Distant Thunders (39 page)

“Should we go down?” asked the Marine he’d handed his spear to. She was a female, young and attractive. Her real name was Blas-Ma-Ar, he suddenly remembered, after spending most of the day trying to recall it. He could never forget how and when she’d become a Marine, or the ordeal she’d once endured, but the name that always stuck in his mind was the one Chief Gray had given her: Blossom.

“I think not, for now,” he answered softly. “Most of what is here looks to be much the same as what is on deck. Let Cap-i-taan Ellis discover what it is. If it is a good thing, we will know we have more of it.” He shook his head. “I dislike moving any nearer the dark water below until we know what manner of creature dwells within this . . . human grave of a ship.” The others nodded eager agreement and they retraced their steps. A trip through the engineering spaces seemed appropriate now, as they worked their way to the aft hold. In the corridor, they passed staterooms filled with decaying matter. Some doors were shut, and when they forced them open, they were gratified to see far less damage within the compartments. They found a few more books, in much better condition, and one such room even held a modest armory of unfamiliar weapons and rectangular tins of ammunition. These they carried up to the deck in two trips, along with their booty of books, before proceeding aft.

The boiler room was partially flooded, as Chack had suspected, but a meager light filtered through the grungy, vine-choked skylights, making visibility slightly better. They worked their way carefully along the highest catwalk. A sudden flurry of probably nocturnal lizard birds, disturbed by the lantern, frightened them, but Chack quickly recovered. He wanted to see where they went. They swooped around the space shrieking and flapping until they found a large gap between two twisted plates not far above the waterline. Like sand poured from a cup, they burst through into the daylight beyond.

“So she was sunk here,” he surmised. “Or damaged elsewhere, and this is where she came to rest. Curious.”

Unlike the boiler room, the engine room was relatively dry. There was water, but not much more than might be accounted for by a year and a half of seepage through riveted seams. They wouldn’t be steaming her out of here, but the sight of the rusty but intact machinery was encouraging. Finally, they reached the aft hold and here they found their greatest surprise. More crates like those forward, and many smaller crates filled the space. Everything was a jumble, but Chack recognized hundreds of wooden boxes—maybe thousands—spilling rectangular, green metal cans like those that held ammunition for the big Amer-i-caan machine guns. Enough light diffused into the compartment through the murky water to indicate a substantial hole below the waterline.

“Another wound here then,” he said. “Probably the fatal one. Still, though tossed about, many of the boxes are dry. Some are right below us,” he said, pointing. “It looks like each intact box contains several ammunition cans. Let us claim as many as possible. Proof of the importance of our discovery!” The sight of so much clearly useful ammunition and the better light and visibility subdued his earlier caution. They laid down their burdens and the Marine who’d been holding the lantern descended a ladder to the top of a heap of boxes. Chack was the strongest of the three, so he positioned himself halfway down the ladder, where he might pass the boxes up to Blas-Ma-Ar.

 

 

“Here’s somethin’ might work,” Isak said, returning with a small hand maul, a heavy, rusty chisel, and a piece of pipe.

“Sure,” Ellis said. “Let’s open this one.” He’d been trying to choose the worst of the rectangular monstrosities, hoping the mysterious contents were already damaged by the elements and opening it wouldn’t make any difference. The crates were unbelievably stout, built to take significant abuse. He hated to crack any of them, fearing he might ultimately only expose the contents to further, more rapid corrosion. But whatever they held, it would be a while before anybody could come retrieve four-ton crates from a swamp! They had to know what was in them.

“Here, give me that,” Ellis said. Isak handed over the chisel and Ellis positioned it on a seam. “Now the hammer. If I let you do it, you’ll knock my fingers off.”

With deft blows, he drove the chisel in, moved it over, and did it again. When he’d loosened an entire seam, he began prying at it with the chisel until they could insert the pipe in the gap. “Give me a hand,” he said, and Isak and the Marine leaned on the pipe with him. A tortured
greeech
sound came from the crate. “Again!”

They worked the pipe up and down, much as Jim had done with the chisel, taking occasional anxious looks into the dark interior. “Once more at the top and bottom, and I bet one of us can squeeze in there if we hold it in the middle!” A little more effort and it was done. Jim inserted the pipe in the center of the seam and handed it over. “Pull!” he said. The gap widened and he knocked a few nails over with the hammer. Then he stuck his head inside.

“Great God Almighty!” he said, his voice muffled.

“Well, what the hell is it?” Isak demanded acerbically, losing patience.

For a moment, Jim couldn’t speak. Before him, as his eyes adjusted, he saw a bright, greasy metal spindle with only slight surface rust. Beyond was a triangular joint with bolts conveniently screwed into six holes. Still farther in he made out a radiator and the beginnings of a distinctive, Curtiss Green-painted shape that he’d never,
ever
expected to see again. Pulling his head back out, he looked at his companions with wide eyes. “Nail it up tight, fellas,” he said. “As tight as you possibly can.” He looked around at the other, similar crates and a slow grin spread across his face.

“Well . . . what the goddamn hell
is it
?” Isak demanded.

 

 

“Ah, they are pleased. I am so glad!” Rasik said to Koratin. The two had stayed back, near the bulwark, talking.

“So it seems. They also seem to have forgotten all about you.”

“How convenient.”

“Indeed.”

“What is the plan?”

“Simple. Do you see that Marine with the Amer-i-caans? He is one of us. He will continue to distract Cap-i-taan Ellis and the wiry one while we take a boat ride.”

“The other Marines?”

“With us.”

“How delicious!” Rasik exclaimed. “They meant to maroon me, and I will maroon them! A shame we cannot kill them and take their weapons, but with half our group ordered to remain with the boat . . .”

“Precisely. It might prove dangerous. Now all we need to do is slip back down the net while they exult over their prize! After you, Lord King.”

 

 

Down in the half-flooded aft hold, they heaved the heavy crates up one after another until Chack’s shoulders screamed in agony and the others were panting with exertion. Through their increasingly concentrated toil, none of them noticed when it suddenly grew darker in the chamber for a moment as something moved through the light-giving rent in the ship’s side. They felt it, though, another vibration like the others, but clearly
here
.

Chack looked down at the upturned face of his Marine on the diminished stack of crates. “Up!” he shouted. “Out of the hold!” He turned to race up the ladder, to get out of the way. Blas-Ma-Ar heaved frantically against the crates stacked above to make room for him to pass and so neither ever saw what got the other Marine. They heard a heavy splash and felt the entire ship judder slightly. More splashes came when the stack of crates collapsed into the water, but by the time Chack reached the top and spun to offer his hand, the other Marine was gone. There’d been no scream, no shout. Nothing but the splash. Chack snatched his Krag and frantically searched the water. He thought he saw a dark shape near the hole in the ship and fired, but all that apparently accomplished was to create an impenetrable haze of gun-smoke. He roared in frustration and fired again anyway.

“Cap-i-taan! Cap-i-taan!” Blas-Ma-Ar was pulling on his leather armor. “He is gone!” Chack shook her off and chambered another round. The almost youngling’s voice turned hard. “Cap-i-taan Chack-Sab-At, we have lost a Marine. He died bravely doing his duty. How many lives is this ammunition worth? We still have our duty as well!”

Chack took a deep breath. “Very well. You are right, of course. Come, help me with these crates, but stay alert! There may yet be other dangers within this foul place!”

 

 

“Was that shots? That was shots!” Jim exclaimed. “Muffled in the ship. Chack!” He looked around. “Hey, where’s Koratin and Rasik?”

“They left,” the Marine with them said simply.

“
What?
Wait, never mind that now. C’mon!” Jim snatched his Springfield and raced toward the hatch he’d seen Chack and his party enter. “Chack!” he bellowed, and was relieved to hear an answering shout, still muted by decks and passageways. “Where are you? What did you shoot at?”

“We are here,” came a closer reply. “We need help with some heavy objects. Most are still stacked in the entrance to the aft hold.” Chack finally appeared at the base of the companionway they were looking down. It was dark as pitch.

“Where’s your lantern?” Isak asked.

“Follow this corridor behind me, through the engineering spaces. It is not so dark back there. The lantern marks the spot.” Chack paused, taking a breath. “Do not enter the aft hold. Something is in there. Something that got one of my Marines. You should be safe enough,” he continued brusquely. “I do not think whatever it was can reach as high as the crates we retrieved.”

Jim turned to face the Marine who’d stayed with them. “What’s this about Rasik? What do you mean, ‘they left’?”

Chack had reached the top of the companionway. He was puffing from exertion and repressed emotion, but he interrupted before the Marine could answer. “Cap-i-taan Ellis, we found much ammunition. Good ammunition for the big machine guns. I lost a good Marine to some monster getting it out. Please let us retrieve it while we know the path is clear. I will try to . . . explain the situation with Rasik as I see it when we are done.”

Jim started again to demand an immediate explanation, but Chack had already turned to go back for another crate. “Come on,” he said to the others.

It still took several trips by all five of them to retrieve the crates and drag them to the bulwark, where the cargo net was. There was indeed much ammunition. For some reason, Jim wasn’t surprised to see the boat gone. “All right,” he said at last, gasping from his effort, “what gives?”

Chack was breathing hard too, but when he set his last crate down, he turned to Ellis. “I learned a great lesson once, not long ago, from some very wise men.” He glanced at Blas-Ma-Ar, puffing up behind them festooned with the odd-looking weapons and the sack full of books. “Sometimes, for their own sake and the sake of the greater good, there are things leaders keep from followers because they do not have ‘need to know.’ ’Specially if the knowing—and only the knowing—will cause grief or . . . make things harder.” Chack’s tail flicked dramatically from one side to the other in a gesture that meant much the same thing as “on the other hand.”

“There are also some very few rare times when followers decide their leaders don’t have ‘need to know.’ These . . . what-if—hypothetical?—decisions do not come from distrust, animosity, or for any bad reasons at all.” His tail flicked again. “It is the esteem they feel for their leaders that makes them happen.” He took a final deep breath and continued. “Sometimes, followers see . . . again, hypothetically . . . that a thing must be done. For reasons of honor, integrity, and the greater good of others, there is no choice.” He held up a hand. “But, for those same reasons, leaders need not—
must not
—know about the thing that
must be done
.”

“That’s not good enough, Chack! What the hell’s going on? Tell me; that’s an order!”

“Very well, but forgive me if my explaining wanders. I’ve just lost a Marine and I’m maybe ‘rattled,’ as you say.” He sighed. “I’m poorly prepared right now, but may I answer you . . . philosophically?”

“What is this bullshit?” Jim’s ’Cat was good, but Chack was speaking English. He must have practiced saying “philosophically” for a while.

“I take that as yes. You of all people know that a leader’s honor and authority must be maintained at all costs.”

Jim blanched slightly, but he already knew Chack meant no insult.

Chack continued: “He cannot,
must not
, break his word. Not to his crew, or even his prisoners.”

Jim’s eyes went wide as he finally realized what Chack was saying. “So you’re telling me . . .”

Chack shushed him. “A moment. I’m not
telling
you anything. For the sake of our ‘philosophical discussion,’ say Cap-i-taan Reddy, our supreme commander, was forced to make a decision . . . a terrible accommodation that must torture him . . . even though it was made for the greater good. You, as his friend and follower, are bound to honor that accommodation in his place. You have no choice, no matter how distasteful you find it, even knowing how much it cost Cap-i-taan Reddy to make it in the first place. You would be tempted as his friend to break the accommodation, but that would be against his orders. That would reflect poorly on you and him as well. If, however, unknown to you, a small group of followers—who’d gravely suffered, I add—decided they could not bear this accommodation, and took it on themselves—knowing you would be bound to punish them—to break it without your knowledge . . .”

“They’re gonna bump off that Rasik bastard!” Isak said gleefully.

Chack stared hard at the fireman. Under his helmet, his ears were probably slicked back in irritation. “I didn’t say that. Nor as I understand it, is that their exact intent.”

 

 

A short time later, the boat pulled back to the ship with Koratin and the two Marines. Immediately, all those on the ship besides Jim Ellis began passing crates and green metal boxes of ammunition down. Ellis fumed. He was relieved and infuriated at the same time. A plot had been hatched under his very nose—again—and although this time it was apparently done to spare him, he was still angry. Much to Isak’s consternation, Jim hadn’t revealed what he’d seen in the massive crates. It was just too big and it might be better if it remained a secret. Also, in this case, Isak’s opinion wasn’t worth much. A short time ago, it wouldn’t have occurred to him to keep a secret from Chack, but right now he was mad and a little distrustful. Besides, he realized after he thought about it some more, they were going straight from this place into probable battle. If the Grik captured anyone, God forbid, it was best they have no idea what was in the wrecked ship north of Chill-chaap. It wouldn’t be difficult for the Grik to launch an expedition to destroy it, because who knew when the Allies would be able to come back themselves? No, this he’d keep to himself for a while until he had a chance to think more about it.