“No,” Sandra agreed, “you can’t.
Never
do it again. That’s an order.”
Silva arched his eyebrows and looked at Lawrence. “Ever seen anything like this before? A tide high enough to cover an island like Yap?”
“Yes, ’ut only when the ground shakes. Large tides cross Tagran then. Tagranesi feel earth shake, go to high grounds.” He looked worried. “Tide cross here, it cross Tagran too. Ground not shake, late at night, Tagranesi ’ight not go to high grounds ...”
“The surge came from the southwest. Perhaps it didn’t reach as far as Tagran,” Brassey said, trying to reassure Lawrence.
“Let’s get down and out of here,” Rajendra urged angrily. His carpenter agreed.
“Not so fast,” Sandra replied. “Captain Lelaa?”
“The surge, or whatever it was, has completely subsided now. We should be able to cross the breakers with the tide around midday,” Lelaa replied, glancing at the moon beginning to rise. “We have sufficient time to observe a while longer, to make sure the infestation is indeed over. All I see is that one injured creature, but it is possible more will arrive. We should not wait too long, though, if we want to leave today.”
With the full sun, there were no more shiksaks, and the stench of rotting corpses and vegetation became overpowering. Sandra was convinced they needed to leave regardless. Thank God they still had sufficient rum-dosed fresh water. She doubted that any uncontaminated water would be found on the island for some time. Carefully, they lowered the boat to the damp, mushy ground. Abel could help a little this time, and all others were sent down by rope before they made the attempt, both for safety and to decrease the weight.
Silva was annoyed to see how far Rebecca’s new pet had chewed through one of the ropes. Another few minutes might have done for them. “Stupid shit,” he muttered accusingly at the creature, which seemed perfectly content to remain with them.
“Stupidshit!” the parrot lizard agreed enthusiastically. Uncharacteristically, Silva was at a loss to come up with a clever name for the thing, and that left him a little morose. He’d always thought he had a talent for names. His perpetual fallback, calling it “Spanky,” fell on deaf ears as usual. (Nobody knew why he always suggested naming anything ridiculous or inconvenient after
Walker
’s engineering officer, but he apparently had a reason.)
“Stupidshit Eat?” The thing demanded hopefully after the boat touched the ground.
“Hey!” said Dennis, inspired. “Let’s call him ‘Stupidshit’!”
“Absolutely not!” Rebecca decreed, coaxing the creature out of the boat and onto the ground.
“Stu’idshit sounds good to ’e,” Lawrence agreed.
“No.”
“Hmm,” said Silva, coiling and stowing the falls after Lelaa brought them down. Rajendra and his men were positioning the rollers. All were alert, but in spite of everything, a festive mood prevailed. “Let’s see. Eat—Pete! We can call him Pete!”
“I think General Alden might take some offense at that,” Sandra observed dryly.
“Well ... let’s call him ‘Petey’ then! That’s a fine, upstandin’ American pet name!”
Sandra giggled. “What, make him a member of ‘Our Gang’?” Of course, the reference was lost on everyone else.
“Petey!” shrieked the gluttonous tree-leaper. “Petey Eat?”
“I guess that’s settled,” Silva quipped in the face of Rebecca’s glare. “C’mon, let’s get a move on. I’ve seen enough o’ this dump. Time to get back in the Navy.”
CHAPTER 23
Mid Eastern Sea
U
SS
Walker
was steaming at twenty knots—her best, most economical speed—almost due east through moderate seas into the rising sun. Commodore Harvey Jenks stood on the starboard bridgewing, enraptured by the seemingly effortless sense of motion. His hat was held tightly under his arm and his hair whipped in the breeze. The pitching, streaming bow tossed occasional packets of spray in his face as it sliced the marching swells, and he laughed like a kid, with closed eyes and a drooping, dripping mustache. O’Casey was beside him, crowding the lookout, and despite having experienced it before, he seemed to be enjoying it just as much as Jenks. Their immediate past had been put far behind them and the two men had apparently resuscitated their old friendship to a degree at least as strong as ever.
Lieutenant Blair of the Imperial Marines was the only other Imperial officer aboard, but he’d brought a small detachment of his men from
Achilles
and was currently drilling them alongside Chack’s Marines, aft. He was a bright officer, and he’d learned a hard lesson in warfare at Singapore. He’d also become a fervent convert to Allied infantry tactics—particularly now that he understood and respected them. He even made valuable tactical suggestions, regarding the addition of muskets to the shield wall, that Chack was perfectly willing to test. Later that day, they planned to “shoot at shields” again. Apparently Chack and Blair both thought they’d figured “something” out.
“Skipper on the bridge!” came Fal-(Stumpy)-Pel’s high-pitched cry.
“As you were,” replied Matt, and Jenks and O’Casey stepped into the pilothouse to see an amused Captain Reddy, towing a beaming Courtney Bradford in his wake. “It looks like you’re enjoying yourselves, gentlemen,” Matt said, taking in their semi-soaked appearance.
“Captain Reddy,” Jenks practically gushed, “before now I could only imagine what it must be like, but now I’m utterly smitten, sir!”
Gray stomped up from below, pushing Bradford forward. He’d heard the exchange. “This is twenty knots,” he growled proudly. “If the sea was a little calmer and we had the fuel to throw away, we’d show you thirty!” He leered at Jenks’s expression of wonder. “Once upon a time, she’d crowd forty! Might still can, when we get a fourth boiler back in her.”
“Lord above, to experience that!” Jenks muttered.
Matt’s grin spread. No skipper is immune to compliments about his ship. “I don’t know about that, Boats,” he demurred, “but if any crew could coax it out of her, this one could.” He chuckled. “Spanky’s been running around like a mother hen, checking every little thing. Him and Miami. I think now that Tabby’s finally back on limited duty, he might take a breath.” He shook his head, looking at the Bosun. “I tried to leave her behind, you know. Send her home on one of the supply ships after it shows up and offloads. She’s still got a lot of lung damage. Spanky actually insisted on it. Told her she could rejoin her pals—the ‘other’ Mice—when she was fit.” He looked proudly back at Jenks. “She said she’d quit the Navy if we left her behind! Wouldn’t fight, wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t teach a soul a thing she knew! I thought Spanky was done for. His face was so red, I started to call Selass!”
Gray laughed.
“You have quite a crew, Captain Reddy,” Jenks said, complimenting him.
“Yes, I do.” Matt’s grin faded. “Now, what you and I have to do, over the next week or so before we reach your home, is figure out how best to accomplish our mission without anybody—particularly this crew and the people we’re trying to rescue—getting hurt. Obviously, I want to do that while making sure some other deserving people
do
get hurt.” He glanced at Norm Kutas, who still had the conn. “Carry on, Quartermaster.” To the talker: “Please pass the word for Captain Chack, Lieutenant Blair, Misters Steele, Campeti, Reynolds, and McFarlane to join us in the wardroom.” He looked back at Jenks and O’Casey. “Gentlemen?”
“I don’t really know what more I can add,” Jenks said, sipping hot tea from a cup. Spread out on the green-topped table between them was a chart showing the four main, or “Home,” islands of the Imperial heart. Matt had seen it before, but in the past Jenks had always covered the coordinates to salve his conscience, since it was treason to reveal the location of the islands. For a long time now it was understood that Matt knew precisely where they were, and under the circumstances, such fictions no longer existed between them. Jenks would doubtless be called a traitor by the Company when his story was told, but he considered the Company—and the Dominion—a far graver threat to the Empire than the Grand Alliance was.
Courtney leaned forward for a closer look at the map. Most of those present also knew where the Imperial capital was, by deductive reasoning, but this was their first “look” at it. Matt had been right when he told them it wasn’t the “Hawaii” they remembered. The island shapes were tantalizingly familiar, but bigger, and in some cases joined. Lower global water levels—which Courtney had long suspected—and random volcanism probably explained that.
“We’ve been gone an awfully long time,” Jenks continued, “and I know little more than you what conditions may prevail within the Empire. We might even receive an unfriendly welcome. As I said before, that would be almost certain if I were not with you, but if the GovernorEmperor has been deposed, God forbid, I doubt my welcome will be warmer than yours.”
“You, O’Casey, and the princess have all hinted you’re a ‘big wheel’ in the Empire,” Matt observed. “I suppose your sympathies are well known.”
“Indeed. I’m known as a staunch Loyalist, as are most Imperial officers.”
Mat grunted. “Hmm. Well, speculation is almost pointless,” he said. “If you don’t have any pals left in government at all, we’ll have to wing it anyway. Let’s assume the situation remains essentially the same as when you left, probably a little tenser, of course, judging by what Governor Radcliff had to say. His was the most recent news. How do we proceed in that ‘best-case’ scenario?”
“We must assume Billingsley will have beaten us there,” Bradford interjected, brooding. “We should know that quickly enough, shouldn’t we?”
“I’m certain of it,” Jenks replied. “That we would know,” he amended. “There is frequent, rapid commerce between the Imperial Home Islands, and almost no clandestine anchorage.
Ajax
’s arrival would be recognized, reported, and known across the islands within days. If her crew is paid off, rumors of the princess would spread immediately. They might keep the crew sequestered, pleading sickness, but that would be widely known as well. If she’s there, we’ll know. Beyond that, much depends on what Billingsley and his superiors hope to gain, and what their timetable might be. If the princess has become their ultimate weapon against the throne, I think they would act quite quickly. Remember, they had no more certainty that she’d survived than I did, so I have no doubt they’ve continued their long-term scheme of subversion in our absence. With the princess in hand, I believe they would be overwhelmingly tempted to act precipitously, to ‘wing it,’ as you said, themselves. The Company and their creatures in the courts are known to take the long view of things, but they are also impetuous and grasping. In the past, the best check we’ve had against them in government has been their tendency to overreach and bleed support when the people see their true agenda.”
“So, if they have indeed won the race, we may find opportunity in the midst of a chaotic upheaval,” Courtney mused aloud.
“Possibly, but it could be messy.”
“Best case?” Matt asked again.
“Well, obviously, the best thing that could happen is that we get there before Billingsley, tell our story, and wait for him to arrive.” Jenks looked serious. “Tempting as it would be, I must caution against trying to stop him at this stage. Better to let him think he’s won. If we sight
Ajax
, we should steer clear. If he fears he will be foiled, his only recourse might be to ‘eliminate’ any evidence against him.”
“Agreed,” Matt said reluctantly. He paused. “What do you consider the worst-case scenario?” he asked at last.
Jenks shifted on his chair. “Well, certainly, objectively, the worst possible thing that might happen is that Billingsley never shows up at all. Not only would that imply that his ship is lost with all aboard—with the attendant grief for all concerned—but it would substantially undermine our testimony. At least until
Achilles
,
Icarus
, and
Ulysses
arrive. Unfortunately, at that point we will of necessity be ashore and we, as well as the Empire, might not live to see it happen.” He looked at Matt. “One of the reasons the Company has survived so long to contend with an entity as powerful as the Imperial throne is that it can be ... remarkably resourceful and ruthless. Our arrival will threaten its position because
some
will believe us. That alone might precipitate action on their part. One way or another, whether Billingsley has beaten us or not, when
Walker
steams into Imperial waters, the ... ah, how do you say? Yes. The ‘shit will hit the fan.’ ”
“Pardon me,” Chack interrupted. “Viewing this map from a military perspective, I see a number of anchorages, particularly on this New Scot-laand. I see no ‘Pearl Harbor,’ however. Assuming the names are different, where was it? Where would it be?”
“It ain’t there,” Spanky said, rubbing his chin through his white-shot brown beard. His expression was as empty as a ’Cat’s. He pointed. “Here’s where it would be, on the south coast of this ‘New Ireland’ place, near this ‘Waterford’ burg. Looks like a lake on a plain.” There was a moment of silence while the others in the room absorbed that. “There’s that old company flag, without the blue too,” he said.
“Yes,” Jenks agreed, sensitive to the men’s emotions. “New Ireland practically belongs to the Company, for all intents and purposes. There is only one good anchorage, but it’s rather exceptional. It’s the best-protected harbor on the windward side of any of the islands.”
“Best-protected from what?” Chack asked.
“From storms—and attack. Edinburgh is good, on New Scotland, but it’s too broad to easily defend against an attacker. New Dublin is well sheltered and fortified, and as you can see, any landing and approach from another part of the island itself would pose a serious problem. Let us fervently hope things do not come to that.”
Matt took a breath. “Well, Jenks, we’re here for the Company—and our people. Where do we go? Where will the Governor-Emperor be?”
“New Britain or New Scotland. New Britain is the largest island with the largest ... unindentured population. It is where most people of substance live, and despite their representative duties, most members of both courts live there as well. There are vast plantations and timber holdings. The Imperial capital is at New London on the west coast fronting New Britain Bay alongside Portsmouth. Those are the two largest cities, and they’ve become practically one.” Jenks thought for a moment. “In normal times, that’s where we would find him, but I think Government House on New Scotland at Scapa Flow is where we should steer.”
“Because?”
“It’s the headquarters of Home Fleet. The Admiralty is there, and nowhere will he find a higher concentration of loyal subjects, indentured or not. Even the ‘obligated’ are Tories because their debt is to the throne and the Navy, not the Company, for the most part. They’re considered ‘Naval auxiliaries’ and many work in the yard.” He shrugged. “Some of our brave sailors are literal gutter-sweepings from the other islands, sent to the Navy instead of to gaol. A few of our officers are men with well-placed relations. Most of our
best
sailors, however, are Scots who spring from obligated mothers living in Scapa Flow or New Glasgow. Most midshipmen come from long-established families, but like your own navy, there are ‘mustangs.’ ” He glanced at Spanky, who reveled in his status. “A fair percentage of them had ‘Navy mothers.’ ”
“Okay, Jenks,” Matt said. “First stop, Scapa Flow. We’ll come in under both our flags, on opposite foremast halyards to show everybody we’re friends. We dock, you throw your weight around and demand to speak to the Governor-Emperor. Simple.”
“Hopefully,” Jenks hedged.
“Just in case,” Chack said, glancing around at the other officers, “I will study this chart, along with Lieuten-aant Blair, of course, and attempt to prepare for a ‘worst-case scenario’ on any of the islands shown.” He bowed his head at Matt. “Captain Reddy has taught me well to always hope for the best, but plan for the worst. I find it difficult to imagine the worst in this situation, but in my ‘Maa-reen’ capacity, I will endeavor to do so.”
Matt managed a smile. “By all means, Captain Sab-At. I rely on it.”
Spanky was following a “feel” he couldn’t identify. He stopped occasionally, listening, feeling, then moved a few paces farther on. It seemed like it must be coming from the forward fireroom, but he just couldn’t be sure. Ever since he’d joined
Walker
on the China Station (he and the Bosun were the longest-serving hands), he’d made a practice of learning her every sigh, screech, rattle, and groan. After so much work had been done to her, her various refits and the recent rebuilding, he’d found himself relearning her sounds and “feels” all over again. He certainly wouldn’t complain; with number three almost restored,
Walker
was as healthy as he ever remembered her being. But there was one frustrating—new “feel” he hadn’t “pigeonholed.” He couldn’t decide whether it was just part of the new “normal” or something to worry about. To make things worse, no matter what he did, he couldn’t find what was causing it, and it was driving him nuts.
He paused his inspection under the amidships deckhouse/gun platform and swiped a sandwich off a tray just as soon as Earl Lanier set it down on the stainless steel counter.
“Hey, you m’lingerin’ bastard,” came an indignant growl from within the galley. “Them sammitches is for them Marines playin’ sojer, aft! ... Oh,” Lanier said, recognizing Spanky. He stuck his droop-jowled face through the little window. “I guess m’lingerin’
officers
can swipe sammitches outta the hardworkin’ bellies o’ anybody they want.”