“So do I.”
A servant attired in the white coat and knee breeches of the Respite militia appeared. “Dinner, if ye please,” he announced.
Matt was too accustomed to the spartan shipboard fare to fully appreciate the sumptuous feast prepared for them. The food was just too rich. The governor and his wife ate theirs with obvious relish, but Sandra, seated beside him now, only picked at her plate. She seemed to blush every time he caught her eye, still embarrassed by the sheer scope of the spectacle Lady Emelia was planning. She’d said she expected a big wedding on Respite, but the description Emelia continued whispering to her during the meeting outside was beyond anything she’d ever imagined.
The visiting Lemurian officers were enjoying their meal, and Chack was curiously sampling a little of everything. Matt was amazed when Silva caught a server’s sleeve and ostentatiously asked if another of the chicken-size, broiled “lizardy-lookin’ guys,” might be brought out. When the server went to fetch it, Stites leaned in to Silva and muttered: “Good thing Larry ain’t here. He’d have to go hungry or turn cannibal.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. I seen him eat lotsa critters more like his relations than these little boogers,” Dennis answered in what his damaged hearing probably thought was a whisper, then looked up, surprised by the sudden silence around the table. “Course, maybe he woulda ate the fish,” he offered.
Chack couldn’t help it and burst out in a hacking laugh, blinking apology at the same time. The other ’Cats joined him, and soon everyone was laughing, even Sandra, who’d needed something to break her tension. Matt explained about Lawrence, and the comment better understood, the laughter redoubled. When it finally died down, it was replaced by a more lively conversation.
Silva can break anything, Matt thought with amusement, even ice.
“Oh, my dear captain,” Radcliff said at last. “I wish you had brought the creature along! I simply can’t wait to meet him.”
There was a knock on the great door that led to the dining chamber, and another servant went to investigate the cause.
“We don’t consider Lawrence a ‘creature’ anymore, Your Excellency,” Matt explained mildly. “He’s a Tagranesi… well, Sa’aaran, now, and if his Grik cousins are capable of achieving his level of intelligence, we’ve got a lot to worry about.”
The servant hurried over to stand beside the governor, a frown on his face, and waited for Radcliff’s attention.
“Yes, yes. What is it, Gomez?”
The dark-skinned servant, probably a descendant of the Spanish/Indian mix in the Dominion, handed over a bifolded page sealed with wax. “Which it’s a dispatch from the Allied wireless station, Guv’ner,” he said with a typical Imperial accent. “An’ it’s marked ‘urgent,’ as ye can see. Yer orders are never ta delay d’livery o’ such.”
“Indeed, indeed,” Radcliff replied, taking the folded square. After a brief hesitation, he offered it to Matt. “It’s most likely meant for you, after all.”
“Go ahead, Your Excellency,” Matt said, but his chest tightened. It was his sad experience that urgent communications rarely carried good news.
Radcliff nodded and broke the seal, then unfolded the sheet and held it at arm’s length to better see the words. The diners around the table were silent now, watching with curiosity. Matt’s stomach churned with dread when he saw the governor’s growing frown. Without a word, Radcliff passed the message across and Matt looked at it. Sandra caught her breath when she saw the expression forming on his face as he read, and she put her hands on his shoulder. Finally, he looked up and his gaze was bleak.
“Well, it’s started in the west. Alden has invaded India and has a solid beachhead at Madras. First and Second Corps are pushing inland, and Third Corps has crossed from Ceylon in the south. So far, the Grik are on the run.” He paused and there was a spatter of applause, but Matt’s tone didn’t reflect the good news. He continued.
“A little closer at hand, it would seem Commander Sato Okada’s Mizuki Maru, the armed… freighter that Saan-Kakja sent after the Jap tin can Hidoiame, met the enemy… and was apparently lost with all hands.”
Sandra gasped and Gray cursed aloud.
“Where… when?” Chack asked.
“The Sea of Japan.” He waved the sheet. “The position’s here. ‘When’ was almost a month ago!”
“But… why wait until now to tell us?” Sandra demanded.
“Because we were too far away to do anything about it, and Saan-Kakja’s fully aware of our damage and our weapons limitations,” Matt answered bitterly. “She probably didn’t want us to push things and hoped she could handle it on her own. Three ships sent to the last known position to search for survivors didn’t return, and the only one with a transmitter reported being under attack before contact was lost. Several squadrons of ‘Nancys’ were sent to locate the enemy. One squadron actually found her and bombed her, but no damage was seen-and four of the six planes were shot down!”
“Oh, my God!” Sandra whispered, her hand over her mouth.
“Nancys,” or PB-1Bs were single-engine floatplanes that looked like miniature versions of a PBY Catalina, and they were the current backbone of the Allied air arm. More advanced aircraft were in the works, but “Nancys” had proven to be reliable and versatile little planes. Each had a crew of two.
“The only good thing, I guess,” Matt continued, “is that nobody reported seeing the destroyer’s tanker consort, and she can’t go far without her. She probably ran around for a while trying to throw us off the trail to where the tanker is-but now she’s going to have to find someplace else to hole up, and she’s got to get her tanker and maybe break down and pack up whatever shore installations they’ve spent irreplaceable resources on first!”
“That could take some time,” Gray said, scratching the stubble on his chin. They finally had razors again, and Matt wasn’t the only clean-shaven human in the Alliance anymore.
“Yes,” Chack said, “and we know where they must be!”
“ If Okada was right and they really did set up around where Sapporo ought to be… Damn, I need a chart!” Matt said. The Imperials knew almost nothing of that region. “Governor Radcliff, could I trouble you to send a runner to my ship? Or maybe to Lieutenant Haan’s Finir-Pel? His charts may be more up to date than Walker ’s. If we can compare where Hidoiame was last seen to where we suspect her base might be, maybe we can catch her before she scoots!”
“What are you talking about?” Sandra suddenly demanded, looking at Matt with stormy eyes. “ You’re not going after her!” The Imperials around the table were visibly shocked by her outburst, but Matt just looked at her. “It’s not that you shouldn’t go or I don’t want you to,” Sandra continued. “That’s true enough. But I forbid it because you can’t!”
“You forbid?” Matt demanded, eyes wide.
Sandra stood and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “Yes! As Medical Officer of USS Walker and Minister of Medicine for the Allied Powers, I declare you, your ship, and her crew unfit to pursue Hidoiame! None of you are sufficiently recovered from your wounds, physical and psychological, and you have neither the strength nor material means to accomplish the mission!”
“Shit!” murmured Silva, too loud again, in a tone that showed admiration for her angle, if not her message. “Look at her go!” The Bosun, face purple, made a savage “cut it” gesture at him.
“I and I alone am the judge of whether or not my ship is fit for action!” Matt said coldly.
“And I say that if you intend to pursue Hidoiame at this time without the rest your crew needs and the refit your ship requires, then your judgment must be impaired by exhaustion, Captain Reddy! You can’t be everywhere at once. You and your crew, your ship, have been too close to the fire for too long, and sooner or later it’s going to burn you up! You know that yourself, but if you can’t see that going after Hidoiame will turn ‘sooner’ into ‘now, ’ then you can’t be thinking clearly! She’s a new ship-faster, hea
vier, and better armed! How close would you have to get to even damage her with the primitive shells you’ve been forced to use? All that time while you’re trying to close, Walker will be taking fire. And it won’t be cannonballs-it’ll be high-explosive shells, accurately delivered, to kill your crew and your ship!”
Sandra’s argument was beginning to take its toll. She was right, and Matt knew it. Walker had a full load of ammunition for her main battery, all but the Japanese 4.7-inch dual-purpose that had replaced her own damaged number four gun on the aft deckhouse. They had almost shot it “dry,” and other ships and installations armed with the rest of Amagi ’s salvaged secondaries had priority for resupply. The black-powder four-inch-fifty shells Walker had taken east and that supply ships had begun stockpiling for her at almost any friendly port she might touch, had worked better than they had any right to expect, but they just didn’t have the range to go up against Hidoiame. But the rogue Japanese destroyer they’d left Okada to deal with had proven she was just too dangerous to run loose anymore. If they didn’t catch her now, how would they find her later? What if, God forbid, she managed to make it all the way to join Kurokawa and the Grik?
“Aah, Cap-i-taan Reddy?” said Raada-Nin reluctantly. “My manifests include supplies dispatched for the… main-tin-aance of your ship. Among those supplies is a quantity of ammunition for your main baat-tery. New ammunition.” He blinked apology at Sandra, but he couldn’t keep it secret.
“New?”
“Ay, Cap-i-taan. From Mr. Saan-dison in Ord-naance.” He fished in his belt pouch and extended a letter. “This is from him to you. I would have left it for you had we already off-loaded and sailed for New Bri-taan Isles, but may-be you look at it now?”
Wordlessly, Matt took the letter and read.
To: Captain Reddy, CINCAF, HCAC, and CO USS Walker (DD-163)
From: Lt. Cmdr. B. Sandison, Acting Minister of Ordnance
Dear Skipper,
I don’t know if this will find you, but if it does, I hope it finds you well and already on your way home. You’ll be glad to hear that we’ve finally solved the guncotton issue and I’m really kind of embarrassed how easy it was once we quit trying to make it so hard. Evidently, cellulose is cellulose, to a larger degree than I had imagined. Anyway, we now have some four-inch-fifty shells I think you’re going to like. I won’t go into all the tech stuff here-some is stenciled on the crates and there’s more for Campeti in an insert pamphlet-but basically, pressures look good (17.4 tons). I’m sure glad we didn’t fork over the copper rods for making the pressure disks! Who knows what kind of “copper” they are, and how to duplicate it! We tested the shells in Old Number Four, as we call her (she’s shipshape again, by the way), and S-19’s deck gun. I’m happy to report that the trajectories matched book specs. There’s still something screwy with the burn rate or the alloy we’re using for the brass shells is a little off, because sometimes (around 10 percent) they split, but no chamber damage has been observed.
The projectiles aren’t armor piercing-what’s out there to pierce? — and we stuck with the old, specified 1.1-pound black-powder bursting charge, but the projectiles are the proper 33-pound iron with brass bearing bands. They shoot straighter, hit harder, and pack nearly the same wallop our old HE did. I think you’ll like them.
I’ve sent close to a full load out with Lieutenant Raada-Nin. He has orders to leave half at Respite and take the other half to Scapa Flow if you don’t meet. More are already at Manila, along with all the specs to start production on them, as well as the Jap secondaries scattered around.
Other projects are proceeding in every department, and I hope to have some very pleasant surprises for you soon.
Respectfully,
B. Sandison
Lt. Cmdr. USNR
Still without speaking, he handed the letter to Sandra, who scanned it incredulously. “So?” she demanded harshly, tossing the sheet toward the Bosun. “What difference does that make? Maybe you’ve got better ammunition now. What chance will that give you?”
“An even chance,” Matt replied, “and that’s better than usual.”
“Even,” Sandra snorted. “Right. That’s like saying an old man is ‘even’ with a teenager because he can spit just as far.”
“Lady Sandra!” Emelia gasped. She was not above such disputes with her husband, but never like this, in front of others, and she was keenly aware of the presence of all the Imperial men-something Sandra seemed to have forgotten.
Sandra suddenly looked around at the uncomfortable or disapproving stares, and realized with sick certainty that her outburst had doomed her cause. If only she’d waited, tried to reason with Matt in private, she may have stood a chance. But now she’d backed him into a corner, in front of men-their allies-who would think him weak if he conceded to her… and they could not think the Commander in Chief of All Allied Forces was weak. The Lemurians would understand how crazy it was for Matt to risk himself and his ship like this unless the situation was utterly desperate. The whole Alliance could crumble if something happened to him; he was still the primary unifying force. But as much as she knew the Imperials respected and honored Matt as a warrior and even as the savior of their country, they had a strong emperor again, and a country with a long tradition of unity. They just wouldn’t get it yet, wouldn’t think that way… It was then that she caught the very distressed expression on Ambassador Forester’s face. Or would they? She thought.
“The young lady may have a point, you know,” Forester said in a soothing tone. “Granted, her outburst was… unseemly, but the traditions of the Americans are different from ours and it is understandable if she is upset. We were discussing her wedding just a short time ago, after all.”
Sandra’s ears burned at the thought they would believe that was her primary motivation, but she kept her mouth shut.
“I know little of Walker. Her design is foreign to me. But even I can see that she has suffered serious damage that cannot all be repaired here. Is it wise to risk her and her brave, valuably experienced crew to destroy a single ship?”
“No,” Matt himself agreed honestly, “but wise or not, I don’t see a choice.”
“Keep sendin’ planes after her. Bomb her to scrap, I say,” said the Bosun.
“And lose how many? Six already tried, and four were lost without even scratching her paint. That’s eight precious flyers we can’t afford to lose.” Matt shook his head. “ Walker ’s more important to me than to anybody, but in many respects, this war has passed her by almost as thoroughly as our war against the Japs did. She’s not going to decide this one either, Boats. Not by herself. Lieutenant Tucker’s right about that. Sure, she might as well be a battleship in a surface action against what we’ve seen, but air power will most likely be the tipping point. In the meantime, though, it’s not even close to ‘even’ for whatever Hidoiame runs into. Apparently, not only did she destroy Mizuki Maru, but two feluccas and a frigate. That’s close to seven hundred people she’s killed, beyond her previous… atrocities.”
“One of our big carriers with Amagi ’s secondaries could take her,” the Bosun speculated.
“If it could draw her in,” said Chack, “but it would never catch her. An entire wing of ‘Naan-cees’ could overwhelm her defenses and probably sink her…”
“But the losses would be terrible,” Matt repeated, “and the question’s moot anyway. Saan-Kakja’s building two more flat-tops for deployment to the east, but though they’ll be heavily armed with conventional weapons-muzzle-loading cannon, and big ones too-they’re still limited to a couple of thousand yards, tops. Besides, neither of them will be ready for sea sooner than three months from now. That’s too long.”
“So you’re going to do it,” Sandra stated. It wasn’t a question.
“No choice. I wish we’d been close enough to do it when we first heard about her, but all our major ports and strategic outposts are well enough armed to protect themselves, and besides, we had other priorities.” He shrugged.
“And I thought Okada would handle her.” He was silent for a moment, and everyone saw the thoughts colliding behind his eyes.
“Hell!” he said suddenly. “I hate it how things sneak up on me! I just realized that she represents another, more pressing threat I hadn’t even thought of before. She had an oiler in tow when she came through her squall-or whatever it was-so we’ve been thinking she’d just hole up. But what if the oiler wasn’t full? What if she’s starting to run low on fuel, or what’ll she do when she does? The longer she’s on the loose, the sooner that’ll happen. If she’s based where we think she is, she can’t even drill for oil like we did because there isn’t any there. She can’t take it from any of our facilities or set up shop nearby without us knowing it… and she can’t even know everywhere we are!”
Matt’s face turned even grimmer as he looked around the table. He saw Chack blinking furiously in thought.
“That means this bad Jaap will have only one other way to sustain himself, at least in the short term,” Chack murmured, his tail swishing behind him.
“Right,” said the Bosun thoughtfully. “She’ll have to go after our ships like a g-dad-blasted pirate! Take oil from the steamers, probably the food and supplies from other ships in the pipeline, headed either way. She might already be doing it!”
“That Jap tin can’s a major threat to our shipping lanes, all around the Fil-pin lands, at least,” Matt confirmed. “With her range advantage and speed, she might as well be the Graf Spee!”
“And us without the old Exeter to chase her down,” Gray agreed, oblivious that most of those present had no idea what he was talking about. He remembered when he and his captain had watched the Japanese sink the famous British cruiser, almost effortlessly.
“Yeah…” Matt’s sigh was almost a groan. “This Hidoiame can cripple our overall war effort, on both fronts, whether she’s become Kurokawa’s stooge or not.” He paused. “Lieutenant Raada-Nin, would you mind taking Chief Gunner’s Mate Stites out to look at these new shells?”
Iron Gray Sea d-7 Page 9
