Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(240)

Which meant that only Intrepid could afford to edge forward and keep the Spanish galleons somewhat at bay. “Svantner, half reef the sails.”

“Sir?” asked the startled Swede.

“You heard me, Svantner. We can’t afford to move too far ahead of Resolve. And she can’t afford to move ahead at all.”

Ove Gjedde’s voice was quiet, ominous. “They will turn upon us, then.”

Eddie shrugged. “Captain, with all due respect, they’re starting to turn on us already. Chasing them isn’t what will buy us most of the time we need. It’s the range of our deck guns. Look at the enemy formation. Their admiral is smart enough to be approaching on a broad front.”

“But none too quickly, even so,” Svantner offered. “They won’t engage us until an hour before dusk.”

“Yes,” Eddie agreed, “and that’s just what they want. They’re scared of our eight-inch rifles, but even if they weren’t, they won’t want to arrive at their useful ranges much before dark. If they do, our main-battery carronades will tear them to pieces at five to six hundred yards.”

“But then how will they fire on us, sir? It will be dark for all of us.”

“Yeah, but there are lots of them and only two of us. And luck is on the side with the most hulls in the water.”

Gjedde nodded. “And see what they are beginning to do. The fore-and-aft rigged ships are tacking in irregularly.”

Eddie nodded. “Tactically, we up-timers call that a ‘serpentine’ approach. Usually used to describe infantry movement, but it holds here, too.”

“It does indeed.” Gjedde exhaled slowly. “It will be hard for our gunners to predict their turns and adjust in time.”

“It will be damned near impossible. Which is why we’re going to ignore them for now and go after the galleons as soon as they come within thirteen hundred yards.”

“So far?” Svantner murmured.

“Yes. If they don’t feel safe edging closer to us now, they’ll be too far away to trouble us when the light is failing. We can hit them occasionally at thirteen hundred yards, which is all we need to do to maintain their fear of our firepower. And yes, Svantner, I think Dirck Simonszoon has learned his marksmanship lessons pretty well today.”

Gjedde nodded. “So you are not as interested in sinking them as terrifying them.”

“That’s the idea. Now, let’s get some firing solutions and go hunting.”





The Spanish lost a galleon and a galleoncete before they realized that the USE cruisers were pointedly ignoring the more rapidly closing light vessels. But the Spanish admiral—one hell of a competent and ballsy guy, Eddie had to admit—did not react as expected. After about a quarter hour of signaling, his larger ships continued to advance, but slowly, maintaining a wide arc that could easily turn into a butterfly net. True, the cruisers would logically be able to tear right through that net, but if they weren’t careful, even a small snag might allow more yachts and pataches to swarm around them.

Gjedde frowned mightily at the distant, but still approaching galleons. “He gives us big targets at range, to keep us from turning our guns upon the closer and faster ones that will be able to close with us swiftly come darkness. Clearly, he believes the small ships may inflict considerable damage upon us.”

Yeah, that, or he simply realizes he’s got no choice, that the big ships won’t last long enough to get in range. And anyhow, as long as he’s stopped us in our tracks, and sees the rest of our fleet trying to break out to the south, he knows he’s running us out of the battlespace. And that’s probably what’s most important to him. But in the meantime—“Well, let’s not insult our Spanish host by refusing his hors’ d’ oeuvres. Do we have a firing solution on the next galleon yet?”

Svantner called an inquiry down into the intraship, got a prompt answer. “Yes, and they’ve been tracking for a minute, sir.”

“Very well. Standard nonexplosive rounds from both mounts. They may fire at will, and continue tracking.”

A moment later, the two deck guns went off in such rapid succession that the overlapping shockwaves buffeted Eddie’s clothes in two directions, whipsawing his trouser legs from one side of the compass to the other. Both shots geysered up the gray-green seawater, but less than twenty yards off-target.

“Load with explosive shell, watch the swells. Correct and fire at will.”

“Aye, sir!”

Eddie watched the chief gunner lean over the rim of the pulpit attached to the side of Mount One’s gun shield, stare down at the near risers and then bring down his hand sharply. Mount One’s naval rifle blasted smoke outward in a long plume, leaping back against its recoil cylinders. Mount Two did the same a moment later—and, for the first time since the Intrepid had become operational, both rounds hit the target at the same time. The entire galleon shuddered to port. The first shell blew her bow into a ruin of strakes sticking up like the back of a skinned hedgehog. The second disappeared into her high quarterdeck, which, an eyeblink later, blew outward in all directions. Not much was left there, other than a partial skeleton of its framing timbers, silhouetted by an inferno raging where the officers’ cabins used to be.