Weapons of choice

Captain Jurgen Muller arrived directly from a SAR mission and was still wearing his flight suit. Commander Enrico Prodi made his way up from the Clinton's hangar deck. And Major Pavel Ivanov of the Russian army had crossed from the Kandahar, where he had been taking part in the SEALs' tutorial on the G4 assault rifle when Pope's wormhole had swallowed them all.

The men picked at a tray of sandwiches in Kolhammer's private quarters while the admiral handed out mugs of coffee.

"Where is Colonel Gogol?" asked Ivanov.

"I'm afraid he didn't make it," said Mike Judge.

The Spetsnaz officer took in the answer, processed it, and grunted.

"Too bad."

Ivanov didn't look like he needed much commiserating. Judge restricted himself to replying, "Yeah, too bad."

A knock sounded at the door and Kolhammer called out, "Enter."

The three visitors all turned to see Sub-Lieutenant Maseo Miyazaki, acting commander of the Siranui. One arm was encased in a bright green gel tube, and he stood with the aid of a stick.

Despite his injuries, Miyazaki bowed deeply, every line in his body rigid. It was as if he had fiber-steel cable instead of muscle and bone. Kolhammer took his cue from the young officer and, rather than staring directly into his eyes, he averted his gaze, just slightly. He discreetly studied the stoic mask Miyazaki had drawn across his feelings. Grief and pain were obvious, but survivor guilt was there, as well, a gnawing sense of shame and remorse that one should live when better men had died.

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," he said, bowing his head. "I served with Captain Okada on a number of occasions. He was a fine warrior. A man of giri. I would appreciate it if you let your men know how deeply we feel his loss and the death of his comrades."

The young officer carefully straightened his back.

"Thank you, sir. I understand two of Admiral Spruance's ships were destroyed by the Siranui," he said. "As the officer responsible, I now forward our most abject apologies to the admiral and place myself under arrest pending court-martial for the unauthorized killing of Allied naval personnel."

Kolhammer was stunned. Nobody moved. The other three foreigners were obviously as taken aback as he was. They looked like props placed by a director. His stateroom, paneled in oak and furnished with a leather lounge and deep blue carpets, suddenly seemed strangely artificial to him, like a stage setting. As he recovered his wits, he put down his empty coffee mug and searched for a reassuring, but authoritative tone.

"Please stand at ease, Lieutenant. In fact, sit down and take the weight off. Please, I mean it. The release of your combat mace was not unauthorized. I sanctioned an overriding autonomy for the fleet CIs, and the consequences of that decision are mine to bear, not yours. I'll be certain to forward your apologies to Admiral Spruance but I won't allow you to take the blame.

"Unfortunately, I fear that won't satisfy the demands of the situation."

Miyazaki entered the room with a small degree of difficulty. But he carefully lowered himself into a chair next to Ivanov and gratefully accepted a cup of green tea from Commander Judge.

"Domo arrigato."

"You're welcome," smiled Judge.

Ivanov gave the young Japanese sailor a slap on the knee.

"Good shooting," he deadpanned.

Kolhammer grimaced inwardly. He had served with a lot of Russians. He was used to their gallows humor. "Gentlemen, I won't bullshit you. We have a problem," he said. "I doubt we're going home anytime soon. Maybe never. That leaves you men up fecal creek. We have twenty-one German, eighteen Italian, and fifteen Russian personnel serving on attachment throughout the task force. And, of course, we have the Siranui. You're the senior surviving officers of your national contingents. If we are indeed trapped here, your homelands are dictatorships, and in the case of Germany, Italy, and Japan, they're enemy states."

Ivanov let out a short, humorless laugh. "I suspect that for me and my comrades, Admiral, the Soviet Union is an enemy state."

"That's why you're here as well, Major."

"And us?" bristled Muller. "Are we to provide you with some sort of loyalty pledge?"

The Italian, Prodi, threw up his hands. "Alora! You have no reason to be concerned with my feelings, Admiral. Have you visited Rome and seen the fascist architecture? It's an abomination! Profoundly antihuman and a total misreading of imperial design. That pig Mussolini deserved to hang by his heels!"

Two seconds of confused and utter silence greeted the Italian's outburst.

"Right, then," Kolhammer said when he recovered. "Thank you, Commander Prodi. To answer your question, Captain Muller, no, I'm not looking for loyalty pledges. But there are people here who will. And even if they get them, they'll still want to lock you up."

"I expect Stalin shall try to put an icepick in my brain," said Ivanov without much emotion. "But we shall see how that works for him, da?"

"Stalin isn't my concern," said Kolhammer. "J. Edgar Hoover might be."