Into the Storm (46 page)

“I’m sure you’ll be all right eventually, Mr. Silva. I know your . . . experiments have been solely in the interests of science and the benefit of your fellow man, but why not take this opportunity to liberate yourself from your disgusting habit?”

Silva’s expression could have been described as plaintive in a lesser mortal. “But what are we supposed to do? No tobacco, almost no coffee, no . . . um.” He paused, but quickly recovered himself. “It was bad enough fightin’ the Nips, and now this? It’s more than a fella can stand without a chew!”

Sandra nodded slowly. He had a point. Almost everyone aboard used tobacco. She knew that wasn’t the only . . . frustration, but she’d noticed 287 tempers flaring more easily, and there’d even been some fights. Despite her feelings on the subject, there was morale to consider. She sighed. “Very well, Mr. Silva. I’ll look into it. But I warn you, there may not be anything to replace tobacco.”

He nodded gratefully. “Just as long as somebody’s lookin’. Hell, these’Cats don’t even have betel nuts!”

Secretly, Sandra expected they probably did use some kind of stimulant besides the fermented polta fruit. Seep was already well known and much used when the men went ashore on the limited liberties Matt allowed, but it had some undesirable aftereffects. She still wasn’t satisfied that it was even safe for humans, given the severity and duration of the hangovers, but Captain Reddy was right. Never give an order you know will be disobeyed. The only way to keep them from drinking the stuff was to confine everyone to the ship, which was unfair and would be worse for morale than the lack of tobacco.

As a replacement for the noxious weed . . . She again determined to speak to Chack. She was willing to bet that he, and many other young Lemurians, were enjoying their joke too much to share the knowledge if there was one. She would ask, she promised herself. And warn. If the rumors were true, Silva’s pranks were not funny.

“Now, as to your complaint—” She held out her hands in resignation. “I don’t even have anything left to relieve the symptoms. You’ll just have to let it run its course. Be sure to stay properly hydrated, though.”

“Hydrated? What’s that?” he inquired darkly.

“Water. Drink plenty of water!” She paused. “But only ship’s water. I don’t even want to think about what the local water will do to you yet. Talk about the screamers!” She made another mental note to see McFarlane again. As long as they were burning the number four boiler, the condensers would manufacture fresh water in small quantities. Barely enough to drink, but nothing else. Everyone was constantly reminded not to drink anything that even
might
have local water in it. If they ever ran entirely out of fuel, they’d have to figure out something else. Boil local water, she supposed. At least there
was
local water and they could use it for cooking—and bathing—thank God!

Silva’s expression became pinched. “I might, ah, better visit the officers’ head after all, ma’am. Don’t think I’ll make it aft.”

Sandra nodded and smiled. “By all means.”

The general alarm began to sound.

 

The launch’s occupants scurried onto the pier and raced for the gangway. They were nearly trampled by Lemurians scampering everywhere on the docks. The huge draft beasts bawled as their drivers whipped their flanks in panic. One of the elephantine brontosauruses bugled in fear at the commotion and reared up on its hind legs, upsetting the cart it was hitched to and then crushing it under its haunches. The driver barely jumped clear. Somehow, they managed to weave through the terrified crowd and run up the gangway. No side party waited and they hastily saluted the colors.

Chief Gray met them, puffing. “I have the deck, sir, I suppose,” he said. “Mr. Dowden left about an hour ago with Spanky to talk to the yard-apes. Should be back any time.”

“Never mind. Single up all lines and make all preparations for getting under way.”

Gray glanced about helplessly at the chaos around them for just an instant, then saluted. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

Matt turned to Shinya. “Marines are on parade today?” Shinya nodded. “How long to fetch Alden and a company of Marines?” Shinya scanned the mob choking the wharf and the pathways into the city. He shook his head. One Grik ship had appeared in the bay and the population acted like the enemy was loose among them.

“Sergeant Alden may already be trying to make his way here, but to go get him now? Impossible.”

“I concur. Try to make it to
Big Sal
. Ask Keje for a hundred of his best warriors and get them here as fast as you can!” Matt didn’t even ponder the irony of the Japanese officer’s salute as he returned it and watched Shinya race back down the gangway. He turned and ran to the bridge.

“Captain on deck!” shouted Lieutenant Garrett. Matt nodded and stepped quickly on the bridgewing with his binoculars in hand. The Grik ship’s dash toward the city had slowed, and it was practically hove to about four miles away. As if studying them. This ran contrary to everything he’d heard about their tactics. He’d expected them to charge right in.

“All stations report manned and ready, Captain,” Garrett announced.

“Very well. Prepare to get under way.”

Garret seemed surprised. “But Captain . . . the fuel? We can sink him from here.”

“I know, Mr. Garrett, but he’s acting like he knows it too.” He barked a dry laugh. “I think our reputation has preceded us. Besides, I don’t think he’s by himself.” As he watched, brightly colored signal flags raced up the Grik’s mast. “Yep,” he said. “I bet there’s at least one more hanging outside the mouth of the bay. Have engineering light number three and honk the horn. We’ll give anyone close enough five more minutes to make it back on board.”

“Light number three, sir?” Garrett cringed. Now he knew their fuel wouldn’t outlast the day.

Matt sighed. “I’m afraid so. We also have to stop whoever that one signaled to. We can only make about ten knots on one boiler, but with this breeze picking up, maybe more out in the strait, I bet those Grik can make twelve.” They’d taken on firewood for just such an emergency. He hoped they wouldn’t have to use it.

“Aye, aye, Captain. Sound the horn, light number three, and cast off all lines in five minutes.”

Two minutes later, Shinya and Keje asked permission to come on the bridge. Matt felt a surge of warmth at the sight of his Lemurian friend. Keje was dressed as Matt had first seen him, with his copper-scaled armor and a broad-bladed scota at his side. Shinya had found the time to buckle on his longer, thinner version that Sandison made from one of the cutlasses. It wasn’t exactly a katana, but he could use it like one now that the guard had been cut down and the handle extended. Shinya still mourned his own ceremonial sword—lost when his destroyer went down—and the cutlass was a crude replacement. But he’d been moved by Bernie’s gift.

Larry Dowden raced onto the bridge, breathing hard. In the background Matt heard the commotion of Lemurian warriors thundering aboard amid bellowed commands from the Bosun. “Sorry, Skipper,” Larry apologized. “We nearly didn’t make it. Spanky’s aboard too—headed for the fireroom. He said with his two best guys ashore, he better bat the burners himself.”

“Very well. Cast off the stern line. Left full rudder! Port engine ahead one-third!”

With a vibrating moan,
Walker
came to life beneath his feet once more. Ever so slowly, amid a churning froth of dark, musty-smelling seawater that sloshed up around the port propeller guard, the destroyer’s stern eased away from the dock. “All stop. Rudder amidships. Cast off bow line!” Matt paused until he saw his last command obeyed. “All back one-third!” With a distinct, juddering groan,
Walker
backed away from the pier and
Big Sal
, tied up just ahead. When they’d made a suitable gap, Matt spoke again. “Right full rudder, all ahead two-thirds.”

Throughout the maneuver Keje was silent. Now he just shook his head. “Amazing,” he said aloud. He turned his inscrutable gaze upon the captain. “I’ve brought you one hundred of my finest warriors, Cap-i-taan Reddy.” He grinned. “All were anxious to fight, of course, but I had the most trouble limiting their numbers when they learned they would go to battle on your magnificent ship!”

Matt clapped him on the shoulder. “They may be less enthusiastic if we have to paddle home. We really don’t have the fuel for this!”

“Ah!” Keje sniffed and blinked. “A nothing! Once again we’ll kill Grik together!”

Greasy black smoke belched briefly from the number three funnel and
Walker
gathered way. Matt looked through his binoculars. “Oh, boy, that’s done it! He’s going about. Piling on more sail.”

Keje stood beside him, binoculars raised to his eyes as well. Unobtrusively, Larry Dowden helped him fold them to fit his face and showed him how to focus. Keje exclaimed in delight but continued to stare at the enemy. “Yes. He’s running. I see the signal flags myself.” He looked at Matt. “Twice now I have seen the enemy flee, and both times because of your ship. The one that escaped after the great fight must have passed word to others, or perhaps that’s the very ship that eluded us. Regardless, there’s clearly another in the strait, and beyond that, perhaps another. They must all be destroyed! If they carry news of Baalkpan to the place where they assemble fleets, they will return in force. We are not ready for that.” Keje’s ears and tail twitched with annoyance. “I am sure you must agree after witnessing that disgraceful display on the waterfront.”

“They’ll be ready, Keje,” Matt assured him. “What I saw on the dock was the natural reaction of people who’ve suddenly been confronted with their worst nightmare. Remember, for a lot of people in Baalkpan, the Grik weren’t real until today. They were creatures of myth—boogeymen. They’ve never faced them. They’ve never seen with their own eyes the terrible way they make war. Now they know the enemy
is
real and we haven’t been training them for hoots.” Matt gestured out the windows at the distant Grik. “In a way, this might be just what we needed to make the land folk take things seriously.”

“I hope you’re right,” Keje grumbled. “It looked to me that all it did was turn their bowels to water.”

Matt arched an eyebrow. “You should’ve seen us when the Japs bombed Cavite.”

Walker
steadied on course and gradually increased speed. Spanky was fully aware of the state of their bunkers and there was no pell-mell acceleration. Matt glanced about, trying to find something to use as a gauge for wind direction and speed. He settled on one of the fishing feluccas that pelted by in the opposite direction. The small, beamy ship sailed admirably close to the wind. Keje saw him studying it.

“Yes. The enemy has a favorable wind with their . . . I think you call it ‘square rig’? It’s much the same principle as our ‘wings,’ and it serves best running with the wind on a quarter from behind, ah, quartering? Astern?” He shook his head. “I learn your language good, I think, but some words don’t work yet.”

Matt grinned at him. “They work fine, as far as I can tell.”

Keje bowed in thanks. “Still, I think you could catch him before he makes it into the strait.” Matt glanced at Garrett, who cast a quick look at the Lemurian. Matt nodded.

“He’s in easy range, Skipper,” Garrett confirmed. The Grik ship was less than two miles away, gaining speed. But the course reversal had cost him. Keje grunted as if to say, “I thought so.”

“Very well. Let’s let him get some more water under his keel, though. I don’t want to sink him in the channel. Tell Spanky he can ease off the juice. Make him think he’s keeping the distance.” Matt smiled ruefully. “By the way, Mr. Garrett, my apologies. I have the deck. Please take your post on the fire-control platform. If there’s another one, we might have some fancy shooting to do.”

“Aye, aye, sir. Captain has the deck,” he announced. After he was gone, Matt shook his head.
Got excited
, he chided himself.
Not too good for the image of the stoic, all-knowing captain.

“What about me, sir?” asked Dowden. “You want me aft?”

“Not yet. This’ll probably be as close to shooting fish in a barrel as we’ll ever get. But I may have a chore for you. Helm,” he said to Tolson, “keep us dead astern of the enemy, if you please. Adjust speed as needed.”

“Dead astern and as needed, aye.”

The Grik ship was leaning on her wide beam, the pyramid of white canvas contrasting sharply with the dark red hull and the blue, whitecapped waves. A long, foaming trail spread astern. “You can say what you like about those damn lizards,” he said, “but they make pretty ships.”

The mouth of the bay widened. Beyond the Grik, the open ocean of the Makassar Strait looked vast and empty. A few high clouds moved with deliberation across the otherwise clear blue sky. A touch of gray brooded over Celebes, but the local visibility was near perfect. Where was the other ship?

“Lookout reports a sail beyond the headland, bearing two two five,” proclaimed the talker. Matt shifted his glass, but saw nothing because of the dense jungle that grew right down to the shoreline off the starboard bow. The lookout had a better vantage point, and the high masts of the Grik allowed them to see and signal at an even greater distance.

“Well, two for sure,” Matt said speculatively. “Question now is whether the one we’re chasing will turn to join her consort or continue on, leading us away. It might tell us a lot about them.”

“Will it make a difference?” Keje asked anxiously.

“It shouldn’t, in the short term.” Matt was silent for a moment. “Say you had two or three fast ships and had just found the home of the Grik. They pursue. There’s no way you can win a fight, but it’s vitally important that someone get away with the information. What would you do?”

Theoretical speculation wasn’t always a Lemurian strong point, Matt had noticed, but now Keje stared at the stern of the Grik ship while his mind sorted possibilities.