By Bill Wellman

Storm-force winds buffeted the modest quarters of the Commandant of the Terentrian Academie Navale. Late April had been chosen for the Change of Command because of the promise of a warm spring day, thought Admiral Rene Delacroix, sipping his customary after-dinner cognac. From the looks of the bleak evening, the morning would bring more rain from a slate gray sky. He had passed the order to prepare for a ceremony in the small auditorium the next morning. The room would be crowded, and on such a cold day the chill would creep through the centuries old stone and soak its way into the bones of the midshipmen, the staff, and the honored guests. It would be unpleasant and uncomfortable. With bittersweet irony, Admiral Delacroix reflected that it was a perfect end to a true navigator's career.

"The weather does you honor, Admiral Delacroix," said Rear Admiral Jacques Fermat, engaging the admiral warmly with his voice but not budging his portly frame from his overstuffed chair. The two had each chosen a posture suited to their demeanor: the elder pacing almost regally before the great windows of the study, and the younger relaxing in a harbor of opportunity.

"You always read my mind, Jacques," said the grey admiral, turning to face his friend. "That's why I chose you to replace me here. And, although there are disadvantages to holding this billet as a full admiral--" he paused, then continued, " nobody questions me when I tell them the best man for the job." Unconsciously he pulled his dinner jacket straight, although it had been perfect before as well.

"Thank you, Admiral," replied Rear Admiral Fermat. "It was an honor to get the chance to do so." Admiral Fermat had been the First Officer of HTMS Hyrcanie when Admiral Delacroix--then Captain Delacroix--had assumed command as its second commanding officer. Delacroix had held Fermat in the billet of First Officer through his entire three years aboard the ship. During that time they rewrote the doctrine of cruiser warfare together. The two dissimilar men had grown to appreciate each other's strengths.

"Thank you, Jacques," replied Admiral Delacroix, "Your sincerity is a gift. Had you thought it a burden to come, you would surely have said so." Delacroix took another sip from his cognac, observing Fermat pouring his third overfull snifter. He reflected that the observation was without prejudice. Anybody else having had four glasses of wine with dinner and this much thereafter would have been a drunkard, but Fermat was merely himself. Jacques Fermat was a bear of a man, but his mind was swifter than a mongoose in battle. His simple words were camouflage for a unique gift. Fermat knew two things better than anybody else Admiral Delacroix had ever met--how to deal with people, and how to fight ships.

"Does your grandson know of your gift for him tomorrow?" asked Fermat.

"No," replied Admiral Delacroix, "Nor do I expect that he anticipates it." At the conclusion of the ceremony the next day, marking both a change of command and Admiral Delacroix's retirement, he would be presenting his ceremonial sword to his grandson, Midshipman Rene Delacroix III. Tradition would have dictated that it go to his son, but he had passed to his son Rene II the sword he had carried on Hyrcanie when he left her for his new command, the national merchant fleet. That sword had drawn blood in 1917, when his son's aging destroyer Lafleur had rammed a U-boat in the southern Irish Sea, and the crews had actually come to blows in close combat. . . but that was an epic past, not a ceremony for tomorrow.

"Your greatest gift is not the sword, Admiral. It's your family tradition--our tradition. And, beyond that, the new fleet."

Admiral Delacroix nodded silently. The 1919 Programme was very good. The new Hyrcanie class compared favorably to its closest rival, the Japanese Nagato. The Sans Souci was the ship of which he and Fermat had dreamed while serving aboard the original Hyrcanie. With three Hyrcanie-class battleships, and two Sans Soucis, the fleet would be a force to reckon with on an international scale.

"We will finally stand a chance against Britain in a conflict. With the Sans Soucis and Ste Catherines raiding the North Atlantic, and the Hyrcanies sailing together as a hammer, we will paralyze the trade routes. With no raw materials and no food from her empire, Britain will wilt as a week-old rose. We do not need to defeat her line in battle--we shall defeat her by contesting the seas."

Fermat did not respond, but instead merely regarded the admiral in silence. Not until the tension of the silence almost drove Admiral Delacroix to answer himself did he say, "Why do you speak of our contest with Britain as a reality?"

Now when the admiral opened his mouth in protest, Fermat waved his senior's words off with a wave of his hand before a sound was uttered. "No, of course. You have always prepared for the worst, protecting our nation from any harm. You stood ready to oppose Britain, because she alone could threaten our sovereignty. While others were wary of France, you conceived of the means with which to oppose Britain, because she was, in fact, the gravest threat."

Fermat continued. "Admiral, a nation as rich as Britain will not invade Tarrantry. Nor will France look to regain any lost province after the Great War and its cost in lives. The threat lies elsewhere."

Admiral Delacroix raised half an eyebrow. "Well, then, where?"

"Have you read Mackinder, Admiral?"

"Of course," replied Delacroix. "But how does a threat on the Asian steppes threaten Tarrantry?"

"The threat is not from the heartland, but rather from its extension to the rimland, Sir," said Fermat. "Tarrantry is the key to Britain, and the fall of Britain would herald the collapse of the balance of power. Thus, a heartland power desiring dominance would aim not at Britain, but rather at Tarrantry. Against that force we must prepare."

With a rare venture into sarcasm, Delacroix responded, "So we shall prepare to repel the Polish Navy?"

"No, Sir," replied Fermat, still sprawled in his chair. He enjoyed another liberal portion of his cognac. "Although we parlay with them, the foe is Italy; although they are prostrate, the foe is Germany; although they are distant, the foe is Japan. You saw the Sans Souci as the quintessential raider we conceived of in our days on the old Hyrcanie. I see it as my rapid response to Japanese incursion a hemisphere away. My mentor, we shall see."

"We shall indeed," replied Admiral Delacroix. He paused. "Keep the kingdom safe, Jacques," he added.

Rear Admiral Fermat gave a Cheshire Cat grin from his low perch in the easy chair. "I had thought it to be the First Sea Lord's job to do that, Admiral. No, I understand, you, Sir. I have the conn. Whether by position or influence, our job is to keep the kingdom secure and strong, regardless of the threat. Since 1789, a succession of men such as ourselves have carried the torch. Until your son is ready, Admiral, I am here."

A gust blew hard enough to shake the stones of the building, rattling the windows mercilessly. Admiral Rene Delacroix took the opportunity to turn away and conceal the tear welling in his left eye as he said, "Very well."

The Terentrian Naval Ensign

 

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Last revised 11/07/2006 ... by RM Robinson

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