his world now, and just as we made changes with the help of the first Amer-i-caan destroyermen, to defend our Homes, we have to expect the Grik to do the same—perhaps with the aid of their ‘Jaaps,’ their ‘Cap-i-taan Kuro-kaawa.” He took anothe sip, and held his cup high. “May the Heavens protect and guide us in this noble endeavor, just as they always so unfailingly direct us through all the perilous seas of life!”
There rose a determined cheer, and the enthusiastic stamping on the deck reverberated throughout the abbreviated superstructure of Salissa Home—USS Salissa (CV-1).
CHAPTER 3
Off New Scotland, southeast of the New Britain Isles, in the “Eastern Sea”
U SS Walker (DD-163), the old “four-stacker” destroyer and possibly the sole survivor of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet on a lost, increasingly less relevant “earth,” slashed through the brisk, breezy sea off the southwest coast of New Scotland. On that dimming world she’d been swept from—saved from, most likely—by an eerie, anomalous squall, New Scotland would have been several islands, including Maui, Molokai, Lanai, and Kahoolawe. Here, due to lower sea levels (there was now definitive evidence this “earth” was locked in an “ice age”) and the random nature of volcanism, the clustered islands were one. The old destroyer had been healed of the recent damage she’d sustained, and she bounced through the swells on three boilers like a happy puppy racing to meet a massive, full-grown playmate she hadn’t seen in ages.
At long last, Task Force “Oil Can,” composed of the stupendous Le- murian seagoing Home, Salaama-Na , two more “Amer-i-caan” steam frigates, some sailing tenders and dedicated oilers, and the Imperial steamers Ulysses and Icarus , had arrived. Salaama-Na dominated the squadron with her huge sails, or “wings,” and it was toward her, flagship of the task force, that Walker sped. Unlike some others of the great Homes, Salaama-Na hadn’t been altered into an aircraft carrier, or more appropriately, a seaplane carrier/tender. Her beautiful, awesome lines hadn’t been altered in any way. That was one reason it had taken her so long to arrive—she, like others of her kind, was very, very slow—but it didn’t make her a less welcome sight.
Captain Matthew Reddy, “High Chief” of the ever-growing “Amer-i-caan” clan, CINCAAF, (Commander in Chief of All Allied Forces—by acclamation), and more specifically—currently—CINCEAST, was grinning broadly at the sight of the huge ship. His green eyes, often capable of icy remorselessness, sparkled with pleasure, and his mood was reflected by the mixed human/Lemurian—“American”—crew around him in Walker’ s pilothouse, and indeed, throughout his veteran ship. Matt had been grinning a lot lately, despite the added pressure and responsibility of a “whole new war” here in what their allies considered an impossibly distant “far east.” Nearly two years of constant war and the associated stress had taken their toll, but that was a kind of stress for which he’d always been well equipped. His long funk had suddenly been erased by almost-miraculous news of a very personal nature. Compared to the relief that gave him, even an added theater in an apparently endlessly growing war seemed barely able to touch him.
“That Salaama-Na is sure a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “I’d rather she was one of the flat-tops, converted or new, but I don’t think anything quite as impressive as one of those seagoing Homes has ever put to sea on this world or back home!”
“She’s a welcome sight, and that’s a fact,” agreed Brad “Spanky” McFarlane in his gruff but amiable way. Spanky was a little guy; short and skinny, but the power of his personality and supreme engineering authority always left people the impression he was bigger than he was. He’d been Walker’ s engineering officer—a “mustang”—ever since she joined the old
There rose a determined cheer, and the enthusiastic stamping on the deck reverberated throughout the abbreviated superstructure of Salissa Home—USS Salissa (CV-1).
CHAPTER 3
Off New Scotland, southeast of the New Britain Isles, in the “Eastern Sea”
U SS Walker (DD-163), the old “four-stacker” destroyer and possibly the sole survivor of the U.S. Asiatic Fleet on a lost, increasingly less relevant “earth,” slashed through the brisk, breezy sea off the southwest coast of New Scotland. On that dimming world she’d been swept from—saved from, most likely—by an eerie, anomalous squall, New Scotland would have been several islands, including Maui, Molokai, Lanai, and Kahoolawe. Here, due to lower sea levels (there was now definitive evidence this “earth” was locked in an “ice age”) and the random nature of volcanism, the clustered islands were one. The old destroyer had been healed of the recent damage she’d sustained, and she bounced through the swells on three boilers like a happy puppy racing to meet a massive, full-grown playmate she hadn’t seen in ages.
At long last, Task Force “Oil Can,” composed of the stupendous Le- murian seagoing Home, Salaama-Na , two more “Amer-i-caan” steam frigates, some sailing tenders and dedicated oilers, and the Imperial steamers Ulysses and Icarus , had arrived. Salaama-Na dominated the squadron with her huge sails, or “wings,” and it was toward her, flagship of the task force, that Walker sped. Unlike some others of the great Homes, Salaama-Na hadn’t been altered into an aircraft carrier, or more appropriately, a seaplane carrier/tender. Her beautiful, awesome lines hadn’t been altered in any way. That was one reason it had taken her so long to arrive—she, like others of her kind, was very, very slow—but it didn’t make her a less welcome sight.
Captain Matthew Reddy, “High Chief” of the ever-growing “Amer-i-caan” clan, CINCAAF, (Commander in Chief of All Allied Forces—by acclamation), and more specifically—currently—CINCEAST, was grinning broadly at the sight of the huge ship. His green eyes, often capable of icy remorselessness, sparkled with pleasure, and his mood was reflected by the mixed human/Lemurian—“American”—crew around him in Walker’ s pilothouse, and indeed, throughout his veteran ship. Matt had been grinning a lot lately, despite the added pressure and responsibility of a “whole new war” here in what their allies considered an impossibly distant “far east.” Nearly two years of constant war and the associated stress had taken their toll, but that was a kind of stress for which he’d always been well equipped. His long funk had suddenly been erased by almost-miraculous news of a very personal nature. Compared to the relief that gave him, even an added theater in an apparently endlessly growing war seemed barely able to touch him.
“That Salaama-Na is sure a sight for sore eyes,” he said. “I’d rather she was one of the flat-tops, converted or new, but I don’t think anything quite as impressive as one of those seagoing Homes has ever put to sea on this world or back home!”
“She’s a welcome sight, and that’s a fact,” agreed Brad “Spanky” McFarlane in his gruff but amiable way. Spanky was a little guy; short and skinny, but the power of his personality and supreme engineering authority always left people the impression he was bigger than he was. He’d been Walker’ s engineering officer—a “mustang”—ever since she joined the old
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