“By trying to protect you from your . . . youthful impulses. You are young to be king, and when you attempted to destroy the iron ship of the Amer-i-caans, I foresaw the disaster that did result.”
“You tried to warn them!” Rasik accused.
“I failed. You sent warriors to kill me. They failed. Still there was disaster. You angered the Amer-i-caans and instead of leaving to fight their war elsewhere, they took your city from you.” Koratin didn’t remind Rasik that they probably would have done it anyway after the Grik advance was discovered. Taking the city was the only way to save the people inside.
“So, you failed to betray me and I failed to kill you. That makes us even?”
“No, Lord King. You might say the one act cancels the other. That leaves us back where we started, if you wish it.”
“What?” Rasik laughed. “You would be a king’s counselor through iron bars? Why not be king yourself? I understand you have won glory with this ridiculous Alliance.” He spat the word.
“I could never be king. I am not of the blood. The people would not permit it.”
“So you have considered it?”
Koratin shrugged. “I am a political creature, as you know. You will also know I have considered many possibilities.” He gestured at himself. “I was a lord! I had a great house, many servants, and enough retainers to defeat yours when they came for me! Do you believe I wish to remain a mere warrior? A soldier of lowly rank and status? Do you think me mad? I could never be king, but you could—and I could have back what I have lost!”
Rasik lowered his head in uncustomary dejection. “I could never be king again. The people hate me. I will be lucky to survive!”
For a moment, Koratin said nothing. He was almost stunned by Rasik’s apparent bout of sanity. “Many do hate you,” he agreed at last. “They blame you for the time that was lost in evacuating the city. Some think more might have survived and perhaps even Nerracca of the sea folk might not have been destroyed if . . . things had gone differently.”
“What do you think, Koratin?”
“I think they may be right. I would have counseled as much, had you allowed me.”
Rasik beat his hands against his head. “Easy to say now,” he almost moaned.
“But true, Lord King. You know it is.”
After several moments, Rasik finally nodded. “It is true. You and your love of younglings. I cannot doubt you. You were trying to help and I drove you away!”
“Yes, Lord King.”
“Well . . . I know you, Koratin! You would not have come to me without a scheme of some sort. What is it? Tell me!”
“There is something the Amer-i-caans will want where we go?”
Rasik grew guarded. “Yes.”
“Am I correct in assuming you mean to lead them a lengthy, roundabout chase to find it?”
“Why do you ask?” Rasik demanded.
“It is what I would do in your place. You fear they will kill you when they have whatever it is, so you mean to lead them anywhere but where they must go until you have devised another plan.”
“What if that were true?”
Koratin sighed. “All the Allied armies have left Aryaal. We sailed for Chill-Chaap this morning. The rest of the fleet moves on the Grik at the land they call Sing-aapore. The people of Aryaal will be returning and they will need a king!”
“But how . . . ?”
“If you have ever trusted me, trust me now,” Koratin said. “You must lead the Allies directly to what you found! Give it to them quickly. They will be glad, they might even begin to trust you, and they will leave.”
“They will kill me!”
“They will not! I have . . . arranged certain things, believe me. Do you think otherwise? That I would not have considered all contingencies? I swear to you, before the Sun in the sky, I will not let the Amer-i-caans harm you! You are my king! I cannot be king! How else will I have what I want?”
“If I do this, if I give them what they want and all goes as you say, how will I then be king again?”
“It is simplicity itself! You are king! King Rasik-Alcas! The Allies will leave and you will return overland and simply sit on your throne! I will be there, and you have many more supporters than you know! The first of our people to return to Aryaal will be among the most anxious to see you!”
“I am with you, Lord King!” came a voice from the neighboring cell. “I was in your palace guard! My sword is still yours!”
Koratin looked in the direction of the voice, then stared intently back at Rasik. “You see? When you sit your throne again with your people back in their homes—the homes you did not abandon!—who will oppose you then? Who will dare oppose us?”
Slowly, Rasik-Alcas grinned. “You always were clever, Koratin. Father said so as well. Too clever for your own good at times, but this time I think you are right. Who indeed will oppose me if I am already on the throne when our people come trickling back? It is not as if they will be great in numbers!”
“True, Lord King,” Koratin said grimly. “Very true.” He stood. “Is there anything I can bring you?”
“No,” Rasik said, bright eyes searching the gloom as if looking for faults in the plan. “None must suspect our scheme. Do any know of our past . . . association?”
“None, Lord King. I am merely a soldier of low rank. No one knows who I really am, or what is in my heart.”
“A brilliant subterfuge! Try to discover their plans if you can, but be discreet! Discreet! No one must suspect!”
“Count on it, Lord King.”
As Marine Corporal Koratin turned to walk back the way he’d come, he nodded at the other prisoner again. This time, unseen by Rasik, the prisoner nodded back.
CHAPTER 14
Talaud Island appeared much as Irvin Laumer remembered it when they’d approached it so long ago in S-19, her diesels gasping on fumes. They hadn’t encountered another island fish in the crossing from Mindanao, and Irvin wondered if Silva had actually “sunk” the one that lingered there, as he’d claimed. Surely if he had, another had taken its place? Walker had picked one up on sonar, after all. Maybe they had been discouraged. Whatever the reason, he was relieved.
Island fish or no, nothing could protect them and Simms from the constant deluge of bird and flying reptile droppings.
“That is the place?” Lelaa asked, approaching him as she wiped at a greenish white smear across her dark fur with a towel. Irvin subdued a chuckle at the captain’s expense.
“That’s it,” he said.
“Where to from here?”
“Around the eastern point. There’s a broad lagoon, almost a tiny bay. S-19 was on the beach. There was a little protection but not much. . . . I hope she’s still there.” He voiced his greatest fear. They knew there’d been storms since they left. A high enough surge could have carried her farther inland, making complete salvage impossible, or it might have even carried her off to sea.
“The mountain on the island smokes,” Lelaa observed. “Did it smoke this much when you were here?”
Laumer lifted his binoculars. It was a dreary, hazy, oppressive day. Still, he could see the dull, monochromatic outline of the distant volcano on the island. The smoke was blowing away to the south. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes there’d be earthquakes—the ground would move. I don’t know. It looks like the thing’s a little taller than I remember it.”
Midshipman Hardee and Motor Machinist’s Mate Sandy Whitcomb were standing with him. Sandy said, “Nah,” but Hardee remained silent.
Irvin looked at him. “What do you think?”
“Well, sir, I’m not sure. The top was usually misty when we were here before, and down in the jungle where we spent most of our time, one couldn’t see it at all. That being said, I would have to concur with you. It does seem taller.”
“Hmm. Well, shouldn’t make a difference unless it decides to pull a Krakatoa on us.” As soon as he said the words, Irvin wished he could take them back. He’d always prided himself on h
is rationality, but some of the men’s superstition had rubbed off on him, he guessed. He noticed the accusing look Whitcomb gave him and smiled uncertainly. “Just kidding, Sandy.”
“If it’s all the same to ‘His Highness,’ the new commodore, I wish to hell you wouldn’t say shit like that.” Sandy gestured vaguely over his shoulder. “Me and the fellas who volunteered to come along did it because it’s a job that needs doin’ and we like you. We know you’ve got as much guts as Chief Flynn, but you had the sense to let him take the lead while you learned the ropes. You got more brains than he does, so you’re better than him for this caper. As long as you use them brains to accomplish the mission and don’t go jinxin’ us, we’ll get along fine.”
Touched and chagrined by the convoluted and somewhat backhanded compliment, Irvin nodded. “Don’t worry. Like I said, I was just kidding, but I won’t kid about stuff like that anymore. If you want me to throw salt over my shoulder, scratch a backstay, or jump up and down, spitting on myself, I’ll do it if it makes you feel better.”
Sandy and Hardee laughed. “Nah,” said Sandy, “It’ud be funny to see, but none o’ that would work anyway.”
“What is a Krakatoa?” Lelaa asked.
Sandy rolled his eyes. “A busted toe. A real bad one.”
Late that afternoon, they rounded the point. The wind had shifted out of the south and they took in everything but the staysails. The wind cooled them but their progress slowed to a crawl. Irvin wasn’t worried. The mouth of the cove he remembered so well was near, and he’d rather creep up on it than tack away and try to find it again from seaward. Better to approach it the same way S-19 had. A call came down from aloft and he knew they’d reached their destination.
“Any suggestions?” Lelaa asked.
“Ah, you’ll want to aim for the middle going in. There’s just sand, but it shifts around. The lagoon’s shaped kind of like a cursive capital E. . . .” He looked at her blank expression and drew one on the bulwark with his finger. “We want the top of the E, the northern end. There’s rollers, usually, but it gets calmer when we’re in the point’s lee. Water there was deeper too.”
“Was?”
Irvin shrugged. “Was. Places like this can change every time a storm hits.”
“Leadsmen to the bow,” Lelaa commanded loudly, then looked back at Irvin. “You were saying?” she asked politely.
Irvin knew she’d just given him another tactful lesson in seamanship. “Ah, that’s it. We sail in and anchor as close to shore as the tide will let us. We should see the boat.”
Simms crept into the cove, her consort staying well back to avoid any hazards the flagship might encounter. Irvin and all the submariners were on the fo’c’sle staring ahead, passing the binoculars around and listening to the leadsman’s shouted depths.
“Goddamn, we should see her by now!” Tex erupted suddenly. He had the glasses.
“Maybe,” Whitcomb replied. The beach they’d left her on was still a mile or so ahead and it was hard to focus the binoculars while the ship passed through the rollers.
Hardee reached for the binoculars. “Here, let me have those a moment, please,” he said, somewhat imperiously. Tex handed them over, but then made comic gestures behind the boy’s back when he turned. He understood the concept of midshipmen just fine, but he wasn’t used to taking orders from sixteen-year-old kids. Hardee put the strap around his neck and quickly scampered up into the foretop—no simple feat with the ship pitching so—and scanned the shoreline from a higher perspective. The Lemurian lookouts probably had better vision than he did, even with binoculars, but none of them had ever seen the submarine before. They didn’t really know what to look for.
“There she is!” he suddenly cried down triumphantly.
“Where?” Irvin shouted back.
“About where she was, but . . . all I can really see is the conn tower! It looks like it’s leaning toward the sea!”
Irvin looked at the other submariners. When they left, the boat was almost entirely exposed and leaning hard to port—away from the sea.
“Well,” he said, “at least she’s still here. I guess we’ll know the score when we go ashore.”
Simms and her consort anchored a quarter mile from the beach, where there’d be plenty of water under their keels even when the tide was out. Irvin was anxious to get a look at the task before them, but decided not to waste a trip ashore just for sightseeing. All the ship’s barges went over the side filled with equipment; the disassembled steam engine was their “compact” model, but the parts were still heavy and bulky. The generator was one assembly, and although it wasn’t very big, it was heavy. Other tools and equipment went as well, but no camping gear or foodstuffs. They wouldn’t have time to establish their outpost that evening, and Irvin wanted to reimpress on everyone the hostile nature of some of the inhabitants of Talaud. Tomorrow they’d build a base camp, assemble the equipment they’d brought, and try to discourage the various predators he felt sure had returned to the area in their absence.
Rowing ashore, Irvin noticed few strikes at the boat. He’d gotten used to the incessant thumping of the flashies in the waters he’d crossed more recently and wondered why there weren’t as many here. There were some really big, goofy-looking sharks, he remembered. Maybe that was why. Or maybe it was the deep water all around. He shook his head. Something else for the irrepressible Courtney Bradford to figure out.
His boat nudged ashore and he hopped into the calf-deep water, shoes tied around his neck. Once on the dry sand, he sat down and pulled the battered shoes on his feet. Even while he did so, he looked at the submarine—or what he could see of her. They’d realized, the closer they came to shore, that the boat had been virtually buried in the sand. Not just buried, but sunk in the sand as well. He could easily imagine how it happened. A big storm had lashed the island, maybe even the one that was brewing when they left it. The surge rolled the sub back and forth on the wet, loosening sand, slowly displacing that beneath her, and dragging her down into it. When she was almost level with the beach, the sand collected atop her until all that remained visible was the tower and the four-inch-fifty gun. Irvin stood and approached the boat with the other men.
Lelaa stared at what little was visible in wonder.
“You went under the water in that?”
“She’s a lot bigger than she looks,” Tex said defensively.
“Jeez. She’s plumb buried!” said Danny Porter. “How the hell are we gonna get her out of that!”
Carpenter’s Mate Sid Franks laughed. He’d been talking with some of the ’Cats in his division. “Hell, this is the best thing that could have happened!”
“What do you mean?” asked Irvin.
“Well, sir, if she was still high and dry, we’d have had to dig a hole out from under her. No way we could push or pull her in the water. We could have built rollers, I guess, but we would’ve had to run them out in water deep enough for stuff to eat us. We couldn’t have made them stay where we wanted them either. This way, we just dig her out and dredge a channel into the lagoon!”
“Okay, I can see it’s easier to dig her out, but how do we dredge your little canal?”
“Easy. Well, not easy, but simple, maybe. We securely moor the ships and use their anchors to dredge a trench! Actually, I’m sure one of you geniuses can come up with something better than an anchor—maybe a scoop or something. We scoop the sand, hoist the anchors, or whatever, into the boats, bring it back, and reposition it. Then we do it again.”
“We’ll have to ‘do it again’ a lot of times,” Danny mused, “but yeah, that’ll work better than if we had to relaunch her.”
“Everybody hold your horses,” Irvin said. The sun had touched the treetops at the jungle’s edge. “First, you guys, all but Danny, help get that stuff ashore.” He pointed where dozens of ’Cats were carrying crates from the boats to the beach. “Then we get to work tomorrow.”
“What are you and Danny going to do?” asked Tex, a little irrit
ated.
“We’re going to climb up there”—Irvin motioned with his chin at the conn tower—“and crack the hatch.” He took a battle lantern out of the pack he’d been carrying. “You can go on all you want about refloating the old gal, and that’s swell, but the first thing I need to do is decide whether there’s any point.” He sighed. “Hell, fellas, all that banging around might have opened her up like a sardine can. She might be full of water, for all we know.”
Suddenly, the ground shivered perceptibly beneath their feet and they heard a dull rumble even above the surf.
“What the hell?”
“Mr. Laumer, look!” Hardee almost shouted. He was pointing southwest, toward the volcano. From where they stood, they couldn’t see the mountain itself—the coastal trees were too tall—but they easily saw the gray column of smoke and ash piling into the sky. It seemed to glow just a bit at the bottom, and Irvin wondered if the setting sun was causing it. With the wind now out of the south, they were likely to get some of that ash.
“I sure wish you’d quit doing that,” Whitcomb said through clenched teeth. “Think positive, Mr. Laumer. The only thing the matter with her was she was outta fuel. She took a hell of an ash-canning by a Jap tin can. If that didn’t open her up, a few little waves ain’t goin’ to.”
Irvin nodded and took his eyes off the tower of smoke. “Okay. I’m sure she’s ready for sea,” he said, a little sarcastically, “but Danny and I will make that decision and we’re going to make it fast. Tomorrow we’ll start work on one of two things: refloating S-19 or breaking her up. Captain Reddy himself ordered me—ordered me—to make that determination as soon as I laid eyes on her, and that’s what I’m going to do. If Danny and I come out of that boat and say we’re taking her apart, there won’t be any discussions or arguments. Tomorrow we start taking her apart. I know she means a lot to you guys—she means a lot to me too—but Captain Reddy’s right. We need what she’s made of a lot more than we need her. Is that understood?
A little taken aback by Laumer’s sudden transformation from an easygoing shipmate to an officer who expected his orders to be obeyed, all the submariners nodded. Lelaa nodded too, in satisfaction.
Distant Thunders Page 27
