Rising Tides
( Destroyermen - 5 )
Taylor Anderson
Rising Tides
Taylor Anderson
CHAPTER 1
The atmosphere in the wardroom of the old Asiatic Fleet “four-stacker” destroyer USS Walker (DD-163) was no longer animated; it was more… subdued and sickened than anything else. The sultry, rotting breeze off the unknown atoll to windward entered the portholes and swirled in the cramped compartment, resuscitating an all-pervading aroma of mildew and sweat. beings sat stiffly, tiredly, uncomfortably behind the green linoleum-topped wardroom table, facing aft, waiting for the final prisoner to be brought before them. It had been a long day, in many ways, and the fiery, righteous passions that had inflamed the earlier proceedings had finally dwindled to mere disgusted embers of their former selves. The aversion, horror, and anger the “court” felt toward the prisoners they’d judged was still very real and palpable, but it had become an exhausted, mechanical thing by now, and everyone-the judges, prosecutors, and even the defense-just wanted the whole thing over at last.
Captain Matthew Reddy, High Chief of the American Clan, and Commander in Chief (by acclamation) of all Allied Forces united under the Banner of the Trees, stared through the porthole at battered Achilles, anchored alongside. They’d nearly lost the Imperial steam frigate to damage sustained in the battle against the “Company” ships. She’d suffered even more sorely in a vicious little storm that brewed up shortly after, before they made this unexpected landfall that afforded some protection while she and the rest of the little fleet performed emergency repairs. Now the two “prizes” that Achilles and Walker had taken intact-the HNBC (Honorable New Britain Company) flagship Ulysses and the pressed Imperial frigate Icarus -were already practically ready for sea. Ulysses had fled the action and been only lightly damaged, and Icarus had been wrested from her Company commanders by loyal sailors and hadn’t participated in the fight. Achilles was mauled by HNBC Caesar, but ultimately sent her to the bottom. Even Walker, with her comparatively long-range guns, had taken a beating, and throughout the court sessions her old iron hull had reverberated with the sound of clanging blows from inside and out, as punctured plates were replaced (they could do that now, at least) or heated, bent back in place, and reriveted.
Walker wasn’t new anymore by any possible definition, but after her resurrection and rebuilding, she’d at least looked almost new for a while in her fresh, darker shade of gray that the Bosun finally approved. Her appearance had certainly been a far cry from the shattered, half-sunken wreck she’d been after the Battle of Baalkpan. Herculean work had been accomplished to return her to duty and, ultimately, to ready her for this particular mission. It was really a miracle that she’d ever floated again, much less steamed so far, fought yet another battle, and arrived safely at this place. Sometimes, when Matt gazed at her, he had difficulty believing she had.
Neither Matt nor the Bosun had participated in her refloating and rebuilding; they’d both been off aboard Donaghey, leading the Singapore Campaign. They hadn’t witnessed the unending hours of wrenching labor, ingenuity, and tireless dedication that resulted in her gradual but almost complete restoration. They’d returned home from the war in the west prepared to embark on literally anything available to chase the Company criminal Walter Billingsley, who’d abducted Princess Rebecca, Sandra Tucker, Sister Audry, Dennis Silva, and Abel Cook. Kidnapping the princess was bad enough. She and her “lizard” friend Lawrence-who’d also been taken-were heroes of the Alliance and the Lemurians held them to their hearts. But Sandra’s abduction was even worse, if that was possible. Not only was she a much-beloved heroine who’d saved literally thousands of lives with her own hands and her medical and organizational skill, she was the woman Matthew Reddy loved. They weren’t married or even officially engaged, but that made no difference to the Lemurian “ ’Cats.” To them, she was their Supreme Commander’s “mate.” Nothing, not even the all-important war, could or should interfere with his pursuit of her captors.
There was genuine concern for the other hostages too. Sister Audry had few detractors, despite her heretical teachings. Quite a number had even converted to her church. She was considered by all to be an honest, pious female, if just a bit odd. Abel Cook wasn’t well-known, but he was “one of theirs.” Dennis Silva was a genuine hero, and though unqualifiedly deranged, he’d almost come to symbolize the human Americans in some indefinable way as far as the Lemurians were concerned. He was big, noisy, and irreverent, but in an almost childlike, inoffensive manner. He was brave to the point of recklessness, but tender with younglings. He’d sacrificed much for a people and cause he barely knew, simply because it was right -and he was capable of unparalleled violence toward anything that posed a threat to his new friends. His ongoing affairs with human nurse Pam Cross, as well as the equally rambunctious Lemurian Risa-Sab-At, were also a source of much gossip and amusement among the Allied ’Cats, even though-and perhaps because-the affair seemed to cause such consternation among his “own” people.
For whatever reason, the Lemurians wanted all “their people” back, and therefore, somehow, they and a smattering of Matt’s own destroyermen, who’d been left in charge of salvaging his ship, not only did so but had her ready for him when he needed her most. Matt rubbed his eyes. It had been a miracle, sure enough. But he’d almost begun to expect miracles where the Lemurians and his destroyermen-all his People-were concerned.
He shook his head. Time to get back to business. Despite his misgivings, he’d agreed to serve as President of the Court at Commodore Jenks’s request. His ship had been attacked without warning and he knew he couldn’t be entirely objective, but Jenks had argued that his was the only ship without either a Company or an Imperial Navy presence aboard. Since all the Company and Imperial Navy crews and officers were potential defendants, prosecutors, or witnesses to the primary charge of “Knowingly and Deliberately Attempting the Foul Murder of Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald,” heir to the Governor-Emperor’s throne, in the false certainty that she was aboard Matt’s ship, the trial would conclude if the accused were guilty of high treason, not a deliberate act of war against a sovereign state-or USS Walker. Attacking Walker was merely the means by which they’d demonstrated their treason. Matt’s crew was aggrieved that the guilty wouldn’t hang for murdering the shipmates that had been lost, but as long as they hung for something, the crew was partially mollified.
Again, because they’d agreed that no Imperial personnel should sit on the court, Matt had been forced to choose the other two judges himself. On the surface, Bosun’s Mate 2nd (and Captain of Marines) Chack-Sab-At was an easy choice. The young Lemurian’s honor and integrity were beyond question, as were his physical courage and sense of justice. Of all the ’Cats Matt had come to know, Chack was, in many ways, the most remarkable. He’d literally been a pacifist before the war against the Grik, but he’d since become a consummate, skilled, and resourceful… Marine. He always reverted to his “old” status of bosun’s mate aboard Walker, the ship he now fully considered his Home, but he’d become much, much more.
That was part of the problem. The young Lemurian, once able to take such innocent and childlike joy from the grand adventure of life, had become a virtual killing machine. Fighting the Grik was one thing, however. He’d been able to keep that separate, apart. He’d built a wall between his soul and the things he’d done to save his people. The battle they’d been forced to fight against other humans had apparently loosened a few of the stones in that wall. He clearly didn’t understand it, and he was confused. Lemurians simply didn’t fight other Lemurians-with a few notable exceptions. He’d known and accepted from the start that humans did fight other humans, and he’d even helped fight the Japane
se humans who aided the Grik. But These humans, these “Imperials,” were the very descendants of the ancient “tail-less ones” who once came among his people and gave them so much in terms of technology, culture, and even knowledge of the Heavens. Essentially, Matt supposed Chack felt as if he’d met the ancient saints of his people and discovered they weren’t saints after all.
Matt knew Chack’s feelings weren’t unique. The very voyage they were embarked on had done much to undermine some fundamental tenets of Lemurian dogma. Even the fact that they’d traveled this far without falling off the world had been sufficient to do that to a degree. Lemurians knew the world was round, but apparently only those now aboard USS Walker really understood the simple truth that gravity pulled down, no matter where you went. This didn’t come as a basic physics lesson to Walker ’s now predominantly Lemurian crew; it challenged many fundamental “laws of things” as far as they were concerned, including such mundane things as where the water came from that fell as rain from the Heavens.
Chack-and all his people, ultimately-had a lot of stuff to sort out, and as essential as it had become for them to enter the “modern world,” Matt felt a profound sadness as he watched Chack’s and the Lemurian people’s… innocence… drain away.
The third member of the tribunal had been a slightly controversial selection. Courtney Bradford had been a civilian employee of Royal Dutch Shell before the strange Squall brought them to this world. An Australian, he’d been a petroleum engineer and self-styled naturalist. Quirky and brilliant, the man was also a moderately reliable pain in the ass in an unintentional, exuberantly oblivious sort of way. Despite his personality, Matt considered him an obvious choice for the assignment because not only was he Minister of Science of the Allied powers; he also enjoyed the dubious and well-deserved, if slightly nerve-racking, title of Plenipotentiary at Large.
Matt had been genuinely surprised when Commodore Jenks himself raised an objection to Courtney’s appointment on the grounds that this was to be a military trial and no civilian could sit in judgment of a military man. Matt countered with a simple question: “How many navies does the Empire have?” Jenks had been flustered, as if the question had never occurred to him before. Perhaps it hadn’t. He finally, thoughtfully, admitted there was only one Imperial Navy, and “Company” ships weren’t part of it. That being established, he readily, almost eagerly, agreed that it was perfectly appropriate for a civilian to sit in judgment over what were, ultimately, civilian pirates. As prosecutors, Jenks and his exec, Lieutenant Grimsley, had pursued and stressed the treasonous pirate theme throughout the trial, and Matt suspected they were practicing an argument that Jenks intended to lay before the Lord High Admiral of the Imperial Navy in regard to the actions of the “Honorable” New Britain Company as a whole.
Matt’s own exec, Francis “Frankie” Steele, reluctantly but competently presided over the defense, with Lieutenant Blair of the Imperial Marines to assist him. Despite their reservations, both men took their duties seriously and were scrupulously, almost torturously fair, but the preponderance of the evidence and the vast numbers of witnesses for the prosecution left them relying almost entirely on “reasonable doubt,” which was recognized by the Empire. Unfortunately for most of their “clients,” there wasn’t any doubt at all.
The trials were finally over, and this day had been dedicated to summoning the prisoners to hear their fate. A total of fifty-one HNBC officers and Company officials had been charged and tried. Of those, thirty-one had been found guilty of the capital crime they were accused of. According to the Imperial trial procedures and Articles of War that Matt had agreed were appropriate under the circumstances, there was only one possible sentence for them: death by hanging. Even now, the condemned men were being ferried across and hoisted, one at a time, to the tip of the main yard of Ulysses. Thirteen were guilty of arguably lesser crimes, for which they would be imprisoned at the first Imperial settlement they reached. Six were actually found not guilty of anything, as far as even Jenks could tell, other than being Company toadies who’d mistreated the naval personnel placed under their authority. They hadn’t had any idea what the true nature of their mission was.
Still staring at Achilles through the porthole, Matt was glad Ulysses was out of sight. He had no concern that they might be hanging innocent men, but he’d seen so much death in all its forms over the last couple of years, the cold-blooded, methodical hanging of men was not a mental image he needed to add to the album of his troubled dreams. Not while he was attempting to remain as objective as possible and trying very hard not to hate the Empire as a whole for what some of its people had done. Not while he thought he might enjoy the hangings a little too much… He glanced at the other “judges” beside him and sighed.
“Let’s get this over with,” he murmured quietly.
“Forgive me, Captain Reddy… Captain Chack. You as well, Mr. Bradford,” Jenks said apologetically. “I knew I was asking a lot of you. Of you all. But this… process… was utterly necessary, I’m afraid. We still have a long voyage ahead, and an unknown situation awaiting us when we arrive. We haven’t caught up with Ajax and Commander Billingsley, nor had any of the ships we fought sighted or spoken them. With this delay to make repairs and the delay we must endure a little farther along while we await your replenishment squadron, I fear we may not catch Billingsley at all. We must assume he will reach New Britain, or one of the other main islands before us, and we must be prepared to counter his version of events. That assumes, of course, that he makes his presence known when he arrives. We have no conception of his agenda or how the Company means to use its possession of the princess-not to mention the other hostages. Taking the princess will have been bad enough, once known, but taking the other hostages, your people-” He stopped, knowing full well one of those “people” was the woman Matt loved. “That has made this an international incident,” he ended at last.
“It was an act of war!” Matt reminded him. “Besides the hostages he took, he destroyed Allied property and killed people when he did it!”
“Rest assured, Captain Reddy, I shan’t forget. It will be our business, yours and mine, to convince the proper people-hopefully the Governor-Emperor himself-just how significant an act that was, not only from the perspective of avoiding conflict between our peoples, but how that might affect our future cooperation against the Grik.” He frowned. “Trust me in this-having seen and fought those vicious buggers, I’m quite a fervent convert to your assertion that they pose a monstrous threat not only to our way of life but to all life on this world.” He gestured around at the compartment and, by implication, the proceedings underway. “This unpleasant business will have been expected of us, and not to put too fine a point upon it, many of these traitorous scum will actually escape the hangman if the Company is allowed to take a hand. In that case, not only will justice never be served, but we might find ourselves in the dock facing a-I believe you call it a ‘stacked deck.’ If we hope to accomplish anything when we reach New Britain, ours must be the official, legal, indisputable account of the events that have transpired.”
There came a knock on the passageway bulkhead beyond the beautifully embroidered curtain that had replaced the vile, stained pea green curtain that had hung there when Matt first took command of USS Walker a lifetime ago. The new curtain was still green so as not to clash with the cracked and bulging green linoleum tiles on the deck, but some Lemurian artist had lovingly embroidered the U.S. Navy seal and “USS Walker, DD-163” in gold and colored thread. The thing was beautiful, and in stark contrast to the spartan interior of the wardroom.
“Enter,” said Matt after a slight hesitation.
Juan Marcos, the bold, inscrutable little Filipino steward who had, by force of will alone, established himself as Matt’s personal steward/ butler/secretary, moved the curtain aside with a grim expression. The final prisoner to come before them was none other than the captain of Ulysses, the flagship of the Company squadron that had attacked them and then fl
ed so ignominiously in the face of Walker ’s vengeful salvos. As flagship, Ulysses carried the greatest weight of metal and the most powerful guns. She had most likely been the ship that fired those first unexpected broadsides that damaged Matt’s ship and killed several of her crew. The Company captain’s later protestations of innocence and remorse only added to the contempt in which Walker ’s crew held him. He was a murderer and a coward. Currently, only his cowardice was on display. When the ’Cat Marines practically carried him into the compartment and he saw his own sword laid upon the table, its point arranged in his direction, he already knew the verdict and began to blubber. Any sympathy Matt might have felt toward the man evaporated, and his voice was harsh when he spoke.
“Captain Moline, it is the judgment of this court that you are not a naval officer and are therefore not subject to punishment for certain infractions of the Imperial Articles of War of which you have been accused-even though it’s my understanding you did swear, upon receiving your HNBC commission, that you’d abide by those articles. That being the case, this court has no choice but to find you not guilty of the crimes specified under articles two, three, four, twelve, thireen, fifteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, and twenty-seven of which you’ve been charged.”
Matt had never considered himself a cruel man, but he couldn’t stop himself from pausing, ever so slightly. Just long enough to see the first rays of hope begin to bloom in Captain Moline’s eyes. He abruptly continued, in the same harsh tone.
“However, even as a civilian, you’re still subject to certain specifications within those military articles, and of course you’re entirely subject to numerous civil charges as they exist for the protection and punishment of non-military subjects of Imperial law. No provincial Assize court or Home Circuit being in the vicinity, it’s my understanding that, according to Imperial law, this court must assume the duties normally prescribed for them. If you were being tried by a civil court, you’d certainly face at least the charges of high treason against your sovereign and nation, piracy, and attempted murder of a member of the Imperial family. I could add other charges, but there’d be no point. Any of these are capital crimes, and this court finds you guilty of all specifications.”
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