1637: No Peace Beyond the Line

by Eric Flint

  Soon after, the jacht that Tromp had dispatched to keep watch on that formation of galleons, Vriessche Jager, ran in to assist Neptunus. But as she passed the second of the surrendering Spaniards, they proved themselves faithless, also, and discharged a full broadside at seventy yards. Vriessche Jager mostly flew into pieces and sunk in minutes.

  Vengeance came swiftly. Neptunus withdrew far enough for Harrier to destroy the already shaken galleon, and Courser saw to the other. That ended what proved to be the most costly engagement of the day: sixty-nine lost on Vriessche Jager, twenty-eight dead and forty-six wounded on Neptunus, twelve of the latter dying either because they did not get the prompt attention of a surgeon or due to postoperative infections.

  Another ten had been in danger of succumbing to similar causes but were saved by Brandão after being carried to Oranjestad by two of the fluyts that had been sent to reprovision the fleet for its hastily approved push to Santo Domingo. All the senior officers were in agreement that in this region, the Spanish were now too weak to turn back another drive on the city the way they had at Vieques the year before.

  Banckert was rolling a dram of his preferred gin slowly between his palms, still glowering at the memories. “I should have let all those popish bastards drown.”

  Larry glanced at Joost’s use of the word “popish.” While not a Catholic himself, he had the same aversion to religious intolerance as most other up-timers. However, those prejudices remained predominant in down-timers, even those who fought against having (or at least showing) them. Quinn found a middle ground. “The men on those galleons were liars and backstabbers. So I’m not losing any sleep over taking care of our own first. Along with any other pressing matters.” Joost nodded fiercely and downed his gin. “Besides,” Larry reflected, “it was weird how many didn’t even want to be rescued, at first. Scared shitless, most of them.”

  Eddie nodded. “I think we’ve found out why that might be. While we were patching up in Great Bay, near the salt pans, our troops were having a hard time finding any of the Spanish who we knew had been left on the island. Yeah, a lot of them got away on pataches from Marigot Bay on the west, but given all the men they had creating smoke screens, sending signals, and trying to trap and grab Resolve, it was a certainty they hadn’t been able to evacuate all of them.

  “But our troops couldn’t find any. The Spanish had even abandoned Fort Amsterdam. Took a while to track them down, but they eventually came to freshwater sources and our guys were there waiting.” Eddie shook his head. “It didn’t make any sense at first: their half-starved guys with swords charging straight at our troops with muskets and pistols. Who were offering food. It was like Spanish banzai charges.” The Dutchmen looked at each other. “I’ll explain later. But finally we got a chance to talk to some who were only wounded, and after some water and decent care, they came around and dropped the dime.”

  “Dropped the dime?” Larry asked. “On who?” This time the two admirals just shrugged and drank when they bounced off the up-time idiom.

  “Olivares.”

  “What?” asked all three men.

  “Yes,” Eddie said, nodding. “The one and only epitome of self-interest, insecurity, and nepotism. According to the ones with more rank or seniority, they’d been told that all Dutchmen—and all their allies—should be executed. No prisoners taken. Because, of course, that’s what all of us were ready to do to them.”

  Larry pushed back from the table with an expression that was equal parts dismay and revulsion. “Hey, I know it’s war to the knife out here, but, really?”

  It was Tromp who answered. “Olivares passed those orders a year ago. He issued the statement to the junta that oversees affairs here in the New World. It was presumed that this was simply one of his many vitriolic outbursts. But it seems he has made it an actual policy, this time.”

  “Well, that explains Curaçao,” Banckert growled.

  “And the massacre of the slaveholders’ fish-salting camp back on St. Maarten,” Eddie added.

  Tromp nodded at him. “I understand you received our final casualty reports, this morning?”

  Eddie nodded. “I did, along with other news that’s worth sharing, I think.” Boy, is it ever! “There were nineteen dead and thirty-five wounded on all other ships, combined. Except for Resolve, of course.” He sighed. “Ninety-seven dead, mostly deck crew killed during the initial ambush, but also quite a few lost during the evacuation.” He suppressed memories.

  “Wounded?”

  “Twenty-four convalescing, almost a hundred with minor injuries. All on the mend. They’ll be ready for duty by the time we return.”

  “So many dead, and so few wounded?” Banckert wondered.

  Eddie nodded. “I sympathize with what happened to the wounded aboard Neptunus, Admiral, because something similar happened on Resolve. Given how long they had to fight while surrounded, most men with serious wounds died because they couldn’t move fast enough to avoid getting hit again. And of those few who were taken off, most died on the ride back out or because the fleet was engaged with the enemy and could not stop to take on wounded.”

  Banckert looked glum. “Well, I’m ready for some good news. Do we have a final count on how many of them we accounted for?”

  Eddie paused. Banckert’s concept of winning and losing was almost entirely in keeping with what one military historian had called “dueling kill counts,” and that wasn’t ever going to change. “There’s no way to know how many Spanish seamen we killed. All told, twenty-one galleons, four galleoncetes and two fragatas were sunk or scuttled. Some of their crew survived and escaped in small boats, about eighty have been picked up. From what little information they’re sharing, most of the galleons did not have full complements. Some only had skeleton crews, such as the ones Resolve encountered during its actions in and around the lagoon. I am not counting those ships as destroyed because they weren’t actually combatant vessels.”

  “Lastly, one hundred and forty dead soldiers and sappers have been found, but given the fire, explosions, destruction of Resolve, and landslide, we are never going to have an accurate count. My answer to your request for an estimate of enemy casualties is ‘a lot.’”

  “Well,” Banckert declared gruffly, “I’d say we did pretty well, then.”

  Tromp’s reply was almost a whisper. “Did we? I tell you, Joost, I’d be happy to return all the ships they lost if we could have Resolve back.”

  Eddie nodded. “Yeah, because this wasn’t just about capturing or even destroying one of our steamships. This was a lesson.”

  “And a blow aimed at our morale,” Tromp added, “at our easy assumptions of invincibility whenever one of our steamships is present.”

  Larry Quinn put his cup down. “While we’re on the topic of invincibility, I’ve been wondering: how long should we really stay here?”

  Tromp frowned. “I am not sure I understand what you mean.”

  “I mean, we’ve got to start thinking about how long we want to remain anchored in front of Santo Domingo, almost five hundred miles from the closest friendly port. Particularly since we’ve given our enemies a lot of time to react.”

  “Come, come, Larry,” cozened Banckert. “We have moved with excellent dispatch!”

  “No argument on that,” Larry replied, perhaps honestly, perhaps diplomatically. “But that doesn’t mean we’re not still racing a clock that could run out on us.

  “Count it out: we spent five days refitting off St. Maarten. Then nine days sailing to the standoff point where we spent two days with the balloons and the jachts checking out the harbor and surrounding area to make sure we weren’t walking into yet another trap. Then we wasted three days trying to talk sense into them. Their response to a flag of truce? They send out fire boats. We withdraw, sink them all. We go back in, they send out more, and we sink them, too. Lather, rinse, repeat. Then yesterday, because Admiral Tromp is really, really humane, he sends a second boat with a white flag. They meet it, get a very polite w
arning that we’re giving them twenty-four hours to evacuate before we start shelling their forts, and what do they do?”

  Eddie laughed. “What else? More fire boats.”

  “What is it with the Spanish around here?” Quinn stared in bewilderment at his audience and tapped his head in the universal duh? gesture. Then his face became serious. “That’s twenty-one days. And so I’m asking you, the experts: what can they do to us in that time?”

  “Very little,” Tromp answered quietly. “Assuming the shortest course, average weather, and a generous estimate of the speed of their new ships, from St. Maarten it would take them thirty-six days to reach Cuba and then return here with a fleet—if it was already waiting for them. And there is almost no chance that they would encounter one that was already on its way here. Havana will not leave herself defenseless now that she has an adequate regard for the risk we pose.”

  But Larry was shaking his head. “Admiral, you’ve got me wrong. I’m not talking about Havana. I’m talking about Tortuga, about pirates. If the fleet at St. Maarten went straight to them for help, they could be here any day.” He stopped when he noticed that all three men were staring at him. “What?”

  Tromp smiled. “Eddie does indeed have some interesting news.”

  Larry looked at the young up-timer. “So? What is it, Commodore?”

  Eddie picked up the flimsy on the table before him and read.

  FROM: CPT. L. KLINGL, USEN

  TO: CDRE E. CANTRELL, USEN

  –MESSAGE BEGINS–

  MY PLEASURE TO SEND FINAL DATA RE: SUCCESS OF OPERATION “ISLAND HOPPERS” 48 HOURS AGO STOP

  PIRATE OPERATIONS TORTUGA TERMINATED STOP

  CAYONA PORT FACILITIES AND WAREHOUSES DESTROYED STOP FORTRESS TAKEN STOP

  COMPLETE DEMOLITION UNACHIEVABLE WITH AVAILABLE CHARGES STOP

  3 SHIPS, 37 POW TAKEN STOP

  FINAL CASUALTY COUNTS FOLLOW STOP

  ENEMY CASUALTIES 89 KIA; UNK WIA, 17 POW STOP

  NAVAL SQUADRON CASUALTIES: 14 KIA, 37 WIA. MARINE CASUALTIES: 42 KIA, 79 WIA, 12 MIA STOP

  AWAITING FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS STOP

  –MESSAGE ENDS–

  Larry blinked. “Holy sh—!” He broke off what an up-timer would have considered profanity and a down-timer might label blasphemy. “When—and how—did you do that?” He looked from Eddie to Tromp. Who merely sat in his chair, smiling. For him, that was the equivalent of a wide grin.

  Eddie shrugged. “I’m guessing you chatted enough with the crew of the Harrier to know that there was supposed to be at least one more ship in the convoy that arrived in June.”

  Larry nodded, then his eyes opened. “They said there were supposed to be Marines sent along, maybe for Jennings. But something got tangled up . . . ?”

  “Oh, a lot got tangled up. Red tape. Budgets. Infighting. Horse-trading.”

  “So just like up-time.”

  Eddie nodded. “The more things change . . . Anyhow, by the time the Marines were finally freed up and on their way over the Atlantic, I realized we needed to knock Tortuga out of this war. Too many reasons to go into here, but you can look at the OPORD, if you like.”

  Larry held up his hand. “Pass.”

  Eddie smiled. “Long story short, I diverted them so that they rendezvoused with some of our friends in Bermuda to resupply and recruit any interested auxiliaries. And also, guides around the Bahamas. Because this couldn’t be a blind ‘hey diddle diddle, straight up the middle’ kind of attack. That would have been a disaster. But there are a bunch of Bermudans who make their living, and spend most of their life, in the Bahamas. And they knew all about how pirates go in and out of Tortuga. There are hidden signs, almost like hobo marks, where they get food, where they get powder, and so on. And not surprisingly, ever since the freebooters became pals with the Spanish, they got a lot more predictable. Some of them started evolving into bean-counting bureaucrats.”

  “Is there any other kind? And also: there’s a few in every organization.”

  “Right. So the Marines, and their ship, and the ‘indigenous auxiliaries’ gathered intel for a few weeks, then nabbed an outgoing pirate smack, debriefed the crew, and got a ground plan. Using all the hobo signs and right approaches, they were to infiltrate in small boats and guide the Marines’ ship in. At least that was the plan. And it looks like it worked.”

  Larry shrugged. “Except for trying to blow that mountain cave fortress apart, I guess. But I’ll bet it was still quite a show. Hey, talking about a show, isn’t tonight’s about to start?”

  Tromp rose. “It is. The dirigible should be over the target in a few minutes.”

  As they gathered at the mural-sized stern window, Larry steered aside to add a little more rum to his cup. “The air force is having a big day. Eh, night. Is this a first?”

  “You mean a balloon observing and sending targeting adjustments to a dirigible?” Eddie frowned, shrugged. “It might be. Really haven’t been getting those kinds of details regarding the battles with the Ottomans.”

  Banckert pointed to the east. “I believe I see it. That flash of light . . . there! Is that the, eh, device that generates the hot air?”

  “The burner. Yes, Admiral,” Eddie confirmed.

  “It is higher than you said, I think.”

  Eddie nodded. “Right now, yes. It’s easier to navigate from higher altitude, particularly at night. The pilot has instruments, but the best way to steer is according to terrain features. And the higher you go, the more the ground beneath you looks like the map you’re using as a reference.”

  Although Banckert wasn’t always a huge fan of technology, he was unabashedly fascinated and enthused about balloons and airships. “It is all quite ingenious. But I do not understand why you need the balloon up as well.”

  Larry leaned in. “Think of it this way, Joost. You’re firing at a target you can’t really see that well. But, you’ve got an observer who can see things really clearly from a different angle and who can tell you how to shift your aim to get on target. That’s what the observer in the balloon will be doing. The dirigible has to descend to drop its payload accurately, but the observer will still be seeing everything from six hundred feet. He can see where the drop markers fall, then tell the dirigible pilot how to move to adjust his vehicle.”

  Banckert frowned. “And the pilot cannot see that even better, being lower and so close?”

  Eddie smiled. “You know, I thought the same thing at first, but piloting a dirigible is kind of like being at the helm of a ship; the only part of the ocean you can’t see is the patch you’re right on top of. Also, the dirigible can drift with the wind a bit and you won’t even notice it. The observer is a second, and often better, set of eyes to detect that. Which is useful because when you’re flying an airship, that means trying to keep track of a dozen things at once. Besides, it is really noisy in the gondola.”

  Tromp crossed his arms. “It is beginning its descent, approaching the target,” he announced.

  Larry sipped at his rum while staring at the airborne oval. “Looks good. I heard there was some trouble with the launch?”

  Eddie shook his head. “Just a security alert that turned out to be a false alarm. Escaped slaves. They got to Isla Catalina just two days before we did. They were trying to build a raft and not having much luck.” He smiled. “So now we’re giving them a lift aboard Crown of Waves.”

  The dirigible was now less than two hundred and fifty feet above the inlet that was also Santo Domingo’s protected anchorage and moderately reliable hurricane hole. The Spanish must have seen her, but from twelve hundred yards, there was no way to tell if they were trying to fire at her. She crept forward slowly, reached the other side of the inlet and stopped. Something small tumbled down from her.

  “What’s that?” Tromp asked.

  “White paint,” Eddie answered. “One of the many reasons we were waiting for a full moon: so the observer can see and confirm that mark. It will take him a second to telegraph any corrections
down to Intrepid’s radio room, which will then pass it on to the dirigible.”

  A moment later, the dirigible moved slightly closer to Santo Domingo’s city walls and slightly closer to the coast. Another container of paint. This time, instead of moving again, larger objects began falling down from the airship.

  “And there goes the first payload,” Larry murmured.

  The process was repeated, and then the airship reascended quickly and moved out over the bay.

  “And now let us hope the jachts are able to do their part,” Banckert mused.

  “They are,” Tromp said calmly. “And if they fail, we should be able to achieve the same end with explosive rounds from the Harrier; she is standing by to do just that.”

  Banckert frowned. “Is that even necessary? Can’t the crew of the dirigible simply drop a burning oil lantern?”

  Larry shook his head. “Nah, not reliable. That’s why we didn’t do that in the first place. Lanterns—most burning objects—are snuffed out during their fall, sometimes even when they hit. And tonight, you’re going to want really fast ignition in a lot of places, all at once. So the Spanish just can’t put out the fires.”

  As the airship flew beyond the left-hand frame of the window, two other objects moved in from the same side, but on the water: the jachts Vliegende Hert and Dolphijn. They sailed in swiftly, an unusually large group of silhouetted figures standing ready on their respective poop decks. Nine hundred yards from where the dirigible had dropped her payload, they heeled over, came fully about and laid two anchors.

  “And we needed calm water,” Eddie added.

  “Now this,” Larry added, “is where the observer in the balloon becomes even more important. The ships’ ability to see the aimpoint is even worse than the view from the dirigible.”