“Thank you, Mr. Davis. I suppose I’ll wait in Genoa then.”
“And I understand you’ll be the flag lieutenant to Admiral Case?”
“Yes, I will.”
“Excellent. Then you and I will be working a lot together while the squadron is at Genoa. Oh, the consul general wants to meet you too.”
“Listen, before I meet him, can you fill me in on the situation here?” Wake asked. “This is my first time in this part of the world and I don’t have a clue, except that it’s all completely alien to me. I need to understand what’s going on and who is who.”
“Well, I’ll be damned, a man who admits it when he doesn’t know something.” Davis slapped Wake on the shoulder. “What a breath of fresh air you are! I like that. So you really want to know what goes on around here?”
“Got to, Mr. Davis—before the admiral gets here. He’s got a reputation in the navy for not tolerating fools at all.”
Davis smiled. “So I’ve heard. Of course, he’s been very engaging when I’ve been with him, and the consul general gets along famously with the admiral. War hero, I think. Got over here last year from duty at Washington. A gunnery expert, I believe.”
Wake knew that. Case was well known in the navy for being an innovator and stickler for practice in gunnery. He also was the senior officer who implemented the torpedo station at Newport, Rhode Island, for prior to taking over command of the squadron he was chief of the Bureau of Ordnance in Washington. “What about the diplomatic situation here, though? The international politics. And please, call me Peter.”
“All right, and I’m Dan. Now there, ah yes, the politics. For that, we’ll need at least one more drink.” Davis paused and looked around the crowded room. “Come with me, Peter, and we’ll talk outside.”
Davis signaled the bar servant for more champagne, put a glass in each hand and beckoned Wake to do the same, then they headed away from the noise of the guests to one of the several balconies that ran along one wall. The rain had just stopped and the gentle breeze felt good as Wake violated regulations and opened his coat to cool off once they were outside. Davis downed one glass straight away.
“A briefing on the situation here? Very well. Start out with your mindset, Peter. You are in the Old World now. Forget honesty. Forget trust. Forget right and wrong. The situation right here, right now, started a thousand years ago. And every one of those two-faced bastards in that ballroom knows each twisted facet, each perceived slight and insult, and each moment of supposed glory, of that convoluted history for every single one of those thousand years. They think that we in the New World are children because our history is only a couple of hundred years old. We’re naïve children that should be seen but not heard, and grateful for what our mother countries have given and taught us.”
Wake remembered what Catherine had told him that night at St. Pierre about European attitudes toward Americans. “That’s pretty cynical, Dan. How long’ve you been in the diplomatic business?”
Davis downed his second glass and reached for one of Wake’s. His tone was completely different from the jovial one he had displayed inside the ballroom.
“I call it realistic, and I’ve been with the Department of State for four years. You know, when I started I used to think Washington was bad. Did my first two years there. For the last two years I’ve been here among these pompous, antiquated blowhards. That’s time enough to get cynical enough to deal with them without illusions. Welcome to the Old World, Peter Wake of Uncle Sam’s not so glorious navy . . .”
17
Lay of the Land
Davis drank the other glasses of champagne without a word. Then he let out a great sigh and began to describe the international scene in Europe, which he said effectively meant the rest of the world as well since Europe dominated it.
“Very good, we’ll start with the ever-so-cultured French Republic. Our friends the French are really mere shadows of their former imperial glory, which was mainly self-promoted anyway, since they didn’t have too much to brag about in the first place. The Franco-Prussian War three years ago, following right on the heels of their stupid Mexican disaster, has sapped their military-political strength and national self-confidence almost completely. Lots of recriminations as to whose fault it was, who tried the hardest, who ran away. That sort of thing.
“Their national government’s no longer a monarchy, it’s now a republic, but a republic in chaos. I don’t know how much longer Patrice MacMahon will be president, he’s considered part of their past problems, and who can tell what de Broglie will do once he gets in, which he will. That whole situation in Paris is a mess. Nobody understands or can explain it, not even the French.”
Davis gave a Gallic shrug to emphasize his point before continuing.
“The professional French army was humiliated at the siege of Paris, and most of the real fighting was done by ad hoc militia groups, some of which have emerged as political entities. The career army officers, who didn’t come out of it looking very sharp, still haven’t recovered their morale yet. The army currently is barely strong enough to control their colonial possessions, though they’re trying to rebuild. In a few years they’ll be a factor again, but not now.”
Davis paused for a breath, then warmed back into the subject.
“The French navy, which in fact actually had a brigade of sailors fight bravely on land at the Paris siege, emerged with its ships unhurt and generally unused during the war, since their leadership was afraid to attack the German coast. But their