“Outstanding!” Cahnyrs said sincerely, and patted him on the shoulder. “Not go scrub some of that crap off your hands and grab something to eat. We’ll be finding more work for you soon, I’m sure.”
“What I’m here for, Sir,” Tahlyvyr replied with a weary, off-center smile. “And food sounds really good right about now.”
“Well, make it quick,” Cahnyrs warned. “You’ve got about forty minutes.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”
The engineer touched his chest in salute and climbed down the exterior bridge ladder to Eraystor’s narrow side deck. Cahnyrs watched him go, then turned to the admiral at his side.
“I wonder if he understands just how good he really is, Sir Hainz?”
“I don’t know if he does, but I sure as hell do,” Zhastro said. “I assume your after-action report will bring him to my attention in suitably glowing terms?” Cahnyrs nodded, and Zhaztro snorted. “Well, see that it does! That young man deserves a medal or two. Not the only member of your ship’s company that’s true of, either, Captain. For that matter, you haven’t been too shabby today.”
“Day’s still young, Sir. Plenty of time for me to screw up.”
“And if I thought that was likely to happen, I might actually worry about it,” Zhaztro replied dryly.
Cahnyrs chuckled, and Zhaztro gave him a smile. Then he moved out to the end of the bridge wing and lifted his double-glass to observe Eraystor’s next challenge and his smile faded.
The shattered ruins of the Cape Toe fortifications lay five hours and the better part of forty miles astern as she steamed steadily up the Zhulyet Channel towards its narrowest point, between Sandy Island to the east and the far smaller Wreckers’ Island on the western side of the channel. Even at its narrowest, that channel was twenty-six miles wide. Unfortunately, Slaygahl Shoal lay right in the middle of it, running almost thirty-five miles from north to south. Slaygahl was just awash at low tide, and even at high tide there were barely four feet of water across it. The shipping channel was far deeper—at least six fathoms everywhere—but it was also barely five miles wide on the western side of the shoal, and about ten miles wide on the eastern side. And, even more unfortunately, Sir Lywys Gardynyr wasn’t the sort of commander to miss the possibilities that offered. According to the seijins, he’d laid a dense field of sea-bombs on either side of the shoal.
Right where anyone trying to find a way through them would come under the heavy fire of at least a dozen 12-inch Fultyn Rifles.
This is going to be … unpleasant, Hainz, Zhaztro told himself. You thought Battery St. Charlz was bad, but this is going to be worse.
He and Baron Sarmouth had discussed their unpalatable options exhaustively and come up with the best approach they could. Which wasn’t remotely the same thing as saying they’d found a good one.
In many ways, they would have preferred to use Needle’s Eye Channel, between Meyer Island and Green Tree Island. It was broader, but it was also shallower, and there were even more guns on Green Tree than on Sandy and Wreckers’. That ruled out the Needle, and at least they’d managed, courtesy of Admiral Seamount, to come up with one wrinkle Zhaztro was pretty sure hadn’t occurred even to someone as canny as the Earl of Thirsk.
He trained his double-glass astern and smiled again—thinly, but with genuine satisfaction—as he watched the converted steam powered landing barges churn steadily along off Eraystor’s quarter. They’d been towed all the way from Lizard Island by the larger steamers, because they weren’t the best seaboats in the world, and their relatively low speed now that they were no longer on tow was the reason it had taken five hours to reach the squadron’s current position, but he wasn’t about to complain.
He swung his double-glass back towards Wreckers’ Island and felt himself tighten internally. The entire island was barely eight miles long, and it reminded him ever more strongly—and unpleasantly—of Battery St. Charlz as it drew steadily closer. According to the seijins, the batteries along its eastern shoreline not only mounted heavier guns but were even better protected than St. Charlz’ had been, and no one had ever accused Dohlaran gunners of faintheartedness. On the other hand, this time he’d have Gwylym Manthyr in support.
He knew Sarmouth would actually have preferred to take the lead with his far more powerful, better armored flagship. In fact, he’d initially planned to do just that, but Zhaztro had convinced him it was out of the question. Manthyr was less maneuverable, she drew more water, and she was far less expendable. There was also the minor consideration that it would be … less than desirable to blow up the expedition’s commanding officer on a drifting sea-bomb. Sarmouth had seemed less than overwhelmed by that part of the argument, but he hadn’t been able to ignore the rest of it, and his expression had been almost petulant when he finally accepted Zhaztro’s alternate suggestion.
Now Zhaztro snorted in amused memory and lowered the double-glass.
“Signal Manthyr that we’re prepared to proceed,” he said.
* * *
“Admiral Zhastro is ready to proceed, Sir,” Ahrlee Zhones reported, holding up the message slip in his hand.
“Good,” Sir Dunkyn Yairley said in a tone which was considerably more confident than he was. He didn’t like what the SNARCs were showing him one bit, but there wasn’t much he could do about it at the moment. No one aboard Manthyr was in any position to see the threat that worried him most, and he couldn’t exactly order Halcom Bahrns to open fire on something no one—or at least no one without access to the SANRCs—even knew was there. Especially not if that fire produced the spectacular result it almost certainly would. That might well validate his bizzare orders, but it certainly wouldn’t explain them, and there was only so much that he could wave away as blind chance and luck.
“Remined Lieutenant Makadoo that I want to know the instant he sees anything—anything at all—out of the ordinary,” he directed. “Especially if he sees any sign of warships or floating rocket launchers.”
“Yes, My Lord. At once.”
Zhones sounded a little perplexed, and Sarmouth didn’t really blame the youngster. He’d already prodded Makadoo with that message—or a variant on it—several times, and he wondered if Zhones thought the fight the Cape Toe batteries had put up had shaken his nerve. Unfortunately, he couldn’t explain his motives to his flag lieutenant … any more than he could come right out and explain them to Makadoo.
He thought again about ordering Manthyr to take the lead, but all Zhaztro’s arguments against that decision still stood.
Yes, they do. And you don’t know that it’s going to be anywhere near as bad as you’re afraid it could, Dunkyn, he told himself. For that matter, even if you told Hainz all about it, he’d only point out that we still have to force the channel and clear the damned sea-bombs and tell you it didn’t change a thing, and he’d be right. It doesn’t change anything … except which men—and how many of them—may be about to get killed, perhaps.