Lyras
26-05-2007, 07:16
The all aboard horns sounded on the last ship still resting at anchor at Port Finch. The last of nearly two dozen Lyran merchantmen that were joining HF-01, the first Lyran convoy operation in the Protectorate's history.
The supplies and munitions were not known to the crew. Nor were the destinations. But the import of the deliveries were beyond doubt. With as many warships escorting the convoy as there were cargo ships in it, it was more than obvious that Executive Command wanted nothing save a declaration of war to halt the ships.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later, rounding the western edge of the Storn Archipelago, the convoy slipped into the North Atlantic.
Aboard the LMS West of the Border Leading Sailor Baxman and Senior Subofficer Dayton were poking around the cargo holds.
"Sir, we aren't supposed to open our cargo. Really, sir. We're not."
"We haven't been ordered not to, though, have we? So, we can. And I want to know what is worth so much trouble that we're in the middle of a bloody convoy."
Ten minutes of work with a crowbar, and Senior Subofficer Dayton had his answer. An answer he took straight to the captain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Word had spread around the ship quickly. Quickly enough that the convoy commander cut-off communications between the West of the Border and the rest of the convoy. That in turn increased curiosity as to the nature of the cargo. Within 24 hours of the communications cut-off, they were restored. Damage done.
The unarmed ships manouevred portions of their cargo onto their decks, and cracked open their crates. Before the days end, every merchantman in the convoy had a reached the same conclusion. Better a single tank on deck than no weapons at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Harvary had watched the crew, without orders get the big tank onto the main deck. He had to admit, it was a good idea. Those new tanks that Protectorate Public Broadcasting had raved about so much certainly were something. Their main guns were big enough to serve as defensive armament for a warship, so Senior Subofficer Dayton could well be onto something.
He'd done the maths in his head. He had nearly 100 of the mammoth packing crates on his ship, bearing the same markings, and 200 more that were marked differently. If his guess was right, they were freighting tanks, guns and ammunition.
But why would Executive Command be sending 2000-odd top-of-the-line Warhound tanks to Terre Nationale?
Either way. Not his concern. They'd do their duty. It'd only be another week or so before they arrived.
The supplies and munitions were not known to the crew. Nor were the destinations. But the import of the deliveries were beyond doubt. With as many warships escorting the convoy as there were cargo ships in it, it was more than obvious that Executive Command wanted nothing save a declaration of war to halt the ships.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Three days later, rounding the western edge of the Storn Archipelago, the convoy slipped into the North Atlantic.
Aboard the LMS West of the Border Leading Sailor Baxman and Senior Subofficer Dayton were poking around the cargo holds.
"Sir, we aren't supposed to open our cargo. Really, sir. We're not."
"We haven't been ordered not to, though, have we? So, we can. And I want to know what is worth so much trouble that we're in the middle of a bloody convoy."
Ten minutes of work with a crowbar, and Senior Subofficer Dayton had his answer. An answer he took straight to the captain.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Word had spread around the ship quickly. Quickly enough that the convoy commander cut-off communications between the West of the Border and the rest of the convoy. That in turn increased curiosity as to the nature of the cargo. Within 24 hours of the communications cut-off, they were restored. Damage done.
The unarmed ships manouevred portions of their cargo onto their decks, and cracked open their crates. Before the days end, every merchantman in the convoy had a reached the same conclusion. Better a single tank on deck than no weapons at all.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Captain Harvary had watched the crew, without orders get the big tank onto the main deck. He had to admit, it was a good idea. Those new tanks that Protectorate Public Broadcasting had raved about so much certainly were something. Their main guns were big enough to serve as defensive armament for a warship, so Senior Subofficer Dayton could well be onto something.
He'd done the maths in his head. He had nearly 100 of the mammoth packing crates on his ship, bearing the same markings, and 200 more that were marked differently. If his guess was right, they were freighting tanks, guns and ammunition.
But why would Executive Command be sending 2000-odd top-of-the-line Warhound tanks to Terre Nationale?
Either way. Not his concern. They'd do their duty. It'd only be another week or so before they arrived.