Carnifex

My . . . well, you might call him my supercargo, Commodore Kurita, quoted it to me just days ago.'

'Tadeo Kurita?' the admiral asked.

'Yes, sir, that's him.'

The admiral whistled. 'He's still alive? Tough old bird. My father told me about Kurita, about him leading what was left of Yamato's Second Fleet in breaking free and running for home after they lost at the Battle of Kuantan. The old man said he'd never seen such seamanship or such guts.'

'I think that would pretty much describe Commodore Kurita, Admiral.'

Kamakura, Yamato, 8/6/467

An airship passed by gracefully overhead, bearing tourists who wanted to view the sacred cherry orchards from the vantage point of the sky. The cherry trees, or sakura, were in bloom, though a few petals were beginning to fall.

'Kurita advises patience,' said Saito to Yamagata, as they sat below, under the cherry trees. 'He says the pirates are being very coy and making good use of the considerable aid they receive from on high. He further advises that the ronin fleet will, in his opinion, produce good results with time.'

Yamagata said nothing for a while, his attention seemingly fixed on a cherry blossom making its leap into immortality. It fluttered and spun to the ground, joining there the very few which had chosen to die young, in the full bloom of glorious youth.

During the migration from the home islands of Old Earth, it had been impossible to carry fully grown trees. Instead, the settlers had taken along saplings, a few, seeds and some cuttings, which they had carefully nursed into growth. Even then, many—most—had not survived. These trees were descendants of those who had and were, like the Yamatans themselves, of remarkably hardy and tough stock. Raising the trees had been as high a priority as the growing of food, for without these reminders of both the beauty of life, as well as its ephemeral nature, the settlers had feared losing some part of their essence.

With a sigh, Yamagata said, 'The patience of the program's backers is not unlimited. We must have results, and soon. We lost another ship's crew yesterday. The Federated States Navy stood by and allowed it to happen because the pirates threatened to kill the crew if they were interfered with.'

'His Majesty still will not allow our fleet to intervene,' Saito said.

Yamagata grunted. 'It is the curse of those who allow others to be their primary line of defense. It is the curse of being insufficiently self reliant.'

'It is the curse of losing a war,' Saito corrected. 'Still, let us trust Kurita's judgment. It is not his fault we lost, last time. He will not permit us to lose again.'

Yamagata sighed. 'I am still not sure it was wise to tell Kurita about our special source of information. We haven't even told our own defense forces or the FSC.'

Saito clapped his colleague on the shoulder. 'Do not fear, friend. He will not divulge anything that cannot be disguised as coming from somewhere else.'

9/6/467 AC, BdL Dos Lindas, Xamar Coast

A kimono-wearing and tabi- and tatami-shod Kurita stared down at the display showing the deployment of the ships of the task force around the carrier. His normal serene smile was missing, which caused Fosa to infer that something with his deployment was drastically wrong. He asked as much.

Kurita answered. 'Yes, I am concerned, Captain-san. No matter that the Ironsides Task Force may warn you of the approach of danger. I assure you that before they can act, they will have to get permission from the FSN or even the Executive Mansion in Hamilton. By the time they are allowed to, it will probably be too late.'

'You are thinking of Farsian submarines, Commodore?' Fosa asked.

The Yamatan nodded, then said, 'I would not expect them soon, certainly not until we begin to show some success. But I would expect them. It is better to be ready, always. And we must also consider the possibility of suicidal dive bombers.'

Fosa had considered that threat when outfitting the ship. Indeed, the mix of air defense guns and missiles aboard the Dos Lindas was very powerful for that reason; that, and the possibility of suicidal boats. The task force had more light cannon and heavy machine gun power than the entire Ironsides Battle Group.

His own experience of naval warfare was . . . well, actually it wasn't. The Commodore, on the other hand, had more real experience than the entire crew of the Ironsides and all its escorts, combined. He'd listen to Kurita's advice, he decided.

'Order the escorts to increase dispersion from the carrier to twelve miles,' Fosa told the radio watch.

Kurita's serene smile returned.

'How goes it with shipping aboard the patrol boats?' he asked.

'They're already on the deck of the transport,' Fosa answered.

'It's going to be a big surprise, you know, when the Xamaris attempt to take another boat under the nose of the FSN and discover that there's someone else there not so constrained by progressive rules of engagement.' Kurita gave a slight chuckle then glanced over at the meteorology chart.

'Yes, Commodore, the storm is coming along nicely. By this time

tomorrow we will be fighting it. The cargo ship carrying the patrol boats, the BdL Harpy Eagle, will broadcast that it is in trouble, but we shall have our own troubles. The mighty FSS Ironsides will ride to the rescue. When the storm clears, the Harpy will be nicely alongside the Ironsides with the boats hauled up and undercover of the flight deck. And then we wait, but not for long.'

'Indeed, hopefully not for long, Captain-san. My . . . principles are growing anxious for some indicator of success.'

* * *

The next day's morning sky was red and angry. By noon it had turned black and forbidding. By nightfall the smaller ships of the flotilla were fighting for their lives amidst thirty and forty foot waves that threatened to swamp them with each buffeting. Partly from the wind and waves, and partly to avoid ramming each other in the murk, the ships scattered.

Almost, almost, the Harpy was not pretending when it made the call to Ironsides that she was in trouble. By the time the FSN carrier arrived the Harpy's hull and decks were groaning under the strain, half the crew puking down below decks and most of the rest puking above.

Ironsides took a position into the wind from the smaller cargo ship, placing it in the lee and protecting it to some extent from the buffeting. Harpy's captain went below to bid farewell to the crews of the patrol boats. He knew it might be a last farewell.

* * *

Chief Warrant Officer Pedraz, commanding the Santisima Trinidad, looked out at the white-tipped, green-hued hell separating the two ships and thought, not for the first time, Mama never told me there'd be days like these.

If he hadn't been so brown Pedraz would have been white. Even as it was, he had turned relatively pale with fear. His kind of boat was never intended to sail in this kind of weather. And then . . . but he really didn't want to think about the risks of getting away from the Harpy and close to the Ironsides. Most especially did he not want to think about hooking up to and being hauled up by the huge supercarrier.

The Harpy's captain walked up and placed a hand on Pedraz's broad shoulder. 'Are you ready, Chief?'

Exhaling, Pedraz nodded that he was.

'No time like the present then. Take advantage of the protection Ironsides is offering while we can.'

Gulping, Pedraz nodded and shouted for the deck crew to raise and lower the Trinidad over the side. As the lines began to tighten, Pedraz scrambled aboard.

The warrant and the captain had gone over this at length. If there were no crew aboard, it would be long minutes before the Trinidad could get away from the potentially crushing hull of the Harpy. If the crew was aboard and something went wrong with the lowering, they might all be killed. Since mission had priority . . .

The wind dropped off radically as soon as the boat was sheltered in the Harpy's lee. Still, Harpy rocked abruptly, causing