Also seated in the cramped compartment were two of the Surabayans, or more properly Aryaalans, which was their name for themselves. There had evidently been no assimilation of European chart names here. Whether there had been any early contact at all remained to be seen. The younger of the two was Prince Rasik-Alcas, only son of King Fet-Alcas and heir to the Aryaalan throne. It took a little while for Matt to understand that. He’d picked up a smattering of the ’Cat tongue, but even though Keje assured him the Aryaalans spoke the same basic language, the dialect was so different he couldn’t follow it at all.
Prince Rasik spoke little, however, leaving most of the talking to the older visitor. His name was Lord Muln-Rolak, and he was obviously used to talking quite a lot. Of the two, he radiated a less arrogant air, although he certainly possessed one. To look at him, it had been earned. Unlike that of his young prince, Rolak’s pelt was crisscrossed with fur of lighter shades, suggesting a great many battle scars beneath. He looked, spoke, and carried himself like a consummate feline predator. A predator that was getting along in years, perhaps, but was deadly nevertheless.
Keje, Geran, Ramic, Tassat, and Rick were all there, as commanders of the battle line. Anai-Sa had not deigned to come but had sent a cousin in his stead who seemed to have learned manners from his High Chief. Right now, he merely sat apart from everyone else and peered out the porthole at the fires on the bay.
And then there were the others. Seated at the far end of the table, hands wrapped around two precious Cokes from the refrigerated machine beside the galley door, were Bosun’s Mate Frankie Steele and Lieutenant James Ellis, captain of USS Mahan. Expressions of wonder were still fixed on their haggard faces.
Except for a few quick, incredulous words of greeting, Matt learned only that Mahan still floated and had been here only a short time. Not long enough to accomplish anything like what Walker had at Baalkpan. The two men had been joyous but cryptic, and Matt could hardly wait for the current meeting to end, important as it was, so he could learn more of Mahan’s tale. Judging by the appearance of Ellis and Steele, it had been a hard one. Both men’s uniforms were badly stained and battered, and a dreadful experience of some sort seemed to haunt their eyes. Jim still limped too, and Matt remembered that Captain Kaufman had shot his friend. He returned his attention to Lord Rolak, who was speaking.
“They will certainly attack at dawn.” Keje translated for him. “They attack most days, but after tonight . . .” He shrugged in a very human way. “They will certainly come and I doubt they will stop this time. I propose that your”—the Aryaalan lord actually sneered slightly—“warriors join ours in the defensive positions. They should take direction from our captains, of course.”
Matt suddenly found all of his commanders’ eyes on him as Keje told him what Lord Rolak had said. He answered their unspoken question with a single word.
“No.”
For just a moment, after Keje relayed the response, there was an uncomfortable silence. Prince Rasik finally spoke up. “This . . . creature speaks for you all?”
Keje grunted and answered in an ominous tone. “He does. He not only speaks for us, he commands us for the duration of this campaign.” He gestured angrily toward the porthole. “In case you did not notice, we swept your little bay clear for you this night. He was the architect of that.”
Lord Rolak shifted, and visibly regrouped his argument. “Your victory tonight was impressive,” he hedged, “but you are sea folk. Surely you see the wisdom of letting land folk lead when a fight is on land. Aryaalans are a warrior race. The warrior’s way is bred into us and nurtured in us as younglings. You sea folk do not even fight unless you have to! We have the experience . . . !”
“It seems to me that you were about to experience defeat, Lord Rolak,” Bradford interrupted quietly. “What is your estimate of the forces arrayed against you?”
Rolak was quiet for a moment as he looked around the table. Finally he sighed. “There are, perhaps, fifteen thousands of the enemy.” Matt nodded when the translation came. That was consistent with Mallory’s estimate of the enemy force.
“How many warriors do you have to face them?” Matt brutally cut to the heart of the matter. If the Grik truly were going to attack at dawn, there was no time for this foolishness. Rolak answered him in a slightly more subdued tone.
“King Alcas has twenty-four hundred warriors in the city, fit for battle. Queen Maraan from B’mbaado Island across the water has sent another six hundreds to our aid.”
“She should have sent more!” seethed the young prince, speaking for the second time since his introduction.
Rolak looked at him. “We are lucky she sent anything at all! Do you forget we were at war with her before the Grik came?” Rolak shrugged again and glanced at the others around the table. “War is a . . . pastime . . . among my people. That is why we are so good at it.” He paused and his tone subtly changed. “It is different this time. The Grik do not follow the rules. They do not have rules. No truce is accepted. There is no parley, no discussion of aims or demands, and . . . no respect for the dead.” His tail swished and he blinked outrage. “They eat fallen warriors, you know, whenever we cannot recover them. Sometimes they even stop fighting long enough to feed...” Quickly controlling himself, he glanced at all of them, but Matt in particular. “I know it is difficult for sea folk to understand, but perhaps not so much for you, Cap-i-taan Reddy.” He gestured toward the far end of the table, where the long-lost destroyermen sat. “We have learned more from your friends than they know. We know that their great iron vessel, so much like this one, is very powerful despite its wounds. We also know your people surely fight each other. How else could it have suffered such wounds but by battling against others like yourselves? To Aryaalans, war is . . .” He smiled slightly, searching for the proper word. “Play?” He tried it, and seemed satisfied with the fit. “I suppose you could say we fight as much for entertainment as anything else. We fight for trade concessions, to elevate our status, for honor. Loot. A contest between honored competitors. Perhaps your people fight for such things, Cap-i-taan?” He blinked rapidly as his mood turned to one of anger. “We do not,” he continued harshly, “fight to exterminate one another!”
“We may not always fight for a noble cause, Lord Rolak,” Matt replied coldly, “but war isn’t play to us.” He gestured at the other Lemurians present. “As you yourself have pointed out, entertainment is even less a motivation for sea folk to fight, and yet we are here. Do you know why? Because this is a war of extermination! It’s us or them and you’re right: they don’t have any rules. We, all of us, are nothing to them but prey. You, Lord Rolak, are their prey!”
Rolak bristled and stiffened in his chair. For the first time, the formidable fangs behind his lips revealed themselves, but he reasserted his urbane control, recognizing the truth. “Thirty hundreds,” he said at last. “That is the total with which we can face them alone, but each is worth many of the enemy.”
“I’m sure,” Matt replied, nodding respectfully, “but not enough. We have about that many with us. Actually, more. We have artillery—big thunder weapons like those on these ships—and we can have all of it on the ground to help defend your city by the time the sun comes up if”—he looked directly at Rolak, unwaveringly—“you understand that any forces we land will be under my command, seconded by Lieutenant Shinya. Also, you will agree to join with us in alliance, because after we help save your city, we intend to destroy the Grik forever. We help you, and you help us. That’s the deal.”
Prince Rasik sputtered and began to speak, but Lord Rolak silenced him. He stared directly back at Matt. “Very well. To the first, I agree. I must speak to my king about the second. I will tell you this, however: if we beat them, you shall certainly have me as an ally.”
There was a sharp knock in the passageway beyond the curtain. “Come,” said Matt, and Sandra and Lieutenant Shinya entered the wardroom. Sandra sat in the empty chair beside the captain, and Shinya stood before him an
d came to attention.
“You sent for me, Captain?”
Matt forced himself once again not to smile at Shinya’s formality. It wasn’t an act on the Japanese officer’s part, but Matt always thought such “proper” behavior was a little out of place in the wardroom. Right now, with their visitors present, the courtesy was probably appropriate, as much for Jim’s and Frankie’s sake as for the Aryaalans. The last time they’d seen the Japanese officer, he’d been in chains and guarded by Pete Alden. “Yes, Lieutenant,” he said and pointed at the map before him on the table. It was little more than a crude sketch, having been drawn by Mallory from the air. The Air Corps lieutenant had assured him it was accurate in the pertinent details, however. “As soon as this meeting ends—almost immediately, I believe—I want you to begin coordinating our troop landings here, in the dockyard area north of the . . . castle.” He supplied that word, lacking any better. He glanced at Keje. “How many of the feluccas did we lose?”
“Most are accounted for, but some are not. I fear we must assume they were lost breaking through the Grik.”
Matt nodded somberly, looking at Rick Tolson. “Revenge will make a quick search after dawn to see if any are adrift, disabled.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
“Don’t take too long, though. I want you back as soon as possible.” Tolson nodded. “Mr. Shinya, you will land three-quarters of the Marines and Guards at the dockyard. I’ll leave the choice of units to you, but I want you to reserve one-quarter of the force to demonstrate as if they’re going to land here”—he pointed at the map—“across the river. Hopefully, we can keep the Grik reserves tied down, prepared to defend against a landing. The battle line will support that impression with a bombardment.” He paused. “The main force will assemble at the breastworks that join the castle walls to the beach.”
Most of those present were already familiar with the plan, but Lord Rolak leaned forward and peered at the map. “Why gather there?” he asked, puzzled. “It will take time to move your forces within the walls and through the city. Would it not be better to send them in as they arrive?”
“No, Lord Rolak,” Matt explained. “The Allied Expeditionary Force won’t be going inside.”
Shortly, after escorting the dignitaries and the battle line commanders to their boats and watching them scurry to their various commands to begin preparations, they returned to the wardroom. They didn’t have much time, but Matt was determined to know, at last, what had happened to Mahan and her people. Sandra and Bradford were present, as were Spanky, Gray, and Dowden. By now, the whole crew had heard the exciting news that the lost lambs had returned. As usual, Juan hovered in the passageway prepared to bring coffee, so Matt knew none of them would have to repeat the story to the men.
“So,” he said, smiling reassuringly, “I guess it would be a gross understatement for me to say we’ve been a little worried about Mahan.”
Jim looked at him and managed to return a ghost of a smile himself. “We’ve been worried about you too, Skipper.” He stared down at a second Coke and rubbed at the beaded condensation on the cold bottle with his thumb. “We . . . we never thought we’d see you again. I don’t really know where to begin.”
“We know about what took place up until Kaufman tried to send Mallory and the PBY to Ceylon,” Matt said gently. “They found us, by the way.”
Ellis was nodding. “Yes, sir. We saw it fly over the day before yesterday and we knew it must have. That’s how we knew you were coming. ‘Powerful friends’ is right! When we heard the four-inchers and saw the star shells, I can’t tell you how we felt.” He paused, controlling his emotions. “We still didn’t really think you could make it through,” he admitted. “There were forty of ’em, for crying out loud! Then we heard the other guns and Rolak came out to the ship to fetch us . . .” His face clouded with shame. “I just wish we could’ve helped you, but Mahan’s anchored around the north point, and the guns wouldn’t bear. We’ve been positioned there as a sort of floating battery to keep the channel between Madura and Surabaya—I mean Aryaal—open.” He paused. “By the way, in case you didn’t know, unlike ‘back home,’ the northeast channel is impassable with anything but small boats. Too shallow. There’s only one way in and out of the bay.”
Matt nodded appreciatively at Nakja-Mur. “Our friends’ ‘Sacred Scrolls’ showed us that. You may have noticed yourselves that our charts don’t always entirely agree with the local geography and conditions. They’re much more comprehensive than the Lemurians’, but not as locally precise. The differences usually tend to be a generally lower water level.” He chuckled. “Much as the local temperatures seem unchanged, Mr. Bradford”—Matt nodded at the Australian—“believes this earth might be caught in the throes of an ice age. Farther north and south might be considerably cooler than we’re used to.” He waved his hand. “Enough of that. I want to know what happened to you. Spotting you on that barge was the biggest surprise I’ve had since, well . . . since we got here in the first place.”
Jim looked like he’d just realized something. “You didn’t know we were here, did you? If the PBY saw us, you would’ve known we knew—” He grinned. It was fragile, but real. “Thank God!” he said with huge relief. “I was afraid all this risk you put Walker to was a rescue mission just for us! We didn’t know if the plane saw us or not. We heard it, but didn’t see it until it was over the island, moving away. The point must’ve blocked its view.”
“Rest assured,” Dowden said grimly, “if we’d known you were here, we would’ve come in spite of . . . all this. And sooner, too!”
“You bet,” grumbled Gray. “And we didn’t need any help getting through those damn lizards, neither.”
“Getting out again might have been a bit trickier,” observed Bradford judiciously. “Without the destruction the battle line wrought.”
Matt nodded in agreement. “What happened after Mallory left? He said you knew he had no intention of going to Ceylon.”
Jim looked at Steele as if he expected the bosun’s mate to answer, but Steele merely stared at the table in front of him. Matt had the distinct impression that the putrid green linoleum wasn’t what he saw just then, however. Jim cleared his throat. “I was . . . sort of out of it for a while, Skipper. Fever. Thank God we had the nurses or I probably would have lost my leg, at least.”
“But I thought Mahan’s surgeon survived?” Sandra spoke up. Jim looked at her and lowered his eyes. “He did. But he quickly figured out, like Frankie and I and a few others, that we . . . just weren’t in Kansas anymore.” He looked back up at Matt and a brief, sad smile crossed his face as he remembered the conversation he and the captain had that morning off the coast of Bali. “He took it harder than most, though. He sank into a depression that nobody could snap him out of. He . . . shot himself.”
Sandra gasped, but Matt just shook his head. He hadn’t known Mahan ’s surgeon, but he imagined he knew how he had felt. Under the circumstances, it was probably a miracle they hadn’t lost more of the men to suicide. If it had been any other destroyer squadron in the Navy other than that attached to the Asiatic Fleet, they probably would have. Once again, the unique temperament of his destroyermen had proved to be an asset.
“Anyway,” Ellis continued, “the nurses pulled me through. In the meantime, Mahan creeped up the Sumatra coast, headed for Ceylon. The crew—those who didn’t already know it—finally figured out Kaufman was nuts, but there wasn’t anything I could do, laying in my bunk. I think what finally made him completely flip, though, was as soon as we made to cross the Bay of Bengal, the lookout spotted an island where there shouldn’t have been one. I thought it was one of the Nicobars myself, at first. Frankie and some of the other fellas had taken me on deck so I could get some air.”
“Kaufman let you loose?” Spanky asked.
“Yeah. I think he felt bad about shooting me,” Ellis reflected. “He wasn’t a murderer; he was just nuts. Crazy with fear, I think. Also, once it dawned on him the fix we wer
e in, I think he wished he hadn’t done what he did. But he couldn’t take it back. Anyway, I saw the island.” His face took on an expression of remembered amazement. “Only it wasn’t an island, Skipper. It was a fish! It was huge! It looked like one of the ones like Walker shelled right after we came through the Squall, that nobody on Mahan got to see—’course, we’ve seen plenty of them since! It was like that, but a hundred times bigger. A thousand! It was bigger than any whale that ever was.” Frankie Steele shivered despite the warm, humid air in the wardroom, and Matt realized Mahan must have encountered one of the monstrous “mountain fish” Keje had told him about. “I guess we got too close because, all of a sudden, it turned and made for us! I swear, it was big enough to eat the ship! Well, we came about and raced back for Sumatra as fast as we could, making eighteen knots or thereabouts, and even then it nearly got us.” Jim shook his head, still astonished, and took a sip of his Coke. “I doubt it could sustain a speed like that, but for a sprint—anyway, it finally gave up the chase when the water began to shoal.”
“Astounding!” gasped Bradford. “Just imagine! A fish that large!” He turned to Matt. “Captain Reddy, as soon as this current . . . unpleasantness . . . is at an end, I must simply insist that you allow me to study one of these creatures!”
Matt couldn’t resist the grin that sprang to his lips. “Sure, Mr. Bradford. You can take the whaleboat.” Those around the table chuckled appreciatively and even Steele managed a smile. Ellis spoke again. “After that, Kaufman gave up on Ceylon. There was no way he was crossing any deep water. So there we were, just fooling around burning fuel, day after day in the islands off the west coast of Sumatra. He was scared to death of being spotted by more lizard ships, like nearly got the PBY, but he was just as afraid of heading back this way. Finally, we anchored off Nias. The condensers were screwed up and we needed fresh water so Kaufman led a party ashore to find a source. I think he just wanted off the ship.”
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