The Chosen

this. What's going on, and who's doing what?'

'I suspect the Chosen are doing most of the doing right now,' John replied. 'I just hope we're not the only ones keeping our heads while all about are losing theirs.'

'If we are, they'll blame it on us,' Jeffrey said. 'I'll bet Dad's doing something constructive, though.'

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Maurice Farr stood at the head of the table in the admiral's quarters of the Great Republic, pride of the Northern Fleet, and stared at the messenger.

The captains and commodores along either side looked up from their turtle soup, some of them spilling drops on their ceremonial summer-white uniforms. The overhead electrics blazed on the polished silver, the gold epaulets, the snowy linen of the tablecloth, and the starched jackets of the stewards serving the dinner. It would take news of real importance to interrupt this occasion.

'Gentlemen,' Farr said, quickly scanning the message, 'Land forces have attacked the Sierra. Preliminary reports are sketchy, but it looks like they caught them completely flat-footed. Hundreds of transports escorted by squadrons of cruisers and destroyers have landed troops around Barclon in the Rio Arena estuary, and up and down the coast. Air assault troops are landing in Nueva Madrid, and the mountain passes on the northern and southern borders are under simultaneous attack.'

Another messenger came in and passed a flimsy to the admiral. He opened it and read: Brothers Katzenjammer have flown the coop. Stop. Never again. Stop. Love, J amp;J.

Farr's shoulders kept their habitual stiffness, but he sighed imperceptibly. One less thing to worry about personally. . and the Republic was going to need both his sons in the time ahead.

A babble of conversation had broken out around the table. 'Gentlemen!' Silence fell. 'Gentlemen, we knew we were at war yesterday.'

When the news of Grisson's disaster had come through. And the politicians will blame it on him. Two modern ships and a score of relics and converted yachts against a dozen first-rate cruisers with full support. One of the Land craft had made it back to Bassin du Sud with her pumps running overtime, and several of the others had taken damage. All things considered, it was a miracle the Southern Fleet had been able to inflict that much harm before it was destroyed.

'Now we have a large target. Silence, please.'

The tension grew thicker as Maurice Farr sat with his eyes closed, gripping the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger.

'All right, gentlemen,' he said at last. One or two of the hardier had gone on eating their soup, and now paused with their spoons poised. 'Here's what we'll do. I'm assuming that all of you have steam up'- you'd better went unspoken-'and we can get under way tonight.'

That raised a few brows; a night passage up the Gut would be a definite risk, even after the exercises Farr had put the Northern Fleet through after assuming command six months ago.

'Steaming at fourteen knots, that should place us'-he turned to the map behind him-'here by dawn tomorrow. Then. .'

* * *

Admiral der See Elise Eberdorf blinked at the communications technician.

'They report what?' she said.

'Sir, the entire Santander Navy Northern Fleet is steaming down the Gut towards us at flank speed, better than fifteen knots. Distance is less than forty miles.'

Eberdorf blinked again, staring blindly out the narrow armored windows of the Grossvolk.

'Sixteen battleships, twenty-two fast protected cruisers, auxiliaries in proportion,' the man read on. 'Approaching-'

That is the entire Northern Fleet, she thought. Less the Constitution, which was downlined with a warped main drive shaft according to the latest intelligence. They were approaching through the southern strait around Trois; they must have left their base last night and made maximum speed all night, ignoring the chance of grounding or mines. Which meant. .

She looked out at the chaos that covered the waters before Barclon. The Land's gold sunburst on black was flying over most of the city's higher buildings, those still standing. The fires were still burning out of control in some districts, and the forts guarding the harbor mouth were ruins full of rotting flesh. The water was speckled with half the Land's merchant fleet and about a third of its navy, many of them working shore-support and punching out enemy bunkers for the army.

Two-thirds of the Republic's navy was heading this way, and the Republic had a bigger navy to start with.

Fools, she thought with cold anger. I told them that we should concentrate on building battleships.

Enough. Duty was duty; and her duty here was clear.

'Signals,' she said crisply. They had waited motionless, but she could sense the slight relief when she began to rap out orders. 'To all transports in waves A and B.' Those closest to the dock. 'Enemy fleet approaching. Beach yourselves upriver.'

That way the crews and troops could get off the ships, at least.

'All transports drawing less than five feet are to proceed upriver.'

Where they'd be safe from the shells of Santander battlewagons, at least. The animals still held parts of the river not far inland, but that was a lesser risk.

'Waves C through F are to make maximum speed northward.' With luck, most of them would have enough time to get under the protection of the guns of the fortresses that marked the seaward junction of the old Sierran border. Imperial forts, but adequately manned and upgunned since the conquest.

'Order to the fleet,' she said. Sixty miles. . just time enough. 'Captains to report on board the flagship, with the following exceptions. Battleships Adelreich and Eisenrede are to make all speed north and rendezvous at Corona.' Sending them out of harm's way; the navy would need every heavy ship it had to keep control of the vital passage.

'Mine-laying vessels are to proceed to the harbor channels and dump their cargos overboard. Maximum speed; ignore spacing, just do it. End. Oh, and transmit to Naval HQ.'

'Sir.'

Her chief of staff stepped up beside her, speaking quietly into her ear. 'Sir, the enemy will have seven times our weight of broadside. What do you intend to do?'

Eberdorf's face was skull-like at the best of times, thin weathered skin lying right on the harsh bones. It looked even more like a death's-head as she smiled.

'Do, Helmut?' she said. 'We're going to buy some time. And then we're all going to die, I think.'

* * *

'Watch it!' someone said on the bridge.

Maurice Farr didn't look around. He also didn't flinch as the Land twin-engine swept overhead, not fifty feet above the tripod mast of the Great Republic. He was looking through the slide-mounted binoculars of the combat bridge as the bombs dropped. One hit squarely on A turret, the forward double twelve-inch gun mount. The ship groaned and twisted, but when the smoke cleared he could see only a star-shaped scar on the hardened surface of the thick rolled and cast armor. Behind him a voice murmured:

'A turret reports one casualty, sir.' That was to the Great Republic's captain. 'Turret ready for action.'

'Give me the ranges,' Farr said.

'Eleven thousand, sir. Closing.'

Farr nodded. They were slanting in towards the Land ships, like not-quite-parallel lines, but there was shoal water between the fleets, far too shallow for his heavy ships, or even for most cruisers.

'Admiral,' the captain of the Great Republic said, 'at maximum elevation, I could be