Fourth Vector

Chapter 7: The Rescue

*****

Fleet Admiral Percival Bancroft strummed his fingers along the ornate, wooden desk in front of him. It was almost dinner time and his stomach was growling, having spent the whole day without a proper meal. That wasn't uncommon with his odd schedule, and Bancroft learned a number of years ago how to get through the day on a diet of black coffee alone. Still, it irritated him to no end to have his evening supper delayed.

It wasn't without good reason. At that very moment, he was waiting on news of their raid on the Occitanian capitol of Montauban. Bancroft looked down at his command radio and made sure it was tuned to the right frequency. He didn't have to change anything as this was about the twentieth time he had checked it that hour. To say that he was nervous about the results of the battle was obvious and not without good cause.

Despite his repeated pleas over the years to the emperor about commissioning more ships for their navy, they remained outnumbered almost two-to-one in the number of warships compared to their Occitanian foes. Even heavy warships such as Occitanian battleships retained a significant number advantage against their own. Normally, a raid against their capitol might be considered a suicide quest, but Bancroft only authorized it for good reason. Reports of their main striking fleet being on the far eastern side of Occitania, and therefore far from their capitol, seemed to be true. It looked like they were going to try to blockade a large portion of his own fleet at their main naval base of Aberdeen.

However, it did afford them an opportunity. With so many of their vessels tied up blockading Aberdeen, it meant that his small striking force on the western side of Java near Lockhaven could sneak up the western coast, raid deep into Occitanian territory and perhaps shell their capitol city. It was a risky plan but no plan worth doing wasn't without risk.

"Vice Admiral McKenzie for Fleet Admiral Bancroft." The command radio crackled with the message that he so longed to hear.

Bancroft grabbed it quickly. "Go ahead, McKenzie. It's Bancroft."

"We are on a course southwest as we speak. The raid was a general success, sir. We managed to shell several of their dock facilities and even lit up some Polonium tanks. We managed to sink three frigates and two destroyers in the harbor as well. We even sent a few salvos into the city."

"That sounds like a promising raid, Admiral," said Bancroft. "Any difficulties?"

"Yes, sir. We lost two light cruisers due to enemy fire. The

Velocity

and the

Intrepid

were sunk just off the coast after we were intercepted by another Occitanian force."

Bancroft grimaced. Both of those were newer ships and their loss would be felt sorely during the weeks ahead. In any event, he wouldn't have traded two light cruisers for three frigates and two destroyers, the cruisers being considerably more valuable to their cause.

"What Occitanian force? A land force or naval force?" asked Bancroft.

"A naval force, sir," replied McKenzie. "We were intercepted by at least two battleships and three cruisers not far from our position. Our position must have been radioed in once the attack began or from someone having seen us move up the coast."

"Are they still in pursuit? Are any of the other ships damaged?" asked Bancroft.

"Negative, sir. We can outrun the battleships in our cruisers and their cruisers won't push ahead without the covering fire of their battleships. There's some light damage to the

Banshee

but nothing that can't be fixed over a day in dry dock."

Bancroft breathed a sigh of relief. Even though McKenzie's task force contained no capital ships, his cruisers remained the only deterrent they had on the west coast of Java. If anything happened to his task force, they'd be in serious trouble, even with most of the fleet bottled up in Aberdeen.

"Keep me informed of your progress," said Bancroft. "I want to know as soon as you're out of Occitanian waters. Get home soon."

"Aye, Admiral. We'll be back home soon," said McKenzie before the radio fell silent once more.

Bancroft reclined back in his chair, slumping into the cushioned fabric while his hand drifted to his brow and rubbed his eyes. Two cruisers. It could have been a lot worse, considering there were eight others in McKenzie's task force. But two cruisers were still a heavy price just for an assortment of light ships and some destroyed Polonium tanks.

Yet, the raid had accomplished its mission, and no doubt the Occitanians in the capitol were feeling a little frightened from the shelling. For too long, they believed themselves untouchable in their city by the sea, guarded by the well-placed main seaport of Chambery just down the coast. Any fleet that came from Java would have to go by Chambery first and since that was their main naval base, it served as protection for the capitol city.

Bancroft had been willing to gamble that most of the fleet was on the east side of the continent blockading Aberdeen and as such, in no position to defend Montauban from any sea raids. In his wildest dreams, their raid just may pull off the cover of Aberdeen and let them send forth their fleet into the open seas. But only time would tell what the results of that raid would be, even if Bancroft remained particularly hopeful.

The admiral was just about to close up his office for the night and go fetch his long-awaited dinner when there was a knock at his door. Growling under his breath at the interruption, he called out to the unknown newcomer. "Come in."

The door cracked open and a head of silver hair, hidden only partially by a cap, poked in. "Admiral, may I have a second?"

Bancroft relaxed considerably when he saw who it was. Rear Admiral Jason Clark had been his deputy for the past several years, having known the man since their own days in the academy about three decades ago. Clark wasn't too far off in age, and they had even graduated as part of the same class. Quite an illustrious class, boasting not only himself as the sole fleet admiral, but also five regular admirals, nine vice admirals and fourteen rear admirals. A particularly gifted class that one had been.

"Of course, Clark. Come on in," said Bancroft, sitting back down in his chair and making himself comfortable. He didn't mind his talks with the man. After all, he'd remained as his deputy for quite some time, a testament to his skills. But he also knew that Clark had no brevity in him, and they were bound to be there for quite some time.

Clark removed his cap and sat down in the chair in front of Bancroft's desk. Taking a handkerchief from his front pocket, he wiped a level of sweat from his brow before looking back at his commanding officer.

"What seems to be troubling you, Clark?" asked Bancroft, noticing the look of worry on the man's face.

"Admiral, I just got word from our shipbuilding facility down the coast from Lockhaven. It's not good, sir," started off Clark.

Bancroft leaned up from his seat. "What's the problem? They weren't raided, were they?"

"No, sir," said Clark with a shake of his head. "But they are running low on raw materials. As you know, with Aberdeen being blockaded by the Occies, we can't get any kind of ships out of that port, and that includes our supply ships. Usually this isn't a problem, but all of our steel industry is located just outside Aberdeen, and it's easiest to ship it around the coast to Lockhaven as opposed to sending it by rail through the interior. Much cheaper as well."

Bancroft pursed his lips. "And since we can't get any steel out of that port, our shipbuilding industry is at a standstill."

Clark nodded reluctantly. "I'm afraid so, sir. I just talked to the Presidents of Sepp & Sons Construction and JN Ironworks, and both of them have had to send their workers home. They can't do a damn thing while they're waiting on that steel, sir."

"Shit," swore Bancroft, reclining back into his seat. "We need to set up logistics by rail then. There's no telling how long this blockade will last, and we certainly won't win this conflict if we can't continually produce new ships. How long is the transit by rail?"

Clark gulped. "Assuming it went in a straight shot with no delays? About ten days."

"Ten days?" asked Bancroft incredulously. "That's madness! The ships can get there in four!"

"And that's assuming there's no delays. The rail system has been mobilized to move and assemble the emperor's army as well. I'm afraid they take precedence right now, sir. It might be closer to twenty with all of that interference.

Bancroft began to shake his head. How often had he told Charles IX that they were in no position to start a war. Too many times he'd brought legitimate concerns to his sovereign only to be chastised and ridiculed for his defeatism and inability to improvise. Now their newest ships were on hold, and the raw materials needed to complete them were on the other side of the continent. How was he supposed to win a war with these kinds of setbacks?

Bancroft grabbed his typewriter and immediately began to write up a report. While Clark watched silently, he typed up something brief and to the point, finishing it a few moments later. Taking the paper in his hands, he gave it a once over to make sure it looked all right, and then passed it to his deputy.

"Take this with you and I want you to send it to all of our critical suppliers. This is an order mandating the highest priority for our raw materials. I don't know if this will do any good, but it certainly can't hurt. We need to get that steel to our shipbuilders if we have any hope of breaking this Occitanian stranglehold," said Bancroft.

Clark scanned his eyes over the order and nodded when finished. "I'll do what I can, sir."

"That's all we can do, Clark," said Bancroft. "Was there anything else?"

Clark quickly shook his head. "No, sir. Have we heard from Admiral McKenzie yet? Was the raid a success?"

"Marginally," muttered Bancroft before taking a few moments to fill in Clark on the events of the raid, including the targets, casualties, and the strategic situation afterwards. He spared no detail, knowing that Clark was a trustworthy source and would keep the news to himself.

"It sounds like we achieved our objective though," said McKenzie after he heard the entire report. "We even sank some of their ships."

Bancroft gave the man a sour look. "We sank destroyers and frigates. Excuse me if I don't celebrate with you. If we were to lose cruisers, I at least hoped we'd take one of their capital ships with us."

"This may open an opportunity for us though," said Clark as his eyes rolled up in thought. "If most of their fleet is on the east side of the continent, perhaps we can draw them away with continual raids."

"Most of their fleet, Clark," said Bancroft. "Most is the key word there. I imagine once news of the raid hits their admiralty, they'll pull in other task forces nearby and keep them close to the capitol. Even if we tried it again, they'll be better prepared without having to weaken their main blockading fleet at Aberdeen."

Clark nodded solemnly. "It's a start though, Admiral. The Polonium tanks alone will be worth the losses we suffered. If they can't sail, they can't fight."

"You remain more optimistic than I do, Clark. Some things never change," said Bancroft with a smirk.

"You have to start somewhere, sir," said Clark with a rueful grin.

Despite their relationship going back so many decades, Clark was always in deference to the higher-ranking admiral. For one, it was the proper thing to do considering their positions in the navy. And Bancroft was a stickler for propriety. With the stakes so high, Bancroft insisted on being called by the rank and formality that he'd earned in this position. Thankfully, Clark wasn't one to push that line, usually. It was part of the reason why they got along so well and why Clark had stayed with him over the years, although it did bring a question to the admiral's mind.

"Clark, do you enjoy being in here with me? As my deputy?" asked Bancroft. "Do you ever wish to be back out there, commanding a task force or a naval base or some other kind of duty?"

Clark shrugged. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else, sir. This is my home, and this is my duty. To serve you is my role in this great conflict."

Bancroft made another sour look. "Don't give me the official answer. Be real with me, Clark. Would you ever want to get the command of your own task force? You certainly have the skill for it."

Clark leaned back in his chair in thought. He was silent for a few moments, and the only sound in the room was the continual grumbling of Bancroft's stomach. Finally, the man opened up. "Of course, I think about it. It's not much fun being stuck behind a desk all these years, sir. Especially now with the war going on, who wouldn't want to be out there fighting the Occies and leading the ships in battle?"

Bancroft pursed his lips. "I can make that happen, Clark. Just say the word, and I can release you. There's enough going on that I'm sure we can find something to put you in charge of. That way, you can say you did your part during the war and won't regret that you had just a desk job."

Clark blinked at him several times and then his tone softened. "There's no regret serving you, Percy."

Bancroft winced at hearing his first name, not expecting it from the man. It had been years since he had last done that, and Bancroft thought he'd established the tone for their working relationship for good.

"It's sir, or Admiral, Clark," said Bancroft while interrupting the man. "Let's not let our moment of casualness interfere with propriety. You will address me by my rank or you won't address me at all."

Clark went red in the face and looked sheepish almost immediately. "My a-apologies, sir. Ah, what I was saying was that I don't have any regret serving under you. If this is where you need me, then this is where I'm willing to serve."

Bancroft studied the man for several moments without speaking. Even Clark could manage to surprise him after all these years. Just when he thought he knew everything about the man, one simple word showed him that he didn't. It was part of what Bancroft hated about working with people. They were still full of surprises. Only dead men had no surprises.

"Grateful to hear it, Clark," said Bancroft with a measured tone. "Now, if you don't mind, I need to return to my work." Bancroft put his head down and waited for the man to leave.

Clark left his chair with an air of awkward clumsiness. As his deputy left the room, Bancroft turned away from his desk to his filing cabinet. He grabbed a folder that he usually reserved for his meetings with the emperor and put a reminder inside to discuss the rail network with the sovereign in their next meeting. Not that it would do much, but he wanted Charles IX to know that it should be a priority for an island country to have all the fighting ships it needed to conduct a war.

While doing so, Bancroft came across the file for Commander Jack Easterbrook, and after a moment's pause, he selected it and thumbed through the papers contained inside. Several copies of the reports he'd given since he started his mission into the Fourth Vector were inside, arranged in order to tell the entire story of his journey thus far.

Frankly, as far as Bancroft was concerned, it was a miracle that Easterbrook was still alive. Not only from his many fights and battles from being in the Vector, but also just from entering the Vector in the first place. Easterbrook and his crew were now the only Easterners alive that had been inside the Vector and lived to tell about it. Bancroft was even ill at the thought of sending Easterbrook inside the Vector in the first place, yet Charles IX had been adamant about sending the talented officer on the mission.

Bancroft thumbed through several of the orders from the details of his first battle with the Occitanians at Quiller's Cove. Of course, that one had taken place right under the nose of that fool, Stanhope Lucas. The forever commodore as Bancroft liked to think of him, never having hope of being promoted while Bancroft ruled the roost. No doubt it must have killed the man to see Jack take all the glory from that engagement.

Bancroft looked at the next series of orders from when their destroyer was taken over by a group of Occitanian prisoners and the recapture of it. Ordinarily, Bancroft would have sacked a commander for losing a ship in such a manner but Jack was different. A talented officer with a brain, Easterbrook had a lot of promise. It became apparent just from talking with the young Easterbrook at the naval academy nearly fifteen years ago. From that moment, Bancroft had done everything possible to guide the man's career.

He made sure to put him in the best postings, rewarded him with early promotions, and generally showed as much favorable treatment to the man as could be given. He wasn't about to let the destroyer mutiny put a dent in his star project's career.

Yet, his actions in the Vector hadn't been without some successes. The fact that they now had an alliance with some country called Sorella was news in itself. Although Bancroft had never heard of such a place, nor could he ever hope to identify it on the map, Jack had done what he'd been asked. Such a task was extraordinary even given the status of the Vector and the certain mystery around it.

Bancroft examined the last of Jack's reports, only received this morning and brief in its request.

ATTN: FLEET ADMIRAL PERCIVAL BANCROFT

WITH RESPECT, I REQUEST THE FOLLOWING SUPPLIES BE SENT TO THESE COORDINATES WITHIN THE FOURTH VECTOR. WE HAVE A NEED TO REPAIR OUR SHIPS AND SHOULD BE ABLE TO WITH OUR NEW ALLIES, THE SORELLANS. PLEASE SEND THE SUPPLIES AS SOON AS YOU CAN. IF YOU CAN SPARE ANY MARINES, WE COULD SURELY USE REINFORCEMENTS AS WELL.

RESPECTFULLY,

COMMANDER JACK EASTERBROOK

COMMANDING OFFICER, TASK FORCE 21

At the bottom of the message was a set of geographic coordinates as well as a list of supplies needed. Bancroft could tell by the list that there had been significant damage done to one ship or perhaps all of the ships of his task force. He knew that in their last action, they had taken some damage but the full extent was never revealed by Jack. Now, he could clearly see these ships needed time for repairs.

Yet, Bancroft was thankful that Jack believed they could be repaired in Sorella—wherever that was. If he had intended to sail back to Quiller's Cove, Bancroft would have been disappointed. All that time spent sailing out of the Vector, repairing the ships, and then sailing back would have been squandered when it mattered the most. The Occitanians would not wait for the ships to be repaired before attacking.

Grabbing his typewriter, Bancroft began another series of orders to go out immediately. The first, he sent to his Commodore Lucas, requesting him to release the supplies needed by Jack immediately as well as a fast ship to get it there. Bancroft thought for a moment for just the right condescending tone to use on Lucas, always insisting on making sure that the man knew exactly what Bancroft thought of him. Once satisfied, he signed the order and made sure it was sent over right away.

The second order would take longer to fulfill. Bancroft typed a message to the local commander of their Marine division and requested another battalion to send to Jack as soon as possible. He was determined to get more rifles to the commander if he had the need for them.

Satisfied with his orders, Bancroft called his personal secretary into the room to have them sent out as soon as possible. Once she took them, Bancroft shut Jack's file and placed it back in the cabinet. For the time being, Jack would have everything he requested. After all, Jack reflected back on Bancroft and every success the man had was another reason for Charles IX to never doubt his own judgment.