Rising Tides: Destroyermen

by Taylor Anderson

  Lelaa snatched a pair of muskets and raced into the jungle that paralleled the beach. With a glance that encompassed Rebecca and Sister Audry, Sandra did the same, following Lelaa as fast as she could.

  “I must go as well!” Rebecca insisted, “I can handle a musket as well as any!”

  Sister Audry grabbed her. “No, child, you must remain here. Those others are willing to sacrifice their lives to save yours. If any die and you are not saved, their sacrifice will have been in vain. It is a harsh and heavy burden to bear, but it is yours to bear.”

  They heard another thundering, croaking groan, this time accompanied by a shrill scream. Sister Audry muttered something and crossed herself with her free hand while holding Rebecca even tighter against her renewed efforts to escape. The night was punctuated by more musket fire and shouts. Evidently pausing to devour its victim, the shiksak did not immediately leap again, allowing the survivors to gain some distance. It was almost pitch-black now, and the musket flashes of a suddenly augmented skirmish line pulsed in the darkness a considerable distance up the beach.

  “I would attest that that volley was comprised of more guns than Miss Tucker and Captain Lelaa alone would have added!” Sister Audry assured Rebecca hopefully. The shiksak leaped again and again, moving beyond their ability to hear the dreadful sounds it made or see any movement. Rebecca collapsed against the nun and began to sob. Even if she broke free now, the action had drawn too far away to join.

  Sister Audry led the girl carefully out onto the beach, keeping a wary eye on the deadly sea, until they reached the traumatized carpenter. The scrawny man was standing now and almost blubbering with relief.

  “I thought the bugger had me!” he gasped. “So big and fat, and yet so fast!” He calmed himself slightly and glanced apologetically at the princess. “Pardon the ‘bugger,’ if you please, Your Highness.”

  Through the tears that filled her eyes, Rebecca could still occasionally see the distant sparkle and bloom of a musket shot, but the hissing surf now drowned any report. Suddenly, to her surprise and almost infinite relief, she saw the muzzle flash of what might almost have been a cannon. A moment later, she did hear a muffled boom punctuate that shot. Shortly afterward, there came a veritable flurry of flashes, followed by another massive discharge. Then there was only the darkness and the surge of the marching sea.

  “It would seem that your inimitable Mr. Silva has come to the rescue once again,” Sister Audry observed with an apparent mix of relief and disgust. “I only hope his various schemes to save us don’t cost a life with each attempt.”

  “What happened?” Sandra asked impatiently. Silva sat on a large fallen tree trunk, ravenously devouring a plate of stew. He brandished a spoon, delaying his answer while he chewed. Finally, he pointed the spoon at Rajendra.

  “Things went pretty much the way His Surliness said, except it wasn’t as tough a trip as he made out. Sure, hacking through all that bamboo stuff was a chore, but I had tougher days behind a mule when I was seven. Once we got through that stuff, wasn’t anything to it. Might’ve found a good channel through the breakers too.”

  “Then what took you so long, and what’s the matter with Mr. Cook? ”

  “He took to acting strange on the way back. Poked his finger on something in that kudzulike stuff. Went all silly on us. We had to throw together a stretcher, sort of, to get him back here. Even had to tie him down eventually. That’s why we was dee-layed.” He waved the spoon. “As for what’s the matter with him, you got me. You’re the doc. See for yourself.”

  “I can barely see him with just the light from the fire,” Sandra said in frustration. “I certainly can’t diagnose what’s wrong with him.”

  Silva shrugged. “Look at him in the morning, then. He might live that long.”

  Sandra shook her head. “You are a heartless bastard,” she observed, almost amazed.

  “Nope. I like the little guy a lot. I’m just sick o’ getting blamed whenever somebody croaks.” He pointed his spoon at Rajendra. “Bastard said it was my fault another one of his guys got ate. What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t even here.”

  “That’s just the point,” Rajendra snarled. “If we’d been here, it wouldn’t have happened!”

  “You mean if me and the Doom Whomper’d been here it wouldn’t have happened. Another few muskets wouldn’t have made a difference. You want me to sit here all day and guard everybody until we starve or I run out of lead to cast my bullets? What the hell good is that gonna do when there’s too many of the damn things to kill? Look, I’m sorry you lost a fella, but sometimes bad sh ... stuff just happens, an’ it ain’t always my fault!”

  Sandra glared at Rajendra. “You know, he’s right. All you’ve done is whine ever since we got here. You stood up and pulled your weight on the boat, but now all you do is complain and blame. That’s not good enough! Do you want to save your princess? Do you want to live? Look, you don’t like taking orders from a woman. I get that, but here’s the deal: I already command my people, Rajendra, and your princess has placed me in command of you and yours. Our numbers are about even, with a dozen of us left, counting Rebecca and Larry. Even if this was a democracy, you’d lose. If more of you besides Hersh and Mr. Brassey don’t pitch in and pull your weight, we aren’t going to make it because we’re just dragging the rest of you along. Well, I have the cure for that! By the authority vested in me by the United States Navy and Princess Rebecca Anne McDonald, and as Minister of Medicine for all the Allied powers, I’ll consider any further dereliction of duty or refusal to obey my orders tantamount to mutiny and punishable by death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?” Her voice had risen to a roar that her small frame seemed incapable of producing, but it would have made the Bosun proud. In a quieter voice she continued, “Mr. Silva and I have discussed his plan and it seems the most viable option. If we all work together, we can get it done with hands to spare. If I were you, I’d try very hard not to give the impression that I was a spare hand. I’m completely, deadly serious about this, and I advise you not to test me.”

  She took a long breath and continued to glare at the darkened faces as if measuring each one. “Tomorrow we start moving the boat. We’ll need rollers, and plenty of them. Those not actively cutting rollers will be widening and clearing the path Mr. Silva and Captain Rajendra’s party made through the bamboo today.” She looked at Rajendra. “Now, I know you’ve been saving back some candles and at least two lanterns. I want them. All of them.” She allowed only the slightest hesitation, as the Imperials glanced at their commander, before she pulled the .45 from its holster and racked the slide.

  “Captain Rajendra,” she said very softly, “must I repeat myself?”

  “Princess?” Rajendra asked.

  “Obey her this instant, you fool!” Rebecca demanded harshly. “I have told you she alone commands! If you ever ask my approval for her orders again, I swear I’ll shoot you myself!”

  “Very well, Your Highness. Please accept my apologies. I was only trying—”

  “What you were trying to do, what you’ve been trying to do, is quite clear! The traditions of the Empire have no bearing here, and you will obey this woman as you would me.”

  “Brassey,” Rajendra said stiffly, “please fetch the items Miss Tucker requested.” Brassey leaped to his feet and raced to the pile of supplies the Imperials had kept somewhat segregated.

  “A wise choice, Captain Rajendra,” Sandra said as her thumb pushed upward on the pistol’s safety and she thrust the weapon back into its holster. “You might be interested to know that I was counting to myself and you had less than three seconds to live.” She smiled, then moved off toward where Abel Cook lay.

  Silva shook his spoon at Rajendra. “And here all this time you thought I was a bad man.” He chuckled quietly. “You don’t know doodly.”

  With the help of the lanterns and a couple of mirrors, Sandra was finally able to examine Abel’s hand. The boy was conscious and even tried to cooperate with the inspec
tion, but he had a fever and was acting almost euphorically drunk. He was still tied to the stretcher so he couldn’t get up, but he sometimes almost desperately wanted to, as if his main goal in life had suddenly become to run off into the jungle as far and fast as he could. He alternated between begging them to turn him loose and apologizing for being a bother. Silva held his arm still when necessary, and Rebecca dabbed at his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. Most of the others had gathered around to watch interestedly, but they kept a respectful distance. Only Sister Audry and Captain Lelaa remained in attendance to hold the mirrors and reflect the best light.

  “Good Lord!” Sandra said when she at last got a good look at the wound. “What on earth did he get into?” She could see where the initial puncture had been. The area around it was almost black, and the finger had swelled to three times its normal size. The skin was mostly pink and seemed stretched tight enough to burst. The boy should have been in agony instead of acting, well, like he was. On closer inspection, she thought she saw tiny bluish-green filaments radiating outward from the blackened region as if they were following the capillaries and veins within the finger. She’d never seen anything like it.

  “Uh, he was pierced by a thorn,” Brassey supplied. “It was just a little thing, and we gave it no thought at the time.”

  “A thorn? What did it look like? The plant, I mean.”

  “Well, Mr. Silva said it looked like something he called ‘kudzu,’ but I don’t know what that is. We have plants with similar blossoms at home, and they even have thorns, but they don’t cause anything like Mr. Cook’s reaction.”

  “It’s the damnedest thing I ever saw,” Dennis murmured. “One little poke. It’s almost like it left a seed in there and it sprouted something fierce. Already putting out roots!”

  Sandra felt a chill. “My God, I think that’s exactly what it’s done! You say these plants were growing up among and around skeletons of some sort?”

  “Yes . . . ah . . . ma’am,” Brassey confirmed. “Great big ones.”

  “Say,” Silva muttered thoughtfully, “they ain’t no big critters running around on this island! Not most of the time, anyway, except for them big lizard-turtle things, and if these were them, they’d’ve left big old shells layin’ around!”

  “You’re saying that the skeletons must have been these shiksak creatures?” Sister Audry asked.

  “No way around it,” Silva replied. “I bet those big old shit-sack toad boogers go hoppin’ through that kudzu stuff, get poked, and eventually wind up fertilizin’ a whole new patch of them nasty weeds! God ... dern! I always hated kudzu!”

  Sandra sighed and laid Abel’s hand down. “If you’re right—and I’m afraid you are—that finger will have to come off. Immediately. In just the few hours since he was infected, the ‘roots’ have spread nearly to his hand. Those are just the filaments I can see. Deeper down, they might already be in his hand.”

  “We better get crackin’, then,” Dennis said.

  “Right.” Sandra looked at Sister Audry. “Would you and Lawrence please boil some water? Mr. Silva, you still have a small amount of polta paste in your shooting pouch, do you not?”

  “Are you absolutely certain we have no other choice? ” asked Rebecca.

  The tears in her eyes reflected the candlelight.

  “I don’t know that we can be certain without waiting,” Dennis answered her gently. “But if it does what we think it does, I don’t reckon we have time.”

  Later that night, Dennis was one of the last to arrange his bedding in the sand. It had been a long day and he was exhausted. As usual, there were plenty of biting, stinging insects to pester him, but he doubted he’d notice them tonight. Captain Lelaa and Lawrence had the guard and he knew he could sleep soundly with them on duty, so he arranged his weapons around himself, scrunched down, and pulled his wool blanket up to his chin. There was often a chill before dawn. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled off the patch that covered his ruined left eye and stared at it for a moment. Hell, a pinky finger ain’t much, he decided. The kid was already resting easier. He laid the patch on his shooting pouch and closed his other eye.

  From somewhere nearby he heard a strange sound. Opening his eye again, he raised up to listen. Over there. Sighing, he replaced the patch—no reason to disgust folks—and pulling his cutlass out of the sand, he crept over to where the sound was emanating. He sat.

  “What’s eatin’ you, Li’l Sis?” he whispered. “You know you can tell ol’ Silva.”

  The muffled crying continued a moment longer before Rebecca managed to control it. “It’s just so awful,” she said at last. “Not just Mr. Cook’s poor hand, although that is bad enough. It’s just . . . everything! This whole day has been dreadful! I don’t know how much longer I can bear it!”

  “Now, now. You’re doin’ fine. I bet Abel’ll be just fine too. We’re gonna get outta this jam, I promise.” He cocked his head. “I’m glad Miss Tucker finally laid down the law, though.”

  “And that’s another thing! She seemed fully prepared to shoot Captain Rajendra! That can’t sit well with her. She is so kind and gentle! Do . . . do you think she would have done it?”

  “Yep. Lookie here, she may be kind and gentle, but she’s a tiger when it comes to you and the Skipper. Hell, when it comes to any of us she thinks of as her kin.”

  “Do you think it will matter?”

  “Yep.”

  “Why?”

  “ ’Cause Rajendra and the rest o’ his people . . . your people, believed her. Believed you too. You and her is so much alike it spooks me now and then, honest to God. You look alike, act alike, you both got plenty o’ brains, but you got even more guts.” He snorted. “A time or two, that’s got you both in trouble.”

  “You think I have ‘guts’?” Rebecca asked, incredulous.

  “Yep. Big, long, heapin’ piles of ’em, and you’re gonna need ’em too. I’ll tell you somethin’ else. Havin’ guts is one thing, but bein’ too sleepy to use ’em is another. So why don’t you just squirm on down there an’ shut them little eyes. Ol’ Silva’ll be right here.” He paused a moment, looking out at the surf and the hazy moon beyond. In a quiet, gravelly voice he started to sing:

  “Once upon a time the goose drank wine.

  The monkey chewed tobacco on the live steam line.

  The steam line broke, the monkey choked,

  And they all went to heaven in a little tin boat.”

  Rebecca snorted a giggle. “What’s that supposed to be, a lullaby?”

  A little embarrassed, Dennis shrugged. “Nope,” he said. “Just a stupid song.”

  CHAPTER 6

  Andaman Island

  General Pete Alden, former sergeant in USS Houston’s Marine contingent, stood in USS Dowden’s captain’s quarters staring at a map on the bulkhead. Captain Greg Garrett of Donaghey and “Commodore” Jim Ellis sat at the table behind him with General Muln Rolak, Safir Maraan, and several other officers. How times had changed. Jim had originally been Matt’s exec on Walker, and Garrett had been the gunnery officer. Rolak and Queen Maraan had been bitter enemies, but were now as close as a father and daughter might be. All were waiting for Pete to speak.

  “You know this is nuts, right? ” he finally pronounced, raking his dark hair back from his forehead. He still kept the hair burred short everywhere but on top.

  “I thought it was possible you might think so,” Ellis said, grinning through his light brown beard. “That’s why I wanted your opinion.”

  “Well, there it is. I just don’t see how we can run along and leave that nest of snakes at our backs, sitting right on top of our supply lines.”

  “But they are not,” Safir Maraan pointed out, her silver eyes reexamining the map. “With Aan-daa-maan as our forward staging area, we can watch this Raan-goon place closely enough. As long as we control the sea, the forces trapped there can do nothing but slowly starve. They cannot affect our campaign against Ceylon.”

  Rolak grunted. “I f
ear I must agree with General Aal-den,” he said. The scarred old warrior pointed at the Malay Peninsula. “With a little initiative—something we have learned the enemy leadership, their Hij at least, is capable of—this force at Raan-goon might attempt to threaten our new base at Sing-aa-pore. We know that when we took it from them, some Grik managed to escape from there as a cohesive force. They were not all ‘made prey,’ as they call it. They may have traveled as far as Raan-goon by now. With no other purpose, they might even attempt to return.”

  “Right,” Alden agreed. “We know at least some didn’t break, and according to Okada and some other stuff we’ve seen, we know they aren’t ‘destroying’ all their troops that chicken out anymore.” He shook his head. “Still don’t know what to think of that. I wish we could’ve figured out a way to talk to those goofy Griks that Rasik was using for bodyguards.”

  “Evidently we could talk to ’em. They just couldn’t talk to us,” Jim pointed out. He shrugged. “We sent ’em back to Baalkpan hoping Lawrence could figure out a way to communicate—but he’d already been swiped with the rest by that bastard Billingsley. I’m sure the pointy heads back home will keep working on it, but I don’t know that it’ll make any difference to us. They were just Uul warriors, and I doubt they were privy to the grand strategy of the Grik High Command!”