John Schettler - Fallen Angels - 9 Days Falling, Volume II

“I see…Well, war is war. Secrets are secrets, and the two are often bedfellows. Very good, mister Chelmsley. That piece there is the damaged segment?”

“It is, sir. I’ve left it aside, but of course it’s the horse’s head itself you’ve come to see. If you would be so kind as to put on these gloves should you wish to inspect it more closely…”

“Of course. That will be all now, Mister Chelmsley.”

“I shall be right outside should you need me, sir.”

The Duke waited until the man left him alone, then slowly pulled on the white museum gloves as he regarded the small chipped segment that had been set aside. He leaned forward, noting the curious depression in the stone, and was truly amazed at what he saw. Could it be, he thought?

He reached into his pocket, removing a small object and looking furtively about him to make certain there were no surveillance cameras. Chelmsley had assured him complete privacy for this special viewing, but he remained a naturally cautious man.

The key sat in the palm of his gloved hand, starkly contrasted against the satin white. He reached out to steady the chipped segment as he placed the key into the depression in the stone, amazed to see it was an absolutely perfect fit! The key was now nestled snuggly in the chipped segment and he realized that a similar object must have been embedded there at one time. My Lord! A key! In the Elgin Marbles…

And not just any key.

The unique shape and coded teeth of this key made it unlike any other. He was one of the very few privileged to hold one, though it was now clear to him that someone else had deliberately placed another in this very sculpture—embedded within the Selene Horse! Was it there when this segment was chipped off—perhaps during the sea engagement Chelmsley described? Astounding if it was. Who could have placed it there, ages and ages ago when the sculpture was first given life in Classical Greece? And more, who might have taken it if it was discovered in the hold of HMS Rodney in May of 1941? His mind was full of questions, and a light of excitement was in them.

We aren’t the first, he realized now.

There were others…

He reached for the key, putting it safely back in the special inner pocket of his jacket and reminding himself to be sure to get that chain so he could wear it around his neck beneath his clothing in the future. He must never be without it again.

That thought shook him from his reverie and his mind now ran down particulars of the arrangements. Everything seemed in order now. He had not overlooked anything of any importance. The Duke was a very careful man.

Now he was increasingly confident that all would work as planned. The tuning had been very precise, or so he was led to believe. The location was now secure, all the riff raff and commoners seen off to their dull, unwitting lives. It would be a fine morning for the trip, and everything was ready. He would take the drive up through Newcastle tomorrow and do a last bit of sightseeing. Then it would be up and over the causeway beneath the Snook along the narrow neck of Holy Isle to Lindisfarne castle. He would be sure to keep his appointment by arriving a full day early.

Ah, if they really knew what it was all about, he thought. The whinstone on Beblowe Crag hides more than anyone could possibly imagine. Good hard rock, whinstone, which is why it has survived the tides of both time and sea for so very long, not to mention the considerable turmoil and bother of politics through the ages. A pity that it will not survive any longer.

They had but three days left… all the Angels were ready to leap from this heaven on earth into worlds of newfound freedom. How would it be? Lucifer fell for nine days, he thought—nine days falling into hell. That will certainly not be the case for me, not for his Grace Sir Roger Ames, the Duke of Elvington. I’m off to keep a special appointment with yet another Duke! Let the other Angels and Demons fall where they may.

Battleshipsare awesome things, thought Halsey. He was riding one now, and staring off the starboard side of the bridge at its twin sister. Missouri and Iowa were works of sublime engineering, steel shaped in long, graceful lines, yet with stark edges and raw power that was evident in every angle and curve of the ship.

Speak softly and carry a big stick, thought Halsey. That’s exactly what he had in hand now. ‘The Big Stick,’ battleship Iowa, was winking at him as it executed a 10 point turn to starboard, signaling by lantern. Her long, swept bow cut through the rising sea leaving a frothy white spray to wash the foredeck where the big “61” was painted in clear block numerals.

The two ships had steamed north together, but now, in keeping with the new plan of attack proposed by the British Admiral Fraser, the they were spreading out in a wide line of advance. Iowa was peeling off to starboard to take a position at least ten kilometers to the northeast. Halsey’s ship, ‘Mighty Mo’ held steady on. Together the two big battleships would be the center of the line with their massive 16 inch guns. Heavy cruisers would flank them at ten kilometer intervals. Boston and St. Paul were on the far right, speedy ships at 33 knots but with nine 8 inch guns and twelve 5 inchers to go with them.

A third ship in this same class was to the left, the Chicago , and further out were the light cruisers San Diego and Flint, with no less than sixteen 5 inch guns. A destroyer from Desron 50 filled the gap between each of the larger ships, and all together Halsey was moving a line of steel north that stretched nearly a hundred kilometers long. As Iowa pulled away he saw the much smaller destroyer Gatling move up to take her place, slowly shifting east to take up her position in the gap.

It was unlike anything Halsey would have ever ordered, this long line of widely spaced ships. A task force should be tightly grouped, with smaller ships screening the principle units and the supporting umbrellas of flack from the entire group providing the air defense. Not so here. Each ship would be on its own, within visual range of vessels to either side but at very wide intervals. Fraser’s argument for the formation had seemed ludicrous at first, until Halsey saw that mushroom cloud off his starboard bow as promised by the Russians. Now they would position their assets so that if the enemy threw another at them, they could take out no more than one or two ships in the line. It was a cold calculus, but it just might work. There were enough ships to snag the enemy in a steel dragnet, and once contact was made, the sighting ship would radio its position, course and speed to all the others, then the line would coil to that spot like a whip, and they would lash the Russians to death on the cruel seas of the north.

So it was planned.

Halsey’s group was only part of the line. Further west Ziggy Sprague had forsaken his post on Big T and was leading in more heavy ships on the battleship Wisconsin . He had the smaller North Carolina and South Dakota to either side, no less formidable, and a pair of light cruisers on either flank.

My, my, thought Halsey. This whip is knotted with steel. We’re sweeping north with no less than five battleships, and once we find these bastards we’ll give the word to the carriers and send 500 planes up to join the show. Bomb or no bomb, the Russians had bitten off more than they could chew this time, and he was looking forward to sinking the big teeth of Mighty Mo into the enemy, to end this thing, once and for all.