1634: The Baltic War (57 page)

Luebeck Bay

The Bay of Luebeck was a dark blue sheet of polished marble, burnished with regular patterns of silver foam, sliding steadily north-northwest. The wind was brisker than it had been, and the visibility had cleared as SSIM
Constitution
led her squadron steadily south toward the city of Luebeck and the estuary of the Trave River.

It was chillier than it had been, too, Simpson reflected as he stood on the bridge wing once more, and the wind-over-deck generated by the ships' speed made it even chillier.

He looked astern, at the clouds of smoke belching from the timberclads' funnels, and wondered once more if he should have left them behind. It was a hard call. Steaming through the water as fast as their thrashing paddle wheels could drive them, they were making a good speed of almost thirteen knots. He couldn't drive them any faster than that, even under these relatively benign conditions, and the strain of maintaining that sort of speed was undoubtedly having its consequences in their engine rooms. Temperatures down there must be soaring, however brisk it might feel out here on the open bridge, and he was well aware that he was running the risk of severe injuries—possibly even
fatal
injuries—to his stokers and engine room personnel by driving them so hard.

Unfortunately, those two timberclads represented forty percent of his total carronade strength and a third of his total available hulls. He was going to need those guns—and those hulls—very shortly now.

His problem, like most problems war threw up, was fundamentally simple. It was the
solution
that was hard.

Colonel Woods' last reconnaissance report put the League of Ostend's naval strength in the Bay of Luebeck at thirty-plus men-of-war. Any one of Simpson's vessels should be able to demolish any seventeenth-century warship in no more than a few broadsides. What had happened to
Railleuse
constituted a sort of practical field test proof of that assumption. And,
every one of Simpson's vessels was much faster—probably three times as fast, even the timberclads, under these weather conditions—than any of the League's ships could possibly be. The problem was that there were at least
five
times as many League ships as Simpson had, even with the timberclads. If they did the smart thing and scattered and ran for it the instant he arrived on the scene, he'd need as many weapons platforms as he could get his hands on just to chase them down. And he'd
also
need as many hours of daylight as he could get in which to accomplish the aforesaid chasing down, which meant he had to get there as quickly as he could.

On the other hand
, he thought moodily, looking at the dark pillars of smoke coming along at the end of his line,
there's the little problem of smoke
.

The funnel smoke from
Achilles
and
Ajax
had to be visible for miles. The squadron had certainly outrun any Danish or French vessels that might have sighted them and tried to take warning to Luebeck. Unless Captain Admiral Overgaard's lookouts were blind, however, they were going to spot that smoke well before the squadron's ships themselves ever became visible. And unless Captain Admiral Overgaard was a complete and total idiot (which, manifestly, he was not), the instant anyone reported smoke rising out of the water somewhere to the north of him, he would know exactly what must be coming toward him from just over the horizon. Admittedly, he might not know exact numbers, and his estimate of Simpson's vessels' capabilities was undoubtedly problematical, at best. Aage Overgaard, however, had already been the recipient of several unpleasant surprises, courtesy of Gustav Adolf's former up-timer allies and current up-timer subjects. He was unlikely simply to sit around waiting for the next unpleasant surprise to be visited upon him.

What was it Clausewitz said? "In war, everything is very simple, but even the simplest things are very difficult," or something like that.

Well, he'd made up his mind, and one thing he'd learned long ago. Once you'd committed yourself to a course of action, trying to change course in the middle of things was a sure path to disaster.

So stop worrying about the damn smoke clouds, John,
he told himself sternly.

Sure, no problem,
himself replied sarcastically.

"What's this all about, Jerome?" Captain Alain Lacrosse demanded testily as he stepped on to
Justine
's poop deck. The fifty-four-gun ship, one of only four French vessels still attached to the allied fleet off Luebeck, now that
Railleuse
had finally been allowed to escape, had been stationed quite a bit farther to leeward than the main body of that fleet. She was there specifically to maintain a lookout for likely threats, and Lacrosse's own standing order to his officers was that he was to be informed whenever such a threat might have been detected, but that made him no happier about the interruption of his lunch.

"I'm not certain, Captain," Jerome Bouvier, his first lieutenant, replied. Then he pointed toward the north. "The lookouts spotted that about five minutes ago, sir."

Lacrosse followed Bouvier's pointing finger, and his eyebrows furrowed as he saw the dark smear on the horizon. For a moment, he thought it was cloud. But only for a moment.

"Smoke, you think, Jerome?"

"Yes, sir," Bouvier said rather grimly, and Lacrosse pursed his lips.

"Well," he said after a moment, "I doubt there are very many houses out there to catch fire."

"The same thought had occurred to me, sir."

"In that case, I suppose we should inform the captain admiral. See to it, please."

"At once, sir."

Lacrosse watched as Bouvier began giving orders to the signal party. That was a new innovation, the handiwork of King Christian—and an innovation that had caused Lacrosse, unlike some of his fellow Frenchmen, to reconsider the notion that the king of Denmark was simply one more drunken sot.

So far as Lacrosse knew, no one outside the so-called "United States of Europe" actually had any real idea of how the mysterious up-timer "radio" worked. What they did know was that it had afforded the Americans and their allies an enormous advantage, time and again . . . and that it was an advantage
they
couldn't duplicate yet. King Christian, on the other hand, had decided to see what he might be able to come up with instead of radio, and one of his better investments had been in a book—a history book, even if much of the "history" it recounted had not yet happened—about the development of pre-radio means of communication. It had contained the details of something called "telegraphs" and "Morse code," and also a copy of the "international signal flags" and a technique for sending messages using "semaphore flags."

Several of Lacrosse's fellow French captains had dismissed the notion's practicality—and value—with the disdain properly accorded to anything Christian might have suggested. Captain Admiral Overgaard, on the other hand, had not, and he had not only issued complete sets of the appropriate flags to all of the ships under his command but also insisted that those ships train in their use.

Which was why it was possible for Captain Alain Lacrosse to inform his commanding officer that he had spotted funnel smoke on the northern horizon much more quickly than anyone on the other side had anticipated that he might.

"Recon One, this is Navy One."

"Navy One, Recon One,"
a voice replied from the speaker in
Constitution
's radio room.

"We're ready for your situation report, Recon One."

"
Understood, Admiral Simpson
," said Lieutenant Ernst Weissenbach, the aircraft's pilot. "
I make it thirty-one—repeat, three-one—warships,"
he continued.
"There are several smaller vessels around, too. Another half-dozen, but I think most of them are supply or support ships. They aren't in formation with the others, at any rate
."

"In formation?" Simpson repeated in a rather sharper tone. "What sort of formation?"

"They're forming into what looks like it's supposed to be a column,"
Weissenbach replied.
"They're about fifteen miles south of you, four miles north of the estuary, course about two-eight-three true."

"You say they're
forming
into a column?"

"Yes, sir."

"And how long have they been doing so?"

"They started shifting formation probably ten or fifteen minutes ago, Admiral."

"I see." Simpson frowned and rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. "Wait one, Recon One," he said, and looked at Captain Halberstat.

"I think something new has been added, Franz," he said. Halberstat cocked his head to one side, clearly not seeing exactly where his admiral was headed, and Simpson snorted.

"Assuming Lieutenant Weissenbach has his time interval right, then they started shifting formation just about the time one of them might have seen the timberclads' smoke if he'd been maintaining a particularly sharp lookout. Which raises the interesting question of exactly how whoever might have spotted the smoke got the word to Overgaard—and Overgaard got his orders back to everyone
else—
fast enough for them already to be altering formation in response to our arrival."

Halberstat's lack of comprehension disappeared abruptly, and he swore softly in German.

"I beg your pardon, Admiral," he apologized a moment later. "But you're right. Signal flags, do you think?"

"Most likely," Simpson agreed. "Could be semaphore, I suppose, but it's not going to be signal lamps. Not for daylight signaling, at least."

"But surely the reconnaissance flights should have reported that they were practicing using signal flags, sir!"

"Only if they realized that was what was going on," Simpson countered. Halberstat looked incredulous, and the admiral shrugged.

"Oh, you're right, Franz. They have to have spent time training with them, especially if they're responding this quickly. And Colonel Woods' pilots probably have been overhead when they were doing it, too. The problem is that, so far as I know, none of the air force's pilots know a damned thing about ships or navies. That was a problem we had back up-time, as well. Someone familiar with our own signal processes, or simply aware that you just can't maneuver squadrons of ships that way without some means of quick communication, probably would have recognized what he was seeing. The air force didn't."

"How much difference to you expect it to make today, sir?" Halberstat asked.

"That, I don't know," Simpson admitted. "The fact that they appear to be forming up to offer battle—and in line-of-battle, too, now that I think about it, which is a considerable improvement on the sort of mob/melee tactics most people around here use—would seem to indicate Overgaard plans to fight. In that respect, it could be a good thing. Trying to fight is going to require him to concentrate his ships where we can get at them, instead of having to chase them all down individually. On the other hand, if he decides the time has come to break off and run, he can probably pass a specific order to that effect quickly."

"To be honest, sir," Halberstat said with a somewhat nasty smile, "I don't really expect most of his 'gallant allies' to wait around for any
orders
to break off. Not once they see what's going to happen to them, at any rate."

"You're probably right about that," Simpson conceded, then frowned thoughtfully.

"You know, Franz," he said slowly, "we don't have those nice, tall masts and sails they do. And at this range, both sides are still hull-down from one another."

"Sir?" Halberstat said, when the admiral paused. Simpson quirked an eyebrow, and the flag captain smiled. "You appear to have something . . . unpleasant in mind, sir."

"I was just thinking about the wind, Franz. If you were one of those captains, and you decided to break and run away, what heading would you choose?"

"In this wind?" Halberstat pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, then shrugged. "Northeast, sir. Maybe north-northeast. I wouldn't want to get too far east, for fear we might be coordinating our attack with the speedboats at Wismar. And I wouldn't want to head west, for fear we—the enemy, that is—might pin me against the land."

"That's exactly what I was just thinking," Simpson agreed. "And it occurred to me, while I was thinking that, that
all
they can see of us right now is the timberclads' smoke. Smoke which the
ironclads
don't happen to emit."

He gazed at Halberstat for several seconds, watching the flag captain work through it himself. Then Halberstat's eyes lit in sudden understanding.

"Due east, were you thinking, Admiral? And with how many?"

"
United States
and
Monitor
, I think. And we'll slow our own rate of advance to give them more time to get into position, too."

"I agree, sir," Halberstat said.

"Good." Simpson nodded, then returned his attention to the radio and keyed the mike. "Recon One, Navy One. Thanks for being patient. I'd like you to keep a close eye on them for me. Let me know when they finish getting themselves into that column—assuming they do—and if any of them decide to break off or wander away on their own."

"Understood, Navy One. We'll orbit and advise you of any changes."

"Thank you, Recon One. Navy One, out."

Simpson looked down at the signalman manning the radio.

"Get me Captain Bollendorf, please."

Captain Markus Bollendorf,
Monitor
's CO, was senior to Captain Samuel Thackeray, who commanded
United States
.

"Yes, sir."

Captain Admiral Aage Overgaard stood on the poop deck of his flagship, the fifty-gun Danish ship
Freja,
and glared up at the signal flags streaming from the main topsail yard. Those flags allowed him to exercise a tighter central control over a squadron of ships than had ever before been possible for anyone . . . except for the never-to-be-sufficiently-damned Americans. Who, of course, happened to be the people heading toward him from the north.