Indeed it was. Only two rounds from that first broadside struck the English warship, but they were enough to shatter its bow. Worse still-this was always the real threat that explosive rounds posed to wooden warships-they'd started fires in several places. Even given that warship crews of the time were trained and ready to deal with shipboard fires, at least one of those fires was already too big to be extinguished.
In fact, the captain of that ship-or whichever officer had succeeded him, if he'd been killed-was already giving the order to abandon it. Seeing the boats being lowered over the side, Baumgartner ignored that ship altogether and ordered the Achates to steam toward the other two.
One of those two seemed to be trying to head back to the docks, from what Mike could tell. The other one…
Either that captain couldn't make up his mind, or his ship had somehow gotten stalled in mid-water by incorrect or cross-purpose orders. Whatever that was called, in nautical terms. Mike could see its sails flapping uselessly in the wind. Caught up in stays, or something. It had been years since he'd read C. S. Forester's Hornblower novels, and he'd never paid much attention to the technical details anyway.
"Incompetent bastard," he heard Baumgartner murmur contemptuously. To the helmsman he said: "Come hard to port. Let's let the lads on the starboard guns get a bit of experience too."
He seemed utterly calm, cool and collected. Mike wasn't prepared to forgive the captain all his sins, yet. But he did allow to himself, privately, that his former thoughts of homicide had been a tad excessive.
Perhaps two minutes later, the starboard broadside went off. At what amounted to point-blank range, in this case; close enough that the English ship was able to fire a broadside of its own.
So far as Mike could tell, only two shots from that enemy broadside struck the Achates. One hit the paddle wheeler's hull and simply bounced off. Literally, bounced-like a pebble thrown against a tree. The other one smacked into one of the timberclad's tall funnels. Mike would have expected it to knock the funnel completely down, but it didn't. Instead, it simply punched straight through it, leaving a smoke-streaming hole in each side about eight feet above bridge height.
All that, however, he barely noted in passing. The effect of the Achates' broadside on the English ship was so incredible that it pretty much obliterated everything else as it obliterated the ship. It was honestly hard to think of any other term to describe what happened when those six shells struck it amidship, even before the magazine exploded perhaps half a minute later and destroyed it altogether.
"Jesus Christ," Mike said softly. "May God have mercy on their souls."
The sharp glance Baumgartner gave him made it clear that the captain of the Achates disapproved of blasphemy, first; and, second, thought the likelihood that the Almighty would look with favor upon the souls of dead enemies of the USE Navy was probably a blasphemous notion itself.
He really was something of an shithead, Mike concluded. On the other hand, as the old cynical saying went, he was our shithead-and very damn good at it. Very damn good indeed.
"I can catch up to that third ship and send it down, if you'd like, Prime Minister. Though I can't say there's probably much purpose to doing so."
"No, no. Let's just find Captain Lefferts' barge and finish what we came here to do."
Less than a minute later, the lookout spotted the barge. It took less than half an hour, thereafter, to transfer everyone from it onto one of the two merchant vessels that would carry them to Amsterdam.
"And you're sure about Amsterdam, Prime Minister?" asked Captain Baumgartner. "Given that the weather seems to be holding up well-and there's a miracle, in itself-I'm sure we can make it back to Hamburg." His innate essence, naturally, made him hastily add, "The merchant vessels, at least. Our chances in the Achates, you understand, remain as grim as ever."
"Yes, I'm sure. For three reasons. First, because I think it will have a very salutary effect on Don Fernando to see a warship of the United States of Europe steaming serenely into Amsterdam's harbor, thumbing its nose at his entire blockading fleet. Now that I've observed this ship in action, I don't have much doubt they'd be no match for you, if they were stupid enough to try it."
"In the sheltered waters of the Zuider Zee?" Baumgartner shook his head. "No match at all."
Mike was pretty sure the cardinal-infante wouldn't try to test the issue, anyway. Not with the news they'd just received concerning the outcome of the Battle of Ahrensbok, which Becky would be sure to pass along to the Spanish. An entire French army destroyed, with most of its officers and soldiers captured, was such a good incentive for finding a diplomatic resolution to the war.
"What I figured. My second reason is that it would be better to set Wentworth and Laud ashore on Dutch soil. Of course, if they choose to seek further sanctuary in the USE, we'll be glad to oblige them. But I'd rather it was clearly their own choice, and not something we forced them into."
"I understand, Prime Minister. And the third reason?"
Mike frowned, trying to remember why he'd said "three reasons" in the first place. He'd come up with the number more from a subconscious impulse than anything else.
After a moment, the answer came to him, with truly brilliant clarity. At which point, he cleared his throat.
"Ah… 'three,' did I say? Can't imagine what I was thinking. No, it's just those two."
Because I really miss my wife and I want to get laid was not, all things considered, the sort of answer people expect from a head of state explaining matters of high diplomacy.
"Very well, Prime Minister. In that case, we should see to transferring you aboard Captain Hamers' ship."
Mike's eyes widened. "I was planning to remain aboard the Achates. At least, until we've safely made the North Sea crossing again and are in sheltered waters."
Baumgartner gave him a smile, the first one Mike had ever seen on his sourpuss face. "Oh, I think there's no need for that. I'm sure the men appreciate as much as I do your willingness to share the risks with us on the voyage over, Prime Minister. But now that the task is accomplished, I would be remiss in my duties if I didn't insist that you make the voyage back in the security of the seagoing vessels. Besides, with Wentworth and Laud aboard, you've got diplomatic work to do."
Mike stared at him. "You're… ah… sure about this, Captain? I assure you-"
"No, I insist! If for no other reason, because Admiral Simpson would be furious with me if I did otherwise."
Blessedly, the unnatural smile disappeared and was replaced with Baumgartner's usual lugubrious visage. "That's in the unlikely event I survive the crossing, of course. The North Sea's a treacherous mistress, treacherous beyond belief. She can turn on you in an instant. Even Hamers in that real ship of his will likely have a struggle of it. I don't really expect the Achates to make it, although I have hopes that we might get close enough to the Waddensee Islands before we founder that the ship's company can find refuge there. Insofar as those bleak and barren strips of sand can be called 'refuge' at all. But, who knows? Enough of the rats may come ashore that we'd have some food for a day or two. More likely, though, they'll be dining on us."
The first thing Harry Lefferts said after Mike clambered aboard Hamers' ship and explained they were headed for Amsterdam was, "Jeez, boss, you're making major decisions of state just to get laid?"
Mike ignored that. The first thing Melissa Mailey said-pointing a rigid finger at Harry-was, "Does the United States of Europe have firm laws on the books prohibiting the destruction of historic monuments; and if not, why not?"
Mike decided to ignore that, too. The first thing his sister said-pointing a rigid finger at her husband Tom-was, "Dammit, Mike, you're his commander-in-chief. Tell him he can't do it!"