“You boys might as well hear this as well. Admiral, I want you to head back to Constantine within the hour, I’ll have an express waiting to take you. Mr. Cromwell, you’ll go with him and take over command of the air groups.” Adam shifted uncomfortably, wanting to speak, but afraid to do so.
Andrew looked over at the diminutive pilot and smiled. “Sorry, son. You’re grounded.”
“Grounded, sir?”
“Personal request from Varinnia Ferguson. You’re part of her team now.”
“Damn Theodor,” Adam whispered, then seeing that Kathleen had overheard, he reddened.
“My apologies, ma’am.”
She laughed softly and put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“I’ve heard a lot worse from the president, Adam.”
“Mr. Cromwell, my son expressed his feelings to me, quite forcefully I should add, about you receiving the Medal of Honor. I agree with him. I think you understand the reasoning. There’re concerns, some lingering questions in spite of your correct and heroic service.”
“I understand,” Cromwell said quietly.
“I believe in you, Cromwell, I want you to know that.” Cromwell nodded, saying nothing.
Andrew’s features hardened.
“You boys might as well hear this, as well. Admiral, a flyer located part of the Bantag Horde this morning and spotted the Golden Yurt of Jurak on the coast.”
“The enemy fleet?”
Andrew nodded.
“Report of fifty or more transports off-loading troops and supplies. I want you to sortie and try and intercept. Any lingering questions about this war are gone. The Kazan have joined with the Bantag.”
“I pity Jurak,” Abe said.
Andrew looked over at him.
“He’ll get more than he bargained for.”
Andrew nodded.
“You gentlemen head in, I want a moment with Petronius.”
The three comrades turned and, as the doors to the reception room opened, went in together, side by side.
Andrew, smiling sadly, watched them go, then looked back to Petronius.
“Keep your ships alive, Admiral. It’ll be a year or more before we can bring anything new into this fight.”
“I know.”
“And Cromwell. He’s a good man, try to keep him alive. I think we’ll hear a lot more from him.”
Petronius did not reply.
“Good luck out there.”
The two shook hands, and Petronius followed the crowd into the reception hall.
Andrew looked over at Kathleen as she slipped her hand into his.
“Proud of our boy?” he asked.
“He’s changed. Quiet, far too stem, with a look in his eyes that wasn’t there before.”
“War does that,” Andrew sighed.
“Damn all war.”
“Yes, damn all war. But we’re stuck with it.”
“Andrew, can’t you keep him back, the way you did with the Rosovich boy?”
“He must take the same risks I’d ask of anyone else. I’m president, my dear, I can no longer think as his father.”
“God bless Vincent Hawthorne, at least he ignored you for once and sent those extra planes out to look for him.” He smiled.
“I’m glad he did. Now let’s go do our jobs.”
Hazin stood at the railing of his ship, watching as landing ships surged in to shore. The dark mass of thousands of the Shiv were already forming up on the beach, beginning to move up into the hills. By the end of the day the last of them would be ashore, followed by the umen of land cruisers, and then he could withdraw.
He looked back out to sea. Three battleships lay off the bay, the rest of the fleet beyond. Admiral Vasa, now commander of the fleet, was compliant enough in terms of keeping the fleet with him. He wisely knew what might happen otherwise. Three of the surviving cousins had died as well, one of them from quite natural causes, shot by a strafing enemy airship.
Vasa knew and understood. The Shiv under General Zhan would do their job well while he returned home to properly protect the unborn emperor or empress.
He looked over at O’Donald, who stood by the bow, gaze locked on the ships steaming in, carrying with them the terrifying striking arm of the Shiv. He would go with them, ready to be used at the proper moment.
All things were now possible, Hazin thought with a smile.