“I have known officers who are as knowledgeable as you, I have even known a few who are as dedicated as you, but none of them, not one,” he poked Andrew over his heart so hard that it hurt. “Not one of them had this.”
“I am giving you the most important order you will ever receive from a superior officer: do not ever try to be me—or anyone else—ever again. You are Andrew Sharpe, and so help me God, if you ever lose that man, be it in this life or the next, I will find you.”
And with those words, Captain Maxwell set Andrew free of the last chains that had bound him to his uncertainties.
Maxwell quieted. “You have much to do, Andrew. Many great things that I, because of my choices, will not be privileged to witness. You will start by taking this damaged ship all the way back home. I am assigning you a much harder duty than I am giving to Captain Shearer. You will protect the men aboard this ship, you will obey Captain Shearer’s orders, and you will see that this entire crew of 300 men keeps this dying warship afloat. I am ordering you to do this, Commander Sharpe, because it would be impossible for anyone else but you.”
Andrew met his Captain’s eye.
“You will listen, and you will obey, Commander. You will explore, you will grow, you will love your family, and you will savor every day and every hour and every moment that this life gives you, because there is beauty in all of it, and a man with a good heart deserves every moment of that.”
Maxwell had him by the shoulder again, in that painfully strong grip of his. “Assemble the crew on the upper deck, and one more thing. Do not forget this. This will be my final order to you as captain of this vessel. As soon as Kearsarge reaches the Atlantic abyss, throw the cyanide crates overboard. Do not allow a single one to remain aboard this ship.”
With that, Maxwell pushed him out the door and slammed it behind him. Andrew squared his shoulders and strode away to obey his captain. The world has just opened up before him, huge and tantalizing. He only knew one thing about this new world: it needed to be seized. So Andrew decided that, as soon as he got home, he would ask Ida to marry him.
W
With a clanking of man-sized chain links and a huge splash, Kearsarge dropped her port anchor. To port lay a long, narrow island of tan stone, crowned with emerald greenery. It would serve as a visual screen between Kearsarge and the Austrian coast, at least for a little while.
Garret and his friends had been instructed to ready a cutter. They couldn’t imagine why anyone would be going ashore to the southern edge of the Austro-Hungarian empire, but nothing had made sense for the last three weeks and they were getting used to it. So they readied the boat.
Fishy chuckled as he untied lashings. “You guys should have seen him. Theo hit that mud bank face first. One second he was taking a step, the next second he hit flat as a board. When he came up, he was covered with mud, but he still had that bass by the jaw, and he was still grinning from ear to ear. All I could see was his eyes and his teeth. I was laughing so hard I dropped our poles in the mud.”
“Did ya eat it?” Pun’kin asked.
“We did. I helped him gut it out. He asked Mother to fry it up with some potatoes and beets.” Fishy laughed. “What little kid likes beets? Theo loved ‘em.”
Fishy sobered a little, but warmed even more with the rest of the remembrance. “He wanted me to have the first piece of his fish. Wouldn’t let anybody else touch it until I’d taken a bite.”
“Was it good?” Pun’kin asked him sincerely.
“It was great,” Fishy said, eyes watering.
You’re a good guy, Pun’kin, Garret thought. Kinda wish we hadn’t ruined you.
Fishy shook his head. “He was more worried about what I thought than whether or not he liked it himself.”
Garret smiled and it stung. Honestly, Garret missed Theo even more than he missed the others. Garret set the ammo boxes in the bottom of the cutter and then climbed back out to retrieve the rifles he’d laid on the deck.
“Theo followed me everywhere,” Fishy said as he and Pun’kin strung a couple pulleys that had been stripped of their rope for some other purpose. “Since the minute he could crawl, he was always on my heels. He followed me all the way into the Navy.” Fishy bit his lip.
The cutter was sitting on the upper deck where it had been lowered and lashed a few days before. Velvet, who was reinstalling a chock under the keel, tried to redirect the conversation into positive territory. “You know, Theo was small for his age, but he worked harder than any of us. He was so careful. If he started doing anything, you could bet your last nickel it would be done properly, because he wouldn’t quit until it was.”
Fishy stopped, the mess of rope going slack in his hands. “I never told you guys…” Fishy’s face fell. “Theo wasn’t small for his age. He wasn’t fifteen. He was only thirteen, but the Navy wouldn’t take thirteen year olds. I think it was the only lie he ever told.”
Garret’s heart sank. Thirteen years old. They all worked quietly for a few minutes.
“Run it astern,” Velvet called. The whining of a heavy electric motor came from overhead as one of Kearsarge’s two large deck cranes began to swing out over the cutter.
“That’ll do,” Velvet called.
Garret expected Fishy to break down or maybe withdraw from them, but he didn’t. He smiled sadly. “God, I don’t know what to do without him.”
Then Fishy quieted. “If he hadn’t followed me here, he’d still be alive and safe, back home with Mother and Father. He’d still be catching grasshoppers and keeping them in a cage and reading that favorite book of his over and over, and…”
And then Fishy went over the hill, down into the depression and darkness. It was a cycle, and Garret figured it would continue for a long time. Actually he didn’t figure, he knew. He knew because he’d been there.
There was nothing they could say to talk Fishy out of blaming himself. They’d tried. It only made him angry.
Suddenly, Garret missed his wife. Molly, I can’t wait to see you again.
Fishy was disappearing fast, folding up inside himself. Oscar was coming back, the cold, angry guy who could never forgive himself for the death of his brother.
Garret struggled internally as he laid pistols in a small crate. I wonder if I should tell them about Molly. I mean, tell them about what I did. It might help Fishy. Garret considered it for several minutes. He’d so far avoided the subject like a rabid dog, but the more he thought about, the more he thought it might help. Additionally, Garret simply needed to tell the truth. He loved these guys like brothers. If they could forgive him, maybe he could eventually forgive himself too.
But again, Joseph Bendetti’s words echoed through his head. You did this. It’s your fault. No matter where you go, no matter what you do, you can’t get away from what you are, Garret.
Garret wobbled internally, but didn’t fold this time. Maybe… I should tell them anyway. Maybe it’s time.
“How do ya think Burl and the new guy are getting on?” Pun’kin asked.
Velvet straightened and wiped the sweat off his face with his sleeve. “I don’t like leaving them alone together,” he said into his sleeve. “No matter what Shearer and Captain Maxwell said to him.”
Fishy’s face darkened even more. The threat was implicit in the hatred radiating from him. He’d said it before anyway. If that little British shit lays a hand on anybody, I’ll tear him apart.
Garret struggled. There was no good place to start, and the idea of being honest was kinda terrifying anyway. Garret racked the oars. Velvet removed a random cob pipe that someone had left lying in the bottom. Silence hung between them. It was the result of Fishy’s last glower, but Garret felt the pressure as his own until he finally blurted, “My Ma died, and I think it was my fault.”
Work slowed to a stop as Velvet, Pun’kin, and Fishy all looked at him.
“What do you mean,” Velvet asked.
“I… I don’t know. I just think it was m
y fault.”
Velvet groped, started, thought better of whatever he was going to say, then eventually came out with, “How did she die?”
And Garret was trapped that easily, two sentences into the conversation. “I… I can’t tell you.”
They all blinked at him.
“You can tell us,” Pun’kin said. “We won’t tell nobody.”
For an instant, Garret actually considered spilling it. His friends weren’t going to know where to go with the conversation until he gave them something more.
“She, she was killed by a… an animal,” he offered.
Velvet and Pun’kin looked at each other. Fishy watched Garret without speaking. His face was a mask. Velvet was trying to be cautious. “Was it a farm animal? Did you… accidentally let it loose on her?”
“No,” Garret said. “It was wild.” Really wild. Like the wildest, scariest fucking thing you’ve ever seen.
Pun’kin looked openly confused. Velvet was equally confused but trying hard not to appear so. “Wild? Then how did…? I mean, how do you think it’s your fault? What kind of animal was it?”
Trapped again. Garret squirmed. “It was kinda like a wolf.” He felt guilty. He was a wolf. The creature had been as much like a wolf as a campfire was like a volcano.
“A wolf?” Velvet was more confused. “Buddy, I don’t see how that’s your fault. You couldn’t stop it, could you?”
“No,” Garret admitted. If there was one thing the creature had made clear to Garret, it was his inability to stop it. Acknowledging that fact was a confusing, yet incredibly freeing admission. And Pa? Do I think that was my fault too? Why would I think that? Why would I think that about either of them? I’m so angry at them sometimes, at what they did. At what they didn’t do…
Velvet was talking again, but Garret didn’t hear because the Other Voice was speaking to him.
Garret, you blame yourself for everything. You blame yourself for not being strong enough to stop what happened to you as a child. You blame yourself for not being able to change your mother into the person you and Sarn needed, and you blame yourself for not being able to make your Pa into a stronger person, even though neither was within your power.
You blame yourself for not shielding your brother from the hurt your parents caused him, even though you could not have protected him. With all of this responsibility you have taken upon yourself, it is no wonder you feel as though their deaths were your fault. Both of them died by their own decisions, not yours. They are gone. Let them go.
Garret sank down on the deck and struggled mightily for control. Fishy was crouched next to him, hand on Garret’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault,” Fishy said unevenly. “Don’t blame yourself.”
Garret looked up at him. His voice wasn’t quite steady when he said, “Then what about you? You couldn’t stop the piece of metal that killed Theo. Nobody could have. He wanted to be here. Nobody knew what was gonna happen. And he wouldn’t have left his post no matter what you said.”
That’s how they were, hurriedly wiping their eyes and trying to look like they weren’t, when the bo’sn started piping quarters.
“Great,” Fishy grunted. “We’re all going to look like a bunch of little girls when everybody else gets here.”
The rest of the crew were already coming, the first few trickling up off the main deck, sweaty and dirty. They formed up quickly, and Garret and his friends fell in. The formation was depressingly smaller than it used to be. Within a few minutes, the crew—what was left of it—was assembled. They waited.
Over them the sky was clear and bright, and around them the water was a playful aquamarine. To port rose the bulk of the island, tufted green with squarish rocks.
We haven’t been this close to land since we last saw home, Garret thought.
“What do you think’s going on,” Pun’kin whispered loudly to someone behind Garret.
“Why are you asking me?” Butterworth hissed back. “Your bloody Navy, not mine!” Even at a whisper, Butterworth’s British accent carried. Garret and his friends found themselves in the center of a volley of sideways dirty looks. No one had physically harmed Butterworth yet, but they weren’t quick to accept him either. As far as Garret was concerned, that was Butterworth’s problem. He’d kicked Garret in the crotch really hard.
At last Maxwell appeared, striding out onto the upper deck. Great. Despite the catharsis Garret had just found with his friends, he felt his anger flare at the sight of Captain Maxwell. His friends were dead, and somebody had to be responsible for that. Garret needed to get his focus off of Maxwell. Garret tried to crane his neck without looking like he was doing it. Captain Maxwell wasn’t alone. On either side of him stood Commander Sharpe and Captain Shearer. To either end of them stood Lieutenant Sokolov and Lieutenant Bartram.
Maxwell began without preamble. “Men, I’m leaving. You have done your duty, and you have done it admirably. Now I must do mine. You have lion hearts, every single one of you, and as for those who gave their lives, they are heroes like the Greek heroes of old. Remember them. Let them inspire you to be even better than you already are. You have proved yourselves. You are men. You are warriors. You are sailors of the United States Navy.”
He opened a hand to Captain Shearer. “I am turning over command of the Kearsarge to Captain Shearer.”
No one said anything, but it wasn’t because of discipline. It was more like 300 people being struck dumb at the same time.
“Commander Sharpe is the most capable executive officer I’ve ever had under my command, and when he is promoted to Captain, any of you would be lucky to serve under him. But as you all know, we are being hunted by the Royal Navy. Captain Shearer knows their tactics better than any man alive. You are to obey him instantly and without debate, because that odd sounding order that you’re tempted to question just might be the one that saves all of your lives.”
Maxwell folded his hands behind his back. “Men, I trusted you, and you have not let me down. I cannot tell you the details of what your blood, sweat, and tears have accomplished, but I can tell you this. You have saved countless lives. Thousands will live and love and grow old because you bled for them, because your friends died for them. You have steel in your spines, just like this old ship. Trust me now, one more time. Follow Commander Sharpe, as he will follow Captain Shearer. Together, they will take you home.”
Without another word he walked away and disappeared down a hatch.
“Dismissed!” Commander Sharpe yelled. Then he seemed to think better of it. Everyone started to move, but stopped. They waited to hear what he had to say, even without him ordering them to do so.
An instant’s doubt passed his face, but it was as swift and vanished as completely as the shadow of a passing bird. He stood up taller and seemed to grow until he filled all the space in front of them. An energy was radiating from him, subtle, but strong enough to be felt on one’s skin. It wasn’t like Captain Maxwell’s presence. It was new and different. It was Commander Sharpe’s own strength.
“Men,” he thundered, his voice rolling over the water and bouncing back to them off of the distant island. “Let’s go home!”
They cheered. It was deafening. It was lusty.
It was about damn time.
Garret and his buddies headed back towards the citadel. It was meal time, and everyone was boisterous and laughing.
Fishy slapped Burl on the back. Velvet was arguing with Pun’kin. Butterworth sidled up beside Garret and said, “I guess this makes me a prisoner of war, eh?”
Garret shrugged. “The food’s good.”
Garret was overjoyed. Not only were they going home, but they were getting rid of Maxwell before they went. His Ma had always said that blessings come in pairs. Ironic, coming from her, but whatever.
When Garret had first fantasized about beating Maxwell within an inch of his life, it had seemed desirable. Now he and Maxwell were parting ways, so the opportunity would never pre
sent itself. Garret was enormously relieved.
Maxwell was going to be gone, and Garret now realized that it wasn’t his fault that his parents died. Oh, could this day be any better? Garret rounded the corner and almost ran into Captain Maxwell, who was waiting for them.
“I will speak with you men,” he said and strode away. There was no questioning who he meant.
Garret and his friends trailed after Maxwell, and for the first time in over a month, Garret heard Fishy’s old woman voice mutter, “What new devilry is this?”
The “new devilry,” as it turned out, was worse than any of them would have dreamed. Garret slumped in the stern of the skiff they had provisioned, his hands limp at his sides, his torso crumpled like a half-empty grain sack. He watched in disbelief as the Kearsarge began to shrink behind them. For almost four weeks they had worked and slaved to stay alive aboard her, every man. Now the voyage was finished, the craziness accomplished, and everyone was going home.
All except Garret and his friends. Garret felt the beginnings of a panic attack. This can’t be happening. But it was happening. Garret and all his friends were leaving the Kearsarge with Maxwell, to finish whatever it was they had started. Garret had thought it was done the moment they destroyed the convoy. Now he was beginning to fear there might be no end to Maxwell’s maniacal designs.
Garret turned and cast a last look back at the once proud Kearsarge. Working on a battleship didn’t allow a person to get far enough away from the ship to get a good look at it. Likewise, Garret hadn’t really seen Kearsarge since the night they coaled her in Philadelphia, and then it had been dark and raining. So really, this was the first time he’d seen her clearly. It was oddly fitting that the first time he saw her would also be the last.
She was battered and torn. Her majestic bow was now crumpled, the golden crest that had once flown proudly across it was torn off, lost in the sea. Her starboard flank had a distended spot from the shells that had penetrated and exploded inside her. Her rear cage mast was completely gone, only broken snags of steel remaining. Her forward turret, which had once showed her proud defiance to the world, like a woolly mammoth’s long tusks, was now destroyed, barrels cracked or shattered, the deck beneath them blackened and broken. Her conning tower and flying bridge were twisted and chewed up, and sections of her railing had been ripped away like lace from a dress.
Ironclad Page 54
