Seas of Fortune(30)

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all. From what I hear, the only thing that can prevent the ultimate fall of Amsterdam is if the city is relieved by the Swedes and their American allies. Is that true?”

“Well.” David dropped his eyes, then raised them again. “The city is well stocked against a siege . . .”

“Captain . . .”

“The fortifications are in excellent condition. . . .”

“Really, Captain . . .”

“Well, of course, Amsterdam would fall, eventually. If disease, or a Swedish relief force, or some crisis elsewhere, didn’t force the Spanish to pull back. But it could hold out for many months.”

“It seems to me that your ships could be put to better purpose than sinking a Spanish supply ship here and there. Bringing tar from Trinidad, and rubber from Suriname or Nicaragua, to keep the American APCs running.” The APCs were coal trucks converted into makeshift armored personnel carriers, and they had played a major role in Grantville’s past military operations.

David took a deep breath, expelled it slowly. “I suppose there is something in what you say. I see it is not enough for you to be a science officer, you have aspirations to be a general, too.”

“War is too important to be left to men,” she quipped, smiling. “Logistics is not their forte.”

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

* * *

David’s original plan had been to simply transfer his rights as a patroon of the Dutch West India Company from Delaware to Suriname. The Dutch defeat at Dunkirk, and the subsequent fall of most of the Republic, had changed all that.

Raising the Dutch flag over a new colony was now more likely to invite attack by English and French opportunists than to deter it. So after extensive negotiations, a “United Equatorial Company” had been formed, under the laws of the New United States. Those laws were based on the U.S. Constitution, and thus banned slavery. The up-time American backers insisted that the corporate charter also ban slavery, since the political fate of the NUS was somewhat uncertain.

There was the practical problem that the NUS flag might not be recognized. Hence, as a additional diplomatic fig leaf, David obtained the right to have his ships, and the colony, fly the Swedish flag, too. Not that David was getting any troops or money from Gustav Adolf. Still, it would be a warning that Sweden might officially take notice of any harm done the colony, and the better Sweden did in the wars, the more others would fear to give it an excuse to retaliate.

* * *

“Thanks, Philip,” said Maria, balancing a stack of books. “This will really be helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” he said with a smile. He blinked a few times. “Do you like Westerns? They’re showing High Noon this Friday.”

“That might be nice. I’ll have to ask Prudentia what her plans are.”

“She can come, sure.”

“I’ll ask Lolly. She’ll appreciate the excuse to get out of the house.” Maria was staying with Lolly, the middle school science teacher. Currently pregnant.

“Uh . . . I was thinking that we could celebrate your completing the sugar report.”

“That would be nice. So we should ask Irma and Edna. They told me so much about sweet sorghum and sugar beet. And Rahel should come, too.”

Philip blinked again. “I suppose.”

“And of course the Bartollis. Lewis and Marina, I mean.” She gave him a wink. “Don’t forget to invite your sister Laurel. Evan, too, perhaps?”

“Yeah . . . I’ll ask them. Well, uh, see you Friday.” He turned toward the door.

“It’s a date!” she called out after him.

* * *

It’s a date, she said, Philip thought. Yahoo!

Philip needed something to cheer him up. It had only recently hit him that in just a few months, his gang, the “Happy Hills Six,” would be split up; most would be going into the military, and who knows where they would be stationed. Or what would happen to them there.

His mother had been driving him nuts about it, too. It had been bad enough when Laurel went into the army—and jeesh, she was in Telephone and Telegraph, not exactly on the front lines—but Philip was the baby of the family and Momma was always bringing it up.

And then there were Grandpa Randolph’s health problems. He was seventy-five years old, but until recently in great condition for his age. Thanks to all that hunting and fishing, Phil figured. But he was bed-ridden now, and Momma fretted over that, too.

Phil wished, really wished, he could just, like, move out. If it hadn’t been for the Ring of Fire, he could have solved the problem by going to college some place far away. Like Cleveland.