in the west, and while the Dom Navy might be on its heels for now, we haven’t heard a peep from the Grik Navy in a while. They build fast, Your Majesty!”
“You can say that again, Skipper!” Spanky muttered, several places down. Tabby sat beside him-in a real uniform, thank God-and as an officer, it was appropriate she be present. None of Walker ’s destroyermen doubted why she’d chosen to sit next to Spanky, however. “About the refit, I mean,” he added. “And things are heating up. I almost popped my cork when we got word about the zeppelins! I mean, well… shit!”
Matt nodded grimly. What Spanky didn’t elaborate on was the rest of their reaction when they “got the word.” The Ceylon operation was a success, but they’d had it almost easy out here compared to First Fleet. Humfra-Dar, Tolson, Revenge, Geran-Eras, Pruit Barry, Clancy, Jamie Miller-not to mention the thousands of soldiers, sailors, and Marines the campaign cost-and there was that “new” Grik general Rolak’s pet Grik had learned about, questioning the survivors at Colombo… Walker needed to go home for a lot of reasons.
“I mean to escort Salaama-Na as far as an island we call ‘Wake,’” he said. “I can’t remember what your charts call it. We need another comm relay. After that, I may have another short stop to make, but ultimately”-he looked fondly at Chack-“ Colonel -Bosun’s Mate Chack-Sab-At deserves to go home-and on to fight the Grik. I’m… sure he’s been sorely missed.”
Matt didn’t notice, but Sandra saw Selass sink down slightly in her seat. She pursed her lips, sad for her friend and her hopeless love. She cut her eyes at Matt. “And what’s this ‘short stop’?” she asked, suspecting he meant to visit the Great South Island “on the way” home. It was a trip Courtney had long been pressing. There were many potential allies there-and just as many wonders for Mr. Bradford to explore. Or maybe he wanted to chase that Japanese destroyer.
“Just a minute,” Matt asked her, looking at Shinya. “Do you mean you won’t take the job if Chack’s not with you?”
Shinya blinked. “What? Oh! Of course I’ll take the job! I thought that went without saying! I just wanted Chack along, that’s all.” He paused. “I should take as many Imperial troops as possible, of course, and I’d like to recruit some of these ‘colonial scouts.’ I do think it’s time a few Imperial troops went west, however,” he prompted. “Our Lemurian allies have given much on this front.”
Gerald nodded gravely. “Your point is well taken, General. Our ‘Army’ is growing quickly, but it’s still small. Do you think a regiment would suffice for now?”
“Yeah, under the circumstances,” Matt said. “Our friends know you’re stretched. A regiment now, with a promise of more, would be sufficient and appreciated. Our losses in Ceylon have been heavy.”
“Have you anyone in mind to command this force, Colonel Chack?” the Governor-Emperor asked.
“Ah, yes, sir. Majors Blair and Jindal.”
Gerald laughed, looking at the two men in question. “Blast it, you can’t have them both! I’ve just relieved half the officer corps of the entire Imperial Marines! Useless bureaucrats! Hmm. Major Blair’s already faced these Grik of yours, but Major Jindal could use the experience, and perhaps your tutelage? I shall consider it.”
“What ‘little trip’? ” Sandra insisted again.
Matt took a deep breath and looked at her. He’d been hoping for a better, private time, but those were likely to be rare in the few days he planned to tarry in Scapa Flow. He rubbed his forehead and glanced around the table at the people there, all friends, most practically family in a sense. “Well, I thought a little vacation might be in order, just a few days. I know this place called Respite Island. Good people, beautiful weather, lots of secluded places you can actually swim…”
“What kind of vacation, Captain Reddy?” Sandra sternly pressed, and Matt looked around again, almost helplessly this time. He saw the grinning faces and knew he was blushing. He was in hell. “Oh, well. .. I don’t know. The… honeymoon kind, I guess,” he finally mumbled.
Sandra was struck speechless. Not as much by the implication of what he’d said, but by seeing Captain Matthew Reddy, honored hero, fearless warrior, afflicted with the timidity of a schoolboy. “Taking something for granted, aren’t you?” she finally managed, and immediately cursed herself. What kind of dope am I?
“No, he ain’t, Miss Lieutenant-Minister Tucker, with all due respect!” boomed a voice nearby. She spun in her seat and saw Dennis Silva leaning on one of the porch columns, a mug of beer in one hand, the bent barrel of the Doom Whomper in the other. It was all he’d managed to salvage of his precious weapon from the shattered remains of the wheelwright’s shop, and he’d moped around with the thing ever sice, waving it like a bloody shirt or using it to menace Dom prisoners. Now he was back to form. Lawrence peered out from behind him, crest rising in a kind of cringe. The amused tension around the table broke and erupted into laughter.
“Not about you, anyway,” Silva added. “There’s one small book-keepin’ chore to settle first, though. Since I ain’t yet been ree-leeved o’ watchin out for you an’ the Munchkin princess”-he glared at the child-“who says I’m stuck pertectin’ her for life -dooty permittin’. I’m still sorta yer guardians, so to speak. The way I figger it, Skipper’s either gotta let me off the hook or ask my blessin’!”
“Ask my blessin’!” Petey demanded insistently, and Gray had had enough.
“Silva! Ain’t you got any decency or respect? Even a sliver? You’re the most outrageous, immoral, degenerate…!”
“Don’t forget ‘debauched’!” Courtney added gleefully.
“Yeah, that too. And… other stuff! Can’t you even let the Skipper and his dame have a tender, private moment without stickin’ yourself in it, damn you?”
Silva gestured around, grinning. “Ain’t exactly private, Bosun, and I don’t think he wanted it to be, deep down. He thinks he needs our permission to be happy, you big rotten-hearted toad!”
Gray blinked and looked at Matt, who sat staring into Sandra’s eyes.
Finally, Matt looked around one last time and stood in the sudden, total silence. “You’re right, Silva,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “You’re right,” he repeated more normally. “Even now, I think my crew deserves a say. Partly because if I marry her, it’s not as if she can accompany us on extended cruises anymore, and her fine advice and counsel have been invaluable in the past.” He looked down at Sandra. “That’s what bugs me most, I think. As this war drags on, I’ll probably have even less time with you if we…” He stopped, seeing her feelings reflected in her damp eyes. “Chief Gunner’s Mate Silva,” he enunciated clearly. “Request permission to marry Lieutenant Sandra Tucker!”
Amazingly, Silva’s almost-taunting grin re-formed itself into as gentle a smile as his battered face could manage. “Permission granted, Skipper.”
“Very well. You stand relieved.”
Silva dropped his mug and snapped a sharp salute. “Aye, aye, sir. I stand relieved.”
Sandra stood beside Matt as the applause began, and feet stamped the porch beneath the table. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked.
“Aren’t you?”
She hugged him. “Of course,” she whispered into his chest.
“Good, because this is the only thing I’ve really wanted, for myself, for the better part of the last two years. Sure I’m sure.”
EPILOGUE
The “Sea of Jaapan”
Mizuki Maru plodded slowly north by east into the cold sea and biting wind northwest of what should have been Kyushu. “Lord” Commander Sato Okada grimly scanned the sea ahead with the binoculars they’d found on the ship during her refit at Maa-ni-la. Occasionally, his gaze swept east, despite his efforts tovent it, and he viewed the unfamiliar coastline of his homeland with a sense of loss and betrayal. He’d come to grips with the “way things were” and accomplished great things, he thought, in the “shogunate” he’d established. There’d been few illusions of democracy, aside from the willingness of other communities to join, but he thought he’d set up a system whereby the peoples there might be ruled in a benevolent way. With that rule came responsibilities, however, and now he was hunting members of his own race for what they’d done to the Lemurians who’d adopted him-and placed themselves under his protection. Whatever national commonality he’d once shared with the people, the animals, who’d perpetrated the massacre near Yokohama, was more than eclipsed by the atrocity they’d committed-and his
