Moon Island (offshore)
October 6, 1937
0030:

        It was raining again, a steady drizzle that managed to cover the sounds of the submarine surfacing just off the north point of the island.  As the diesel engines started, running lights appeared and the control room crew took their positions on the conning tower. 
        Of course, there had been an extremely careful survey of the area by periscope before the craft had surfaced.
        “Might even be the same storm,” Madsen commented as she glanced up at the night sky.  She leaned in close to the intercom and said, “Helm, keep us on course.”
        “Yes, ma’am, course steady on one-eight-two.”
        The greyhound nodded to herself and took a deep breath of the damp air as Ranua came up the ladder.  “Well, Mr. Milikonu, are you and your team all ready?”
        The wirehair terrier nodded.  “Yes, ma’am.”  The SLF team was tossing their inflated rafts into the water as he spoke.  “It’s been a pleasure, Vivian,” he added, saluting despite the fact he was in the same civilian clothing he had worn when embarking several days before.
        “The pleasure’s been mine,” Madsen said, returning the salute.  “You have permission to depart when you’re ready, Ranua.”  She winked.  “See you later.”  The sub would dock and unload the bags of materials recovered from the trawler, delivering them to Ranua’s office. 
        The cover story was a maintenance problem with the boat’s diesels that required it to return from its patrol earlier than scheduled.  The crew had been sworn to secrecy about the matter, along with bonus money for undertaking the mission.
        “Yes, ma’am.”  He clambered down the conning tower’s exterior ladder to the deck as Estes walked up to him. 
        “I was going to ask if you’re ready to go, Ranua,” the equine said.
        “Yeah, I’m ready,” he replied, and the two climbed down the sloping side of the submarine and into the last raft.  They cast off from the S-16 and waved at the crew on deck before rowing for the point of land in the distance.
        The rain gave one final brief downpour before slackening off and stopping, giving all of them a good soaking as they splashed ashore and deflated the rafts. 
        “Well, this is goodbye.  It’s been an honor, guys.”  Ranua somberly offered his paw to each of the remaining SLF members.
        Each of the sergeants shook his paw and Estes said, “You did a good job, Ranua.  We’ll be glad to serve with you again,” and they parted company.  The squad would complete their cover assignment before returning to Port de Fuca.  They disappeared into the bushes, while Ranua started walking to the base.
        The road forked, and his chest seemed to constrict. 
        He resisted the urge to go straight up the road to the house on Maleukana Point, even though everything in him yearned to head in that direction.  Despite his desire to see Miri and assure her that he had gotten home safely, he had to get the bags of papers and the cipher machine stowed away securely in the vault.
        But it was hard to take the left-paw road.


        The coffee in the mess was fresh, and he was warming his paws around a steaming mug when Commander Madsen entered the office, leading a working party carrying the oilskin bags.  “Good morning, Ensign,” the greyhound said with a smile.  “Got any of that for me?”
        Ranua grinned and gestured to a tray that held a full pitcher and several mugs.  “Please, Commander, help yourself.”  He stood as he said, “I’ll get the vault opened.”
        After the bags had been secured, Madsen had drained her mug of coffee in one long swallow and stuck her paw out at Ranua.  “Well done, Ranua,” she said.  She smiled at him and escorted the working party out.  When the doors swung shut, Ranua abruptly sat down hard in his chair as his legs seemed to turn to rubber.
        The mission was over now, and the tension he had felt ever since accepting the operation in Seathl suddenly evaporated.  He poured another cup of coffee, aware that his paws were shaking.  He and the team had completed the mission, but that didn’t help assuage the feeling that he had somehow failed.
        After all, one member didn’t return.
        He sat slumped in his chair for a few minutes as the trembling in his paws reached out to take in his whole body.  Not only had a man under his command died, but he himself had killed someone.  He had trained for it, of course, but no training could prepare him for the reality of actually doing it. 
        The terrier’s eyes closed as if in pain, then he straightened up and turned to his typewriter.  Ranua fed in a blank sheet of paper and began to type up his report.
        Having to think through the entire chain of events helped him get over the shaking.


0410:

        The waiting had been the hardest thing she’d ever done.
        The first three days she had missed a few of her nursing classes; after that she fell into a sort of routine where she attended school, came home, and spent a few hours praying.  As more time went by without the traditional knock on the door she had slowly grown more confident that Ranua would return.
        She had stayed up as long as she could, and had finally fallen asleep just before midnight.
        There was a knock at the door.
        Miri’s eyes flew open as she instantly awakened.  She turned over in bed and stared at the clock as the knock repeated itself.
        Hardly daring to think about what the sound portended – whatever reason, she’d take it as it came and leave the rest to the Gods - she pulled on a robe and walked into the living room.  “Yes, who – “ she opened the door and abruptly fell silent.
        Ranua stood there, looking a bit damp and ungroomed.  “I’m sorry to wake you,” he ventured, “but I left my key on the kitchen table.”
        “You need to stop forgetting things, Ranua,” she said softly as she opened the door wider and stood aside to let him in.  “You look tired,” she remarked, and after he walked past her she held her nose.  “You smell, too.”
        “Do I?”  He looked a bit puzzled, and he sniffed, then blinked.  His fur and his clothes were saturated with the scents of every other fur on the submarine, as well as the close, stuffy air within the vessel and an overriding salt smell.  “I guess I do.”  He looked at Miri as she shut the door, and swallowed when she turned back to him and he saw tears running freely down her face.  “Miri . . . “
        He held out his arms to her, and she collapsed, sobbing, into his embrace.  They stood there for several minutes as she cried, then she sniffed and looked up at him, smiling through the tears.  “I take it back – you don’t smell, you stink.”
        “I’m sorry.”  He smiled at her, and she slowly grinned.  One of them giggled, and soon both of them were laughing.
        “Well, you need a bath,” she finally said as she grabbed him by one paw, “and probably some breakfast,” she added as she half-dragged him into the bathroom.


1130:

        Maureen Brown turned as the door to the Intel Section swung open and she grinned as she saw Ranua walk in.  “Well!  About time,” she said.  “I read your report, and there may be a few things I want to ask you about, but you’re looking well-rested.”
        He smiled and glanced down at his clean duty uniform.  “Miri wanted to make breakfast for me.”
        The mouse made a show of staring at the clock and doing a double take.  “Until eleven-thirty?  Must have been one hell of a breakfast,” she remarked, and several of the other analysts chuckled.  She laughed at the terrier’s embarrassed dip of the ears and said, “Come into my office and let’s talk a bit before we see what you found.”
        “I read your report,” she said after she had closed the door, “and I’m sorry that one of our people was killed.  It’s a hard thing to lose someone under your command.”  She settled into her chair and looked at him closely.  “Are you going to be okay?”
        Ranua nodded.  “I think so, Maureen.  Was there something I left out of my report?”
        His question caused her to cock a dubious eye at him.  She thought she knew him well enough to know that he was suppressing his feelings about the death.  Well, he had a strong religious faith and a close-knit family, which should help him get things sorted out.
        There was a small but pregnant pause before she replied, “Just a few small details.”  After discussing the operation aboard the trawler and taking some notes she remarked, “We’ll need to get into those bags and sift through what we have before we can send a preliminary report to Seathl.  So, let’s open the vault and take a look.”
        The bags were brought out and, one by one, opened and their contents scrutinized and catalogued.  Materials that were fairly innocuous (at least at first glance) such as the Bibles and the crew’s letters home were set aside; several of the analysts laughed at the sight of all the pornography accumulated by the Russian sailors.  These, too, were set aside - for more careful scrutiny. 
        Finally the bags from the radio room were emptied, and Maureen and Ranua supervised the others in the task of winnowing through the papers.  Several small books filled with notes were set aside, as were all of the messages that the ship had received but had not yet deciphered before the SLF team descended on it. 
        The bag that contained the cipher machine was opened carefully, and the lock was removed with bolt cutters.  It had suffered slightly from being jostled around in the bag and its metal cover was badly dented, but it was still largely intact. 
        The cover held the jackpot - a cipher manual and several spare code wheels in a small rack. 
        Maureen grabbed at Ranua’s paw and squeezed.  “Great job, Ranua,” she said with a happy smile.  “If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to tell what they’re doing almost before they know themselves.”
        “Great,” Ranua said, inspecting the cipher machine closely.  While he wasn’t a technician, he could see that the device was only slightly different from the Medusa II machine he had studied on back at Seathl.  Some improvements to Medusa might have to be made, but that would be left to better minds than his.


Meeting Island
1350:

        “Well, good day, Mr. Milikonu,” Inspector Stagg said as Ranua entered the office later that day.  “’Home is the sailor, home from the sea, and the hunter home from the hill,’ he recited with a gentle smile.  “Have a seat, please.  I take it that everything worked out satisfactorily?”  He asked the question as he noted his apprentice looking uncharacteristically subdued.
        Ranua sat, took off his ball cap and stared at his paws for a moment.  He didn’t look up.
        “Inspector, did you ever lose someone?  In the War, I mean.” 
        Sergeant Brush’s ears perked straight up as Stagg’s expression grew somber.  “You might recall I was interim commander of the New Haven Flying Corps in the Great War,” he said, glancing up as Brush quietly got up and closed the door.  “Men were sent on missions on my responsibility.  Some did not return.  I take it, then, that your endeavor was not without losses.”
        The wirehair terrier nodded, still gazing at his paws.  “One was lost.”
        “I see.  A good commander, Ranua, knows when to mourn, and how much to mourn.”
        Another nod, and Ranua looked up at the buck.  “Were you a good commander, sir?”
        Stagg’s face looked drawn with memories.  “No.”  The two were silent for a moment, then Stagg asked, “Something else is on your mind.”
        “Yes, sir.  I . . . killed the . . . person who – well, you know.  I think I’ll talk to a Wise One about it today.”  He shrugged and looked at Brush, who nodded understandingly.  “I’ll get over it, I suppose.”
        “Never get over it, Ranua.”  Stagg’s expression was bleak.  “While I myself have never killed, I have sent many to the gallows.  So, in a way, we both have blood on our paws.”  The whitetail buck regarded the reports on his desk.  “We all have our own crosses to bear, in a sense.  I think that I shall attend Mass tonight,” he said, “and you should see a priestess as soon as possible.”


Main Island
1700:

        It felt good to have his fur oiled again.
        It felt even better to be in native dress, and his brown and white fur brushed with his family and Tailfast symbols.  Ranua knelt before the shrine deep in the forest while a Wise One spoke the words that would prevent the shade of the Russian feline from disturbing him or his family.  A similar ritual would placate Ken’s ghost.  Melli, the otter who had first suggested that Ranua join the RINS, knelt by the shrine, ready to help the older vixen.


Seathl, Rain Island
October 8, 1937
0900:

        “Telegram for you, Richard,” the secretary said, depositing an envelope on Vice-Commodore Broome’s desk. 
        “Thanks, Kathy.”  The fox looked at it curiously, then picked it up and opened it.
        Broome stared at the message for a few moments before long-ago Sunday School classes surfaced in his memory.  A vulpine grin caused his muzzle to crest.  He had gambled that sending Ranua as a student would tempt the buck into offering his considerable expertise in cryptology, and he had won the bet with himself.


Moon Island
Maleukana Point
1930:

        “Promise me something,” Miri said suddenly.  She nestled on his lap as the two of them watched the sunset over Main Island.  The black and brown-furred canine leaned her head back and met his gaze as she said, “Promise me you won’t do that again.”
        Ranua kissed the tip of her nose and said, “Would you want me to lie to you, Miri?  If I’m ordered to go somewhere, I’ll have to go – you know that.”
        “I know,” she said.  “But I can hope, can’t I?”
        He chuckled and hugged her a bit tighter.  “Of course you can.  And I’ll be hoping right along with you.”  He gave her a smile.  “I’m just glad that I’m an analyst. 
        “With any luck, though, nothing will happen between now and the Solstice, and you’ll be a beautiful bride.”
        The two of them laughed and settled back as the sun dipped below the horizon.



the end

epilog