Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(46)
“Sounds like a Leaguer,” Smitty agreed. “Arrogant bastards. And either way, she wouldn’t be lit up like that if she didn’t think she could defend herself. So probably a warship,” he deduced, echoing Greg’s own thoughts.
“Yeah. We have to assume so, just as we have to assume they control Ascension. Damn!” Greg added, thumping the bulwark with his fist. “I wish we could tell somebody! It might at least get a garrison—and some guns—to St. Helena quicker!”
Sammy nodded in the darkness. They’d sailed in silence, on orders, since leaving the cape—not that they’d had anything to report. Now, even if sending a message wasn’t too dangerous, they’d passed the point they could realistically expect Alex-aandra to hear them. They’d heard a lot, from Alex-aandra’s far more powerful transmitter. They’d still been close enough to learn of the defeat of the most recent Grik attempt to retake the Celestial City, and had picked through the increasingly weaker coded signals recounting the tragic losses north of Mahe. They could still piece a few bits together until about two weeks before. But if they couldn’t hear Alex-aandra anymore, there was little chance anything they sent would be picked up. Particularly by anyone friendly. The next opportunity they had to communicate would be when they sailed into range of Fred Reynolds and Kari-Faask’s tiny transceiver possibly still aboard the New United States ship Congress in the Caribbean. Hopefully by then, they could pass messages to Shinya and Second Fleet as well. But Fred and Kari, and certainly Second Fleet, were still a long way off.
“What are we going to do, Skipper?” Smitty asked.
“Stay away from Ascension, for one,” Greg replied, handing his telescope to the gunnery officer so he could see for himself. The masthead lights of the distant ship had been visible from deck for a short while. Now, with them turning away, they were receding again. “But we’ll try to keep an eye on the other ship the lookout saw. I’m thinking the other lights, going slowly west, must’ve been the stern lanterns of a sailing ship, which means, most likely, she’s a Dom. If that’s the case, I’d love to know what they were doing at Ascension, talking to the League. And it might be a good idea to find out.”
“Doms have steamers,” Sammy pointed out. That was true; side-wheel sailing steamers like the Empire of the New Britain Isles had long relied on. And until recently, they’d been largely confined to this ocean to oppose what they must’ve considered the nearer, more dangerous threat—at least until they stirred the whole Alliance against them. That closer adversary was the apparently small but powerful navy of what Fred and Kari called the New United States. It was composed of various locals as well as descendants of US–Mexican War–era soldiers and sailors occupying much of what Greg and Smitty remembered as Texas, Oklahoma, Louisiana, Arkansas, and Alabama. Have to add that to Nig-Taak’s world map, once we’re sure of the borders—and what lies beyond, Greg reflected absently. Maybe someday we’ll get the whole thing filled in. But so far, we’re probably sure of less than. . . what? Five percent of the globe? Silva and Cook explored more of Borno—where our capital is!—than anyone else from Baalkpan ever has. We’ve seen a lot of Pacific and Indian Ocean coastlines, mostly inhabited by enemies, and Nig-Taak was sure enough of some fairly odd Atlantic shores to record them on his great atlas, but most of those shores remain unknown. And we know almost nothing of continental interiors.
“They do,” Greg agreed with Sammy. “But why send one when we hammered so many west of the Pass of Fire? And they can’t carry enough fuel to cross the Atlantic under power, anyway,” he argued. “My bet is, she’s a dedicated sailor like us, for the same reason: long legs and no longer fit for the line of battle.” He barely saw thoughtful nods in the dark.
“So. If she is a Dom, do you mean to pursue her? To, ah, detain her?” Pol asked.
Greg looked at him. “Of course. We are at war with the bastards.” He glanced at the dying fire on the distant island, now just the merest speck of orange light. “We’ll try to keep the stern lantern in sight from the masthead, but crack on all night, staying to windward. I’ve no doubt we can get ahead of her. Grik Indiamen are better sailors than Dom galleons, by all accounts, and I’ve never seen the Grik we couldn’t give half our sails with this fine breeze on our quarter.”
“But if we’re west of her when the sun rises, won’t she see us before we see her?” Sammy asked.
“We don’t know what her exact heading is, but my guess is she’ll keep west-northwest. We should be able to stay to windward, slightly south, and take in topgallants before dawn.” He snorted. “And if our ’Cat lookouts can’t spot her first, I’ll make sure they’re transferred to the black gang on some tub of a steam transport—because they’re going blind.”
“But if the Doms resist us—they’re very liable to, I understand—won’t the League ship at Ascension hear the cannon fire?” Pol asked, concerned.
Greg grinned. “With this wind, even that Dom should make seventy, eighty miles before dawn. So unless the Leaguer follows, which is possible, I suppose,” he confessed, “or gave the Doms radio, which is far less likely in my opinion, they’ll never have a clue what happens.”
“And if they do follow?” Sammy persisted.