Taylor Anderson - Iron Gray Sea

Respite Island

February 29, 1944

The response to USS Walker ’s return to Respite Island was notably different from when she first appeared there. The beautiful anchorage at the bright-beached foot of the fortified peak overlooking the crystalline water was packed with ships of all description, and where there’d been uncertainty and hesitant wonder the first time the destroyer appeared, now there was genuine delight at the sight of her. The guns in the high, white-walled fortress boomed in salute, the reports dull in the stiff breeze, but they were repeated by many of the anchored ships, and steam whistles whooped exuberantly. Walker fired a precise, four-gun salute salvo, symbolically emptying her guns, and sounded her shrill whistle and mournful horn in reply. The harbor pilot who’d boarded the ship beyond the dangerous reef had been brought out by the same pretty little single-masted topsail cutter that met them before, but this time its crew was grinning and talkative as it paced Walker through the channel. The pilot himself made no attempt to take the wheel or assert any control whatsoever over the unfamiliar vessel, but diligently and professionally directed them through to the anchorage. He was used to steamers, but had no notion of Walker ’s handling characteristics.

The Honorable New Britain Company had been extremely unpopular on Respite, and the Governor, a man named Radcliff, had strongly hinted that if the Empire continued down the self-destructive path the Company had been leading it, his island might have no choice but to break away. The success of Walker ’s mission to the heart of the Empire had clearly come as a great relief to the people here-yet now the Empire was at war with the Holy Dominion and had joined the Alliance against the Grik as well. Matt hadn’t been sure how they’d be received by the independent-minded Respitans, knowing their isolated island would become an important strategic nexus of contact between the two powers. They’d been willing to help before, with limited basing and fueling facilities and a powerful wireless station, but it had been understood that the Allies would leave them alone once the situation in the Empire was sorted out. Now that was out of the question, and despite cordial correspondence via that wireless facility, Matt expected some resentment. He couldn’t be more pleased by this new attitude on display.

“Thank you, Lieutenant Busbee,” he said when the pilot pronounced them free to maneuver in the anchorage. He scanned the shoreline with his binoculars, taking note of the new fueling pier and much-enlarged government dock. “You have the conn, Mr. Kutas,” he said to the badly scarred first lieutenant and former chief quartermaster. “Lay us alongside the dock first, if you please. After we’ve paid our respects, we’ll make Spanky happy and shift her over to the fueling pier.”

“Aye, aye, Captain. I have the conn,” Norman Kutas replied formally, and Matt stepped out onto the port bridgewing. Moments later, Sandra and the Bosun joined him there.

“Bashear’s assembling a side party to pipe you and the ambassador ashore, Skipper,” Gray announced, anticipating the order, and Matt smiled his appreciation. “Thanks, Boats.” He knew Gray, Silva, and Stites would accompany Sandra and him ashore, no matter what he said or how safe it was, so there was no point telling them not to. Down on the well deck he could see the ambassador’s party, including his aide and Midshipman Brassey, already waiting, peering excitedly over the solid railing there. He was surprised to see Diania, Sandra’s own dark-skinned, raven-haired steward waiting to go ashore as well. Diania had been Sandra’s first human female recruit into the American Navy. She’d found the striking but somewhat… odd woman in Maa-ni-la, but Diania was from Respite and Matt hadn’t expected her to want to go ashore. She’d never been forced into any… disreputable pursuits-she’d been a “carpentress”-but he’d still supposed she’d resist revisiting her former life of forced labor. On the contrary, she seemed even more anxious to go ashore than the others. Sandra followed Matt’s gaze.

“She still has family here-or friends she considers family.” She looked squarely at Matt with a slight grin. “She also has a kind of… evangelical air about her today,” she warned. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the Navy had a number of new recruits shortly!”

Matt exhaled an exasperated breath, but then noticed the way Gray was staring at the dusky beauty and his eyes went wide. The Bosun glanced at him, probably expecting a response to what Sandra said, and saw his expression. He actually blushed!

“Uh… that’s all we need!” Gray grumbled defensively. “More damn women aboard-no offense, Lieutenant Tucker!” Hurriedly, he excused himself and practically bolted from the pilothouse.

“Good Lord!” Matt said, astonished. “You’d almost think he was sweet on her, and he’s what-tree times her age?”

“He is sweet on her,” Sandra confirmed, looking sternly at him. “I know that look pretty well. What’s more, I think Diania’s sweet on him. She goes on a little too much about that ‘grate, beastly ogre, Mr. Gray,’” she added, slipping into a passable re-creation of the girl’s convoluted brogue. “And so what if he’s a little older than she is-”

“A little!” Matt spluttered.

“They’ve both had it rough. Diania’s been a virtual slave most of her life, with no real prospect of a decent life-not to mention a decent man. And Fitzhugh Gray lost his only son aboard Oklahoma. The only other things he’s cared about in years are this ship and you! Give him a break. I hope they do get together.”

Matt shook his head, eyes narrowing. “You haven’t been pushing that along just a little, have you?”

“What if I have?”

Matt’s full entourage, or, more properly perhaps, Ambassador Forester’s escort, included Sandra, Diania, and Lieutenant Bachman. Gray, Silva, and Stites represented the Captain’s Guard. Chack led an honor guard of six ’Cat Marines-all they had left aboard-in his immaculately turned-out Marine major persona. When aboard Walker, his Home, Chack reverted to what he considered his permanent role as a “mere” bosun’s mate who happened to be in charge of all the Marines, in spite of his growing reputation and increasingly greater status ashore.

Governor Radcliff greeted them himself, accompanied by a large, enthusiastic gathering and an… unusual little band that played an oddly familiar fanfare as Walker ’s party marched down the gangway and assembled respectfully as the music played. While he waited, Matt evaluated the Imperial Governor of Respite. He was dressed as finely as before, though Matt now knew his clothes were slightly out of date by the fashion standards of New London. He remained portly, but radiated the bloom of a less-taxed constitution and didn’t seem nearly as harried and concerned as he had during their first meeting. Matt briefly wondered if he’d come down the mountain from the governor’s mansion on the grounds of the high fortifications, riding his unassuming burro once again. When the music finally stopped, Radcliff strode, with an expression of happy anticipation, to face Matt.

“My dear Captain Reddy,” he boomed warmly, sketching a return to the salute Matt and the others offered. “Ambassador Forester!” he added, returning Forester’s bow. “You come extremely highly recommended, sir!” He straightened and addressed them all. “I can’t wait to hear your news. I am still amazed by the wonder of wireless, but nothing can substitute for words spoken by one friend to another!” He beamed. “I am so happy to see you all! Please, I would receive you more properly at my home, where we can discuss in greater comfort the heady advances you have wrought. I have taken the liberty of providing sufficient transportation.”