Silva recognized other faces approaching and inwardly cringed just a bit. Sister Audry was all smiles, for some reason. Ronson Rodriguez was smiling too, but his eyes looked serious. Young Ensign Cook seemed embarrassed, but he quickly advanced and shook Brassey’s hand. Commander Bernard Sandison actually looked grim.
“Chackie?” Silva asked, distracted, then looked back at her. “He’s swell. He came as far as Manila with us.” He hooked his thumb back at the “Clipper.” “The flyboys needed a nap, so I went with him to meet Major Jindal and his Impie boys. They got there just before we did.” He cocked his head. “We also met Chackie’s new commando outfit. Some strange ducks there. Some o’ them China Marines and Army guys from the old world weren’t too impressed with our Chackie at first, like they didn’t care to be commanded by a ’Cat.” He shrugged. “We commenced to impress ’em.”
“I can imagine how you did that,” Ronson said, as he and the others joined the group. Silva and his fellow passengers saluted.
“Hey, Ronson,” Silva greeted. Rodriguez might be an officer now, and Silva would salute him, but he remembered when the dark, skin-headed Hispanic with the Pancho Villa mustache had been a second-class electrician’s mate. “ Mr. Cook,” he added, and Abel blushed.
“We didn’t hurt nobody,” he continued to Risa, “but now they know this war ain’t a cakewalk-and that maybe we know more about fightin’ it than they do.” His gaze swung to Bernard Sandison. The former torpedo officer was standing there with something long and skinny and wrapped in canvas held at his side. It was nearly as long as he was tall. Unlike Ronson, whom Silva still considered an equal, Bernie had always been an officer. “Mr. Sandison,” he added, hesitantly. “You gonna hang me?”
“He is not!” Sister Audry declared, and to Silva’s amazement, embraced him. He stiffened with surprise and the Dutch nun stepped back, smiling.
“The prodigal has returned, but has not squandered our trust! You are our Samson, Mr. Silva, and I am very proud of you!” With a glance at Risa, her smile cracked slightly. “Perhaps there are Delilahs in your life… but none seek to betray you.”
“Why… thank you kindly, Sister.” Silva’s eye narrowed. “Samson? Long hair? Got his eyes poked out?” He rubbed his freshly burred scalp, then fingered his patch. “Not me, Sister, and I aim to keep the peeper I got left! Say, what’s got into you?”
Audry just shook her head, still smiling, but backed away.
“C’mon, you,” Bernie said gruffly. “Mr. Letts says you’re to report to Mr. Cook here, and you’re not going to be around long, but I’ve got you as long as you are. I’ve got things to show you that I want your twisted opinion on, and I haven’t got all day.” He frowned. “I’ve got less than a week before Torpedo Day.”
“What the hell’s Torpedo Day?” Dennis asked.
“It’s the big day Bernie told everybody we’d be ready to test the new torpedoes!” Ronson muttered accusingly. “Adar’s turned it into a giant, freak-show spectacle, when we’re all supposed to trot out the new gadgets we’ve been working on. I ain’t ready either!”
“You don’t say? Torpedoes, huh?” Silva grinned. “Sure, let’s go. That is, if Mr. Cook considers me ‘reported’ an’ releases me!”
Abel blushed even deeper. “Ah… yes, of course, Mr… I mean, Chief Silva. We won’t be departing for a few weeks yet. Plenty of time to discuss our expedition.”
“Thank you, sir,” Silva said in a respectful tone that wasn’t-quite-destroyed by his expression. He paused for a moment then, and gestured at the long object in Bernie’s hands. “Whatcha got in your poke? Some kinda tor-poon?”
Bernie sighed. “No! Well, kind of. Alan and Mr. Riggs wanted to make you an officer, and we all know how that went over. Then they figured they ought to give you a medal or something, God knows why. I told ’em you’d just use it for a fishing weight.” He shrugged and started unwrapping the object. “So… knowing how bent you’d be over losing your old ‘Doom Whomper,’ I had the fellas-and dames, if you believe it! — over in Experimental Ordnance, slap this together for you.” Bernie waited while Silva wordlessly lowered his sea bag and handed the Thompson off to Larry, then fully revealed what looked like a gargantuan version of the new standard issue Allin-Silva breech-loading musket and handed it to the big man.
For a long moment, Silva was speechless. He just stood there, staring at the massive weapon in his hands.
“It’s basically a breech-loading version of what you had,” Bernie said a little awkwardly. “We had the barrels off of four more busted twenty-fives, so we built them all up like this, using as many of the same parts we use on the… normal Baalkpan Arsenal rifles as we could. Same locks, triggerguards, and springs, so most of the things that might break are interchangeable. Of course, we had to make way bigger breechblocks and barrel bands. It uses pretty much the same hundred-caliber bullet you came up with too, but in a metallic cartridge.” He hesitated. “I don’t know who’s going to get the other three, because they kick like… well, I don’t know what they kick like, because I’ll never shoot one of the damn things. But some ’Cats have big enough shoulders to pad the poor bones underneath, and we got them all proofed, tested, and rough sighted in.” He stopped and waited. Still, Silva didn’t speak.
“Well? What do you think, damn it?”
“She’s a dandy, Bernie,” Silva whispered. “I guess I don’t know what else to say. Nobody ever gave me nothin’ before but orders an’ whuppin’s.”
For a moment, Bernie was just as speechless; then Sister Audry spoke.
“That’s not true, Mr. Silva. You also have our trust, appreciation, and friendship-all freely given.” For the first time since Dennis saw her, she frowned. “Some have even tried to give you their love.” She shrugged. “Much as I approve of your new weapon, that is an even more precious gift.”
Silva winced and took a deep breath. “Yeah. Maybe so.” He looked at Risa and offered a half smile. “Where’s Pam, doll?”
Risa shook her head. “She’s out at Kaufman Field-with the airplanes. She always goes out there when they fly a lot… and sometimes she sees Colonel Maallory.”
Silva nodded briskly. “Good choice. He ain’t so bad for a Army man.” He looked at Bernie. “C’mon, Mr. Sandison! I can’t wait to see all the new toys! I’ll… pay my respects to Pam later. Larry, take my chopper and my sea bag wherever it is they’re stowin’ us bachelor types, willya?”
“Goddammit, Pepper, they cain’t do this to me!” Isak Rueben whined in his reedy voice. He was one of the original Mice, along with Gilbert Yeager, who was now CV-4 Maaka-Kakja ’s chief engineer in Second Fleet. Both had once been simple-and very squirrelly-firemen aboard USS Walker. They’d adopted Tabby, and made her one of their own, but she was the engineering officer of their old ship now, and Isak, at least, resented that a little. He’d been stuck in Baalkpan toiling on “that goddamn floatin’ hog trough” that had once been a beached, abandoned freighter, but everyone else was now proud to refer to as the “protected cruiser” Santa Catalina.
Isak’s intense, narrow face looked beseechingly at the salt-and-pepper-furred Lemurian behind the bar of the Busted Screw. “They cain’t just slurp me off right when I’m startin’ to get my bizness ready ta percolate!” Isak moaned. He and Gilbert had spent a year and a half trying to turn the chewable but utterly unsmokable tobacco of this world into something that could be smoked-without making the smoker puke. Isak thought he finally had it and planned to establish “Isak’s Sweet Smokin’ Tobacco,” and start raking in some of the gold everybody was being paid with now-until he got his new orders.
“Now I’m s’posed to fly- fly in one o’ them clatterin’ death traps-to join Walker once she puts in at Manila, so I can help with her refit!”
“I’d think you would like to be back with your Home,” Pepper observed, wiping down the bar. It was between the morning and midday rush.
“Well… sure I would, but all my makin’s-ever’thing I need to build my smokes-is here! An’ besides, Tabby’ll be my boss! That ain’t right. I taught her ever’thing she knows!”