“If that is the will of my chief,” he said quietly.
“Surely she can’t object to a little debate between two scientific beings, though?” He arched his eyebrows once again, and Saan-Kakja couldn’t restrain a giggle. Like the cats-and lemurs for that matter-they so closely resembled, Lemurians had an extraordinarily limited range of facial expression. They were very expressive, through eye blinks, ear positions, and body posture, and their tails added an emphasis to their emotions and attitudes that humans couldn’t hope to match. A grin was a grin and a frown was a frown, a ‘vol-caano’ that rarely sleeps. I have heard the earth moves often, and the very sea sometimes behaves strangely.”
Matt straightened, decision made. “We’ll work south along the coast of Mindanao, checking every nook and cranny, but then, if we haven’t found it, we’ll cross to Talaud.”
“What if it’s not there either, Skipper?” Spanky asked.
Matt shrugged. “We go home.”
CHAPTER 8
It was overcast, but not raining this time when Sandra waved good-bye to yet another destroyer. Now Mahan was steaming toward the mouth of the bay, looking just like Walker from a distance, and fingers of dread clutched Sandra’s heart. Mahan was following in the wake of a pair of fast feluccas that had departed the night before. They’d serve as scouts at first, then transports if the need arose. Nobody really knew how many people remained on B’mbaado-trapped now behind enemy lines.
Selass was with her, come to say farewell to her mate, Saak-Fas. He’d been leaning on the rail, staring, as the ship moved away, but if he saw her in the throng he made no sign. Now the ship had almost vanished against the dreary, light gray sky. They saw a wisp of smoke, a sense of ghostly movement. Otherwise all that marked her passage was a flicker of color at her masthead as the Stars and Stripes streamed aft in the sultry air, stirred only by the ship’s motion. Sandra watched the flag slowly fade with mixed emotions, an elusive memory of something Matt once told her rising to the surface. Something he’d seen a doomed British destroyer do in the face of impossible odds, and then Exeter did the same thing before her final battle. She strained to remember, sure it was important.
“Do you think they will return?” Selass asked quietly.
“They must. We’ll need them desperately when Walker returns.”
“I meant Walker,” Selass almost whispered. “I feel so guilty. I find myself almost hoping Mahan will fail. That would mean the end of Queen Maraan, but then I might have a chance when Chack returns. It would also probably mean the end of Saak-Fas as well.” She paused, then almost pleaded, “But that is what he wants, is it not?”
“I suspect so,” Sandra replied, saddened for her tragic friend, though not shocked that her thoughts had taken such a turn. “If that’s the case, if he truly wants to die, he’ll likely get his chance.” She sighed. “Jim Ellis is a good man and an excellent officer, but I’m not sure he should be commanding this mission. He still blames himself for losing Mahan when Kaufman shot him and took command. He thinks his ship’s honor is stained- his honor too. He feels he has something to prove. Nobody like that should ever command a mission like this, with so much at stake. I know Jim, and trust him, but I can’t shake the fear that he’ll take chances with himself and his ship, hoping to remove that stain, when his most important objective is to get himself and his ship back in one piece.”
She lowered her head in thought as they walked back through the bazaar in the directi"1em" width="1em"›“Holy shit!”
Round shot kicked up splashes, skipping across the wave tops in the general direction of the beach, and a few of the staff cringed involuntarily.
“Holy shit,” Dobbin murmured again. “Where’d they get cannons?”
“Same place we did, idiot,” Gray growled more fiercely than he intended. “The bastards made ’em.”
Felts didn’t wear this time; instinctively Clark must have known it would expose his vulnerable stern. Instead, the sloop hove to and held her ground, pounding away at the enemy.
“Gonna be a better show than we thought,” Gray said ironically.
Felts ’s gunnery was far better, and she hacked away at the red ships. She finally fell away before the wind, to keep the Grik at arm’s length, and took a pounding then, but when the now crippled squadron re-formed for the advance, she hove to once more and raked them again and again. The damage she inflicted was exponentially greater this time. Rigging and stays, weakened by the previous fire, parted, and shattered masts teetered and fell, taking others, less damaged, with them. One enemy ship was a wallowing, dismasted wreck, and the other two weren’t much better, but their gunnery was improving at the point-blank range of the duel, and Felts was suffering too. Over the next hour they watched while the battle raged on the sea, and Felts maintained the same tactics: pouring withering fire into her foes until they got too close, then gaining some distance again. The dismasted, sinking Grik ship fell far behind, but the remaining two learned to present their own broadside whenever Felts moved away. It was difficult for them, since they could barely maneuver, but the American ship had finally lost her foremast and maintop as well.
“Mr. Clark is fighting his ship well,” Shinya observed politely.
“He’s a brawler,” Gray conceded, “but he’s fighting stupid. Felts is faster and more maneuverable, and her gunnery’s obviously better. He should be taking advantage of that. He’s gotten sucked into a slugging match, and that’s the Grik’s kind of fight.” The ships were close enough now that there was only the slightest pause before they heard the sound of the guns. The tearing-canvas shriek of shot passing nearby was more frequent too, but the staff no longer flinched. “He needs to get out from between us and them. The tide’s out, and he’ll run out of water pretty soon.” Sure enough, while they watched, Felts heeled slightly, righted herself, then heeled sharply over as she went hard aground, beam-on to the advancing swells and the enemy.
“Dumb ass. Give the kid a ship and what does he do?” He shook his head. “Mr. Shinya, get a platoon of Marines into the boats and pull for Felts. Those Grik bastards draw more water and they’ll be aground too, I expect, but they’ll send boarders. I doubt they’ll fool with us while they’ve got the ship right in front of them. We have to keep them off her at all costs.”
Shinya saluted. “Very well.” He looked at the commander of First Platoon. “With me.”
The sun hadn’t been up long, but the battle had raged since before dawn. With their amazing eyesight, Lemurians could see fine in the dark, where apparently their enemy couldn’t. The Grik had no “taboos” or anything against fighting at night, but they weren’t very good at it. The local ’Cats preferred not to either, for religious reasons. Therefore, aside from his huge numerical superiority, it must’ve never even occurred to the Grik commander he might be in danger even as he slept. The sight of the enemy army asleep, totally off guard, was too much of a temptation, and Pete kicked off the attack ahead of schedule.
The killing had been almost wanton, and those that survived the initial onslaught broke and ran in all directions. Pursuit was unthinkable, though, and Alden gathered his force and withdrew to his secondary position. The enemy reacted quickly, sending reinforcements against the thrust. Like most highly specialized predators, however, Grik seemed to key on motion even in the daylight, so they were completely surprised again when they ran right into Haakar-Faask’s force that Pete’s had retired behind.
Savaged again by the stalwart B’mbaadan general, the Grik reeled back in the direction of their own lines. That was when Alden’s rested troops struck them again on the flank. It appeared this element of the Grik advance, at least, was shattered beyond reclamation.
Alden wiped his bayonet on his pants leg and snapped it back on his rifle. Taking another long drink, keen eyes glancing all around, he spit and began thumbing slender. 30-06 rounds back into his empty magazine. He was already out of stripper clips, and had only the dozen or so loose rounds in his pocket.
&nb
sp; “All right,” he said, closing the bolt, “let’s pull back. Easy does it; don’t get split up in the woods. We’ll re-form with General Faask, and see what kind of hornet’s nest we’ve stirred up. Stretcher bearers, get our wounded out of here.”
The wounded would be carried back to the “reserve” commanded by the Orphan Queen, whose primary responsibility was guarding the younglings and noncombatants.
He glanced at the sun, now clear of the treetops overhead. “It’s gonna be a long day.”
“So this is your ‘surprise’ for the mountain fish,” Keje observed.
“One of them,” Matt confirmed. “At least, I hope so. Took Sonarman Brooks long enough to get it working again, even though we had all the parts.” He shrugged. “We just never saw any point in it at first. It’s meant to find submarines underwater, and we had no reason to suspect we’d need it against any of those. I’ve heard active sonar playsumbsed sedately on a calm, gently rolling sea. They saw nothing in the north and when they turned south it looked like more of the same at first: dense, impenetrable jungle growing right down to and beyond the shore, by means of a mangrove-type root system. It was unlike anything Matt had ever seen on such a large and isolated island, and always, in the distance, a large volcano loomed menacingly from the jungle mists enshrouding its flanks. Jets of smoke or steam curled from vents in its side. Eventually they began to notice irregularities in the shoreline, and they slowed to a crawl so they could glass them more carefully. Still, no true inlet was apparent, or even a beach. There was no sign of life at all, in fact, besides the ever-present, swooping, defecating birds. Even Courtney began losing interest by the time the sun edged toward the horizon.
“I say, Captain Reddy, shouldn’t we speed up? Hurry along, as it were? Surely the eastern side of the island is more hospitable and, well, easier to land upon.”
“We can’t know that, and we’re only looking once. If we ‘speed up’ we might miss something. It’ll soon be dark anyway, and we’ll have to anchor. I want to do it in the shallowest water possible, and right now there’s less water under our keel than we’ up’ we mid become a palpable thing, and every day they remained away added an exponential layer of anxiety. Even Bradford seemed resigned when Matt told him that unless they saw some evidence of the submarine, there’d be no excursion ashore.
“Anchor’s aweigh, Captain,” Dowden reported quietly in response to the shrill call of the bosun’s pipe on the foc’s’le. Matt nodded. He’d been wondering how ’Cats could toot on a bosun’s pipe when they couldn’t make a sound with a bugle. They’d learned at the Battle of Aryaal that they needed something like bugle calls to pass commands on the battlefield. Maybe they could adapt something like a giant bosun’s call. Use whistles or something? He shook his head. He’d have to ask someone. All he could make a bugle do was fart.
“Very well. All ahead slow; make your course zero seven five. Extra lookouts to port.”
When they rounded the island’s southern tip and headed north, they began to discover beaches. Visibility was excellent, and the rising sun penetrated the shadows of the suddenly less dense forest, and they caught glimpses of a few animals here and there. Most, beach scavengers probably, scampered quickly under cover at the sight of them, but one creature the size and shape of a rhino-pig, but with a powerful neck as long as its body and a head like a moose-with tusks-stared insolently at them as they passed. It occasionally even rushed the surf, as if warning them away.
“Oh! You’re a nasty fellow, aren’t you!” Courtney giggled happily. “Oof! Oof! Orrrrr!” There were chuckles in the pilothouse, and Matt stifled a grin.
By late morning the distant humps of the small islands to the northeast appeared through the haze, and everyone knew they were about out of luck. There’d been a couple of promising lagoons, but they turned out to be little more than crescents eroded into the island by the marching sea, and they could see clearly to their termination. Another such lagoon, or the point at the mouth of one, was coming up, and all were grimly certain it was their final chance. They’d almost reached the point where they’d initially turned west.
“Captain,” called Reynolds, “lookout reports this one’s deeper than the others. Maybe better protected.”
“Very well. We’ll stick our nose in and take a look. Pass the word for the lead line. Dead slow when we round the point, consistent with the current, of course.”
They passed the point and Walker slowed, Norman Kutas inching the big wheel ever so slightly to bring the bow around. The long swells pushed them toward the cove, and a series of constant adjustments were required.
“It is a deep inlet,” Reynolds confirmed, passing the lookout’s observations. “Surf’s a little gentler inside.”
“What’s our depth?” Matt asked.
“Seven fathoms, coming up fast.”
Reynolds looked up, eyes wide, and holding his earphone tight against his head as if not sure he’d heard correctly. “Uh, Captain, lookout says-I mean reports… there’s something on the beach, high on the beach, twenty degrees off the starboard bow. It looks sort of like the pic but theyts became desolate sobs.
“Listen… girlie… I ain’t gonna hurt you none-nobody is-but you gotta leave off whuppin’ on me, see? It ain’t polite.”
Courtney Bradford shook off the shock of the moment and raised a restraining hand to Chack’s Marines. Keje and Adar weren’t laughing. They’d instantly realized the possible significance of their discovery.
“Chack!” Keje rumbled. “If you cannot control yourself, or your Maareens, I will do it for you!” Keje might no longer be Chack’s personal High Chief, but the young Lemurian still respected him tremendously. Chastened, he and the three Marines sobered.
Bradford knelt down. “There, there, child. Please do compose yourself,” he said gently. The small girl was filthy, and dressed in rags. Clearly she’d suffered a terrible ordeal. Perhaps she was unhinged. What else might motivate her to attack Silva that way?
“Yeah,” Silva grated as softly as he could. “If you’ll cut it out, I’ll turn you loose.” The grimy, tear-streaked face nodded, and Dennis let her go. Instantly she scrambled to her feet, and bolted toward the Grik on the ground. Silva jumped up, snagging his rifle. “Shit, girlie,” he yelled, “are you nuts? The damn thing might still be alive!”
“I certainly hope he is, for your sake, you vicious, murdering villain!” the girl shouted back. Unable to shoot even if it was, with the girl in the way, Silva ran after her. So did the others. When they arrived at her side they were in for another shock. The girl had collapsed, sobbing, beside the writhing Grik. It moaned piteously and she stroked it with the utmost tenderness.
“Lawrence!” she cried tearfully. “Oh, Lawrence, you mustn’t die!”
The evil jaws opened slightly, and a long, purplish tongue moved inside them. “Hurts!” it said. The humans and Lemurians looked on, stunned.
“It spoke!” jibbered Bradford.
“Of course he spoke, you silly man! This is Lawrence,” she snarled, “my friend!” Looking up, she seemed to notice for the first time that they weren’t all humans, and her eyes went wide again, but with something besides rage. “My God!” she said, hushed. “You are not all people!”
Adar hesitantly stepped forward and bowed to the girl. If he was affected by the bizarre irony, he managed to conceal it. That must have taken considerable effort, since few loathed the Grik as much as he. “I am Adar, High Sky Priest of Salissa Home, and currently Steward of the Faith to the various members of the alliance under the Banner of the Trees. We are indeed ‘people,’ just a little different. Where we come from, creatures such as your ‘Lawrence’ are vicious predators, intent on exterminating us. Our Amer-i-caan friends have explained their concept of ‘pets,’ however, and though I consider it foolhardy and… astonishing… you have chosen such as this as your own, I…” He started to say he was sorry, but simply couldn’t manage it. “We would not have harmed it had we known,” he concluded gentl
y, but with little conviction.
“Lawrence isn’t my pet, you furry imbecile! He’s my friend!”
“There’s old… tales of folk such as ye,” he admitted to Adar, “an’ our founders did pass through yer seas.”
“I knew it!” Adar exulted. “As soon as I saw the youngling! There is so much about our early history we can learn from you! So many missing pieces of the puzzle! Where did you ultimately go?”
“East,” he said vaguely. They knew that already. “Some islands. I’ll tell ye what I can, but ye must respect the fact that I know as little of ye as ye know of me. I may tell ye more as me knowledge of yer intentions… an’ capabilities grows.”
“Fair enough,” Matt conceded. “You can come with us, but I’ll expect further revelations.” He noticed that Silva’s attention had been diverted, and saw the “nannies” climbing aboard one of the boats with the remaining children. He’d spoken to them briefly. One was British but the others were Dutch. All spoke English, as did the nun. The children were about half Dutch and half English, with a young Australian boy thrown in. Dennis had pronounced one of the nannies an “old frump,” but the others were young. One was even attractive, as was the young nun. She’d managed to keep her habit fairly well preserved, even her bizarre hat. The women doubled the number of human females they knew about-not counting the children-and even the “frumpy” one would probably be the object of more attention than she’d ever known. He shook his head. He’d have to speak to them again.
The whaleboat was coming back, its coxswain really laying on the coal. It smashed through the marching rollers, throwing spray, until it gained the calmer water and accelerated to the beach. Clancy leaped out and hurried to him, a message form in his hand. He looked a little green after his wild ride, but his expression was grim and purposeful.
Maelstrom d-3 Page 13
