“Okay,” Ben said, still standing, “maybe that even makes some sense. Why don’t we encourage everybody to write journals or something?” He paused. “But what do you want to do right now?”
“We must immediately reinforce First Fleet with all air and sea assets at our disposal. As I hear so often, we know nothing of the fleet the Grik and their Japanese allies have constructed. The Alliance has made great strides since last the two forces met. We must presume the enemy has done the same.” He looked at Alan. “I suggest considerable thought be given toward how to counter naval forces even more powerful than our own.”
“As you may have noticed today, we’ve already given that a lot of thought,” Letts said a little stiffly. “And Lieutenant Monk says Santa Catalina is about ready for sea.” Alan personally believed the newly “protected cruiser” could stand up to anything the Grik could dish out. Besides, Herring’s manner was finally starting to rub him a little raw as well.
“Of course.”
“So,” Ben asked, “by ‘all assets,’ do you mean all my modern birds too?”
“That is what I recommend. You demonstrated today that the new domestically produced aircraft should soon be sufficient to defend the city from any further air raids. I consider those unlikely at present, based on… what little real intelligence we have received from the west. In addition, Mr. Letts assures me that small cargos of rubber are on their way as we speak. They should be sufficient to finish a large number of… Mosquito Hawks.”
Ben looked at Alan and Adar. “If all my P-Forties are going, I’m going too,” he stated forcefully.
Alan shrugged, expression troubled. “I’ll update the movement order and start the wheels rolling to increase the planned support.”
Silva eased over and whispered in Bernie’s ear. “Sounds like the whole damn war’s headin’ west for now. Any chance I can slip outta my little campin’ trip?”
Bernie shook his head. “If I have to stay here, you still have to follow your orders too. The Skipper’s orders.”
“Okay,” Dennis agreed, nodding at Herring. “But you keep an eye on that guy. Mr. Letts stood up to him, but I think he’s a little brass-blind, if you know what I mean. I ain’t famous for my noodle, but I’ve seen a ambitious politician or two on the stump and in the Navy both.”
CHAPTER 18
Eastern reaches of the Fil-pin Sea
Three days out of Respite
March 16, 1944
The honeymoon was over-in every respect. USS Walker, DD-163, was steaming at twenty-five knots on all three remaining boilers beneath puffy clouds and a dazzling sun. The sea was mild and there would be little breeze if not for the ship’s speed, which kept the temperature bearable, at least above deck. Tabby had reported that it was nearing 130 degrees in the firerooms, and Matt had no idea how the furry cats could stand it. They took frequent breaks, drank a lot of water, and shed a lot, of course. Spanky’s allergies wouldn’t even allow him to go down there right now.
Matt sat in his chair, trying not to brood. His time with Sandra had been amazing, and his heart still quickened at the thought of her. He hadn’t believed it was possible to feel such joy, even now while he tried to hide it, and his memories of the time they’d had were still glowing fresh. But then upon returning to the ship, he’d finally been briefed on all he’d missed. The crew, his officers, his friends had all conspired to keep him ignorant of the various developments; the battles in India, the situation in the east, even the attacks on Princess Rebecca and her family. It was still unknown if Rebecca was an orphan or not. A few survivors had been found in the rubble of the directors’ building, but hope was beginning to wane. And all that time, while all those momentous events were unfolding, he’d remained blissfully unaware.
He’d actually ranted when he heard. He felt guilty that he’d been so happy while everything everywhere seemed to be falling apart, and he took it out on Spanky and the Bosun more than anyone. They’d been most responsible for keeping him informed, and they’d consciously decided not to. He trusted the people on the scene, but he was profoundly frustrated that he and his ship were so remote from everything that had occurred, thousands of miles from anywhere they could have been of assistance to anyone. That was bad enough. But by keeping him incommunicado, he hadn’t been involved at all! Spanky had assured him that if anything had come up that really needed his input or permission, he would have been told, but that didn’t make him feel any better-or better inclined toward the conspirators.
Spanky had been somewhat contrite but defiant that he’d done the right thing. Matt had needed a real “liberty” more than anyone on the ship, he’d argued, particularly under the circumstances. And what could he, or any of them, have really done? Walker couldn’t go anywhere until her stopgap repairs were complete. She damn sure couldn’t tangle with Hidoiame until then! She needed the rest at least as much as her skipper. Even now, neither, in his view, was in top shape. Walker still needed a real yard and a dry dock. The snipes were back to using “baling wire and gum” to keep her at twenty-five knots!
Chief Gray had listened to the harangue in silence, then finally shrugged.
“So, bust me back to third class,” he’d growled defiantly. “Wouldn’t be the first time, and maybe I’d have more to do. Boats Bashear’s shaping into a good chief bosun, and mostly I just twiddle my thumbs.”
Matt rounded on him then and promptly made him the assistant damage control officer. Damage control was the first officer’s job, but in addition to his other duties, Norm was so busy teaching navigation to the ’Cat QMs (and anyone else who cared to sit in on the arguably heretical-to some-sessions), that he’d been stretched by teaching and running the essential damage-control drills. If anybody knew every aspect of damage control, Chief Gray did.
Matt felt a little better now, sitting in his chair and sipping Juan’s monkey joe, but he couldn’t help brooding over the fact that he-and Walker — were vast, unsympathetic oceans away from anywhere he wished they were. The one consolation was that Walker was finally racing inexorably closer to one place she needed to be, however. Nancys from PatWing 7, newly stationed at Yokohama, had confirmed both Hidoiame and her tanker were on the move at last, apparently searching for a new nest, as they’d predicted. They’d been seen by the light of last night’s moon and their wildly phosphorescent wakes, steaming at about eight knots south-southwest toward the Korea Strait. Phosphorescent wakes, caused by blooming plankton and other tiny creatures, were not new to Matt’s human destroyermen, even if the brilliantly vivid and varying colors on this world were. Lemurians were familiar with the occasional and somewhat regional phenomenon as well, but they’d only recently seen the intensity evoked by the higher speeds and churning screws of modern ships, particularly from the air. The wakes made the enemy easy to spot, and the diminishing, miles-long trails led almost magically to the ships that left them. Such a small, unexpected bonus now gave Matt a huge advantage over Hidoiame, at least at night, and he hoped the enemy hadn’t recognized it.
He suspected that the murderers would avoid the Fil-pin Lands, knowing by now they had enemies there. That left a possible run across the Yellow Sea, maybe to Tsingtao or somewhere in that vicinity, but Matt doubted it. A run down the coast of China would put them briefly closer to the Fil-pin Lands, but ultimately beyond what they must think was the center of activity for these new enemies of theirs. They couldn’t have any idea of the true scope of the Alliance… could they?
Hidoiame ’s tanker was the key. If she limited the Japanese destroyer to eight knots, Matt could drive Walker at her best possible, groaning speed, and refuel at Chinakru’s Samaar, where he also expected Saan-Kakja to have another Nancy available for him. With his own scout plane, and those provided by the patrol wings on Formosa and in the Fil-pin-Lands, he hoped to catch Hidoiame in the vicinity of the Formosa Strait.
“Permission to come on the bridge?” came a very welcome voice behind him. Sandra had never asked permission before, but things were… different now.
“Um, sure,” said Chief Quartermaster Patrick “Paddy” Rosen, with a quick glance at Captain Reddy. He had the deck and the conn. “I mean, permission granted.” The redheaded kid had been S-19’s quartermaster and had assumed the chief’s spot on Walker when Norm became first lieutenant. He was a good navigator, and nearly as good a teacher as Norm.
Matt turned and smiled. Sandra couldn’t help but brighten his mood. He raised an eyebrow when he saw
