Fourth Vector

Chapter 48: Cat and Mouse

*****

"Your Majesty, the enemy fleet has been spotted!"

Jack's ears perked up at hearing that simple statement, interrupting him from the conversation he was having with Russ. Both men had been sitting in Jack's headquarters in the

Destiny

, not more than two days outside of Quiller's Cove. They'd been talking strategy for the eventual engagement of the Javan fleet, so this news came at a most opportune time.

Jack opened his hand to receive the dispatch from the runner. He scanned it quickly before handing it over to Russ. "Approximately thirty-five miles east southeast of our current positions, streaming due west. I'd say we've found Admiral Reynolds and the Javan fleet."

"How many ships?" asked Russ as he too began to scan the document. His eyes widened at seeing an approximation of the numbers. "This can't be right."

"Oh, it's right," said Jack as his fingers went to his chin. "We knew Bancroft had superior resources at his disposal."

"But Jack, this note counts at least a hundred warships, possibly more," sputtered Russ. "It's even quoted here 'more ships than I could count, stretching out to the horizon.' That's a considerable threat, Jack."

Jack nodded. "We knew that Bancroft had somewhere in the numbers of ninety capital ships and one hundred supporting vessels. This doesn't appear to contradict the intelligence we've received thanks to Commodore Lucas."

Russ let out a deep breath as if reality had caught up to him all at once. "There's going to be a reckoning very soon with this force. They're going to be out for blood."

That seemed to be a very accurate depiction of what was waiting for all of them. It was already summer now, with the last vestiges of spring weather having burned off in the warmer temperatures. The days were getting longer, and the sun's position in the sky was only getting higher. From this current position near the middle of the great ocean, Jack expected it to take another four weeks to reach Java, but only if they were going in a nearly straight line. His strategy was expected to take five or six weeks, as he hoped to keep Reynolds off kilter in order to get the bulk of his forces across.

The strategy for that was simple. Jack could count on higher numbers of airplanes than what Reynolds could currently field. At any given moment, the

Centurion

was launching small groups of planes, all of whom were scanning out in any direction around the Western fleet, searching for threats. In this manner, Jack hoped to be able to keep a close watch on Reynolds' movements, being able to keep a safe distance between himself and the Javan admiral.

For one, he needed to protect his transports, which were another thirty miles to the north, sailing in a separate convoy and guarded by a small portion of his warships. For two, he still recognized that there was a difference in strength between himself and Reynolds. Any conflict between the two of them would see Reynolds at an advantage in numbers. For that reason, Jack wanted to forestall that battle until he had a distinct advantage of his own, either in surprise or in local superiority.

That meant keeping a considerable distance between all three groups of ships.

"Well, if Reynolds is steaming due west, how long is it going to take him before he realizes that we're just north of his position?" asked Russ.

"Not long," replied Jack. "No doubt he realizes that Quiller's Cove is now lost to him. I doubt he'll waste time trying to recover it. More than likely, he has plenty of supplies to recross the ocean without needing to stop there."

Jack was of mixed feelings about Reynolds stopping in Quiller's Cove. It would give Jack a slight reprieve and let him get further ahead of Reynolds but it would also condemn Lucas and his men to certain death for letting the base be conquered by the Western forces.

Jack just didn't expect Reynolds to waste time on Quiller's when he knew that the Western fleet was the main enemy.

"What will be most telling is how much we see of the Javans' airpower," said Russ a moment later. "And let's hope that we can keep them far away from the transports so they don't know any better."

"We can hope," replied Jack. "It's my thoughts that Reynolds may not know we have the full army with us. He might think this is a raid in force, supported by our deadliest ships but whether or not he realizes that we intend to invade is anyone's guess."

"About the only way he can find out is if he finds those transports, Jack. One look at that long convoy of ships will tell him the size of your 'raid.' He'll be able to do the math on his own and then we'll see just how single-minded he can be about sinking them before they reach Java."

Russ spoke the truth. More than anything else, the protection of the transports was the most critical part of their current mission. If anything was allowed to happen to them, not only was the mission a failure, but the only army capable of standing up to Bancroft would be completely destroyed, all lost at sea.

It was made all the harder by the fact that his transports didn't run on Polonium, so their smoke didn't burn as cleanly. It was another reason why Jack expected a longer voyage to reach Java. He didn't want their engines working at maximum capacity and throwing off a lot of heavy, black smoke. For them to remain in secrecy, they had to move slowly and make their smokestacks as small as possible.

It was a tight position to be in but it had to be done. Getting a victory on Javan soil was the only way that Jack could get rid of Bancroft.

That meant channeling all of his resources into this desperate gamble.

"Is there anything else you want me to tell the men before I go?" asked Russ as he stood up from his chair. "No doubt word will spread quickly now that we've sighted our enemy."

Jack thought about the message for a moment and then shook his head. "Just tell the men that we need them now more than ever. And make sure they follow the orders that we've outlined for them."

"Speaking of which, do you want to execute the first action in relation to those orders? Should we give orders to change direction?"

Jack nodded. "Go ahead, Russ. It couldn't hurt just in case any of Reynolds' planes spotted us."

Russ was referring to the battle plan that Jack had outlined for the first contact with Reynolds' fleet. Since Reynolds had the numerical advantage over them, it was essential that the Javans were never able to pinpoint their exact location so that they could bring the full weight of their firepower to bear against Jack.

For that reason, Jack gave orders for the fleet to operate in a zigzag course on the way to Java, changing directions ever so often to throw off any potential discoveries. It was one of the reasons why it was going to take the extra time to cross, but Jack hoped to keep Reynolds from ever being able to locate the main body of his fleet.

"I'll give the orders," promised Russ. "Let's just hope that Reynolds doesn't get lucky."

"In that case, let's make the possibility of him getting lucky even more dangerous for him," said Jack with a glint in his eye. "Any spotting of foreign planes will require an immediate muster of our own planes, with the goal being to shoot them down before they can report. They can't give away our position if they're dead."

Russ started to smile. "I'll get that order over to the

Centurion

. I can already hear Dustin whooping in excitement."

Jack chuckled. "As long as he doesn't get lost on his way back. There's a lot of ocean out there and it's a long way to the next piece of land."

"I'll be sure to keep that last part from the squeamish ones," noted Russ. "They'll be most uncomfortable at being reminded of their current position."

"I'd appreciate that," said Jack, still chuckling. "Take care, Russ."

"Aye, you too, Jack."

With those words, the Galician admiral left Jack's headquarters, leaving him alone with his thoughts for the moment.

There was so much riding on his shoulders. He was responsible for nearly the entire armed forces of the Western alliance, and there wasn't a single person in this great convoy that didn't look to him to make the final decision on just about everything.

It was an incredible amount of pressure and stress. It was so stressful that Jack found himself unable to sleep at night. At times, he would just watch the rising and falling of his wives' chests, counting their breaths as a way to pass the time. His appetite had largely left him as well, and these days he would nibble at dinner or skip meals because he had no time for food.

It was a state of affairs that couldn't last forever but then again, neither could this mission. They were either going to unload in Java in three weeks' time or they were all going to be at the bottom of the ocean. There was no middle ground to this decision, and it was truly a victory-or-death kind of ordeal.

Jack continued to work in his headquarters for the next hour until he was too distracted to even pick up his pen again. Leaning back in his chair, he turned his attention to the porthole, where the rays of the sun bounced off the waves of the ocean, creating a dazzling glimmer along the way.

Knowing that there would always be time for additional work, Jack pushed out of his chair and made his way to the main deck, wanting to get some fresh air. The

Destiny

was pushing at nearly full speed as her bow cut through the waves of the ocean, and several sprays of mist caught Jack right in the face. The wind was always the worst in the middle of the ocean and that was no exception now as a heavy gust cut across the ship's deck and battered against his body.

At least the wind would be helpful with one task. Jack craned his head toward the stern of the ship, where one of the seaplane launchers was now turning into the wind. The pilot already had the engine at full throttle and with the help of the launcher, he soon shot into the air and took flight, gaining altitude slowly as his plane skimmed across the waves.

Jack knew his destination before he even started to turn. Sure enough, the plane headed east southeast, no doubt with the hope to check in on Reynolds' fleet.

Jack just hoped that he'd always be able to keep a watch on the Javan fleet.

Their lives depended on staying one step ahead of Reynolds.

*****

"Where the fuck are you, Jack? Where could you be hiding?"

Admiral Nick Reynolds looked over a great map of the surrounding ocean showing a distance of one hundred miles out from Quiller's Cove, with the naval base in the very center. Next to him stood other various officers of the Javan fleet, including his second-in-command, Vice Admiral Harry Strange.

Unlike his name, there was nothing strange about Strange. He was every bit the proper and orderly officer, without much in the way of flaws or vices. In fact, he was almost too cookie-cutter when it came to officers, and about the only thing that stuck out about Strange was his dry sense of humor.

The other officers in the room were either deputies of Reynolds or Strange or they were the divisional officers of the

Revenge

. A great assembly of collective naval brainpower, all of them were trying to locate Easterbrook and the Fourthie fleet.

"He has to be somewhere in this quadrant right here," said Nick, outlining a rectangular stretch of ground that was anchored in its southwest corner by the base of Quiller's Cove.

"Agreed," added Strange from his side. "All the planes we've seen so far have come from the north. They get their bearings on our fleet and then turn around. He has to be up there, no doubt keeping a watchful eye on us."

That was one advantage that Easterbrook seemed to have over Nick. While Nick had his seaplanes, there were a relatively small number of them to cover the entire fleet. So far, they'd seen enough of the Fourthie airplanes to suggest an overwhelming superiority over their current numbers.

What was even more perplexing was why some of the Fourthie planes didn't have floats for landing on the water. By the report of one particular captain in Nick's force, the Fourthie planes weren't outfitted for water landings, but how could that be so out here in the middle of the ocean?

Regardless, he still had to cope with inferior numbers of planes but that wouldn't matter once he located Easterbrook's fleet. If he could just track it down, he was sure he could defeat it soundly with his superior firepower.

It would be a sweet day indeed to destroy Easterbrook aboard his flagship

Destiny

and know that his body was now resting on the bottom of the ocean.

"We need to locate this Fourthie fleet," said Nick, tapping his knuckles against the map for good measure. "If we believe they're here, I want just about every seaplane we have to go north and find them. The sooner we can locate them, the sooner we can sink them and end this war. Don't forget what the Emperor has promised you for a decisive victory against Jack Easterbrook."

Several sets of ears perked up at that statement. Every man in the room was now thinking about the small mountain of gold that had been promised to them when they arrived home victorious.

"What about our current course, sir?" asked Strange. "We're still heading due west for a rendezvous with Quiller's Cove. Should we turn around and move east in the likely direction of the enemy fleet?"

Nick nodded. "Yes, that's a good idea. No reason for us to lose any ground against Easterbrook." His expression soon soured. "Besides, we know that Quiller's is a lost cause anyway."

No one disagreed with that statement. It had been nearly a week since Quiller's stopped answering any of the Javan naval comm lines. In essence, the naval base had gone dark, and Reynolds knew the reason why. Either Easterbrook had conquered it, which seemed to be the most unlikely reason given the fact that there was no call for distress, or Lucas had gone over to Easterbrook, which was the more acceptable theory amongst the fleet.

That came at no particular surprise. Nick remembered Lucas from his time on Quiller's years ago, and the man had an unhealthy affinity for Easterbrook. No doubt he took the first chance to go over to his cause when the enemy fleet showed up at his doorstep. The fact that he hadn't thought to call for aid was the most damning thing about the whole situation though, and Nick put it in his report back to the Emperor that he recommended Lucas be executed for treason if he was ever recaptured.

Not that Nick wouldn't bet money that the commodore was with Easterbrook's fleet at this very moment anyway. Lucas just seemed like the type that would value a friendship higher than his own country.

It was a thought that made Nick want to puke.

"Sir, what about Quiller's Cove?" asked one of the divisional officers from the

Revenge

. "What if there are any survivors there? Shouldn't we try to rescue them?"

Nick shook his head, annoyed to even field the question. "Survivors from that attack are not my priority. As far as I'm concerned, those men can be left to whatever fate is intended for them. They lost their right to my respect once they lost the naval base. To hell with them."

There was a noticeable silence in the room after Nick said that, and the officer that asked the question managed to look embarrassed afterward. For Nick, it was good for him to remind his men that he wouldn't tolerate defeat in this force. They only had one job to do, and chasing down that victory was the most critical thing they could accomplish.

"Well, that should wrap up our meeting if no one has any questions," said Nick as he looked at his watch. "It's just about midmorning now. Send up all the seaplanes and I want word on the position of the Fourthie fleet before nightfall. Dismissed."

With that final word, all the officers scurried out of the room to carry out their orders. Nick was amongst the last to leave. He signaled to his deputy to roll up the map before making his way to his own personal quarters. He was in the mood for a nap, and the fleet would be busy enough launching the planes that they could get by without him for a few hours.

Those few hours passed by more quickly than anyone expected. Nick awoke after a solid two hour nap, at which point he sat down to do some work before getting a modest dinner around dusk. It was as he was returning from dinner that he found two officers waiting for him outside his personal quarters.

One of those men was Admiral Strange but the other was a face that Nick didn't recognize. Judging by the cut of his uniform, he was a much lower level officer.

"Admiral Reynolds, sir," said Strange with a crisp salute. "We've found the Fourthie fleet."

"Good," said Reynolds as he eyed the other man next to Strange. "Who is this?"

"This is Captain Lumaire, the pilot that spotted the fleet," explained Strange. "I figured you'd want to hear it directly from the man."

Nick started to smirk. "Very well, come inside my quarters, Captain, and tell me what you've found out. I've been dying to hear just what kind of third-rate ships Easterbrook has at his disposal."

Lumaire opened his mouth to say something but shut it as Nick walked past him and into his quarters.

It wasn't until Nick made himself comfortable at his desk that he gestured for Lumaire to speak.

"So tell me, Captain. How many ships are we looking at out there? What did you see?"

The first tell that something was wrong was the sheer look of nervousness in Lumaire's eyes. He had a hard time meeting Nick's face, which seemed to suggest that his report wasn't going to fall on favorable ears.

"Sir, I found them all right. The entire Fourthie fleet," explained Lumaire. "They are currently sailing on a northeasterly course no more than forty miles from our position. The problem is... well, you see... it's that..."

"Spit it out, Captain," barked Nick. "What's the damned problem with the enemy fleet?"

"There's a shit-ton of them, sir!" said the nervous Lumaire. "I mean there's well over a hundred enemy ships. More than that, likely. That's just from what I could see. And they were... modern. Don't get me wrong, they still burn dark 'stacks like our oldest ships but everything else about them appears entirely modern!"

The last word was the one that most perked Nick's interest. And fear.

"What do you mean by modern?" asked Nick quietly. "Speak quickly!"

"Sir, these are not ancient designs that sail with our enemy," sputtered Lumaire. "I expected to find ships with wooden hulls or at very least, something that might be found sitting outside the naval museum in Lockhaven. Not these, sir! They are modern, with sleek, steel hulls and guns that look to rival ours!"

Nick didn't wait for him to finish speaking before he moved out from behind his desk and grabbed Lumaire by the collar. He pressed him back against the wall, causing the nervous man to yelp with excitement.

"How sure are you about this?" growled Nick. "You bring me this news, this fucking mission-altering news and you'd better be absolutely sure about what you saw today. How sure are you?!"

Lumaire looked like he was about to shit himself. "I'm positive, sir. I did two flybys just to be sure. I know what I saw," he squeaked.

Nick studied the man for a moment before looking over at Strange. The admiral merely shrugged. "Lumaire is one of the best pilots we have. If he says that's what he saw, then I believe him."

Nick nodded and let Lumaire go. He then used his hands to smooth out the man's crinkled collar. Getting himself back under control, Nick crossed to the other side of the room as he put his chin in his hands.

"Modern ships," muttered Nick. "Now where the hell would he have gotten modern ships?"

He looked back over at Lumaire. "How many capital ships did you count?"