Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen (33 page)

“I think I understand where you’re headed,” Sandra said thoughtfully. “Herring’s not Asiatic Fleet. He’s not even a fleet officer. On top of that, he’s very recently suffered terrible mistreatment from the Japanese—people who are ‘different.’ Do you think that’s why he rubbed Saan-Kakja the wrong way? Just his attitude?”

“I hope so. Like Letts said, Adar seems to trust him, and Adar’s a good judge of character, I think. . . .”

“But?”

“But,” Matt agreed, “he’s also—understandably—obsessed with exterminating the Grik, and with things heating up in the west, he might lose some of his objectivity.” Matt shook his head as if to clear it. “I trust Adar’s judgment,” he repeated, “but I also trust Saan-Kakja’s instincts. She’s been stampeded before and knows what it feels like.” He smiled at his wife. “I guess we’ll see when we get there.”

“Cap-i-taan,” Minnie said behind them. “Lookout says ‘pleezy-sores bearing seero tree seero, relaa-tive! Two t’ousand yaards! Many pleezy-sores!’”

Matt left his chair and stepped out on the starboard bridgewing, raising his binoculars. “Wow,” he muttered. “What a pack!” It looked like hundreds of the things were swimming along, blowing on the calm surface of the sea. Their backs rising and falling like whales. He handed the binoculars to Sandra. “I’ve never seen so many before.”

“What are they doing?” Sandra asked, adjusting the glasses. Then she saw. “Why, they’re like dolphins!” she exclaimed. “Maybe they’re not leaping at our bow, but they do seem to be pacing us from a distance!”

“Better they stay at a distance! They’re a lot bigger than dolphins,” Paddy said.

“What’re daw-fins, if ye please?” Diania asked hesitantly.

“Cap-i-taan,” Minnie said. “Lieutenant Campeti requests permission to test the new ordnance again, an’ shoot at them devils.”

Matt shook his head. “Permission denied. I thought he was happy with what he learned last night against that mountain fish?” The new shells worked much better than they’d expected, almost perfectly tuned to the gun director—as a distant mountain fish discovered to its mortal confusion under the light of a bright, clear moon. The trajectories were good and consistent and the tracers worked—even if the color was a little off. The explosive force was better as well, even though the bursting charge was the same. They were simply better projectiles in all respects than anything they’d had since they ran out of those they’d brought to this world.

“No,” Matt confirmed. “If those things keep their distance, we’ll leave ’em alone.” He took a deep breath. “No sense wasting ammunition we might need very badly soon.”

* * * 

Spanky climbed the skeletal iron stairs to the upper-level catwalk in the aft fireroom. Heat shimmered off the top of the massive, roaring number three boiler. It was absolute hell here in the highest reaches of the fireroom where, contrary to physics, the heat seemed almost to compress itself into a physical, oppressive presence. He wore a bandanna over his mouth and nose to protect him from the ’Cat fuzz that hung in the space like a fog, but it was already soaked with sweat and plastered to his face. His eyes watered, and seemed to float in little pools of salty, caustic acid.

“There you are!” he hollered over the thundering boiler and the blower that forced air into the contained inferno. Tabby shot a grinning, sopping glance at him before returning her attention to a pair of ’Cats wielding a massive wrench.

“Hi, Spaanky,” she shouted over her shoulder, intent on the work she was supervising.

“Damn, it’s hot!” Spanky said, joining her.

“You get soft running around in cool air topside,” she accused.

“Yeah, maybe. It was nice being off the equator for a while.”

“We head north soon, right?”

“We already have. We’re in the Fil-pin Sea, but we had to stay south of the Carolines until we cleared ’em. Too many uncharted knobs in there to run into in the dark. It should cool off tonight, and we’ll be off Samaar tomorrow.”

“Gettin’ close. We kill them damn Jaaps, we go in dry dock?”

“That’s the plan.”

Tabby wiped the foamy sweat matting the fur above her eyes and slung it at the boiler. “Thank the Maker. I don’t know how long we keep steaming on this bitch.”

“Another leak?”

“Not real leak,” she assured him. “Just hot foggy round this coupling.” She shook her head. “Mr. Letts’s gasket stuff is swell, but it seems to be going all at once. Like it gets saturated an’ steam just kinda smokes out, see? We ain’t had no failures, but we gotta tighten couplings all the time.”

“I bet it’s the heat,” Spanky said, and Tabby nodded.

“Me too. Meantime, I gotta watch these dopes, make sure they don’t spin a bolt or nut off the flange. I think we get a big failure then.”

“Yeah. Hey, be careful, wilya?”

Tabby sent him another damp, tired smile. “Don’t worry. We keep number three goin’—at least till after the fight!”

“Yeah. But
you
be careful! You and the rest of your snipes. If you get cooked down here, who am I gonna replace you with?” He chuckled. “I’ll have to come back down here myself!”

“No worry,
Mr
. Spaanky! I keep you safe in cool air!”

Spanky left them with it, tapping gauges as he went. He stood with a water tender for a moment, eyeing the water level in the feedwater line. All the pumps, feedwater, fuel, everything, were starting to gasp, and no wonder. The ship had steamed halfway around the damn world, fought several battles, and then steamed back. He didn’t want to think about how many hours of continuous steaming each boiler had racked up. He sighed and cycled through the air lock into the forward engine room.

“Howdy, fellas,” he said to the throttlemen, even though half were female and a couple of those were human women. He tried not to notice the way their sweaty T-shirts clung to them.

“We’re goin’ in the yard when we get to the Philippines, right?” asked Johnny Parks. The kid had been a fireman’s apprentice on
Mahan
, and now he was a machinist’s mate (engine). He seemed like a good kid, but he was just now catching up with some of the ’Cats.

“Right.”

“Good. The lube oil in the reduction gears is getting mighty thin.”

“I know, and we can’t change it out underway. Should’ve done it at Respite.”

“Yes, sir . . . but we changed it at Scapa Flow twice, coming and going, and, well, we’re out.”

Spanky scratched his chin under his whiskers. “Yeah. Right. I saw that in the division report.” He shook his head. “The old girl’s just about as beat up as she was when
Amagi
sank her. I’m starting to lose track of it all—and now I’ve got more than just engineering to worry about.” He forced a grin and slapped Johnny on the shoulder. “It’ll be okay. Plenty of lube oil waiting for us at Manila!”

He moved aft, past the giant turbine that dominated the space and paused by the reduction gear housing. He frowned. He’d never wanted to be exec. As engineering officer he’d had enough problems and responsibilities to deal with within his complicated but limited domain. Now he had to worry about the whole ship—and he still didn’t have half the worries the Skipper had. He didn’t regret keeping Captain Reddy in the dark about recent developments. What could he have done? But he finally understood why he’d been so mad. There was nothing he could do about the lube-oil shortage or the failing gaskets in the firerooms, but he
needed
to know about them. He suddenly remembered a heated lecture he’d given Tabby once, when she’d torn down a boiler without telling him. He’d told her she’d been wrong not to keep him fully informed because the Captain was basing his plans on what he thought his ship could do. Maybe this was different, and he honestly couldn’t think of anything the Skipper could have done if he’d known immediately what was happening , but he and Gray had been wrong not to tell him.

“The ship’s a wreck,” he admitted aloud to himself, “and the Skipper damn sure needs to know
that
before we tangle with that Jap tin can!”

CHAPTER
19

////// March 17, 1944

Scapa Flow, New Scotland

Empire of the New Britain Isles

M
rs. Carr quietly brought a pot of tea into the Imperial Library in Government House and set it near the sunken-eyed girl sitting on the leather-padded chair behind the broad, cluttered desk. It was her father’s desk, and the disheveled stacks of papers, books, and odd contraptions sprawled across it, just as he’d left them, seemed to represent him in the room. Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald stirred herself to nod slightly in thanks. With a dreadful sigh and what might have been a disapproving glare at Courtney Bradford, Mrs. Carr left the room. Courtney sat across the desk, leaning forward, yearning to enfold the girl in a comforting, supportive embrace, but the young princess had forbidden it and Courtney knew why. Possibly endless tears lurked behind those tortured eyes, and they couldn’t be released, not yet, lest they quench the white-hot steel that burned in the girl’s soul. He’d said everything he could possibly say, and she knew of the protective support, even love, he felt for her, but things—momentous things—had to be attended to, and she could not let anything interfere with that just yet. Even grief.

Mechanically, Rebecca poured a cup of tea for Courtney and another for herself; then they continued to wait. The odd, colorful, furry reptile named Petey remained drooped across the back of Rebecca’s neck like a fat little stole. He hadn’t even stirred except to cut an eye in Mrs. Carr’s direction when she came and went. Perhaps he sensed something of his master’s mood, because he definitely knew Mrs. Carr was the primary source of food in the house, and normally, he would have begun yapping “Eat! Eat!” at the first sight of her.

There came a soft knock at the door and the Imperial Factor, Sean Bates, stepped into the room, accompanied by the blond-furred Lemurian Lieutenant Ruik-Sor-Raa. Bates’s expression was little different from Rebecca’s, and Ruik was blinking rapidly in condolence. Beyond the door, before it closed, a glimpse of the hallway showed it well supplied with Imperial and Lemurian Marines.

“Yer highness,” Sean began softly, his own eyes red. News had finally come. “I wanted ta say, I
must
say, yer father an’ mother . . . they were . . .”

“You will address me as Your Majesty, from this moment on, so there will be no misunderstanding, no possibility that any might doubt my legitimacy or intent!” Rebecca said sharply.

“Of course, Your Majesty . . . Of course,” Sean replied, forcing a formal tone. “The coronation’ll make it official . . . after the funeral, of course, but there’s certainly precedent for a direct transition of Imperial power through inheritance. . . .” He nodded harshly. “An’ I advise ye ta seize that power immediately, or everything we—and your parents—so recently accomplished might still be undone. The primacy o’ the Governor-Emperor could still be subverted, particularly since . . .” Bates stopped and lowered his eyes.

“Particularly since I am a woman—and not only that! A child!” Rebecca interjected.

“There’s the issue o’ lawful age,” Bates conceded. “An’ with today’s discovery of both yer father’s and mother’s remains in the ruins o’ the Court o’ Directors . . . Even many who support ye will insist on the namin’ of a guardian. That cry has already begun.”

“Then you will be my guardian!” Rebecca insisted.

“You cannot name me thus, Yer Majesty. Only the courts o’ Directors or Proprietors can do so. With the one disbanded an’ the other extinct, that leaves only . . .”

“Who?”

“The High Admiral o’ the Imperial Navy. In this case, Lord High Admiral James McClain. Jenks’s authority ta relieve him came directly from the Governor-Emperor, but he wasn’t dismissed the service, or even reduced in grade! McClain is still high admiral.”

“Never!” Rebecca cried. “The man is a coward and a military imbecile, and if poor Bigelow’s suspicions were correct, a murderer as well! His dying words could only have meant that McClain suggested the traitorous beaters! Now McClain will surely name
himself
as guardian!”

Petey finally stirred and raised his toothy snout from Rebecca’s breast. “Never!” he shrieked, approximating Rebecca’s indignant tone. “Goddam!”

Realization suddenly dawned, and Courtney bolted to his feet. “At last!” he cried. “We have a true motive for this damnable atrocity! I suspected the insidious fiend all along! No one opposed the treaty reforms more, and he certainly had the opportunity! Now the proof is laid bare at last!”

“Perhaps not
proof
yet, Your Excellency,” Ruik tactfully interjected, “but I believe you say . . . the evidence of circumstance? And it does make sense. The attacker we captured conveniently—and rather oddly—died in the Navy hospital before we were able to interrogate him. If the man was murdered, who might have arranged it most easily?” He paused. “As I think on it, to call what the Lord High Admiral did in the east mishandled or incompetent is a weak understatement. Not all were convinced he did mishandle the situation, as far as
he
was concerned.” Ruik blinked resentment. “I was there when he was relieved for cause, and he objected, of course. Cap-i-taan Reddy and Commodore Jenks did not believe he was a traitor or that he was in league with the Doms, or they would have hanged him then, I’m sure. Perhaps they were right, but in his disgrace, he could have turned traitor since, I suppose.” He blinked consideration. “Or . . . It did strike others with greater understanding of human face moving than I, that even disgraced, the high ahd-mi-raal did not act . . . defeated?”

“Most interestin’,” Bates mused; then he looked at Rebecca. “Mr. Bradford’s right: the motive’s clear. But we ha’ nae proof his military blunders were deliberate. His actions showed incompetence, p’raps, but no more than many o’ our other commanders ha’ shown in this war! He made no bones about his disagreement wi’ the strategy either.” He glowered. “An’ ta be honest, I don’t meself believe him in league with the Doms, regardless how his actions er inactions may ha’ aided ’em. But this terrible murder . . . I cannot put beyond him. I stand wi’ Mr. Bradford on that.” He sighed roughly. “An’ McClain’s neither a coward nor an imbecile, Yer Majesty,” he added. “More’s the pity.”

“But how may we prove it?” Rebecca asked almost desperately. “We must at least give reason for our suspicion. How could he have arranged the murders? It is already known that those who attacked Lieutenant Ruik, Factor Bates, and myself were Dominion zealots.”

“Dominion assassins were used.” Ruik considered. “That has been confirmed by our own observations, the marshals, and Imperial Intelligence—but the high admiral is chief of Imperial Intelligence. Is he not? Who is better placed to mislead and use such creatures, particularly amid all the confusion after the revolt?” He suddenly stood even more rigid. “I am personally convinced of his guilt,” he stated, “and am certain that Cap-i-taan Reddy, Chairman Adar, and Ahd-mi-raal Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan would desire me, and all our forces currently in the vicinity of the New Britain Isles, to offer
you
any assistance you may require for any reason, Your Majesty.”

“Your offer goes without saying, Lieutenant,” Courtney said with a wave. “But I think you have just connected a most significant dot. Suddenly, means matches step with motive and opportunity. Who better than Imperial Intelligence to leak the plans of our campaign on New Ireland? We now know the enemy anticipated our every move there, and only courage and divine providence prevented a most . . . distracting disaster.” Courtney drifted with his thoughts a moment. “I have it! Perhaps the lord high admiral was not in league with the Doms, but he did use them most effectively to distract the Governor-Emperor with domestic battles. This not only weakened our thrust against the Doms—a unifying enemy, if there ever was one—but delayed the implementation of the reforms that the high admiral opposed. Reforms that once made, could not be undone.”

He looked around at the others. “I propose that he laid the egg for his plot in this very room, when we discussed the campaigns both to recapture New Ireland and to secure the continental colonies! He and those loyal to him in Imperial Intelligence then hatched the scheme to supply the Doms and rebels with information that would cause a more lengthy, costly campaign on the island, while preserving the Doms in the east as a unifying foe that he could use to consolidate his power once the Governor-Emperor and his wife were out of the way.” He looked sadly at Rebecca. “And your own demise, my dear, which was so nearly achieved. What would that have gained him?”

“With both courts an’ the entire Imperial family disposed of, the high admiral would step directly into the Governor-Emperor’s office!” Bates declared, aghast.

“No wonder he did not seem defeated when he was relieved,” Ruik said with sudden certainty. “He
wanted
to be relieved, to be sent back
here
!”

“Well. Then Admiral McClain is
clearly
the most likely culprit. Isn’t he?” Courtney asked, a trifle smug.

“Yes, he is, and that does constitute sufficient cause to prevent his guardianship,” Rebecca stated icily, “and hopefully get him hanged. In the meantime,
I
am Governor-Empress, by inheritance, and Sean Bates will be my guardian if one is required! We will see to”—her voice cracked—“my parents’ funeral and the coronation, at which I shall crush McClain’s agenda of stopping the reforms and fulfill my parents’ legacy!”

“What will you do, my dear?” Courtney asked, focusing on the girl again.

“This very instant, I command the arrest of Lord High Admiral McClain and his particular associates,” Rebecca said darkly. “We must get ahead of this plot. Initially, he will be charged with gross dereliction of duty, and face a martial court to determine whether he should be dismissed the service. That should allow us time to investigate those associates and the Imperial Intelligence Service as a whole. Remember, the ‘Honorable’ New Britain Company virtually ruled New Ireland, and I sense the hand of its remnants in this. Look more closely for connections there as well.” She considered. “We should not even mention our other suspicions just yet, I think. We do not want to frighten unknown conspirators into flight.”

“Unknown conspirators. Particular associates. Hmm.” Courtney made a face. “As your first act as Governor-Empress, I think you should be careful, my dear, not to arrest people solely because they
know
the admiral.
I
know him, you know. Besides, Captain Reddy and his Americans—human and Lemurian—are quite taken with the Constitution they all swore to defend. It contains various tedious guidelines about having actual
reasons
to arrest anyone, not just important traitors such as the admiral. As the somewhat reluctant representative of the powers growing attached to that Constitution, I should warn you that they take it quite seriously indeed, to the point that their articles of war—based upon what they occasionally refer to as ‘Rocks and Shoals’—also reflect those individual protections. I think they will be impressed if your first commands set the precedent that you also value individual liberties.”

“Very well,” Rebecca said, reflecting that there’d been a time when Bradford’s ironic tact would have had her laughing. “Factor Bates, please see that the lord high admiral is arrested on the charge I specified—and do find legitimate reasons to arrest any of his associates who might have knowledge of a conspiracy. I will leave the detective work to you, the marshals, and any member of Imperial Intelligence you believe to be pure in this.” She looked at Bradford and bit her lip.

“As to what else I shall do: first, I will bury my parents. After that, I will make the very same address my father meant to give at the Court of Directors.” Rebecca’s chin rose. “I will affirm the reforms that my father began. All indentures will be rescinded, and women will be
people
in this nation once and for all, with the same freedoms and protections as any man.” She glared at Bradford. “And those protections will be very similar and just as universal as those described in the Constitution you mentioned.” She paused. “I read it, you see, while I was in Baalkpan. There was a book about government from a dead surgeon’s library. Astonishing . . .” She shook her head and continued. “The military alliance between the Empire and the western allies—the Grand Alliance—will be ratified by me, as will the cultural and material trade bargains we reached.” Rebecca’s voice became granite once more. “And I will proclaim that, as Captain Reddy suggested, the war against the evil Dominion will end only with its complete and unconditional defeat!”

“What of . . . what of the Dom prisoners we took on New Ireland?” Bates asked quietly.

Rebecca rubbed her eyes. “I
want
to kill them. Does that make me as evil as they?” She paused. “I can’t do that, and I won’t. They must remain confined, and those with sympathies toward them must be confined as well.” She glanced sadly at Courtney. “We are not yet completely ready for this American Constitution. We cannot continue with our war even as we guard against our own people.” She took a deep breath and released it. “I must order the arrest of all Dominion priests and congregations within the Empire, and those who associate with them shall be carefully questioned as well. Even . . . even the True Faith Catholics on New Ireland require study, I’m sad to say. Many did support the revolt there at first.” She looked at Courtney, her eyes suddenly pleading. “Sister Audry has convinced me that the Doms are not Catholic at all, but a hideous perversion that merely wears its cloak to hide their evil.” She sighed. “I believe she is right. I hope she is.” She shook her head. “Ultimately, it is for their own protection, as most in this land will not believe it, and many may seek to harm them.”