Kirov Saga: Devil's Garden (Kirov Series) (35 page)

“Certainly, sir.”

“After the ball things get very interesting.”

“In what way, sir, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Well, there’s a good bit of news that arrives that night. The
Duke will be in attendance, along with the Princes of Orange and Nassau and a
very long list of others, mostly officers in the army. We’ll find quarters in
the city and leave our baggage there. Then we’ll venture out and have a look at
the battlefield.”

“The battlefield, sir?”

“Yes, of course. Why else are we here? Imagine yourself in the
year 1815—the tenth day of June to be precise. The Duke I speak of is Field
Marshal Arthur Wellesley, the 1st Duke of Wellington, and the battlefield, my
good man, is the field he made famous—none other than Waterloo.” He gave Thomas
a studied look, watching his reaction closely.

“Waterloo? Oh, I’ve always been keen to have a look at that field,
though never had the time. Is there to be a re-enactment, sir? I would at least
think they would have such an affair in June, and not late summer as it is,
though no one would know that by this weather.”

“No re-enactment, Thomas, no more so than this boat we’re on. I’m
talking about the real event now
the
Battle of Waterloo, of which you
are at least somewhat acquainted.”

Thomas just scratched his head, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.
The Duke was holding to a strange line here, as if he wished to remain entirely
in character for the adventure he had in mind. Very well, he would indulge the
man. After all he was promised several million pounds in compensation for this
little jaunt, and all expenses paid for the duration. If Sir Roger wanted to
play his little game, he would certainly not be a Lumpkin and make any protest.

“It’s very likely we will dine with the Captain and his officers
soon,” said Ames. “In that instance my remarks earlier about being seen but not
heard may be something to keep in mind. We’ll likely be discussing the history
and all. Follow along as best you can, and no small talk about sports or
anything else, my man.”

“Right, sir.”

It was late and the two men had not had much sleep. The Duke
rested on the Captain’s bed and Ian strung a hammock, which was comfortable
enough, particularly when the ship rolled with the sea. After mid-day they rose
and took some air on the main deck with Captain Cameron, an amiable man who
invited them to dine with him in the officer’s mess that evening, just as Ames
had predicted. This was, of course, obviously all arranged for the Duke’s pleasure,
thought Thomas. Well, I’ll bring my appetite, and open my mouth for the food if
nothing else.

Having had nothing more than fruit and energy bars that had been
packed with the luggage, they were pleased to be treated to roast Capon served
up by the ship’s cook, with potatoes, carrots, celery and some nice thick
gravy.

“Yes, our Mister Dawson is quite the cook,” said the Captain.
“They were seated at a long table, and the introductions had been made when
they were joined by the ship’s first mate, Lieutenant Edward Jones and a Mister
John M. Bennett, the ship’s surgeon. Just as the Duke has suggested, the men
discussed maritime affairs and the war of 1812 with the United States that was
apparently part of the history of this ship.

“It’s a pity the war ended so badly after that fiasco at New
Orleans,” said Ames.

“Well, we showed them round the block when our General Ross put
the torch to Washington!” Captain Cameron poured more wine as he spoke, topping
off the glasses for all the dinner guests. “The impudence of those people! The
Royal Navy numbered all of 600 ships in 1812 when that war broke out, and the
United States had no more than eight frigates and fourteen more sloops and
brigs. Why, we had 85 ships in American waters as I heard it. How the Americans
managed to hold out as they did is beyond me.”

“Yes,” said Ames. “Well something tells me that England and the
United States have now set their differences aside to become good friends. The
problem now is this urgent business on the continent again with Bonaparte. That
devil is loose in the garden again.”

“Indeed, sir. We have heard no news of developments there—only
that we’re to keep a steady flow of supplies and provisions.”

Thomas looked askance at the Captain, realizing the man must be
warming to his role here and putting everything in the present tense for the
Duke’s pleasure. Sir Roger joined in heartily.

“As I read things there will shortly be some rather significant
events taking place, what with old Bony back and marshalling men under the
tricolors again.”

“Welly will handle him,” said the Captain.

“I have no doubt. Though I suspect the French have mustered a
sizable army, and are undoubtedly moving north even now.” Ames was taking obvious
delight in the situation.

As Ian Thomas watched these men, noting their expressions,
clothing, and the raw authenticity in every way they presented themselves, he
was more and more amazed. This man Ames must be wealthy beyond measure, he
thought. My God, he’s gone and arranged this whole little show, hired in actors
of this caliber, and now he plays this bit out with such a straight face you
would think it really was 1815 here!

“Bony will stick his nose into Belgium soon enough, if he hasn’t
crossed the border already,” said Sir Roger.

“Wellington hasn’t much to fight with, considering his army is
filled out with hordes of Dutch troops these days.” Captain Cameron was finishing
his Capon as he spoke. “Most of the veteran divisions have yet to return from
that fiasco in the Americas.” He was washing it all down with a sip of good
wine.

That also caught the attention of Ian Thomas. The wine was
vintage, or at least it appeared to be by the labels, which were clearly dated
1810. They had to be props, he reasoned, as no wine that old would be palatable
in 2021. Yet the attention to detail in all this was striking.

“I shouldn’t worry about Wellington,” said Sir Roger. “He’s got
some stout hearts and sturdy men at arms under his command now. Maitland’s boys
are top notch. The same can be said for Hill and Picton. And we mustn’t forget
the Prussians! Old Blucher has over a hundred thousand men at arms, or so it
has been rumored.”

“You seem to be fairly well informed,” said Captain Cameron. “Yet
one never knows what he can believe these days. The French can be very cagey.
We were in Ostend three days ago and there was no mail of any substance in the postal
bags for the run back to Britain. It seems the entire French border zone has
been shut down tight. Nothing is getting across one way or another. A local
stevedore says they’re even shooting birds as they try to fly over the river.
That bodes ill, gentlemen, as any dull spot in the turbulence of European
affairs might better be interpreted as a proverbial calm before the storm.”

“What you say is very true, Captain,” Sir Roger agreed. “French
agents will stir the pot well in Belgium. There’s a great deal of sympathy for
the French there. Wellington will be at the engagement I am planning to attend
in Brussels, and he’ll have to demonstrate a fairly light-footed dance step if
he is to keep a good eye on Bonaparte. I shall let you gentlemen know how
things turn out should I come this way in days ahead.”

“What would you lay odds on the outcome if it comes to war again
soon, Sir Roger?”

“Well of course I’ll have to pull my oar the Duke of Wellington.”

And so on it went, with Thomas listening until the wine dulled his
senses and made him want to sleep again.

They were soon back in the Captain’s quarters for the night, and
the Duke was lying on the bed, resting his eyes. The room was lit by the glow
of an oil lamp and the gentle rocking of the ship seemed to lull them toward
sleep again.

“You held out bravely in the mess hall, Mister Thomas. Odd to pass
a meal without the barest whisper of a television, radio, cell phone or touch
pad at the table. I suppose you think this is all a grand act to satisfy the
indulgence of a silly old man with nothing better to do with his time and
money.”

Thomas smiled, glad that the Duke was coming clean with him now,
or so it seemed.

“Yes,” Ames went on, “it would take a pretty penny to arrange a
scene like this, the ship and crew being rather spectacular, eh? Well, you
haven’t seen anything yet, my man. The wine was very good tonight, was it not?”

“It was, sir, though I may have had one glass too many. Those men
had me half believing I was really on a British merchantman at the edge of another
era. Quite convincing, sir.”

“Yes, quite. Well, you sleep on it now, and when you waken in the
morning have a good look around at Ostend when we make port. Then I think all
will be made clear to you.”

Thomas needed his rest that night, the last night of that
proverbial calm before the storm as the Captain put things at dinner. By
mid-day the following morning they spotted land and were soon sailing towards
the small harbor, but what he saw there was something that no amount of money
could have staged.

The place was nothing like the Ostend of 2021, so strikingly
different that he first thought they had come to some smaller harbor on the coast.
There were no tall buildings or hotels rising on the main waterfront, no cranes
for offloading cargo containers. He could see no vehicle traffic on the coastal
road to the north as it approached the harbor, and no sign of any other
significant commercial sea traffic or tourist cruise ships…just sailing ships,
more two and three mast wooden ships than he had ever seen before. This must be
a very special event, he thought, but as the
Ann
negotiated the narrow
mouth of the harbor he could see that it appeared to be a town from another
place and time.

Sir Roger leaned on the gunwale, smiling. “Ever been to Ostend?”

“Once or twice, sir…”

“Things have changed, have they not? I have endeavored to persuade
you as to the period we now find ourselves in, Mister Thomas, but let me say it
plainly to you. You will see no motorcars, or busses, or steamships here. You
will see no aircraft in the sky, no ugly electrical power lines, and no high
rise buildings with glass facades. All of that was from the world we left
behind.”

Thomas was looking from the harbor quay, where every person he saw
now was in period dress, and then to Ames, an incredulous look of amazement on
his face.

“Yes,” said Ames. “That little stairway we took in Lindisfarne
Castle was more of a journey than you may have realized. With each step we took
we were, in fact, traversing time, as well as space. The years have fallen away
and, to make matters short, we have reached a bygone era in that short walk. As
I said before, this is no play or theater. It is indeed the year 1815 and,
after I mix about at the ball being thrown by the Duchess of Richmond, we are
going to the Battle of Waterloo.”

Thomas could not believe what he was hearing, yet the evidence of
his eyes was more than persuasive. This was clearly not modern Europe, and
either he was still well hung over, still asleep, or the Duke was telling him
the truth here!

“Waterloo?” It was all he managed to say. “How is it possible? Why
on earth?”

“How it is possible will be something I will relate to you in more
detail later. As to why…Well I trust you have packed your military effects in
that luggage we’ve been dragging around. A good rifle with a long range scope
will come in very handy soon, because we are going to kill someone.”

Part XI

Lessons of War

“We all make mistakes. We know we make mistakes. I don't know any
military commander, who is honest, who would say he has not made a mistake.
There's a wonderful phrase: 'the fog of war.' What 'the fog of war' means is:
war is so complex it's beyond the ability of the human mind to comprehend all
the variables. Our judgment, our understanding, are not adequate. And we kill
people unnecessarily."

―
Robert MacNamara

Chapter 31

It
was a long train ride, but Admiral Togo finally reached the
Harbor at Kure, eager for news. He had a carriage waiting for him at the train
station, and was taken immediately to naval headquarters where he was surprised
to find Saito waiting for him there. Apparently the Vice-Admiral and Minister
of Naval affairs was also curious as to what was happening, and he had come all
the way from Tokyo to meet with the Fleet Admiral and discuss the matter.

“You say it was a Russian ship?” said Togo. “You are certain of
this?”

“That was the report. The ship was even named in the signal we
received:
Kirov
. It came across that tramp steamer,
Tatsu Maru
,
and we have seen what they did. Thirty-two men died in that attack! It would
have been worse if
Kanto Maru
had not been on the scene to pull men out
of the water. Our Captain Kawase was on maneuvers out of Amori with a few
torpedo boats and wisely cabled me in Tokyo before taking any action. He
reports this is a very large warship—
very
large. It must be something we
haven’t seen before. So I handed the matter to you. What have you done about
it?”