A dozen more like it waited outside the harbor of Bassin du Sud. Not a scrap of metal gleamed, and the faces of the crews were equally dark with burnt cork and black wool stocking-caps. The commander of the little flotilla was the oldest man in the crews, and he was several years short of thirty; most of his subordinates had been fishermen two years ago, or scions of families wealthy enough to own motorboats. Kneally’s father was a newspaper magnate with ambitions for his sons. His wasn’t the only grin as he extended his hand to the heavyset Protégé.
“Welcome aboard,” he said, in fair Landisch. “Commander James Frederick Kneally, at your service. You’ve got it?”
Silent, Angelo reached inside his jacket and pulled out an oilskin map. The Santander naval officer unwrapped it and spread it on the engine coaming, clicking on a small shaded flashlight.
“Oh, very nice,” Kneally breathed. No changes from the ones Intelligence had given them back in Karlton.
A Land Naval Service-issue map, with the minefields marked in red, compass deviations, bearings, the lot; typical Chosen thoroughness. The Santander officer laid his compass on the map and looked up. Two lights flashed from different parts of the hills above Bassin du Sud, and he was busy with straight-edge and slide rule for a moment.
“Right here,” Kneally said, marking the map. “All right. Thanks again.”
The Protégé dipped his head. “I must return; I am on an errand for my master that gives me some freedom from suspicion, but not much. Give me ten minutes.”
The flotilla commander shook his hand again, then returned entranced to the map as he was handed back over the side to his little steam launch. He half-noticed that the tiny pennant at the rear was the checked black-and-white of the Land General Staff, then dismissed it.
“Helm,” he said. “Prepare to follow a course to my direction, dead slow. Signal to the flotilla, follow in line astern.”
A dim blue light just above the waterline snapped on at the very stern of the lead torpedo boat. The man at the wheel spat overside and wiped first one hand, then the other on his duck trousers. The commander ducked his head through a hole in the coaming, into the stuffy darkness of the engine compartment. The petty officer in charge and his two ratings crouched by the big internal-combustion motors like acolytes worshiping some god of iron and brass, tools and oil can at the ready. They’d spent the past week going over every part and link and piece of the motor train as if their lives depended on it. Which, of course, they did.
“Ready?”
“Ready as we’ll ever be, sir.”
He pulled himself back up and looked at the stars. One moon full, the other half, a little scattered cloud, dead calm with only the inevitable southern ocean swell. Inside the breakwaters of the harbor it would be as calm as a bathtub. He looked at the map again, noting the markings on currents.
“Three knots,” he said quietly to the helm. “Come about twelve degrees and maintain for four minutes. Carefully now. It’s a tight fit.”
“Tight as a cabin boy’s bum, sir,” the helmsman agreed, and let out the throttle inch by careful inch.
The muffler on the stern burbled a little louder, and the commander winced. The Chosen had beefed up the port defenses considerably, and while he had what looked like perfect intelligence on them, knowing exactly how a 250-pound prizefighter would throw a right hook did you little good if you were a ninety-pound weed with a glass jaw. Kneally’s boats were plywood shells over explosives and highly volatile fuel; a heavy machine gun could turn them to burning splinters, much less a pom-pom, much less a 240mm shell from the Emmas in the castle or the harbor forts. And there were gunboats constantly patrolling.
The minefields were laid with the clear passages staggered by horizontal lanes, making doglegs nobody could negotiate by luck. It would be difficult enough in daylight, with a pilot conning the helm; the enemy had lost a couple of supply ships to their own mines.
“Gently, gently. Blink the stern light. Now come about to port, ninety degrees. Gently, man, gently.”