Taylor Anderson - Iron Gray Sea

“Procedures!” Ben grumped, then sighed. “Look, Alan,” he said, glancing at his watch. “I’m kind of busy today. We’ve got those evals on the new radial this afternoon, and I’m still trying to wrap up the nuts and bolts of deploying half my modern birds.” He shook his head. “I know I agreed, but there’s a lot more to it than just flying the damn things off to the front! Asking me to believe the fuel and airstrips are ready without seeing ’em is kind of like expecting me to believe in the tooth fairy-and I know we haven’t got parts prepositioned all the way to Andaman yet. We can’t afford to lose any ships and pilots on the way, and even if all the ships make it, half are liable to be down, waiting for spares.”

“Relax, Ben,” Alan said. “This is important. Besides, you just worry about getting the squadron ready. We’ll sort out the logistics on my end. It’ll still be a few weeks before you get the go date. We’re organizing the supply-ship schedule, so if any of your guys have to go in the water, there’ll be somebody nearby to fish ’em out in a hurry.”

“For what good that’ll do,” Ben replied. Considering the prolific and voracious nature of the aquatic life on this world, particularly within the Malay Barrier, any rescue ship would have to be close indeed.

Letts flashed a pained expression. “We all do the best we can,” he said. He truly sympathized with Ben. The P-40s had been a glorious gift, and he knew the airman considered them-and their rapidly improving, mostly ’Cat pilots-almost like children. Alan himself was half tempted to keep them all here. The planes had come in very handy when Grik zeppelins suddenly appeared over Baalkpan itself several weeks before and began dropping bombs. Three Warhawks took to the sky and destroyed the crude dirigibles before they could do much damage, but they’d been the only things available that could have done it at the time. Now they’d armed a few of the home-grown PB-1B “Nancys” for air defense, but the P-40s alone could savage any Grik invasion attempt like the one that had so nearly cost them the city and ended it all. The thing was, they could also savage any similar force that came against First Fleet-and it was better to do it there than here. It was an old argument, but ultimately they all agreed that any weapon, no matter how irreplaceable, was useless… if you weren’t willing to use it.

“Okay,” Ben said, changing the subject. “So, what’s up? These the new guys?”

Alan fidgeted. “Sort of.” He glanced at the men. “This is Commander Herring.” He paused. “I haven’t been introduced to the others yet.”

“Excuse me,” said Simon Herring in a reserved tone. “I’m afraid I’ve forgotten some of the niceties of civilized behavior.” His voice moderated slightly. “Let me present my companions. That stocky fellow there with no neck and the black jungle of a beard on his face is Gunnery Sergeant Arnold Horn. The one that looks like his taller twin with a neck is Lance Corporal Ian Miles. Both are from the Second Battalion, Fourth Marines. I shipped out of Shanghai with them to the Philippines, and they’ve been watching out for me ever since.” The men nodded but didn’t salute.

“The skinny blond Dutchman there-we’re all kind of skinny, I’m afraid-is Lieutenant Conrad Diebel of the Royal Netherlands East Indies Army Air Force. I’m sure he would have appreciated one of the P-40s we saw earlier. He was battling the Japanese-very near here, as a matter of fact-in Brewster Buffaloes until they were all shot out from under him.”

“I was shot down twice,” the man confirmed in accented English, “but I got four Japs.”

The last man didn’t wait for Herring to introduce him, but actually stepped forward. “You were on Walker?” he asked Letts with a clear Aussie twang. “I’m Leadin’ Seaman Henry Stokes, HMAS Perth. We was in the Java Sea together.”

“You were sunk.”

“Aye, with Houston, later that night in the Sunda Strait. That was a helluva fight! Me an’ some o’ me mates swam ashore an’ dodged the Nips for a few days, but they nabbed us. Set us to breakin’ sodding rocks.” He shook his head sadly. “Me mates died there or in the ship with these blokes, an’ I never seen any o’ me other shipmates again.”

Perry Brister, still silent, advanced and extended his hand. Hesitantly, the Australian took it.

“You’ve got quite a collection here, Commander Herring,” Letts said. “All with the same… reluctant views?”

Herring frowned. “Let me explain. It’s not our intention to cause trouble or disrupt your operation here, but you must understand our situation… our concerns. Those of us who were in the Philippines were ordered to surrender, and we were treated like animals by our captors. Lieutenant Diebel and Mr. Stokes may have had it even worse, but I can only speak to our own ordeal. The misery and despair Horn, Miles, and I witnessed and endured is hard to describe. Discipline broke down completely and men no longer obeyed their officers. It was dog-eat-dog. Sadly, many officers abandoned their responsibility to their men as a result, and the Japs encouraged that state of affairs to make the men easier to handle, I suppose. Ultimately, men just sat there and watched each other die.” Real, almost physical pain clouded Herring’s eyes. “And all that was long before they stuffed us in that damn ship, where we met these other fellows”-he gestured at the Australian and the Dutchman-“already aboard. The enemy was taking us to die in the coal mines of Japan.”

“But you were an officer,” Alan said softly. “What did you do?

“Very little, I’m sad to admit,” Herring confessed, then hesitated. “You see, as far as the Japs knew, I wasn’t an officer, and my Marine friends here helped me maintain that fiction.”

“But… why?”

“Not that it matters here… now. I’m-was in-ONI. The Office of Naval Intelligence.” Herring replied.

“Sometimes he tried to do stuff,” Gunnery Sergeant Horn defended, his voice surprisingly clear and firm, considering his appearance. “We all did what we could, and things got a little better as time went on, from a discipline standpoint. But we couldn’t let the Japs know Herring was an officer.”

Letts looked back at Herring and the man nodded.

“I had connections to the Kuomintang, and I was trying to establish the same with Philippine resistance leaders when the surrender took place. We tried to get out, but we were caught. To preserve the identities of people I was in contact with, we decided I should masquerade as an enlisted man.” Herring straightened. “To the Japs, all enlisted men are peasants, Mr. Letts, and therefore incapable of producing any useful information if questioned.”

“I… see.”

“In any event, that was then. Perhaps you can understand why we are hesitant to place ourselves under what seems to be a very… irregularly constituted authority. I’m given to understand we won’t be forced to serve, and that gives us some relief, but the fact is I am a Naval Officer, and the most senior present on this… world, by legal reckoning. That leaves me feeling somewhat awkward, and I have a responsibility to these men who have helped me. We won’t simply jump aboard this… odd alliance without further understanding the situation.”

“I can understand that, Commander, and respect it. But why didn’t you just talk to Saan-Kakja in Manila? She’s a swell dame, and smart as a whip. She could’ve sorted it out for you.”

“I’m… not sure the, ah, authorities in Manila fully understood that I needed to speak with the senior Naval Officer,” Herring said stiffly.

“That’s Captain Reddy,” Letts stated firmly, “and he won’t be here for some time. In fact, you were closer to him in Maa-ni-la.”