Ragnar had promised the morning tide in three days. It took four.
An ironclad that burned coal to cross the Irish Sea could not be asked to cross the Atlantic on the leftovers of a three-week campaign. The coal convoy, sixty steam barges strong, arrived a day late after a squall off the Isle of Man.
Ragnar spent that day pacing the docks of Dublin like a man waiting on a debt.
Even after the convoy unloaded, the numbers fell short...
Marshal Kaelen stood on the quay with his ledger open and read out the deficit in a flat voice. "Twenty-two thousand tons arrived from England, Sire. The fleet's bunkers and auxiliary holds require twenty-eight thousand to cross with a safe margin."
"Then find six thousand tons," Ragnar said.
"The English mines are already running at full capacity."
"Then don't look in England."
