Fourth Vector Ch. 48

"Good for us then, we'll never have to live that far north," said Jack with a chuckle. "And this is about as far north as we go anyway. We'll be arching down to reach Lockhaven here soon."

"And the transports, Jack? What about their current course?"

"That's where things get a little trickier," said Jack. "I was content to leave them further to the north for the bulk of the journey, but that's going to have to change the closer we get to Java. The problem is Occitania. By the intelligence that I was able to get from Stan Lucas, Bancroft is maintaining a squadron of ships in Montauban, the Occitanian capital. The ships would be a threat to the transports, so the closer that we get to Java, we need to decrease the distance between them and us in order to protect them."

"Narrow the gap, hmm? And make it more likely that our enemy to the south finds them?"

"It's always a risk," said Jack. "Now, Reynolds has been awfully docile for the past three weeks, not making any serious moves, but we know his seaplanes are out there searching at all times. I know he knows our transports are out there but he can't find them. We run the risk of him finding them the closer we move them to the main fleet."

"But we need to protect them lest they get too close to Occitania and risk bumping into the Javans there," said Russ after pursing his lips. "It looks like we're damned if we do, damned if we don't."

"Our luck has gotten us this far," said Jack. "With a little more of it, we might just be able to shield the transports until they can unload in Lockhaven."

"And if our luck doesn't hold?" asked Russ. "What do we do if Reynolds finds the transports?"

It was the question that Jack had been dreading. Despite Jack's superiority in airpower, Reynolds still outnumbered him in number of ships as well as sheer firepower. A large-scale battle with the Javans where both sides committed the majority of their forces wasn't bound to go well for Jack.

But if it came to that, there was only one thing he could do.

"If it comes to that, then we do everything we can to protect the transports," said Jack grimly. "Even if that means that our fleet takes the full brunt of Reynolds' power. We cannot allow him the chance to sink even one of them."

Russ started to nod and then looked back out at sea. It was an ominous answer on a day that was otherwise beautiful, but everyone knew those white clouds on the horizon might someday turn black with danger.

The prevailing hope was that it wasn't going to bethis day though. Another day, sure, but not this day.

"You ever think about it?" asked Russ after another minute. "The way that you're going to die?"

Jack took a deep breath. "That thought crosses my mind every day. Mostly because someone predicted that I might die over two thousand years ago. And now that this fight seems to be right in front of us, it's all I can think about at times."

"I heard that Art Chapman was nearly spot on when he knew he was going to die," muttered Russ. "Almost to the day."

"You're not getting the same feeling, are you? Because I need you in the fleet, Russ. There's no one else on our side that combines the extraordinary skill and experience that you have."

Russ shook his head. "No, I don't believe it's coming to that. But I still think about it. One day, we'll be engulfed by fire. Perhaps this whole fleet. Will that be the end of us? How far off is that day? Tomorrow? A week from now? Two?"

"I guess we never really know, do we? It could even come this afternoon and we'd be none the wiser."

"I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot lately. Maybe it's a sign that I need to retire," admitted Russ. "Maybe all my good days are just about over."

Jack put his hand on the other man's shoulder. "I'd rather see you retire than see anything else happen to you. I lose you either way but after all you've done for us, I'd like to see you live out the rest of your days in peace."

"Don't we all?" asked Russ, a fond smile appearing on his face. "No one wants to die before they can put their full stamp on life. But I also don't want to live like a coward either. I won't avoid a fight that's coming for me. If it's my time to die, it's my time. And I'll give that order for the fleet to advance when danger comes."

"Let's hope then that you only have to give that order one more time," said Jack. "And that long days of peace and quiet in Kalmar are the result."

"Not Kalmar, I don't think," said Russ, shaking his head. "Too noisy for a man like me. I'd rather retire south if I'm being honest."

"One of the other cities? Farso? Austad?"

Russ started to grin. "City living really isn't for me, Jack. Too much noise and too many people. I deal with enough of that on my ships. No, when I retire, if I get to retire, it's going to be to some no-name village far away from any city of any consequence. The type of village that has one road in and out town, one that's made of dirt. And a place where the people are hardy but friendly, where I can spend the rest of my days fishing off a dock without a care in the world."

Jack chuckled. "It sounds like you have it all planned out. You've been giving this some thought, haven't you?"

"Just a little," admitted Russ. "We have to get home first though. Won't do anyone any good if we go down fighting in the middle of the ocean. But if we do survive and go back, then I know how I want to live the rest of my life. One day at a time."

One day at a time seemed like a foreign concept to Jack at that moment. He'd spent so much time planning this operation, looking at it from every logistical angle to ensure his men had the best plan as well as supplies to get them across the ocean. He couldn't afford to look at life one day at a time, but perhaps sometime in the future, he might be able to join Russ in that thinking.

As long as it wasn'ttoo long in the future.

*****

"Argh! The gods piss on me!"

Brian Mikkelson growled as he picked up his personal effects bag, finding that some kind of critter, most likely a rat, had gnawed through the bottom, leaving a large enough hole as to make the bag useless.

"Fucking rats," he growled, tossing his bag on the ground.

Quite frankly, he was tired of being on this cramped ship. The food was terrible, the rats were a scourge, and he'd had enough of the same damn rocking that accompanied any kind of sea travel.

He wanted to get on dry land, and he was quite certain that he'd never want to leave it the moment they arrived in Java.

Passage aboard the transport ship was dull and boring about ninety percent of the time. For the better portion of that time, he slept, ate meager rations of gruel and cured ham, and talked with his comrades about all the things they were going to do when they next saw land and decently-attractive women.

"Big tits, I tell you," said Sven, a member of Brian's platoon. "Great big tits that I can't even get my hands around. Maybe two hands to a single tit. That's the kind of girl I'm looking for. Nothing else but the tits matter!"

Brian started to laugh. "Nothing else, huh? So if she's dumber than a bag of rocks, you don't care about that?"

Sven looked at him strangely. "Who needs brains when you have tits? Especially two big ones!"

Brian laughed even harder. There was no use arguing with Sven, especially as the size of those tits grew larger as the passage went on. By the time a month had elapsed, this mythical girl's tits that he was looking for had melons larger than her entire ass.

Even with all the stories, the long passage made many of them not as entertaining as they once were. Brian was tired of hearing the same old stories, and he desperately wanted to find someone new to talk to. He'd even give a gold coin just to be able to talk to someone who wasn't in his platoon, just for the sake of a change.

Oftentimes, he wondered how his friend, Arnold, was doing on his own transport ship. Brian found that he quite missed the big Swabian and especially the colorful commentary he usually added to any situation.

Brian scoffed at the very idea. The thought of missing a Swabian and his friendship was a foreign concept indeed. Months ago, he never would have considered the idea, finding it entirely preposterous.

How times had changed.

Today though, he was in for a real treat. Little did Brian know that a radio was being moved about around his ship, one that tuned into the frequency to another transport within the convoy. The men of Brian's platoon were using it to communicate with their Swabian counterparts, catching up their time away from each other since leaving Quiller's Cove.

The real surprise was when Brian heard his name being called. He looked over to find another platoon member, Luca, holding up the radio.

"Brian! This one's for you. It's Arnold!"

That got his attention really quickly. Brian pushed up from his smelly bunk and grabbed the radio. "Arnold, you there?"

He heard the Swabian's voice immediately. "Brian, that you? How are you doing over there?"

Brian couldn't contain a grin. "The gods continue to piss on me, my friend. I'm tired of being cramped over here and there's far too many rats."

"Same over here. You ought to catch one and eat it. Makes for better food than the shit they've been serving us for dinner."

Brian started to laugh. "As anxious as I am for a change in food, I think I'll pass on eating rats for the time being."

"Suit yourself. You know in some Swabian islands, rats are considered a delicacy if done right."

"Well, remind me never to visit said islands in my lifetime."

Arnold chuckled. "Noted. How are your guys really holding up? Each one of mine is restless and constantly searching the horizon for land. Being a month out without the sight of anything other than endless ocean is starting to get to them."

"I can't say I blame them. We have something similar on our side. The only thing the guys can talk about are tits and good food."

"Tits, you say? Yes, that would be nice. I can't wait to get home and squeeze Eloise's for good measure."

Brian started to laugh. "At least you got a girl to come home to. Not all of us are so lucky."

"Hey now, I meant what I told you back at Quiller's. We're going to find you some buxom Javan girl with a penchant for bad decisions. She's going to be all yours."

Brian laughed even harder. "If you can find such a girl, I'll be forever in your debt."

Arnold chuckled before his humor all but evaporated. "We keep hearing reports that we're getting closer to Java. From the sounds of it, it's only a couple weeks away."

"A couple weeks is still a long time," said Brian. "Especially when we've already spent a month out here."

"Well, at least it's been quiet. The last place I want to be is this rust bucket if there's guns going off in the distance. But I've heard no guns. No nothing to be honest."

"That's because all the big ships are far to the south from what I've heard. Shielding all of us from danger."

"They're doing a mighty fine job of it then," said Arnold. "I half expected we might be sunk just a day out of Quiller's."

Brian grinned. "Have a little faith, man. My king knows what he's doing."

Arnold scoffed. "You're asking me to have faith in the Galician King. Don't you know what you're asking me? It goes beyond my own genes."

"Come on, you've even met the man. He wasn't what you expected, was he?"

"No, I guess not. He didn't have horns like my mother warned me he would. He seemed like a normal man like the rest of us."

"A normal man that has the whole world by the tail," said Brian.

"Don't forget the two gorgeous wives," added Arnold humorously.

Brian chuckled. "Can't forget that."

There was a moment of silence between them as each grappled with what they wanted to say next.

"I'm glad you reached out," said Brian, breaking the silence. "Been getting tired of talking to the same old people."

"Yeah, it's a change in pace, isn't it?" replied Arnold. "If you talk to the same old people, you just get the same old stories."

"That's a good way to look at it."

"Well, I hope we get to dry land soon enough. Maybe we just might even make it there in one piece," said Arnold.

"You're a dreamer, Arnold. But it's a good dream, nevertheless. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can look for those Javan girls."

Arnold chuckled. "Good point. I'm getting another guy next to me demanding his chance on the radio now, so I think we'll have to wrap this up."

"You just tell him to wait his own damn turn," growled Brian.

"I did that already and now he's threatening me with his knife," said Arnold jokingly. "I'll reach out to you the next time I get a chance."

"Sounds good, my friend," said Brian. "One more thing before you go."

"Oh? What's that?"

Brian smirked. "Take care of yourself, you dumb Swabian ox."

Arnold chuckled. "Right back at you, you arrogant Galician fuck."

*****

Admiral Nick Reynolds was feeling an incredible amount of anxiety.

It wasn't hard to figure out why.

After almost a month of no progress against the Fourthie fleet led by Jack Easterbrook, he was still no closer to stopping it let alone figuring out a strategy that would at least allow him to get to the transports.

The transports were the biggest question. Just where the hell were they?

Nick had seaplanes out searching at all times of day but still they couldn't be located. He was quickly running out of planes. Every day that went on meant another plane or two that was shot down by Fourthie forces, lowering his overall numbers.

At this rate, he was quickly approaching a time when he'd have no functioning planes left.

And now, he had another new thing to worry about.

The dispatch in his hand from the emperor was incredibly blunt and succinct in its message.

Find Easterbrook and destroy him at whatever the costs.

Now, Nick felt torn between two different goals. Should he allow his fleet to engage with Easterbrook's and forget about the transports, especially since that seemed to be a lower priority for Bancroft? Or should he disobey Bancroft's instructions and maintain his sole focus on finding the transports?

There was rarely anything to gain (and there was much to lose) by disappointing the Emperor but he knew that sinking the transport fleet would be a blow that Easterbrook could never recover from.

So just how the hell was he going to find them?

Fortunately for him, he received the very news he'd been waiting on that afternoon.

Admiral Strange requested entry into his personal quarters a short while later, this time accompanied by a pilot that Nick didn't recognize. At this stage of the journey, Nick knew something was up by the smirk being worn on Strange's face.

"Sir, we've found the Fourthie transports," announced Strange with much satisfaction.

Nick's eyes went wide. "You did? How? When? Tell me details, now!"

Strange gestured to the pilot. "Airman Martin here was the one that did the honors, obtaining the position and course of the Fourthie fleet. I'm almost surprised that he managed to do what he did, considering how far north he ended up."

Nick's gaze turned to look at the rather unremarkable Martin. "Far north? How far north?"

For the first time, Martin spoke. "Very far north, sir. Over sixty miles due north. I gave the exact coordinates to Admiral Strange here, but I very much found them by accident! I was just sent out to monitor the main body of the Fourthie fleet but I missed them. I overshot them by a good amount, sir!"

Nick's eyes narrowed. "You overshot them? And still managed to find the transports?"

Martin nodded eagerly, which caused Strange to shake his head.

"Incredible, isn't it?" asked Strange. "Even while failing to do his job, he still gets lucky enough to find pay dirt."

Martin didn't seem to have sense enough to realize when he was being poked at, as he quickly continued. "I knew something was wrong as I should have found the Fourthie fleet but I just kept going due north, thinking that they'd be hard to miss with that many ships. Well sure enough, I found a long convoy of ships, sir. But they weren't warships."

"How many ships did you see?"

"Too many to count," answered Martin. "All of the troop-carrying variety. Little in the way of defenses too. I saw one cruiser guarding them but it was at least one cruiser to about twenty-five different transport ships. One big, fat target in the middle of the ocean, sir!"

"And they were on the same course as the main fleet?" asked Nick.

Martin assumed a confused look as he turned to face Strange.

"Airman Martin here wouldn't know the position of the main battle fleet since he never managed to find it," remarked Strange with some disdain. "However, one of my other flyers confirmed the position of the main Fourthie fleet. It appears they are sailing at the same relative course to each other. It's just the distance that we'd been missing."

Nick shook his head. "Never would have guessed that he'd place his transports that far away, especially where he can't reach them if they come under immediate danger. It's either really brilliant or really stupid. For most of his trek across the ocean, it's probably been more brilliant than stupid. We couldn't find them because of the range. But now we know his army is out there."

Nick's attention turned back to Martin. "How many transport ships if you had to take a guess? We need to get an understanding of the size of this army that's on the way to Java."

"Too many to count, sir, I don't really--"

"Well then, fucking guess, Airman!" snapped Nick. "And hurry up, will you? The fate of your country lies in the balance!"

Martin made a noise that sounded like a child being scolded. His eyes rolled upward as he tried to remember. "At least eighty, sir. That's my guess. Maybe more or less but somewhere around there."

"And how many men would estimate are on each of those ships?"

Martin turned pale very quickly. "I don't know, sir. If I had to guess though, somewhere between five hundred and a thousand? They're big ships, sir. Cramped, I'd say, but still big. You can fit a whole lot of men on there."

Nick felt the color draining from his own face. "You're telling me there's enough of an army out there that it's somewhere between forty to eighty thousand men?"

Martin nodded quickly. "That's what I saw, sir. That's all of it."

Nick was temporarily speechless. He even looked over at Strange to find that the admiral was looking back at him, no doubt wondering what he was going to order.

This was no mere raid that Easterbrook was attempting. This was an army of conquest. It could only mean that Bancroft's army that was now departing Belfort was going to meet with something very near to its own size.

If Easterbrook hoped to achieve the element of surprise, he'd done so.

"Damn him," growled Nick. "Damn that man! The fucking audacity!"

The other two in the room were wise enough not to say anything as Nick broke the pencil in his hand in half. No doubt Easterbrook hoped to catch them all unawares with the size of that army. And if speed was such a factor in this ocean crossing, no doubt it would be so when he reached Java.

He would dash down quickly from Lockhaven and occupy Belfort before Bancroft even knew what hit him. And from there, where else could Bancroft go?

The only land route to Aberdeen would have been cut off. Thessaly was entirely removed from Javan command and acting independently once more.

And now there was a Tyrolean army nearly on their doorstep.

He couldn't allow Jack the chance to attempt a landing unopposed.

"We have to find those transports," said Nick clearly after a moment of thought. "We have to find them again and hit them with everything we've got. They can't be permitted to land unmolested."