Chapter 4: Revelations!
 

 The noonday meal had been a pleasant experience for Silas and Beverly, though for the most part they didn’t have much time to talk to each other.  They were caught up in conversation with the others that revolved around the destruction of the light tower, the unfortunate deaths of the boat party, and the chasing of the tower wreckers leading to their demise.

 It was after the dishes had been cleared away that the two humans excused themselves for a quiet walk among the palms.  Jenny Monroe suspected what would be passing between the two but kept any comments to herself.  And a stern look to her crew stilled any words perched on their lips.  Standing in the shadowed doorway to the langor the rabbit fem smiled as the figures disappeared among the trees.

 “I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts they’ll be tying the knot within six months,” was the happy murmur on pale lips as Jenny reached into a breast pocket of her flightsuit for her smokes.
 

 A light breeze, tangy with sea salt, drifted through the trees as man and woman spoke to each other with a growing familiarity.  Beverly noted the slight limp in Silas’ left leg.

 “Did you twist your ankle just now?”  There was a note of worry in her voice.

 Silas glanced down.  “No, miss, just had my foot shot away during the war.”

 The woman blushed from embarrassment.  “I’m sorry.  That was rather inconsiderate of me.”

 Smiling down at her the captain replied, “Don’t be, Miss Plumb.  Most folk don’t know about that story.”

 Beverly looked away, ashamed over the matter.  After a moments silence she looked back up at him.  “Could you tell me how it happened, please.  And call me Beverly, if I can call you Silas.”

 Silas stopped, noting that they were on the edge of the treeline.  Beyond was the deep blue of the coastal waters and the Ida Lewis stationed off of the coral spit.  On the wind came the faint calls of the men at work punctuated by the occasional blast of the boatswain’s whistle.  He looked down at the woman beside him and smiled.

 “Okay, Beverly.  Back in 1917, I was a lieutenant assigned as Signals Officer on the Coast Guard Cutter Cranston.  We had just left the Norfolk Naval Yards for our assigned cruise area.  The Cranston was a medium endurance cutter, meaning that we didn’t sail too far from shore and had a small area of the coastline to keep watch over.

“Anyway, we hadn’t been on station keeping duty but for four days when a small freighter approaching us suddenly blew up.  We had been watching them for the better part of an hour and they weren’t more than three miles away when it happened.”

“Oh, my,” responded Beverly.  “ Was she attacked by a U-boat?”

“That was what everybody thought, though it could have been any number of things that could have caused the explosion.”  The captain began fishing in his back pocket.  Bringing out his pipe he looked to Beverly.  “Do you mind?”

She smiled.  “Not at all.  I do like the smell of a good pipe.  Now, you said that the freighter was attacked?”

Puffing his pipe alight, Silas nodded.  “She just took a torpedo on her starboard amidships.  Meaning in the middle of the hull on the right side.  Anyway, our skipper, Lieutenant Commander Donavan, called the ship to General Quarters as we raced to pick up survivors.”

Beverly frowned.  “Weren’t you worried about the Germans close by?” 

“It was on everyone’s mind.  But you have to remember that we were the Coast Guard, not the Navy.  Our major concerns was saving lives and not get into a shooting match with the submarine.  Still, we had to defend ourselves in the course of the rescue.  It wasn’t long before a lookout sighted a periscope rising out of the water about two hundred yards off the freighter.  And believe me, those Germans were good at coming up for a fight.  They had over two years to perfect their methods and knew how to execute them.”

They had stepped out onto the broad beach to watch the buoy tender at work.  Beverly marveled at how quickly the concrete weight was dropped into the water not far from the coral spit where the original tower stood.  And she watched in silent admiration as the crew swung the light buoy out on the derrick boom to the tune of the boatswain’s whistle and lowered it into the water.

“They’re very good,” she noted out loud.

The captain nodded, blowing a streamer of smoke.  “They have to be.  Been working with this lot for nigh ten years and finally got them whipped into an efficient crew.  But if you think this is marvelous work, you should see them in the teeth of a typhoon.”

A shudder went through the woman’s being at the thought of having to work on a marker buoy in the middle of such a ragging storm.  She guided them back to the attack on the freighter.

“Yes, well, you see, the submarine was coming up to finish off the ship.  That was always their plan of attack: fire a torpedo, then surface to finish the job with their deck gun, because sometimes the torpedo wasn’t always reliable at the time.  Anyway, Commander Donovan had the crew of our forward 3-inch gun take a shot at the sub, but the shell just splashed into the water short of the target ‘cause they were too excited.  But the Germans weren’t scared; they proceeded to fire a round into the engine room of the freighter before turning their attention to us.

“Our next round went to the left because the submarine had made a sweeping turn around the expected point of impact.  But their following shot took us in the bridge.”

Silas stared out towards the tender, his vision filled with the wreckage and pandemonium of another time and place.  The screams and cries of men and furries in pain caused him to shudder and turn his head away.  A hand was laid on his bare arm, and concern stamped on that round face staring up at him.

“What’s wrong, Silas?”

Laying a long, sun-darkened hand over Beverly’s, the man offered an apologetic smile.

“Sorry, it’s just that some ghosts are not that easy to bury over time.  As I was saying, the bridge of the Cranston took a round from the enemy sub, killing everybody there.  And that left me in command.”  Silas’ jaw tightened, the eyes grew hooded, and his voice hushed.  “I was never so scared in my life as I was that day, in command of a ship, for the first time, with an enemy vessel bearing down on us.”

Beverly’s grip never slackened as she continued to stare up at this brave man. “What happened next?”  Her voice was a harsh whisper, excitement building inside her body.

Taking a deep breath, Silas slowly let it out as he stared at his shoes before answering.

“I still think it was the worse order I could have given.”

The woman saw the pain in those eyes as he regarded her.  “Using some ratings to pass along my commands with the bridge knocked out, I called for full speed ahead from the engine room and directed auxiliary steerage to direct the ship on a collision course with the Germans.”

Scrubbing his bearded face with a long hand, the captain tried to set his countenance into a neutral expression before facing the worrisome look the younger woman wore.

“The board of inquiry cleared me later of any wrong-doing in regards to ramming the submarine.  They said that if I hadn’t dealt with the enemy first the Cranston and her crew would have joined the freighter at the bottom of the ocean.  But that didn’t bring back the gun crew.  The last round fired by the sub hit our deck gun, killing all six of ‘em before our bow rode over the Germans between their gun and conning tower.”

In a sudden impulse of sympathy, Beverly Plumb wrapped her arms around Silas’ waist and laid her face against his chest, her eyes closed.  The man stared down in disbelief at her action, but soon enjoyed the comfort it offered.  After several moments of silence she whispered, “It must have been the worse thing to happen to you.”

Silas brought his free hand up, using the fingertips to gently lift the woman’s chin, tilting her head back until their eyes locked. Then slowly they brought their faces together until their lips brushed lightly once, twice, before melting into a passionate kiss.  The two stood that way for a minute before separating just as slowly.  Holding hands Silas and Beverly smiled into each other’s face, and hearts.  But something the woman had said came back to wipe the smile from the captain’s lips.

“What’s wrong, Silas?” the woman asked, her own smile melting away.  “Did I do something to offend you?”

”No, you didn’t.  It’s just that the fight with the German sub was really the third worse thing to happen to me.  And the Spanish Influenza pandemic qualifies as second.”

Beverly shuddered at remembering the worse outbreak of an infectious disease to hit the world since the Black Death of medieval Europe.

“It’s funny, you know, that the majority of the deaths caused by it would be humans.”

Silas nodded, his long face grim.  “Aye, though quite a few primates and monkeys suffered, too.  I suppose you lost family as well?”

Beverly nodded in reply.  Then something he said prompted her to ask, “What was the worse thing to happen in your life?”

That question made the man grimace as other old memories welled up from deep in his past.

“Do you remember the sinking of the Mauritania in 1917?”

She nodded.

Swallowing hard Silas sought to bolster his courage before answering.  “My wife and father-in-law were aboard when it was torpedoed off the Irish coast.”

A hand flew up to cover a mouth dropped open in horror as brown eyes widened to reflect the shock.  “Your wife? Oh, God, Silas, that’s terrible!”

“Aye, it is, and I’ve been living with it for nigh twenty-one years.  But what made it worse was the fact that we were to become a family that fall.”

Brown eyes grew moist as Beverly sought to blink them away.  “Oh, you poor, poor man.  Why were they on board, your wife and her father?”

“Cynthia’s father was Senator Howard Carlisle from North Carolina.  He was appointed by the President to lead a fact-finding mission to England, in regard to our providing war material to them while maintaining our neutrality at the time.”

“Hadn’t there been something in the newspapers about this trip that the Germans made a warning about to anyone who sailed on her.”

Silas nodded.  “The German consulate in New York had taken out a half page message in the Times about the Mauritania, warning everyone against sailing on her.  Their reason was the ship’s hold was filled with ammunition and other war supplies, thus making it a target of opportunity for German submarines.

“I had warned Cynthia against traveling with her father, especially after learning she was with child.  She said that it was all ‘new-father nerves’ and that she’ll be alright with her father and the other commissioners.”

Painful memories made the man squeeze his eyes shut, trying to block out the tearful good-byes made at the pier in Brooklyn, watching the two of them waving from the railing for the last time.  On impulse, as he needed someone to hold unto, Silas took Beverly into his arms, holding her tight to his breast.  The move startled the nurse but she replied in kind as she knew there might not be another opportunity to meet a human male.  They were like that for a couple of minutes until both became aware of whistling drifting in on the ocean breeze.  They separated and turned to stare in the direction of the sound.

The whistling was coming from the Ida Lewis.  It seemed a sharp-eyed deck hand caught the not-so-secretive embrace and passed on the finding to the rest.  Soon the crew was sending whistles and ribald catcalls across the waters to the pair among the towering palms.  And like a pair of school children caught by their parents doing something they shouldn’t be doing, Silas and Beverly turned away from the embarrassing display and disappeared among the palms.

 As they made their way back to the medical camp, the nurse reached out and took the captain by the hand.  Silas smiled at her in reply, then stopped.  Beverly’s gladness fell away, thinking she had done something wrong.  They pulled up in the seclusion of some palmettos.  Blue eyes swept over the round countenance, studying every curve and line, before a swift decision was made under the khaki hat.  Strong hands slid around waist and up behind a curly head as Silas Stanbridge drew Beverly Plumb into a very close embrace accompanied by fierce kisses.  Not a single word was spoken, for none were needed.  Each somehow knew the other’s feelings, as if a recognition had been made and a destiny sealed.

 Minutes later the pair stepped out of the underbrush to meet the others waiting for them.  And the expressions on the ring of faces told them the story.  Silas turned to his simian First Officer.

 “Mr. Clements, I believe it is time to head back to the ship and hold a staff meeting to clarify key elements in regard to current events.”

 He next turned to the Seagull’s crew:  “Get you plane back aboard and secured.  We’ll begin the meeting when you have reached the ward room.”

 Finally, Silas looked to the woman.  “Miss Plumb, I wish to extend the hospitality of the Ida Lewis and ask if you’ll dine with us this evening, say around six o’clock?”

 Beverly smiled, offering her hand.  “I would love to, Captain.”

 Taking the proffered limb Silas brushed his bearded lips across it.

 “Very good.  And as a treat I’ll regale you with some of the worse piano playing this side of Rain Island.”

 The nurse’s face brightened.  “And can I bring my flute to add to the cacophony?”

 “I think we would be delighted.”

 Kissing her hand once more, and touching the brim of his hat in a parting salute, the good captain of the buoy tender Ida Lewis led his crew back towards the beach.  Beverly Plumb just stood there watching them disappear down the trail, a pleasant smile on her lips, along with the sensual warmth of kisses long overdue.

 Captain and First Officer climbed into the ship’s boat and headed back to the Ida Lewis.  The Naval Syndicate MGB sounded a parting salute, that was answered by the buoy tender, as she weighed anchor and headed northwards to its port at Lakenvelder Island.  All the time the crew of the Andover Seagull had finished stowing their gear and clambered back aboard.  The great four-bladed propeller slowly turned before the engine caught and roared to life.

 Easing the throttle forward the lepine pilot turned the amphibian about and waddled it down into the water.  Up on the beach a handful of natives waved to the plane as it taxied its way towards the ship.

 The derrick was swung out; a deckhand poised on the headache ball as the hook was lowered away.  Jenny Monroe had killed the engine, letting the plane drift towards the ship.  As the Seagull slowed its forward movement, the deckhand deftly caught the shackle lying on the center section of the upper wing and slid it onto the hook.  Giving the high sign he stood holding the cable tightly as a panda bear at the railing gave a quick series of blasts on a whistle.  The derrick operator understood the signal and began to take in the cable.  The shackle drew up four lengths of steel cables, the ends fastened to the corner of the upper wing’s center section.  These in turn became taut and helped to pull the ponderous amphibian out of the water.

 From their respective gun tubs, Ben and Karl cast out lines to eager hands below.  These lines steadied the plane while the derrick brought it over to the waiting cradle built atop the rear superstructure.  When the Seagull was nestled into place, other deckhands went about securing it to the cradle as well as unpinning the wings and swinging them back to lie along the sides of the fuselage.

 All the while the seaplane was brought aboard Silas Stanbridge and Orin Clements stood at the stern rail of the bridge and watched the activity.  While the rabbit pilot and her crew lashed canvas covers over the tubs, the human and simian made their way back inside.  They took their respective seats in the wardroom, waiting on the seaplane crew.  There came a knock followed by the lepine, feline, and canine in flying gear entering the room.  They took their places around the table with Jenny to the captain’s left hand while Ben and Karl sat to the right.  The First Officer sat at the opposite end.  When all took their places then the four males pulled out pipes and tobacco pouches while Jenny took out a flat tin and a black cigarette holder.  From the tin she extracted a small cigar and fitted it to the holder.  Captain Stanbridge held out his lighter to her.  She accepted the light and was blowing fragrant blue smoke while the others fired up their pipes.

 “Now, then,” began Silas, taking the pipe from his mouth, “let’s review the evidence we have.  One, Tower #34 was destroyed in the early morning hours by the shipwreckers.  Two, these shipwreckers are later found, pursuit is given, and subsequently are killed in the ensuing gunfight.  Three, the shipwreckers are found to be Orientals with weapons bearing Chinese markings on them.  Four, among their effects is found a medallion bearing five dragons, representing a special operations group working for the Kuo Han intelligence service.

 “Speculations or suggestions, anyone?”

 Ben Frasier flagged the captain’s attention with his pipe.  “This was the fifth light tower in three months, correct, sir?”

 The human nodded.  “That’s right.  Five in three months, and we don’t know if it is the same crew that you bagged this morning doing them all.”

 Jenny tapped ash into an ashtray.  “Any idea what this might mean, sir?”

 With a dismissive wave of a hand Silas said, “I have an idea, but I’m keeping it to myself until we return to Moon Island.  Afterwards, I’ll make the full report known to the head of the Navigational Aid Committee at Meeting Island.  I just hope I’m wrong.

 There came a polite cough from the right hand side of the table.  The captain looked that way.

 “Question, Herr Mueller?” he asked.

 The tabby cat sat in silence for the moment before looking at the man.

 “Ja, mein Kapitane.  Ve have been hearing some var drums und saber rattling cuming from the East.  Could Kuo Han, und possibly Chipangu, be making invasion plans for the Spontoon Islands?”

 Stanbridge sat in silence for a while, quietly puffing.  He glanced around the table.  The young rabbit fem seemed to be studying her cigar, her attitude of one lost in thought.  Orin Clements sat back in his chair, a long hairy-knuckled hand holding his large curved pipe from the side of his mouth, black eyes fixed on his captain.  Ben Fraiser was staring at the ceiling, drawing on his pipe while Karl Mueller was tamping his.  The captain came to a decision as he sat forward.

 “What I have to say stays in this room.”  He tapped the table to emphasize his point.  “From the destruction of these five towers and their locations I’ve come to the personal conclusion – and it’s personal, mind you – that someone is making a study of the strategic importance of our aids to navigation operations.  And not only the locations but our response time to repairing them.”

 Blue eyes lingered over each person around the table until they rested on the feline.

“As you said, Karl, someone could be making invasion plans for the Spontoon Island archipelagos, whether its Kuo Han or Chipangu.  Hell, it could be the Russians up at Vostok.

“But let’s not forget that it could be an independent organization doing this, and are using these people, as well as the guns and medallion, as a possible ruse to their true intentions.  So let vigilance be our watchword.  As Ling Po is fond of saying: ‘See much, say little’.”

With that the meeting was adjourned, but not before Stanbridge turned to Jenny.

“Miss Monroe, a minute of your time, please.”

The young woman extracted the end of her cigar from the holder and ground it out in the ashtray before tucking the holder back into the pocket.  She was watching her captain until the room was empty, noticing how relaxed he became when it was just the two of them.

“Jenny, I’m going to need your help here with Miss Plumb.”

Jenny’s eyes widen at this request.  “Why, Captain, whatever on earth can I do for you?”

Silas Stanbridge felt his mouth become cottony as he made play.

“You know I’ve invited her to have dinner with us this evening.”  He waited for the rabbit to finish nodding.  “Well, I’m thinking of making some suggestions to her about coming to visit Moon and Casino Islands, you know, taking some time off and having some fun.”

White incisors flashed as Jenny grinned.  “If I didn’t know better I would think that you were trying to arrange a date with our dear Miss Plumb.”

The man gave a shy smile in return.  “Yes, it would seem to be something like that.”

A furry white hand was laid gently on the back of a brown one.

“Don’t worry, sir,” Jenny said in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll help steer our little nurse into the bright lights of the night life.  It could be time for her to get away from the quiet pastoral existence of that village to get better acquainted with an eligible bachelor.”

“Widower,” Silas corrected, but he still smiled.  “Thank you, Jenny.”  And surprised her with a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving the wardroom.  For some time Jennifer Monroe stood staring at the door, fingertips laid against the spot where a kiss had been left.  However, a smile had replaced the brief look of startlement.

“Well, girl, you’ve got your work cut out for you, this time.” 

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