Similar thoughts passed through David's mind. He pondered his options as a group of sailors marched onto the street corner. They were in Navy blue uniforms: military police. They were armed. A lieutenant holding a speaking trumpet tried to get the crowd's attention.
A few students ran and a couple of soldiers pursued them after a glance from their lieutenant.
"Attention," began the lieutenant. "By the power bestowed upon the Navy by Executive Order 982344, signed by President Hilary R. Clinton, all men and women ages 18 to 45, must report to the nearest draft center by the fifth of March. " In three days. The three days was only a suggestion of course, for the presence of the MPs must have been meant to encourage immediate compliance
A collective groan went through the crowd. Congress must have declared war before the paper had been printed. News didn't always reach the Midwest quickly and often the information in the papers was a day or two old.
Most people would not be enlisted, of course. Physical ailments, having small children, being married, having a steady job, even being rich, made it extremely unlikely that one would be forced to serve. Consequently, there was little complaining when people shuffled along with the soldiers. This was an inconvenience: a late appointment, missing the first meeting of the day, being late for a nanny. These actions were meant to round up unskilled laborers, drifters, and students as hands: people who no one would miss.
David considered. He was in sound condition. He was not married, nor did he have any children. He certainly wasn't rich. He was going to be put on the next ship to New Madrid as an enlisted hand. He needed time to think. He was going to take full advantage of the three days, at the end of which, he'd probably head to New York.
He began to back away slowly, but bumped into someone.
"Don't ya wanna serve your country, friend?"
A large, hairy MP with mutton chop sideburns blocked his path.
"Um," said David, "I just wanted to make sure I was first in line at the recruitment office."
The MP didn't laugh. The group was corralled down Main Street. Some slipped away, but they were only a few, for the marines kept a close eye on the crowd. It was about a half hour walk to the Navy recruitment office. The bulk of the port and shipyards was south of town, and it took about half an hour for them to reach the low brick buildings that housed the armory, the supply warehouses, and the Naval administrative offices.
David found himself in a room with four other boys his age. All of them were in their early twenties. The group had been broken up, mostly by age, and truth be told, by apparent income and the groups had all been shepherded to different locations. David decided that he was in the group most likely to be enlisted. The fellow next to him might be a homeless person, and the person on the other side was an extremely nervous looking student with spectacles, whose clothes were even more run down than in his own. The single MP in the room refused to answer any of David's questions, but he guessed that this was a waiting room to meet the recruitment officer
This was a bad spot. It was made worse by David not having had a drink at all that day. He had a hangover from the night before that was like a gong ringing in his ears.
His turn finally came.
"Name."
"David Marr."
"Date of Birth."
"August 7th, 1988."
"Social Security Number."
"540-34-4053."
"Ok, son, this is how it's going to work. I've got a list of questions for you. When we're done, you'll see the doctor in the next room, and then you'll be a sailor. Questions?"
Apparently, this was a done deal. The junior lieutenant was older, with gray hair, and a silver mustache, too old for active duty, but he had kind, gentle eyes. There was a scar running down the side of his cheek.
"No questions." He really didn't.
"Ok. This first question is really just a formality, but I've got to ask it. You're going to think of a million answers to this question, some of which are probably perfectly reasonable, but none of which the US Navy cares about, I'm afraid. It hasn't gotten anyone off the hook today, and I doubt you'll be the first. So let's save both of us some time: Is there any reason you can't serve in the U.S. Navy?"
"I've got a reason for him."
An extremely tall black woman walked into the room. She was stunning. She wore her braids in a pony tail, and she was toned like a rope. She wore the bare minimum requirements of a lieutenant: a leather Navy issue jacket, cotton pants, and an insignia on her breast and shoulder.
The recruitment officer looked skeptical, but given that this woman was his senior officer he chose to remain silent.
"He's a midshipman on the Dakota."
The recruitment officer looked genuinely shocked.
"If he's a midshipman, why was he in town in civilian dress."
"Look," she said. She looked bored: "I've just got orders to bring him to Captain Gibson. I can get Gibson down here for you to ask him, but, truth be told, I doubt he'd appreciate it. He's got a hangover and is in a pretty shitty mood."
The recruitment officer looked at David reproachfully. His eyes asked: "Why didn't you say so? Why make me look like a jackass?" He waved him away, and David, still stunned, got up to follow the woman out the door. She was silent as they walked towards the dockyards. As they saw the ships in the distance, she gave him a once over with clear distaste. He didn't look like a sailor.
Very few Indians joined the military. Most felt a general animosity towards the U.S. government. His mother was a full blooded Cherokee from the swamps of Florida and she always treated her white husband's career with a mixture of bemusement and contempt. She made it clear to David that he wasn't going to be traveling between the stars and killing people.
Aside from that, he was tall, but thin. Two years in the lab had taken its toll on his fitness. He dressed like a dandy who didn't really have the money to do the job properly.
"Do they feed you people at the university?"
"Not very well."
"Well, I've seen midshipman in worse shape, but not by much. Are you really Captain Marr's kid?" She gave him a skeptical look
David nodded. "I hadn't realized I was already an officer."
"Well, you're not yet. At least not officially... but even so, when you address a senior officer, you say 'Ma'am' or 'Sir'."
"Yes, Ma'am."
She kept moving.
"Well, thank you, Ma'am. If I'm in the Navy, I'd much rather go in as a midshipman."
She grunted.
"Thank Captain Gibson." She said, "When he heard about the declaration, he told the quarterdeck to find you, the winner gets a nice bottle of wine." She laughed, "If there's any justice in the world, it'll come out of your pay."
"Gladly, Ma'am." He hadn't relished the idea of being a land-lubbing hand, the lowest sailor on the ship's food chain. That would have been his destiny if she had not intervened.
"I'm Lieutenant Harriet Milton, 2nd lieutenant of the U.S.S. Dakota," she continued, "Once we're on the ship, you'll be taken to your berth, and you'll start learning your job immediately. You're going to be the Engineer's Mate on this ship. Our last one died en route back to Earth. I hope you're a fast learner. We leave in two days."
The Dakota was a ship-of-the-line.
Like the other ships in the yard, she hovered about 30 feet in the air, tethered to several docking platforms. She was about 200 feet long, shaped like an egg, with 3 large propellers on her aft. She gleamed as the afternoon sun shone on her iron hull. Rivets dotted her sides, evenly spaced, and a mixture of rust, wear, dents, and craters gave her the look of an ancient artifact. She was a 74 gun ship, and like all ships in her class, the guns ran in three evenly spaced levels that traversed the length of the port and starboard sides of the ship. Each gun was placed in a porthole, with enough surrounding space for the hands that manned her to see their target.
Harriet was proud of her. She was imposing. One of the best in the American fleet. There were only thi
rty-two ships of the line in the American Navy, which paled in comparison to the Spanish fleet, which counted about one hundred and several hundred sloops and frigates. The American Navy was quite small, and the declaration of war meant that the Americans had to start building ships fast if they had any prayer of winning this war. The ships they did have were formidable but not formidable enough to defeat those kinds of numbers, especially when one took into account the expertise of the average Spanish sailor and the talent of the Spanish shipyards.
Harriet approached the dock with the new midshipman in tow. She looked around. There were only four other ships of the line in dock and a dozen smaller ships. They'd all be leaving soon. Most of the hands had never seen real combat, and the impressed sailors would be completely at a loss. She had been in engagements with privateers in patrols around New Boston and New Madrid and in other skirmishes with local warlords on Sumatra and the Caliphate. There would soon be more.
Harriet was an unusual sailor. Not because she was a woman. Although very few women were hands, there were many women among the officer class, mostly due to the liberal policies of the Navy over the past thirty years or so. It was also not unusual that she was black, although blacks were rare among officers. Most American blacks lived on the reservations established on the west coast after the civil war. It was a point of no small amount of bitterness that they were given lands with large deposits of gold, although they fought with the American Army to defend those lands in Alaska and British Columbia during the invasions of the fifties. Most of the blacks in the American Navy were actually African or from the Caribbean.
No, she was unusual because she was an extraordinary sailor, and she knew it.
It hadn't been easy. She'd grown up on the streets of Baltimore, one of the few black kids who weren't on a reservation out west. Life in the orphanage was bleak. There were not a lot of parents lining up to adopt black kids, and by the time she was thirteen, she was on the streets with no money, no job, and no prospects. Her entrance into the Navy had been a pure accident. She had stowed away on a naval vessel in route to the Caliphate, hoping to see a real djinn or a flying carpet. Instead of making her skip the wind, as was the traditional punishment for stowaways, that captain had impressed her into the service. She started out working in the mess and cleaning the decks. After a three year tour, she had made her way up to midshipman. She had made Lieutenant after being wounded in a battle with Spanish privateers.
The docking platform had several ladders by which hands could reach the top. Each platform also had a system of pulleys and lifts for loading and unloading cargo containers onto the dock. The platform was full of casks of water, salted beef, canned vegetables, and miscellaneous machine parts. The farthest star system was several months of travel away, so ships had to be self-sufficient for long periods of time. Everything had to be taken with them, as there were no opportunities for refitting outside of a few colonies and way stations. As she climbed to the top, the hands working on the platform stiffened, and saluted. David was still working his way up the ladder slowly.
All of the sailors respected her, and this went beyond the typical deference shown to officers. Some of the men, most of whom had served with her on several voyages and in more than a few actions, had something that approached a fondness for her. These emotions did not venture into the sentimental or romantic, they were driven by genuine respect: they knew she was a proper sailor. She kept a tight, clean ship, and unlike many officers whose positions were a product of their class, money, or family power, her decisions were the ones that they themselves would have made were they in charge. They would show deference to any officer, but she had earned something very much like a sailors' heartfelt respect. She was strict, but fair, and having been enlisted herself, she knew what their lives were like.
It was, in fact, these experiences that made her doubt David's fitness as a potential officer.
He was breathing hard as he reached the top of the platform. He looked ridiculous. He was wearing trousers that were too large, held up only be suspenders and the grace of God. His jacket had several prominent holes. He looked like he had never lifted anything heavier than a pencil his entire life.
The hands took all of this in stride. They knew that there was to be a new midshipman, but they hadn't expected him to look like a vagrant. To their credit, they saluted him as he doubled over, hands on knees, gasping.
Harriet was careful not to show her disgust in front of the hands.
"Carry-on," she said.
She stepped into the hold. She took David down a number of narrow passageways. David had never actually been aboard a naval vessel before, and was surprised to see that the interior was mostly wood, despite the iron hull. It was extremely clean, utilitarian, and narrow. After a few turns, David entered a large cabin in the aft of the ship. It was the Captain's quarters.
The Captain's living quarters were quite large and consisted of a small suite of rooms. The largest room opened directly to the corridor and contained a large oak desk, covered with charts, books, and reports. There were several chairs, but the room itself was decorated by Gibson in a nautical theme. There was a large stuffed swordfish on one wall, and several small paintings of naval and seaside scenes on the others.
"Welcome, lad," said Gibson. He was seated behind the desk, but his bulk made the large room feel smaller than it was. He was clearly busy, with several books open beside a large ledger containing figures in neat rows and columns. There were bags under his eyes, though he was impeccably dressed in his uniform. "I see you've met the lieutenant."
"Yes, sir."
The captain smiled.
"Might I also add, sir, that I'm very grateful for your...intervention. It is an honor to be aboard." It wasn't quite a lie. Being a midshipman on the Dakota was certainly preferable to being a pressed sailor on a random ship. He was grateful for being rescued from that situation, and although it was clear that his new one was better, the improvement was marginal at best. Being shot at was not high on his list of priorities, and his rank while being shot at, was immaterial to him. That wasn't to say that being an officer didn't have its advantages. He much preferred working as an Engineer's Mate to heavy lifting and pulling. That said, he wasn't excited about his new prospects, but was doing his best not to let this fact come through.
When the Captain had offered him the position initially, he said he would think about it, not because he was seriously considering the position, but because he couldn't tell this officer, this captain of a ship of the line, this lifelong friend of his father's, that he was too much of a coward to join the Navy. The last thing he wanted to do was go on a mission in which avenging his father's death was a real possibility. He didn't have the stomach for being shot at. He didn't know how his father had done it. Where it came from.
"No need to thank me," said Gibson. "To be honest with you, I never had any doubt that you'd join up. You are Jack's son, after all. I just greased the wheels a bit.
David felt a pit in his stomach.
"Don't worry," continued the Captain, "We'll give those bastards a full refund. You have my guarantee."
"Thank you, sir." David mustered the best salute he could.
Gibson smiled kindly, "In the meantime, you have a lot to learn. The lieutenant will show you to your berth. We leave in two days, so you'll want to gather your things, tie up loose ends, that sort of thing. Have you ever been off planet?"
"Never, sir."
The captain smiled and turned to his papers.
The careers of the midshipman on board the Dakota appeared to be short. That is, if one chose to believe the stories of Tyrone Baker, who was currently clipping his toenails several inches from David's head.
David was lying on his cot, staring at the ceiling. Tyrone was sitting on a small chest next to David's bunk. To say the midshipman's berth was cramped would be an understatement. David and Tyrone shared the space and, much to David's astonishment, the room was meant to sleep four and, until very re
cently, it had.
David currently occupied the bed of a midshipman who was lost in transit to Earth. He was a short boy named Clancy who everyone had liked. He had taken a stray bullet from a pirate ship in the New Boston star system while keeping watch on the quarterdeck. Another expired midshipman, Frank Gibbs, the previous engineer's mate, had died in an accident in the Engine Room.
Tyrone, who was more than happy to share the details of these unfortunate incidents, wasn't quite clear on what had caused Frank's death. Something to do with the ship's gold rods falling from their containment chamber and Frank grabbing them with his bare hands. The final midshipman, Joe Chin, had gone missing while they were docked in Urbana. The MPs were out looking for him, but even if he were found, it was very unlikely that he would be returned before they took off in a few hours. There were currently only three midshipman, even though a ship of this size typically had five to ten. Their numbers were low. They'd been forced to hurry to Earth before the hands that were promised to Gibson had arrived from other ships. The full contingent would have been one hundred and fifty hands but they were shipping out with just ninety. It was barely enough to run the ship, much less engage with any Spanish frigates that might be lying between them and New Boston. Rumor had it that they'd been promised more sailors in New Boston, but had to speed towards Earth because of a special transport. They had to do a full ships' worth of work with only half the crew.
Tyrone shared all of this with an air of resignation. He was a blonde, tall, handsome lad. He had the beginnings of a beard, and was impeccably groomed. It was quite clear that Tyrone came from money. He spoke slowly with a gentrified Southern accent, but you could hear the excitement in his voice. He clearly loved all of this: being in the Navy, being in fire fights, the excitement and adventure. He was practically bursting when he asked David what he thought about the War. He couldn't wait to jump in.
The Gold Engine (The Gold Chronicles) Page 4
