Iron Gray Sea d-7

by Taylor Anderson

  Walker was low by the head and had a decided list to port. Gaping holes yawned wide just behind her tall, dingy, half-submerged number, and on the fo’c’sle just forward of the bridge. The bridge structure itself looked warped and disheveled, and the canvas on the rail around the fire-control platform was shredded. Water streamed from within the ship in solid torrents and splashed alongside, and more water ran from temporary hoses attached to auxiliary pumps and coursed along the deck. The forward funnel looked like a ruptured pipe, and the aft funnel was even worse. Smoke streamed only from number two, so the boilers in the aft fireroom had to be cold. The main blower behind the bridge still rumbled, but with an exhausted, hurting gasp. The whole ship looked diseased with rust.

  Yet Walker still lived, and her torn battle flag streamed to leeward on the stiff breeze off the nearby mountains. ’Cats in whites stood on the leaning fo’c’sle with lines in their hands, contrasting sharply with the rust, smoke stains, and faded gray paint. The number one gun-all the ship’s guns, Saan-Kakja now saw-were clean and trained fore and aft, and men and Lemurians were on the bridgewing, amidships deckhouse, and fire-blackened aft deckhouse. It was from there, Chack finally told her, that the ship was being conned.

  Isak Rueben took the pipe from his mouth and exhaled a stream of rank smoke that smelled like burning leaves and ammonia. He coughed.

  “Just as long as her crew can take it, an’ as often as we got the stuff-an’ the gumption-to patch her back up, Yer Excellentness,” he said with uncharacteristic forcefulness. Saan-Kakja looked at the odd, scrawny man and saw tears on his cheeks.

  “You are right, of course,” she agreed firmly, but deep down she still wondered.

  The tired old ship was finally secured to the dock, and corps ’Cats streamed up the gangplank as quickly as it was rigged. Soon, Walker ’s wounded started coming ashore, helped along or carried on stretchers. Earl Lanier’s stretcher required extra, somewhat sullen bearers, and he waved imperiously as the space alongside the battered ship continued to fill. “Boats” Bashear was still swaddled in bandages, but he strode down the gangway unassisted. There was a sudden commotion aboard Walker as Chief Gray’s distinctive, comforting bellow gathered a side party, and amid a twitter of pipes, another stretcher came down the gangplank with Sandra and Diania anxiously pacing it and Juan Marcos clomping along behind on a crutch that replaced his wooden leg. Saan-Kakja and her party had been staying out of the way, but now they moved forward. Sandra saw them coming, and for just an instant, Saan-Kakja caught the slightest hint of the anguish that lay behind Sandra’s eyes. Rushing forward, the High Chief of all the Fil-pin Lands wrapped her arms around the taller woman and held her in a tight embrace.

  “He’s going to be all right,” Sandra managed through the tears of relief and appreciation that began to flow. She sounded like she was trying to convince herself as much as those gathering around, but she repeated herself with more certainty. “He’s going to be all right.”

  Saan-Kakja looked down at the unconscious man on the stretcher, the man who meant so much to them all-not just because they needed him, but because they loved him.

  “I have no doubt,” Saan-Kakja agreed, her mesmerizing, gold and black eyes beginning to fill. “Let us get him to the hospital, and then you must rest and refresh yourself!”

  Matt was dreaming, sort of. He was awash in seep, and the differently refined version of the analgesic, germ-fighting paste that had been used to treat his wounds had left him almost comatose in appearance, but somewhat aware as well. Seep was a popular intoxicant in reasonable doses, but they’d learned it performed much like morphine when used in large amounts. Like the paste, seep also apparently had some antibacterial properties, because it killed off a lot of the good bacteria in one’s innards as well as the bad, and often left heavily dosed patients with a bad case of the “screamers.” He hated that. He also hated the sick, unreal, helpless feeling it gave him.

  He felt himself being carried out of the wardroom and heard the Bosun’s pipes. He knew he was being brought ashore and Walker was safe at last. He even heard the voices of Sandra and his friends as they gathered round, and he was pleased, in a kind of disassociated way. But then, for a while, he… left.

  “You’ve got an awful strange setup around here, Matthew,” Orrin Reddy told him, staring out at the sea. Somehow, Matt was back on New Ireland, and he’d been walking along the rocky, secluded northern coast under the warm sunshine where he’d taken a quick trip to visit his cousin. Orrin! Of all people to find in this goofed-up world! Orrin and a flight of Maaka-Kakja ’s Nancys had been helping scour the island of any remaining Grikbirds after the fearsome battles that snatched it back from Dominion control. He’d been conked on the head and wasn’t flying, but he would remain there as long as any of his pilots did.

  “It is strange,” Matt agreed, “in a lot of ways.” He grinned. “But not much stranger than finding you here.” Orrin chuckled. He looked good, considering what he’d been through. Matt had been amazed to hear the kid had shown up on this world, and still marveled at the coincidence of it. Orrin had been his favorite cousin, more like the little brother he never had, and they’d been close before his uncle and aunt took Orrin and his five brothers and sisters off to California. That had been in… ’thirty-two? Right before Matt entered the Naval Academy. He’d heard Orrin joined the Army Air Corps in ’forty-one and hoped to be assigned to the Philippines, where he and Matt would be close. Orrin even arrived in the Philippines while Matt was still there, but they never had a chance to get together. Either Matt had been on maneuvers or Orrin had been busy with training and readiness exercises. Then, just a few weeks later, the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the Philippines, and Walker was ordered south to Java.

  “Honestly,” Matt continued, “when I had time to think about it, I figured you’d been killed fighting the Japs. So many planes were lost so quickly, I knew the odds weren’t in your favor. The slaughter of the Air Corps was why the Navy had to leave the Philippines. We were sitting ducks.”

  Orrin nodded with a frown. “I know. And I nearly was killed more times than I care to think about.”

  Matt said nothing to that. The same was true for all of them now. “In retrospect,” he said instead, “I shouldn’t have been that amazed you made it here. On the scale of amazing things I’ve seen or learned over the past couple of years, that doesn’t really even make the chart. But I’m glad to see you.”

  They talked of many things that day. There was a lot of reminiscing, and they both considered what a tough war it must have been for the Reddy clan back home. They talked about the situation on this world, as Matt knew it, and Matt noticed how the war here was increasingly becoming Orrin’s war, as much as anyone’s. Then they talked about the old war, as Orrin knew it.

  Matt was appalled by the treatment Orrin and other POWs had suffered at the hands of the Japanese, and equally horrified by the atrocities inflicted on the Filipinos, whom the Japanese supposedly invaded to liberate. He’d never really liked the Philippines when he was stationed there-hadn’t much liked Walker back then, or the Asiatic Fleet in general, but he’d hated being run off. And then to hear what the Japanese had done after they left…

  “Our Jap guards crowed a lot about their successes,” Orrin explained, “which were depressingly frequent at first,” he admitted. “Then they started to clam up and things got worse for us, if that’s possible. Things started to go sour for them after the Coral Sea and Midway, and Guadalcanal. They didn’t crow about those, and most of what we heard about them was smuggled in by Filipinos to boost our morale.” He grinned. “But the first really good news we got was that Jimmy Doolittle had bombed Tokyo itself!” He looked seriously at Matt. “That was right after we heard the Asiatic Fleet had ceased to exist. I hated to hear that.”

  He kicked a black rock, and his grin returned. “Anyway, Doolittle’s stunt wasn’t much more than a poke in the eye, see? But it caused the Japs to take forces from their advancing f
leets to beef up the defenses around the home islands, so the strategic effect was all out of proportion to the tactical one. Besides, it drove the Japs absolutely, fanatically nuts, and gave us a shot in the arm when we heard.” His face turned grim. “In spite of the increased beatings and sometimes ridiculously petty mistreatments.” Orrin had told Matt that the front line Japanese pilots and troops were first-class fighting men, but the prison guards acted like capricious, sadistic children with deadly weapons.

  Matt wasn’t surprised by Doolittle’s stunt. Doolittle had been a national hero long before the war, and Orrin, in particular, had practically worshipped the man when he and Matt were kids together. The son of a sailor, Matt had rooted for the Navy in the air races, but he still admired Doolittle immensely.

  “You know, I wonder,” Matt said absently, “if we could figure out a way and a reason to pull a stunt like Doolittle’s here.” He slapped his cousin on the back. “I think I’m going to keep that in my back pocket. I don’t believe- You said they made him a general? I don’t think General Doolittle would mind!”

  Matt woke up in a white-painted, plank-wall room. A light breeze stirred the green curtains in the window, and at first he had no idea where he was. Then he remembered. Why on earth did they put green curtains in here? he asked himself. Yuck. They must’ve thought it was regulation or something. He sighed. His mouth was dry and he began to realize he hurt all over. His eyes were full of gummy goo and he wondered if he could get somebody’s attention. He heard an abrupt snort beside him and turned his head to see Isak Rueben sleeping in a chair beside the hard bed he was lying on. Isak’s head was tilted back, his mouth open, and Matt realized he’d been making those snorting sounds for some time.

  “Chief Rueben,” he managed to say. “Wake up, Chief.”

  Isak raised his head and blinked, then looked at Matt. He jumped to his feet, knocking the chair over with a loud crash. “Why, Cap’n Reddy! You’ve woke up at last! I’ll… I’ll run fetch somebody!” He darted from the room like a minnow.

  “Not exactly the face I’d hoped to wake up beside,” Matt murmured grumpily.

  “Which face is that?” came Sandra’s soft voice, almost beside his ear. He turned his head toward her and looked into her eyes.

  “Yours is better,” he said, and smacked his dry lips. Sandra was fully dressed but lying beside him on the skinny bed, with maybe a foot of it to herself. He wondered how long she’d been there.

  “Chief Rueben had the duty,” she answered his unasked question, “but when I came to check on you, he was asleep and I didn’t want to wake him.”

  “My ship?” he asked, and she nodded. “He helped Spanky get her in the floating dry dock.” She grinned. “And argued with Tabby like they were married the whole time.” Sandra screwed her face up and tried to recreate Isak’s weird voice. “You may be a engineerin’ loo-tinnit now, Tabby, but I recollect when you was pilin’ brontasarry turds on top o’ each other! This is my… GD dry dock!”

  Matt tried to laugh, but winced. Sandra rose and felt his forehead with the back of her hand, then stood. “I’ll get you some water,” she said.

  “I’d rather you stay here.”

  A commotion in the hallway preceded Chief Gray’s arrival with a pitcher and a cup. Others were behind him, trying to pass, but Gray kept them back with his elbows. He paused in the doorway. “Visitors?” he growled.

  Sandra shook her head. “Not yet. Saan-Kakja and the ambassador first. Maybe others later.” She motioned Gray forward with the pitcher.

  Gray looked over his shoulder. “You heard the lady, you buncha savages! The Skipper requires further repose!” The crowd eased back down the hall, and Gray handed over the pitcher triumphantly.

  “You too, Fitzhugh.”

  As taken aback by Sandra’s use of his first name as by the dismissal, Gray backed out of the room.

  Sandra turned back to Matt and poured water in the cup, then held it to his lips. “Slowly,” she said. “Just a few sips.” Matt obeyed, then looked at her. “Just us, just now, how bad is it?” he asked. His memory was returning, and he’d localized most of the pain to his right thigh and lower abdomen. Sandra took a breath.

  “I nearly lost you,” she whispered. “Again.”

  “Comes with the territory.”

  “I know,” she said, soft but harsh. “That doesn’t mean I have to like it.” She looked at him. “A fragment of steel-Spanky saw it later and is convinced it was a piece of a rivet. He blames himself.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it went deep in your thigh and clipped the femoral artery. That was actually the worst of it, but we couldn’t find the fragment! It just kept going up-and we were afraid it got into your intestines. That’s why you’re split from just above the knee past your belt line. It actually did get past your pelvis, but stopped short of anything… else. Thank God. You’ll be very sore for a while!”

  “Huh,” Matt said and looked under the sheet at the long, bandaged area. “Did you go ahead and take out my appendix while you had the hood up?”

  “This is not funny,” Sandra snapped.

  “No, it’s not,” Matt agreed. “Sorry. But it might have been a good idea…”

  “I was busy! That fight killed some good men and Lemurians, and hurt a lot more. Carl Bashear was badly burned, and Ed Palmer had a broken collarbone and arm, and internal bleeding-”

  “And we lost Norm Kutas,” Matt said, remembering. “Damn.”

  “We lost Norm,” Sandra confirmed, “and nine Lemurians. It could have been much worse. Probably should have been. We were lucky.”

  “Well. At least we got that Jap destroyer,” Matt said quietly. “That’s one less thing to worry about.”

  Sandra hesitated, and his eyes narrowed. “We did get her, didn’t we?”

  “Spanky is almost certain we did,” Sandra admitted.

  “Almost?”

  Sandra’s eyes flared. “Yes, almost! She was badly hit, she has no fuel or any way to get it, and even if she didn’t sink, she has nowhere to go! Ultimately, we did get her, whether we saw her sink or not, and your ship and your crew-not to mention you-needed immediate attention! Mr. McFarlane made the right call, and you need to tell him so! Between that and the faulty rivets, he thinks he let you down, and we-everybody-need Spanky at the top of his game right now.”

  Matt was nodding. “You’re right,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I said, ‘You’re right’!”

  A tentative smile touched Sandra’s lips. “Well. Of course I am.” She paused. “Saan-Kakja and Lord Forester will be back here soon, I’m sure. They met you when you came ashore, but I doubt you remember.” Her expression changed. “There have been a lot of developments, and no doubt they’ll want to hear your views. In the meantime, do you feel like eating anything?”

  Saan-Kakja, Ambassador Forester, Chack, and Spanky arrived while Matt was eating a soft, colorless goo he couldn’t recognize, but which tasted something like tapioca pudding without the “fish eggs,” as he called them. After a short visit, they described the current situation in the east and west, and Matt had trouble finishing his meal. He was glad to see that the ambassador and Saan-Kakja seemed to like each other. That was going to be important.

  “What are your plans, Your Excellency?” Matt asked Saan-Kakja.

  “We must send everything we can to Generaal Aalden immediately!” she said. “His position is precarious, and the war in the east is stable for now.”

  Matt was shaking his head.

  “You do not agree?”

  “With respect, I think you should stick to the plan. High Admiral Jenks has done well, but if you interrupt his supply line now, it’ll take many more months to amass the combat power he needs to take the war to the Doms, and we have to keep them off balance. The Grik are the greatest short-term threat, but the Doms will catch up if we give them too much time.” He looked at Forester. “I’m sure you would agree.”

  Forester nodded reluctantly. “The situati
on in the Empire remains unstable, though the Governor-Empress has made great strides.” He looked at Saan-Kakja. “Your continued support and clear dedication to the war in the east will further strengthen her position. Like you, I yearn to aid your General Alden in this time of trial, but I would actually rather send Imperial troops to do it than give anyone in my country the mistaken impression that your resolve there is weakening.”

  Saan-Kakja was blinking hesitant agreement. “Perhaps. I would like to see more Imperial troops in the war against the Grik, and I do not want to even seem to be wavering in my support for my sister, Rebeccaa.” She jerked a nod. “It will be as you say, Mr. Ambaas-a-dor. The Fil-pin Lands will continue to concentrate our efforts in the east-but in exchange, I do want more Imperiaal troops brought here, and then committed in the west.”

  “Very well,” Forester said. “I’m sure the Governor-Empress will happily agree. We are in this war together, and the more of it we fight together, the stronger I think we will be.”

  “But… What about Generaal Aalden?” Chack asked. “He must be reinforced.”

  “He will be,” Matt said. “You can count on it. First Fleet took a beating, but it wasn’t wrecked-and I’ll bet the guys and gals on Andaman and in Baalkpan have already figured out a few surprises to counter the latest Grik stunts. I’ve got a few ideas myself.” He looked thoughtful, and shifted the pillows that kept him propped up. Sandra saw his difficulty and helped. He smiled at her. “What’s the status of the regiment you’re raising here?” he asked Chack.