Letterstime: Ein Geleitzug

Vice-Admiral Stennis had been handed a wireless a minute earlier. Now, he handed it to Alton, who saw that it reported that RN AMCs Paduca and Manchester Star had moored at the base, and that their wounded were enroute to the base hospital. Meanwhile, Stennis resumed his questioning of CDR Trimm, Alton's chief-of-staff. Stennis had announced that his party would be limited to three. Alton and the BB COs were out of the question, Stennis had ruled, so Trimm was the obvious choice.

Alton might have put up an argument, under different conditions, and almost did anyway. He watched not particularly stoically as the tall vice-admiral gestured intensely to the spare, balding commander who was his own right-hand man. Trimm's bulky glasses and slight frame masked an amplitude of intellect and a zeal for observation. Alton, big-picture and action-focused, considered the commander an ideal chief-of-staff. For Trimm, the world was a display case constructed by the Creator expressly for him to examine.

"Sir, ENS Jones, reporting as ordered, sir."

"At ease, Mister," said Alton. "Captain West tells me you speak German."

"Yes, sir," the young officer replied. "But, Admiral," he warned with perhaps a trace of unease, "I wouldn't call myself fluent."

"Yes, ‘Jones' does not sound very German to me," Alton commented, smiling to extract any sting.

"No, sir. My mother's name is ‘Bodensteiner.' I grew up speaking both languages, sir. Until Plebe year, that is."

Alton nodded. It was common enough.

"That should do, Ensign," said Stennis, wishing once again for Commander Hausmann who, unfortunately, had not been in reach when he lunged for the Newport. Nonetheless, the young officer had a rugged, muscular physique and a craggy visage that engendered confidence in the man's steadiness.

"The Germans brought their own interpreters with them. You're just along to help keep them honest. As much as my aide as anything else." At that, Stennis turned to his flag-lieutenant. " Sorry, Lieutenant," he said, "you'll have to remain ‘board New York."

"Aye, aye, sir," his aide replied. What else could he say? The turmoil in his guts would simply have to be mastered.

---- 7:55 PM, Chocorua Princess, approaching marina entrance

"Oh, I do hope he's all right," gushed Maggie, for something like the thirtieth time.

Lannon winced, as he swung the tiller gently to line up the boat with the inlet. He'd expected Maggie to be angry with her Nikkie for going off and leaving her. Truth be known, he'd looked forward to her paroxysms of rage. Maggie was quite erudite, and her rages were masterpieces of the art. But, oh, no! Instead, she'd gone Earth Mother on him. Now it was, "oh, Nikkie, sooo brave ...." Nate wanted to puke.

"He'll be fine, Maggie. They know Nate will be checking - don't they, Nate?"

"Yes, Claire."

"Tell me again what they said," demanded Maggie, fists clasped to her breast.

"Look," Lannon pleaded, hopefully, "I'm really kind of busy just now ...."

---- 8:00 PM, shore end of HAPAG pier

One ambulance had been checked, and most thoroughly at that. Colonel Anton still did not know what to make of the call from the Coast Guard captain. He knew the man by sight, though not his voice. His instructions to Fideles had been to use a toothbrush as they searched. A small toothbrush.

Nonetheless, nothing had been found, and the second vehicle was almost done.

Anton noted that the break up of the crowd was continuing. Several men with large cameras had begun to head their way, apparently drawn to the ambulances like flies to ....

"What?!" Anton's head turned hard as a deep steam whistle sounded behind him - the fourth of this very long day. It meant, he realized, that Barnett had been right. It also meant that his day was far from done. "Damn," he growled, as he caught sight of the large ship not far off the pier, with tugs already nestled against her flank, slowly shoving still another problem into his lap.

---- 8:00 PM, New York Naval Station, Office of the Commanding Officer, Atlantic Fleet

"Sir," said the senior yeoman, poking his head through the door to Stennis' office, "Admiral Benson should be coming on now."

He held the phone to his ear until he could confirm that both men could hear each other.

"Paul," he heard the distant CNO say, "what have you got?"

The yeoman gently cradled the receiver, with a small, sad smile. Benson had been clumsy again, or poorly staffed, or perhaps he was just tired. Rear-Admiral J. Paul Martin's friends called him "Jeff."

"Admiral Benson? Good evening, sir. Admiral Martin, sir. We just got a situation report from Admiral Stennis. He has the German force in sight."

It was no accident that the door had remained ajar one-quarter inch. The yeoman glanced up and down the corridor and eased into position.

"Yes, sir," he heard Martin reply to some question. "Battlecruisers Moltke and von der Tann. The light cruisers are Rostock, Augsberg, and Kolberg."

Martin paused.

"No, sir. No mention of Strassburg, or the liners, for that matter.

"Yes, sir. I think that's a safe assumption, sir."

---- 8:00 PM, bridge of Wyoming, stopped

"Sir, New York's lowering a small boat."

"Very well," replied Captain Griff evenly, though really no more stoically than Alton had been minutes before.

All day, his dreadnought-battleship had quietly maintained station on the New York. He'd gone to General Quarters when Strassburg had come into view, and they were there still. He'd thought he knew Alton, but the rear-admiral had proved him wrong with those four jets of smoke from his flagship's forward turrets. As for Stennis, Griff had always considered him an enigma, and his madcap run out from the naval station and on out to meet the Germans had only confirmed his view.

The Germans had just got managed a break-out, completed a long transit, and fought two or more battles. Why in the hell couldn't Stennis at least wait until morning to let them calm down? They all knew the RN officers, if not personally, then as the product of their culture, their system. They were known commodities. No one knew a damn thing about Germans, and their trigger fingers just might still be a mite itchy, right now.

"Sir, small boat appears to be heading for Moltke."

"Very well," Griff said. And now, why couldn't Stennis let him in on what was going on? Didn't his dreadnought count for something? Alton could be depended upon to use the hoists to keep his captains informed. Was there something about vice-admiral epaulettes that kept them from signaling? He bet the German navy had no such problem! He raised his glasses. Who was that going over in ...? No! He wouldn't!

"Sir, Admiral Stennis is ‘board New York's launch."

Griff just shook his head as he acknowledged. Here he was, in command of one of the mightiest warships in the world, and yet he felt like he was simply a silent lurker, invisible to all who were actually involved in this thing.

---- 8:05 PM, Chocorua Princess, approaching berth

They'd been due back at 6:00 PM, and they were not even tied up yet. Lannon knew what that meant. It meant Claire's Aunt Terrorland; that's what.

He scanned the pier and didn't see her, nor that spineless husband of hers. Maybe they'd given up and left? Or got it wrong where they were coming back to? Now, that last was a cheerful notion!

"Who's that?" Claire asked, drying her hands as she stepped up out of the hatchway. She'd gotten her hands and arms clean, but her white and yellow garments would be stained red forever.

Lannon had overlooked the kid now coming out on the boat dock.

"Whoever he is," he commented, with more than passing relief, "he's not your Auntie Terror."

"You slip like that once with her," admonished Claire, with a bit of a glare, "and you'll regret it, Mister."

"Ain't it the truth," he mumbled, drawing another sharp look.

---- 8:05 PM (9:05 PM local time), Halifax

‘Sir, priority cables coming in from London."

"Yes?"

"The first one was for Bermuda. This one's for us, and the one still coming is for the Embassy in Washington."

"Have we sent on the one to Bermuda?"

"Going out now, sir."

"Hmmm, very well." He thanked the petty officer and began to looked over the two messages.

"Damn," he thought. The one for Halifax demanded an "immediate" response, and asked for locations of ships at sea, the names of all ships ready to sortie, estimates of readiness of all others. And so forth. He stopped at one line ordering separate attempts to contact Vice-Admiral Patey and to report results.

"Admiral Patey still has not responded to any of our wireless inquiries, correct?"

"No, sir." Of course, not, he did not add. As if he would have kept it a secret! "Last signal went out on the hour, sir."

"Very well," the officer replied. That last one, unfortunately, would be the easiest part of the Admiralty's message with which to comply.

---- 8:05 PM, New York's small boat, enroute Moltke

"Gentleman," Stennis began, to the officers in the boat's stern, "I regret we've so little time."

The khaki-clad pair obediently gave CINCLANT their full attention.

"First, keep in mind that you're both on my staff. Ensign, your first name? Kevin? Fine. Try to stay at my left elbow, unless I direct otherwise."

Stennis saw an unspoken question in the other's eyes.

"I like my right hand clear," he explained, consciously and deliberately relenting his stern demeanor a bit - he did not want "his aide" to appear tentative or ill at ease with him. "And I lost some hearing in my right ear on Oregon, off Santiago."

Stennis glanced at the nearing Moltke, gauging how much time remained, playing out dialogue in his head.

"Your mother's name again?"

" ‘Bodensteiner,' sir," the robust ensign replied. "It translates something like ‘rocky ground.' "

Appropriate, nodded Stennis, then he turned to Trimm. This man he knew, having kept an eye on him since he made commander, and his fitness reports from Alton had only reinforced his conviction.

"Commander, be advised that it is my intent to rely completely on your tact and discretion. I intend to ..."

---- 8:10 PM, Molkte, stopped

"So," commented Captain Theargus, "THAT's why they tied off most of the non-wounded."

"What?" Captain Dedmon asked. His vision had fully returned, but so had all the headaches he had ever had in his entire life. And past lives, as well. "What are you talking about?"

"The Yanks, mate," he said, pointing out an opening in the canvas. "The Yanks have come to pay us a visit. Two bloody big dreadnoughts full of them."

With a groan, Dedmon edged up onto an elbow to follow the other's gesture.

"The Huns are the enemy," Theargus declared. "How long before they finally realize that? They should have been with us, not just gawking like bloody vultures."

"Maybe this will do it," Dedmon got out, then clasped his head as his words reverberated about his skull.

"You think?" Theargus brightened for an instant.

---- 8:15 PM, shore end of HAPAG pier

All three ambulances were through the checkpoints now. Anton was torn between accompanying them and remaining at the main position. The crowd, now just in the hundreds, had pretty much dispersed, but there were still knots of men loitering, perhaps discussing matters. The reporters had reached his barricades and had begun asking questions. The reporters would probably already have tried to slip around, Anton thought, but they probably had never faced bayonets before.

"Major, take Second Platoon, escort the ambulances."

The major acknowledged and stepped away. Anton began to adjust the lines.

"Sir?" Fideles packed a lot into that word.

"Go ahead, Gunny."

---- 8:20 PM, Philadelphia Inquirer Newsroom

The sun was low in the sky, but it remained bright enough in the large, smoke-filled room that only a few lights had been turned on. It was oppressively hot. Burnt coffee grounds were generating the dominant odor, though the acrid fumes from several cigars were putting up a nauseating fight for the atmospheric turf. Almost lost in the odorous battle were the reeks of stale lunch meats, flaccid pickles, browning onions, and human sweat. Phones rang stridently and sometimes were answered. Men and women were ignoring it all as they pounded loudly on massive typewriters, shouted questions, or just plain cussed.

This was normal.

Night was approaching, and so were deadlines.

The News Editor bent over one battered wood desk, apparently oblivious to the chaos all about. Indeed, he stood much like a sea captain on his bridge, as deep water combers tilted the deck this way and that. Four typed pages and a fifth scrawled in pen were arranged on the stained surface before him. He scratched his head, somehow keeping the cigar clear of his bristled scalp.

"Alright," he said, and pointed. "Lead with this. Get me a headline. A real one. Short. Big and bold as all hell. Make a companion out of that. That can head Three, but it needs a rewrite. Where the hell's Freddie?! He damn well should have called in by now. Here, this part can follow on the overleaf...."

"What about this, Chief?" Crawford posed, pointing himself.

"Slide what you can into the Three, but it's Editorial Page for most of it. I warned them that something like this was coming.

"Hell," he said after a particularly vicious chomp on his cigar. " ‘Take it back. Lead on Three with it. The Brits had a blockade going, alright. No one's gonna' be denying that now. The editorial bunch will just have to deal with it.

"And where the hell," he bellowed across the fetid room, "are those damn photographs?!"

---- 8:20 PM, Molkte, stopped

The whistles and trills and sideboys were done, and the men regarded each other for a frozen instant before the introductions began. Hanzik regarded the tall American with the golden epaulettes guardedly. Von Hoban, at his side, raised his eyebrows when he recognized Commander Hausmann's absence. Captain Stang and LT Lionel completed the German reception group.

"Welcome aboard His Imperial Highness' Battlecruiser Moltke," began Hanzik, "Vice-Admiral, Commander, Ensign. I am Rear-Admiral Hanzik, and I command this squadron of the Kaiserliche Marine."

"I thank you for your hospitality," replied Stennis, surprised at the English from the German admiral. "Vice-Admiral Stennis, Atlantic Fleet. Welcome to American waters. Please let me introduce ...."

Stennis sized up Hanzik even as he presented his "staff." He saw a man a few inches shorter than himself, thin, with broad shoulders and hands that would have been at home on a steel worker.

"... to help with translation from our side."

" ‘Jones'?" Hanzik remarked, politely. He had let the "American waters" comment pass without reaction. For now.

"Yes, his mother's name is ‘Bodensteiner,' correct, Ensign?"

"Yes, sir. She ruled the kitchen, and if we wanted something while we were in there, we had to ask for it in Deutsch."

There were courteous smiles at that, even from Stang, once LT Lionel completed his translation.

"Admiral," said Hanzik, "you've met Commodore von Hoban, I understand. And this is Captain Stang, commanding officer of Moltke. And this is LT Lionel of my own staff."

" ‘Lionel'? Was that not the name of your interpreter in my office, Commodore?"

"My brother," said Lionel, who would gladly have exchanged places just then with the current CO of Nottingham Star.

Formal, stilted pleasantries continued as they moved towards the spaces set aside earlier by Hanzik.

---- 8:25 PM, bridge of New York, stopped

Once Stennis had debarked, taking Trimm with him, Alton had moved to the bridge. There he joined the battleship's CO where he, and a great many others, were monitoring the German reception of CINCLANT and his two other "staffers." The New York CO was a tall slender reed, hunched far over to better steady his large binoculars by resting his elbows on the rail.

"So far, so good," Captain West murmured. Alton made a small noise of agreement.

After a few moments, the group on Moltke began to proceed through hatches into the superstructure.

"Admiral," West began. "I know we're not expecting any trouble, but I sure wish they'd stayed out where we could see ‘em."

"Me, too," Alton replied. "Me, too."

---- 8:25 PM, Bermuda

"Admiral, Front Street on the phone." (See NOTE 1)

"Thank you," replied the white-haired senior officer. He stepped around the table, with its tray containing his evening meal - one he could not bear to touch. He even wrinkled his nose in distaste at its fragrant odors as he took the call.

"Yes?"

He listened as the officer there read the cable from London. It sought confirmation and directed all ships at sea be alerted and all efforts to contact Vice-Admiral Patey be continued. He frowned at the instructions until he remembered that it would be after two in the morning back there. This had not been composed by Their Lordships at the Admiralty at all, but by the flag officer on duty there. They could hardly offer him anything more, he admitted reluctantly. After all, neither they nor he had any idea just what the bloody Germans had off New York harbor.

"Very well," he said at the end. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Best remain there, for now. There's sure to be more."

Truer words were never spoken.

"Sir!" This from the doorway as he cradled the phone.

"Yes, Commander?"

"We've intercepted a wireless from the American Admiral Stennis ...."

---- 8:25 PM, Chocorua Princess, mooring at marina

Lannon was still tidying up the lines when the kid startled him.

"Are you Mr. Lannon, sir?"

Nate rounded at the voice, somewhat in surprise. The speaker was not a young teen, as he'd originally thought, but an adult of small stature.

"Yes," he admitted. "That's me. What can I do for you?"

"Freddie Burke, Philadelphia Inquirer. Were you ...?"

The wood beneath their feet began to tremble. Both turned to face the shore.

Nate could not help but swallow. Claire's aunt was making a flying passage down the pontoon pier, scarf flapping like a battle ensign, heavy skirts billowing like main sails, massive cheeks puffed out like spinnakers.

"Omigod," breathed Freddie. Nate agreed, barely retaining the sense to do so silently.

---- 8:30 PM, Salamis, HAPAG Pier

The ship was just yards away from the pier now, and edging ponderously toward it.

Nik was relieved to see the waiting ambulances, but the sight of the US Marines fetched forth an outright grin. The senior officer looked to be a major, which was fine. The soldiers had bayonets on their rifles, he noted, as the gangway landed with a hollow boom, which might not be fine at all.

Men went to work securing the gangway on the pier and on Salamis.

Why in the world, Nik wondered, grin dying, had they fixed bayonets?

He looked over the tableaux for clues. The marines appeared calm, but they were trained to look like that - no clue there. The officer had his eyes all over - on his men, the ship, the medical folk, the dockyard workers, everywhere. No clue there, either. The sergeant though .... That weathered worthy had his eyes on the warehouse itself, and seldom did he look elsewhere.

Nik half-ignored the tread of feet up and down behind him as he tried to work it out. Then he watched a small truck making its way down the pier. It was almost certainly someone from the Port Authority, he decided.

"Sir?"

It was the Marine major.

"I understand that you came aboard this vessel out in International Waters?"

Clearly, Vassillios Kokovinos and the major had been conferring while Nik had been absorbed with the going-ons ashore.

"That's correct, Major," Nik replied, and identified himself. Fortunately, he and Lannon had seen ahead to this and so he had his passport with him. Both men always brought their passports along when they sailed offshore; winds and storms could deposit a vessel anywhere.

"What Mr. Kokovinos seems to be saying," the major resumed, perhaps a bit plaintively, "is that he has eight injured men aboard: three British, three Greek, and two German. Could you help me here, sir?"

"Certainly, Major," Nik replied. "I was on an American sailboat, Chocorua Princess, with some friends, just off the coast. Then, just before noon, German and British ships showed up and started shooting at each other. A Brit one went down near us, and so we went out to help. We pulled seven of ‘em out of the water."

"Seven? All British?" He had eight injured - the major was understandably confused.

"Yes. I wrote down their names. Here," and he handed over a small sheet of paper. (NOTE 2)

"The last three are the British injured," Nik added. "Those men right there. Those others are Salamis crewmen, I think. Best I can tell, they got hurt in something that happened belowdecks, before I came aboard."

"Major," called Kokovinos, from behind them. "May we help place the men into the injury automobiles?"

"Yes, sir," the increasingly harried Marine officer replied. "Sir," he said to Nik.

"Yes?"

"I'd appreciate it if you'd come with me, sir." The look on Nik's face led him to continue. "I'm really going to need your help explaining all this to my Colonel."

"Okay, Major," Nik sighed. "I came this far, I guess ...."

"Sergeant," called the Marine officer, as he stepped over to the exit ramp. "Detail a squad to assist in disembarking the wounded."

---- 8:30 PM, Chocorua Princess, tied up at marina

"MIS-ter, Lannon!"

Freddie edged clear of the line of fire.

"Boom!" The planking echoed at the impact. The opening salvo from the dreadnought dowager had been punctuated by the stamp of one meaty foot encased in something apparently like armor plate.

Freddie edged a bit further off at the sight of the cheeks of the onrushing figure visibly swelling from a vast in-draught of breath for the next salvo.

"Auntie Terri ...," Claire began, bravely enough, thought Lannon. He stood his ground, albeit with more than a fleck of fatalism.

"WHAT - BANG! - is the MEAN - BANG! - ing of this!"

Nearby gulls took startled wing. Freddie cringed and began another sidestep. Belatedly, he discovered the next step would be a wet one.

"... the most amazing thing ...," Claire continued, moving to screen.

"You were to have them back here at six o'clock - BANG! - SHARP!" More gulls flew up, screeching entreaty. The grand-dame, in full rant, hardly spared the interposing Claire a glance. She drew in another mighty breath. Lannon began to straighten up; it had been a long day and he had had just about enough ....

They all ignored the nondescript middle-aged man who had made his way uneasily down the floating pier to them. They also remained oblivious to Freddie's windmill imitation.

"Aunt Terrilyn! You STOP it! This - BANNNG! - INSTANT!"

Lannon turned to Claire in shock, as did the Dowager. The jaws of both went slack, in formation. The gulls fled out to sea.

"How DARE ...! Your dress! That's, that's blood! Oh, dear God!"

She flung out her arms and fainted dramatically back into the arms of her surprised husband.

Splash!

"Help!" Freddie called. "I - blub - can't swim!"

It really had been a long day.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

(1) As noted in "Dilemmas, Part X," the Bermuda cable office was at Front Street, and was not co-located with the naval base and shipyard.

(2) The names on the list were:

John FitzGerald
Samuel Leeds
Seth Smith
Edward Huddle
Howard Kay
James Peterson
Daniel Forester

by Jim