Previously:
Of course, at the Gamboge cabin, the interpretation of his capture was just a little different.
“I wonder how they knew he was going to Superior,” Big A said thinking out loud, “I had no idea he was going.”
“Does it matter? He’s gone!”
“It matters, Millie, he could still try to implicate us in Sig’s murder.”
“Much as I hate her, that marshal’s no fool, she’ll learn that you were still working for Hanssen, and receiving a large amount of money from him. It just wouldn’t make sense for you to kill him.”
“That alone could cause us a lot of trouble.”
“Not the kind of trouble Hans is in.”
“There is that.”
Chapter IX, Lake Erie, Episode 2:
Aboard the Sea Dog the flotilla’s Commodore, Jonathan Hanson, was not pleased. He was so looking forward to engaging the Thunder Bay fleet.
“Are you sure? It has to be the Thunder Bay bunch…” He didn’t get to finish his thought—stopped cold by a cloud of black-powder gun smoke erupting from the other fleet—and geysers of foam from the cannonballs falling just short of his ships…
“They’re shooting at us!” Commodore Hanson exclaimed, “All ships load live rounds and prepare to engage. Raise battle flags!”
“Belay that order!” the foghorn voice of Master Chief Petty Officer Lyle “Cob” Pettigrew reverberated through the flotilla, “All ships turn hard a’port, start engines and drop sails, DO IT!”
“Port guns, load for combat, start engines, helmsman, bring us alongside the Sea Dog,” Daisy bayed.
“Daisy, what are you doing?” Cob asked.
“The commodore will not obey, we must place ourselves between the Sea Dog and the other fleet!”
“All ships, we will engage!” Hanson ordered, “I am in charge of this fleet!”
The captains of the Isle Royal & Superior, both Navy veterans knew the sound of an experienced commander and were already responding to Cob’s orders, the Sea Dog was not. Hanson decided he would rather go down fighting that run from battle. He noticed that the Falcon had not changed course.
“So Jack,” he radioed, “You’re still with me! Good! Let’s give ‘em a fight like they’ve never seen!”
But his elation was short-lived as the Falcon moved quickly beside the Sea Dog between her and the British fleet.
Falcon comes alongside the Sea Dog
“You’re gonna have to fire through us, Commodore,” Cob shouted, his deep voice reverberating throughout both ships, “I don’t believe you want to do that!”
“And the Sea Dog cannot outmaneuver this ship…do not bother trying,” Big Mac rumbled, “You know that! Now stand down, start your engine and turn away.”
“We MUST defend ourselves!”
“Daisy, take aim for Sea Dog’s waterline & prepare to volley!”
“Aye Cob! Port battery, set your guns!” Daisy bayed, “Prepare to volley on Cob’s command!”
“You would fire on us?” Hanson was stunned.
“Gunners ready…steady…” Cob began…
To Be Continued…
Comments Always Welcomed & Encouraged!
Previously:
“Before the fog, we had three satellites, sometimes four on GPS—how could all four go down at once?” Patch asked.
“What if there ARE no satellites?” Ines asked, “What if…?”
The discussion went on—and the ships drew closer—and closer. Finally Daisy began to react, followed shortly by PepperCooper & Wingnut. The beagles began to bay and bare their teeth and PepperCooper began to rumble from deep within his chest.
“We need to change course away from those ships—NOW—Alpha-Jack!”
“Daisy—Why? I have to have a reason for the commodore.”
“Those ships are not WHO we think they are—and we’re not WHERE we think we are!”
Chapter IX, Lake Erie, Episode 1:
Drawing Closer
“I think Daisy may be right,” Big Mac rumbled, “We don’t have a GPS signal, right?”
“Right.”
“But we do have radio and could reasonably assume the Thunder Bay fleet does as well.”
“Oh. Crap!” Boomer exclaimed as he keyed the radio, “Commodore, we need to maneuver AWAY from that fleet, NOW before it’s too late!”
By this time, the fleets had moved much closer to one-another—dangerously close if the dawning realization of just who the other fleet may be…or perhaps when it may be—a staggering thought and one that could change everything we know.
The news of the capture of Hans Schwarzkopf quickly reached the village and as one might imagine it just as quickly became the main topic of conversation.
News of the Capture
“I just knew he was trouble,” Chris said upon hearing the news, “I just knew it!”
“It did seem he was trying too hard to fit in,” Hiram added, “After weeks of keeping to himself—suddenly he is spending time walking around the village to just visit.”
“I’m sure Big A put him up to that.”
“In collusion with my beloved ex-wife,” George Gamboge added, “He even pretended to be on my side over our split—probably her idea.”
“If Big A thinks this will turn my attention away from him…” The marshal did not need to finish that though—all present understood her meaning.
Of course, at the Gamboge cabin, the interpretation of his capture was just a little different.
Big A & Millie after Hans’ Capture
“I wonder how they knew he was going to Superior,” Big A said thinking out loud, “I had no idea he was going.”
“Does it matter? He’s gone!”
“It matters, Millie, he could still try to implicate us in Sig’s murder.”
“Much as I hate her, that marshal’s no fool, she’ll learn that you were still working for Hanssen, and receiving a large amount of money from him. It just wouldn’t make sense for you to kill him.”
“That alone could cause us a lot of trouble.”
“Not the kind of trouble Hans is in.”
“There is that.”
Still…there will be trouble for our friends…the marshal will see to that.
To be Continued…
Comments Always Welcomed & Encouraged!
[The Port of Danger Bay]
Previously:
“Commodore, Falcon.”
“Go ahead Captain…”
“Jon, any ideas?”
“None, Jack. If we maintain current course and speed, there’s nothing but open water ahead.”
“Okay…I’ll remain on headset.”
“Good idea, I’ll pass that to the others.”
After several hours, the fog began to lift, and the sky and water looked—different. Nothing you could hang your hat on—just—different.
“Alpha-Jack?” Daisy began…
Chapter VIII, the Watcher, Episode 6:
“This just does not feel right.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know,” Daisy continued, “I sense something is wrong, but it is nothing I’ve ever experienced.”
“Patch, do we have GPS back yet?”
“No Cap’n, still no signal.”
The Quarterdeck was becoming a bit crowded
The Quarterdeck was becoming a bit crowded as one-by-one our adventurers arrived—all feeling a little disoriented.
“This is NOT Lake Superior, the feel is just wrong,” Ines said.
“Agreed,” Cob’s foghorn voice boomed out, “And—we’ve got company. Sails to starboard!”
“Commodore, this is Falcon, Sails to starboard!”
“Aye, Jack, probably the Thunder Bay fleet.”
“I count seven ships, Jack,” Cob boomed from behind his binoculars, “four large sloops-of-war and three schooners—all flying the Union Jack.”
“I count seven ships, Jack,” Cob boomed
“Commodore, we count seven, how many ships does the Thunder Bay fleet have?”
“Four Jack, but they may have more we don’t know about—they’re changing tack. All ships come about—let’s get a little closer.”
And so the two fleets maneuvered ever closer to one-another—the fifteen mile separation became ten, then five—Ines, Cob and Daisy became more and more apprehensive—but could not explain why…
“Commodore, Falcon. Have you established radio contact?” Cap’n Jack put the radio on “speaker.”
“No Jack, they’re not responding.”
“Maybe they can’t Alpha Jack.”
“Are you sensing anything Daisy?”
“Not really—but my back-fur is starting to rise.”
“Before the fog, we had three satellites, sometimes four on GPS—how could all four go down at once?” Patch asked.
“What if there ARE no satellites?” Ines asked, “What if…”
The discussion went on—and the ships drew closer—and closer.
...and the ships drew closer—and closer.
Finally Daisy began to react, followed shortly by PepperCooper & Wingnut. The beagles began to bay and bare their teeth and PepperCooper began to rumble from deep within his chest.
“We need to change course away from those ships—NOW—Alpha-Jack!”
“Daisy—Why? I have to have a reason for the commodore.”
“Those ships are not WHO we think they are—and we’re not WHERE we think we are!”
To be Continued…
Comments Always Welcomed & Encouraged!
[Our Saint Paul]
Daisy & Me on the Back Porch
Here I am, yet again, with Daisy on my back porch, enjoying my Codger Collectible Mug (not China, but made in China) filled with organically & shade-grown, fair trade, French roast coffee that will soon work its magic and get what remaining brain-synapses to synapt. And I’m thinking—thinking about…
A little bit of Road Rage.
I drive for a living, so it is in my best interest to drive carefully. That is not all that hard for me to accomplish because I always drive carefully—even in my hot-rod Saturn away from my job. I don’t have to change my driving habits just because I’m in a clearly-marked company truck—something that was sometimes lost on past colleagues (note the word “past”). The best proof of the claims I make about my driving…it has been 40 years since I was last ticketed for a moving violation, way back in 1969.
As you might expect, considering my daily miles driven averages more than 200 miles, I encounter potential road-rage incidents every day. The rager is generally male, younger (25-40) and driving a pick-up truck and given to driving just feet off the rear bumper of the vehicle in front of him and using intimidation to convince the person in front to get the “hell out of his way.”
Yesterday returning from the last delivery of the day, I encountered a fellow perhaps a bit younger than I, with carefully coiffed long white hair. He was driving a very-cool red BMW convertible (Car Envy oh yeah). He darted from behind the car that was directly behind my truck into the lane to my left to pass. No big deal—except the lane ended with construction barricades just feet ahead.
Road-Rager Original Photo
I had two choices: Jamb on the brakes (Not good for the car behind me), or accelerate hard to make a hole behind me for the Beamer. I chose the latter as being the better option.
He did not appreciate my efforts in the least, it would seem, as he quickly went past me in the lane to my right, cut closely in front of me and braked hard. He repeated this three more times on the entry ramp to I35W, and once on the freeway drove well blow the limit and hitting the brakes now and again.
The Road Rager
Finally tiring of his little game and perhaps realizing I was not going to play, he pulled up beside my truck, maybe to get a phone number off the truck to complain (go figure). I grabbed the camera off its Velcro mount on my dash and showed it to him. He quickly sped off to antagonize someone else (I suspect).
In my ten years driving for Saturn, no one has ever called to complain about my driving…maybe that will change.
When I returned to the store I told my boss what happened, and suggested he might get a call. His answer? “Don’t worry about it.”
BTW: I’ve saved and not published the best shots of this guy…just in case.
[The Port of Danger Bay]
Previously:
After contacting the Thunder Bay Re-enactment Fleet, the Flotilla’s “Opponent” for this exercise, an intercept course was entered into the ship’s navigation computers. The Flotilla began its northward journey.
Just as Hans began to raise his silenced pistol, he realized that the guy he was aiming at was not Ace, the resemblance
“You’re not Ace!”
Chapter VIII, the Watcher, Episode 5:
In less than an eye-blink, Hans was surrounded by his target—FBI Agent Thomas Peterson (who bore a striking resemblance to Ace Schwarzkopf), Danger Bay Deputy Marshal Jim Johnson and Eagle Point Reservation Police Lt. Hiram Silverthorn, Jr. (the Watcher).
He wasn’t Ace
“How?” Hans asked—his surprise complete.
The sting was a multi-agency operation, the planning began when the real Ace was sent to Canada by Big A. Hans was surprised to learn that his every move had been observed, every conversation monitored—and not just by humans.
“How?” he asked again.
“I was there—nearly everywhere you went,” Silverthorn said, smiling, “And when I wasn’t, certain friends of mine were there—watching. You were never alone.”
Murder, or even attempted murder is not a federal crime. But since the attempt was made in Wisconsin, it became federal—conspiracy to commit murder across state lines. Agent Peterson read him his rights, and he was soon taken away—and out of our story.
The Flotilla made good time up the lake towards their rendezvous on the first day having covered more than a hundred miles. The following morning began hazy and soon developed into a thick fog. The Flotilla engaged their Dopplers, and lengthened the interval between the ships for safety. Course was maintained with the aid of their GPS systems. All was well.
The fog rolled in.
For the next five hours they slogged through the fog—and then…
“GPS down, Cap’n,” Patch announced.
“Problem?”
“No signal.”
“Communications, contact the other ships…see if they have GPS.”
“They’re all reporting GPS signal loss, Cap’n.”
“Doppler?”
“Working Cap’n, maintaining interval,” Patch replied.
“Very well, Daisy—anything?”
“I’m not sure Alpha-Jack,” Daisy arfed, “No strong sensations—yet.”
“Communications, Cap’n, Commodore orders maintain course and extend interval.”
Boomer turned to Patch, “Headset.” And the helmsman pulled the headset out of his console.
“Commodore, Falcon.”
“Go ahead Captain…”
“Jon, any ideas?”
“None, Jack. If we maintain current course and speed, there’s nothing but open water ahead.”
“Okay…I’ll remain on headset.”
“Good idea, I’ll pass that to the others.”
After several hours, the fog began to lift, and the sky and water looked—different. Nothing you could hang your hat on—just—different.
After several hours, the fog began to lift...
“Alpha-Jack?” Daisy began…
To be Continued…
[Our Saint Paul]
Here I am, yet again, with Daisy on my back porch, enjoying my Codger Collectible Mug (not China, but made in China) filled with organically & shade-grown, fair trade, French roast coffee that will soon work its magic and get what remaining brain-synapses to synapt. And I’m thinking—thinking of sharing…
Daisy 7 Me on the Back Porch
A very STRANGE day:
Beginning my day at work:
Starting my Day
Returning from South-Metro deliveries:
Northbound US 61 near Red Wing, MN
Lunchtime on the Riverfront:
Centennial Showboat at Harriet Island
Deliveries in the North-Metro:
Heading back to the store—a little change in the weather:
October Snow
Back where I started—a long day.
A little early for this—October Snow
Full disclosure: These were the photos I discovered in my camera—taken in September & October.
Port of Danger Bay Tomorrow!
[Port of Danger Bay]
Previously:
They were making good progress towards their rendezvous with the “Don’t Give Up the Ship” re-enactment fleet near the Apostle Islands. The fleet consisted of three ships: the schooner Isle Royal and the sloops Sea Dog & Superior.
“There be sails on the horizon!” Patch Reade exclaimed. Indeed there were.
Hans arrived at the Anchor Inn shortly after noon—there in front of the bar was Ace—oh this is going to be too easy. He placed his hand on the butt of his pistol and walked across the street.
Ace didn’t notice his brother until it was too late…
Chapter VIII, the Watcher, Episode 4:
As Hans approached his brother he attached a silencer to his pistol, he was moderately surprised that Ace just looked at him—he could detect no fear.
He found Ace at Tally’s
“Where away?” First mate Daisy asked at Patch’s words.
“90º to starboard Mate!”
There they were sailing in line with the schooner Isle Royale leading followed by the sloops Sea Dog and Superior.
“Prepare to come about!” Cap’n Jack directed Daisy.
“All hands—prepared to come about!” Daisy bayed.
“Hard Alee mate!”
“HARD ALEE!” Daisy bayed. Patch spun the ships wheel to starboard and at the same time the crew trimmed the sails to the new course.
“Set a course to bring us astern of the Superior mate.”
“Aye Captain. Helmsman, on my command…”
“Aye Mate, standing by.”
Rendezvous off the Apostle Islands
Orders were given and after a couple of tacks, the Falcon was soon sailing in Line-Astern formation with the three other ships of the newly renamed Oliver Hazard Perry Flotilla. The Perry Flotilla is commanded by (the elected) “Commodore” Jonathan Hanson, ship’s master of the sloop Sea Dog.
Leading the Flotilla was the 4-gun schooner Isle Royale, commanded by Captain Israel Hitchcock, followed by the flagship, the 8-gun sloop Sea Dog and the 8-gun sloop Superior, commanded by Captain Washington Dunne. The 8-gun Baltimore Clipper Falcon, easily the fastest of the four ships and more maneuverable than the sloops, was assigned the last position where she could rapidly move to support any one ship as required.
To the casual observer, these ship were in all respects early 19th Century warships, but lurking out of sight were all manner of modern ship’s tools: each had an engine, GPS system, radio communications and Doppler radar—all craftily hidden from view.
After contacting the Thunder Bay Re-enactment Fleet, the Flotilla’s “opponent” for this exercise, an intercept course was entered into the ship’s navigation computers. The Flotilla began its northward journey.
Just as Hans began to raise his silenced pistol, he realized that the guy he was aiming at was not Ace, the resemblance only superficial.
“You’re not Ace!”
To be Continued…
The Port of Danger Bay:
Previously:
Schwarzkopf moored his boat in a slip at Barker’s Island in Superior WI, and walked across Highway 53/East 2nd Street to the Days Inn Hotel. He registered under one of several aliases.
“Thank you Mr. Schmidlap, enjoy your stay.”
“Oh…I am certain I will,’ Hans replied. He went to his room placing the “Do Not Disturb” placard in the card-slot, and retired for the rest of the night, thinking “Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with Ace.”
Schwarzkopf quickly fell asleep. He had no idea that his every move was being observed.
Chapter VIII, the Watcher, Episode 3:
The Watcher slept very little and early the next day contacted both Duluth & Superior police, to finalize the planned sting operation. All the while Hans slept—blissfully unaware of what was in store for him.
Hans slept until 9am, went to the closest restaurant for coffee & breakfast. He made some calls to certain people he’d asked to look for Ace. Ace had been seen almost every day at Tally’s Anchor Inn, a seedy little bar in a bad neighborhood. He usually arrived about noon. Good place to find the little rat…not many walking the streets in that part of town…
The “Adventure Travelers” awoke about the same, having been allowed to sleep-in just this once by First Mate Daisy (she wouldn’t let it happen again) and arrived atop the quarter-deck a short time later. Cap’n Jack, “Patch” Reade, Big Mac, PepperCooper and of course Daisy were already there—and had been since Oh-Dark-Thirty.
They saw sails on the horizon
“’Bout time you got your sorry butts outa bed,” Big Mac rumbled, “half the day is gone.”
He received only a few grumbles in reply. Overnight the wind had shifted to a light 5 knot “following” breeze. A following wind comes from behind the ship or a point or two off the stern, allowing the ship to maintain a steady course without having to tack.
They were making good progress towards their rendezvous with the “Don’t Give Up the Ship” re-enactment fleet near the Apostle Islands. The fleet consisted of three ships: the schooner Isle Royal and the sloops Sea Dog & Superior.
“There be sails on the horizon!” Patch Reade exclaimed. Indeed there were.
Hans arrived at the Anchor Inn shortly after noon—there in front of the bar was Ace—oh this is going to be too easy. He placed his hand on the butt of his pistol and walked across the street.
He found Ace at Tally’s
Ace didn’t notice his brother until it was too late…
To be Continued…
FAIR WARNING: POLITICS
It is a fine cloudy 48ºF morning here OUTSIDE of Joe’s Café & Coffee (Pretty Good Food @ Great Coffee), but as you may clearly see, I’m inside where the temperature is computer-controlled and quite comfortable, thank you very much.
The usual gang is here: Andy, a retired mail carrier, and Stan, recently retired from 3M Company out there in Maplewood along I94, were, as usual, seated by the window, “Proud Czech” Josef Rusicka behind the counter, is as always, dispensing his famous organically & shade-grown, Fair-Trade, Sumatran-Roast coffee. At the counter we find: Carl McIntyre, me (of course), Ambrose & John—the only non-codger early morning regular at Joe’s.
“Pawlenty should be here attending to state business,” Josef muttered as he added coffee to Carl’s mug, “There’s no way the Republican base will accept him as a presidential candidate.”
“I don’t care how far to the right he goes,” Andy piped up, “He’ll always be a RINO to me—he couldn’t even deliver Minnesota for McCain. My vote’s for Michele Bachmann!”
“It would be,” Ambrose muttered.
“I’m for a Palin-Bachmann ticket in 2012,” I said—hoping to add fuel to the fire.
“But you’re a libtard,” Andy replied, “You can’t possibly mean that.”
“He means it, trust me,” Carl rumbled.
“It would energize the base,” Stan added, “They love Sarah Palin, you betcha.”
“Oh I do mean it,” I replied, “T-Paw has too much baggage: he never won election with a majority of the votes cast, he was for alternative energy and now he’s against it, the state budget is a mess going down the road, on and on. Now, if he would just resign like Sarah did—maybe then…”
“No, that wouldn’t be enough for me,” Andy replied, “But you say you mean it—why?”
“You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth (I’ve been looking for an excuse to use that line)!”
Andy didn’t answer. I think he knew what was coming.
“Because Tim Pawlenty would be a much more appealing candidate to the center-right independents—and that doesn’t play well to the hard-core base. A Palin-Bachmann ticket in 2012 would be a dream come true for us libtards!”
The Port of Danger Bay:
Previously:
Cob, even with 30 years Navy experience, was junior to Daisy as a ship’s officer, and volunteered for the night shift. He wisely took a nap that afternoon, and had returned to the deck—Wingnut was still fast asleep at the foot of Cob’s bunk. The officers and guests gathered in the Captain’s quarters for a nightcap of rum before retiring for the night.
In the Master’s Cabin
Hans Schwarzkopf was rapidly approaching the Duluth-Superior Harbor—blissfully unaware that he had a shadow roughly five miles behind him…
Chapter VIII, the Watcher, Episode 2:
Doc McLean had spent the better part of the day “trimming the sails” as the Falcon maintained course in ever-shifting winds. It was the most physical labor he’d done in years.
First Night in the Men’s Quarters
“I think my calluses have calluses,” He said happily, “I think I’ll sleep the sleep of a baby tonight.”
“The work…and the rum,” Karen added, “will make that certain.”
In fact, everyone had worked very hard and all were tired and a bit sore, having used muscles that had long-since forgotten their purpose. The party broke up rather quickly as tired overcame any thoughts of a second round of rum.
The cramped quarters were more welcome than a suite at a fine hotel—such was the effect of a hard, yet satisfying, day of crewing a true sailing vessel. Cob returned only to awaken Wingnut who would be standing night watch with him.
“In another life, before today,” Doc said as he surveyed the crew quarters, “I would not have imagined looking forward to folding myself into such a tiny space to sleep.”
“It helps to be vertically challenged,” cracked Gates “Patch” Reade, “like Cob.”
The only way to partition the crew quarters to provide privacy for the female crewmembers made for a bit more space, there were six berths for the three—and only Karen Thayer was too tall for the bunk.
First Night in the Women’s Quarters
“I have my own bed,’ PepperCooper barked happily, “Wingnut has to share with Cob.”
“I suspect Wingnut will be sleeping on the floor,” Sarah replied, “Perhaps you should take a lesson?”
“Short bunk or no,” Karen said yawning, “I could sleep standing up—good night ladies.”
Schwarzkopf moored his boat in a slip at Barker’s Island in Superior WI, and walked across Highway 53/East 2nd Street to the Days Inn Hotel. He registered under one of several aliases.
“Thank you Mr. Schmidlap, enjoy your stay.”
“Oh…I am certain I will,’ Hans replied. He went to his room placing the “Do Not Disturb” placard in the card-slot, and retired for the rest of the night, thinking “Tomorrow is soon enough to deal with Ace.”
Schwarzkopf quickly fell asleep. He had no idea that his every move was being observed.
To be Continued…
