Hauptman sat back in his chair, studying the admirals face, then grunted. The sound was weary, irate, and just a little desperate, but he nodded grudgingly.
"I can ask no more than that, Sir Thomas," he said heavily. "I won't insult you by trying to insist on miracles, but the situation is very, very grave. I'm not certain we have another month... but I am certain we have no more than four, five at the most, before the cartels will be forced to suspend operations in Silesia."
"I understand," Caparelli repeated, rising to extend his hand. "I'll do what I can, and as quickly as I can, and I promise I'll personally brief you on the situation as soon as I've had a chance to confer with Admiral White Haven. With your permission, I'll have my yeoman set up another meeting with you for that purpose. Perhaps we can think of something at that time. Until then, please stay in touch. You and your colleagues may actually have a better feel for the situation than we do at the Admiralty, and any input you can offer my analysts and planning people will be greatly appreciated."
"Very well," Hauptman sighed, standing in turn, and gripped the admirals hand, then surprised Caparelli with a wry smile. "I realize I'm not the easiest man in the universe to get along with, Sir Thomas. I'm trying very hard not to be the proverbial bull in the china shop, and I genuinely appreciate both the difficulties you face and the efforts you're making on our behalf. I only hope that there's an answer somewhere."