O’Casey shook his head. “I despise the man, but he wouldna harm the child. He may have company wardens aboard he doesna even know of, though. They wouldna miss the chance.”
Matt struck the rail in frustration. “God damn it, we don’t need this right now!”
Bradford looked at him in alarm. “Indeed.”
“All stations manned and ready, Captain,” Dowden reported quietly.
Matt brooded in silence for a considerable time. Finally he straightened his shoulders and looked them each in the eye. “This stays between us for now, clear? Anybody else we tell only on a ‘need to know’ basis, and I’ll decide who needs to know.”
Three distinct pyramids of off-white canvas appeared in the hazy, muggy morning air. An even greater mass of sail signified
Big Sal
’s mighty presence, on guard at the mouth of Baalkpan Bay. Home. Beyond, the jungle-choked entrance was broken only by the long southern beach, and the imposing shape of Fort Atkinson overlooking the eastern approach. Hove to in line of battle, the three rakish frigates flew the Stars and Stripes, and Keje’s colossal Home anchored the center of the line. However meager it might ultimately be, it was a stirring, impressive sight.
“Thank God!” Bradford exclaimed, echoing everyone’s sentiments. “At least we’re here in time!”
Matt ordered smoke so everyone would see his ship approaching against the gray day.
Mahan
was out of sight, as ordered, already undergoing repairs. He looked back at O’Casey. “You’d better round up your young charge. I recommend you tell her the whole truth and explain why you’re not going with her, if Jenks shows up here.” He paused. “I’ll give you asylum with us, but you’re damn sure going to earn it. And if I find out you’ve lied to me . . .”
O’Casey nodded sadly. “Thank ye, Captain Reddy.”
O’Casey found the girl leaning out over the rail, pointing excitedly at the graceful ships and the massive Home. The big man, Silva, was with her—as he always seemed to be lately—and Lawrence lay coiled on the deck like a dog, head up, sniffing, staring at the other children, and even the women, who’d finally ventured on deck. They were the center of much attention, even dressed in the variety of naval garb they’d taken in exchange for their ragged clothing. All except the young nun. She still wore her battered habit, standing a little apart from the other women, looking about with an impatient, frustrated expression. O’Casey caught her eye and shrugged sympathetically. He knew she was still waiting to speak to Captain Reddy. He nodded at Silva as he approached, then spoke to the girl.
“Young miss, may I have a word?”
“Of course, Mr. O’Casey! I owe you my life!”
He gently steered her away from the others, though he was conscious of Silva’s unwavering eye. “Miss . . . Your Highness . . .” he began softly. She looked quickly around, but he made a shushing sound. “No need to fear; no one can hear. Besides, I’ve told their captain who ye are. No choice . . . for I canna go wi’ ye if yer Jenks should come for ye. In fact”—he sighed—“though I hate ta ask ye ta lie yet again, I must beg ye not to reveal my part in yer affairs these past many months.”
Tears formed in Becky’s eyes. “But . . .
why
? Certainly you’ll be knighted, at least, for what you have done. I will see to it!”
“Nay, me dear,” O’Casey said. “I’m a wanted man, and I’ll certainly be hanged for what I’ve done.” He put his broad hand on her small shoulder. “I’ve risen against the company, ye see.”
She did see, or thought she did, and her eyes went wide. “All this time . . . and you are a traitor?”
“Nay!” he said firmly. “No traitor ta ye or yer father, but perhaps a traitor ta those who subvert ye. Yer father’s a good man . . . long ago he was even me friend, but the company’s made a stuffed shirt o’ him, an’ I would change that if I could . . . I tried . . .”
She gasped. “The Mutiny!”
He nodded. “Aye, the Mutiny. It was never against the Empire, er him . . . er you! God knows! It was against the way things have become. We tried ta right a terrible wrong, an’ we didna succeed. I’m sorry for that, but not for tryin’.”
She still seemed stunned. “So you will stay with these people? Fight with them?”
“Aye. Theirs seems a cause worth fightin’ for, after all, an’ hopeless as they make it sound, it isna over yet.” He lowered his head. “Me last cause is finished, an’ there isna any hope a’tall.”
“Perhaps,” she hedged, still uncertain. “We shall see. In any event, I shall not betray you. If Captain Jenks arrives, I shall tell the entire truth of our ordeal, but at first I shall not reveal you live. Enough?”
He nodded. “Enough, Your Highness. Thank ye.”
Silva had drifted over. “What the hell’s all this ‘Highness’ shit?”
Captain Reddy appeared, dressed in his finest, academy sword at his side. “Yes, Mr. Silva,” he said quietly, looking at the girl. “You’ve been associating with royalty all this time, and never even knew it. None of us did.” He glanced around. He’d already decided to include Silva in the circle of those who had the “need to know,” and he made sure no one else was near enough to hear. “And for now, that’s the way it stays. Tell no one. From now on, if, and until her own people collect her, she’s your responsibility: yours and Mr. O’Casey’s, of course. Her safety’s in your hands.” He paused. “Highness?” The girl nodded. “Well. Perhaps a proper introduction is in order at last?”
“Becky” cleared her throat. “Rebecca Anne McDonald will suffice, I think,” she answered. “As Mr. O’Casey just pointed out, my various titles are rather meaningless anymore. Only one might pertain to the current situation”—she glanced at Silva with a grin—“and I might just trot it out someday, if I get the chance.”
Just then she perceived a clattering, rumbling drone unlike anything she’d heard before, growing louder by the moment. She looked up.
“Damn that idiot!” Matt declared. “Who gave him permission to fly?” He paced to the rail and watched the battered PBY approach from the south. It looked decidedly odd with its shortened wings, and the engines sounded like they’d mixed rocks with the oil.
“I can’t believe he got it up again,” Gray confessed, joining them.
“Ol’ Benny’s a whiz with gizmos,” Silva stated, “an’ pretty sharp for an army aviator.”
“It’s an air-plane!” Rebecca squealed excitedly. “Oh, it is, it is! Mr. Flynn told me about them, but I confess I scarcely believed him! Oh, look! Is it going to land upon the sea?”
The Catalina staggered past
Walker
, banked delicately, and flew toward the open sea still separating the destroyer and the picket force. Two hundred yards away it thumped exhaustedly onto the calm sea and wallowed to a stop. Gunning the port engine, the pilot began his approach.
“Oh, look, oh, look!” chanted the girl, almost hopping.
When the plane was within a hundred yards, the pilot—it must be Mallory—turned the plane away from the ship and cut the engines. The ensuing silence seemed almost more intense than the previous racket. A moment passed; then Signals Lieutenant (JG) Palmer appeared on the wing.
Matt spotted Stites leaning on the rail near the whaleboat. “Don’t just stand there,” he shouted. “Go get him!” He looked at Silva and O’Casey, then glanced at the impatient nun. “Carry on,” he said. “I’d better get to the bridge.”
“Captain!” shouted the nun, her Dutch accent clear. Grimacing, Matt paused while the woman strode quickly toward him. “Captain, I must protest! I have been asking to speak with you for days!”
“My apologies, uh, sister . . .”
“Sister Audry. I appreciate you rescuing us from our previous . . . circumstances, but now I understand we are steaming directly toward a battle? Have you not thought of the children in my care? Is it possible you will expose them to further risk? I must insist you provide for their safety!”
Matt gritted his teeth. “Lady . . . Sister, I haven’t got time for this now, but you have my word those kids’ll be as safe as I can make them. If I could drop them, and you, off someplace safe, I would, but there
is
no safe place. I’ll do what I can, but for now you must excuse me.” He turned and continued on his way, leaving the nun wearing a stormy expression.
Shortly the whaleboat returned, with Palmer standing in the prow. When it came alongside, the signalman scurried up, saluted the flag and Gray, and raced for the pilothouse. “Skipper!” he said with feeling, saluting again. “Am I glad to see you!”
“The feeling’s mutual, but what’s the meaning of this?” Matt gestured at the plane.
Palmer’s face took on a haunted look. “Yeah, well, jeez. Believe me, Skipper, we wouldn’t have gone up in that death trap if we didn’t have to. It flies, but I think that’s only because it hates floating even more.” He gathered himself. “Mr. Letts sent us. You were right; the Griks are on the move. They handled
Mahan
pretty rough, but we thought that might’ve just been a stab at catching her. No go. It looks like the real deal.”
“Any sign of
Amagi
?”
“Not with the advance force. Looks like a hundred-plus ships, even after
Mahan
tore ’em up. We might’ve seen smoke way to the south, but we didn’t want to push the old girl, if you know what I mean.” Palmer shuddered. “I hate to say it, Captain, but I think it’s time we stripped her for the metal.”
“Probably right,” Matt mused sadly. “We might need her to fly once more, but after that . . .” He shrugged. “How long before the enemy arrives?”
“The wind’s against them,” Palmer replied, “but by late tomorrow morning, surely.”
“Very well. How are the preparations I mentioned to Mr. Sandison proceeding?”
“They haven’t started yet, sir. We just now got all
Mahan
’s holes patched. They could commence tonight, but Sandison says we should wait for daylight.”
“Quite right,” Matt mused. “We’ll just have to slow the enemy advance then, won’t we?”
“Yes, sir.”
Matt turned to Dowden. “We’ll go in and off-load nonessential personnel and refuel. We’re running on fumes. Signal the ‘fleet’ . . . prepare for action.”
Isak Rueben ran a proprietary hand along a feed pipe in the aft fireroom. He stopped at a gauge and tapped it. “So,” he said to Gilbert and Tabby, “I guess you managed to keep my babies lit while I was away.”
“Sure did,” Gilbert answered. “Course, the refit didn’t hurt none. Boilers are in better shape than they’ve been in twenty years. Didn’t have to do nothin’ but feed ’em oil an’ air an’ water the whole trip.”
“Didn’t even need me,” Isak muttered.
“Well, it wasn’t like the run outta Surabaya, or after our fight with the Japs, but there’s always a little something’,” Gilbert hastened to add.
“Like what?’ Isak asked, interest flaring.
“Number two smoke-box uptake is leakin’,” Tabby supplied helpfully, “keeps smokin’ up for’ard fireroom, and tubes in number three is all coked up.” She spat on the slimy deck plate. “Damn green snipes is battin’ burners too big. Makin’ smoke.”
“Laney’s been real jumpy too,” Gilbert added. “Keeps forgettin’ there’s only been two of us to do all our work, an’ his too. An’ there you was, takin’ yer ease on a tropical island.”
“At least you guys didn’t have to fight a bunch of Griks! All you did was run around gatherin’ up pigboat pukes an’ a buncha kids an’ dames. An’ what’s the dope on that pet Grik the deck apes got?” He gestured at Tabby. “Hell, they got the first ’Cat that came aboard. It ain’t fair, I tell ya.”
Tabby and Gilbert both laughed, and a grin spread across Isak’s face; another real one. “Boy, it’s sure good to be back, but it was sorta fun too, you know?”
As soon as he saw her, Chack leaped the remaining distance between the ship and the fueling pier and flung himself into Safir Maraan’s arms. Wolf whistles from the ship and cheers from the assembled crowd accompanied the feat. The dignified queen showed no restraint on this occasion. Not to be outdone, Silva mimicked the leap (across a much narrower gap) with a wild whoop and a great show of boisterous exertion. Waiting for him were Ensign Pam Cross and Risa-Sab-At, who, as Active Guard training instructor for
Big Sal
’s combined clans, had been ashore helping train the allied armies. There was a collective gasp of expectation as everyone waited to see what would happen. Silva was onstage, poised to commit a blatant act of public misbehavior, and he knew it. Evidently, so did the “girls.” With an exaggerated look of alarm, then an even more exaggerated attempt to make a decision between the two, Silva stood on the pier looking from Pam to Risa and back again. Finally he enfolded them both in his powerful arms and raced through the crowd bellowing, “Gangway! Time’s a’wastin’!” The crowd erupted with laughter, and there were hoots and catcalls from the ship.
“Secure those lines!” roared Gray over the tumult. “The next man . . . ’Cat . . . or I don’t care what else, jumps ship is a deserter!”
Dowden shook his head beside Captain Reddy on the port bridge wing. “That crazy bastard! I’ll have Silva polishing brass from one end of this ship to the other—with his toothbrush!”
Matt barely heard him. Alone, it seemed, of all
Walker
’s crew, his mood remained unaffected by the stunt. His attention was fixed on a small, slim form, standing a little apart from the others, long, sandy-brown hair unclasped for once, flowing in the stiffening breeze. “Don’t bother,” he said absently, the words ringing hollow. “I said he could. Everybody needed a laugh.”
Dowden chuckled uneasily, then followed his captain’s gaze. Lieutenant Tucker wore an anxious, sad smile as she stared back across the impossible gulf the others had simply hopped over, with a sharply focused message of love, welcome, and . . . pain that almost broke his heart. He looked back at Matt. Now he knew why the captain had dressed in his best—and why he wasn’t laughing.
Matt stepped briskly back from the rail. Nearby, snugged to the old fitting-out pier, was
Mahan
, looking somewhat the worse for wear. Her crew was waving and calling across the distance, their shouts lost in the wind. A loud
toot-toot
and a jet of steam escaped her forward stack. Her new paint was blotched with rust, and there were patches welded here and there. After her long trip, Matt doubted
Walker
looked much better. He noticed the other destroyer already sported her old number again, 102, and the fresh paint contrasted sharply with that around it. He’d transmitted permission to the request early that morning. The deception didn’t matter anymore; with any luck the enemy would never see
Mahan
again, and he was glad
Mahan
’s crew—and Jim Ellis—was proud of her once more.