One additional feature Bill wasn’t used to seeing on luxury yachts was the .50 caliber machine guns on the foredeck and the aft deck. That’s interesting.
Ford split off from the group before they went out on the wharf, walking over to a parking space where the Dixie Flyer was parked.
Rhodes was the first at the gangplank and spoke briefly with the deckhand standing guard. The man ushered the rest of the party aboard, looking askance at the two blacks, but saying nothing.
As soon as they were all aboard, Rhodes had them get inside. “Less people see, the less they say, if you know what I mean.”
Bill asked where he could watch the wharf from a safe place and was directed to the bridge. Rhodes said, “Usually, I’d recommend the quarterdeck, but since we want you out of sight, and that’s where we’re loading the car, the bridge is probably a more suitable place.”
The bridge provided adequate opportunities for seeing most of what was happening on the wharf. As Bill watched, a crane riding on tracks laid down on the wharf pulled up next to the back of the yacht, and a pallet was laid down on the dock next to it. Ford drove the Dixie Flyer onto the pallet, and as he got off, a bunch of burly men, Bill guessed they were stevedores, placed straps over the car and tied them to the pallet, ratcheting them tight, but not so tight as to damage the car. The final step was to attach sturdy straps at all four corners of the pallet, connected in the center with an O-ring. Ropes dangled from the pallet, which Bill suspected were used for guiding the cargo into place, based on the fact that there was a man at each rope.
Soon, the crane lifted the little blue car a sufficient height to clear the yacht’s railing, swung it about, and with the assistance of the line handlers, set it gently on the deck. A stevedore scrambled onto the car and disconnected the crane’s hook, which was then winched in, leaving the car sitting on the pallet with only the straps holding it in place.
The same stevedore then took some more straps and secured the pallet to the quarterdeck, then took a tarp and secured it over the Dixie Flyer. Once he was done, he admired his handwork briefly before clapping his hands together as if shaking off some dust, waved at the deckhands, and left the boat.
While the stevedores were clearing everything, the captain entered the bridge. He was an older gentleman, reminding Bill of a picture he had seen of the older Samuel Clemens, big white mustache to go with his big white hair. The captain nodded to Bill, forgoing introductions as he made the vessel ready to get underway. As soon as all the stevedores were off the boat and the crane no longer presented a threat with its cable, the captain ordered the engines run up. Bill heard the engineer over a speaking tube acknowledge the captain’s order. Just then, Rhodes and Ford joined them on the bridge.
“Captain Beron, these are my traveling companions, Bill and Morty,” Ford said as an introduction. “No need for last names, as the less said the better, right?”
Beron extended his hand to Bill. “Nice to meet y’all. Seems the Brits are trying to keep things pretty secretive, but that’s shutting the barn door after the horses got out, what with that other flying car landing here yesterday and that there Heinie tramp moving out like a scalded cat.”
Bill chuckled. “Well, let’s just say some things are better left unknown and unsaid.”
“I kin understand that. Anyhoo, we ought to be out of here in a couple of minutes. Bunkers are full, and my cook loaded up a couple weeks’ worth of food. Rhodes here said we might have to go all the way to Europe.”
A brief smile flicked across Bill’s face at the mention of crossing the Atlantic, then it faded. It was hard to believe that barely a year ago he and three other Explorers had built and sailed a dugout catamaran across the Atlantic from the Coast of Marseilles to North Carolina’s Outer Banks. Along the way one of their numbers was killed. It also served as Bill and Meri’s honeymoon, and likely where Little Jack originated.
“Been on the big water, have you?” Beron asked, seeing the look on Bill’s face.
“Yeah, but in a much smaller boat, a sailboat, matter of fact.”
“Well, you’ll find us a mite faster,” the captain said, patting the navigation station, where a chart of the Charleston Harbor was resting. “Top speed of fifty-three knots, but we try to keep it under twenty for fuel savings. I figure we’ll be pushing close to twenty to try to catch up to your quarry.”
Bill calculated that with an overtake speed of about ten knots, it would take at least a day to catch up to the Germans.
A couple of minutes later, the big vessel shuddered, and the captain grabbed the large wheel, cranking it slightly to the left. Bill watched the wharf pulling away as the yacht made way. It wasn’t long before there was enough of a distance between the two that the captain felt confident enough to increase the speed. As the boat pulled away, Bill could see a trio of young men in suits walking along the wharf. One was watching the yacht while the other two were looking around. They clearly didn’t belong there, and for some reason, the one watching the yacht looked familiar. Soon the yacht was heading out to sea at what Bill guessed was probably hull speed.
After a few minutes, they passed an island with an old, crumbling brick fort on it.
“What’s that?” Rhodes asked.
“Fort Sumter,” Beron replied. “Used to be a United States fort protectin’ the harbor until South Carolina seceded. Almost had a shootin’ war because of it.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, some yahoos thought fighting for secession, rather than doin’ it proper, was the smart thing to do. Luckily, cooler heads prevailed. Weren’t long after that we seceded, all peaceful like.”
Beron broke his gaze from the former fort and looked at the other men. “Don’t know about y’all, but I figure peace is better than war. Sorta like a marriage that ends in divorce. You can split up all amicable like, or you can destroy each other by tearing each other down. Ain’t nobody ever won that way.”
Bill had to agree, in part. But then he wondered how blacks felt about it. At least, on his own timeline, it had been mostly white Northerners who died, to the tune of about 350,000 of them, to keep the union alive and free the slaves. Without that war, Bill wondered if the U.S. would still have slaves, or if that “peculiar institution” would have died out due to economics, the way it appeared to have here. Only without the overt, institutionalized racism and clear delineation in citizenship status.
Thinking of the War Between the States took Bill’s thoughts to the machine guns mounted forward and aft, and he asked the captain about them.
“Pirates,” was the short answer.
At his surprised look, Beron amplified his answer. “We sail a lot down in the Caribbean. Once you get past Florida, it’s pretty much the wild west, or in this case, the Wild Caribbean. Lots of pirates. Hell, some are even better armed than us. You’ll see just about every sea-going vessel armed in one manner or ‘nother.”
Minutes later, the yacht was past the old fort, exiting the narrow entrance of the harbor, and entering the heavier swells of the Atlantic. Rather than head straight out to sea, though, Beron turned due north by northeast. Bill recognized what he was doing, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Beron, hands on the wheel and looking forward, explained his actions.
“Moren’t likely, these boys are taking the great circle route back to Europe. That means we’re gonna have to go north before swingin’ east.”
“What’s the great circle route?” Rhodes asked.
“Shortest course between two points on a sphere, like a ball or the earth. Unless you sail, most maps you see show the earth all flattened out, so you don’t really grasp that it’s a sphere. When sailing, you gotta treat it like a sphere. Straightest line is on the plane that intersects the center of the sphere, not the surface.
“So, we head north then east. Figure on a full day’s sailing before you can launch your flying car. But let’s wait until we get far enough offshore. International waters are twelve miles offshore, whi
ch should put us out of reach of the Confederate authorities. That’ll be about a half-hour.”
“Isn’t this a Confederate flagged vessel?” Bill asked.
Beron just shook his head, chuckling. “Nope. Flagged it in Liberia. Cheaper and less regulations. I can hire anyone I want, not just Confederates. That’s why you’ll find the crew a bit mixed up.”
Realizing that it was going to be some time before he was needed, Bill asked Beron about the sleeping accommodations. “We’ve been up and running for more than thirty hours. My team and I need to sleep for at least a couple of hours.”
Beron nodded. “We’ve got berths for y’all below. I hope you don’t mind sharing a cabin, as Mr. Rhodes here, already done took the master cabin.”
“If it’s got a mattress, I don’t care. Just tell me where.”
Beron picked up a microphone, pressed the key on its side, and spoke into it. “Purser to the deck. Purser to the deck.” Setting the microphone back in its cradle, he said, “Purser’ll be up in a minute and show you to your cabin.”
A short, skinny man with prematurely thinning hair and a tan all over stepped into the bridge.
“Take these gentlemen to their cabin,” he was ordered by Beron, who didn’t even turn to confirm that the newcomer was actually the purser. “And make sure the other guests get shown to their cabins.”
“Yessir,” the man said, waving Bill and Lane to follow him.
A short walk down some stairs, or ladders, as Bill recalled, brought them to a small cabin with two bunks and a small bathroom, or head. Bill thanked the purser and asked if he wouldn’t mind waking him up in a couple of hours. The man said he’d be happy to.
Rather than take advantage of the small shower in the head, the two men just dropped their packs and gun bags on the deck and collapsed in their respective bunks. Bill had just closed his eyes when he heard a banging at the door. As he got up to answer it, he heard Lane stirring.
Opening the door was the purser.
“Yeah, did you forget something?” Bill grumpily asked.
“Ah, no sir. You said to wake you in two hours.”
Bill looked at his watch; it was already four-thirty in the afternoon.
“Wow, my apologies. I’m still a bit groggy and didn’t even realize I’d fallen asleep. Thanks for waking us.”
“My pleasure, sir. If you need anything, just let me know. We’ve got fresh coffee in the galley and we’ll be serving supper in about two hours.”
Bill thanked the purser again, asking for directions to the galley. He was definitely in the need for something more high-octane than water. As he closed the door, he saw Lane sitting up.
“Man, has it already been two hours?”
“Yeah. You need to use the head, ‘cause I’m in serious need of a shower.”
“Nah, go ahead. I’ll get us some coffee and use the shower after you’re done.”
Lane left while Bill stripped and went into the small head. At least it’s got its own shower, he thought, remembering some of the sailboats he had been on where the head was a toilet/shower combination.
A short shower, shave, and some clean clothes, and Bill was feeling a lot more human. Back in the room, he was happy to see that Lane had returned with a couple of cups of coffee, one of which was almost empty.
“There’s a main lounge for guests under the bridge, extending out onto the quarterdeck. Matt, Ford, and Rhodes are there right now if you’re interested.” Bill was, so while Lane was taking his shower, Bill grabbed his cup of coffee and worked his way around the small vessel, eventually finding the main lounge.
The three men, along with Jordan, were sitting in easy chairs. Jordan looked as haggard as Bill felt, but Bill was glad to see him in what resembled a normal setting, instead of the segregated state they’d all had to suffer for the past several days.
Bill sat down next to Jordan. “How you doing?”
Jordan raised a tumbler that appeared to have some whiskey in it. “A lot better now that we’re out of that country-sized prison.” Taking a sip, he continued, “Kinda nice being treated like a normal human again.” He shook his head. “I still can’t believe that place.”
“What’s it like in California?” Ford asked, curious, after seeing the interaction between Jordan and the rest of the team.
Still keeping in character, Jordan replied, “It’s a lot different. For example, here you see a Negro, somebody who, because of their skin color, is lower than you on the social ladder. Probably somebody not even worth noticing, unless they do something wrong. Where I come from, people just see another person, albeit one with darker skin. Color don’t matter where we live. It’s a person’s character and what they can bring to the table that really counts. Ask Bill, he’ll tell you.”
Bill nodded at that, and the two locals looked at him with interest, remembering what he had said at the hotel.
“What Jordan said. We consider a person based on what they do, not what they look like. Take Jordan, here,” he said, pointing at his fellow Explorer. “He’s one of the bravest men I know. You know how many corny jokes he tells? It’s amazing he still tells them, despite the reception they always get.”
That drew a chuckle out of all of them except Jordan, who feigned hurt, placing a palm over his heart. “My jokes aren’t funny? You’re killin’ me, Bill.”
“On a more serious note,” Bill continued, “as I said earlier, Jordan’s not only my friend, he’s also Matt’s friend. And Matt’s originally from Memphis. That should tell you something about the society we come from. Equality isn’t just a phrase, it’s one of the reasons for our being. We could probably go on for hours about home, but we’re not there, and we’ve got unfinished business. Did Lane or Jordan fill you in on what happened in Atlanta?”
“Jordan did,” Matt said. “Probably a good idea we left when we did.”
“Yeah, it was. So, the big question is, what do we do next?”
“Right,” Rhodes said, recognizing that Bill was the leader of the group of foreigners, and was well on his way to becoming the leader of their small band. “Well, we’ve got at least twenty-two hours or so before we catch up to the Heinies, but I believe we should be able to launch and do a quick recce in the morning.”
“Rekee?” Jordan asked.
“Yes, you know, reconnaissance.”
“Ah, got you. We just say recon.”
Bill considered Rhodes’s comment. “What time are you thinking?”
“Earliest we could go up would be about six a.m. By that time we should have gained at least a hundred and thirty knots more on them, putting them only about ninety knots away.”
“How far could one expect to see? I know at sea level it’s only about three nautical miles.”
Matt, with his greater experience as a pilot, which he hadn’t divulged to the locals, chimed in, “We’d have to be at least a mile up.”
“So, about six thousand feet?” Bill asked for clarification.
“Yeah, thereabouts. But, just because you can see for that long a distance, doesn’t mean you’ll be able to make out whatever it is you’re looking at. And if I’m correct, we need to find the right freighter, not just any freighter.”
“Which means we’ve got to be sure it’s the right German tramp, not just any old vessel,” Rhodes added.
Taking a sip of his coffee, Bill asked, “Color me ignorant, but how can we tell?”
“Quite simple,” Rhodes answered. “Just look for the huge German Imperial Merchant flag flying from the stern.”
“Almost as big as the Union Jack,” Ford said dryly.
“Well, we are the worlds’s biggest Empire, after all,” Rhodes responded with a grin.
“The sun never sets. Yeah, we get that. Well, we’re all landlubbers from the West Coast, so, what does this German Imperial Merchant flag look like?”
Ford answered, “Well, it’s the Imperial German flag, black, white, and red stripes, but sometimes it has an iron cross on the left side, or s
ide closest to the flag pole”
The Explorers just nodded, as if knowing what the Imperial German flag looked like.
“Here’s my thought,” Bill said. “A quick recon at dawn just to see if there’s anything heading in the direction we suspect the Germans to have taken.” He hadn’t gotten into the habit of referring to Germans as Heinies yet and hoped not to. “If we spot a possible match, we close in on it. But, I don’t want our boat getting to within twelve knots of them during the day. If we can see them from the bridge, they’ll be able to see us, and I’d like as much surprise as possible. If the cloud cover’s good, we could try more aerial recon to see if it’s the German freighter. The car’s probably on the deck.”
“What’re you thinking, Bill?” Jordan asked.
“A real simple op. We recon, find them, close, and board. We’re after three things: the car, the plans, and Einstein. We can do without the car, but we need either Einstein or the plans. Ideally, we get all three.”
“A bit ambitious, are we?” commented Rhodes. Ford sat silently, seemingly realizing that he was out of his depth with the men he had hitched his wagon to.
“Go big or go home,” Jordan quipped with a grin.
“Okay, so, here’s my thinking. We find the vessel, approach at night, and use the flying car to land all of us on the quarterdeck. Ford, you fly. The rest of us go in armed to get the plans and Einstein. Once we’ve got them, Ford, you come in and pick them up. We then take the other Dixie Flyer and get the hell out of Topeka.”
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 80
