“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 Diania had followed her on the bridge and was walking as carefully and fearfully as if there were molten lava between the wooden strakes beneath her feet. The girl was listed as a carpenter’s mate, but she was still more Sandra’s stewardess than anything. She was learning to fight too. Chack had taught her a lot before he left the ship, and Stites and, increasingly, Gray were teaching her how to shoot. To Matt’s amazement, Gray had already suggested that Diania be included in the Captain’s Guard, so she could learn the ropes and be prepared to serve in an equivalent capacity for “Mrs. Minister” Sandra Reddy, or “Lady Sandra,” as the Imperials called her. Even among Matt’s human destroyermen, that title seemed to be gaining steam. He shook his head.
“Sandra,” he said. “Miss Diania. Welcome to the bridge. Sandra, you’ll retain all the privileges you enjoyed… previously,” he assured her, “and are always welcome on the bridge except when you’re at your battle station. Miss Diania, you may accompany her. You”-he sighed-“may eventually even find yourself on the bridge-watch bill. In the meantime, you’re welcome to look around, but please don’t touch anything or distract anyone.” Matt knew the last warning would be tough for her to avoid. She was a beauty, and Paddy couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her.
“What have you got there, Captain?” Sandra asked, gesturing at the clipboard in his hand.
“Well, the watch bill, for one thing.” He flipped the page. “This is another message from Baalkpan, via Maa-ni-la.” He scanned down it. “There’s some good news on top of the bad. Adar’s Torpedo Day bash went off pretty well. Ben didn’t crash any of his new pursuit planes into anything, and most of the small arms seemed to work okay. The torpedoes still need work, but they did work. Sort of.” He grinned. “On that note, Mahan still has two salvageable torpedo mounts, and she may even get four eventually. Lots of work still to do on her.” He raised his eyebrows and blinked. “I still can’t believe they raised the old girl, and we might get her back. She won’t look the same, they say, but that doesn’t matter as long as she’s back in the war!” He chuckled. “Speaking of not looking the same, Irvin’s finally settled on what to do with S-Nineteen. He means to keep her gun and bow tubes but gut everything else that makes her a sub. The conversion will take a while, but the increase in buoyancy and freeboard, as well as the extreme decrease in weight, should make her a lot quicker on her feet. No telling how she’ll handle-she’s liable to roll her guts out-but she ought to be at least as good a torpedo boat as anything we had in the Great War, with a lot longer legs.”
“It sounds like Mahan and S-Nineteen are counting an awful lot on Bernie’s torpedoes,” Sandra observed.
“Yeah, but Bernie’ll come through,” Matt agreed with certainty. Then he frowned. “I’m still not sure what to think of this Herring guy. I agreed with Alan and Adar that it was high time we had some snoops, and we need somebody who knows how to gather and compile intelligence on our enemies.” He shrugged. “Lord knows we haven’t done a good job at that. We probably already have a lot more information than we know what to do with, or how to apply. We need somebody to analyze it all.” He grunted. “He’s even already come up with some pretty good ideas. Sending Greg Garrett off exploring in Donaghey is brilliant, and I should have thought of that. Apparently even the Grik are starting to go to steam-I don’t like the sound of those big ships of theirs! — and Donaghey ’s days in a battle line are probably done. On the other hand, even though Greg’s the perfect choice to lead the expedition, he’s too damn good to lose! That kid ought to be an admiral!”
“I know you’re close to Greg,” Sandra began.
“I’m close to all my people,” Matt said sternly.
“Of course. But you are a little closer to him.”
Matt sighed. “Maybe so. He reminds me a little of myself at his age, I guess-not that I’d accomplished nearly as much as he has by then! I just… It’s an awful big world out there, and we still don’t know what might be over the very next hill!”
Sandra looked at him. “Tell me the truth. If you were in his position and got an assignment like his, how would you feel?”
“Ha! Thrilled, I guess.”
“There you are. Now, what else about this Commander Herring bothers you?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t met him, and that’s part of it, I guess. Also, if you read Alan between the lines, I get the feeling he thinks Herring already has too much influence with Adar. Even that wouldn’t bother me too much if Saan-Kakja hadn’t tacked on that she doesn’t trust the ‘arrogant and rude’ Mr. Herring when they retransmitted from Maa-ni-la.”