Read Iron Gray Sea: Destroyermen for Free Online Page A

eyes.
    “Let’s hear what the Skipper has to say before flapping our gums,” Brad “Spanky” McFarlane commanded. Spanky was a skinny little guy, and had once been Walker ’s engineering officer. Somehow, despite his size, people always remembered him as much bigger than he actually was, and now he was Matt’s exec.
    “Please,” agreed Sandra Tucker. She was even smaller than Spanky, but her new job in the Alliance was Minister of Medicine, and petite and pretty as she was, she had a will of iron and couldn’t be lightly ignored (or resisted) by anyone. She was also, incidentally, Captain Reddy’s fiancée. There was a brief, uncomfortable silence. No one resented her hard-earned authority, but some inevitably reflected on the most recent result of it.
    Juan Marcos, Matt’s self-appointed personal steward to the CINCAF, appeared with a carafe and noisily stomped through the suddenly quiet wardroom on a remarkably complicated peg fashioned for him on New Scotland. He’d lost his left leg during a sneak attack by the Holy Dominion. No one spoke while the little Filipino filled cups with an air of supreme satisfaction. Well, at least the “monkey joe” is back to normal, Captain Reddy reflected, staring bleakly at the not-quite-green foam rimming the brew in his captain’s cup. Juan had finally returned to duty, relieving Taarba-Kar (Tabasco), his Lemurian replacement. The first thing he’d done was insist on making the local, ersatz coffee the way Matt “liked” it, and since Matt—or anyone—had never summoned the courage to tell the Filipino they hated his coffee, they were back to drinking what some described as “bilgewater and boiler soot” in the wardroom. At least they had Imperial tea now, and Juan was content to let Tabasco handle that.
    Matt felt his square jaw while Juan finished his rounds. Juan was much better at shaving him than Tabasco had ever been. After finally relenting and letting the Filipino perform that delicate duty, he couldn’t very well prevent Tabasco from doing the same after Juan was wounded, and the young ’Cat’s hand wasn’t nearly as steady. Matt shuddered.
    “Uh, thanks,” he managed when Juan triumphantly and with surprising agility, swooped back by and topped off his cup, replacing the single, obligatory sip he’d taken. Matt set the cup on the green linoleum-topped table and gazed at the others in the compartment, almost daring them to grin or snicker. Suddenly, he was reminded of other, often desperate, times when he and Walker ’s officers had met like this. There was a more relaxed atmosphere today, but there were important matters to discuss; matters that would affect the prosecution of the war on its various fronts, and that would require scattering these people—his friends—to remote places once again.
    He looked at Marine Major (or Bosun’s Mate, if he was at sea) Chack-Sab-At and smiled. The young Lemurian had become one of the rocks of the Alliance, and his brindled tail was swishing slightly in anticipation. They’d discussed his assignment before, and not only was he excited by it, but he also knew that ultimately it would take him nearer his beloved Safir Maraan, General-Queen Protector of B’mbaado. The stunning Safir was a corps commander now in the First Fleet Expeditionary Element.
    “Chack, you’ll be stopping in Manila, where you’ll be joined by Major Jindal and his regiment of Imperial Marines aboard those Dom steam transports captured at New Ireland. They sailed before we did, and took a straighter shot. They should arrive there shortly, and this way, maybe you’ll be there to meet them.”
    “Aye, aye, Cap-i-taan,” Chack said.
    “There’s more. Twenty of the forty-odd POW survivors of Mizuki Maru —Army, some China Marines, others too, I’m told—are fit enough and willing to join the cause.” He frowned. “Not much else for ’em, poor guys. They’re in the same boat we are now.”
    “Still better than the boat they