“Relaax, Mr. Yay-gar. Actually, you must relaax. You-how do you say? — own a plank of this ship, as do most aboard her, so I understand your concern. I will give this matter the thought it requires, I assure you. In the meantime, you do have some good people. Not all are as green as you say. Make use of them.”
Gilbert shrugged. “Well, maybe they ain’t all useless, but them who ain’t are as wore down as me. Some folks just don’t get it that this gal has the biggest… dern… power plant we’ve ever thowed together, an’ there ain’t nothin’ light down there. Stuff one fella could do on my ol’ Walker takes a dozen fellas aboard here…” He stopped and blinked. “Which that don’t compare, ’cause she has turbines an’ we got these jug jumpers…”
“I believe I know what you mean,” Lelaa said.
“Well, maybe you do, but it boils down to as wore out as I am… I’m just as tired o’ worryin’. I don’t want none o’ my fellas gettin’ hurt. See? It’s like a Chinese fire drill down there half the time.”
Lelaa didn’t know what that was, but his other words reinforced her belief that his primary concern was for his division and the ship. That spoke well for the very strange man.
She cast her eyes over the surrounding seascape and the, to her, unprecedented numbers and power of her element of Second Fleet. Besides Maaka-Kakja, there were steam-powered and fast-sailing oilers, tenders, colliers, and transports. All of the newer Company steamers had been seized or requisitioned as troopers, and if they were the slowest ships in the task force and set its pace, they could at least be counted on to manage the same creeping station every day. Another task force, built around the even slower, heavy, Imperial ships of the line, or liners, would be along later. Around and among all those ships present were dozens of Lemurian-American and Imperial DDs, and nearly everything out there was driven by steam. There were the usual mechanical casualties, but there were a lot of competent engineers in the fleet. Maybe she could borrow a few to give Gilbert a hand-if only to interpret his grunts and disapproving stares for his snipes. One thing was sure: Gilbert couldn’t keep Maaka-Kakja running essentially by himself forever. He was wearing out. Lelaa suddenly wondered how he would take it if she brought in some professional help. Mice could be sensitive creatures.
“Then maybe you need a larger division as badly as experience.”
“If they could stay outta each other’s way… that might help. Manilly Bupers seems ta’ think this tub didn’t need any bigger black gang than a harbor tug.” Lelaa saw he was studying the vast fleet surrounding them now. He stuck his hands in his pockets, then jerked them out. “Could maybe… a bigger, more experienced division happen?” he asked hesitantly, and Lelaa blinked amusement.
“I am sure we can work something out.”
After Gilbert left the bridge, Tex Sheider approached her, grinning. He’d been S-19’s radioman, but, like all of them, his capacities had expanded amazingly. Not only was he one of Lelaa’s best friends, but he was also her exec.
“Getting that squirrel to ask for the dose you wanted to make him take is one of the slickest things I ever saw!” he laughed.
“He may be a ‘squirrel,’ but he is a good man. It was only a matter of discovering what he really needed, so I could help him know.”
“Figuring out anything bobbing around in that weird little head is bound to be a miracle. Spanky said it can’t be done.”
A pair of four-cylinder Wright Gipsy engines roared on the flight deck below as the great ship eased slightly more into the wind, and one after the other, a pair of Nancys were hurled into the sky ahead, assisted by the hydraulic catapults. (Those were other devices Gilbert Yeager passionately despised.)
A signals ’Cat entered the bridge from the separate comm shack dedicated to air ops. “Commaander Reddy’s flight has rejoined the other flights of the Eleventh Bomb Squadron and has the task force in sight. He asks permission to proceed with the scheduled training exercises.”
“Of course,” Lelaa said. “Signal Icarus to stream the target.”
“Ay, ay, Cap-i-taan!”
They watched through Impie-made telescopes as the twelve planes crept toward the task force in a long, echelon formation. Two planes suddenly banked away from the others and dove on the target barge Icarus had unreeled about two hundred yards in her wake. Tall white splashes straddled the barge on the first pass, and again on the second. Only one splash marked the passage of the third pair, so one of them must have hit the barge itself. The exercise continued, with similar, satisfactory results. Only one plane missed dramatically, nearly hitting Icarus on its second pass, but its pilot was likely one of Orrin’s replacements. The wing had lost a lot of pilots and machines in the New Ireland fighting, but as a whole, it had gained a lot of experience as well. Replenishment ships out of Maa-ni-la had brought the wing back up to strength in both flyers and aircraft, and not only were there now extra pilots; there were also thirty spare Nancys aboard, still in crates. Perhaps sixty more were scattered through the fleet, and the tenders each had an assembled plane mounted on a new directional catapult amidships. Walker ’s precedent of carrying a plane aboard for long-range reconnaissance had been as successful here as the same practice had been for larger ships on the world she’d come from.
In total, Orrin would eventually command more than 120 aircraft when they reached the Enchanted Isles- if the islands were still in friendly hands, and if there was a protected waterway to operate them from when they got there. Hopefully, they would have answers to those questions within the next week, even before they rendezvoused with Jenks’s elements. There was no transmitter in the Enchanted Isles, and somebody had to either get there or at least get eyeballs on the place before they’d know the situation. Fleeing ships had confirmed the attack, but since then there’d been no news.
Orrin even had a couple of pursuit planes. The P-40s that arrived in Baalkpan in Santa Catalina ’s hold had been designed for six. 50-caliber machine guns each. Colonel Mallory had decided not to mount them all on the planes, with a couple of exceptions. The P-40s could carry four times the bomb load of a Nancy, fly four or five times as fast, and with an auxiliary fuel tank and minus the weight of four of their guns, they even had slightly greater range. With the spare guns aboard the ship, the Alliance now had almost 150 extra of the powerful weapons. Several had been hurried out to Scapa Flow before the fleet put to sea, with instructions on how to mount one gun each in the noses of Nancys in such a way that they wouldn’t shake the little planes apart. The same had been done for First Fleet with more urgency and in greater numbers, considering the airship threat and what had happened to Humfra-Dar. It wasn’t much, but at least Second Fleet had some air to air protection now.
“Orrin’s shaping up just fine,” Tex observed.
“He is. I had some doubt at first. He is… very different from his cousin, Captain Reddy.”
“Yeah, and he’d already been through a lot when we got him. He didn’t have a lot of time with Captain Reddy when they were both in the New Britain Isles either, but he definitely respects the ‘old man,’ and he’s plenty committed to fighting the Doms, at least.”
“Indeed, and perhaps more important than his commitment to the cause, Commander Reddy has become even more committed to his aircrews. That is good.”
Tex shrugged. “Sure. Gilbert’s right, though. The ship is green, but at least Orrin’s given her some damn sharp teeth.”
“Yes,” Lelaa replied. She turned to the officer of the deck. “I believe Commander Reddy has almost completed his exercise. Stand by to begin recovery operations. The fleet will assume its appropriate stations and observe all signals.”