"Bring me a map," he commanded an aide. When the map was brought, Ekstrom studied it for a moment.
"Nutschel. That's about where the capture was made."
Frank Jackson happened to have come into the chamber of the Rathaus where Ekstrom was conducting his labors, while Ekstrom had been waiting for the map. "What's this about, Nils?"
Ekstrom explained, then said, "Silly name, anyway. We'll just inform the villagers that the emperor-their emperor, now-has decided to rename their village to honor the great victory."
"Rename it what?"
"Narnia, of course. That gives us a fallback position-that is the American term, yes?-in the not unlikely event the emperor capitulates to his daughter."
Frank stared at him. Then, at the map. "You've got to be kidding."
Ekstrom gave him a fish-eyed look. "You have met Princess Kristina, I believe."
Frank had grown a beard not long after the Ring of Fire, foreseeing the likely disappearance of safety razors, and long since had developed the common habit of tugging it. He did so now, wincing. "Good point. Yeah, I have met her."
He looked back at the map. "Narnia, huh? Well… as long as they don't spell it in Fraktur."
Chapter 59
The Oresund
SSIM Constitution moved steadily on a north-by-northwest heading. The gray-blue coast of the island of Falster lay to port, floating on the horizon like some distant bank of fog, as she led the rest of Simpson's squadron out of Luebeck Bay and towards Copenhagen. The dark, cold blue water of the Baltic stretched into hazy invisibility to starboard, and Simpson stood gazing out into that blue vastness while he considered what lay just over two hundred air miles north of his present position.
God knew King Christian was a stubborn fellow. He was as renowned for that as he was for his ability to… multitask enthusiastically. But surely even someone like Christian should recognize the inevitable when it dropped anchor off the waterfront of his capital city.
Of course, anyone but King Christian would have recognized that aligning himself with Catholic Europe against Protestant Germany and Sweden had not been the most effective possible technique for convincing his fellow Protestants to back his candidacy for their leadership. In which case, he wouldn't have had to worry about what the USE Navy might be about to do to his capital city, now would he?
He's not really an idiot, Simpson reminded himself. He couldn't possibly have accomplished everything he's gotten done if his brain simply didn't work. In fact, his brain has to work better than most people's. But he's certainly managed to figure out how to look like an idiot this time.
The admiral snorted at the thought, more in disgust than amusement.
At least he's a hell of a lot smarter than King Charles of England-not that "smarter than Charles" is any great recommendation of genius. And I suppose part of it is that we all end up comparing him to the other Scandinavian king, which would tend to make anyone look less than lifesize. But I still wish Railleuse had managed to get there before we did. Grosclaud's report would've been a real douche of cold water. Unfortunately-he looked back towards the south, where the squadron had passed the crippled French ship an hour or so earlier-she didn't. But even without that, he grinned thinly, we should still be able to get Christian's attention when we get there. Now if only-
"Message from Commander Klein, sir," a voice said respectfully from behind him, and Simpson turned. It was an indication of how lost he'd been in his own thoughts that he hadn't even noticed the bridge signalman's approach until the young rating spoke.
"Thank you, Ebert," he said, accepting the message flimsy. The youngster-he couldn't have been a day over seventeen-smiled as the admiral called him by name. Fortunately, Simpson had always been particularly good at remembering names. And the practice of issuing nameplates for all personnel didn't hurt any, of course, he acknowledged with an inner smile.
He opened the message slip and scanned it quickly, then frowned.
"Give Captain Halberstat my respects and ask him to join me here," he said and young Ebert saluted sharply and scampered into the conning tower. Franz Halberstat appeared on the bridge wing moments later.
"Yes, sir?"
"Message from Klein," Simpson said, holding up the message slip. The paper's edges fluttered with an almost popping sound in the brisk breeze. "He's just carried out an inspection of his deck boat, and it doesn't look good."
"Why not, sir? I was under the impression that Achilles hadn't been hit at all."
"She wasn't. Apparently, it's blast damage from the carronades."
Halberstat grimaced, then nodded in understanding.
Two of the motor boats that had scouted ahead of the squadron on its passage down the Elbe River had been put aboard Achilles and Ajax as deck cargo for the passage from the Elbe River's estuary to Copenhagen. The timberclads had been chosen because they could stow the boats higher, thanks to their taller superstructures. And because they'd been supposed to be committed to action against Overgaard's blockade fleet only after the ironclads, which should have meant they would have been less exposed to hostile fire.
On the other hand, the flag captain reminded himself, from what the admiral had just said, it didn't sound like hostile fire had been responsible for the damage.
"How bad is it, sir?" he asked after a moment.
"From what Klein's saying, the actual damage doesn't sound all that bad. In fact, if it were a wooden hull, his ship's carpenter could probably fix it pretty quickly. Unfortunately, it's a fiberglass hull. And someone"-Simpson tapped himself on the chest-"didn't insist on bringing along a patching kit."
"I see, sir." Halberstat carefully didn't point out to the admiral that no one else had thought to suggest that they bring one along, either. "What about Ajax's boat, sir?"
"Mulbers is inspecting it now. But, first, he's got the smaller of the two. And, second, I've always had reservations about using them at Copenhagen at all. They're just too small, Franz. We can't put anywhere near as many men into either of them as the Danes can get aboard their galleys and gunboats. Without the second boat to support Mulbers', I'm even less inclined to risk letting the one of them we'd have get far enough ahead we can't support it quickly. And if we're not going to let it operate any farther ahead of us than that, I'm afraid the scouting advantage isn't going to be great enough to do us much good."
"I suppose not, sir. Although there are those reports of minefields."
Simpson glanced at the flag captain and smiled very slightly. Halberstat's tone could not have been more respectful, but he'd managed to put exactly the right edge of cautionary question into it. And he had a point. Someone in one of the small, agile fishing boats would have a much better chance of spotting a moored mine than any lookout on Constitution's bridge or mast. And a boat that small would be far less likely to hit a mine in the first place.
The admiral thought about it carefully, for the better part of a full minute, then shrugged.
"All right, Franz. If Mulbers' boat is in good shape, and if weather conditions are no worse than this"-he waved one hand at the relatively moderate swell-"then you can have your mine scouter. But only if the weather cooperates, mind you. Those flat-bottomed bastards are bitches in any sort of seaway, and a load of seasick Marines isn't going to be keeping the best lookout in the world. Besides, if it's too rough, they'll actually be slower than the other side's galleys."
"Of course, sir," Halberstat agreed.
"Your Highness!"
Prince Ulrik held up one hand, interrupting his current conference with Baldur Norddahl, as the messenger half-dashed into the room in Rosenborg Castle that Ulrik had taken over for what amounted to the headquarters of his naval force. In earlier times, the chamber had served his father's second wife Kirsten Munk as a living room.