"Lt. Wainwright, turn the boilers up. Let's set the speed at ten knots as we exit the harbor."
"Aye, sir," said Anna as she gave him that innocent smile and then radioed the command.
Jack settled down into the chair of the commanding officer. To his right, Abigail also sat as the division officers prepared to leave Quiller's Cove. It was now morning and a vast crowd of people had come out to watch the task force sail forth to tackle its mission. Many of them waved hats or shirts or even socks for some of the poorer ones.
Over the radio, one last transmission came over from the base. "Task Force 21 cleared to sail. Good luck, Jack," came the voice of Commodore Lucas.
Setting a look of grim determination on his face, Jack looked out the front window to see the sailors of the ship lining the edges as they left port. Each one of them looked young and green but proud as well. He had no doubt that they'd all do their duty to the utmost. It was a mighty task he was asking of each of them but no one had skipped the ship.
All were committed to sailing into the Fourth Vector with him. That's how he knew he had the right crew.
"Jack, are you okay?" Abigail looked at him with caring eyes.
He grinned. "Never better. Let's get this over with, shall we?"
Abigail smiled and then nodded. As soon as they past the jetty, she called over to her sister. "Lt. Wainwright, let's set course at twenty-four knots."
"And the direction, ma'am?"
Jack looked over and said, "Due west, Lieutenant. We're heading to the Fourth Vector."
As the ship picked up speed, Jack looked out to the horizon. Somewhere out there lurked the vector, filled with a race of peoples that he and his countrymen knew nothing about.
Behind him stood the forces of the Occitanians and even the Ruthenians. With enemies all around him, he sailed into an uncertain future. But as he looked at each member of the crew, he realized he couldn't ask for better companions.
They were willing to fight together and die together. Jack just hoped they'd get to do a lot more of the former than the later.
Only time would tell.
***
Admiral Percival Bancroft found himself waiting once again. It seemed it was all he did these days. Ever since he'd taken over as the commander-in-chief of the Javan navy—which was mostly a desk job anyway—he found himself at the beck and call of the emperor constantly.
Most days it didn't bother him but today was quite the unordinary day. The report out of the remote naval base of Quiller's Cove was most disturbing and seemed to confirm to him what he'd long suspected for months: the Occitanians were on the move.
The emperor would be happy at least. He'd been talking about this war for the last three years. He even practically salivated at the thought of one last war before his final send-off. One more chance to see his plaything ships and soldiers destroy his enemies before he croaked. Bancroft resisted the urge to roll this eyes.
After all, this wasn't just some measly board game. It wasn't about exchanging a few casualties and maybe winning a territory or two. War was about power.
It was about obtaining the ultimate obedience and crushing your enemies totally.
Those were the principles he taught when he used to be the superintendent of the naval academy, and he intended to take those principles to war.
Yet even though the emperor had the war he wanted, Bancroft found it still too early to be the war that he wanted. The Javan navy was a reputable force, but it was still no match for the Occitanians who largely controlled the waves. Their fleet outnumbered them in just about every ship category. And that was even conveniently leaving out the Ruthenians who would no doubt jump into the conflict once they were worn down through attrition.
No, where they would have to find their strength was in their commanders instead of material. For three years, Bancroft molded the young minds of the naval officers in the academy, preparing them for a war that would soon engulf their lives.
He had to make sure his officers were prepared and trained to outlast a war that would be to their disadvantage. At least the action of today seemed to confirm that his training was a success.
At that moment, a door to the main chamber finally opened and out popped Mortimus, the emperor's young page. Bancroft had no use for the pimple-faced and greasy, young man but custom dictated that he show his respect.
"His Imperial Majesty will see you now, Admiral Bancroft," announced Mortimus in a clumsy manner. Bancroft noticed that even the young man's robes were hung in an incorrect way, showing him for the amateur that he really was. Still, he put on his best face for appearances.
"Many thank yous, Mortimus. I am honored to see His Imperial Majesty," said Bancroft with a noticeable flourish. The young man led him into the royal chamber and even managed to stumble on his own robes which nearly caused him to fall on his face.
You wouldn't have fallen if you did your robes correctly, you blithering idiot, thought Bancroft.