Authors: TAYLOR ANDERSON
Crusade (24 page)
“Perhaps no reason. But let us keep this between ourselves.” He waited until he saw Kaufman nod. “In the meantime, is there anything I can do for you?”
For a long moment, the aviator didn’t reply. He just stared at Sato with astonished eyes. Finally, he spoke.
“Light. Leave the light on, please.”
Sato nodded. “Anything else?”
Kaufman blinked and looked vaguely around the compartment. “Something to read,” he pleaded. “I don’t care what it is.”
Big Sal
left at dawn. Slowly, majestically, the giant wings spread and the sweeps were stowed. Matt watched her go with tired eyes and decidedly mixed emotions.
Big Sal
or Keje had always been there, somewhere nearby, almost since they came to this world, and he knew he’d miss them and worry about their safety.
Aracca
Home was being loaded now, and in the distance he saw the first smoke of the fires that would consume B’mbaado City. He realized with regret that he’d never even visited the Orphan Queen’s palace, and now it was being destroyed. At least not all of it would be lost. Several feluccas had been detailed to take away B’mbaado’s greatest treasures. He wished the same could have been done for Aryaal, but Rasik still hoarded them to himself, locked in the royal palace. Matt realized that the vengeance he’d chosen had contributed to that loss, but lives were more important. His conscience wouldn’t suffer much when all was said and done.
left at dawn. Slowly, majestically, the giant wings spread and the sweeps were stowed. Matt watched her go with tired eyes and decidedly mixed emotions.
Big Sal
or Keje had always been there, somewhere nearby, almost since they came to this world, and he knew he’d miss them and worry about their safety.
Aracca
Home was being loaded now, and in the distance he saw the first smoke of the fires that would consume B’mbaado City. He realized with regret that he’d never even visited the Orphan Queen’s palace, and now it was being destroyed. At least not all of it would be lost. Several feluccas had been detailed to take away B’mbaado’s greatest treasures. He wished the same could have been done for Aryaal, but Rasik still hoarded them to himself, locked in the royal palace. Matt realized that the vengeance he’d chosen had contributed to that loss, but lives were more important. His conscience wouldn’t suffer much when all was said and done.
His coffee cup was empty and Juan was nowhere in sight. Garrett had the watch and so he decided to try and find some, and maybe grab something to eat. That reminded him he’d been too busy to check on Earl Lanier and he grimaced at the thought. Sandra had told him the cook would be fine. The shaft hadn’t penetrated beyond his impressive layer of fat. But Matt should have checked.
Thinking of injuries . . . Experimentally, he tensed a muscle in his shoulder to see what he could get away with. To his surprise, it seemed considerably better. Time to pester Sandra again about getting the dressings removed. He was sick of running around trying to do everything with one hand. He knew Sandra was asleep, though. For now, he’d leave her alone.
First get something to eat, and then go aft. He figured it wouldn’t hurt to see for himself how the work on the propeller was shaping up. Progress there had him more worried than he cared to admit. They’d finally been forced to lay off work last night when the flashies tore through a second sail. Spanky himself was in the water and they nearly got him. Hopefully they’d make up for lost time in the light of day. He didn’t like the idea of the world falling on top of them when they had a half-installed screw. With two engines, three boilers, and a full bunker of fuel, he would feel a lot more confident in the face of what was coming.
Walker ’s crew was making preparations for getting under way and, except for the propeller, there were no difficulties in that regard. For the first time in longer than he could remember he faced no pressing decisions that he alone could make. They’d all been made already, and now there was nothing left to do but watch while others carried them out and hope it wasn’t all for nothing. It left him somewhat at a loss. He couldn’t shake the feeling there was something left undone. Pondering his unease, he descended to the wardroom. There he found Courtney Bradford, alone and sleeping in a chair at the table. His head was tilted back and his mouth was open. Loud snores filled the compartment.
There was a coffee cup on the table, but by the smell of the room, coffee hadn’t been in it. Matt sighed and poured some lukewarm coffee for himself from a carafe. Then he opened the portholes on either side of the wardroom to let the warm morning air circulate within. Bradford’s snore caught in his throat and he opened his eyes and blinked. Matt sat across from him and emptied the carafe into the Australian’s cup. Then he gestured at it.
“That’s got to stop, Courtney,” he scolded him gently. “It sets a bad example.”
“’m not in the Navy,” Bradford grumbled. “And even if I was, it would be the Royal Australian Navy, which, I might remind you, certainly does not persecute the occasional tot.”
“Your ‘tots’ are no longer occasional. Alcohol’s not allowed on U.S. Navy ships, but so far I’ve turned a blind eye because of your . . . unusual status . . . and because, until lately, you’ve been discreet.” He rubbed his eyes and cleared his throat. “I need you sober, Mr. Bradford. I need you sober and clearheaded all the time. We’re all going to need our wits to survive.” He smiled slightly. “And I’ve come to rely heavily on yours.”
Bradford snorted and sipped from his cup. Grimacing, he set it aside. “I’m not much good to anyone, I’m afraid.” He spoke with a still muzzy voice. “Sometimes I think there is really not much point. No matter what we do, we are continually faced with ever greater obstacles.” He covered his face with his hands. “I grow so weary and . . . I miss my son quite dreadfully, you know.”
Matt leaned back. Bradford had never spoken of a son. Like most of them, he hadn’t said much at all about what he’d left behind. Bradford shook his head and sat up straighter. “Oh, he’s alive, for all I know. Flying Hurricanes for the RAAF, in England.” He frowned. “For all I know. The trouble is, I don’t know for sure and I never, ever will.” He glared at Matt. “We Australians still have somewhat closer ties to the mother country than you Yanks, and even though we were considerably farther away, the threat posed by Hitler struck a little closer to home. My son volunteered to fight against him almost a year and a half ago.” He glanced down at his cup and took another reluctant sip. “Adar always talks about the ‘greater threat’—we all do, and we’ve certainly been proved right in this instance. But while my son and most of the rest of the world were confronting the Nazis, you Yanks were busy antagonizing the Japs.”
He paused, and turned visibly inward. Then he held up his hand. “I apologize,” he said at last. “That was unfair. I was about to ask why you should care a damn what the Japs did in China when I recognized Malays. And now the Lemurians . . . God help me, I do love the little buggers . . .” He stifled a hiccup and coughed.
“I suppose I have at times resented you Yanks for not helping my son fight the Nazis. That made it all very personal, don’t you see? Of course you do. But the Japs are just as bad and they are physically much closer to home. What they did in Nanking . . . They actually bombed Australia, did you know?” Matt nodded patiently. One of
Walker
’s sisters, the
Peary,
had been sunk by the Japanese in Port Darwin. “So I suppose it makes little difference,” Bradford mumbled. “You Yanks are fighting Hitler now—or were—whatever. My point is, the reason that’s the case is that the Jappos and the Nazis are allies. You said you couldn’t understand why the Japs would help the Grik? If they are on the same side as Hitler, there’s no telling what they might do.”
Walker
’s sisters, the
Peary,
had been sunk by the Japanese in Port Darwin. “So I suppose it makes little difference,” Bradford mumbled. “You Yanks are fighting Hitler now—or were—whatever. My point is, the reason that’s the case is that the Jappos and the Nazis are allies. You said you couldn’t understand why the Japs would help the Grik? If they are on the same side as Hitler, there’s no telling what they might do.”
“That’s a good point, Mr. Bradford, although war can certainly force you to make some awfully unusual friends. Uncle Joe’s no saint.”
“True, but Stalin shared with us the dubious distinction of being one of the Attacked, not the Attacker. In this instance at least. I won’t belabor Poland, or mention Finland for the moment.” He crossed his arms on the table and laid his head down. He wore no hat, and a long wisp of thinning hair trailed down almost into his cup. “I just miss my boy,” he said at last.
“I understand,” Matt said around a lump that had formed in his own throat. “I miss my folks. I wonder sometimes how they are and what they’re doing. As far as they know,
we’re
dead. It’s pretty tough sometimes.” Bradford raised his head and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Everyone aboard must feel the same way,” Matt continued. He gestured at the cup, and by inference, what had been in it before. “But we can’t find solace in that. If we do, we lose.” He shrugged. “We might lose anyway, but we owe it to our people here on
Walker,
as well as our new friends, to do our very best, and wallowing in booze and self-pity’s not the way.” Bradford’s eyes flared with anger, but Matt continued on. “The war back home will be won or lost—there’s nothing we can do about that. I hope your son survives, but if he doesn’t, he’ll have died for a good cause that he actually chose. In the meantime, we have our own war to fight, against an enemy that’s just as bad as Hitler—maybe worse in a way—and our odds of survival are even worse as well. But we have to go on—not only for ourselves but for the people who trust us. Human and Lemurian.”
we’re
dead. It’s pretty tough sometimes.” Bradford raised his head and looked at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Everyone aboard must feel the same way,” Matt continued. He gestured at the cup, and by inference, what had been in it before. “But we can’t find solace in that. If we do, we lose.” He shrugged. “We might lose anyway, but we owe it to our people here on
Walker,
as well as our new friends, to do our very best, and wallowing in booze and self-pity’s not the way.” Bradford’s eyes flared with anger, but Matt continued on. “The war back home will be won or lost—there’s nothing we can do about that. I hope your son survives, but if he doesn’t, he’ll have died for a good cause that he actually chose. In the meantime, we have our own war to fight, against an enemy that’s just as bad as Hitler—maybe worse in a way—and our odds of survival are even worse as well. But we have to go on—not only for ourselves but for the people who trust us. Human and Lemurian.”
Bradford’s anger had disappeared and he sat staring at his hands. “What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.
“Ease off on your ‘tots,’ ” Matt replied. “Other than that, what I want you to do—what I need you to do—is to keep on being the same cheerful, irreverent, awkward—brilliant—pain in the ass you’ve been since the day you came aboard. The men—our allies too—like you, Courtney, and they count on you in ways you can’t imagine. I do too. If they think you’ve lost hope, then they might too.” He stood.
“I came down here wondering what I was forgetting, what I’ve neglected to do with everything else that’s been going on. I just realized what it was. Sometimes, even when we’re in a group, people get to feeling like they’re all alone. It’s like you’re sitting on the track and there’s a freight train headed your way and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. All you can do is look around and hope
somebody
knows what the hell they’re doing. Even while the train’s bearing down, you gain strength from your comrades, not only from their courage but from the realization that you’re not the only one that’s scared to death. At the same time, you on your ‘tEarl beamed. Unhurried, Matt transferred it to his still-immobilized left hand and, munching on the first one, he continued aft.
somebody
knows what the hell they’re doing. Even while the train’s bearing down, you gain strength from your comrades, not only from their courage but from the realization that you’re not the only one that’s scared to death. At the same time, you on your ‘tEarl beamed. Unhurried, Matt transferred it to his still-immobilized left hand and, munching on the first one, he continued aft.
“You idiot!” Earl cursed quietly and slapped Mertz on the side of the head. “It’s a good thing the captain likes my cookin’ or you’d be in a hell of a mess.”
“But you
told
me to pick it up!” Ray protested.
told
me to pick it up!” Ray protested.
“I didn’t tell you to give it to the captain!”
Matt heard the exchange and a genuine smile replaced the false one he had worn.
In spite of everything,
he thought again,
some things never change
. He passed the number one torpedo mount, where some ’Cat and human torpedomen were checking the pressure in the air flasks and accumulators. The flasks had been empty for the last few months—which was customary when the torpedoes weren’t needed. Now they were full. Sandison had asked him that morning if he could perform quarterly maintenance on the operable fish and Matt agreed, so long as all three would be ready when
Walker
got under way. By the time he reached the number four mount, he could already hear Spanky’s curses from the fantail. The engineer and the Bosun were supervising their respective divisions in—hopefully—the final process of installing the propeller. Gray’s men were trying to keep the sail tight against the hull so no flashies could get past and Spanky’s snipes were controlling the now submerged screw with taglines. A heavy cable descended into the water from a makeshift boom, down between the supports for the propeller guard, and Dean Laney was reluctantly preparing to go back into the water. Astern, a far more orderly procession than the night before was mounting the ramp onto
Aracca
’s deck and a smoky haze had descended from the nearby burning city.
In spite of everything,
he thought again,
some things never change
. He passed the number one torpedo mount, where some ’Cat and human torpedomen were checking the pressure in the air flasks and accumulators. The flasks had been empty for the last few months—which was customary when the torpedoes weren’t needed. Now they were full. Sandison had asked him that morning if he could perform quarterly maintenance on the operable fish and Matt agreed, so long as all three would be ready when
Walker
got under way. By the time he reached the number four mount, he could already hear Spanky’s curses from the fantail. The engineer and the Bosun were supervising their respective divisions in—hopefully—the final process of installing the propeller. Gray’s men were trying to keep the sail tight against the hull so no flashies could get past and Spanky’s snipes were controlling the now submerged screw with taglines. A heavy cable descended into the water from a makeshift boom, down between the supports for the propeller guard, and Dean Laney was reluctantly preparing to go back into the water. Astern, a far more orderly procession than the night before was mounting the ramp onto
Aracca
’s deck and a smoky haze had descended from the nearby burning city.
It was already warming up and Spanky wiped sweat from his brow. He was vigorously chewing a quid of something that caused a distinct bulge in his cheek. “What’s that in your mouth?” Matt asked.
Surprised, Spanky turned and saw the captain. “Good morning, Skipper,” he said and saluted with a grimy hand. He shifted his chaw speculatively. “I’m not rightly sure. Something Chack came up with. He said it was ‘courtesy of King Rasik.’ They use it for some kind of holy stink-weed or something hereabouts. It looks like a yellow tomato leaf, but it sorta tastes like tobacco.” He shrugged. “Anyway, some of his boys were poking around near the palace and found a warehouse full of the stuff. They sent down what must be a ton of it last night.”
“Has it made anybody sick?”
“Silva’s been chewing it steady, ever since it came aboard, and he’s okay so far.”
Matt chuckled. “I’m surprised Silva would chew anything Chack recommended—after last time.”
Spanky joined him in a laugh. “So you knew about that?”
“Of course.” Matt grinned.
Chack had Silva chewing every dead leaf he could find, trying to find some replacement for his precious tobacco. The process left Dennis ill enough to waste a shell on an easy shot against a Grik ship. Silva did not endure ridicule gladly, and Matt was certain that was when the scheme between Risa and Silva—to embarrass Chack—had been hatched.
“Maybe with a real, good-faith tobacco substitute, Silva will forgive Chack and quit pretending to carry on with his sister. I need Chack sharp, and I know that drives him nuts.”
Spanky nodded vigorously. It drove him nuts too and he was almost sure Silva
wasn’t
pretending. “Order ’em to stay away from each other,” he urged.
wasn’t
pretending. “Order ’em to stay away from each other,” he urged.
“Can’t. Other than Chack, the ’Cats don’t think it’s a big deal even if they are . . .” He shuddered. “And I can’t start giving orders against fraternization between our people. We need each other too much.” Matt fumed. “Besides, then that bastard Silva would have won. He would’ve forced me to call his bluff. No. He can put more significance and meaning in an arched eyebrow—” He snorted a laugh, his face red, and shook his head. He gestured at the work with his second sandwich in his hand. “How’s it going?”
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