Commander Cantrell in the West Indies(46)

“Well, sir, I suppose that’s better than nothing,” Eddie allowed. And silently added, but not by much, I bet.

Simpson shrugged. “Certainly nothing very fancy or very complicated. Essentially I’ve asked them to build a pintle-mounted two-inch shotgun. Black powder breechloader. It’s already picked up a nickname: the Big Shot. It should help against boarders.” He must have read the dismay in Eddie’s face. “I know what you’re thinking, Commander. That such a weapon will be useless against the small boats themselves. That was my first reaction, which the committee has now heard repeatedly and, on a few occasions, profanely. I’ll keep fighting for the full mitrailleuse appropriation, but I think I’m going to have to spend all my clout just getting percussion locks standardized for the main guns.”

Eddie nodded. “Yes, sir. Which is of course where your clout belongs. Those tubes are carrying the primary weight of our mission.”

“Well said, Commander. And if you find yourself in a tight spot—well, to borrow a phrase from another service, improvise and overcome.”

Eddie tried to be jocular, but could hear how hollow it sounded when he replied, “Oo-rah, sir.”

Eddie’s failed attempt at gallows humor seemed to summon a spasm of guilt to the admiral’s face. It reminded Eddie of one of his father’s post-binge reflux episodes. “It’s bad enough that we’re not getting all the resources we were promised, but having delayed your departure to wait for them was a bad decision. My bad decision. I should have insisted on keeping the mission lighter and going sooner. That would have given you more time in the Caribbean before hurricane season, less of a squadron to oversee—and fewer hangers-on, I might add.”

Eddie shrugged. “Sir, your gamble to wait and get us more goodies may not have panned out, but that’s in the nature of gambling, wouldn’t you agree? If you had been right, we’d be leaving here with more combat power, and a mission which would have represented a much more complete test of the ships and systems you’re planning to shift into standard production. And if the rotary drill had been ready, the cash back on the venture—and the need to rapidly expand our maritime capacity to capitalize on it—would have given you all the clout you needed for what you want. All the clout and more, I should say.”

Simpson looked at Eddie squarely. The younger man wondered if that calm gaze was what the admiral’s version of gratitude looked like. “You have a generous and forgiving spirit, Commander. I’m not sure I’d be so magnanimous, in your place. After all, it’s not just you who now has less combat power, less time before the heavy weather sets in, and more official requirements added on while your departure was delayed. Your wife is now subject to the same vulnerabilities, too.”

Eddie nodded. “And don’t I know it, sir.”

Simpson actually released a small smile. “You sound less than overjoyed to have your wife along for the ride, Commander. Not SOP for a newlywed.”

“Sir, with all due respect, none of this is SOP for a newlywed. Am I glad that I won’t spend a whole half year away from my beautiful wife? You bet. Does it make me crazy anxious that she, and her quasi-entourage, are heading into danger along with me? You bet. The latter kind of diminishes the, uh . . . hormonal happiness caused by the former.”

Simpson chuckled. “You are developing a true gift for words, Commander. If I could spare you from the field, I’d make you our chief diplomatic liaison.”

“Sir! It’s unbecoming a senior officer to threaten his subordinates. I’ll take cannon fire over cocktail parties any day!”

Simpson glanced down toward Eddie’s false foot. “And this from a man who should know better.”

“Sir, I do know better. I’ve experienced both, and I’ll take the cannons.”

“Why?”

“Permission to speak freely?”

“Granted.”

“Because, sir, battles are short and all business, and cocktail parties are long and all bullshit.”

Simpson seemed as surprised by his answering guffaw as Eddie was. “I take it, Commander, that you are not enamored of the, er, ‘social consequences’ of being accompanied by your wife?”

“Sir, I would be more enamored of taking a bath with a barracuda. Even though Anne Cathrine isn’t a genuine princess, Daddy is sure acting like she is. I now have my very own traveling rump court. Well, it’s not my court. I’m just a part of it. An increasingly lowly part of it.”

Simpson frowned. “Yes, and from what I understand, Christian IV has saddled you with another senior naval officer, which bumps you yet another place down the chain of command.”