Frankie nodded glumly. “What about our guys?” he asked Palmer.
The comm officer looked troubled. “Still no news. Salaama-Na and her escorts were on their way, last we heard, but there was another big storm out there, and we haven’t heard anything since. The ‘new’ Fil-pin-built Simms and Jenks’s Achilles sailed right after we did, but there’s been nothing from them either. Aerials or wind generators probably got carried away, and Simms might’ve cracked her batteries, or shorted everything out. Achilles ’ set was a piece of… junk to start with.” O’Casey nodded and Palmer lowered his voice. “Then there’s that damn Talaud. I hear Respite okay at night, but it’s fuzzy. Everything’s fine there, but they’re worried about a surge from the west. It seems the volcano’s been going nuts, and I only get snippets from Maa-ni-la. Respite Station passes stuff along, though, and it’s getting scary back home, Skipper.”
“So… nada,” Steele said. Palmer shrugged.
Matt took a deep breath. “And I guess if anybody’d seen or heard from Ajax, they would’ve said something.” Only silence answered, and he slowly exhaled.
“Okay,” he said, “here’s the plan. In the morning”-he rubbed his face-“later This morning, at 0400, Mr. Reynolds will take off… Everything still good with the Nancy, Lieutenant?”
“Swell, Skipper. It’ll be a little creepy taking off in the dark, but no sweat.”
“Good.” Matt looked at Frankie. “We’ll raise hell on the ship, blow tubes, vent steam, and generally carry on in a variety of loud, mechanical ways, to cover the sound of the Nancy’s motor. It’ll draw attention, but hopefully nobody’ll notice an airplane taking off in the dark.” He shrugged. “We goofed up telling them what the damn thing was, but most people here don’t believe it anyway. ‘It’s a proven fact that powered flight is impossible,’ ” he quoted wryly, and everyone chuckled. He looked at Reynolds. “It’ll probably be like looking for a needle in a haystack-and we don’t even know if the needle’s there-but if anything’s coming by sea, we need to know it. Keep a sharp eye off Scapa Flow, New Glasgow, and Edinburgh. I know that’s a big grid, and you’re only one plane, but you’re probably the only warning we’ll have.”
Fred Reynolds gulped. “Aye, aye, Skipper.”
“After that…” He paused. “Maybe it’ll look like a big send-off. Spin some platters over the shipwide comm too. Boats, Courtney, Stites, and myself will leave for the ‘dueling ground.’ ” He looked at Chack. “As soon as you hear the church bells sound the end to services, form your short company of the 2nd Marines on the dock. O’Casey? You’ll command the Imperial Marines. Lieutenant Blair’s been feeling out Marine officers, much like Jenks has been doing, to see who he can count on. He’ll meet you here with whatever he can scrounge up.”
“We should go with you,” Chack insisted.
“No, we have to assume they’ll be expecting that. It might even be what all this is about. You have to be ready to respond to anything. If we need you at the dueling ground, Stites’ll send up a flare. It’s about two miles, but you’ll see it well enough.” He arched an eyebrow. “It’s supposed to be a pretty day.” He laid his hands on the table, palm up. “Anything else? I think we’ve covered every base we can… I just wish we knew we’re in the right ballpark!” He waited a moment while his crew glanced at one another. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to try to sleep. Wake me if anybody hears anything!”
At long last the gathering broke up. Matt started for his quarters, but Spanky blocked his way, hands on hips. Throughout the meeting, he’d done little but chew yellow tobacco and spit in a sediment-filled Coke bottle. “I oughta be with you,” he said.
“No. I want Frankie to have three boilers all day if he needs them. You’re the only guy in the whole world who can do that… and maybe not empty the bunkers!”
“Well…” Spanky stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Skipper.”
Matt took the hand. “You too. I expect we’re both going to need it.”
The atmosphere at the dueling ground was like a big, garish fair, and as Jenks predicted, attendance was huge, even compared to the Pre-Passage Ball. The event had been the talk of the Empire for an entire week, and people came from almost every island to view the spectacle. Not many came from New Ireland, but it was a virtual Company possession and only a few executives there had the means to hire passage. Even so, oddly, not a single ferry or Company official arrived from New Dublin. That struck many as strange, since New Dublin constituted Harrison Reed’s prime constituency. Nevertheless, the New Scotland churches bulged with pious attendees, praying for the souls of the soon to be departed, and bookmakers hawked odds through the teeming crowd.
“Jenks is runnin’ about even,” Gray announced, reappearing with Courtney, pewter mugs in their hands streaming suds. “Thanks for the loan, Commodore,” he added.
Jenks nodded. He was dressed simply in a white shirt with a red cravat, his white Navy knee britches, and a pair of knee-high boots. Around his waist was only a tight red sash, into which was thrust his naked sword. His long hair was clubbed at the nape of his neck, and his mustache was freshly braided. He looked very businesslike, and it was clear he’d done this before. Matt had followed his lead, wearing khaki shirt and trousers, both of Lemurian “cotton.” His loose trouser legs were bound by a pair of U.S. Navy leggings. His own naked Academy sword-carefully sharpened-was held against his side by a web belt. He took off his hat and handed it to Juan, who’d sneaked off the ship to join them as they made their way to the grounds. Juan had even shed his sling, gamely moving his arm around when confronted and claiming he didn’t think it was ever really broken at all.
“What about me?” Matt asked, tying a bandanna around his neck. He needed something to sop at sweat.
Gray winced. “Lots of sympathy, Skipper, but you’re runnin’ about twenty to one, give or take. Against.”
“Ridiculous,” Juan scoffed, tying another bandanna around Captain Reddy’s head to keep sweat from running into his eyes. Juan’s attitude reflected that of virtually Walker ’s entire crew. The “distracting” send-off they’d given him had been real, and it warmed Matt’s heart, but he’d been a little taken aback by how little concern they’d shown that he might lose his contest. Most just couldn’t understand how far out of his element he would be.
“That bad?” asked Matt. “What makes folks so pessimistic?”
Gray cleared his throat. “Well, ah, as we suspected, there’s been scouts down watchin’ you and the commodore prancin’ around on the ship, practicin.’ Lots of folks think you’d do well… with a lot more practice. But the word is you’re too, ah, ‘predictable.’ Too worried about form…” He shrugged. “Sorry, sir. Like I always say, too much calf slobber’ll spoil the pie.”
Matt frowned. “That’s okay, Boats. I’ll give ’em a show, whatever they think.”
“That’s the spirit, sir! You’ve been in worse scrapes before.”
Matt nodded thoughtfully. He had. “Who’d you bet on?”
“You, of course.” He glared at Jenks. “Penny-pinchin’ devil didn’t give me enough money to do it up right, and he demanded fifty percent of my winnings too!”
“It was a risky wager,” Jenks reminded him. He paused. “The good thing is, your opponent will likely ‘stretch it out.’ He’s a ‘professional,’ and makes his living at this. He’ll want to make it look good; provide a ‘spectacle.’ That should give you plenty of time to practice your new, ‘predictable’ style against him.” He stopped. “Please excuse me,” he said, stepping away to meet his wife, waiting behind the rope line. They saw him cradle her chin with his hand.
“Weird duck,” Stites pronounced, fiddling with a tarp-covered crate they’d sent up the day before. “All of ’em. Weird ducks. Treat wimmen like pets, or worse, but Jenks does love that gal. I wonder if he ‘bought’ her.”
“I sorta loved a dog once,” Gray grumbled. “Damn fine bitch. Even so, my mother woulda cased me out if I treated a woman like I did that dog.” He paused. “Skipper, are we even sure this is our fight? We got women now-though I ain’t personally-and a hell of a fight all our own, a long way from here. I know we wanna save our girls, and even Silva, but… well, you know as well as I do that’s… probably out of our hands.” It was the closest anyone had come to actually saying the hostages were probably lost with Ajax. “We still need to kill the Company and that’s a fact, but… this is a lot bigger than that now.”