Assassin's Honor (9781561648207) (8 page)

“Well, Rork, what did you discover?” I asked when my cabin door was shut.

Rork remained standing. He was glassy-eyed, but not drunk. Well, not completely drunk. Like most senior petty officers, he had a substantial capacity for maintaining a façade of semi-sobriety
after ingesting a large quantity of alcohol.

There was a slight slur when he spoke, though. “Well, sir, they're a lively bunch, them Germans. Needed a romp ashore, that they did, an' their kraut-eatin' lips got nice an' loose by the second round. Told me they started at La Guaira in Venezuela, an' stopped for a port visit at Colón in Panama, an' another one at Bluefields in Nicaragua. From here they're bound for Tampico, up on the Mexican central Gulf coast.”

“What's their mission, officially?”

“They say they're doin' the annual conscript registration o' German émigré lads for their national army back home. Round up all these fellows an' take 'em onboard to get it done. On top o' the paperwork, their sawbones looks the boyos over an' says yea or nay on their fitness.”

That was believable. The German Navy did that, or tried to do that, all over the world once a year, except inside the United States and Europe. By German law, any male German citizen of military age anywhere on the globe could be called upon to return and fight for their country in time of war, or imminent war. This manly duty, however, wasn't always appreciated by Germans who had emigrated overseas to find a better life than they had back in the old country. Many had intermarried with the locals and been assimilated with the locals for years, with far more ties to their new home than to the old one.

“Are they running into any resentment by the German families?” I asked, for such resentment might lead to some interesting potential for recruiting ONI informants.

“Aye, that they are, sir. They say not so much in Venezuela, where the Heinies are relatively recent arrivals an' stay to their own kind, but over in Central America there's been some bitchin' from the families that've been there awhile. They don't fancy their sons goin' off an' dyin' for Kaiser Willy. Can't say I blame 'em there.”

“No mention of Dzul, Drake, the
Philadelphia
, the Mayans, or Yucatán?”

“Nary a word, sir. I steered the talk that way, but not a one o' 'em took the bait.”

“When are they getting under way for Tampico?”

“Well, methinks that's a funny thing, sir. They originally told me they'd be in port a couple o' days. Seems the Heinie officers wanted to have some time to have a look-see ashore here—probably to spy on Uncle Sam's Navy—an' all hands thought it a capital idea. They were plannin' on havin' some memorable jollies. But it looks like the notion just got dashed all to hell.”

“How's that?”

“Well, I tell ye, sir, just as we were getting' down to some serious drinkin' a messenger boy from their ship comes in, all in a fluff. He whispers in the senior petty officer's ear—an' then that worthy gets all worked up an' says something in Kraut lingo that made the rest o' 'em haul their sheets an' leave, quick as you please. Senior lad said to me, ‘thank you,' but he said it like he was lookin' at a whore in church clothes. An' then he joined the other buggers an' went off at a clip. Never even bought
me
a round, the cheap bastards.”

“They left suddenly?” I found it an interesting development. “I presume you followed them.”

“Aye, sir. An' right to the boat landin' they went—in formation, o' course—swingin' them arms an' stompin' along at the quick march. I could see they was eyein' our
Benny
pretty close as they went by her on the wharf, especially our guns. They were missin' one o' their mates, but didn't stick around for him. Took their ship's launch from the boat landin' straight to the ship in the anchorage. Ah, but there's more to the tale, sir.”

Rork loved to tell about his jaunts ashore and, depending on how much swill he'd drunk, had the tendency to drag the tale on and on. I've learned over the years to be patient. “Continue.”

“Well, wouldn't ye know it, sir, but a wee bit later, here comes the wayward lad him ownself. Aye, an' he was drunk as a lord an' towin' none other than dear Annie herself. An' she's none too happy with him, an' latched onto his arm like a limpet. He
looked to me to be a senior quartermaster's mate, by the sleeve insignia. By all her fuss, I fathomed he hadn't paid the girl. Bad move on his part.”

Bad move, indeed. He was lucky Annie didn't gut him like a fish.

“And so?” I prompted him.

“Ooh, Annie was in an ugly mood, sir. She never lets go o' a man 'til she's got his coin in
her
hand. You get laid, you pay the maid—that's her motto. Well now, she had this poor bugger all aback tryin' to escape from her, an' failin' miserably cause she had 'im right by the ballast stones. Finally he finds a wee bit o' gold coin in his pocket an' slaps it in her hand.”

Rork shook his head. “Then she changes her tune, an' gets all cute-like. You know how Annie can be. She rubs on him an' says, ‘And just when will ya be back here, my darling Gerhardt?'”

Rork shook his head sadly. “O' course, now the simple fool's smitten again, don't ye know, and he says back to her in that Kraut accent, ‘Ve go. Must meet a ship at Mexico. Back in two weeks. I see you then, Annie?' She says back, ‘Yes, but with all yer money up front next time, dearie.' An' then he jumped in a bum boat an' headed out to his ship.”

“Thank you, Rork. Is that it—learn anything else from Annie after the man headed out to his ship?” I asked. “I presume you both returned to the bar.”

“Aye, sir, figured it was part o' me duty to take Annie back an' find out what she knew about those Germans. Well, to make a long story short, it turned out the ol' girl didn't know much at all. She told me ol' Gerhardt wasn't a talker, either in his beer or in her bed. So that's the whole lot o' it, from stem to stern.”

“So where's my change from the bar bill?”

“Sir, really . . . there was a boatload o' those Heinies to buy for, an' full three rounds o' drinks. An' then there was ol' Annie, an' you know she's no lightweight when it comes to drinkin' an' such.”

“Neither are you.”

Rork cast a downward gaze. “Well, not to brag, but bosuns do have a certain reputation to keep up, sir. Wouldn't do to let me profession down, now would it?”

“So, no money left?”

“Nary a penny, sir. But every bit was spent in the service o' me beloved Uncle Sam an' his loyal navy.”

I wasn't surprised. “Yes, well Rork, just so you know, that was
my
money, not Uncle Sam's. Anyway, to summarize, they all suddenly departed for their ship, and from a navigation petty officer, you learned there's another ship involved when they get to Mexico, and they'll return here in two weeks?”

“Aye, sir. Methinks that ship's a merchie probably. Ain't another German warship in the Caribbean right now. An' methinks further it's maybe a private filibuster endeavor. Maybe one o' our flags, out o' Texas or New Orleans.”

“Why?”

“Just a feelin' in me bones.”

“Mercenaries. Well, it's a possibly. Or maybe out of Central America. By the way, did you send that letter to Useppa's church?”

“Ordered an' done, sir, even before me time with the Germans.”

“Thank you. Oh, Admiral Walker wants you to personally brief him on what you found out.”

Rork's face clouded. “Oooh, the admiral him ownself wants
me
, sir? Don't quite fancy the sound o' that. 'Tis the admiral gunnin' for me about the little lady o' the night thing in D.C. two years ago. On me mother's grave, sir, she told me she'd be gone by daybreak, an' I had no idea she'd be lollygaggin' in me bed during the admiral's inspection.”

I shook my head. “No, Rork, you're not in any hot water on that—he got over it a while ago. For some inexplicable reason, he likes you. Just be brief with him and then get back here to work on the coaling. Your absence has surely caused all kinds of rumors to circulate among the officers and the men. Neither of
us needs that.”

His face split into that ridiculous grin of his. “Aye, methinks our lads're a wee bit jealous, for somehow they've the idea me whole time ashore was for gettin' drunk an' bedded. 'Tis a mystery to me how they came up with these ideas, but not to worry, sir. Sean Rork can still pull his own load, an' then some. This ol' Irish carcass'll out-haul the whole lot o' 'em.”

U.S.S. Bennington

Key West Naval Station

Sunrise, Sunday

11 December 1892

The sun's arrival was a sight to behold, greeting
Bennington
's worn-out men with a beautiful parade of burnished copper clouds scudding along on the southeast trade wind. This tropical panorama went unnoticed by most, however, for the work of getting the ship underway trumped nature's wonders, and the men were too damned tired anyway.

Lieutenant Gideon Lambert, the ship's gunnery officer and current officer of the deck, showed no such physical debility. On the contrary, though the Iowan had been awake all night like everyone else, myself included, he was still a steady source of questions and commands to the petty officers around him that morning. I found it noteworthy that his comments weren't bothersome, but practical points needing to be made. It was at this moment that I made a decision regarding our departure.

Lambert had fifteen years in the navy and was experienced at handling the ship, but still, taking a warship off a wharf in a crosscurrent, right in front of one's captain and the squadron's admiral, is enough to make the most composed naval officer nervous. It didn't help any that Commander Gardiner, who had taken a disliking to Lambert, was silently watching him like a hawk from the port bridge wing.

An important part of being the captain of a warship is being a teacher, training subordinate officers to take over if the senior officers are incapacitated. The situation that morning somewhat duplicated the stress that went with combat and would be an excellent teaching opportunity. This was a bit unorthodox, but I knew Lambert could do it. However, I wasn't sure
he
if knew he could do it, and so I ordered him, as officer of the deck, to take
Bennington
out to sea. I would be there beside him, and I would take the responsibility if things went wrong. He would get the accolades if they went right.

I walked over to Gardiner and briefed him on my plan. He disagreed, saying either he or I should take the ship out from the wharf, for he thought Lambert too timid, especially for the difficult athwart current that usually runs strongly at that wharf. His objection struck a nerve with me, for when I had briefed him an hour earlier on our confidential orders from the admiral, he'd expressed open doubt as to their wisdom or necessity. Now he was unsupportive of my wish to have Lambert get some practice at ship handling under difficult conditions. I thanked him for his candor, for a captain must never quash it from his number two, and said my orders still stood. Gardiner said “Aye, aye, sir,” in a perfunctory manner and I walked away, noting it for the future.

Behind Lieutenant Lambert stood Ensign Theodore Pocket, the junior officer of the deck. Pocket was an '89 graduate of the academy and a bright fellow. Lambert was keeping him very busy, but I saw the ensign didn't get flustered.

The navigator, Lieutenant Commander Warfield, whom I often wished had been the executive officer, reported his
recommendations to me from inside the chart room.

“Captain, the transit is approximately three hundred and five miles. The course will be just north of southwest, to a position five miles off the Colorados Reefs at Tobacco Point in western Cuba, thence southwest along the reefs to Cape Antonio at the very western end of Cuba, thence west-southwest to the southern point of Cozumel Island.”

“Very good. Time?”

“Maintaining ten knots steaming speed, our estimated time of transit to the south end of Cozumel Island will be thirty-five hours and thirty minutes, which assumes an average three-knot current against us in the Florida Straits, a one-knot countercurrent assisting us along the Cuban coast, and a two-and-a-half-knot current against us in the Yucatán Strait. This makes our estimated time of arrival to be just after first dog watch, about six thirty tomorrow evening, which will be in the dark, one and a half hours after sunset at that longitude.”

Warfield paused for questions. I had none, so he continued with his report.

“Current conditions have the wind at Force Four, moderate breeze, nor'east to easterly, sir. Tide is at full ebb of two and three quarter knots, with an hour and a half until slack water. Once we reach the outer mark, I recommend a course of two-five-two, west-southwest, full fore and main sails set, and revolutions for a speed of ten knots.”