The War For Tripoli by Tim Chant

Author:Tim Chant [Chant, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-01-13T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Dawn found the blockade runner already well on her way, clear of Alexandria and steaming west by north to begin her risky journey back through waters busy with Italian warships. Baxter had managed to stretch out on his cot in relative peace, as Duverger was in the wheelhouse.

He found he couldn’t drop off, although he’d been on the go for more than a day at this point. Fatigue was like grit behind his eyeballs, but his mind kept turning over the conversation with Koenig. He’d not had a chance to tell Bogue or Connie about it, as the former was closeted with an irate Captain (as it turned out he was) Aibidin Rami, and there was still no sign of the latter. He didn’t know what he would do — he could confront them, demand to know what had happened, but that would jeopardise his own position. A subtle approach to wheedle out the truth might be more fruitful, but wasn’t his strong suit.

“And does it even matter to me?” he muttered. Baxter knew he was taking a lot on faith, believing Koenig without evidence, but both he and Ekaterina had proven themselves to be trustworthy one way or another. Even if the latter’s behaviour during the last days of their shared voyage to the straits of Tsushima and the cold shoulder she’d offered him afterwards in Vladivostok had been strange. Baxter had never quite been able to shake the feeling that she’d been responsible for his arrest there, even if she had then seemed to be something of a protector while he was in custody.

He rolled up into a sitting position, giving up on sleep, and reached under his cot for the old-fashioned ditty bag that contained most of his worldly possessions. Delving past some clean clothes and sundry odds and ends, he pulled out a more than somewhat tattered and dog-eared envelope. It was still sealed, despite having been given to him more than six years ago. The single word on the envelope — Marcus — was still legible, but barely. It was written in an elegant copperplate. He’d never been able to bring himself to open it, first because he’d assumed it was a Dear John from Ekaterina. Latterly, when the sting of those days had passed, it had become something of a good luck charm to him.

If he did ask them, he would have to explain how the idea had been put into his head. Bogue knew they were under surveillance, and giving even a hint that the people after him had made contact with Baxter would almost certainly see him turned off the ship without his pay at the very least.

No — better to let it lie, Baxter decided. Better he get his hard-earned pay and get away from this enterprise before it ran onto a lee shore. The right time to do that was difficult to call, of course. He, Duverger and the others hadn’t agreed a specific length of service with Feridun,

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