«Where are we?» Gilbert asked and Spanky shrugged.
«If we run into something big and rocky, we’ll know it was one of the thousands of pissant islands scattered around out there, but that’s as close a guess as I’d care to make.»
«You’ve been out in a ’can like this in the North Atlantic, ain’t you?» Isak asked and Spanky nodded, accustomed to the Mice’s abrupt subject changes. «Is this as bad as that?»
Spanky just looked at him. «Son,» he said, shouting above the turmoil, «I was on the old Marblehead in a typhoon in the Philippine Sea back in ’36. That storm tore up a ’can like this and a fleet oiler too, like they were paper cups. It wasn’t a patch to this one. We’re doin’ fine.» With that, he shook his head and crept away, lurching hand over hand along the rail to resume his inspection of the engineering spaces.
«Well,» Isak said, «dudn’t feel that bad to me. Maybe we ought to get out more, Gilbert.»
«Well,» said Captain Reddy as the bow buried itself under a roller, «now I know what a Strakka is.» The entire ship shuddered with effort as it came out the other side. Gray-green water sluiced down the deck, submerging the number one gun and erupting upward against the pilothouse. After Walker spent two days runnad torm they’d ever seen.
«Yeah,» said Letts, whose thinking mirrored Mallory’s. «How’s the plane doing? Engines okay?» he asked.
The pilot hesitated. «Sure,» he answered in a defensive tone. «The oil we’re getting isn’t quite up to spec, but we change it every time she flies. Other than that, she’s better now than when we got her.» He grinned and gestured at the rain. «Cleaner too.» He pointedly didn’t remind them that «when they got her,» the PBY was full of holes and half sunk on a beach.
«Good,» Letts murmured, looking carefully at the aviator. He turned to Brister. Mahan’s former engineering officer had become the general engineer for all of Baalkpan. Captain Reddy and Pete Alden had designed the city’s fortifications with an eye toward successful historical port defenses. Alden added a few things based on local conditions. Also, with an infantryman’s eye, he’d stressed additions based on the possibility that the enemy might make a landward approach. In addition to his other duties — which now included direct supervision of the massive (by local standards) foundry — Lieutenant Brister was responsible for making the dream come true. The result might very well be the most formidable defensive works this world had ever known.
Instead of the stone walls that Aryaal enjoyed, a huge defensive berm had been thrown up around the city, the approaches festooned with entanglements and sharpened stakes. Moving the vast amount of dirt had also created a wide, deep trench that had subsequently filled with water and become an impressive moat system. The jungle was pushed back at least five hundred yards on all sides, except where the ground sank into swamp. Some of the wood was stockpiled for later use — much of it was fine hardwood after all — and some was used to shore up the breastworks and put a roof over the heads of the defenders to protect them from plunging arrow fire.
The pièce de résistance was the twenty-four heavy guns that pierced the berm at regular intervals through stout embrasures, mostly facing the harbor. These were carefully concealed. The thinking was that, since the harbor was their most heavily defended point, they didn’t want to scare the enemy away from it — now they’d had a taste of cannon. If the Grik ever did attack Baalkpan, the defenders wanted them to do it in the «same old way» because the waterfront was where they would smash the invaders’ teeth. Still more guns were situated in a heavily constructed and reinforced stockade named Fort Atkinson, overlooking the mouth of the bay.
Again thanks to Alden, the landward approaches hadn’t been neglected. One hundred crude mortars were interspersed among the defensive positions. Little more than heavy bronze tubes, they could hurl a ten-pound copper bomb as far as the extended tree line. A little farther if you were brave enough to put a dollop more powder beneath it. The poor fragmentation characteristics of copper had been improved by casting the things with deep lines that ran all around and up and down the spheres — just like a pineapple grenade. When all was said and done, there wasn’t so much as a copper cup or brass earring in Nakja-Mur’s entire city, or anywhere they could quickly trade with. But what they had, hopefully, was a slaughterhouse for the Grik.
«How have the defenses held up in the rain?» Letts asked.
Brister snorted. «A little rain won’t hurt anything. Pack it all down a bit, is all. I may not be a combat engineer by trade, but when I put something together, it stays put together.»
It would wreck him. Even if he came back to his senses, it wouldn’t matter. Everyone would know. Tony Scott, coxswain, was helplessly afraid of the water. The pity would be worse than jeers. He’d blow his brains out. Thank God he could still handle the bay.
Behind him he heard the clattering roar of engines as the PBY thundered across the bay and took to the sky. He looked over his shoulder as a fleeting ray of sunshine flickered on the rising plane. All that water, he thought. It was bad enough in the bay, where few of the monsters were present, but. out there, where the plane was headed and most of Tony’s pals might even now be slipping down into the dreadful embrace of the sea, so far from land. The safe, dry land.
He fought the current upriver and dodged the dead trees and other debris that had washed down from the distant mountains. Crocodiles floated by, disoriented or dead, and he knew the river must’ve been something at the peak of the deluge. It was still out of its banks. The damp world had begun to reawaken, however, evidenced by the flocks of lizard birds that rose amid raucous cries and riotous colors to greet them as they churned upstream. Finally, after another hour of enduring the buckshot of bird shit that peppered them constantly from above, the fueling pier came into view around the bend.
The willing hands of the caretakers caught the rope, and Tony gratefully leaped up to the dock and onto the shore. His relief at feeling the motionless earth beneath his feet was palpable, and his mood brightened immediately despite another round of drizzle. «Everything all right?» he asked the first Lemurian caretaker/guardsman that joined him.
«No pro-bleemo,» mimicked the ’Cat, proud of his English.
«Anything come apart?» Tony asked the other one, who he knew could speak much better.
«Don’t think so. Everything fine here. Won’t know for sure until the pump is back on.»
«Okay,» Tony said. «I’ll go check it out. In the meantime, why don’t you fellas try to get the fires lit? God knows it’ll be a week before any local boats can make it up that river and bring the rest of the crew. I’ll have to ferry ’em up in the launch.» The idea of spending the better part of the next two days on the water didn’t appeal to him, but at least for now he could bask in the safety of the shore. He stuck his hands in his pockets and, whistling, followed the pipeline cut into the jungle.
He didn’t whistle for long. The ground was mucky and the grade was steep. Soon l to him,im.
Ben Mallory had coaxed the reluctant aircraft up to three thousand feet, all the while listening intently to the engines. So far, so good. The steady, throbbing drone of the Pratt & Whitney R-1830-92 Twin Wasps seemed healthy enough. Contrary to Lieutenant Letts’s suspicions, Mallory really thought the engines were fine. Of course, it was hard to tell over the excessive rattling and violent vibrations the rest of the aircraft made. Everything except the engines on the hard-used plane was falling apart. He tried his best to take it easy on the old gal, but metal fatigue was beginning to take its toll. Sooner or later, good engines or not, the battered flying boat would fold up like a paper kite and fall out of the sky and the only airplane in the entire world would be no more. He shrugged mentally. When it happened, it happened. Until it did, he would fly.
He spared a quick glance at his «copilot.» The young sable-furred ’Cat on his right was peering through a pair of precious binoculars through the open side window at the ocean below. His name was Jis-Tikkar, but he seemed to like
«Tikker» just fine. He’d been a good companion on the long flights between Baalkpan and Surabaya and he was still fully enraptured by the wonder of flying high above the world at a measly 110 miles an hour — oh, how Ben missed the glorious P-40E! Whatever Ben called him, Tikker wasn’t quite ready to assume all the duties of his position. For one thing, he could barely see over the instrument panel.
On a couple of occasions, Mallory had allowed him to take the controls for a little «straight and level,» but it would be a while before he did it again. The second time the little devil had his hands on the oval-shaped wheel, he’d nearly put the big plane through a barrel roll. It was all very exciting and the flying lessons abruptly ceased. For now, the «copilot’s» duties had reverted to observation and keeping Ben awake on the long flights with his irrepressible humor.
The rest of the flight crew consisted of Ed Palmer, and two more farsighted Lemurians in the observation blisters. Ed sat in the compartment directly behind the flight deck, still trying to raise Walker when he wasn’t keeping track of their navigation. The young signalman had been studying under Bob Flowers to raise his grade before the lieutenant was killed. In his short time aboard Mahan he had, for all intents and purposes, been the navigation officer. He wasn’t a pro yet, but he was a quick study. As long as there were landmarks he could identify, he hadn’t led them astray — and they were forbidden to fly at night. Besides, they’d made the trip often enough now that the Makassar Strait was pretty familiar. Ben liked having someone to bounce his reckoning off of, though.
They broke out of the dreary overcast at last and the sky ahead was bright and clear. The trailing edge of the storm was still visible far to the east beyond Celebes, and a few petulant squalls marched about at random. Below them, evidence of the storm was still apparent from the lingering whitecaps. Three hours of flying had them in the general vicinity where they’d captured Revenge, and nearing the way point where they would either turn southeast and prepare to set down and refuel or head due south on the next dogleg that would complete the bottom of their horseshoe search.
Ben glanced at the fuel gauges. More than enough. The flying boat had a theoretical range of over twenty-eight hundred miles, and the search pattern Letts had suggested would consume less than half of that. Mallory intended to cover more area than the plan called for, but there’d still be ample fuel. He decided to forgo a visit to their remote gas station on Celebes. Every time the plane touched > wident, particularly on the still-rough sea. Besides, there were no pumps at the station and they would spend half the day hoisting and pouring the two-gallon jugs. He much preferred idling up alongside Big Sal and letting the fuel run down into the plane.
He called Palmer forward. «We’re going to zigzag south across the Flores Sea on hundred-mile legs, west-east, west-east. But I want to check out those islands north of Sumbawa. Keep track of our turns so we don’t miss the damn things. I’d rather catch them headed east so we can cross them twice. There must be a hundred of them.»
«Most of those islands aren’t much account,» Palmer replied.
«No, but if somebody got driven east by the storm there’s a good chance they might’ve wound up on one of them,» Ben reasoned grimly.
As it turned out, they didn’t have to go that far. Shortly after they made their first eastward turn, Tikker spotted a lonely wake below them. Ben immediately began a spiraling descent.
«Mahan, sure enough!» Tikker said excitedly. «Only three smoke-stacks, see?»
Mallory grunted when he banked the plane far enough to see for himself. «Unless the storm knocked one off Walker,» he agreed doubtfully. «But mainly, she’s headed north, toward Baalkpan. Walker would be headed west. Yeah, that’s Mahan, all right. There’s her number. Looks even worse than the last time I saw her, but she’s under way.»
«We’re not going to set down, are we?» Ed asked nervously from between the two seats.
«No way. Look at those swells! Let’s signal them with the navigation lights.»
The sun was setting beyond Java’s distant volcanic peaks when Walker steamed through the Pulau Sapudi and returned to Aryaal/B’mbaado Bay. The naked tripods of the battle line Homes were silhouetted against the evening sky and the lights of the city. Safe and sound, right where they’d left them. Captain Reddy was dozing in his chair and Keje had gone to the wardroom for a sandwich.
«Just like a bunch of battle wagons moored at Pearl,» Garrett quipped, referring to the Homes. «Those guys never know what they’re missing when the wind kicks up.»
«Maybe so,» Dowden agreed, «but small and fast beats slow and fat when bombs and torpedoes are falling out of the sky.»
Garrett grinned sheepishly back at him. «Yeah, but we don’t have to worry about bombs and torpedoes anymore. The next time we get caught in the middle of a Strakka, tell me again that small and fast beats fat and slow.» He gestured at the huge ships in the bay as they drew closer. «Especially since they don’t even look like they noticed it.»
Appearances were deceiving. The full fury of the storm had passed right over the bay. Humfra-Dar had dragged one of its feet and nearly gone aground. Superficial damage had also been sustained by the pagoda structures on all the ships, but the Homes of the People were designed to withstand far worse. Onshore it was a different story. The waterfront ghetto had been knocked flat. Since the buildings there had provided most of the shelter for the AEF, there had been numerous injuries and even a couple of deaths. The rest of the troops had spent an extremely miserable couple of days, exposed to the full violence of the storm. Nevertheless, there were cries of happy greeting as the ship passed through the anchored fleet and neared the pier.
There had evidently brder me to fly, but it’s not his fault we got in late. We altered the flight plan a little to increase our search coverage, true, but I’d respectfully point out that we wouldn’t have seen Mahan otherwise.» He shrugged. «We ran into a headwind on the last westward leg.»
Matt nodded. «I’m glad you found Mahan. Knowing she’s safe takes a load off my mind. I just wish you wouldn’t cut it so close. You’re the only pilot we have.»
«Yes, sir. Flying the only airplane. But when we couldn’t raise you on the radio we got worried. The last we knew, everybody was at sea in the path of that god-awful storm. I guess we needed to know we weren’t suddenly all alone.»
Matt studied him in the torchlight. «What would you have done if you found one of us, Walker or Mahan, in a sinking condition?»
«I. don’t understand, sir.»
«Yes, you do. Say it was Walker. No power and low in the water. Just wallowing in the swell.» Matt grimaced. «And nothing but the whaleboat, which is, incidentally, all we have left. This afternoon you might’ve been able to set down, but not this morning. What would you have done?»
The young aviator looked stricken. «I. I don’t know. Maybe.»
Matt interrupted him. «No ‘maybe,’ Lieutenant. There’s absolutely nothing you could’ve done.» He put his hand on Mallory’s shoulder. «Nothing. Not if you’re a responsible officer. This isn’t the world we knew, where you could whistle up some ship to come get us. We’re on our own. That’s why you and Letts should’ve waited another day before coming to look for us.» He smiled and squeezed the shoulder. «By which time — tomorrow — the radio ought to be fixed. I’m glad you’re here, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad you saw Mahan, but we can’t spare you or that airplane.» His smile became a grin. «It’s going to have to last the whole damn war.» He dropped his hand to his side and nodded toward the chart laid out on a table nearby. Together, they looked down at it. «Now, since you’re in a rescuing mood, I want you to take off in the morning — weather permitting — and find Revenge. We’re going to start on the propeller first thing, but we ought to have the radio repaired by morning. With Riggs gone to Baalkpan, Clancy is chief radio operator and he says with Palmer’s help he can get it done. Clancy’s already fixed the resonance chamber — used a coffee cup for an insulator! — and he
says now that the ship’s not pitching her guts out he can re-string the aerial.» Matt looked up at Mallory. «By the way, if the radio’s not working, you don’t fly.» He returned his gaze to the chart. «If you find Revenge and she needs assistance, with any luck, we’ll be able to come and get them.» Matt pointed at the chart. «Concentrate here first,» he said grimly, indicating a large island surrounded by dozens of smaller ones about halfway between Sumatra and Borneo. «I have a feeling that’s where she’ll be.»
Captain Reddy glanced at the group gathered around them. Many were engaged in animated discussions, while some were relaxing on cushions that had been placed under the awning for their convenience. «It looks like I’m going to be here for a while,» he said. «Go get some sleep. You’ll need it.»
«So,» Matt said at last, when the briefings were complete and the «meeting» had been officially under way for some time, «correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems the situation remains unchanged. The battle line is fit for sea, in spite of some slight damage. The B’mbaadan infantry and Rolak’s volunteers have been thoroughly integrated into the AEF and are ready to embark. I have every minated something lying in it.
«Goddamn! It’s a gun! I bet those sneaky bastards filled it full of powder and plugged it up, hoping the fire would cook it off!» He started to run for a fire hose, then stopped dead in his tracks. No time. If he was right, that thing could go off any second. It would take several minutes for the water pressure to build. Without a word, he hopped the rail and began climbing down the rungs.
«Where the hell are you going?» Lanier yelled. «I got an arrow in my gut!»
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