The Olympian Sisters #3 The Gilded Age

Chapter 6

NORTH ATLANTIC SEPTEMBER 1918 "OLYMPIC"

I raced across the Grand Banks of Newfoundland at 24 knots, my designated top speed. I was still fuming over Arizona's attitude about my sinking U-103 and her men. And her men. I shuddered at the thought.

I probably shouldn't have been so mean to Arizona but I couldn't help it. The battleship may've been trying to help, but she didn't appear to care about human lives.

My thoughts were interrupted by an incoming message from Adriatic via Captain Hayes. "Olympic, you better get back here fast, things are getting ugly." She said. "Ugly how?" I asked, thinking that things couldn't possibly get any worse. "Well, we've got an illness problem." She began hesitantly. "What is it?" I asked. "Influenza." She replied.

I shuddered. 8 years ago, my younger sister, Titanic, had fallen ill with the same virus and nearly died. I was almost too familiar with its affects. "Say no more, I'm on my way!" I replied and for good measure, I took control from an unsuspecting Hayes and raced off at 25 knots.

"Olympic, will you slow down, that's dangerous." He yowled. Ignoring his command, I showed him what Adriatic had told me. His face drained of color. "Scratch the last order. Step on it, Olympic!" He growled. I didn't need any encouragement. Hayes ordered all boilers brought online and all engineers, stokers, and firemen working the coal, regardless of shifts. Before long, I was racing across the water at 28 knots, a result of a combination of control, workmen and one determined ship.

I would remember this the next time I came across Mauretania and I wondered if I could challenge her to a race. I shook the thought from my mind. The prized Blue Ribband was the least of my worries, right now, my fleet needed help.

My only detour in course to Southampton was the store of fresh herbs hauled aboard at Queenstown, Northern Ireland. It pained me to see my once united birthplace torn apart because of the friction between Catholics and Protestants. Protestants were stubborn and did not care for religions other than their own. I didn't understand it, they both worshiped the same god, the same Holy Trinity. I remembered something that Adriatic once told me about another healer, her mentor, Germanic.

Germanic was the first and last merchant ship to fully comprehend our master's numerous religions with good, obvious reasons.

Forcing myself to focus, I set my sights on Southampton, forgetting about Cherbourg until Hayes forced me into the harbor. Dropping anchor, I waited impatiently for the two tenders Nomadic and Traffic to come out and unload my passengers and mail sacks.

Only Traffic came. "Nomadic is down with the virus." She explained. "How is she?" I asked, concerned for the safety of my most trusted tender. "She's got a very high fever, so that's a worry. But other than that, she's doing well. And I'm afraid that includes her mouth." Traffic paused, tipping her head towards Cherbourg as though listening for something.

Then I heard it. A string of curses in such colored language it would've impressed even the lowest deckhands. "She's understandably frustrated." Traffic muttered, wincing at Nomadic's rather gushing vocabulary.

I could hear her loud and clear but I will not stoop so low as to repeat what she said that night. I will say this much though. My ears were never the same again after that.

"Ugh, I didn't know such a small ship could have such a big flotsam mouth." I groaned. Traffic grinned, embarrassed. "Sorry, Olympic." She said. "I hear it all the time with the Black Gang, but I have to admit, Nomadic does have a certain flourish to the words." I replied.

Nomadic's cussing was a mixture of English and French swear words. "Good luck with her." I muttered. "Thanks, I'll need it." Traffic replied. "And for god's sake, be careful. White Star's in real trouble if you catch it too." She called as I turned towards Southampton. "I'll be careful." I promised and raced off.