Rising Tides d-5

by Taylor Anderson

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 grapple!” 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 th
em 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?”

  “Hold your fire!” Chapelle ordered. “We might just piss it off. Maybe it’ll leave us alone.”

  “Nothin’ ever leaves us alone,” Gilbert predicted darkly.

  “It come back!” Moe exclaimed.

  “What is happening?” Bekiaa shouted from above.

  “There’s some big beastie down here, Lieutenant!” Chapelle replied. “You stay right where you are!”

  The creature described a long, leisurely arc, settling on a heading that would bring it back to the barge. It didn’t accelerate or anything, so maybe it was just curious. Of course, they could see only a small fraction of its mass and they already knew it was big enough to overturn the barge. Its curiosity might kill them. ’Cats on the other barges had clustered near the middle, clinging to the heavy machinery, tool crates, and supplies. The few Marines who’d remained behind aimed muskets at the thing as it approached. It slowed.

  “Ugly devil,” Laney said.

  The head was fairly clear now and it didn’t look like a croc. It was huge, about four feet wide and maybe seven feet long, but it was broader and more rounded and there were no grotesque, interlocking teeth. The eyes, while mounted like a croc’s, were even larger in proportion to its body and possessed an almost mesmerizing, alluring quality. If Courtney Bradford had been there, he would have been fascinated, but he also would have told them that the shape of the head was cause for greater concern than any crocodile.

  “I think he’s kinda cute,” Mallory said.

  With an erupting spray of water, something pink, shiny, and rather bulbous darted from the creature’s suddenly gaping mouth and slammed into Sammy, knocking him back against the hot, exposed boiler. Just as quickly, the ’Cat was jerked toward the bulwark. He hadn’t even had a chance to cry out. For an instant, everyone was too stunned to react-everyone but Moe. The powerful old Lemurian dropped his crossbow and clamped onto Sammy’s legs. The blur of motion slowed just enough for the others to see what was happening. Sammy was still sliding toward the open mouth, with Moe along for the ride, but now realization had dawned.

  “Shoot it!” Russ yelled. Seven rifles cracked almost together and Ben’s pistol barked quickly, filling the sudden silence while the others worked their bolts. Muskets roared from the other barges and heavy lead balls slapped into the monster’s body while the riflemen fired another volley into the thing’s head. Both its eyes were reduced to spattered, gelatinous orbs, and white bone glared around a ragged, bloody gash between them. It started to convulse.

  “Grab Moe!” Russ shouted, and Isak and Gilbert dove on the ’Cat. The creature in the water jerked backward and began to flop and roll. Sammy shrieked in agony as the massive “tongue” was torn away, leaving his entire arm and shoulder naked of fur. The terrible beast continued to flail with wild, mindless abandon, sometimes lunging almost entirely out of the water and drenching the barges when it splashed back down. Once, its whipping tail nearly swept the Marines in the second barge over the side, but eventually the convulsions ebbed. Finally, the mighty lake monster floated still, the brackish water around it turning black with blood under the afternoon overcast.

  Bekiaa’s corpsman had crossed from the adjacent barge and was tending Sammy’s wound. A lot of skin had come off with the fur.

  “You okay, Moe?” Gilbert asked.

  “Swell,” the nearly toothless ’Cat replied, using the term he’d heard Silva use so often. It sounded strange coming from him.

  “Well, you done good,” Gilbert said. “You know, I bet that was the booger that got Chack’s Marine in the aft hold of the ship! Chackie said he was there one second, standin’ on some ammo crates to stay outta the water and then”-he snapped his fingers-“pop! He was gone.”

  “Stands to reason,” Chapelle replied. “If it wasn’t the same one, it was probably something like it. That thing was damn big, though. I hate to think there’s a hole in the ship big enough for it to come and go.”

  “Maybe it growed some since then,” Isak said hopefully.

  “There not be many monsters like that, big as that, ’round here,” Moe said judiciously. “Be like too many super lizards in one place. I bet they no agree so well. We git off boats quick now, though. Bloody water, big food, other things come soon, I bet too.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Rangoon

  T he plan had seemed so simple, so clear, in Dowden ’s great cabin riding at anchor in Port Blair. Now, in the vast, thick, reeking darkness of the misplaced river the Amer-i-caans still called the “Ayarwady,” nothing whatsoever was clear. There was no moon to speak of, and what little there was, was heavily smothered by an oppressive, visible humidity, almost a fog. As reported and expected, there were no channel markers of any kind and leadsmen in Dowden ’s bows constantly tossed their lead as the steamer crept slowly upstream against the moderate current. Dowden made just enough steam to keep steerageway and continue her advance with her heavy burden of troops and the long train of troop-packed barges behind her. If she’d been a coal burner or a side-wheeler, this would never have worked. Telltale sparks from her funnel or the noisy, churning white water alongside would have betrayed her to anyone watching from shore. As it was, commands were kept to a minimum and muted, and even her engine had been muffled with blankets, wrapped around what was accessible and otherwise hung as baffles in the engineering space. Nakja-Mur was under the same discipline, with much the same burden. USS Haakar Faask , another new steamer that had arrived a few weeks earlier, had the newest, most powerful engine, and behind her trailed Donaghey with her sails all furled, as well as her own allotment of nearly two dozen barges filled with troops, field artillery, and a short company of the 3rd Maa-ni-la Cavalry with their silently purposeful “me-naak” mounts. The paalka teams to pull the guns were kept inconveniently muzzled and stowed belowdecks on the frigates to prevent them from causing alarm with their shrill cries.

  General Safir Maraan, Queen Protector of B’mbaado and representative to the Allied Assembly, was immaculately groomed for battle, as always. In fact, she was practically invisible on Dowden ’s quarterdeck in her black cape with her almost blue-black fur. She wore a silver-washed helmet, though, that complemented her form-fitted, matching breastplate, and that was how Lord General Rolak picked her out of the gloom and the milling throng of nervous, excited, whispering warriors.

  “This creeping around in the dark always makes me uneasy,” he confessed quietly, joining her by the rail.

  Safir grumbled a chuckle. “An admission I never expected from you, O valiant opponent.”

  Rolak chuckled back. “I will never be your ‘opponent’ again,” he said. Then his voice turned serious. “You are the daughter I always wanted of my one mate who passed into the Heavens too soon.”

  Safir touched his scarred, furry arm. “And you have become as my father, as the noble Haakar-Faask did before you.” She paused. “Do not make me mourn you today as I still mourn him-and my true sire.”

  Rolak grinned in the darkness. “Fear not. I am already too old to die properly, bravely, on an honorable field against respected foes. That time is gone.” His tail drooped. “There is no honor in this war, as I have said many times. It is not fun.”

  “It is not fun,” Safir agreed, “but there is honor.” She huffed. “You know that. The honor comes with the cause, a cause far greater than any we had before: the very survival and freedom of our people-even if
it is just the freedom to choose ‘fun’ wars!”

  They both chuckled then. They knew that few of their allies would understand. They also knew that for them to succeed, for the Alliance to endure, “fun” wars were over forever. Things could never be as they’d been before, with Aryaal and B’mbaado remaining apart from others of their kind. Any wars of the future would always be like this: desperate wars of last resort.

  “But why are you uneasy?” Safir asked at last. She gestured at the southwest bank of the river. There had been lights there, obscured in the riverside wood of unfamiliar trees ever since they’d entered the river mouth. Most were probably lingering cook-fires, left unattended by sleeping Grik. A few rough structures eyed the river with lights from within, but there was no sign that the stealthy squadron had been detected. They’d seen only two Grik ships moored near the once impressive harbor facilities they’d passed, and one appeared half-sunk. The garrison here had clearly been abandoned, and the Hij in charge understood that the remaining ship represented suicide, not escape.

  “Oh… you know. These night antics of the Amer-i-caans still disturb me,” he admitted. “Just on the off chance that this battered old sack of bones was to manage a noble deed, or even die an honorable death… I’d like for the Sun to see it.”

  Safir slapped the admittedly old but still rock-hard arm this time. “Shortly we will be in position, I hope, and the Sun will not be long in coming! If you die any kind of death today, the Sun will watch me taunt your corpse! Do you understand me, ‘Old One’?”

  Rolak patted her shoulder. “Yes, my Queen!” he replied lightly.

  “Besides,” Safir added, suddenly somewhat concerned for Rolak’s state of mind, “you cannot die. You still owe your life to Captain Reddy! I was there when you made the pledge, remember? You may only die in his service, you know!”

  “This is not?”

  “Absolutely not! You must be at his side, protecting him from something ridiculous and foolish!” she declared.