Distant Thunders

by Taylor Anderson

  “I am British, sir. I am a subject of the Empire of the New Britain Isles,” Jenks retorted hotly. He glanced at Okada. “But I am no enemy of yours. I apologize for forming my question so tactlessly. Please tell me, in your opinion, how serious is this supposed Grik threat?”

  Okada regarded Jenks for a moment, evaluating the sincerity of the question. Finally, he relaxed slightly, and as he spoke, it was clear that evil, shrouded memories marched across his thoughts. “They are a threat beyond imagination. You are familiar with the shape of the world, from your ancient charts?” Jenks nodded. “Besides their recent conquests in Malaysia, they control all of India, the Arab coast, and at least eastern Africa almost to the cape. I believe their imperial capital, where their ‘Celestial Mother’ resides, is on Madagascar, one of their earlier conquests. They have no sense of honor as even an Englishman might recognize it. Their individual warriors have no sense of honor at all. They are voracious predators who exterminate all in their path, feasting not only on the bodies of their victims, but on their very own dead. They eat their young—a practice I have seen with my own eyes—and they have eaten . . . members of my own crew when we failed to conquer Baalkpan on our first attempt. All failure is considered a failure of spirit, and those who fail are considered prey to be devoured. That is why we aided them, why Kurokawa aided them: through fear of being preyed upon if we refused. Kurokawa may have had other reasons of his own, but for the vast majority”—his eyes drooped—“for me, it was fear.”

  “But what of the battle here?” Jenks demanded. “Surely such a defeat must have hurt them.”

  Okada looked wistful. “I certainly hope it did. Nevertheless, I have seen. I have been to Ceylon, where their teeming hordes are beyond number. I have seen how they so readily replaced the ships and warriors destroyed in their first offensive against Aryaal and this place. A grace period may have been won, but it will be short. They breed rapidly, and if they do not eat their young, within five years they may return with three times what they lost—and still maintain control of their frontiers.”

  “My God,” Jenks muttered.

  “Nothing we haven’t told you before,” Alden growled.

  “True, perhaps, but . . .”

  “Tell you what,” Matt said, making a decision he’d been pondering for days. “Now that you have a fresh perspective on why we’re in such a hurry and why our expedition to return your princess has received a lesser priority, I’ll take you to the shipyard myself. Just you. I don’t know what other agenda your spies may have, but I’ll let you see what we’re working on and let you decide whether we’re doing it to fight the Grik, or threaten your Empire. All I ask is that, on your honor, you don’t divulge what you see, but I’ll leave the evaluation up to you.”

  Jenks seemed flustered at first, but quickly regained his composure. “That is . . . generous of you, Captain Reddy, particularly considering the previous prohibitions. But I cannot possibly swear not to report what I see if, in my estimation, it poses a threat to my Empire.”

  Matt sighed. “I thought that was understood. Look, I don’t really like you very much and I know you don’t like me. But I’d have thought, by now, you’d have accepted the fact that we really do want to be friends with your people. If we become friends—real friends—we’ll share all the technology we show you. In spite of what you may believe, it’s considerable. I wouldn’t let you see it at all if I thought you’d still doubt our preparations are devoted to defeating the Grik.” He paused, deciding to go for broke. “But face it: we’re aware there are . . . elements of your own crew—officers—over whom you seem to have little control. Elements much more interested in their own political agenda than they are the safety of this Alliance, definitely. Maybe even the safety of your own precious Empire—as that safety is envisioned by the princess. I think given the choice, your vision of your Empire more closely reflects hers than you might be at liberty to admit. All I’m asking is, if you don’t get the impression that our preparations are geared toward striking your country, don’t immediately spill what you see to those other ‘elements’ I spoke about. Keep an open mind.”

  Jenks considered. Here was a chance he’d craved—to see what the Americans and their furry allies were up to beyond their guarded barricades. He wouldn’t admit it, but he already knew a little. A few spies had gotten through. But he hadn’t been told everything they’d discovered either. There was much truth in what Captain Reddy said about those “other elements,” just as there was truth in the man’s observation that Commodore Jenks was less than pleased about how those elements operated, or about their influence over his government. He would have to step carefully, but he sensed an opportunity.

  “Very well,” he said, “I can give my word to that.” He smiled sardonically, his sun-bleached mustaches quirking upward. “So long as it is not generally known I have done so.”

  Matt almost mirrored his expression. “Oh, I don’t think it’ll hurt for folks to know I’ve given you a tour. No way to hide it anyway, so we might as well give them a show. But we won’t tell anyone you promised not to blab if you don’t feel like it. All I ask is, once we enter the secure area, give us the benefit of the doubt.”

  “On that you have my word, Captain Reddy.”

  Matt nodded and glanced at his watch. “Very well. I have another interview to attend to. If you’ll excuse me for an hour, maybe we can put some of your suspicions to rest.” Matt’s gaze rested on Okada. “Thanks for your cooperation, Commander.” He rang the bell again and Juan reappeared.

  “Cap-i-tan?”

  “Juan, ask the Marine sentries to escort Commander Okada back to his quarters, if you please; then send in Ensign Laumer.” He stood and extended his hand to Jenks. For the first time, the Imperial took it without any apparent hesitation. “I don’t believe this will take all that long, actually. Juan will see that you’re comfortable and provide any refreshments you might ask for.”

  “Thank you, Captain. I look forward to our outing.”

  When Juan closed the door behind the three, Matt resumed his seat and took a deep breath.

  “You’re sure this is a good idea, Skipper?” Alden asked.

  “You got me. I don’t know what else we can do. We can only stall the man so long—and his beef is valid. We’ve been playing him for time and he knows it. If we don’t show him why, the ‘incidents’ will only increase—understandably—and sooner or later, any chance we might’ve ever had for an alliance with his Empire will go over the side.” Matt shook his head. “No, it’s time we put our cards on the table. Besides, Her Highness, Becky”—he grinned—“knows everything we’re up to. It’s not fair to ask her to continue keeping secrets from her own people.”

  “Except these political officers, these Company wardens,” Shinya reminded him.

  “Of course.” Rebecca and O’Casey had told them about the Company watchdogs aboard Jenks’s ship, and had described their function in a way that brought the Nazi SS or Gestapo to Matt’s mind. Or maybe the Soviet naval political officers Shinya referred to was a better analogy. Either way, they were sinister and apparently powerful figures, and, given the opinions of O’Casey and the princess, dangerous and subversive as well. Matt had been waiting for some sign that Jenks didn’t necessarily work with them hand in glove before he made his earlier invitation. Rebecca was certain he didn’t, and even O’Casey—who had his own reasons to be wary of Jenks—agreed, but Matt had to be sure. After Jenks’s veiled admission, he thought he was. Of course, Jenks could have suspected their concerns and put on an act. . . . Matt shook his head. He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t like Jenks, but he grudgingly respected him. The few times he’d actually spoken to Commander Billingsly, he’d decided there couldn’t have been more difference between his and Jenks’s character, at least.

  Jenks might be an asshole, but somehow Matt sensed he was an honorable, even gentlemanly asshole. Billingsly was just an asshole, with no class at all. He remained as arrogant and condescend
ing as Jenks had been when they first met, and his open, blatant, almost hostile bigotry toward the Lemurians was offensive and unsettling. If all the Honorable New Britain Company was like Billingsly, Matt’s destroyermen and their allies might have as much to fear from them as they did from the Grik. But Jenks was pure Navy, according to O’Casey, and Matt was very glad that seemed to make a difference. For a number of reasons.

  “Yeah,” Matt resumed, “we’ll have to convince Jenks to keep them in the dark. I think we can, once we show him what we’re up to—and then offer to let him see some of the stuff in action! If he accepts, and I bet he will, maybe we’ll have some time to work on him.” There was a knock at the door.

  “Enter.”

  Juan swept the door open and Ensign Irvin Laumer stepped inside, hat under his arm, and stood at attention. He was towheaded and lanky, but not particularly tall, and he didn’t look quite old enough for the uniform he wore. The seriousness of his expression meant he did have some idea why he was there, however, and Matt felt a tug of uncertainty. From what he’d heard of Laumer, he had high hopes for the boy. The kid had good sense, clearly. He’d been the highest-ranking survivor of S-19’s complement, but he’d allowed the more experienced chief of the boat take de facto command. The decision must have been a tough one, because Laumer didn’t seem the type to defer responsibility. Hopefully that meant, like any good officer, he knew when to take responsibility and when to delegate it. Matt’s main concern now was that maybe Laumer felt he had something to prove.

  Actually, he did, in a way. All of Matt’s senior officers, human and Lemurian, were veterans of fierce fighting now. All but Laumer. If the ensign was ever going to be followed where he led, he did have to prove himself, Matt reflected. He only wished Laumer’s baptism didn’t have to be on such a difficult and potentially important mission. He’d love to send Spanky or Brister, or any of half a dozen others, but he couldn’t. They were just too necessary where they were. The simple, hard fact of the matter was that Laumer was the only one he could spare with the experience and technical expertise.

  “Sir, Ensign Laumer, reporting as ordered!”

  “At ease, Ensign,” Matt replied mildly, and gestured at the stool Jenks had just vacated across the desk. “Please have a seat.” Irvin sat, still rigid, upon the creaky stool. “Coffee?”

  “Uh, no, thank you, sir.”

  Matt waited a moment, staring at the ensign. He decided to get straight to the point. “I want that submarine,” he said simply.

  Irvin Laumer nodded. He’d obviously expected as much. “I’ll get it for you, sir, if it’s the last thing I do.”

  Alden grunted. “Son, that’s the point. We want it, sure, but we don’t want it to be the last thing you do. You or the people you’ll command.”

  Matt glanced at the Marine and nodded. “Exactly. We’ve discussed this at some length and decided your mission will have a hierarchy of agendas. First, of course, you must determine whether she can be salvaged at all. She might not even be there anymore. Remember too, given the nature of some of the creatures on this world—and under its seas—it’s not imperative that we get the submarine back as a submarine, if you get my meaning.”

  Laumer looked troubled, but nodded. “Yes, sir, I think I do.”

  “You must know you do, because that’s the deal. If she’s still there, it’ll be up to you to decide if you can get her off the beach. Don’t fool around too long trying if it’s not practical. If you can, swell. You’ll have fuel, and Spanky, Gilbert, and Flynn all say at least one of her diesels ought to come to life. If you can get her under way, hopefully Saan-Kakja can provide an escort to get you to Manila. After that, bring her here if you can, but that’s not essential either. What is essential is the stuff she’s made of. Decide quickly if you can get her off, because if you can’t, you’ve got to strip her—and I mean strip her! I want her engines, batteries, wiring, screws, gun, bearings, instruments, sonar—hell, I want every bolt you can get out of her; is that understood? Even if you get her all the way back here we might strip her anyway, so that’s the absolute top priority. Like I said—and I can’t stress this enough—we need what she’s made of more than we need her. Her whole, intact carcass would be nice—she’s got as much steel as Walker—but this is strictly a ‘bird in the hand’ operation. Get what you know you can get.”

  Irvin gulped. “I understand, Captain.”

  “Very well. Now.” Matt leaned back in his chair. “We can’t afford to send much with you, but you’ll get what we can spare. You can have five of your submariners if you can get them to volunteer. Concentrate on those with critical engineering and operating skills.”

  “Flynn?” Irvin asked.

  Matt shook his head. “No. Two reasons. First, we need him here. Second, and don’t take this wrong; he assured me he has the utmost respect for you, but . . . to be honest, he’s had enough of subs in these waters.” Matt shrugged. “I already asked him, but . . . well, let’s just say we’ve had a little experience with people who’ve been through too much and pushed too far.” Matt was thinking of his old coxswain Tony Scott. “Sometimes they lose focus and make mistakes,” he added in a quiet tone. “We’ll use Flynn in the shipyard for now, but he’s asked for an infantry regiment, if you can believe that.” To Matt’s surprise, Laumer actually smiled.

  “Yes, sir, I can believe it.”

  Instead of asking the ensign to elaborate, Matt pushed on: “You’ll have two of the prize ships to transport equipment and personnel, and bring back what you can salvage. You won’t command the ships, obviously, but you’ll be in overall command of the expedition.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Laumer said. “Thanks for the opportunity.”

  Matt grimaced. “There may be plenty of ‘opportunity’ to get yourself killed, and I’m ordering you to avoid that. Period. Otherwise, besides those previously mentioned, your orders are to depart Baalkpan aboard the prize USS Simms in company with another prize sloop. . . .” He shook his head. “We’re really going to have to sort that out.”

  The destroyermen, ’Cat and human, found it difficult and confusing to use the old terms for sailing warships. A small faction insisted “sloops” ought to be destroyers and “frigates” should be cruisers. This caused contention among the frigate sailors, who thought they ought to be destroyers and sloops were mere gunboats. God only knew how weird it would get when they had even bigger ships—and seaplane tender /carriers like Big Sal. The fact was, no one of either race wanted to give up the title “destroyerman,” no matter what they served on.

  “Anyway,” Matt continued, “you’ll escort Placca-Mar.” He hoped he said it right. His ’Cat was finally improving, as was his pronunciation. “She’s the Home Saan-Kakja’s returning to the Filpin Lands aboard, along with plans and some of the large machinery we’ve completed. Colonel Shinya and the prisoner will also be aboard. The colonel will be escorting Commander Okada, but his primary mission is to take charge of training Saan-Kakja’s troops in Manila. While you’re with Placca-Mar, you’ll be under Colonel Shinya’s direct command, and if you run into any marauding lizards, his orders will supersede any I’ve given you today. In other words, feel free to disobey the one about avoiding opportunities to get yourself killed, because you will defend Saan-Kakja to the last. Understood?”

  Irvin gulped, but nodded. “Aye-aye, sir.”

  “Barring incident, you’ll depart company with Placca-Mar in the Sibutu Passage, hug the Sulu Archipelago to Mindanao, and proceed to your destination.”

  “What about mountain fish, if we run across any?” Irvin asked hesitantly, and Matt looked at him, scratching the back of his neck.

  “Sparks—I mean Lieutenant Commander Riggs—is working on stuff. So’s Ordnance. I also hope to squeeze some advice out of Jenks, if I can. We’ll do everything possible to make sure you have solid communications as well, but”—he shrugged—“who knows? You might wind up on your own.”

  Irvin knew the entire mission was a test of
sorts, as much for the captain to evaluate him as for him to evaluate himself. He’d missed all the fighting and really had little reason to expect such an opportunity—and an opportunity was how he viewed it. Somehow he’d prevail. He had to.

  “I’ve been on my own before, Captain,” he said at last. “Sort of. Before you took us off Talaud in the first place, we didn’t even know what had happened. Even if we lose communications, I’m confident we’ll manage.”

  Matt looked at him for a long moment, then glanced at the others in the chamber. “I sincerely hope so. I implied earlier that you’re the only man we can spare for this, but remember, the war’s just begun. We can’t spare anyone in the long run.”

  “No, sir.”

  As was customary by midafternoon, the rain had stopped by the time Captain Reddy, General Alden, and Commodore Jenks gathered at the base of the great, scorched Galla tree. As was also customary, the remainder of the day would be humid and oppressive and the clothes worn by the little group had barely begun to dry before perspiration replaced the moisture. Sandra, Keje, and Alan Letts had joined them. Shinya had departed to prepare the troops for “inspection,” and Matt had asked the Bosun not to attend. Chief Gray uncomfortably agreed. His and Jenks’s antagonism toward each other was well-known, and Matt wanted the commodore as comfortable about the tour as possible.

  A two-wheeled cart appeared out of the bustling activity of the city, the driver reining his animal just short of the overhead that protected them from the incessant dripping. The cart itself looked like an oversize rickshaw, complete with gaudy decorations. The beast pulling it had never been seen in Baalkpan before it and a large herd of its cousins arrived from Manila a few weeks before. It looked a little like one of the stunted brontosarries from a distance, although it was smaller and covered with fur. It also had a shorter neck and tail, even if both were proportionately beefier and more muscular. The head was larger too, with short, palmated antlers.