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“They’re not as big; only fifty feet, but the planing-type hull design’s essentially the same, with the same diagonally planked, layered construction—a lot like those giant ’Cat Homes and the new flattops.”
    Matt scratched his chin. “I thought PTs were made of plywood.”
    Winny chuckled. “So many folks always said that, putting them down, that everybody thought it was true.” He shrugged. “We kind of took pride in it after a while, everybody thinking we fought in plywood boats. I guess there’s really not much difference when you get down to it, but we did a lot of good with what we had.”
    “What are the specs?” Gray asked.
    “Fifty feet, like I said, with a sixteen-foot beam. Not quite just a smaller-scale version. We still need the width for the torpedoes.”
    “Just two tubes?”
    “Yes, sir. The whole reason for keeping them smaller and lighter is so they can be carried by a ship—a flattop, or maybe a dedicated tender. The internal combustion engine works, or ICE house, is building monster versions of Nancy engines—six cylinders instead of four; something they were fooling with for bigger planes, but they were too heavy for the horsepower. They’ll work for us, though, and with a pair of ’em we ought to get twenty-five knots or better. Maybe thirty. You may have seen some of the small boats outside. Scale models. Anyway, even with only two engines and two torpedoes, they’re going to suck gas. We’ll have to take them where they’re going to fight.”
    “Not to mention they’ll be vulnerable to heavy seas and . . . well, sea monsters.”
    “Not to mention, sir.”
    Matt gazed at the line of boats. “How long until they’re operational?”
    “I’m hoping to have the first squadron ready in four months.”
    Matt shook his head. “Too long. I want a dozen ready to go in one month.”
    Winny gaped. “But . . . it’ll take more than a week for the
paint
to cure!”
    Matt looked at Saan-Kakja with a grin. “I want twelve of these PTs finished and ready for transshipment to Baalkpan in one month, Your Excellency.”
    Saan-Kakja blinked tentatively. She’d been a little afraid Matt would think she was wasting time and materials on the little boats—especially when their enemies were building such monsters now.
    “You approve?” she asked.
    “Absolutely.”
    “But . . .” Winny interjected, “even if we finish them, we’ll have to train crews. Hell, we haven’t even started building torpedo tubes yet!”
    “They have in Baalkpan,” Matt countered. “We’ll mate them up there. Send Bernie Sandison any specific requirements you think they’ll have. I
want
those boats, Mr. Rominger.”
    “For the operation you outlined for Adar?” Sandra asked.
    “Yeah. If we can get these PTs Mr. Rominger’s so kindly provided, all the heavy stuff building in Baalkpan can go to Keje—or Jim Ellis in First Fleet. Adar isn’t sold on my little ‘sideshow,’ as Commander Herring calls it.” He frowned.
    Saan-Kakja snorted. “I do not like that man!”
    “So you’ve said,” Matt said wryly. “But Adar’s in charge. He was right about that;
somebody’s
got to be in charge of everything, and he’s the guy.” Matt admired Adar tremendously and considered him a truly remarkable Lemurian. Once a simple high sky priest on
Salissa
Home, Adar was now High Chief and Sky Priest of Baalkpan, and Chairman of the Grand Alliance. Matt knew real efforts were underway to transform at least part of the Grand Alliance into a united nation consisting of land settlements and even the massive seagoing Homes. If the Empire of the New Britain Isles and other allies were not yet interested in joining, quite a few were, and the result was something akin to the United States under the old Articles of Confederation, in which the member states were politically united but retained more independence than was probably ideal. At least as far as the war effort was concerned. Fortunately, the main