The thirty ships entered the Chesapeake on the twenty-fifth day...
The Atlantic had been merciless. A three-day gale off the coast of Vinland had thrown the convoy into a scatter of black funnels and screaming steam whistles. Two transports had lost their rudder chains, and one stoker had been swept overboard and never found.
Captain Halvorsen called it "the best crossing of my life," which made the younger officers go pale.
Then the sea went calm.
The colossal iron fleet slid between two low capes into water that was brown-green and flat as polished slate.
Beyond the bow, the largest estuary on the eastern edge of the world opened like a hand.
Ragnar stood alone on the forward observation deck of the *Fenrir*, his hands gripping the rail. He did not speak for a long time.
