Stars & Stripes Triumphant (16 page)

"They are livid, intransigent, calling their men to arms, preparing their country for war. They demand immediate payment of ten million pounds' compensation for the loss of their ironclad."

"Can war be avoided?" Sherman asked.

"If we pay them the millions that they ask for, and stop shipping our cotton to world markets, also permit their men-of-war to arrest and search all of our ships at sea, and more. They have endless demands and bristle with threats. The situation is very tense."

"How did the naval engagement come about?"

"I doubt if we will ever know. Captain Semmes says that his ship was fired upon. His officers and men all agree with him. That is what they say, and I sincerely doubt that they are lying to us. It still remains a mystery why the British vessel opened fire. The two English survivors knew nothing, other than the fact that there was gunfire and explosions and they were blown into the water. Neither of them appeared to be too bright, according to their interrogators. Apparently they worked in the ship's galley and were on deck dumping rubbish—which is what saved them. Of course, after they were sent back home, they changed their stories—or they were changed for them—and
Virginia
is now supposed to have fired in an unprovoked attack. But this matters little. The original cause has been forgotten in the cloud of political invective."

"Will it be war?" Gus asked, almost in a whisper.

Lincoln sagged back deep into the chair and shook his head with a most woeful expression upon his face.

"I do not know, I cannot tell you... I just have no idea where all this will end."

"If war comes," Sherman said with icy resolution, "we will be prepared for it. And I also know now how it can be won."

They both looked at him, waiting for him to continue. His face was set and he was looking out of the window, not seeing the hot and brassy sky—rather, another land far across the ocean.

"There are many ways to attack a country like that and I am completely sure that I know how it can be successfully done. But first,
what
we must do is far more important than how we do it. To begin with, unless we want to be immersed in a long, protracted, and murderous war, we must be prepared to fight the new kind of lightning warfare, just as we did in the battle for Ireland. In order to succeed we must first assess the enemy's strengths—and weaknesses—in every detail. This, along with war preparations, will take some months at least. So I would say that we will be prepared for any venture by spring at the earliest. Can we buy that time?"

Lincoln nodded slowly. "A politician can always buy time; that is the one thing we are good at—that, and wasting time. The negotiations will plow ahead. We will make some concessions, then let them think that there are more are on the way. King Leopold of Belgium has offered us neutral ground on which to discus our differences. We shall avail ourselves of his offer and set in motion the ponderous machinery of international negotiations yet another time."

"Is there any possibility that they may strike before we are prepared?" Gus said worriedly. Sherman considered the question.

"It is not that easy to launch an attack across an ocean. Surely your intelligence sources will keep you informed of all preparations?"

Gus shook his head. "Our informants in Great Britain were all Irish—and are all now seized or in hiding. But I had many discussions with Count Korzhenevski, and he will be happy to supply us with intelligence from his network there. We are now in the process of arranging a working relationship."

"I must be informed of all developments," Sherman said.

"You will be. You as well, Mr. President."

Sherman returned to the War Department and wrote a number of telegraph orders. It took only a day to make the necessary arrangements. When they were done he sent for Ulysses S. Grant.

"General Grant, sir," the captain said, opening the door and standing aside.

"Why, you are sure a sight for sore eyes," General Sherman said, standing and coming around his desk, smiling with obvious pleasure. He started to raise his hand—then dropped it. "How is the arm?"

"Well healed, thank you, Cumph." Grant proved this by seizing Sherman's hand and shaking it strongly. Then he looked down at the drawings spread over the desktop and nodded. "I sent these over because I was sure that they would interest you as much as they did me."

"More than just interest; this mobile gun position is the answer to an unspoken prayer. Of late, my thoughts have been turned to the possibilities of lightning attacks and expeditious victories. This invention of Parrott and Ericsson fits in with all that I plan to do."

"Do we plan to go to war?" Grant asked, his face suddenly hard and grim.

"A soldier must always be ready for war. If not now, I think that we will be facing the prospect of battle by spring. But please, do sit down." Sherman seated himself and tapped the drawings. "I need this infernal machine. The British talk of war and are at their most bellicose. It is a possibility that we must consider strongly. That is why I have invited engineer Ericsson to join us this morning." He took out his watch and looked at it. "He will be here at any time now. Before he comes, I must tell you about a little scouting trip I have just finished to the English shore."

"You didn't!" Grant sat back in his chair and laughed out loud. "I swear—you have more brass than an entire band."

"It was indeed an interesting time. But other than the men who went with me, only you and the President know of the visit—and we must keep it that way. It was a most fruitful exploration, for what I did discover was just how that country could be successfully invaded."

"Now you do have my complete attention."

Sherman outlined roughly what he planned to do, including what would be Grant's vital contribution to a successful invasion. When Ericsson was announced they put away the papers and maps that they had worked on and turned their attention back to the plans for the mobile battery.

"I have many things to do and do not enjoy wasting time on trips to the city of Washington," Ericsson said testily as he was shown in.

"A pleasure to see you again," Sherman said, ignoring the engineer's outburst. "You of course know General Grant."

Ericsson nodded curtly. Then, "Why was I summoned here?"

"Well, for one thing," Sherman said, opening a drawer in the desk, "I understand that the navy has been slow in paying you for the new ironclads that are now under construction."

"Always late! I have a large workforce, and there is iron and steel must be purchased—"

"Perfectly understandable." Sherman slid an envelope across the table. "I think that you will find dealing with the army much more satisfactory. This is a check for the first payment for the development of the mobile battery."

Ericsson smiled—for the first time that they had ever seen. Tore open the envelope and squinted down at the check. "Most satisfactory."

"Good. Then we can get down to work." Sherman pointed to the drawings on his desk. "I have been examining these in great detail ever since General Grant gave them to me. I have some suggestions."

Ericsson's face grew hard. "You are not an engineer..."

"No—but I am the officer in charge of the armies that must use this device. I want you to consider this. The driver and the gunner will be under intense fire from the enemy. Is there any way we can protect them with some armor?"

"That will not be a problem. I have already had this under consideration." He took a pencil from his jacket pocket and pulled over the drawings. With quick, precise strokes he sketched in an iron shield.

"If we attempt to armor the vehicle on all sides, it would be too heavy to move. But since it will be attacking the enemy, then a shield on the front should provide all the protection that it will need as it rides into battle. The muzzles of the Gatling will fire through this opening in the armor."

"Sounds most promising," Sherman said, smiling with pleasure. "How long will it take to build the prototype?"

"One week," Ericsson said without the slightest hesitation. "If you will be at my works one week from today, you will see the new machine in action."

"That will indeed be satisfactory." Sherman tugged at his beard, deep in thought. "But we must have a name for this new invention."

"I have thought about that. It must be a heroic name. So I suggest Fafnir—the dragon of Norse legend, breathing out fire and destruction on all who oppose it."

"I think not. We want a name that if it is overheard, or mentioned in correspondence, will be most innocuous and bear no relation to the war vehicle. The secret of its existence must be kept at all costs."

"Innocuous!" Ericsson's temper had snapped again. "That is ridiculous. If you want innocuous, then why not call it a bale of hay—or—or a water tank!"

Sherman nodded. "A capital suggestion. A water tank, an iron tank—or just plain tank. So that is settled. But there is another matter that I want to consult you about. A military matter."

"Yes?"

Sherman took a key from his waistcoat pocket, unlocked the top drawer of his desk, and took out a sheaf of drawings. He slid them across the desktop to Ericsson.

"These are different elevations and details of a fort defending a river bend."

Ericsson took them and nodded agreement. "Obviously. A typical construction that you will see right across all of Europe. It is roughly a triangular redan. These spurs flank the approaches to the fort, and see, opposite the salients here, the walls take the form of a star, a development of a tenaille trace. This ravelin has an important defense role in defending the main entrance. A well-worn design—but also well past its time. It cannot stand up to modern artillery. I assume you want to reduce this fortress?"

"I do."

"Easily enough done. Get a siege train within range, and in three or four days you will have reduced the walls to rubble."

"That will be impossible. It is surrounded by water and swamps. Also—that would take too long."

"Too long! You want a miracle, then."

"I don't want a miracle—but I do want the guns destroyed in hours, not days. I am not interested in the fabric of the fort itself; it will be bypassed in any case."

"Interesting," the engineer said, picking up the aerial view of the fort. "The river here, of course. With the guns silenced, the ships of war may pass. You come to me because I am a nautical engineer and this will require a nautical solution. May I take these drawings with me?"

"You may not. Study them as long as you like—but they must not leave this room."

Ericsson scowled at this prohibition and rubbed his jaw in thought. "All right, I can do that. But one more question: The fleet that sails up this river, will they be riverine ships?"

"No, they won't be. They will have crossed an ocean before they reach the river mouth."

"Very good, then." Ericsson climbed to his feet. "I will show you how it can be done when I see you in a week's time to demonstrate my new hay bale."

"Tank."

"Bale, tank—it is all nonsense." He started for the door, then turned back. "At that time I will be able to show you how to reduce those guns. An idea I already have been working on." He went out, slamming the door behind him.

"Do you think he can do it?" Grant asked.

"If he can't, why, there is no one else in the world who can. He is an original thinker. Never forget that it was his
Monitor
that changed naval warfare forever."

On the other side of the Atlantic a far more commonplace event was taking place. In the port of Dover, the morning steam packet from Calais had just arrived after an uneventful crossing of the English Channel from France. Albert Noireau was just one of the many passengers who came down the gangway and stepped onto the English soil.

Most of the other passengers hurried on to board the London train. But a few, like Monsieur Noireau, had business here in the seaport. His visit could not have been intended to be an extensive one, for he carried no baggage. He also appeared to be in no hurry as he strolled along the seafront. Sometimes stopping to gaze at the ships gathered there, at other times he looked at the shops and buildings that faced the docks. One in particular attracted his attention. He peered at the chiseled nameplate outside the door, then went on. At the next turning he paused and looked about. As far as he could tell, he was unobserved. He took a moment to glance at the slip of paper in his pocket and nodded slightly. It was indeed the same name he had been told to look for.
Trinity House.
He walked back toward it, then entered the public house in the adjoining building. The Cask and Telescope.
Très naval.

The newcomer ordered a pint of beer in good English—although he had a thick French accent. His French was perfect, he had lived in France for many years, and had long since submerged Mikhail Shevchuk under his new persona. But he never forgot who his masters were.

It was easy to strike up conversations at the bar. Particularly when he was most generous when his time came for buying rounds. By late afternoon he had talked to a number of pilots from Trinity House and had discovered what he needed to know. To them he was an affable agent for French ship's chandlers, with well-filled pockets.

They called after him cheerfully when he hurried to get the afternoon packet back to France.

BOOK TWO

THE WINDS OF WAR

SEAGOING THUNDER

The year 1865 ended with a winter of discontent. It proved to be the coldest December in many years, with endless snowstorms and hard ice. Even the Potomac froze over. The British government's continuing legal and diplomatic assaults on the Americans had eased somewhat when Lord Palmerston, who had never recovered his strength after his stroke and was now in his eighty-first year, caught a chill and, after a short illness, died in October. Lord John Russell relinquished his office of Foreign Minister and became Prime Minister in his place. Government policies continued unchanged, and although there was a brief hiatus when his new government was formed, the pressure on the United States continued into the spring of 1866.