of himself and the scene he viewed, a corner of Shinya’s mouth quirked upward, and he turned. Dennis Silva stood grinning at him, Lawrence by his side. Both were filthy, and Silva had an ugly wound on his face.
“You have contrived to cheat death once more, I see,” Shinya said.
“Good to see you too, Colonel. I’m fine. Thanks for askin’.” Silva gestured around. “You missed a good fight.” He paused. “In the city the other night, I mean. This was just killin’.”
“I heard you had a hand in that… again.”
Silva waved modestly and kicked a bronze gun tube, half-buried. “Shucks, it was nothin’.” His expression turned serious. “You musta seen Chack?” Shinya nodded. “Good. He was lookin’ for you.” The grin returned. “You mighta missed the fight, but I sure was glad to see you come marchin’ across that field, yonder. How’d you get there, and so damn fast?”
“A quite dreadful march, I assure you,” Shinya said ruefully. “And still too late.”
“Don’t worry. There’ll be plenty more fights in this war, and you can’t miss ’em all! I’ve decided to retire from the battle-winnin’ business. Folks are startin’ to whisper that maybe I’m hoggin’ all the glory.” Silva shook his head. “Spread the joy, I always say.”
Shinya chuckled. “If I had not spent so much time around you, and Americans in general, I might think you were serious.” It was Shinya’s turn to shake his head. “You will never retire-and you will never die
… my friend. The day may come when you no longer breathe or live among us, but you will never die.”
For a moment, Dennis said nothing. Suddenly, he stuck out a grimy paw. “Say, did you just call me ‘my friend’?”
“I did.”
“Didja mean it?”
Shinya took the offered hand. “Yes. Yes I did, if you’ve no objection.”
CHAPTER 21
Off “Monterey” Bay
USS Walker and her “squadron” of three paddle frigates and a sloop exchanged signals and rendezvoused with Mertz, Tindal, Simms, Achilles, and the two practically “clipper” rigged oilers sixty miles offshore beneath a warm, benevolent sky, upon a placid sea. Commander Grimsley of Achilles had been acclaimed commodore of the “detached” Second Fleet squadron by the ’Cat captains on the other ships due to his knowledge of the waters. Besides, Jenks’s former exec was well liked and respected-and he’d definitely seen more action. He was also smart enough to grasp the qualitative differences between his ship and those of the “Amer-i-caan” ’Cats, and they’d discussed tactics based on those strengths and weaknesses many times during the long voyage.
Walker made a beeline for the oilers like a hungry wolf pup to a teat, and hoses were rigged across and pumps engaged to fill her grumbling bunkers. At Matt’s orders, the frigates took their turns at the other oiler. They probably had sufficient fuel, having topped off a few days earlier, but like any destroyer skipper, Matt remained obsessive about fuel-particularly when they were this far from home. Achilles could replenish her coal bunkers locally, and the oilers retained a sufficient reserve to see the rest of them all back to the Isles, but what if something happened to the oilers?
While fueling was underway, the air between the gathered ships virtually sizzled with messages, plans, and reports. Matt and Walker learned of the opening stages of the campaigns for Ceylon and New Ireland, at least to the extent they’d progressed before distance interfered with communications. They also received the love and best wishes of certain persons attached to TF Maaka-Kakja, via Respite to Scapa Flow.
Matt sat in his chair in Walker ’s pilothouse, gazing sightlessly out the windows at the fo’c’sle. Sandra never strayed far from his mind, and he yearned to speak to her, see her, hold her in his arms. Absence doesn’t always really make the heart grow fonder, but in his case, it certainly did… But at the same time, he knew a crossroads had been reached. The “Dame Famine” was slowly fading, and the primary obstacle to their “relationship” had finally, essentially passed. But that very relationship had left a kind of scar, a fundamental wound that was difficult to understand or explain. They’d suppressed their love, hidden it, then downplayed it so long, it had become a damaged, inconvenient thing, and as much as it had been a source of strength to them both, it had also harmed them in subtle ways. It had been so long, and so much had happened to them both since they’d seen each other, he knew they’d both changed.
A heat flashed across his shoulders and up and down his back. He’d made a fateful decision regarding that relationship; one he might regret for any number of reasons, maybe for the rest of his life. But things simply couldn’t go on as they had-for both their sakes. Sandra might not agree, and she’d undoubtedly suffer either way, maybe even more than he would, but he’d made up his mind. Ultimately, the choice would be hers as well, of course. She’d already suffered, and she’d invested so much of herself into what they had, he would not force his decision on her, but for himself, he knew it had to be. He sighed.
“Signal the fleet,” he said quietly. “All ships will advance at ten knots in line abreast on a course of one, two, five degrees. Ten-thousand-yard intervals. Tindal will screen to landward, Mertz to sealy. “All Double all lookouts, report any and all sightings. When Tindal opens Monterey Bay, she’ll enter in company with Achilles and destroy all enemy shipping. No boarding, just stand off and sink ’em unless they strike their colors. Direct those that choose to surrender to drive their ships hard aground; we don’t have time to fool with them. Tindal and Achilles will then rejoin the fleet, and if contact hasn’t already been made with the enemy, we’ll resume our advance to meet him.” He rubbed the young stubble on his chin, suddenly missing Juan. “Tabasco” was a fine steward, but it had taken Matt a long time to let Juan shave him. Tabasco wasn’t ready yet, and he was back to performing the chore himself. Despite his terrible coffee, Juan had spoiled him badly.
“Make sure all ships confirm receipt.” He looked around at the faces on the bridge, saw their surprised blinking or arched eyebrows, and wondered if his voice had sounded as normal as he’d thought. “All ahead one- third, if you please.”
“Sea’s getting up a little, Skipper,” Spanky observed unnecessarily, coming on the bridge at 0400 with the morning watch. “Even ’Cat’s’ll have a hell of a time seeing anything out there with this overcast.”
“They know what to look for. There are-were-steamers with the Dom fleet. They’ll be throwing sparks.”
Spanky grunted. “Like ‘our’ Imperials? Hell. It looks like the Fourth o’ July out there. Wish they’d go to oil.”
“I’m sure they will over time,” Matt replied absently.
Spanky looked at him with concern. “Did you get any sleep?
Matt grinned. “No, and neither did Tabasco, I’m afraid. He makes better coffee than Juan, at least.”
“Poor devil,” Spanky clucked. “He needs to learn to stand up to that grubby bastard Lanier. Juan knew how to do that! I saw Tabasco down in the galley, building sandwiches for the bridge watch, and Earl was giving him fits. One of these days, one of his ‘little monkey’ mess attendants is gonna beat the hell out of him-and he’ll probably wonder why! If I see it, I won’t say a word unless they’re killing him. Earl’s a turd, but he can cook. I can’t choke down ’Cat food. Too spicy.”
Matt chuckled. “You’d better encourage some of those mess attendants to learn to cook something you can eat, besides sandwiches. One of these days, Earl’s liable to catch something over the side that’ll pull him over and eat him! Did you see what he caught just while we were tied up at Saint Francis?”
Earl Lanier was a fiend for fishing-and fish-and he’d sampled the denizens of nearly every port they’d touched. Just about anyone would’ve eaten many of the things he caught, but sometimes he brought things aboard that nobody even wanted to know were in the water. A couple of times, he had nearly been snatched into the sea.
“Yeah… he’s not going to eat that, is he?”
Matt shrugged.
“Aggh! Damn thing looked like an inside-out squid stickin’ out of a boot… with pinchers!” He yawned. “What’s the dope on Achilles and Tindal?”
“They’re coming back out. They got eleven transports. Eight chose to beach. Not as many as Reynolds reported seeing before… we lost contact. A good haul, but I wonder where the others went?”
“Home? Maybe to get more troops?”
“Maybe.”
