The Baltic War(231)

But not as vulnerable as those bastards are, he reminded himself, moving back to the front of the bridge and the steadily growing masts once more.



On the other hand, he hadn't expected for a moment to find his ship leading the squadron's attack. All of the original, preliminary planning had emphasized holding the timberclads back, letting the ironclads take the brunt of any initial embrace while Klein and Mülbers waited to "bat cleanup," as Admiral Simpson had put it.



Now, on the very brink of battle, the admiral had chosen to completely rearrange things. Rudolph Klein didn't like last-minute changes, especially not just before he took his ship into action for the very first time. Still, he had to admit that the deviousness of the admiral's thinking did appeal to him.





"Well, there they are, Jerome," Lacrosse observed as the USE warships finally appeared from their deck-level perspective, crawling over the horizon toward them.



"I see them, sir," Bouvier acknowledged. It was clear that Justine's first lieutenant was doing his best to project a certain studied nonchalance, however unsuccessfully.



Lacrosse's lips twitched under his thin mustache at the thought, and he raised his heavy spyglass, peering through it at the oncoming vessels.



His temptation to smile faded as the glass brought them closer to hand. The lead ships didn't look at all like the sketches of the "ironclads" that their spies in Magdeburg had provided. In fact, what they looked like were the so-called "timberclads," which was . . . perplexing. All of the spies' reports agreed that the ironclads were much better protected than the steam-powered timberclads, and he would have anticipated that a wise commander would have used his most heavily protected ships first.



Unless, of course, the wise commander in question already knows that even his lightly protected ships aren't in any particular danger, he thought grimly. And perhaps it does make sense, in a way. According to those same spies, the timberclads have more of those short guns—those "carronades." If Simpson is confident that our guns can't hurt them, he might want to get the ones with the heavier weight of broadside into action first. Besides, the rumors indicate that the ironclads are probably faster. So maybe he wants to hold back his speediest ships until he sees exactly how things work out.



His thoughts didn't make him feel any happier, and his mind ran back over the instructions the comte de Martignac had very quietly given him for certain contingencies. He hadn't cared for those orders at the time, particularly not given the memory of what had happened to their Dutch "allies" in the English Channel last fall. Part of him still didn't care for them; another part was beginning to consider how he might best put them into effect.



"Any orders, sir?" Bouvier asked quietly.



"Not yet, Jerome." Lacrosse glanced to the south, toward the fleet flagship. Freja held her position in the rather clumsily formed line of battle, about a third of the way back from Justine. Frankly, Lacrosse was astonished that Overgaard's captains were managing to come as close to maintaining formation as they were. It wasn't exactly something at which most navies' captains had much practice, after all. And it would have been nice, seeing that they'd managed to get into formation so well, if the looming battle had been one in which tactical formations were going to make very much difference.



"No, not yet," Lacrosse repeated very softly, under his breath.





"Navy One, Recon One," Weissenbach said. "They're still holding formation, headed almost straight for you, Admiral."



"Understood, Recon One. Thank you," Simpson replied, then left the radio room and climbed the short ladder to the conning tower, one deck level above. Halberstat looked at him as he stepped off the ladder, and he smiled thinly.



"According to Weissenbach, they're holding course and formation," he said. "For now, at least."



Halberstat returned his smile, then swung back to the forward vision slit, watching the timberclads' smoke swirl across the water ahead of him.



Simpson's formation change had put the remaining ironclads in line behind Ajax and Achilles, and Halberstat wondered if any of the League ships had actually spotted Constitution or President yet. Their lack of funnel smoke, coupled with the obscuration of the timberclads' smoke—not to mention the tendency of all that self-same smoke to attract the eye—made the odds no more than even that they had been sighted, he estimated.



Not that anyone would be overlooking them much longer, of course.





"Sir, the masthead reports at least one more ship."



Lacrosse looked at Bouvier, arching one eyebrow, and the first lieutenant shrugged.