Weapons of choice

Moose was silenced by the vehemence of his best friend's delivery. And everything Slim Jim Davidson had just said ran 100 percent contrary to what his daddy, Moose Sr., had raised him to believe. But of course, Moose Sr. wasn't here, up to his ass in dead meat and craziness. And Slim Jim had looked after him ever since they'd fetched up in the same quarters. He reluctantly agreed to heed the advice.

"That's all right then." Davidson nodded. "Now I gotta take this shit topside and get rid of it. I'll see you soon."

And with that he hauled the big, oozing bag away, all the time thinking of where he might stash the treasure he had hidden within it.

Captain Anderson ran her fingers along the join between the two ships. The nanotube sheath armor of the Leyte Gulf met the rivets and iron plating of the Astoria perfectly. She supposed they had bonded at the molecular level.

"How long, Chief?" she asked.

"They've got the pumps running full bore in the Astoria, Captain. We've sent over what help we can, but unless we get her to a dry dock in the next eight to twelve hours, we're both going down."

"There's not a dry dock in the world could fit them in," Anderson pointed out.

"That's true," conceded Chief Conroy.

"And we'd tear both ships apart making any kind of speed to get there."

"Reckon so."

They had gathered in a small group on C deck of the Leyte Gulf, where the portside corridor was entirely blocked by a section of the Astoria. The deck tilted forward perceptibly beneath their feet, as the stealth cruiser's bow was dragged down by the growing weight of the other ship. The structural integrity of the Astoria was failing. A large fissure had opened up just aft of the nexus with Anderson's ship and the sea was flooding in, gradually overwhelming the pumps and the efforts of a three-hundred-man bucket brigade.

There were other problems.

"The children aren't playing well together," said Conroy.

"I've got Mohr and my other chiefs working on it," Evans said, "but…"

He trailed off.

Anderson gathered that Evans was an educated, well-traveled man, but even he was obviously having trouble coming to terms with Anderson's ship and crew. The Leyte Gulf's captain stood with her arms folded in the flickering, failing light of the corridor.

"Commander, I'm aware that we've all had a lot of trauma to deal with this afternoon, or morning, or whatever. You can't throw people from different worlds together under such extreme pressure and expect them to work smoothly. Not when they've just been trying to kill each other. But we're going to have to work together, because our fates are fused."

She punched the armor plating of the Astoria for emphasis.

"I can't have Eddie Mohr running around, punching every guy who looks sideways at one of your ladies," said Evans. Frustration was beginning to get the better of him.

"Commander, they're not ladies," Conroy said, before Anderson could reply. "They're officers and sailors of the U.S. Navy. They can take almost anything you'll throw at them. But they don't have to take sexual harassment."

"But nobody's been having sex with them!" protested Evans, who couldn't believe they were even discussing the matter.

"Jesus, you really don't get it, do you?"

"No, apparently I don't…"

"Look, this isn't the time or place," Anderson said. "Either we save these ships together, or they go down together. Chief, get hold of Borghino and Reilly…"

"I'm sorry, he's dead, ma'am."

Anderson had known that, but the memory had slipped away in the turmoil. She cursed herself for the slip.

"Damn, sorry. Right, get Hillary Beaton instead. Get around to the crew and chill them out. I need engineering to give me an answer. Are we going to save the ships or not? I suspect not, so we need to work up a plan to evacuate the crews and salvage everything we can. If it turns out we're stuck here, even the smallest things could make a difference. We need to strip this ship down to bare bones, take off every piece of technology we possibly can. We'll need to coordinate that with Kolhammer.

"Commander Evans, no offense, but I suggest that there's nothing worth saving on your ship. Nothing that can't be replaced, at least. You should have all your men either pumping out the flooded decks or throwing as much weight as possible overboard to lighten the load. If you have any spare bodies, we can use them over here for our salvage work."

Evans had deep, gray bruises under his bloodshot eyes. Every line in his face looked like it had been gouged there. Anderson saw she'd offended him when those lines stretched and his eyes flared with anger. She instantly regretted her blunt Sagittarian ways. Evans was only just holding it together, and she needed him to stay the course.