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Authors: Taylor Anderson
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unpopular cook, and Ray Mertz had been his long-suffering assistant. “What’s the other one?”
“She’s Tindal ,” Matt replied grimly. “They launched her in Maa-ni-la as Lelaa , but when they found out Captain Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan wasn’t dead after all, they named her after Miami.” “Miami” Tindal had been Walker ’s chief engineer during the recent action at Scapa Flow. Matt’s face became an unreadable contrast of sadness and barely suppressed . . . glee. Their allies in the Fil-pin Lands had also discovered that Nurse Lieutenant and “Minister of Medicine” Sandra Tucker—the woman Matt loved—had also survived a terrible ordeal. Ironically, it was her abduction, along with that of others, that brought Walker and her crew so far from where Sandra was ultimately found—and embroiled the Grand Alliance in yet another war. Sandra, Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, Sister Audry, Abel Cook, Midshipman Stuart Brassey, the “ex”-Tagranesi “Lawrence,” and the . . . inimitable . . . Chief Gunner’s Mate Dennis Silva had all been rescued by the remnants of “Task Force Laumer.” Incredibly, the battered submarine that Lieutenant Irvin Laumer had been sent to salvage had endured grounding, a year on an island beach, and ultimately a colossal volcanic eruption and tidal wave, before finding the important castaways adrift in the Fil-pin Sea along with seventy-odd survivors of Lawrence’s Grik-like people.
“ Tindal ’s a good name,” Spanky said at last, breaking the awkward silence that ensued.
“Yes, it is,” Matt agreed. “So’s Mertz . Ray was a good kid, and making sandwiches in the middle of a fight probably takes more guts than shooting at the enemy.”
Walker continued her sprint toward the approaching squadron. All the ships, except Salaama-Na and the two Imperials, Ulysses and Icarus , were flying the Stars and Stripes—the flag of the American Navy and everyone, Lemurians included, who’d joined that “clan.” Matt directed Walker ’s speed be reduced to one-third, and had the ship’s whistle sounded in greeting. A gout of white steam gushed from the whistle, emitting a throbbing, bass shriek. The greeting was answered by similar tones from Tindal and Mertz , whose whistles were copies of Walker ’s, and by higher-pitched toots from Ulysses and Icarus . The Imperial frigates also loosed an exuberant, thundering broadside in salute.
“I wish old Harvey Jenks was here to see this!” Gray said. Again, he noticed surprised stares. He and the Imperial commodore got along fine now, but there’d been a time when they hated each other. Jenks couldn’t come today because he’d been across the island for several days, coordinating civil and naval preparations in Edinburgh for the upcoming campaign against the rebels and “Holy Dominion” forces on New Ireland. He was due back, and would likely be in Scapa Flow by the time the ships made port.
“I just meant, you know, that big ’Cat Home is a hell of a sight and . . . well, our fightin’ ships are prettier than his!” he defended. Everyone in the pilothouse laughed.
At a much reduced speed, which left her skinny, round-bottomed hull wallowing sickeningly in the swells, ize="3"escorted the new arrivals into the Imperial Home Fleet port of Scapa Flow. Sufficient space for Salaama-Na had reluctantly been set aside by an incredulous harbormaster, who’d disbelieved her described dimensions. He’d been told by Matt and Jenks that the thousand-foot vessel simply wouldn’t fit in the otherwise-generous dock space allocated to “American” ships, not if Walker , Simms , Tindal , and Mertz were to have a place. At least the huge Home wouldn’t need the space for long; only until she off-loaded her cargo of replacements, prefabricated tank batteries, and the heavy machinery sent to support the Allied presence there. She’d then moor away from the dock, as was customary with ships her size, until Sor-Lomaak decided to
“She’s Tindal ,” Matt replied grimly. “They launched her in Maa-ni-la as Lelaa , but when they found out Captain Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan wasn’t dead after all, they named her after Miami.” “Miami” Tindal had been Walker ’s chief engineer during the recent action at Scapa Flow. Matt’s face became an unreadable contrast of sadness and barely suppressed . . . glee. Their allies in the Fil-pin Lands had also discovered that Nurse Lieutenant and “Minister of Medicine” Sandra Tucker—the woman Matt loved—had also survived a terrible ordeal. Ironically, it was her abduction, along with that of others, that brought Walker and her crew so far from where Sandra was ultimately found—and embroiled the Grand Alliance in yet another war. Sandra, Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, Sister Audry, Abel Cook, Midshipman Stuart Brassey, the “ex”-Tagranesi “Lawrence,” and the . . . inimitable . . . Chief Gunner’s Mate Dennis Silva had all been rescued by the remnants of “Task Force Laumer.” Incredibly, the battered submarine that Lieutenant Irvin Laumer had been sent to salvage had endured grounding, a year on an island beach, and ultimately a colossal volcanic eruption and tidal wave, before finding the important castaways adrift in the Fil-pin Sea along with seventy-odd survivors of Lawrence’s Grik-like people.
“ Tindal ’s a good name,” Spanky said at last, breaking the awkward silence that ensued.
“Yes, it is,” Matt agreed. “So’s Mertz . Ray was a good kid, and making sandwiches in the middle of a fight probably takes more guts than shooting at the enemy.”
Walker continued her sprint toward the approaching squadron. All the ships, except Salaama-Na and the two Imperials, Ulysses and Icarus , were flying the Stars and Stripes—the flag of the American Navy and everyone, Lemurians included, who’d joined that “clan.” Matt directed Walker ’s speed be reduced to one-third, and had the ship’s whistle sounded in greeting. A gout of white steam gushed from the whistle, emitting a throbbing, bass shriek. The greeting was answered by similar tones from Tindal and Mertz , whose whistles were copies of Walker ’s, and by higher-pitched toots from Ulysses and Icarus . The Imperial frigates also loosed an exuberant, thundering broadside in salute.
“I wish old Harvey Jenks was here to see this!” Gray said. Again, he noticed surprised stares. He and the Imperial commodore got along fine now, but there’d been a time when they hated each other. Jenks couldn’t come today because he’d been across the island for several days, coordinating civil and naval preparations in Edinburgh for the upcoming campaign against the rebels and “Holy Dominion” forces on New Ireland. He was due back, and would likely be in Scapa Flow by the time the ships made port.
“I just meant, you know, that big ’Cat Home is a hell of a sight and . . . well, our fightin’ ships are prettier than his!” he defended. Everyone in the pilothouse laughed.
At a much reduced speed, which left her skinny, round-bottomed hull wallowing sickeningly in the swells, ize="3"escorted the new arrivals into the Imperial Home Fleet port of Scapa Flow. Sufficient space for Salaama-Na had reluctantly been set aside by an incredulous harbormaster, who’d disbelieved her described dimensions. He’d been told by Matt and Jenks that the thousand-foot vessel simply wouldn’t fit in the otherwise-generous dock space allocated to “American” ships, not if Walker , Simms , Tindal , and Mertz were to have a place. At least the huge Home wouldn’t need the space for long; only until she off-loaded her cargo of replacements, prefabricated tank batteries, and the heavy machinery sent to support the Allied presence there. She’d then moor away from the dock, as was customary with ships her size, until Sor-Lomaak decided to
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