“We can’t go any faster,” he said, with a trace of lingering bitterness. “We don’t know these seas like we used to, and it might not be a good idea if we arrived at our first Imperial outpost without Commodore Jenks to smooth the way. Besides, if we don’t wait for our resupply, we won’t have the fuel to reach New Britain with any reserve.”
“Well ... then I do have your word that I may spend at least some time exploring?”
“As far as it’s in my power to let you. The local authorities might not want you running wild. They’re not the most trusting folks with strangers, if you’ll recall. At least not until you get to know them.” Matt reflected on the real, growing friendship between Jenks and himself. They hadn’t liked one another at all when they first met. Jenks and the Bosun had probably actually hated each other. But the exigencies of war, a shared battle, and a common cause had erased their earlier animosity.
“Perhaps they are not all quite so standoffish and paranoid,” Courtney speculated.
“Hard to say. Our sample of their society’s been pretty small. All of Jenks’s people were—some more than others—and before that, all we had to go on was O’Casey and the princess. Even they seemed awful protective of their nation’s whereabouts.”
The pilothouse was quiet for some time after that, except for the rumble of the blower. Juan appeared with an egg sandwich and Matt wolfed it down under the Filipino’s satisfied gaze. Eventually, possibly sensing that Matt wanted to be alone with his thoughts, everyone not actually on watch in the pilothouse filtered away. The sea to the east stretched wide and empty, and the sky was clear except for a lonely squall, possibly lashing yet another unseen, uncharted atoll.
CHAPTER 10
North of Tjilatjap (Chill-chaap)
“Lawsy, what a creepy place,” Isak Rueben mumbled softly.
“You said it,” Gilbert Yeager agreed. “Gave me the willies when I was here the first time. Didn’t’spect ’em ta send me back.”
“We need you,” Major Benjamin Mallory called back from the front of the boat. “You and a couple of the Marines are the only ones who’ve been here before.”
“So I’m kinda a guide?” Gilbert asked.
“That, and our resident expert on conditions at the site,” Mallory replied.
“That mean you’ll take my advice?”
Mallory paused before answering. Gilbert and Isak, both of Walker’s “original Mice,” were capable of some of the most ... unusual ... thought processes he’d ever encountered. “Within reason,” he said at last.
“Then keep yer damn voice down ... sir,” Gilbert hissed. “They’s some nasty boogers in this here water!”
Mallory nodded. He would try. The problem was, he was so excited he could barely contain himself. Ever since Mr. Ellis and his expedition discovered the wreck of the Santa Catalina in this swampy estuary north of Tjilatjap, or “Chill-chaap,” he’d been so anxious to salvage her—and especially her miraculous cargo—that sometimes he thought he’d burst. In his excitement he’d mentally dismissed or disregarded the dire warnings of Ellis and Chack. They’d been very specific about the terrible nature of the few threats they’d actually encountered. Both were certain that other, possibly more dangerous creatures lurked in and around the wreck. Gilbert was certain of it too, and he took every opportunity to remind anyone who’d listen.
Mallory looked around, taking in the water, the shoreline, and the dense jungle that bordered it as his large steam-powered flat-bottomed barge towed several other heavily laden barges upstream. The jungle did look spooky, and he noticed several big swirls in the murky black water as they proceeded. Other than that, however, it was an unusually beautiful day. Even the humidity wasn’t quite as oppressive as usual. Lizard birds and other flying creatures capered ceaselessly above, defecating all over everything and everyone, but that happened everywhere he went. Despite all the warnings, he just couldn’t summon enough anxiety to displace his eagerness to get there and get started.
He did recognize the possibility that he was being just a tad rash, and perhaps even irresponsible, but everyone—Adar, Letts, Ellis, even Captain Reddy—knew he would be. That was why he wasn’t in charge! Lieutenant Commander Russ Chapelle was in overall command of the expedition, and it was his job to do all the worrying. That suited Mallory just fine. He had a specific, important job, and the less he had to worry about other things, the better. He knew he’d have to take care, though; he had quite a few people under his personal direction and enough of the warnings had seeped past his enthusiasm for him to recognize that Santa Catalina and her environs were a dangerous place.
Russ Chapelle stood beside Mallory in the lead barge. USS Tolson was his first command, and leading this expedition was his first truly independent mission. For a former torpedoman aboard USS Mahan, he had a lot of responsibility heaped upon him. It may have seemed odd to those who didn’t know him, but while he was highly conscious of the responsibility, it didn’t really worry him that much. In an infant but growing Navy that had already seen so much desperate action, he’d seen more than his share on land and sea. He’d earned a level of confidence in himself that comes only with experience. He knew some people often compared him to Silva, and the thought amused him. He liked Silva, and he did have a lot in common with the maniacal gunner’s mate. There was a profound difference, however. Whereas Silva had learned little from his own vast experience except how to be a better warrior, a better killer, Chapelle had learned to temper his boldness with caution. On a steamy, bloody, chaotic night, not yet a year ago, Russ Chapelle had learned that the reaper wouldn’t take IOUs forever. Despite all his injuries, Silva still hadn’t figured that out.
In any event, Chapelle was fully aware of the dangers the expedition faced, and he was mentally prepared for other things as well, even worse than they knew about. Chill-chaap had once been a thriving city, much like Baalkpan, before the Grik came and literally exterminated it. According to Keje and many of the other ’Cats he’d spoken to who’d once traded there, even less was known about the jungle surrounding Chill-chaap than was known about the area around Baalkpan. Doubtless there’d been Hunters, like the one Silva called Moe, who’d agreed to accompany them here, but to the land folk who once inhabited the city, the jungle beyond it was a mystery. Now, only about two years after Chill-chaap was sacked by the Grik, the insatiable jungle had reclaimed it. The dwellings were covered with greenery and the pathways were impenetrably choked with vines and briars. No one could live there now without burning the entire area to the ground and starting over from scratch. He knew how hard the people of Baalkpan worked to keep the jungle at bay, how difficult it was for them to maintain the open killing field beyond the ramparts. He had a sudden mental image of what Baalkpan would look like now if they’d lost the great battle there. It wouldn’t be as bad as Chill-chaap had become—yet—but within a few years it would be impossible to tell it ever existed.
He frowned. That reminded him of something else that was bothering him. As soon as the discovery of the ship had been reported, a small contingent of Sularan troops was immediately dispatched to the ruined city. They’d landed with a pair of heavy guns, their only duty being to keep an eye on the river mouth and drive away any snooping Grik ships that came nosing around. They were to remain concealed and not reveal themselves to any passersby, and only fire on anything that tried to enter the river itself. They hadn’t been on station very long, a little over a month perhaps, and a Navy ship had resupplied them just a couple of weeks before. Yet when Tolson arrived accompanying Mallory’s flotilla, after they rendezvoused east of the Bali Strait, there was no sign of the Sularans. Their guns remained, strategically placed but with vines already crawling up the carriages. A few things had been found lying about—a sword, the implements for the guns, a few personal items. That was it. He couldn’t believe the Grik had taken them. The guns had not been fired; their bores were clean. The powder kegs and shot crates were scattered and broken, but nothing had been taken. M
ost telling of all, if the Grik had come, they certainly wouldn’t have left the guns. The loss of the Sularans was a tragedy, but the mystery of what became of them loomed menacingly over the entire expedition.
“We’re gonna be openin’ the lake purty soon,” Gilbert warned. “Maybe you’ll get to see some o’ them big-ass duck critters!”
“What duck critters?” Dean Laney demanded grumpily, showing some mild interest for the first time since he’d set foot on the barge. The big machinist’s mate was still angry about being sent on the mission in the first place. He’d had a cushy berth back in Baalkpan, running one of the machine fabrication factories, but Laney’s biggest problem was that he was universally considered a jerk. He’d lorded it over the ’Cats in his division to such an extent that, war and all, there’d nearly been a strike. Adar and Letts hoped if they got him back aboard a ship, back within a recognized Naval hierarchy, he might settle down. He was too distracting to keep around and too useful to shoot. The scheme had worked—a little. He wasn’t throwing his weight around quite as much, but he was bitter about being equal to or outranked by men and ’Cats he’d once had under his thumb.
Gilbert stood up, pointing. “Them ones, over there! See? Hey! Mr. Chapelle, we might wanna either speed this tub up or slow it down. I don’t know which. There’s some critter here in this water that eats them things!”
They were all looking at the “ducks” now. They were huge, goofylooking things, maybe as big as a giraffe. Gilbert knew their legs were about as long as what was visible above water. A couple had reddish wattles dangling from their very ducklike bills and bluish crests on their heads. Most were a mottled brown all over, not unlike the drowned trees and other vegetation protruding from the surface of the widening swampy lake. Still several hundred yards away, the entire herd or flock or whatever it was looked directly at them, their long necks stretched out like turkeys trying to get a better view, heads bobbing almost comically from side to side. Most of the men and ’Cats on the barges were doing the same.
“I guess we should slow down,” Gilbert decided. “Last time, the thing that got one didn’t make its move until after we scared the ducks and they took to hurryin’ off.”
“Very well,” Chapelle agreed, and nodded at Bosun’s Mate Saama-Kera at the throttle. The black and white Lemurian, unavoidably known as “Sammy” now, tightened the valve with an “Ayy, ayy, sur,” and the train of barges began to slow. “How much farther to the wreck?” Russ asked.
“Yeah, where is she?” demanded Mallory anxiously.
Gilbert was flustered. He’d only recently begun Talking to officers. Having them ask him for guidance was utterly beyond his experience. He retreated a step and looked at Isak, who wore a face that seemed to say, “No good’ll ever come of puttin’ yerself forward.” Of course, it was too late for that advice. Besides, he suddenly realized he’d just now provided guidance without even thinking about it when he suggested they slow down ... and they had! “Uh,” he managed, “we was a little further along when Mr. Ellis asked that damned Rasik that very thing ... sirs. The ship was almost growed to the west bank, yonder, maybe a little around that bend.” He stared hard for a moment, concentrating, trying to recall. “As a matter o’ fact, I don’t remember that there bend. I b’leeve the jungle’s growed out an’ plumb gobbled up the ship!”
Gilbert was right. The closer the barges chugged to the “point,” the clearer it became that the jungle had indeed engulfed Santa Catalina. They caught occasional glimpses of rusty iron, and even a vine-wrapped cargo boom was identified, jutting from the mass. Only near the waterline were the old hull plates somewhat visible. The vines grew down to within a few feet of the water and abruptly stopped, as if something in or on the water fed on them, keeping them trimmed as high as they could reach, like trees in a goat pasture. Then again, maybe the vines couldn’t abide salty water. This lake had obviously once been smaller—and fresh—until something, an earthquake or a flood, caused a break into the estuary. Now the tide rolled in, poisoning the rotting stumps that lined a much smaller beach.
Laney was peering over the side into the brackish water as they neared the old freighter. “What about flashies?” he asked, suddenly nervous. He had a right to be. One of the few truly heroic deeds Dean Laney could claim was his work to replace Walker’s screw with one of Mahan’s. The dreaded flasher fish had nearly beaten him to death even through a sail they rigged to protect him.
“Cain’t be many of ’em,” Isak said with just a trace of sarcasm in his reedy voice. “I don’t think them duck-o-saurs’d just wade off in amongst’em. Maybe the water ain’t salty enough for ’em.” He grinned. “Or maybe whatever eats duck-o-saurs cleaned ’em out! Glad I ain’t a diver!”
“God damn you, Isak!” Laney snarled. “I guess we’ll find out when I tie a line around your scrawny neck and throw you in to see what eats you!”
“Silence on the barge!” Chapelle growled. “I’ll decide who gets eaten around here!” He made sure Ben Mallory wasn’t paying any attention. The Army aviator was fixated on the ship ahead. He looked at Laney and lowered his voice. “I may be an ‘officer’ now, with my own ship and everything, but except for Mr. Mallory, every human on this trip is a ‘chief ’ now. Whether they’re new chiefs or ex-chiefs, it makes no difference. You know what that means. If you’ve forgotten, you better remember right quick. There’s rules, Laney, and you’ve been on the edge of breaking one of the most important ones for a long time! Why do you think you’re here? Real officers have fancy words for it, but I call it the ‘everybody hates his guts and wants him dead’ rule. Officers have fancy charges, sentences, and lots of different punishments for it too. Chiefs only have one. Do I make myself clear?”
Laney gulped and Chapelle raised his voice just a little so the nearby’Cats could hear as well. “That reminds me. A lot of you guys are ‘new,’ and don’t know what a real hero Major Mallory is. You’re Navy ... men. Destroyermen and Marines. You make fun of the Allied armies, and that’s fine. They make fun of you. That’s the way it works. But as we go aboard that ship, remember we’re all here for Major Mallory. Our reason for being here is the cargo on that ship, and that cargo belongs to him. Is that understood? He may not be ‘Navy,’ but he’s the ‘Air Minister,’ and that means he even commands the Naval Aviators, God save us. In fact, they’re the Naval Air Corps now. That means even though I command this expedition, he outranks the hell out of me.” Russ paused and glanced at Ben. He was surprised to see the flier looking back at him. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking that loud.
“Thanks, Captain Chapelle. No need to puff me up in front of the fellas, though. I’m sure we’re all here for the same reason. To win the war.” He gestured up at the ship that now loomed above them, dripping vines like a vast green waterfall. “It’s been kind of a secret, I guess. Mr. Ellis tried to keep it one for a while. I don’t know how many of you have heard, but this old ship, out here in the middle of this crummy place, might just help us win the whole damn war.”
The steam barge pulled the others as close alongside the ship as possible. Gilbert could tell there was no way they could board on the side closest to the shore as they’d done previously, and he said so. The jungle had already taken a hold on the ship to a remarkable degree when he’d last seen it, but he was amazed by how much worse it was now.
“The Marines will go first,” Chapelle said to Lieutenant Bekiaa-Sab-At on the next barge. Bekiaa was originally from Big Sal’s forewing clan and was yet another one of Chack’s many cousins. She was brindled like her relatives and had trained under Risa. She wasn’t as ... freespirited ... as Risa, but she’d seen action at the Baalkpan docks at the height of that terrible battle.
“Be careful,” Gilbert warned. “There was some sort of Marine-eatin’ booger in the aft hold.” He gestured up at the tangled mess. “No tellin’ what’s moved in since.”
“Charlie Company!” Bekiaa called to the Marines on the second and third barges. “Prepare to gra
pple!” She waited briefly while the thirtyodd ’Cats that had accompanied them from the ship prepared. “Execute!” Heavy treble hooklike implements arced upward, trailing stout lines, and disappeared into the foliage. Raucous, indignant cries filled the air as flocks of lizard birds exploded from the mass and swirled above them, along with a cloud of flying insects. Most of the hooks caught something when they were pulled taut, and after heaving the barges closer, the Marines scampered up the lines. Many had to hack their way through and over the bulwark to the deck, but when a sufficient number had managed the feat and there’d been no cry of alarm, Bekiaa grabbed a dangling rope and scurried up after her troops.
Chapelle grinned at Ben Mallory. “Now we just wait a little while for them to check things out. It won’t be long before you can kiss your prizes!”
Something big jostled the barge from below, spilling the men and’Cats to the deck.
“Whoa there!” chirped Isak, grabbing for the bulwark. The barge tilted and creaked as whatever it was slowly scraped along its bottom. All the men had Springfields and a couple of the ’Cats had Krags. All went for them at once, snatching them up or unslinging them from their shoulders.
“Goddamn!” bellowed Laney. “It’s one o’ them pleezy-sores!”
The barge righted and something cruised away from it, rough, pebbly back, streaming water. There were big swirls alongside like it had very large flippers, or maybe feet like an alligator. An extremely long tail slithered through the water behind it, probably providing most of the propulsion.
“What is that thing?” Mallory asked. Already, seven rifles and a pistol were aimed at it. Moe, the Lemurian Hunter, had his massive crossbow leveled at the beast. “It’s too damn big to be a croc.... Isn’t it?”
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