The naval yard had been constructed after the war, a massive project that had taken five years and required the movement of millions of tons of earth and rock to construct a dry dock, slips and ways, piers and workyards.
Tied off at the main piers were the almost complete cruisers Shiloh, Perryville, and Wilderness. The decks were still flush, since turrets, superstructures and masts had yet to be added. All three of the ships had been launched only within the last month and then tied off for final completion.
Along the next dock were five frigates in various stages of completion. Nothing new was in development, because the eight ships represented all of the budget allocations Andrew had run through at the start of his second term. Some of the southern members of Congress were arguing that all further ship building should take place at Constantine. It seemed a natural choice, being directly on the sea. Continuing the work at Suzdal was seen as a maneuver to keep money inside Rus and away from the shipbuilders of the southern states, who had far more experience. The only argument against it was the threat from cyclones.
“What’s the deepest draft we can get in here?” Varinnia asked, looking back at one of her assistants.
“Thirty-three feet in the main channel and from slip number one. The others are all at twenty-five feet.”
She led the group over to where Shiloh was tied off. She was one of the Gettysburg class, three hundred and fifty feet in length and drawing nearly five thousand tons.
“Compare that to what you saw, Cromwell,” she said, pointing at the ship.
“It wouldn’t last ten minutes in a fight with their ships of the line.”
Andrew and several others of the group shifted uncomfortably.
“Why?”
“Their largest ship had breechloading guns that I estimated were ten inches, perhaps even twelve. I spotted six turrets on several of them, two forward, two aft, and two amidships.”
“The amidships guns, how do they bear?” she asked.
“They’re positioned so that they can fire directly forward or aft. Therefore, it would have four guns for a bow or stern chase, and five guns for a broadside. I think I spotted a number of secondary guns of lighter caliber as well.
“In the night fight, I think I saw a couple of ships that had three guns forward and one or two aft. It looked like several different designs, but all of them were heavy, twelve thousand tons, maybe as high as eighteen or twenty.”
“Did you see these guns fire?” Petronius asked.
“Only in a night action. The one we spotted.”
“We?” Petronius asked. “Who was your spotter?”
Richard hesitated for the briefest instant, noticing that the president was watching him carefully.
“It was Lieutenant Sean O’Donald, sir.”
“And what happened to him in this action of yours?”
“He didn’t come back,” Richard said slowly, hoping that Petronius would interpret his words in the way he wanted. The admiral simply nodded.
“Range on these guns?”
“That’s the interesting thing,” Richard replied. “Like our fourteen incher, I believe their guns must have a range of ten thousand yards or more. The question is hitting at that range. It looked as if most of the action was taking place at a mile or less.”
“Could that be because it was a night battle?” Theodor asked.
Richard shook his head.
“No, sir. I heard later that the battle had started in late afternoon. The ship that…” He hesitated, looking at Andrew, who shook his head. “The ship carrying the rival to the throne was hit early in the action, at a range of nearly a league, which all considered to be remarkable luck.”
“That information could be valuable to us,” Varinnia interrupted. “Very valuable, but it will take time.”
“Fire control?” Theodor asked.
“We’ve talked for years about it,” Varinnia replied. “My husband’s notes include talk about a man on the old world, the one named Babbage. When firing at long range, gunnery is a question of numerous variables too complex to solve in the necessary time. We have the theory of using optical triangulation instruments to figure out the range. Calculating from there, though, is the problem. We could have a hundred of our finest engineers and mathematicians on board a ship, give them the estimated range, and by the time they got done calculating gun elevation and powder load, both ships would be back in port and their crews on leave.”
She shook her head, but Richard could sense her excitement as she contemplated the problem.
“If we could find a way to calculate, in advance, the elevation, angle, and load of the gun, fire it, then have a new calculation within thirty seconds for the next firing, factoring in the observed hit of the previous shell, we could defeat anything afloat.”
Varinnia and Theodor launched into a heated discussion for several minutes, which Richard tried to follow. The two argued about shell flight time, relative change of distance and angle, and something called differential engines, until Andrew final interrupted with a polite clearing of his throat.
She looked over at him and smiled. Richard could sense a genuine affection between the two.
“Mister, or I should say, Commander Cromwell, tell us the number of ships in the emperor’s fleet,” Petronius asked, having stood to one side during the technical debate.
“I can’t say for sure. That shifts as alliances between families change. When I flew over the harbor, I counted eight great ships of the line, each of them easily three times the size of our Gettysburg class. Twenty or more ships of the second line, about half the size of the capital ships but still bigger than our largest vessels. I would estimate they had eight-inch guns. Finally forty, perhaps fifty smaller ships, like the one that defeated the Gettysburg, somewhat smaller than our cruisers, around the size of our frigates.”
“Speed?”
“The great ships I can’t say for certain. I saw several of their frigates maneuvering out of the harbor while I was being taken off the ship, and I would say they could reach eighteen knots, perhaps twenty.”
The group around Varinnia broke into feverish whispers. She turned to join them, occasionally looking back at him as if they were doctors conferring just outside the hearing distance of a patient who was desperately ill. Again he caught only snatches of phrases-steam turbines, cruise range, fuel storage to gross weight ratios.
He waited patiently, sensing a certain desperation on their part.
Andrew came over to join him, taking off his stovepipe hat, which one of his guards quietly took from his hand.
“An honest appraisal, Commander Cromwell,” Andrew asked softly, drawing Richard aside.
“Yes, sir.”
“Can we match them?”
Richard reluctantly shook his head. “Maybe in three years, or five. If we could capture one of their ships and tear it apart, then start making them.”
“In that time they’ll overrun us.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then, we have to come at it from another angle,” Andrew said, raising his voice enough so that the others could hear.
The arguing group fell silent.
“Another angle. Figure out their weakness as of this moment and attack it, at the very least to buy time so that we can then apply a long-term plan.”
“Their weakness is political,” Webster interjected. “I can figure that much from the report of this young commander.”
Richard sensed a distrust on Webster’s part. Was it because of O’Donald? he wondered. Surely that would leak out sooner or later. Had Andrew already shared that bit of information with the only member of his cabinet who was an old survivor of the 35th Maine?