Crusade

by Taylor Anderson

  There were tired but determined growls of approval, and Matt grinned at the men’s spirit. Inside, he was sick with dread.

  A little after noon, Matt watched Aracca fade into the haze to the east. They were cutting it close indeed. Nerracca was now alongside the pier and was quickly filling with the increasingly nervous refugees. They would have to pack them in tighter than ever before, but Tassat-Ay-Aracca assured him they’d find a place for everyone. When last he checked, Spanky’d said the screw was finally in place. Now all that remained was to bolt it down—a laborious and dangerous underwater procedure, but one that wouldn’t take much longer. All the feluccas were gone and the last company of Chack’s Marines was marching down the harbor road. They would come aboard Walker.

  Alone in his palace now, except for his most fanatical followers, Rasik-Alcas, king of Aryaal, continued to rave and threaten and occasionally even plead for his people not to leave him. None of the few who remained on the pier could hear him, but it wouldn’t have made any difference if they had.

  Ben Mallory was up, scouting the enemy approach. He’d sent a warning a few minutes earlier that advance elements of the enemy fleet, a dozen ships, were less than fifty miles away. The rest seemed to be coming on hard not too far behind. Hundreds of ships could be seen in the distance, more spread out than before since they were no longer confined between Belitung and Borneo.

  Matt ordered Mallory to fly back in the direction of Aryaal until he was out of sight of the lizards, and then proceed toward Baalkpan. Nakja-Mur’s city would need constant reports, and Matt wanted to resume direct communications with Baalkpan. In case the Japanese were able to find their direction by radio, however, he forbade any further transmissions by the PBY except in an emergency. Once home, they could monitor Walker’s transmissions. If the enemy still didn’t know about Baalkpan, Matt didn’t want to tell them now.

  Every day they had to prepare was precious. He even toyed with the idea of broadcasting continuously from Walker while steaming away down the Lesser Sunda Islands. Then they could go silent and run up around Celebes and down to Baalkpan from the northeast. It would lengthen the enemy’s lines of supply and leave them no idea where their quarry was, but it was an awfully long way and Matt wasn’t sure he even had the fuel to do it. Besides, they’d have no way of knowing if the enemy took the bait. Better to stick with the original plan and just try to get around them undetected. That was going to be hard. Even if she left right now, Nerracca would risk discovery by the advance force. The greatest danger of that would come after dark, however, and maybe then the massive ship could avoid being seen.

  “Marines are coming aboard now, Skipper,” Lieutenant Garrett reported, “and Nerracca says she’ll be ready to shove off within the hour.”

  “Anything new from Spanky?”

  “At least another hour, maybe more. They had to pull Laney out. He was nearly unconscious. The flashies must’ve figured out something’s in the sail and they’re beating the hell out of it.”

  Matt nodded and winced. He remembered Laney’s bruises from the last time. “Very well. Have Nerracca get under way as soon as she’s able. Don’t wait for us. We’ll catch up. We can move faster than she can even with only one engine if we have to.”

  Garrett shifted uncomfortably. “We’ll risk losing the screw if it’s not bolted on tight, Skipper.”

  “I’m aware of that, Mr. Garrett. I’m sure Spanky is too. But we aren’t going to bug him anymore. If it comes down to it and we have to move before he’s ready, then we will. I’d rather risk losing the screw than the ship.”

  Dennis Silva had made some dumb choices in his life, but this one took the cake. He’d volunteered to go in the water and finish the job after Laney was hauled back aboard, but even then he was less than enthusiastic. Laney looked like they’d dragged him out of a Shanghai bar after he told a dozen Royal Marines the king was queer. He was black and blue with bruises again, and at first he could barely move. It was obvious that swimming with the flashies, even with the sail as protection, wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. There was nothing for it, though. When Laney finally opened his eyes, they settled challengingly on Silva. Not a word was spoken, but the implication was clear. The snipes had done their part. Now it was the deck-ape’s turn. As one of the only said “apes” qualified in a suit, Silva had to pick up the slack. There was no way the mighty Dennis Silva would admit he was afraid to do anything a damn snipe would do, and as soon as the helmet sealed out the smoky air of the harbor, over the side he went. That was less than half an hour ago and already he was beginning to think that a fight with a dozen Marines would have been a good trade.

  Even over the sound of the bubbles and his breathing, he could hear the bony-headed flashies thumping the canvas around him. Occasionally, when he strayed too close to the sail, one struck close enough to hit him. It felt like a pile driver. It was like being hit by a dud torpedo, he imagined, except the flashies didn’t weigh as much. After two or three such blows, he thought he had a broken rib. One blow struck him on the elbow and he dropped one of the precious baseball-sized nuts. He had to go down into the bottom of the sail to retrieve it, and it took forever because every time he reached for the damn thing, a fish would strike nearby and launch it. He finally got it only because it was literally bounced into his left hand by a strike. His right arm was still numb from his shoulder to his fingertips.

  “Funny bone, my ass,” he grumbled. Raising himself back up on a level with the screw, he began threading the nut onto the final remaining stud. Nearby in the murk hung a giant wrench suspended by a rope from above. With the nut screwed down as far as he could turn it with the clumsy gloves of the diving suit, he reached up for the wrench. A blow from directly behind drove him facefirst into the screw. He grunted from the pain that spread between his shoulder blades and he had to blink to clear the tears that sprang to his eyes. He was also nearly deafened by the bell-like clang of the helmet striking the bronze propeller. “Son of a bitch!” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I think it was a Buick, officer!”

  He grabbed the wrench again and began to tighten the nut. Another off-center hit in his back drove the wind out of him for a moment, but he doggedly continued his task. The fish were becoming more aggressive. They’d been doing this long enough—the flashies had to be convinced there was something in the sail. Something good to eat. Or maybe the sound or the bubbles stirred them up. Whatever the case, Silva was ready to get out of the water.

  The nut was tight at last and he grabbed the wrench with both hands and heaved down as hard as he could. “Done, dammit!” he gasped.

  Suddenly, a bright, silvery-shape about four feet long ricocheted off the side of his helmet and drove headfirst into one of the propeller blades with a distinctive muffled gong. For an instant, the hideous thing just hung there, stunned by the impact with the ship. Silva was just as stunned with shock and terror that one of the things was in there with him. Then it began to recover. Quickly, he grabbed it by the tail and yanked it toward him. Catching it by the head, he sank his fingers into its eyes on each side of its skull and held on for dear life when it began to thrash. It was incredibly powerful and it took all his strength to keep its gnashing jaws away from him. He didn’t dare turn it loose. Instead, he grasped his hose and yanked it frantically as hard as he could. That was the signal to pull him up. Even as he began to rise, it dawned on him with a flash of terror that if one of the damn things had gotten in, so could others. The seconds between that realization and the instant his head broke water were the most viscerally frightening of his life.

  He clenched his eyes shut until he was hauled entirely out of the water and he lay crouching on the fantail beside the depth charge rack. Slowly his breathing returned to normal and he began to wonder why no one had cracked his helmet. The fish thrashed spastically in his grasp. Oh. With some difficulty, he stood and took two steps over to the little three-inch antiaircraft gun and, with all his might, he bashed the fish against the b
arrel again and again. Finally, when its thrashing had been reduced to a faint twitch, Silva threw it hard against the deck. Only then did someone venture close enough to help him remove the helmet.

  He looked at the shocked, wide-eyed expressions all around him. Some began to edge closer. Spanky was above him, leaning on the aft deckhouse rail, chew in his mouth. He just shook his head. Then Silva saw that Laney had retreated as far aft as he possibly could, until he stood wedged between the depth charge racks where they angled together near the jackstaff. He still had a blanket draped across his bruised shoulders and his jaw hung slack.

  “There you go, Laney!” Silva bellowed, managing to leer at the machinist mate and gesturing grandly at the fish. “I brung you a present!”

  By the time the sail was jettisoned and Walker was ready to get under way, Nerracca was a blur in the smoke as she worked downwind across the bay. Black puffs of smoke rose from Walker’s numbers three and four stacks and joined the baleful pall drifting eastward from the two gutted cities. The pier was almost empty except for the line handlers, and even they quickly deserted it when their chores were done. Only Chack and Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado, remained behind. She’d insisted on being the last of those leaving to set foot on this land, even if she now stood on Aryaalan soil. It was the symbolism of the act, Matt knew, as he watched the pair staring across the bay toward the flames that roared above B’mbaado City. Rolak had wanted to stay, but the bulk of his troops had embarked on Big Sal and Matt wanted him with them. He and Queen Maraan had become very close, but she had a functioning staff to ride herd on her people. Rolak didn’t. He would have to create one on the fly. And so the Orphan Queen remained behind, the last representative of both their peoples. Gently, Chack touched her arm and with him in the lead so she could, in fact, be the last, they finally came aboard. Once behind the railing, she leaned against it, arms outstretched, as if reaching for her island home. In an almost singsong chant that hushed all chatter around her, she spoke:

  “I shall not forget you, Haakar-Faask, or those whom you shall lead. No matter how long it takes, even if it costs my life, this I swear to you: I shall return!”

  Slowly, the breeze and the ebbing tide moved the ship into the bay. The new propeller got an immediate trial when Matt gave the order: “Port engine, ahead one-third. Right ten degrees rudder.” The deck began to vibrate under their feet, and everyone noticed immediately that the vibration was slightly different than it had ever been before. Not bad, just different. An uncertain smile crossed Dowden’s face and he looked at Matt with his eyebrows raised. It was as if the propeller had brought a little of Mahan’s personality along with it and Walker’s distant sister was somehow helping her escape the relentless enemy.

  “All ahead one-third,” Matt commanded when Walker’s nose swung around to point away from the smoke-dimmed sun approaching the distant peaks of Java.

  “Recommend course zero eight zero,” Larry Dowden said.

  “Very well. Make your course zero eight zero. Increase speed slowly to two-thirds.” Matt was still testing the “feel” of the new screw. The blower noise began to increase. Unseen, Sandra Tucker had climbed the ladder behind him.

  “Request permission to come on the bridge,” she inquired as softly as she could and still be heard. Ever since she’d helped Matt prepare to storm Aryaal, she’d been somewhat distant. More proper, but cool.

  “Permission granted,” he said and she walked to the starboard bridgewing not far from where he stood. She leaned on the rail, staring aft. After a moment Matt joined her.

  “I’ll take care of Queen Maraan,” she volunteered. “God, did you see them just now? I thought I would bawl.”

  “I was hoping you would,” Matt said quietly. “With Rick dead, and Alan and Steve in Baalkpan, she can have their quarters. How many attendants did she bring aboard?”

  “Only three. She understood the accommodations on Walker are less opulent than she’s accustomed to.” A ghost of a smile touched Sandra’s lips.

  “Well, I guess they can hot-bunk, or maybe we can cram a cot in there.”

  Sandra nodded. “I’ll figure something out,” she said in a low, sad voice. She stared down at the water for a long moment as it swished by below. “I feel like somebody I was trying to save just died on my operating table.”

  “I know what you mean,” Matt agreed.

  She sighed. “Maybe you really do.” She was quiet again as he stood there beside her. “I’m sorry for the way I acted before you went into the city,” she said at last.

  “Nothing to apologize for.”

  “Yes, there is. I acted very badly and there’s no excuse at all. I understood why you had to go into Aryaal—why everyone did—but I was mad because you were going to risk your life. And like any idiot girl, I took my anger out on you—the person I was most concerned about.” She coughed a little from the smoke. “Not very professional, or even very adult. But I couldn’t help myself. I nursed you back to health after your terrible wounds, and there you were, about to run yourself through the meat grinder all over again.” She managed a slight smile. “It all seemed so ungrateful. Thank God it wasn’t a meat grinder . . . this time.”

  “I’m not ungrateful,” he murmured. Sandra shook her head.

  “I know that. That’s not the point.” She glanced quickly over her shoulder at the bridge watch and lowered her voice even further. “Look, I know we had a deal, that we wouldn’t let our feelings show—and I know, deep down, it’s the right thing to do. But sometimes it’s so hard. Particularly when I’ve seen you shattered and had to put you back together. I didn’t know what I’d do if you got hurt again. Or worse. I didn’t think I could take it. I was being selfish and I’m sorry.”

  He wanted to hold her then, to console her. To tell her everything would be all right, even as the smoke of defeat stung their eyes. But he couldn’t. Not here. Not now.

  “Do we have any chance at all?” she asked finally in an almost plaintive tone. Matt could see there were tears in her eyes. He wondered what she meant by that. Did she mean love? Or survival?

  “Yes,” he finally answered, hoping his voice sounded more sure than he felt. “Yesterday I wouldn’t have given odds, but today? Yes. We’ve managed to evacuate thousands of people from two cities, something I thought we’d never pull off. And Walker has her legs back under her again. That by itself has sure improved my frame of mind. Yesterday, when I read Ben’s dispatch, all I could focus on was Amagi and how powerful she is. I was in shock, I guess. Part of it was losing Revenge, but mainly I just couldn’t believe Amagi had somehow followed us here. It was too damn much. Then, when we were talking about it last night, you reminded me of Amagi’s vulnerabilities. You gave me hope, Sandra. Since then I’ve been thinking about our advantages for a change. There aren’t very many, I’ll be honest, but we do have a few. With luck, they’ll be enough and someday we’ll come back to this place and the people who live here will return.”

  Sandra was shaking her head. “I think you do know how I feel. You fought just as hard to save this place and its people as I’ve fought to save the wounded those battles have sent me. You thought you had it done, but then . . . the patient took a turn for the worse.” She looked at him. “I feel like we’re caught in a nightmare that never ends. It just seems that, no matter what . . .” She stopped. “These Lemurians, these people—they’re good people, aren’t they?”

  Matt nodded. “For the most part, I think they are. Just like most of the folks back home are good. There’re always exceptions.”

  “So we just have to keep on trying, don’t we? No matter what.”

  He looked at her for a moment and smiled. “Like you said, the patient has taken a turn for the worse, but he’s not dead yet. We can’t ever give up as long as there’s hope.” Affectionately, and fully aware of the irony, he slapped the railing under his hand. His gaze swept aft, where he saw the distinctly satisfying wide, churning wake that only two engines could make. “
And as long as we have this tired, worn-out heap of rusty baling wire . . . hope will survive.” Matt started to turn back to his chair. The new screw was behaving itself and he wanted to increase speed. He stopped and looked at the nurse. “Speaking of hope and baling wire, don’t you think it’s time to unstrap my wing? It itches something fierce.”

  Unseen by the captain and the nurse, in the deepening evening gloom of the pilothouse, the members of the bridge watch surreptitiously glanced at one another and tried to hide their grins. With everything else that was going on, at least the captain and his girl had made up.

  Walker caught Nerracca long before the giant ship drew abreast of the Sapudi Islands and she slowed her exuberant sprint to a crawl. There were no lights showing on either vessel. The only illumination came from the stars and the tiniest sliver of moon in the clearing sky. Far astern, above the two destroyed cities, a faint ruddy glow remained. Walker’s Lemurian lookout spotted Nerracca’s darkened shape with his keen eyes as they came alongside. A human might have missed her. Together, the last two ships to leave B’mbaado/Aryaal Bay worked east into the Bali Sea until they made their turn north, past the Kangean group. It took all night to get that far, and it was in the first gray light of morning that Matt studied the charts with Larry Dowden, who’d just resumed his watch.

  Matt had slept little—again—and his eyes felt like gritty balls of lead. He’d been on edge all night, poised for battle because he half expected to encounter enemy pickets in the dark waters of the Bali Sea. If the enemy had pushed very hard, using the brisk west wind that still prevailed, the twelve ships of the advance force could have slanted down between the Sapudis and Kangean. If the entire invasion fleet was indeed headed for Aryaal, that would have been its only chance to stop them before they got into the Java Sea.