the “founder’s” cargo would probably have been one of their first imperatives!
Jenks continued. “I am given to understand that you do not imbibe strong drink aboard your Navy’s ships, Captain Reddy. Perhaps that is not a bad policy. In case you might consider an exception, I did bring a very mild, dry port to commemorate our rendezvous. There is just enough for a single short glass for all present, and I intended it as a means for proposing a toast.”
Matt nodded. “In that case, Commodore, I’ll allow an exception. It’s not unheard-of in situations like this when ‘foreigners’ are aboard. Juan, would you be good enough to fetch glasses?”
A few minutes later, glasses had been positioned and filled by Juan’s expert hand. Jenks raised his glass. “It is customary at this time for our most junior officer to offer the first toast to the governor-emperor. I do not expect you to participate, under the circumstances, but I do beg you to give His Majesty the benefit of the doubt in this matter. It is his own daughter who has been taken, after all.”
“Very well,” Matt agreed. “The benefit of the doubt… for now.” One of Jenks’s midshipmen stood, and all those present, everyone, stood with him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, “His Majesty!”
All, including Matt, took a sip. The port was interesting, fruity, Matt decided, and as mild as Jenks had promised. He held out his own glass. “The Grand Alliance, and the United States Navy!” All drank again, but Matt noticed there was the slightest hesitation among a few of the Imperial officers. Inwardly, he sighed.
Jenks held forth his glass. “Hear, hear!” he said forcefully. “And a most formidable Navy it is. We have joined together to embark on a venture essential to both our nations.” He paused. “May it ever be thus: that we will forever cooperate as friends, and never meet as enemies!” On that, Jenks emptied his glass, and with no hesitation at all, everyone else in the wardroom followed suit.
“Captain!” Reynolds exclaimed excitedly. “Lookout reports surface contact bearing one two five degrees! It’s a sail, Skipper! More than one. He says it looks like three or four!”
“Course?” Matt snapped. Sails! Here? Other than Billingsly, who else would be in these waters? According to Jenks, they were still a considerable distance from the closest Imperial outpost. Possibly four ships! Could others have joined Billingsly?
Reynolds relayed the course request and stood, waiting anxiously for several minutes before the lookout in the crow’s nest replied, “Almost reciprocal, Skipper. Lookout estimates contact course is two eight zero! Four ships for sure, sir, under sail!”
“Well,” said Courtney Bradford, “of course we all presume those are Imperial ships? If not, personally I’d be willing to lay a wager to it.”
“What makes you so sure?” Gray asked. “ ’Specially after all that stuff you were goin’ on about the other day.”
Bradford looked oddly at Gray. “Why, I will gladly wager my… my hat that they are indeed Imperials, coming in response to the ship and message Jenks dispatched when he first arrived in Baalkpan! Considering the time it would have taken that ship to travel to the Imperial homeland, spread the word, outfit another expedition… that expedition would be about, well, here by now!”
Gray looked at the bizarre sombrerolike hat hanging from Bradford’s hand (he wasn’t allowed to wear it on the bridge) and shook his head. “I wouldn’t want that nasty thing as a gift. ’Sides, when you put it that way, you’re probably right.”
Matt was already convinced. He’d forgotten all about the ship Jenks was allowed to send away, with news of the princess’s survival and rescue. He rubbed his chin, looking at Reynolds. Oh, well, he’d promised. Besides, there were other good reasons. “How do you like the sea, Ensign?” he asked.
Reynolds studied the swells. “Looks fine, Skipper. You’ll need to heave to and set us down in the lee. The hard part, actually, will be moving away so we’ll have the wind again-without sucking us into the screws.”
Matt sighed. Another danger he hadn’t really thought of. “Very well. Sound General Quarters and call your division. Have Mr. Palmer signal Achilles that we’ll reduce speed and await your report.”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
After all stations reported manned and ready, Reynolds announced shipwide: “Now hear this, now hear this! The Special Air Detail will assemble and make all preparations for flight operations!” Those members of the Special Air Detail not stationed at the plane as part of the Plane Dump Detail during GQ sprang from their various battle stations and hurried to their new posts. Matt had decided that the ship would always be at general quarters whenever the plane was launched or recovered so everyone would be at their highest state of readiness in the event of an accident. It was then easier to call the larger air detail from their normal battle stations, which, with the exception of the designated observer, were all close by. Observers came from Lieutenant Palmer’s comm division.
“Mr. Reynolds, you are relieved,” Matt said, gesturing for Carl Bashear to take Fred’s headset. Kutas was at the helm, so Fred couldn’t hope for better ship handling.
“Aye-aye, sir! Thank you, sir!” Reynolds said, and slid down the stairs behind the pilothouse. Hurrying past the galley under the amidships deckhouse, he heard the diminutive Juan Marcos and the monstrous Earl Lanier still arguing about the night before. He chuckled. He didn’t care-he was going to fly! His division, almost entirely ’Cats, had already cleared the tarps from the plane and were arranging the tackle to the aft extended davit when he arrived. This Nancy was his own personal plane, the one in which he’d finished his training. It was one of the new, improved models, infinitely better than Ben’s prototype. It looked incredibly frail, but Fred knew appearances were deceiving. He’d botched a landing or two, and it had held together under stresses he’d have thought would tear it apart. He had confidence in the plane and himself. Shoot, he had almost thirty hours in the thing! He climbed up to the cockpit and, as always, looked at the large blue roundel with the big white star and smaller red dot with a mix of pride and a sense of incongruity. The roundel contrasted well with the lighter blue of the wings and fuselage/hull, and all the colors looked right, but the contraption they covered was, while in his eyes a thing of beauty, still strange enough to cause a disconnect between its shape and the familiar colors. He shrugged and climbed in. “Who’s my OC?” he shouted, referring to his observer/copilot.
One of Ben’s improvements, besides turning the engine around, had been installing auxiliary controls for the observer. It only made sense. Observers didn’t have to be pilots-yet-but they had to be familiar with the controls and able to demonstrate at least rudimentary flying skills. Of course, their main job was to observe and transmit those observations via one of the small, portable CW transmitters (originally meant for airplanes) that all the new transmitters in the Alliance were patterned after. There was no battery-Alliance-made batteries were still too heavy-but the “Ronson” wind powered generator and a voltage regulator the size of a shoe box gave them all the juice they needed with little weight. An aerial extended from a faired upright behind the observer’s seat to the tail.
Fred looked aft and saw Kari-Faask scrambling into her position. She was a niece of the great B’mbaadan general Haakar-Faask, who’d died so bravely in a holding action against the Grik. Kari wasn’t quite as bold and fearless as her uncle, but Fred knew she had plenty of guts. She never made any bones about the fact that she was afraid to fly, for example, but she went up anyway and performed her duties without complaint. Also, despite her still somewhat stilted English, she had a good fist on the transmitter key.
“You okay with this, Kari?” Fred called back to her.
“I good. You be good and no crash us!” she hollered back.
Reynolds could tell Walker was heaved to by the sudden wallowing sensation. He quickly checked the function of all the control surfaces and shouted down to the chief of the air detail, “All right, Chief, pick us up and swing us out! Set us down with plenty of slack but don’t cut us loose until the engine starts, hear? And keep an eye on those line handlers!”
The Nancy lifted. ’Cats strained at the taglines to keep the plane from swinging with the rolling motion of the ship. Reynolds knew Ben had been hoping to construct some kind of catapult, a sort of abbreviated version of what Amagi had had, but there just hadn’t been time. Now Reynolds better appreciated Ben’s scheme. It wouldn’t have made any difference with recovery, but with a catapult, they could have just flown right off the ship. A couple of times, the Nancy swung dangerously close to the davit and Fred clenched his eyes shut, expecting a splintering crash, but somehow, fairly quickly, the plane was over the water and headed down. Now the only immediate concern was giving the plane enough slack that the roll of the ship wouldn’t yank her back out of the water and smash her against Walker ’s side.
Suddenly, Reynolds felt the independent motion caused by water under the plane. There’d been no thump or
