Destroyermen #01 - Into the Storm by Taylor Anderson

Author:Taylor Anderson [Anderson, Taylor]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: PENGUIN group
Published: 2011-05-04T22:00:00+00:00

“Here they come!” Dowden said unnecessarily when the boat cast off and moved in their direction. Almost an hour earlier, they’d been surprised to see a large section of the Lemurian’s hull, about twenty feet wide, open and swing outward, releasing a low, wide-beamed barge. The compartment, or whatever it was, had water in it, and the boat just floated out. There it stayed for a time, already crewed, until the more important passengers were lowered into it by means of a large platform that descended from the deck above.

“That’s some trick,” murmured McFarlane, scratching the young beard on his chin. He glanced apologetically at the captain. “Structurally, I mean. It’s like they go around with a fully enclosed harbor. Makes sense, as far as they’d have to lower a boat, but the engineering problems and stresses involved must’ve been something else.”

“The structural engineering capabilities of the Lemurians are quite formidable,” said Bradford. “To construct such a colossal ship to begin with . . . well.” He shrugged.

Captain Reddy, carefully groomed and resplendent in his whites—as were all his officers—glanced around the ship. They’d done their best to make her presentable, but the ravages she’d undergone were evident everywhere. Even a visiting admiral would understand, but he wanted to make a big impression. It would have to do. The crew was dressed as sharply as possible, but most had dyed their whites in coffee—as ordered—at the start of the war, and the result was an unsavory mottled khaki. Now, with the passage of time, most of the coffee had leached out in the wash and they only looked dirty. He grunted. The order had come down from somebody who thought the ships would be more difficult to spot from the air without a bunch of white uniforms running around on deck. It was one of the sillier of the panicky and often contradictory orders they’d been issued right after the attacks on Pearl Harbor and Cavite. There was nothing he could do about it other than group the men who still had whites separately from those who didn’t, as if there were some great reason for it. It was all entirely symbolic, but he didn’t know how important a part symbolism might ultimately play. He spoke to the Bosun.

“Assemble your side party, Chief. I’ll join you shortly.” He absently hitched the Sam Browne to distribute the unaccustomed weight of the holstered pistol and the other . . . object suspended from it. He grimaced. While running an inventory of their small-arms ammunition, Campeti discovered a crate of heavy long-bladed cutlasses, pattern of 1918, that had probably been commissioned with the ship. There were four dozen of the things in heavy blue-gray canvas-wrapped scabbards, and they looked absolutely new. Gray suggested that the officers wear them so the Lemurians would see weapons they recognized. He didn’t intend it as a threatening gesture, or so he said, but to show the ’cats—even while they were surrounded by all sorts of incomprehensible things—that they shared some basic similarities.

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