He hadn’t seen the squall that brought the destroyermen and his submariners here. S-19 had been submerged at the time. He had only conflicting descriptions from the destroyermen as to what it looked like. Mostly, they’d said it had been green. He wondered sometimes what he would do if he ever saw one like it. Would he sail into it, hoping it would take him home? Or would he do everything in his power to stay the hell out of its way? He hoped the choice would never come. At least, not until he fulfilled his mission. Somehow, right then, making Captain Reddy proud of him was more important than ever getting home.
He shook his head and looked at his own ship, USS Simms. The former Grik Indiaman had been razed like many others and named for Andy Simms, who’d died at the Battle of Aryaal. She was now a United States corvette. She mounted twenty guns and with her once bloodred hull painted black, with a broad white band down her length highlighting the closed, black-painted gunports, she looked nothing at all like her former self. In spite of who originally made her, Simms was a heartwarming sight, loping almost playfully along under close-reefed topsails so she wouldn’t shoot ahead of her lumbering charge.
She was Irvin’s only warship; the other vessel keeping close company had been repainted, rerigged, and repaired, but her lines hadn’t been altered. She was a transport, after all. A freighter. It was still a heady sight. He’d gone from an inexperienced kid, glad to have a subordinate take over when things got tough, to a commodore, for all intents and purposes. Deep down, he wasn’t sure he was ready. This should be Flynn’s job, he thought. Flynn was the one who’d brought them through. But Flynn wouldn’t-apparently couldn’t-do it. That left Irvin, and one way or another he’d accomplish his mission-if it was possible for anyone to-or die trying. He still believed this was a test of sorts and, for an instant, wondered if Captain Reddy understood the depth of Irvin’s commitment to prove himself. He doubted it. Irvin didn’t fully understand it yet himself. Besides, the captain had literally ordered him to be careful. Irvin appreciated that and he would be careful… but he would succeed, regardless.
“Well, Lieutenant Laumer,” Shinya observed, “despite your… impatience… to leave us, you have one final nicety to perform. Saan-Kakja is here to bid you farewell!”
“Yeah, I’m a little anxious,” Laumer admitted. “Is it really that obvious?” Shinya only chuckled.
Saan-Kakja approached, attended by Meksnaak and a trio of other functionaries. As always, Irvin was struck by her presence. She was so small, and much younger even than he was, yet she was beautiful. Not in a “girl” kind of way-at least, not a human girl-but like an exotically colored female tiger would be beautiful. Stunning, magnificent, but also a little “cute,” in the fashion one might describe a young, predatory cat. Her eyes were something else too, unlike any he’d seen among all the ’Cats he’d met. Safir Maraan was just as beautiful in her own lethal way, but Saan-Kakja still inspired him with a strange sense of protectiveness as well.
“Lieutenant Laumer,” she said, her English much improved, “my priests that chart our path tell me we have reached that point where you will leave us. I shall miss your company when we dine, and I shall miss the company and protection of your noble ships and crews.”
Irvin blushed. Saan-Kakja’s ship hadn’t needed their protection. Hers was probably the most powerful ship left afloat in the world. She’d armed it with cannon before she ever left for Baalkpan, and between the guns Baalkpan lavished on her and the guns constantly arriving from Manila, Placca-Mar now mounted sixty of the big thirty-two pounders, and had a couple of the new fifty pounders as well. It would take something like Amagi to tangle with her now. “It has, ah, been my honor, Your Excellency. I’ll miss you too.” He blushed even deeper.
“Mr. Shinya says you will not be entirely on your own,” she said with a concerned series of flashing eyelids, “but the transmitter you carry is not as strong… as powerful as the one Mr. Riggs has supplied to me. You will be able to receive transmissions, sometimes all the way from Baalkpan, but may not be able to transmit that far yourself. Rest assured, we will hear you and will routinely retransmit any message you send. If mischief of any kind should befall your mission or yourself, do not hesitate to call for help. My brother is High Chief of Paga-Daan, and will receive a communication device similar to yours. He will come to your aid immediately. It will, in fact, be his ships that supply you, if your mission is lengthy.”
“Thank you, Your Excellency. On all counts.”
Saan-Kakja offered her hand, and for an instant, Irvin didn’t know whether to shake it or kiss it. He settled for gently grasping the tiny thing in his own.
“Now, Ir-vin,” Saan-Kakja scolded, squeezing firmly with her fingers, “you cannot break me that easily!”
“Of course not, Your… my lady.”
Saan-Kakja grinned and, with an awkward bow, Irvin stepped away. He shook hands with Shinya again and climbed over the bulwark to descend the rope ladder to the waiting launch below.
“Hell,” he muttered to himself, cheeks still hot. “She’s not just beautiful; she’s downright mesmerizing. Even in kind of a ‘girl’ way!”
Simms and her consort hauled away to the east, through the Basilan Strait and across the Moro Gulf. Meksnaak had suggested the gulf might be one of their most hazardous passages until they crossed to Talaud, but they met no danger there. A few large gri-kakka surfaced and blew, and some possibly related denizens with short, serpentine necks watched the ships periodically with large, somber eyes, but other than that, all they saw were the myriad seabirds, flying reptiles, and what looked like a cross between the two. Nothing unusual. The birds capered and swooped among the masts, occasionally even snapping at the top men, but the only real harm they caused was the reeking, fishy slurry they dropped and smeared all over the ships. Otherwise, the weather remained fine, the skies no more temperamental than usual, and the sea in no way stirred itself against them.
Irvin wasn’t much of a practical sailor yet, and he relied heavily on Simms ’s actual captain, Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan. She reminded him a lot of Silva’s supposed Lemurian sweetheart, Risa-Sab-At, with her brindled fur and quick wit. Unlike Risa, however, Lelaa wasn’t a born warrior, and she hadn’t even seen action yet. Before getting Simms, she’d commanded one of the Navy feluccas. She was a born sailor, though, and Irvin was learning a lot from her. She’d translated her skill with the fore-and-aft rigged feluccas to the primarily square rig of Simms with astonishing ease. She was a good, patient teacher and well liked by her crew. She lacked any of Saan-Kakja’s cuteness factor, but she was young and still handsome in an experienced, practical way. Irvin had every confidence in her, and the two of them had become fast friends.
They tried to keep the Mindanao coast in sight as they worked east-southeast over the next few days. There were islands everywhere, and Lelaa was constantly worried about wind direction, something Irvin, a submariner, had never much considered. Truth be known, he was always more worried about how much water was under the keel and what sort of creatures might be in it. Lelaa was worried too; that was why they hugged the coast-a most unnatural act in a sailing ship. The depths here were unknown, however, and everyone was a little tense as they cruised the edge of the Celebes Sea.