“What ‘little trip’? ” Sandra insisted again.
Matt took a deep breath and looked at her. He’d been hoping for a better, private time, but those were likely to be rare in the few days he planned to tarry in Scapa Flow. He rubbed his forehead and glanced around the table at the people there, all friends, most practically family in a sense. “Well, I thought a little vacation might be in order, just a few days. I know this place called Respite Island. Good people, beautiful weather, lots of secluded places you can actually swim…”
“What kind of vacation, Captain Reddy?” Sandra sternly pressed, and Matt looked around again, almost helplessly this time. He saw the grinning faces and knew he was blushing. He was in hell. “Oh, well. .. I don’t know. The… honeymoon kind, I guess,” he finally mumbled.
Sandra was struck speechless. Not as much by the implication of what he’d said, but by seeing Captain Matthew Reddy, honored hero, fearless warrior, afflicted with the timidity of a schoolboy. “Taking something for granted, aren’t you?” she finally managed, and immediately cursed herself. What kind of dope am I?
“No, he ain’t, Miss Lieutenant-Minister Tucker, with all due respect!” boomed a voice nearby. She spun in her seat and saw Dennis Silva leaning on one of the porch columns, a mug of beer in one hand, the bent barrel of the Doom Whomper in the other. It was all he’d managed to salvage of his precious weapon from the shattered remains of the wheelwright’s shop, and he’d moped around with the thing ever sice, waving it like a bloody shirt or using it to menace Dom prisoners. Now he was back to form. Lawrence peered out from behind him, crest rising in a kind of cringe. The amused tension around the table broke and erupted into laughter.
“Not about you, anyway,” Silva added. “There’s one small book-keepin’ chore to settle first, though. Since I ain’t yet been ree-leeved o’ watchin out for you an’ the Munchkin princess”-he glared at the child-“who says I’m stuck pertectin’ her for life -dooty permittin’. I’m still sorta yer guardians, so to speak. The way I figger it, Skipper’s either gotta let me off the hook or ask my blessin’!”
“Ask my blessin’!” Petey demanded insistently, and Gray had had enough.
“Silva! Ain’t you got any decency or respect? Even a sliver? You’re the most outrageous, immoral, degenerate…!”
“Don’t forget ‘debauched’!” Courtney added gleefully.
“Yeah, that too. And… other stuff! Can’t you even let the Skipper and his dame have a tender, private moment without stickin’ yourself in it, damn you?”
Silva gestured around, grinning. “Ain’t exactly private, Bosun, and I don’t think he wanted it to be, deep down. He thinks he needs our permission to be happy, you big rotten-hearted toad!”
Gray blinked and looked at Matt, who sat staring into Sandra’s eyes.
Finally, Matt looked around one last time and stood in the sudden, total silence. “You’re right, Silva,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. “You’re right,” he repeated more normally. “Even now, I think my crew deserves a say. Partly because if I marry her, it’s not as if she can accompany us on extended cruises anymore, and her fine advice and counsel have been invaluable in the past.” He looked down at Sandra. “That’s what bugs me most, I think. As this war drags on, I’ll probably have even less time with you if we…” He stopped, seeing her feelings reflected in her damp eyes. “Chief Gunner’s Mate Silva,” he enunciated clearly. “Request permission to marry Lieutenant Sandra Tucker!”
Amazingly, Silva’s almost-taunting grin re-formed itself into as gentle a smile as his battered face could manage. “Permission granted, Skipper.”
“Very well. You stand relieved.”
Silva dropped his mug and snapped a sharp salute. “Aye, aye, sir. I stand relieved.”
Sandra stood beside Matt as the applause began, and feet stamped the porch beneath the table. “Are you sure this is what you want?” she asked.
“Aren’t you?”
She hugged him. “Of course,” she whispered into his chest.
“Good, because this is the only thing I’ve really wanted, for myself, for the better part of the last two years. Sure I’m sure.”
EPILOGUE
The “Sea of Jaapan”
Mizuki Maru plodded slowly north by east into the cold sea and biting wind northwest of what should have been Kyushu. “Lord” Commander Sato Okada grimly scanned the sea ahead with the binoculars they’d found on the ship during her refit at Maa-ni-la. Occasionally, his gaze swept east, despite his efforts tovent it, and he viewed the unfamiliar coastline of his homeland with a sense of loss and betrayal. He’d come to grips with the “way things were” and accomplished great things, he thought, in the “shogunate” he’d established. There’d been few illusions of democracy, aside from the willingness of other communities to join, but he thought he’d set up a system whereby the peoples there might be ruled in a benevolent way. With that rule came responsibilities, however, and now he was hunting members of his own race for what they’d done to the Lemurians who’d adopted him-and placed themselves under his protection. Whatever national commonality he’d once shared with the people, the animals, who’d perpetrated the massacre near Yokohama, was more than eclipsed by the atrocity they’d committed-and his duty to destroy them.
“It is still a beautiful land,” he whispered to the other Japanese officer beside him, another member of Amagi ’s crew rescued from the Grik at Singapore. There were six such men aboard Mizuki Maru, in addition to the cook/deserter who’d brought them the tale of horror. The cook was still just a cook. He had no desire to leave his galley at all. There he could surround himself with the familiar and perhaps pretend nothing had really changed. The largely Lemurian crew that came to him for meals had to be a constant reminder that such was not the case, but he persevered, sometimes teetering on the brink of madness, but there was always hot food for the furry crew who, despite their coats, were unaccustomed to the damp cold that blew at them out of the north. It was winter, Okada knew, but only those Lemurians from his new home understood. His colony had been one of the northernmost outposts of the People known, and only the hardiest tried to subsist there. Some had even seen snow; a rare novelty. The “Navy” ’Cats that augmented his crew had no experience with snow, or even cold for that matter, and the farther north they steamed, the more miserable they were.
“Anything on the radio yet, Lieutenant Hiro?” Okada asked the officer beside him.
Hiro shook his head. “Nothing yet, Lord.”
Mizuki Maru had been broadcasting terrified entreaties for someone, anyone to answer them, to tell them where to go, to assure them they weren’t alone in a terrible world gone mad. Okada could only guess that the destroyer Hidoiame and her tanker had come this way, and he had nothing tangible on which to base that guess. He assumed his… enemy would scout the Japanese coastline, ensuring there were no others of their kind, before venturing afield into the greater unknown. He wasn’t sure he’d have done that himself, after a couple of brief explorations, but it was his only hope for a quick encounter. The trail had gone quite cold, and if Hidoiame wasn’t near Japan, he had no idea where next to look. So the radio calls constantly dangled the bait of another ship, swept as they were to this world, but a “supply ship” with plenty of food and ammunition aboard, and no idea where to take it. Okada was confident that if his enemy could hear him, he wouldn’t be able to resist for long.
“What will we do, Lord?” Hiro asked.
Okada grunted. “We’ll continue north through the Sea of Japan until we hear word, or we’re stopped by ice. If there’s no ice, we’ll steam down the Pacific side of the home islands…” He paused. “And keep looking. We’ll put in at Yokohama, visit our people, and replenish supplies, then proceed southeast of the Fil-pin Lands, wailing our heads off all the while. I still believe we should concentrate on areas Hidoiame might hope are populated by others such as us-castaways from our world to this. After Japan itself, the more populous regions of Imperial expansion would seem most likely. We shall loop south around New Guinea and head back up along the Malay Barrier toward Baalkpan and Aryaal. Perhaps we’ll hear word of a sighting if she’s gone into those seas.” He looked at Hiro. “If we don’t find her by then, we must assume she either went east into New Britain territory, or has… somehow communicated with that madman, Kurokawa, and turned west toward the Grik.”