Tolson cruised not far behind, but the steam frigates were in the distance, laboring to keep up. They were screened by the altered corvettes whose characteristics, as expected, were respectable, and Matt grinned to think how frustrated their skippers must be. The problem wasn’t that the steamers were terribly slow; they weren’t. They were faster than anything they’d seen of the Grik under any circumstances. They were much faster even than Donaghey when the wind was still.
With a good wind, the steamers were faster-and far more economical-under sail, but their paddles and screws caused drag and there was nothing they could do about that. On one of the new ships, Nakja-Mur, they’d tried a solution attempted in the previous century. Her screw was designed to be raised and lowered by means of a complex system that had slowed her construction considerably. The scheme worked, after a fashion-and at least it hadn’t failed catastrophically-but it didn’t really do much for her speed. Even with the screw retracted, there was still the large, blunt sternpost to consider. She did steer better however. Jim Ellis complained that Dowden ’s steering was “mushy” unless she was under power.
The new engines hadn’t really had a test yet. They’d gotten the ships under way and out in the Makassar Strait without anything flying apart, but since the discovery that they only slowed the ships while under sail, they’d been secured. Matt wished he’d been able to test them further while they were close to home, but what if he needed them later and they’d already failed? It was a balancing act of necessities. Eventually he would need them. He just wished he knew whether he could count on them.
As usual, Matt and Greg Garrett were standing companionably silent on the quarterdeck. It was a custom they’d observed many times. Sometimes there just didn’t need to be words. Matt knew Jim understood it too. The three of them had been through so much together, small talk was often not only superfluous, but distracting Safir Maraan and Lord Rolak ascended to the quarterdeck and caught their eyes. Matt smiled at them and waved them over. The B’mbaadan and Aryaalan troops were mostly on other ships, but Chack was aboard with most of his 2nd Marines. Rolak went where Matt went; he was still insistent on that, but Matt suspected Safir was aboard because of Chack. They weren’t “officially” mated yet, but it was just a matter of time. Matt expected a formal announcement and ceremony to cap the liberation of B’mbaado.
“Cap-i-taan,” Safir greeted him.
“My lord,” said Rolak.
“Queen Protector, Lord Rolak,” Matt replied. He looked at Rolak. “Feeling better?” The old warrior grimaced and blinked irritation.
“A glorious day and a beautiful ship!” said Safir. She’d grown almost giddy with excitement the closer they came to her home. With luck, it would be hers again. Hers and her people’s.
“Indeed they are,” Matt agreed. “And as for the ship, I think I love her!” he admitted.
“You can’t have her, Skipper,” Garrett said with a grin. “I just got her back!”
Matt chuckled. “Don’t worry, Greg. I think peeling her paint with tweezers would be easier than getting you off this ship.” He nodded past the masts and taut canvas forward. “There’s your coastline, Your Majesty, and not a Grik ship in sight. You’d think they’d at least have a few pickets out, but we haven’t seen a thing.” He shook his head. “Silly to expect them to think like us, but we know they’ve picked up a few ideas.”
“It is a sight I have long craved,” Safir admitted wistfully. “I am excited, I admit, but some of your uneasiness tugs at me as well.”
“Am I uneasy?” Matt asked. “I suppose. I wish we had a little recon…” He avoided saying, I wish we had the PBY, for the ten thousandth time, but they all knew what he meant. “This steaming-I mean sailing- blindly into a situation we know nothing about reminds me too much of old times. I’d almost rather we had to chase down and pound on a few scouts. Besides”-he grinned predatorily-“it would be fun.”
“ ‘Fun,’ he says.” Garrett chuckled. “Remember what happened last time I had a little ‘fun.’”
“But surely this is different,” rumbled Rolak. “Even a large fleet would be no match for us now, and if there are no Grik to sound the alarm, the surprise of our arrival will be all the greater.”
“In a perfect world,” Matt agreed. He didn’t elaborate on how imperfect he considered this world to be. “But they’ve had as much time to recover as we have. Okada didn’t think they could bring anything forward for a while, but with what we know they left in Aryaal when they moved on Baalkpan, they wouldn’t need to, to make it a damned bloody fight.” He looked at Safir. “I’ve no doubt we’ll win, but I’m always counting the cost. I have to. Besides, we know the Grik can surprise us-they’ve done it before-and if they didn’t eat Kurokawa, he might’ve helped them arrange something… unexpected.”
Two Marines tromped up the companionway. One was clearly Chack, still wearing his battered American helmet at a jaunty angle. The other seemed vaguely familiar, but Matt couldn’t place him. He was uncomfortably aware that unless he knew them well and their coloration or dress was distinctive, he had a hard time telling one ’Cat from another. The two Marines drew close and saluted.
“Cap-i-taans,” Chack said. “Lord Rolak”-he smiled slightly-“Your Highness. I beg to report the discovery of this… creature… in my own ranks!”
Rolak peered more closely at the Marine. “By the Sun God’s tail! Lord Koratin, you have lost much weight!”
Koratin! Now Matt remembered. He’d been a big wheel in Aryaal and had even been an advisor to its murdering king, Rasik-Alcas! He’d met him briefly when they retook the city right before the evacuation. For some reason, Rolak hadn’t hanged him and Matt had forgotten all about him.
“Indeed!” replied Koratin. “I feel like a youngling again! I have always maintained that martial exercises strengthen the mind, body, and character.”
“Character!” Rolak huffed. “I have occasionally-and briefly-wondered what happened to you after our last meeting. I assumed you were aboard Nerracca when she was lost, since you hadn’t been insinuating yourself in the business of the Alliance. Yet here you stand, proving once again your consummate skill for survival!”
“Here I stand, Lord Rolak,” Koratin answered, suddenly less ebullient.
Chack cleared his throat. “It seems Koratin enlisted in the First Baalkpan as a private as soon as he arrived in the city. He doubted he would be popular in an Aryaalan regiment… In any event, he distinguished himself in battle and was therefore eligible to apply for Marine training.” Chack blinked irony. “He graduated ‘boot camp’ as a squad leader corporal.”
As things now stood in the Lemurian Marine Corps, only combat veterans could be considered for promotion. If there were ever peace, that might change, but for now the system worked well.
Rolak glanced incredulously at the twin red “stripes” on Koratin’s kilt. “You earned corporal’s stripes,” he said, astonished. “That is more than you ever did in any previous post.”
“True,” Koratin agreed, “and I cherish those two stripes more than the finest robe I ever wore.” His voice was still soft. “I owed it to my younglings. To all the younglings of our people, Lord Rolak. This, at least, I think you will believe.”
Rolak nodded and looked at Matt. “Koratin was never evil. Vain, venal, and grasping, but not evil. I did not hang him because I believed he truly tried to stop Rasik and warn us of his treachery.” He grumbled a chuckle. “It did not harm his case that Rasik was trying to kill him when we entered the city.”