by Eric Flint
Tromp shrugged. “Just one, but it was so badly damaged that he can’t repair it down there. Along with two of his own ships, they will sail to Antigua for refit as soon as the reinforcing flotilla reaches Fort St. Patrick. But he was able to strip the others of their cannons, canvas, shot, even cordage.”
Eddie sighed. “I think we need to send one of the new steam tugs down there. And yes, I know: I’ve been the one urging to keep them together as a strategic mobility reserve to help some of our other ships keep up with the steam cruisers and destroyers. But if Peg Leg had just one tug down there, it could have totally changed the outcome.”
“How?” wondered Sehested.
“When they were all becalmed,” Simonszoon muttered, “Jol could have used a tug to pull one of his bigger ships across the stern of an enemy galleon. Maybe two. Raked the decks, hammered them until they were junk. When the wind returned, the entire engagement would have been different.”
Banckert nodded. “I agree. And while we are on the topic of better outcomes, we must also consider this: if Floriszoon’s Eendracht and the patache Orthros had not been off on a wild-goose chase with their radios—as suggested by Colonel O’Donnell—they too, might have turned the tide.”
Eddie saw Tromp fold his hands, knew that he was preparing to counter Banckert’s criticism—which was fine by him. Let the Dutch argue with the Dutch, was the young up-timer’s motto.
“I think that is a very debatable conjecture, Joost. They would have been part of Tropic Surveyor’s squadron, and as such, might have accomplished the same outcome with fewer casualties. But Noordsterre was doomed either way; she was the smallest of our jachts and was hit dead amidships by a forty-two-pounder at close range. It might as well have been the hand of God that smote her to the bottom. However, I have plotted the projected progress of the oilers had the earl of Tyrconnell’s plan not turned them back. They would have just arrived at Fort St. Patrick only a few days before the Spanish. They and their escorts would either have had to run and hide in a distant anchorage of the Bay of Paria and possibly be hunted or discovered, or had they remained nearby, could have been lost to us, along with the strategic and economic advantages conferred by the oil operations. As it is, only because Eendracht remained at Pitons Bay, St. Lucia, to serve as a wireless relay, do we even have these reports from Trinidad. Otherwise, we’d be meeting half a week from now, or more. Which, I think you’d agree, would put us in much greater jeopardy, given what we have learned since.”
“I must echo Admiral Tromp’s sentiments on this matter,” Hannibal Sehested added, ignoring Joost van Banckert’s annoyed glance. “Every day matters in mounting a swift and decisive response to the increasing Spanish presence on St. Maarten. As the representative of His Royal Highness, King Christian IV of Denmark, I am compelled to remind all of you that, at this time last year, we all agreed to the solution that Commodore Lord Cantrell proposed for settling our rival claims to that island. It was also agreed to postpone the retaking of that island until sometime in 1636.”
He looked around the table. “Gentlemen, 1636 is rapidly drawing to a close. Furthermore, as the latest reports from our Bermudan allies now show, the Spanish have taken advantage of our lethargy. They are not only improving and reinforcing St. Maarten’s defenses, but evidently creating an expanded and protected anchorage in one of its southern-facing bays.”
He put the point of his finger to the surface of the table as if he was pinning his Dutch listeners to a dissection tray. “The Spanish activity does not obviate our agreement. Rather, it makes it incumbent that we move with all possible speed to satisfy its terms. Any delay increases the risk to lives and matériel that would never have been at risk at all, had concluding this business been of sufficient import and urgency to all concerned.” His stare at each of the Dutch naval officers left no doubt about whom “all concerned” actually were.
“I will make one final point. All your wonderful successes against the Spanish have been at sea, where you enjoyed the extraordinary advantage of the USE’s ships and their up-time technology. But you have no such advantages on land, and if you wait too long, that is exactly where you will be forced to do much of your fighting for St. Maarten. Which, given the modest size of your regiments, could prove terribly expensive.” He leaned back, crossed his arms, and waited.
Joost Banckert rubbed his chin. “I do not debate the truth of anything you have said, Lord Sehested. But we must be cautious. They know all this as well. They could be investing St. Maarten not so much because of any intrinsic value it has to us, but to bring us out. Either to ambush our fleet, which seems profitless. Or, more reasonable for them, to have a second force waiting to take advantage when we leave St. Eustatia, greatly reducing its defenses.”
Well, thought Eddie, this looks like the right moment to shock the bejeezus out of everybody. He leaned forward and nodded. “I agree with Admiral Banckert. I think it is very likely to be a trap of one kind or another. But knowing that, and acting upon it, could actually be an advantage for us. Besides”—he turned to Hannibal—“as Lord Sehested points out, I was the one who proposed the solution regarding St. Maarten. So I feel it is incumbent upon me to support his request that we act to fulfill the final stipulation of the agreement before it becomes any more costly or difficult to do so.”
Banckert’s eyebrows rose. Dirck Simonszoon looked narrowly at Eddie, then glanced at Tromp and, noting the admiral’s lack of surprise, was unable to hide the flicker of a brief smile.
If anybody in the room was flabbergasted, it was Sehested himself. “This . . . this is a welcome resolution, gentlemen. I shall communicate your ready cooperation to His Majesty, Christian IV. However”—he looked sidelong at Eddie—“I am not sure I understand what you mean by opining that walking knowingly into a trap could be to our advantage.”
Eddie shrugged. “Well, if we move quickly, that is likely to make them think we’re not suspecting a trap. That gives us a chance to turn the tables on the Spanish, who are likely to be lulled into false confidence by thinking that events are playing out according to their own expectations. Right down to what they will believe is our lack of suspicion and caution.”
“Well, if we’re not taking the time to act on our suspicion and caution, then how is that any different from, well, not being suspicious or cautious?” Dirck was grinning as he asked the question.
Eddie smiled back. “You tell me.”
Dirck “the Smirk” Simonszoon lived up to his name. “Let me guess. Of all the reactions the Spanish expect from us, sailing against them immediately is the least likely. They’re either expecting us to stare at the situation, looking for traps. Or that we jump past that gambit with one of our own. Maybe by using our long-range gunnery to stand off and bash at their fleet. Maybe by doing to them what they were hoping to do to us at Vieques: find and hit their supply ships.
“Either way, we dodge the land battle by wearing away their naval assets until they have to abandon their land forces. Which we then starve into submission. There are other scenarios, but the point is: by choosing the seemingly rash response, we’re also taking the one they really haven’t considered as much. We’re still taking them by surprise.”
Eddie nodded. “And regardless of any of those countermoves, we are there as early as possible to disrupt their attempts to secure St. Maarten.”
Dirck leaned back. “Good as any other approach,” he sighed. “I’m in.”
Joost Banckert shrugged and nodded.
Still staring like a stunned owl, Sehested rose. “Gentlemen, my sovereign will want this news as rapidly as possible. Given the time difference, if I depart now to get it coded for transmission, he will likely receive it before the end of the day. Now, since I presume the rest of your discussion will be operational in nature, I would take my leave of you.”
Tromp stood, joined by the others. “We would not delay you, and we thank you for your candid speech, Lord Sehested. It is an excellent way to begin our shared utilizat
ion of the island.”
Hands were shaken all around and Sehested exited the cabin. His personal aide could soon be heard shouting along the weather deck for his lordship’s skiff back to Oranjestad.
Dirck smiled, collapsed into his chair at a rakish angle, and drawled. “And now, Commodore, what’s the part you didn’t talk about?” He glanced at Tromp. “Or is Maarten going to do the honors, since it’s clear both of you are in on it?”
Tromp’s answering smile was small as he nodded at Eddie.
Who sighed. “Maarten and I were already on the same page about this before we even talked about how to respond. There is, however, one angle that is all mine. But that can wait. Here’s why we have to tackle the Spanish now, regardless of the agreement with my father-in-law.
“First and foremost, everything I said to Hannibal is totally legit, strategically and tactically. The Spanish do have us between a rock and a hard place. If we wait, they get stronger and the job gets harder. But if we go right away, we don’t have a lot of time to find out what they might be up to.
“But that leads to the second point, which is: we’re as ready as we’re going to be . . . right this very second. We’ve got no way to get better reconnaissance, we’ve got no intel pipeline to exploit, and we sure as heck aren’t going to whistle up a few more ships from Trinidad when what we’re doing is sending more down to them. We’ve finished all the ship repairs and conversions that started about five months ago, so we’ve got enough to guard St. Eustatia, have a decent regional reaction force in Antigua, and we’ve been running twenty-four-hour readiness drills. So our ships are topped up on consumables and crews are on short liberty or standby. Which is weeks faster than our opponents’ reaction time, so we just might catch them with their pantaloons down.”
He frowned. “But the third reason is that Spain is in trouble. Real trouble. No treasure fleet this year means only a trickle of silver getting home. Italy is a pig in a poke. The antipope in Rome is one of their own, who likes Madrid but who Madrid doesn’t like. Meanwhile, Philip’s breakaway brother is hosting the real pope who Madrid does like, but he doesn’t like them. Here in their overseas empire, they just put a whole fleet in their enemy’s hands, and because of that their chosen sons in the New World are, whether by choice or necessity, starting to play by their own rules. And although I have to read between the lines that Admiral Simpson sends, it sounds like Madrid has been under huge pressure to help against the Ottomans and is catching some nasty backlash for not doing so.”
Joost Banckert shrugged. “So it’s not a wonderful time for Spain. Other than finding some rum to toast their continuing miseries, how does that influence us?”
“It means,” Eddie summarized, “that Philip, and Olivares even more, need a win. A big win. And the biggest win they could score, and also the one over which they probably have the most control, is to get the silver back home, shore up the economy, mute the grumbling, and in general look like they’re back on top.
“Now, there are two ways to do that. Either destroy us so we can’t stop them. Or avoid us.”
“Good luck with destroying us,” Dirck sneered.
“Exactly. So what does that leave?”
“Avoiding us.” Simonszoon frowned as he saw the connection. “Yes. They might.”
“Might what?” Banckert snapped.
“Might reroute La Flota.”
“And what does that have to do with St. Maarten?” Banckert persisted. “They already use different routes. They used to come through these very waters, sometimes. Sometimes the two fleets split much earlier, starting along the Spanish Main from Trinidad, the other—oh,” Banckert stopped. “You think they’d send the fleet into the Caribbean near St. Maarten? Through the Anegada Passage? That’s . . . that’s madness.”
“Is it?” Eddie asked. “Compared to trying to fight us, ship to ship? So let’s say they actually follow the usual route for crossing, like this year. But as soon as they see Dominica pop over the horizon, they hang a hard right and head north. All the way north, and angle back into the waters between Puerto Rico and the Leeward Islands, which—if they own St. Maarten—gives them friendly outposts on either side. A place to stop, get the latest intelligence and then split.”
Banckert nodded. “Yes. That wouldn’t be so hard for the New Spain Fleet. They’ve sometimes come in almost that far north, touching at Santo Domingo and maybe Jamaica before heading down to Cartagena. But it would be a long, slow journey for the Tierra Firme Fleet to dodge the entirety of the Lesser Antilles by cutting southwest across the full expanse of the Gulf.”
Tromp repeated Banckert’s words with emphasis. “‘A long, slow journey’? Yes. But isn’t that preferable to ‘the destruction of another fleet’?”
Joost just nodded.
“Besides,” Eddie finished, “it’s not like they’d have to do that forever. Just a year or two, they’d figure. Until they get rid of us.”
Dirck’s smile was wicked. “I think it will take them a little longer than that, now.”
“I agree, but they’re desperate for a solution. And they have such outsized confidence in themselves that I could see them drinking that Kool-Aid—er, convincing themselves of just about anything.”
Tromp was nodding. “This entire scenario assumes that one of two possibilities are true. Specifically, that either the governors of the Greater Antilles have a radio to receive such orders from Madrid—which I very much doubt—or they have realized this and have taken such an initiative of their own accord.” He shrugged. “Which is far more likely.”
“Or,” Banckert threw out, “that they have some other entirely unrelated scheme that we have not foreseen.”
Eddie shrugged. “That is a very distinct possibility. But can we afford not to take action because we’re scared of a ghost? Which might not even be there?”
Banckert frowned. “No. We must act. I just wish we knew more about why the Spanish are clustering around St. Maarten like fleas heading for a dog’s back.”
Tromp nodded. “So do I. But one thing is plain: time is of the essence and we are ready to go.” He looked sympathetically at Eddie. “Which means that as of now, you already have less than twenty-four hours to spend with a wife who has not seen you for months. Go, now. What your staff aboard Intrepid cannot handle, we shall.”
* * *
Twenty-five hours later, Eddie closed the door of his cabin aboard Intrepid. As it had turned out, he got a lot less than twenty-four hours to spend with Anne Cathrine. First, he had to go back to Intrepid to get his ready bag . . . and walked straight into a pile of legitimately “must-do-now” paperwork and crew instruction sheets to handle the various inquiries that were likely to arrive in his absence. By the time he had also provided his staff with orders, priorities, and protocols to ensure that his squadron would be ready to sail in the morning, three hours had elapsed. It took another hour for the skiff to get him to shore, and then get himself to Danish House.
But Anne Cathrine wasn’t there. In fact, no one was. Except Cuthbert Pudsey, who avoided telling him why his arm was in a sling, but revealed that Anne was volunteering at the infirmary. So, after dropping his bag in their room, he spun right around and left.
And somehow managed to miss Anne Cathrine at the infirmary. She had left only minutes before, Dr. Brandão informed him, with a strangely contemplative look on his face. It had evidently been a light day at the infirmary; there was no sign that anyone else had been in. “Easy day?” Eddie had asked. Brandão’s look became one of perplexity; general hours had not yet started. He had reserved this morning for . . . and there he faltered for a moment. For private inquiries, he finished. But hadn’t Anne Cathrine volunteered that morning? Brandão shrugged, simply remarked that she had indeed stopped by. The entire conversation seemed a little vague and off-center to Eddie, but his only immediate concern was to catch up with his wife. He started back to Danish House.
And that was where he finally found her, with only eighteen hours
left before he was due back aboard Intrepid. The way she leaped up into his arms, you’d have thought he had died and come back to life. Sophie and Leonora had been there when he entered, but by the time he remembered to turn around and say hello to them, they had vanished.
When Anne Cathrine learned how little time they were going to have together, she went from almost adolescent hyperactivity to downright solemnity. She assured him that no, of course she wasn’t angry at him. And he believed it. But still. It was as if this news made it necessary for her to rethink plans. Although that was kind of strange because how could she have made plans when he’d only been home for an hour so far?
Eventually, she reanimated, but more out of duty than anything else. She explained how Oranjestad’s best seamstress had probably been passing information to the Spanish, almost certainly the pirates, and definitely between the landowners and the French. When Eddie heard how it was the latter exchange which had caused the slaveholders to stand aside during the Kalinago attack, he was half out of his seat to pass the news on to Tromp and van Walbeeck. But Anne Cathrine’s grasp on his arm and appeal in her eyes put him back in his chair, and she insightfully suggested that this was probably the worst possible time for the colony’s leaders to be distracted by such news, let alone crafting a suitably stern response. Not only was the fleet about to sail to against the Spanish, but the other military commanders, although in support of Tromp’s antislavery policies, were neither aware of his longer strategy nor did they possess his authority.
By the time that was settled, Anne Cathrine had genuinely perked up again, enough to point out that he probably hadn’t had real food in months. So they ate and chatted and she started laughing again. Then she insisted on feeding him, and then she let him try to feed her, but she refused to hold still. So he got food all over her and—
And then, somehow, it was after midnight. He had no idea how often they’d made love, but he woke to the feeling of her fingers tracing his arm, up and down, and then his side, up and down, and then . . .