had a program dedicated to creating more, but it had received a low priority. Saan-Kakja determined to recommend he “get on the stick.”
“Colonel Shinya,” she continued, “I’m glad you’ve decided to go east yourself. Please inform the quartermaster which regiments you will take, and what their requirements are.” She gazed at him fondly. “I’ll miss you.” She looked at Rebecca, Sandra, and Laumer. “I’ll miss you all. But Captain Reddy needs you, and we will be fine here.”
The meeting began to dissolve. Okada looked at Shinya, gave him a brisk nod, and turned toward the chamber entrance, followed by his officers. Sandra, Laumer, and the corpsman helped the two former prisoners to their feet, and Shinya started to join them. Apparently, he thought better of it, and moved to speak further with Saan-Kakja.
“You’re both fliers, correct?” Sandra asked the men.
“Yeah,” Orrin answered, speaking directly to her for the first time. “Used to be. Probably not much use for us in the fight you’ve got here-although when there weren’t any more planes, Mack and I both fought with the Forty- fifth Philippine Scouts. We were in an antiaircraft crew on Corregidor when Wainwright threw in the towel too.”
“You might be surprised.” Laumer grinned.
“About what?”
“We have planes, homebuilt mostly, and pretty good ones. But also a few you might recognize.” Now Orrin remembered the one called “Captain Lelaa” referring to “planes,” and his ears perked up.
“No kidding?” Mackey demanded. He took on an almost-dreamy look. “Boy, it’d be swell to fly again.” Irvin Laumer looked significantly at Sandra. “Air Minister” Colonel (after his latest escapade) Benjamin Mallory was about to get yet another present.
“No kidding,” Irvin confirmed. “As a matter of fact, one of our new long-range jobs’ll be here tomorrow on its semiweekly run. It’s a goofy-looking beast; kind of like a PBY with three engines.”
The Baalkpan and Maa-ni-la “Internal Combustion Engine factories,” or “ICEhouses” as they’d come to be known, had virtually perfected the manufacture of a ridiculously simple, and even further simplified, Wright-Gypsy- type engine. The Alliance relied on them for everything from aircraft power plants, to “portable” generators and boat motors. So many were being produced that they had enough to send out spares-and experiment with multiengine aircraft. The little engines performed well and were extremely reliable since there was so little to go wrong with them. Mallory took them so much for granted now that he’d started bellyaching for bigger, lighter, air- cooled versions, and had begun to experiment with radials. “Officially, they’re PB-2s,” Irvin continued, “but everybody calls ’em ‘Buzzards.’ You’ll see why. Anyway, they carry ten passengers, or about two thousand pounds of freight. If you guys are up to it, we can get you and your buddy on its return flight to Baalkpan. That’s where the real ‘air stuff’ is going on.”
“That’d be swell,” Mackey repeated, “as long as I know everybody we left behind’ll be taken care of.”
“Of course they will be,” Sandra assured him. Suddenly, she remembered something she’d meant to ask earlier. “Excuse me, Lieutenant Reddy-Orrin. You said you’re from San Diego?”
“I don’t suppose…” She shook her head. How common was the Reddy name?
“What?”
“Well, you wouldn’t happen to be related to a Matthew Patrick Reddy, of the Navy?”
Orrin looked at her, astonished. “Sure. Tall guy? Brown hair, green eyes?”
Sandra nodded.
“He’s my first cousin! Six, seven years older than me. Used to take me hunting and fishing on his dad’s place. A good guy, but always bossing me around. I guess I needed it, though… Say, you don’t mean
…?” Sandra was still nodding, a grin spreading across her face. “I swear. The last letter I got from home, Mom wrote that he and his whole ship were MIA.” The sudden excitement seemed to tire the young man, and he slumped. “Of course, I’ve been MIA since shortly after that. Where is he?”
Sandra sobered. “Right now, he’s halfway around the world.” She managed a grin. “I’ll be going to join him with our new aircraft carrier within the week.”
“You his girl?”
Sandra hesitated, but only for a moment. Old habits die hard. “Yes,” she said. “I am.”
Orrin shook his head in admiration. “I figured you must be, soon as I realized what you were talking about. You’re the best-looking dame around, and Cousin Matt always could pick ’em!”
Sandra’s face heated, but the grin stayed. “There aren’t many ‘dames’ to choose from, but that’s starting to change. There are almost none where you’re going yet, but some will be along once they’ve been processed. There are plenty where Matt is now.”
“Maybe that ’s where we should go?” Mackey suggested hopefully.
Sandra laughed. “Maybe one of you, if you’re fit, but not all. Captain Lelaa might need someone with combat experience to advise her on air operations, even if our carrier aircraft are seaplanes.” She looked at the two pilots appraisingly. “And neither of you fly until you’ve got some meat back on your bones. That’s a medical order. Beyond that, if one of you feels up to the job, take it up with Captain Lelaa. The rest of you belong to Colonel Mallory!”
Orrin still seemed tired, but more engaged-far more so than during the conference. “Well of course I should go!” he said. “Matt Reddy’s family, after all.”
Mackey seemed philosophical. “Okay,” he said, “but there has to be a trade-off, if I go to this ‘Baalkpan’ place.”
“Sure,” said Sandra. “Good people, a relatively secure rear area to rest up, and a lot hotter aircraft!” She looked at Orrin. “And I hate to tell you, but Matt’s still going to be bossing you around!”
The next morning, the PB-2 flew over Maa-ni-la Bay when the purple-gray sky was marred only by an orange-pink slash. It rumbled over the water as if searching for a roost amid the haphazard cluster of masts and ships moored close in. Immense, seagoing Homes rested at anchor with their “wings” stowed diagonally across their decks like massive, snowy ridgelines, and Lemurians went about their morning chores aboard them. The two steam oilers that would accompany USS Maaka-Kakja east were jockeying for position at the fueling pier the carrier had abandoned during the night. They looked a lot like Allied frigates, but they weren’t as heavily armed and had broader beams.
Like the “Buzzard” she did resemble, with her fixed wingfloats that gave her a droop-winged appearance, the PB-2 lumbered slowly in, banked, and settled for a landing on the water short of the new pier dedicated to her visits. Line handlers awaited her approach as the pilot killed all but the center engine and maneuvered her expertly to a stop.
Sandra, Lawrence, and Irvin Laumer watched all this from the pier. Irvin was there to greet the tired passengers that crawled from the cramped waist of the plane. Most were “newies” from the Baalkpan Army-Navy Air Corps Training Center, and he’d take them to Maaka-Kakja . He didn’t have to be there, but the ship didn’t have a COFO yet. Besides, he liked to come down and look at the old S-19, moored nearby. She’d been his first command. There was just a skeleton crew aboard now, including Danny Porter and Sandy Whitcomb. Both had other jobs during the day, but they still slept on the boat. They’d accompany her to Baalkpan. Irvin knew the sub was a wreck, and her problems were almost insurmountable. Still, he couldn’t help thinking they’d need her someday.
Sandra was there to meet the PB-2’s copilot, or still more appropriately, her spotter/wireless operator who’d sent that he had a letter for her from Karen Letts, and after the traffic they’d begun picking up late the previous day, she felt compelled to get it herself. Lawrence came along simply because at some point, however briefly, Sandra might be by herself. She refused a protective detail, but he and a number of others had determined that nobody “important” ever be alone again. There was no mad “Company” warden in Maa-ni-la, but there were dissatisfied elements.
Tremendous activity was already underway at the waterfront. Troops had been crossing from Bataan all night and marching through the bustling shipyard district to bivouac on the plain beyond the city to prepare for embarkation. The predawn departure of the Maa-ni-la fishing fleet had caused some disorganization, but everything seemed back under control now. Mizuki Maru was still there, floating much higher in the water with the aid of shore-based pumps.
“Okay, dammit!” came a surly cry from within the passenger compartment of the plane. “I’m gettin ’ out! Quit pokin’ me!” A last, unexpected passenger crept carefully through the tiny hatch, and Sandra was surprised to
