He let go a long breath that he hadn't even realized he was holding in.

A dialog box opened up in the corner of the screen: LINKS VERIFIED SECURE. The sysops at each point in the communications chain had just confirmed that no Elint sensors were attempting to crack open the link between the two men.

It was time for business.

"We'll be ready to leave in four hours, Admiral," Judge reported. "I've already got antisub patrols out. All the approaches are clear. You have any word on that phantom Nazi boat?"

"Hysteria and bullshit, as best anyone can make out," Kolhammer replied. "Having said that, though, I want you to proceed on the basis of a worst-case scenario. After the Nuku and Sutanto landed in Japanese hands, we can't assume anything. We don't know for sure that the Dessaix or the Vanguard didn't make it through as well. One of them might have materialized in Hitler's bathtub, we just can't tell."

"We've been running active scans here, sir. Haven't had a ghost of a return yet."

"I know. They're probably back home right now. But they were both stealth ships. And even though I can't imagine the crews cooperating if they were captured, we have to plan for it anyway. What is it that Lonesome is always saying? Prepare for the worst, and dare the good Lord to disappoint you."

"Well the worst would be the nukes falling into the wrong hands," Judge pointed out. "We haven't heard from our subs since the Transition, either."

"Yeah, but we would have," said Kolhammer. "If Yamamoto or the Nazis had got their paws on a boomer, half the world would already be glow-in-the-dark. I'm less worried about them, Mike. But I really want you to sneak back as though you do have a rogue Nemesis cruiser on your case."

"I promise we'll sneak out of here like a preacher slipping away from a Reno whorehouse, sir."

Kolhammer allowed himself another small grin. He did miss Mike Judge's Texan charm. "Okay. Just don't fuck around with half-measures, Mike. If you get even a hint that you're being stalked, I want the Siranui to go wild. How's Colin Steele doing, by the way. He happy with the way the ship's running now?"

Kolhammer had promoted the Leyte Gulf's executive officer to command the Siranui as soon as Steele had gotten out of hospital after Midway. He'd been shot early in the brief battle belowdecks between the crews of the Gulf and the Astoria, the contemporary cruiser in which the late Captain Anderson's ship had partly materialized. The images still gave Kolhammer the creeps.

"Yeah, he's pretty much got the cobwebs shook out," said Judge. "All the software's been converted. There's a few differences between the Japanese Nemesis boats and ours, but Steele has had most of those systems taken offline, so his guys don't have to worry about them. It'll be cool. Anderson and Miyazaki did most of the hard work before, you know…" He trailed off.

Kolhammer didn't reply, beyond a brief grunt. The investigation into the killing of his two officers on Honolulu had gone exactly nowhere in the past four months. To his own shame, he'd let the matter slip off his radar, too. There was just so much to do. He made a note to e-mail Admiral Nimitz about the case in the morning. He hadn't been close to Anderson, but she'd been a fine officer, and he'd been very impressed by Miyazaki, the Siranui's surviving senior officer, in the short time he'd had to deal with him. From all reports, the two of them had worked well together, quickly getting an American crew settled onto the Japanese Self-Defense Force vessel. They deserved better.

Kolhammer returned to his discussion list. "Halabi's been bouncing her sigint take across to me every twelve hours. Things are grimmer than hell in the U.K., but she doesn't think the Kriegsmarine would try a sortie while she's still packing. She's down to six antiship missiles now, though, with four antisub, and her air defense stocks are at fifteen percent. Pretty soon she'll be like you, Mike. A floating Radio Shack. But Raeder can't be sure of that. So he's bottled up for now."

"How are the natives treating her, sir? If you don't mind me asking."

Kolhammer frowned. "That guy the Brits had as liaison in Pearl, Sir Leslie, he's been supportive. And Churchill has backed her. I think Prince Harry has been twisting arms at the Palace on her behalf as well. But I suspect she's doing it tough, Mike."

"She is tough, Admiral."

Kolhammer thought he detected something more than professional respect in Judge's voice, but he let it pass. The new captain of the USS Hillary Clinton wasn't married. He hadn't even been seriously hooked up before they arrived here.

"She is, indeed, Commander. Now, see that you get yourself back in one piece," he continued, changing tack. "I know it's breaking your heart, but we need to clean out the Big Hill. She's a lot more valuable to us stripped down to bare bones. The retrofit's going to take a good eight or nine months, and even then she's not going to need more than a fraction of the systems she's still carrying. Meantime, I got Leslie fucking Groves turning up here every second day with empty deuce-and-a-halves, telling me to fill 'em up with everything from Nemesis processors to espresso machines."

"Well, he is building a better A-bomb, sir," Judge teased.

"Yeah, I know," said Kolhammer, rolling his eyes. "And he gets only about a tenth of what he wants, but it plays hell with the project management for everyone else. Even with all our processing muscle, and some of our people holding his hand, that bomb isn't going to be ready until late '43, early '44 at best. It's not like we brought any centrifuges or fast breeders through with us. Meantime, I've got immediate need for processing time on about a hundred and forty different design and production lines, damn few of which I would have chosen as priorities, but what are you gonna do?

"We're trapped by the politics, Mike. Roosevelt got the Zone bill through Congress by the skin of his teeth and the grace of that goddamn sunset clause. You've never seen anything like it, the scaremongering and bullshitting that went down. You'd think we were setting up the fucking Fourth Reich here in the Valley."

"Or the USSA, if you listen to Hoover," Judge added, causing Kolhammer to throw up his hands.

"Oh, jeez, let's not get into that. We just don't have time. Listen, Mike, I'm sending data in this transmission. It's the specs for the project I want you to take over when you get here. I want to ramp up production of the F-86 by the end of winter, but I also want to be ready to jump through another generation, up to a prototype F-5 by the end of next year. You're going to get that ready for me. Study up on the package while you're en route, and choose your division heads from the guys you've got with you. You can prep them along the way. I want you to tie up and come running down that gangway, raring to go."

Kolhammer wasn't really expecting Judge to object, even though he was effectively taking the Clinton away from him. He'd been out to Hawaii a month earlier, and the ship had a lost feeling about her, like an unfinished story that would now never be written. Everyone he spoke to wanted to move on to their next assignment. It was a sorry way for the old girl to end up, but he told himself-they all told themselves-that she'd be back one day, kicking butt and taking names, just like her namesake.

The two men had a few more minutes before they lost the link.

"What's the latest with Jones?" asked Kolhammer. "I haven't had an update today."

"I've sent along his last four data bursts, Admiral. The latest came an hour ago. They pretty much blocked Homma's advance before it really got going. Lonesome wants to pull his armor and close air support out of the line, link up with 2 Cav, and hit the Japanese flanks. They can't get reinforcements past Willet and Spruance. They've tried air supply out of Moresby, but it's just not their gig. They're well and truly fucked.