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“About time the bar was opened.” Fox said.

The wardroom noted the remark, the Captain's policy about the bar was vital for the happy running of the ship.

“Here's to us. Now that we're together for the first time, I want to make a few points about what I hope to achieve in our first commission. I won't be speaking in this rather pompous manner again, but we have a big task ahead of us. It's been almost ten years since the Royal Navy has been operating on a peacetime footing and we are all out of practice in that regard. The way we will have to do things from now on is likely to be quite different from anything we've been used to. It's not just a matter of going back to 1938, because we aren't in that world any more.

“The Americans changed everything when their bombers took Germany out and we're not certain what the new world is going to look like. I needn't add we're not the same Navy any more either, yon all know that. So to a large extent, we'll be making the rules up as we go along and writing the book as we do so. That's a hell of a privilege, and its one hell of a responsibility. In a very real sense, the navy for the next twenty years is going to be what we make of it in the next three or four.

“A lot of people out there are saying that we don't have a role, that Navies and Armies are obsolete and that all a country needs is a giant fleet of bombers. Well, I think they're wrong. They didn't look and see that it was the Navy that kicked the doors open for SAC's B-36s, they didn't look and see that it was the armies in Russia that bought the time to build those bombers. They didn't see that it was us, the Canadians and the British, who kept the convoys running to Archangel and Murmansk, who took the war into the German's backyard, the Channel, the North Sea and the Arctic. They don't see any of that, so we're going to have to show them.

“That's a big job for us and there aren't many of us to do it. You saw the boats here when you came in. Weil, apart from a handful of destroyers, that's it. The rest of the fleet is laid up, the Government can't afford to pay the crews, even at conscript rates. The eyes of the whole fleet are on us to set an example, to show the country and the rest of the world that we are still the navy. I think, with a bit of luck, we can do that and we should have a very good commission.”

The Wardroom picked up their glasses again. Fair enough, they said to themselves.

Chulachamklao Military Academy, Bangkok Thailand

This was the part that Sergeant Major (First Class) Manop Patmastana had been dreading. The first parade of new officer cadets and the first one under the new rules. The cadets were drawn up by size, tallest at the right, shortest at the left. As Manop walked down the line, he was filled with a growing sense of impending doom. It wasn't the uniforms, quite.

The Army, as was traditional, issued its uniforms in two sizes. Too large and too small, and left the individual cadets to make them fit. The results of giving this task to young men who had never handled a needle and thread before was painfully obvious. Hems and seams were uneven, pants legs were different lengths, threads were hanging down and, if Manop had looked, he was in no doubt he would see wounds where needles had been driven into fingertips. Idly, he wondered how many of the cadets had sewn themselves to their uniforms the night before. He relieved himself by screaming insults and abuse at the more obvious examples of ineptitude. Then he came to the part he was dreading.

The last four cadets were a striking contrast to the rest. The uniforms for example, the alterations might not be professional-grade but they were neat and serviceable. Alterations that showed a disturbing level of familiarity with the art of sewing things. They'd even let the chest of their jackets out slightly, and taken in the waist. Sergeant Major Manop looked at the back with interest. His guess had been correct, they hadn't got that right; pants intended for male soldiers didn't quite fit female rear ends. He leaned forward so his face was barely more than a few centimeters from that of the tallest of the female cadets then let loose with his best parade ground bellow.

“May the Lord Buddha have mercy on us. Who are you and what are YOU doing here?”

The woman's expression didn't change. “Officer Cadet Sirisoon Chandrapa na Ayuthya Sergeant Major. Special Entry Cadet, Sergeant Major.”

Manop swore under his breath, he'd been hoping she would get flustered and call him 'sir” which would give him an excuse to scream more insults. “Officer cadet? You call yourself an officer cadet? Only soldiers can be officers. You're not a soldier are you?”

“Not yet, Sergeant Major.”

“Not yet? Not ever. Women can't be soldiers cadet. Soldiering is man's work. You're not going to be a soldier, cadet, you're taking up the space of somebody who could be. Do you know what a water lily is cadet?”

“Yes, Sergeant Major.”

“Then you know it is very beautiful to look at, smells nice and is decorative. And it is also a useless parasite. No good to anybody. So you four are this company's water lilies. What are you?”

“Water lilies Sergeant Major.”

“Good.” Manop started to turn away when he heard behind him.

“Very militant water lilies,”

His face never changed, he was of the firm belief that if he smiled on parade, his face would crack. But underneath his scowl, his sense of doom and foreboding faded slightly. One at least of these, these aberrations, was ready to stand up for herself. Perhaps there was hope for the Army after all.

Flight Deck B-36H Texan Lady, 42,500feet over the North Atlantic

“Coming through Sir.”

Colonel Bob Dedmon pushed the nose of Texan Lady into a slight dive and was rewarded with an ascending “wheee” noise from the bomb bay tunnel. Then, the hatch opened and two hands emerged holding a tray. Sergeant King took it and held it while Smith extracted himself from trolley. Eventually, he made it up to the flight deck, retrieving his tray on the way,

“Here you are Sirs. Two coffees, black with sugar. Two steak sandwiches, ketchup and mayo. Yours has Swiss cheese on it. Major Clancy.

There was something about a steak sandwich that was unique when it was cooked over 40,000 feet up. Everybody knew it. Now, the war was over and the B-36s had a proper galley again, the weight had cut their maximum ceiling by 1,000 feet or more but now, in peacetime, that didn't matter so much. The galley was small but it made two-day missions much more comfortable. It took a long time to fly 10,000 miles at 250 miles per hour. Dedmon bit into his sandwich.

“Good, very good. Thank you Smith,” “Uomph thmadms yuus.”

“I think that's mouth-full-Clancy-ese for 'thank you' as well. How's it going back there Smith.”

“Pretty good Sir, The electronic pit is just getting their new gear set up now. The new coffee machine has been working just fine as well.”

“Glad to see we have our priorities in the right order. Want a helping hand getting back?”

“Please Sir.” Dedmon waited until Smith was back in his trolley then angled Texan Lady back into a shallow climb. The angle sent Smith back down the tunnel, removing the necessity of pulling himself through hand over hand.

“Bomb-Nav station? How we doing?”

“About four hours to feet dry sir. We'll be crossing the British coast just south of Glasgow, then heading over the North Sea, across the Baltic and doing the feet dry thing again over Petrograd. Then on to Moscow and landing at Sheremetevo. Weapons embarked are unarmed sir. Three Mark Fours and a Mark Five. We can arm them any time you say so. Engines are behaving themselves Sir. Even Number Six.” That was the engine that had been replaced after Texan Lady had been damaged during The Big One. It had never quite worked as well as the other five piston engines.