splash and a crazy corkscrew of foam. Seconds later, a large, steamy bubble exploded on the surface close enough to rock the second boat and nearly toss several of the observers into the bay.
“Wow,” Ronson gushed, and Bernie rounded on him.
“I’d say that one went hot, crooked, and abnormal as hell,” Dennis quipped, “but between it and the first, it looks like you’re circlin’ the right tree, Mr. Sandison!”
Bernie spun to face Silva, enraged and embarrassed, but when he didn’t see the mocking expression he’d expected, he took a breath.
“He’s right,” Ronson said, waving toward the standing, cheering spectators. “And everybody knows it but you! Sure, it’s not perfect. Mine sure wasn’t! But it did work… mostly. And you’ll figure out what didn’t.” He grinned and pointed at the torpedo mount, smoke still hazing the third tube. “Just think: by the time the Skipper gets back with Walker, we can put that back on her-and stick fish in it too!”
CHAPTER 17
The Torpedo Day festivities at an end, all those in charge of the various divisions who’d participated joined Adar and most of the Allied high command at long banquet tables beneath a colorful pavilion rigged considerably back from the old seaplane ramp. The spectators dispersed rapidly as the usual afternoon showers threatened, and guards were posted to keep the curious from disturbing the planned debriefing discussion.
Silva and Lawrence sat near Bernie, but a little to themselves, with Silva suddenly unsure he was supposed to be there. The gathering had a kind of “no enlisted men allowed” air to it, which was very unusual in Baalkpan, but he’d simply followed Mr. Sandison, Ronson, and Abel Cook when they made their way over, and they didn’t object. Lawrence had followed him and probably never noticed the odd atmosphere. Risa sat with a group of ’Cat Marine officers and other infantry types. Something was up, Dennis decided. Something besides the debrief, and he’d hang around until he found out what it was or somebody ran him off.
Adar, wearing a grin, stood near the head of the central table, and his body language displayed pleasure as he spoke briefly with Alan Letts, Steve Riggs, Bernie, Ronson, and a late-arriving Ben Mallory. But Silva knew Adar well enough to tell when the dignified Lemurian was distracted by weighty matters. He controlled his blinking well, but his tail betrayed a measure of agitation. Ben’s appearance with a couple other guys Dennis didn’t know- including an army sergeant in grease-darkened coveralls that made him more comfortable about being there- seemed to be the signal to begin. A few moments later, Alan stood beside Adar.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Alan began, nodding at a small group of ex-pat Impie women in Navy dress who were probably ensigns or lieutenants in his new logistics division. Sitting with them was Alan’s wife, Karen, in her surgeon commander uniform. She didn’t have her new daughter, Allison Verdia, with her, and Dennis realized he hadn’t even seen the little scudder yet.
“We have a lot to go over, some good… and some not so much,” Letts said, confirming Silva’s suspicions. “We’ll get right to it. First I want to say how pleased I am at the results of the day’s testing, not only from a technical standpoint, but from the obvious good it did for the many spectators to see the results of their labor and sacrifice.” He turned to Adar. “Mr. Chairman, would you like to speak to that point before we proceed?”
“Absolutely,” Adar said. “I am told that not all the experiments resulted in absolute satisfaction for those who performed them, but with a few small exceptions, that was not abundantly clear to those watching. What was clear is that great progress has been made toward developing modern weapons of all types and principles that represent profound advances beyond what has already been achieved.” He waved a hand. “If some few of those weapons still require further development, none consider them failures. I emphatically do not, and I bear no doubt they will soon be perfected.” He looked directly at Bernie and smiled, blinking reassurance. “Your experimental ordnance division has made great strides, Mr. Saan-dison. I can scarcely believe it. You demonstrated new small arms, naval artillery, and three varieties of torpedoes today! All were successful, or at least succeeded magnificently in demonstrating what few defects remain to be resolved. You have my utmost appreciation and thanks, sir!”
Bernie stood. “Ah, thanks, Mr. Chairman. I appreciate it, and so will my division.”
Adar turned to Ben Mallory. “Colonel, I am astounded. Not only are there now eighteen fully operational ‘pee-forties’ ready for combat in all respects, but you have a sufficient pool of experienced aviators and ground persons to operate and maintain them-wherever they might be employed.”
Ben stood and looked around with a mixture of self-consciousness and lingering irritation. Dennis noted that Pam Cross was seated beside the airman, and wondered why his gut seemed to twist.
“Yes, sir. We’ve got eighteen Warhawks ready to go. The two we bent in training will soon be ready to fly again, one with those Jap floats”-he shook his head-“which gives us a P-Forty floatplane, of all things. The other thrashed its gear and prop, but we’ve got plenty of propeller blades. The gear was ruined, and instead of replacing it from salvage, we’re reconfiguring it as a fixed-gear, two-seat trainer.” He paused. “It’s probably a miracle, but only three of the twenty-four ships we made airworthy have been totaled. One went down in the jungle north of the city-we still don’t know why. Another ground looped and landed on its back. Mack’s ship was the only one lost in combat-if you count stepping in a bomb crater when he came in for a landing as a combat loss. As you know, all three of those resulted in fatalities.”
Adar nodded solemnly. “I mourn their loss as you do,” he said. “They watch us now from the Heavens they so briefly touched in this life!” He gazed at the awning above for a moment amid the murmured agreement before looking back at Ben. “The new planes are very impressive,” he said, changing the subject. Ben brightened.
“Yes, sir!” He grinned, justifiably proud. “I like ’em! They’re not as versatile as ‘Nancys’-they can’t carry a bomb load to speak of even with the guns removed, and they can’t land on the water-but as dedicated pursuit ships, they’re swell! They’ll be able to take off and land on a carrier or grass strip in a heartbeat. They’re fast and maneuverable, and don’t use much gas. Even with the current Blitzer Bugs, they can cut up a Grik zep and strafe the enemy on the ground. Mr. Sandison’s working on more powerful weapons to hang on ’em and that’ll make ’em even better. They’ll be good recon planes too, when we get some decent, lightweight, pilot-usable transmitters installed.”
“Most impressive,” Alan echoed dryly, “especially when somebody who probably shouldn’t be risking his neck in such a way puts them through their paces.”
Ben stiffened. “What’s that supposed to mean? The Mosquito Hawks are as safe as we can make ’em. The air-cooled radial has almost nothing to go wrong with it, and pound for pound they’re even stronger than ‘Nancys.’ Don’t forget, I practically learned to fly in our Peashooters.” He glanced around. “Uh, very similar planes from our world,” he explained. “Anyway, I’m a lot more familiar with the design, and we’ve been testing ’em east of Baalkpan for the last two weeks.” He looked back at Letts. “Besides, nobody flies anything I’m afraid to fly, so yeah, I’ve pushed ’em around a little!” He shrugged. “But not today. For your information, this morning’s demonstration was performed by Lieutenant Conrad Diebel, formerly of the Dutch Air Corps, not me.” He nodded at the blond man seated nearby. “I was sedately coasting around in one of the P-Forties!”
“Braa-vo, Lieutenant Diebel!” Adar said. “A most exciting display! I presume you are settling in well… after all?”
Diebel, wearing an aging but still yellow-violet shiner, stood. “Yes, Mr. Chairman,” he said with somewhat rueful irony and a glance at the NCO in coveralls. “I have been… disabused of any misconceptions I may have harbored regarding the situation here. I am happy to serve.”
“Excellent,” Adar said happily. He looked back at Ben. “How many Mosquito Hawks are complete and how soon can we deploy them?”
“We’ve got six total, and four combat ready. The guys stood two of ’em on their nose, but nobody was hurt. They’re really light and landing will take some getting used to, especially since most of the new pilots are out of ‘Nancys.’ All they’ve ever landed on is water. Based on performance, I took the liberty of pulling the trigger on production, so they should roll out pretty fast. We really need rubber, though, for tires. We get that”-he paused, considering-“we can have ten a week in two weeks, and twenty a week in a month.”
“That’s much faster than ‘Naan-cee’ production,” Adar observed. “You do not mean to cut back on that, do you? As you say, ‘Naan-cees’ are versatile and popular with the Allied Homes-and we have promised many to the Imperials.”
“We don’t have to cut anything, sir, though I think we should concentrate more on the big ‘Clippers’ here in
