Summoning America

Chapter 126: Close Call

November 4, 1640
Noralshian Strait, Conshal Island Chain
Destroyer Squadron 15, US Navy Seventh Fleet
USS Barry

Captain Victor Winslow sighed as he stared at the Gra Valkan battlegroup, a muddied combination of feelings churning in his heart. Having served during the Lourian and Parpaldian Wars and having played a direct role in slaying Nosgorath, he felt disappointed with escort duty. Guarding convoys represented the worst of both worlds. He experienced not only the anxious tensions of wartime, but also the tedious boredom of peacetime.

He didn't even have the luxury of stealth, which the submarines below him enjoyed. If tensions reached a boiling point, his ship would be the first to get fired upon — and he did not want to risk fighting the Gra Valkans this far from friendly territory. If the Gra Valkans came at him with a full battlegroup, he wouldn't be able to protect the convoy.

Despite this, there was a small part of him that wanted the Gra Valkans to just try. "Fuck around and find out," he thought to himself.

His silent wish went unheard, and the Gra Valkan ships continued to follow them, trailing them from a respectable distance of 60 miles. This lackluster game of tag continued for a few more hours unabated, leaving Captain Winslow a husk. There were only so many card games he could play, so many stories he could tell before everything drew to a boring drab.

Finally, he was graced with something to do — or rather, oversee. His convoy detected yet another set of mines blocking their path, obstructing a strait between two island nations belonging to the long-defeated Conshal Alliance.

"Sir," his navigator said, "It'll take the Guardian a day or two to clear a path for us."

Winslow pondered his options. "How long will it take if we back up and circle around the northern island?"

"18 hours, give or take," the navigator replied, "But there's a Gra Valkan fleet in the area. We have the right of way, but..." he trailed off.

"Yeah," Winslow nodded, "I doubt the Gra Valkans would try something, but I'd rather not grant them that opportunity in the first place."

"I agree wholeheartedly, sir," the navigator responded. "Permission to resume our blackjack game?"

"Permission granted," Winslow said, resigning himself to yet another day of victories.

——

Winslow yawned as he walked out of his quarters, holding a Monopoly box. He felt a bit disappointed that people now refused to play card games against him, but inwardly enjoyed the fact that his skill (or luck) was unparalleled. Looking down at the box, he smirked at the thought of seeing his shipmates' faces when he crushes their hopes. Unfortunately for him, a sudden interruption forced him to set aside that prospect.

"Captain Winslow to the bridge, Captain Winslow to the bridge," the radar operator's voice came over the intercom.

Although he was slightly dismayed at having been dragged away from his planned activities, he responded to the summon with all the professionalism expected of a U.S. Navy captain such as himself. As he hurried up to the bridge, he wondered what sort of surprise had sprung up. He once again entertained the possibility of a Gra Valkan attack, hoping that if it did happen, he wouldn't be surrounded on all sides by a massive fleet.

When he arrived on the bridge, he greeted the radar operator, "What's the situation, Morrison?"

Morrison gestured toward a room filled with screens and consoles, "Sir, we've detected a new fleet of Gra Valkan ships. Please follow me to the CIC."

The two men ventured toward the adjacent room, where the radar operator showed him a respectable contingent of Gra Valkan ships posted to the northwest. Winslow's executive officer, Commander Bryson, was already present, his grim face conveying everything he needed to know about the situation.