Grisson thought for a moment. The rules of engagement and his own orders from the Admiralty gave him virtually complete discretion. One thing Uncle Maurice wouldn’t do was sit with his thumb up his ass waiting for things to happen to him.
I can’t run, he knew. Intelligence on the Land naval forces in the area and their Unionaise allies was scanty, but whatever they had was likely to have the legs on his motley squadron. Therefore . . .
“Squadron to come about,” he said, giving the new heading. “Signal battle stations and sound general quarters. My compliments to Commander Huskinson, and the torpedo-boat destroyers are to deploy. Tell him I have full confidence in his ships’ scouting ability. No ship is to fire unless fired upon or on my order.”
Bells rang, signal guns fired, yeomen hoisted signals to the tripod mast of the McCormick City. “Oh, and general signal: The Republic expects every man to do his duty.”
Armored panels winched up across the horseshoe shape of the fighting bridge, leaving slits for viewing all around. A signals yeoman bent over his pad near the wireless station, decoding a message.
“Sir. From the destroyers.”
Grisson took the yellow flimsy.
Am under attack by Land heavier-than-air twin engine models stop more than a dozen stop smoke plumes detected to northeast eight ships minimum approaching fast stop.
For a moment Grisson’s mind gibbered at him. The distance to shore was more than twice the maximum range of any Land-made airplane. Stop that, he told himself. It’s happening. Deal with it.
“Signal: Wait for me stop am proceeding your position best speed stop.”
The key of the wireless clicked as the operator rattled it off. Eyes were fixed on him from all over the bridge; he could taste salt sweat on his upper lip. He’d known this moment had to come all his professional life—ever since he was a snot-nosed teenage ensign on this very ship, when Maurice Farr faced down the Chosen at Salini and saved fifty thousand lives. I expected this, but not so soon.
“Signal to the fleet. Maximum speed.” All of ten knots, if they were to keep together. “Add: We are at war. Expect hostile aircraft before we engage enemy surface forces. Plan alpha. Acknowledge. Stop. Repeat signal until all units have acknowledged receipt.”
Some of the reservists would probably be a little slow on signals, and he didn’t want anyone haring off on his own.
There was a collective sigh, half of relief. “Yeoman,” he went on to the wireless operator, “do you have contact with Karlton?”
“Yessir.”
“Then send: Commodore Grisson to Naval HQ. Southern Fleet in contact with Land and Libertist-Unionaise naval forces. Have received unprovoked attack in international waters. Am engaging enemy. Enemy twin engine heavier-than-air attack aircraft sighted at distances exceeding two hundred nautical miles from shore. Long live the Republic. Grisson, Commander, Southern Fleet. Stop. Repeat until you have acknowledgment.”
“Yessir.”
The rhythm of the engines hammered more swiftly under his feet. The black gang would probably be cursing his name. Insubordinate bastards, Grisson thought, the irrelevancy breaking through the tension that gripped his gut. It’d be a relief when the fleet all finally converted to oil-firing and turbine engines. A few score stokers could contribute more disciplinary offenses and Captain’s Mast hearings than the entire crew of a battlewagon.
Neither side was going to have heavy ships here . . . at least, that was what the reports said. The Chosen had a complete squadron of modern protected cruisers in Bassin du Sud: six ships, von Spee-class, the name ship and five consorts. Seventy-five hundred tons, turbine engines—coal-fired though, the Land was short of petroleum—four eight-inch guns in twin turrets fore and aft, each with a triple six-inch turret behind it superimposed on a pedestal mount. They carried pom-poms and quick-firers as well, of course. There would be a squadron of twelve torpedo-boat destroyers as well, and the cruisers carried torpedo tubes, too. Land torpedoes were excellent.
“Captain,” he said. “All right; we’re going to be at a disadvantage in weight of gun metal and torpedoes both, but less so in gunpower. We’ll try to maintain optimum firing distance with the heavier ships and slug it out, while the lighter craft with torpedo capacity close in. Gunboats and others are to engage their destroyers.”