Gjedde was silent for a long moment. “They are making good speed away from us.”
“Yes. But tell me, Captain, you’ve seen adversaries fleeing before. Do these Spanish look to be in as much of a hurry as they should be if their objective is to break contact, to get away?”
Gjedde’s next silence was even longer. “No,” he admitted. “And it is puzzling. But still, whatever their reasons for such a measured withdrawal before us, what risk do we take by closing briefly, sinking several, and regrouping before dusk? Because you must directly answer that very question for Tromp, and soon.”
Eddie nodded, and thought, yeah, but if I give the answer I want to give—“Hell, no: we stay in formation, damn it!”—then Tromp’s either got to support me against all the other commanders, or ignore me and give them their way. So, the smart move is to give advice that will calm his officers a bit, while also reigning in any excessive overconfidence. Which isn’t the best military advice, but the reality of command is that sometimes, the human factors can be just as decisive as the strategic ones.
“Here’s my answer, runner,” he said. “Insert stops where needed. To Admiral Tromp. I recommend that Resolve move ahead to engage enemy ships at range. Recommend one thousand yards as closest approach. Intrepid will remain five hundred yards astern of Resolve’s port quarter to cover her flank against any lighter ships that may maneuver to close with her from that side. I presume that will be where they wish to do so, keeping the open waters of the Caribbean to their southerly backs. Recommend that both ships drop back again at four PM to facilitate dusk rendezvous with the rest of the fleet. Very Respectfully, Commander E. Cantrell. Please read that back.”
The runner did. Eddie waved him on his way, felt the frown return to his face.
Gjedde nodded. “That was wise.”
Eddie shrugged. Yeah, wise. But it’s also stupid. I can feel in my bones that it’s not the right move. Now, if only I knew why . . .
Tromp agreed with Eddie’s plan, with the exception that he authorized Resolve to approach the rear of the Spanish van to a range of eight hundred yards. Apparently, though, he had to exert more than a little of his special authority to make his commanders fall in line with the rest of Eddie’s recommendations. Van Galen was particularly resistant, and the semaphore exchanges between his ship and Tromp’s Amelia, visible through Eddie’s fine binoculars even as the main van dropped farther behind, were spirited. In the final analysis, Tromp prevailed upon the inevitable math of the strategic situation. Given that the Dutch ships were slightly faster than the Spanish, they were sure to fully overtake their enemies long before reaching Santo Domingo. In reply to van Galen’s point that, with a full head of steam, the USE ships could overtake and destroy them today, Tromp serenely replied that, since it was already noon, waiting another eighteen hours to press home the final attack would make no difference.
The wind was such that the Dutch fleet would be within a mile of the Spaniards’ sterns by nine o’clock the next morning. And if the enemy should happen to come about in the middle of the night, their square rigged galleons would be putting their bowsprits into the eye of the wind and so, be in irons. Unable to close or maneuver, they would be lucky to blunder within sighting distance, much less shooting range, of a target. Furthermore, if the Spanish hoped to continue making maximum headway as a fleet even after the sun had set, their stern lights would show any course changes they might make. If, instead, they doused those lights, they would be hopelessly scattered by the first rose of dawn. In short, there was no rush. One way or the other, the Dutch fleet would be upon the enemy tomorrow. Which meant that Commander Cantrell’s recommendations for a more measured approach did not threaten the surety of a decisive engagement with the fleeing foe, and so had the virtue of prudence against unforeseen events. Van Galen’s flags ceased to signal except to acknowledge receipt of the admiral’s last message.
By that time, Simonszoon had raced ahead, prompting Eddie to wonder just how much coal the senior Dutch captain had already burned throughout the day. Perhaps infatuated with the new technology at his disposal, Simonszoon’s Resolve had been putting out more smoke than the Intrepid and had been less assiduous about courting the winds. But there was no way to ask Dirck if he’d been careless about his fuel levels without also insulting him and possibly souring what was both a growing friendship and crucial ally among the command ranks. Besides, there was no longer any time to do so.
By one o’clock in the afternoon, the Resolve had closed to within eighteen hundred yards of the rearmost galleon in the Spanish formation, The lighter pataches and almost piratical-looking yachts scattered away from the big USE cruiser as she bore down upon them. The eight-inch rifle of Mount One spoke, putting a spout in the water at least eighty yards astern of the galleon’s port quarter. The second shot was somewhat better, but not by much. The third rolling report was followed by a white plume erupting thirty yards aft and ten yards wide of the target’s rudder.