bother to wait for a reply. He walked away, shouting obscenities at his staff as he urged them to mount up and get to work.

Richard saluted him anyhow as he disappeared into the dusk.

Dawn broke wet and soggy across the broad expanse of the lower Mississippi. Theodor, with Captain Rosovich by his side, watched as the dispatch boat, which had come out from the small riverboat town, cast off from the Shiloh . Its lone occupant hoisted a small sail, which bellied out, and the boat heeled over as it started to tack back in toward shore.

Smoke belched from the leaky stack, whiffs of coal gas coming up from below deck where the joints where leaking, and the Shiloh started up again. A sailor came up the ladder that had been lowered over the side. Running past the two, he ducked through a hatchway into the bridge, pausing to pass a bundle of Gates’s Daily to a first mate. Men were already queuing up, handing over ten cents for the five cent paper. Theodor tossed him a coin and opened the sheet up.

The headline splashed across the top was the largest Adam had ever seen, taking up nearly a third of the paper. The banner was but a single word:

“What the hell is Gates doing?” Theodor growled. “Of course it’s war. Look at this.”

He pointed at the left column below the headline:

FIGHTING ON BANTAG FRONTIER

Adam leaned over and grabbed the paper. “President’s son reported missing,” he read aloud.

He closed his eyes and lowered his head.

“It happens a lot,” Theodor said hurriedly. “A couple of days later they turn up. Believe me, I know. I was reported dead several times.”

“Still, it doesn’t look good. The Bantag moving to the south, that’s clear enough indication that something is up.”

“Mr. Rosovich?”

Adam saw an ensign standing in the hatchway to the bridge. 1

“The admiral wants you, sir.”

Adam looked over at Theodor, who quickly folded up the paper, stuffed it in his back pocket, and followed Adam through the hatch and up the ladder to the bridge.

It was a roughly made affair of wood, nothing more than an enclosed wooden platform made of three layers of railroad ties to at least give the illusion of protection. There was a chair for the captain, a wheel, compass, barometer, and speaker tubes lined up against the starboard side. All of it was a far cry from the original plans for the Shiloh , with a proper steel cupola and a proper captain’s quarters.

Rear Admiral Petronius was gazing balefully at a telegram, as the two came onto the bridge. “I did not ask for you, Theodor Theodorovich.”

“I invited myself anyhow,” he replied with a smile. Adam remained silent, know that Petronius held Theodor personally responsible for what had been done to the Shiloh and the other two ships of what was supposed to be his flotilla.

“This dispatch went up to Suzdal this morning. Fortunately, the station master back there heard it on the wires”- he pointed at the town that was drifting astern-“and seeing us approach saw fit to at least make sure we heard about it as well.”

Petronius held the telegram at arm’s length in order to read.

“Kazan fleet sighted dawn yesterday, five hundred fifty miles southeast Constantine, steaming northwest ten knots. Shall sortie with entire fleet to engage. God Save the Republic. Bullfinch.”

“They went without us?” Theodor asked.

“Obviously, or am I making this dispatch up?” As he spoke he waved the sheet of paper.

“Petronius, I didn’t mean that. It’s just that if he had waited another day and a half we’d be there to support him.”

“In this weather?” Petronius snapped, indicating the line of rain squalls sweeping across the river. “If it’s this way here, it must really be cutting loose on the coast.”

“Still, it’ll pass. He should have waited.”

“Are you a sailor?” Petronius replied. “Well, if not, then don’t dare to pass a judgment on the weather.”