were plenty of nuisance issues he already knew about, and Tabby would dutifully recite each one if she thought that’s what he wanted.
“Nothing new not already in report,” Tabby said. “I’ll keep screws turnin’ as long as you keep holes outta my spaces!”
Matt chuckled. “I’ll do my best.”
“Uh,” Tabby paused. “Spanky have the deck?”
“He does.”
“He on aft deckhouse when we fight? On auxiliary conn?”
“That’s right.”
“You… you tell him I ask he be careful?”
“I sure will, Lieutenant,” Matt said. “Carry on.”
“Yes, indeed,” Sandra said cheerfully as they moved aft. “And Mr. Gray is worried about his stalker!”
“Damn it,” Matt muttered. “Nothing I can do about it, but this is exactly the sort of thing that proves that women-females of any sort-just don’t belong on warships!”
“Of course we don’t,” Sandra soothed with a grin. Matt rolled his eyes.
The sea remained just as vigorous when they came on deck through the forward hatch of the aft deckhouse. Everywhere they’d been, they’d stopped a moment and asked a question or passed an encouraging word. The 25 mm mounts were manned by wet ’Cats and men. The ship always took a lot of water across the deck here. Matt waved at the crews when they stood from behind the shelter of the steel tubs. Jeek and Chief Gunner’s Mate Paul Stites met them at the galley beneath the amidships deckhouse.
“I was looking for you, Chief Jeek,” Matt said, blowing misted seawater off his lips.
“Cap-i-taan?”
“If that is Hidoiame up ahead, we’ll likely have to have the ‘Nancy’ over the side.”
Jeek nodded sadly. “We just got her too.”
“I know, and I hate it. But the last thing we need is a burning plane on deck.”
“Ay, ay, sur.”
Matt turned to Stites. “What have you got?”
“Uh, yes, sir. Two things. First, Mr. Campeti has arrested Lanier.”
“ Arrested? My God, what’s he done now?”
“Well, most of the mess attendants and such are shell handlers and on gun’s crews when we go to battle stations…”
“So?”
“Lanier wouldn’t turn half a dozen of ’em loose until they stowed his damn Coke machine. He’s done it before, and the fellas are always late to their stations, but Campeti’s sick of Gunnery always bein’ the last to report-and him and Lanier got into it. Lanier said his machine was more important than any damn gun, and when Campeti said it was a useless piece of…” Stites glanced at Sandra. “Anyway, Lanier took a swing.”
“A swing?”
“Yes, sir. I saw it myself. Course, it was kinda slow and Mr. Campeti dodged it fine-but there was a lot of weight behind that punch and Lanier sorta capsized.”
“Was he hurt?”
“No, sir, but he landed on Juan, uh, Mr. Marcos, and snapped off that wood leg of his. That’s why there’s a problem.”
“Okay.”
“Well, the fellas’ll need fed before we go into action”-Matt always insisted on that, and Stites continued-“and since Juan’s in dry dock, he can’t run the galley-”
“So Campeti can’t clap Lanier in irons like he deserves,” Matt finished.
“Yes, sir-I mean, no, sir.”
“I see.”
In an odd way, Matt was actually enjoying this. Once again, he might soon be responsible for all their lives, but this… complaint harked back to a simpler time, before the war here, before the Squall, before the war back home. Even before the tardy, frantic, prewar readiness exercises when many of his duties involved just riding herd on a shipload of rambunctious… boys. He had to stifle a nostalgic smile. He stepped closer to the galley window where he was sure Earl Lanier had been listening.
“Is this true, Lanier?” he shouted over the sea and the roaring galley furnace inside. Lanier appeared.
“Not completely, sir, though some folks might’a seen it that way.”
“Very well. I’ll deal with you at mast. Consider yourself confined to your duty station-the galley-until further notice.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Lanier sulked.
Matt looked back at Stites. “What else?”
“Sir?”
“You said there were two things?”
“Oh! Mr. Campeti asks if we want any of the black-powder shells in the ready lockers or the lineup, you know, in case the new ones give us fits.”
“Does he expect any fits?”
“No, sir, he hopes not.”
“Then no. The older shells’ll put us in range of those things.” Matt gestured back at the 25 mm guns. “That’s no good.”
“No, sir.”
“Anything else?”
“No, sir.”
Matt looked at his watch again. He’d been gone a little over twenty minutes. If Spanky had decided the target was an illusion, someone would have found him and told him. If it was doing anything threatening, he’d have been called back to the bridge. All the same, whatever it was, it ought to be in sight by now.
“Carry on, Stites, Jeek. I’ll be on the bridge if any more… domestic hostilities erupt. And since we’re liable to be in action before long, the punishment for such acts will increase exponentially. Is that clear?”
CHAPTER 26
March 25, 1944
Battle of Madras 1216
A dmiral Keje-Fris-Ar leaned against the bridgewing rail of his beloved Salissa, staring through his Imperial telescope. Commodore Jim Ellis was leading the battle line with his DDs, under full steam and with all sails set. The crisp morning breeze out of the northwest was giving the graceful frigates an extra two or three knots and they seemed to fly across the purple agate sea toward the looming, smoking behemoths on the horizon.
Keje wasn’t happy sending Ellis and his Des-Div 4 against the Grik battleships. He feared even its powerful guns might prove ineffective against the enemy’s sloping iron sides. He’d heard how Marines sometimes used angled shields to turn musket fire, and suspected the Jaap Grik had designed their mighty ships with similar principles in mind. Jim was right, however. They wouldn’t know until they tried. All the bombs they’d used had been mere incendiaries with little explosive force. The thirty-two-pounders mounted on most of Jim’s ships would give the enemy the first real battering they’d taken. Salissa and Arracca were more heavily armed- Salissa, in particular, with her captured Jaap guns-but much as he hated to admit it, Jim was right about something else as well: Salissa and Arracca were more valuable than every other ship in First Fleet combined, and they shouldn’t be risked unless absolutely necessary, or there was some chance they might inflict more damage than they received. Besides, if Jim failed, only Salissa, Arracca, and the few DDs Jim had left to screen them would remain to defend all the helpless transports, oilers, tenders, and their priceless crews when they made their break. Reinforcements were on the way, but none could possibly arrive in time to make a difference. Ben Mallory’s P-40s were supposed to arrive at Andaman that day, but to be of any use here, they’d have to land and refuel on Saa-lon. Grass strips had been
