Devil's Due (Destroyermen #12)(172)
“Back the foresails,” Greg told Mak. “Signal Matarife to do the same. We’ll heave to.” He was about to order the cutter over the side when Congress lowered a boat from a quarter davit. Men climbed in, along with a small figure with a tail that could only be Kari-Faask. Greg’s heart quickened with pleasure at this confirmation their friends were safe. “Stand by the side party,” he told his Marine lieutenant. Haana-Lin-Naar called her people and they stood easy at the gangway as the boat rowed across. Greg quickly surveyed his ship. A few remnants of her battles remained: shot-gouged decks and bright new timbers along the bulwarks, not yet painted. And he could only imagine how dingy Donaghey’s white stripe between her gunports must look. But the crew had done him proud with respect to squaring everything away as best they could. The boat came alongside, and Jenaar-Laan raised his whistle.
The first man up the pilot’s ladder was short and portly, with large muttonchops and a hawk nose. A wide smile covered his face, and he wore a dark blue shako and double-breasted coat. Laan blew his whistle, and the Marines saluted. To everyone’s approval, the visitor saluted the Stars and Stripes before facing Greg and rendering another open-palm salute. Greg returned the gesture, palm down, and the Marines crisply returned to order arms.
“Captain Ezra Willis,” the man said, extending his hand. “Honored to command the New United States frigate Congress. Beg permission to come aboard.”
Greg beamed and shook the hand. The pleased expression seemed out of place on his youthful but careworn face. “Permission gladly granted, Captain Willis. I’m Captain Greg Garrett, United States Navy.” He paused, then added ironically, “Commanding the American Navy Clan ship USS Donaghey for the United Homes.”
Willis chuckled. “Indeed, indeed. The world’s full of surprises. A very few, like this, might still be pleasant from time to time.” On the tail of his comment, Ensign Kari-Faask hopped on deck, grinning hugely and blinking fast enough to blur her eyelids. She also saluted the colors and Greg, then embraced him. Greg was taken aback. He knew of Kari, but they’d never met. She’d joined Walker’s special air division after he already had Donaghey, and with her and Fred’s capture by the Doms, escape, and continued activity with Second Fleet, they’d been half a world apart ever since. That didn’t seem to matter to her. Finally, she stepped back and simply said, “Is good ta’ be home, sur, with my own claan.”
“Glad to have you, Ensign,” Greg said sincerely. “You’ve done very well.” He grinned. “My orders were to arrest you or hug you—at my discretion. We’ve already sorted that out. But where’s Lieutenant Reynolds?” Greg remembered Fred as the youngest member of Walker’s crew, joining her at the advanced age of seventeen. He doubted he was twenty yet.
“He’s aboard Ol’ Zaack, the Nussies call her,” Kari said offhandedly. “Their flaag-ship. Playin’ with his raa-dio. Gen-raal Shinya has a raa-dio tower in the mountains at Chim-bo-raazo, er some such, an’ there’s traaffic all the time. Stuff’s goin’ on.” She added significantly, then shrugged. “We’ll tell you all about it when we get to Saan-ti-aago.”
Willis smiled at the meeting as several of his crew came aboard, mostly dressed as he, but a couple wore straw hats and white roundabouts. Then he nodded aft at Matarife. “Speaking of pleasant surprises, seeing that villainous brute apprehended is certainly one. Like many of the latest old-style Dom frigates, she can show our steamers her heels with a favorable wind. Steamers’re rather heavier, you see, and screw propellers make them somewhat crank when not engaged.” He pursed his lips. “Lieutenant Reynolds says your sailing steamers aren’t so handicapped,” he probed. “Perhaps a matter of design?”
“That may be, Captain Willis,” Greg admitted noncommittally, “but I can’t speak from experience.”
Willis didn’t press. “And Matarife, in particular, has behaved rather badly,” he said, returning to the subject of the prize.
“By consorting with representatives of the League?” Greg probed.
Willis frowned. “So you know. Having taken her, of course you do. Yes, that—and other things.” He gazed about, apparently pleased by what he saw. “Your ship’s a beauty. The very pinnacle of the last age—I mean no offense!” he hastened to add. “I often yearn for the days before those hot, smoky machines filled our ships! And you caught Matarife quite handily, avoiding a mauling as well.”
“Donaghey’s a fast sailor, sir, and my heart agrees with you. But in a world of steamers . . .” He shrugged. “We didn’t have to catch Matarife, though. She sort of sailed into our arms. I don’t think she expected us,” he added wryly. “The same with the League destroyer Antúnez.”
Willis looked surprised. “We’ve heard of that ship,” he allowed, “though we didn’t know her name. Fishermen reported her haunting the windward isles a few weeks ago, and I understand she’s astonishingly fast. From their description, Mr. Reynolds declared she’s much like your Walker. But . . . however did you escape? She’s never fired on any of our ships, but I’m given to understand your Alliance and the League are not on the best of terms.”
“We sank her,” Greg stated simply.
Willis blinked, incredulous. “Did you, by God!”