Jenks’s hand seemed to strain to comfort the big man, but didn’t reach quite far enough. “No,” he said softly. “God damn me. You were right all along, as it turns out. The Company is a beast to spawn men like Billingsly. I doubt now that we could have controlled it in the end, regardless. Damn me for not joining your cause!”
Stiffly, Jenks faced Captain Reddy. “You have my surrender, sir, and that of my ship.” He fumbled at his side for his sword. “I will not fight you. As that note will attest, your people and mine would seem to be at war. My God, but this is a stupid, terrible world we live in! In any event, your people are clearly the aggrieved party and I will require none of those under my command to shed their blood in defense of the actions of a lunatic. Or a nation gone mad.”
Matt shook his head, as if to clear it. Too much too fast! “Keep your sword, Commodore Jenks,” he said at last. “It would seem I’m not at war with you after all. But I’m kind of like O’Casey, or Bates, or whoever he is, in one respect: all or nothing. From now on, you’re on our side all or nothing, and we’re on yours the same way. We’re still taking some of the Second Marines aboard Achilles, though, you and I. If there’s anyone you or anyone you trust even suspects of being a Company spy, they’ll be sent back here to Donaghey ’s brig.”
Matt looked at Clancy. “Make those signals now, if you please.” He turned to Rolak. “Commodore Ellis will assume overall command here until Keje arrives with the rest of the fleet. At that point, Keje will assume strategic command, but you and General Alden will still command the ground troops. Jim will be Keje’s exec and chief of staff. Standing orders are and will remain to keep up the pressure on the Grik. Stay focused here, on the job that’s here, and push the bastards any way you can. Follow the plan, but stay flexible; the ability to do that has always been our biggest advantage.”
“But… of course, lord. But where will you be?”
Matt jerked his chin at Jenks. “I’m going home. With him.”
CHAPTER 20
Rain battered Adar’s Great Hall, where the grim meeting was under way. The air was dank and musty with the smell of wet fur and burning gri-kakka oil. A broad, hand-drawn map covered a large table in the gloom, and all the major leaders of the Alliance were gathered around it. All who weren’t absent or taken from them, at least. Kathy McCoy stood in for Sandra and Karen Theimer Letts. Karen had taken the news of the abductions hard, and with her increasingly difficult pregnancy nearing its peak, Alan had convinced her to let him put her on light duty.
“But surely they’re not coming now,” sputtered Geran-Eras, high chief of Humfra-Dar Home. Humfra-Dar had been with the Alliance almost from the first, and Geran, the first female High Chief the Americans had known before they met Saan-Kakja, was particularly fond of Matt. Now young Tassana was a High Chief too, and she nodded agreement with Geran’s concern.
“It is madness to ride the Strakka!”
Adar nodded miserably. “I fear Captain Reddy has gone quite mad-in that dangerous, special way we have all come to recognize-and it is my fault!”
“Bullshit,” Spanky growled. “For the last time, Adar, it ain’t your fault! And Captain Reddy hasn’t gone mad, he’s just mad as hell. I am too-we all are.” He paused, watching the nods. “I don’t know what kind of seaman Jenks is, but the captain’s not going to let him goof around and get them sunk, either. Achilles might take a beating, but she’s running with the storm. My bet is they just get here faster.”
“Your confidence is reassuring,” Adar said, “both in Captain Reddy and myself.” He sighed. “But what of these other issues? What of Walker?”
It was Spanky’s turn to sigh. “We’ll have her ready,” he said simply. “As much as she means to you, she means even more to me. I’m not about to give up on the old girl now. Besides, the skipper’s going to need her.”
“What remains to be done?” Keje asked.
“About a million things,” Spanky admitted, “but we’re already working on most of them. If we just quit, the guys working on that stuff will waste a lot of time twiddling their thumbs before they can get up to speed on other projects anyway.” He held up his hand, counting off on his fingers. “Just about everything on Walker runs on one twenty DC. That’s what we’ve standardized all our industry for. Even if we hadn’t rebuilt her little generators, we could probably stick one of our homemade jobs in her. We’re still soaking her AC generator, the one she needs for the gyro and a few other things, but we’re almost done with it too.”
They’d discovered yet another use for the ubiquitous polta fruit and the seemingly endless applications to which it lent itself. In this instance, the fermented form of the juice that became the popular intoxicant seep would turn to a variety of vinegar if its ultimate journey toward becoming the curative polta paste was interrupted. They’d made diluted vinegar baths for the generators and other electrical equipment to deoxidize the nonferrous components. The solution was weak enough that it did that nicely without unduly attacking the ferrous parts. This rendered the assemblies clean and corrosion-free for their ultimate disassembly and restoration.
“Thank God at least the gyro itself was dry,” Spanky added. He nodded at Rodriguez. “Ronson and his EMs have been running all over the ship, refurbishing distribution panels, breakers, switches, and all that magical electrical shit. Act like a buncha spiders spinnin’ wires everywhere instead of webs.”
Rodriguez arched his eyebrows, which matched his Pancho Villa mustache quite well. “Come into my parlor,” he said, in a passable Bela Lugosi imitation.
Spanky rolled his eyes, but inwardly he was satisfied. Like all of them, Ronson Rodriguez had come a long way. “Hull and structural damage was repaired before we refloated her,” he continued. “Her turbines ain’t new, or anything like it, but they’re in at least as good a shape as they were when she went down. We hadn’t been able to do proper maintenance on ’em in forever, so we still had plenty of spare seals and bearings and such. For them, at least. Numbers three and four boilers are practically new. Completely rebuilt and clean as a whistle inside and out.” He shook his head. “Those Mice… Anyway, we’re starting on number three. I wanted to put a new boiler where number one used to be, one that could burn something besides oil if it had to, but I guess she’s still going to need that extra fuel capacity after all. We’ll get started on a new, better bunker in there. Thanks to Letts’s gaskets, her steam lines are tight as a drum. We’re still having trouble with the steering engine, but we’ll get it sorted out.”
“That is all very well,” Keje said. “She can float and she can steam, but what will she fight with, at need?” Spanky looked at Campeti to answer.
“Uh, well, there’s good news and bad news. The numbers one, two, and three four-inch fifties are ready to go back aboard. Even made a new, thicker splinter shield for number one outta Jap steel.” He looked at Rodriguez. “Your guys’ll have to wire ’em in to the gun director, which, thank God, never even got wet.” Rodriguez nodded and Campeti went on. “The number four gun and the three incher on the fantail are practically junk. We can save the tubes and breeches, but that’s about it. No way can they be ready in thirty days. Same with the torpedo tubes and mounts-not that we have anything to stick in ’em. Three and four were already gone. We can make the number one triple mount work now, if we swipe parts from number two, but without torpedoes, what’s the point? I say we leave ’em off for now and fix ’em at our leisure. Who knows? Maybe someday we’ll have some torps.
“I do have a little good news. All the old girl’s machine guns survived. That gives us two thirties and two fifties to start with. Add the two fifties we fished up from the PBY and all the ammo the skipper’s bringing that Ellis found, and we’re actually better off there.”
“What about putting some of the Jap guns from Amagi on her?” Spanky asked.
“Yeah, I was coming to that,” Campeti said. “We’ve got just about all Amagi ’s secondaries ashore now, and most are in decent shape. There’s a fair amount of ammo for ’em, too. Some was wet, but some was in ready lockers above the waterline.” He shrugged. “Some cooked off in the fire. Anyway, the only ones I know we could tie into our fire control are the five and a halfs. They have about the same velocity as our own guns, according to what Shinya told Bernie, but they’re way too damn heavy to stick on Walker. The dual-purpose four-pointsevens are just a little heavier and only a little slower. They might work-at least in local control. They’re the best bet, actually. They were mounted higher up and we’ve already recovered more ammo for them than Walker ever carried. If Brister can get the aft deckhouse rebuilt in time, we could mount one of those suckers right where number four used to be.”
“You said they’re slower, but with us feeding the four-inch fifties black powder, that’s not so, is it?” Spanky
