Crusade d-2

by Тейлор Андерсон

«I doubt it hit anything vital, you fat tub of lard!» Harvey snarled back. «Don’t just stand there. Get the hose!»

  Lanier waddled in the direction of the closest hose reel and Donaghey resumed his descent. The initial flash of the conflagration had diminished considerably to a steady blaze in the forward third of the boat. He could hear crackling as the wood began to burn. The heat pushed almost physically against him the lower he went and he wasn’t sure he was just imagining his skin beginning to blister.

  «Hurry up!» he shouted, unsure if the cook even heard him as he gasped for breath in the acrid smoke. Below him, one rung down, he could see through his slitted, watery eyes that a rope had been tied to the ship. With one hand, he reached into his shirt and retrieved a long-bladed folding knife that always hung around his neck on a braided cord. Called a sausage knife, it had a long, skinny blade that was useful for a variety of things. He opened it with his teeth and leaned down to cut the rope that had already started to burn. He was certain he was blistering now and he cried out in pain. He smelled the hair on his arm begin to singe, mingling with the stench of the smoke. He sawed at the rope like a madman. Suddenly, unexpectedly, it parted under his blade and he would have dropped it in the water but for the cord.

  The ship’s bell began ringing frantically in the dark, followed moments later by the general alarm. Harvey scrambled back up the side of the ship a few rungs to escape the worst of the heat and looked down at the boat. Slowly, lazily, it drifted with the current. Amid the flames he clearly saw the ruddy shape of the bronze cannon barrel as the fire grew around it. From above he heard shouts and curses and a gurgling stream of seawater trickled on the boat. Other hands had joined or taken over for Lanier and they were finally getting water on the fire. It would still take a while for the pressure to build, one trailing alongside. Crouching on his knees, and with his hat pulled down low to protect his eyes, he laboriously managed to turn the boat. With a growing sense of urgency that bordered on panic, he rowed as fast as he could. He heard the yells of the men on deck — quite a few now, by the racket they were making — screaming at him to stop, come back, don’t be a fool — but there was no choice. He had no choice.

  All he knew, as the flesh on his face and hands began to sear and his vision became a red, shimmering fog, was that he had to row. Nothing else in the entire world mattered anymore except for getting that crazy, stupid bomb the hell away from his ship.

  He made it almost forty yards.

  Captain Reddy paced the deck beside the number two torpedo mount, back and forth, his hands clenched behind his back. Occasionally he ventured near the smoke-blackened rail and stared at the water below. The angry red horizon that preceded the dawn was a singularly appropriate backdrop to the white-hot rage that burned within him. A quiet circle of destroyermen, human and Lemurian, watched him pace, and Sandra and Bradford were nearby as well, conversing in subdued tones.

  On deck, trussed up like hogs, were two Aryaalans. Dennis Silva towered over them with a pistol in his hand and Earl Lanier, shirt off and with a wide bandage encircling his midsection, menaced the prisoners with his fishing pole.

  Harvey Donaghey had hit one of them with a lucky shot from his pistol, causing the ’Cat to lose his oar and slowing their escape. By the time the cannon exploded, the saboteurs were far enough away that they weren’t directly injured, but they were so startled by the blast that they dropped the other oar over the side. Thus they were quickly discovered by the vengeful whaleboat, wallowing helplessly back toward their intended victim with the tide. By then, the one Donaghey had shot was dead. Garrett commanded the whaleboat and it was all he could do to bring the others back alive. Even so, their capture hadn’t been gentle and the Aryaalans watched Matt pace through puffy, swollen eyes, nervously licking their split, bloody lips.

  Mank-Lar had told him everything. Why not? It had been an exploit of warriors and had been commanded by his king. It was the way of things. His dishonor was not what he tried to do, but that he had failed. Rasik-Alcas might kill them for that, but even the sea folk would understand they were bound to obey their king. wouldn’t they? Mank-Lar vaguely understood that the tail-less sea folk might consider it dishonorable that King Alcas had ordered the attack in the first place, particularly since they were not at war. But that was between them and the king, was it not? He himself was just a tool, and it was pointless to deny his role. Regardless, he couldn’t escape a growing concern as he watched the brooding leader of his king’s enemy.

  Larry Dowden approached his captain with care. He’d seen him this way — this intense — only once before, when Walker and Mahan made their suicidal charge against Amagi, so long ago now. It had worked, somehow, but it had also been a reckless moment and he wondered if the captain was on the verge of another one now. He opened his mouth, but hesitated, daunted by the working jaw and the icy green braziers gazing back.

  «Captain,» he said quietly, «Radioman Clancy says the radio’s up.

  Lieutenant Mallory requests permissiaid you wanted to begin installing the screw this morning?» Dowden prompted gently. Matt only glanced around for a moment, as if surprised the task wasn’t already under way. For the first time he noticed that almost the entire crew was present, grim-faced and angry.

  «Right. I guess the men are a little distracted. Have Spanky and the Bosun light a fire under those repair parties.» Several of the men held his gaze as it passed across them. «They have their own duties to perform today,» he said in a voice that matched his eyes. «I’ll take care of this one.»

  «What should we do with these two, Skipper?» Silva asked, nudging Mank-Lar hard with his shoe. Matt shrugged.

  «Don’t even need to try them. They’ve admitted they’re enemy saboteurs under orders of their king. But they’re without uniforms or even the courtesy of a declaration of war. Hang them.»

  «I want that little son of a bitch dead!» Matt said in a calm but eerily forceful tone. The gathering was almost identical to the one the night before, only this time it was convened directly behind the massed block of the Second Marines, flanked by Rolak’s expatriate Aryaalans and Queen Maraan’s Six Hundred. Another entire regiment of B’mbaadan infantry was added as well. Thirty heavily armed destroyermen — not all human — were in the center, anxious to spearhead the assault with fire. The Orphan Queen stood beside Matt, her eyes gleaming with a feral, joyful light.

  «It could break the alliance!» Adar pleaded. «Think of the greater threat!» Sandra stood beside the Lemurian Sky Priest and nodded her agreement, but she seemed deeply troubled.

  «Why? I haven’t asked any of the Homes or Guard regiments from Baalkpan to contribute to the attack.» He wore an ironic expression. «I notice none have offered, either, but if they don’t want to be in the assault, that’s fine.»

  «What about the Marines? They are drawn from all our people.»

  Matt looked coldly at Adar. «The Marines are mine. They’re all volunteers and they’ve volunteered for this. I ordered Chack to make sure.»

  «That still does not give you the right to throw them away on this. sideshow!»

  Matt’s mounting fury exploded. «I’m not throwing them away! I’m using them for what they’re for! We’ve been attacked! Suddenly and deliberately and by stealth! Believe me, my people have recent experience with that sort of thing!» His gaze lashed Keje. «We’ve been attacked!» he repeated. «And I lost a damn good man who died to save my ship. I thought you said it was ‘different’ if we were attacked? How is it different? I can’t tell yet. I assumed it meant that then you might bring yourselves to fight others of your kind. Is that it? Or is it only different if you are attacked? You’ll personally defend yourselves if you’re personally attacked? Where would you be today if Walker behaved like that?»

  Keje met his gaze, but then looked at Adar and blinked furiously with shame and frustration. Matt continued, his voice angry and sarcastic. «Ever since we met, Walker has stood up for you and your people, and she’s lost a lot of good men
— some to save that damn city I’m about to. lose more good men going into! But now, when it comes time to stand up for Walker, she’s not ‘one of you,’ is she? You almost had me fooled. I was ready to leave Rolak’s people to fend for themselves — even after they risked everything to come to our aid. We may have helped them first, but at least they know what gratitude is. Still, I was ready to leave them. Now I know there’s no way we can leave them here with that madmat+ yo

  «Naw, I fudged the headings you gave me.» Ben frowned. «Captain said to check these little islands real careful. He figures if the storm drove Revenge aground, that’s where she’ll be.»

  «What a mess,» Ed murmured, looking first at the distant islands and then the chart. «No way she’d have squirmed through, that’s for sure.»

  «Yeah, well,» hedged Mallory uncomfortably, «maybe she did. Or maybe she’s fine and Rick’s still chasing lizards like he was Drake and they were Spaniards.»

  «Who’s Drake?» Ed asked.

  «Never mind. British guy.»

  Tikker leaned forward and squinted until his eyes were tiny slits. «Let me see chart, please,» he said, and Ed handed it over. Tikker studied it carefully for a long time and squinted out the windscreen once more. «Very strange,» he said and shook his head. «Usually you charts are so good.»

  «What? Why?»

  «I see white islands where chart says should only be water.»

  Mallory took off his sunglasses and squinted as well. «I don’t see anything.»

  «You push pedals, I look for ship,» Tikker said smugly and resumed his study of the horizon. Ed left them and went to the engineer’s compartment. One of the few things they’d discovered that still worked in the half-sunken plane when they found it was a thermos. It had been empty at the time, floating in the sandy brown water in the fuselage. Ed rescued it and had used it ever since. The initials «EP» were lightly scratched in the thick aluminum and he was struck by the coincidence since they were the same as his. He often wondered what had become of the original owner. He picked it up and poked his head into the waist gunner’s compartment to make sure the other two spotters weren’t goofing off. Then he carefully poured a cup of joe into a tin mug and eased his way forward against the jostling motion of the plane.

  «Coffee,» he announced, slowly extending the cup into Mallory’s line of sight.

  Ben shook his head. «Can’t right now. I need both hands. Thanks, though.» Ed only shrugged and took a gentle sip himself. Tikker looked at him and wrinkled his nose. Not very many Lemurians liked real coffee, much less the local brew. Like real coffee, it had a stimulating effect and that’s what they used it for: medicine. Not because they liked the taste. The big island was growing larger and many of the smaller ones were easy to distinguish now. Tikker suddenly remembered the binoculars around his neck. He thought they were the neatest things in the world — next to the airplane, of course — but much as he loved them, their technology was still so unfamiliar that he often forgot he had them on. Somewhat embarrassed, he raised them now and adjusted the objective knob. Then he stiffened, and it seemed to Ben every sable hair on his body stood on end.

  «What? What do you see?» For a long moment, Tikker couldn’t speak. «What is it?» Ben demanded. His copilot’s body language had sent a chill of concern down his spine.

  «It is not islands where they do not belong,» he finally managed. «It is sails. Grik sails.»

  «Here, give me those,» Ben said, taking the binoculars from Tikker’s neck. He tried to hold the wheel and the glasses steady at the same time, but found it impossible. He glanced at Tikker, who seemed immolently, «walking» around and sloshing its contents. He raised the glasses to his eyes.

  «God a’mighty,» he whispered. The entire horizon, from the islands of Pulau Belitung to the distant hint of a smudge that was western Borneo, was dotted with hundreds of dingy pyramid shapes. The water below was still a little foamy and the whitecaps had turned the normally warm, dark blue sea a kind of dirty turquoise, but the hint of red from the enemy hulls made them stand out quite clearly. «God a’mighty,» he repeated, a little louder this time and with an edge of panic in his voice.

  The intercom crackled and an excited voice reached them from one of the observation blisters. «Ship! Ship! I see ship! Right below! Wake up, you in front! You not see ship?»

  Revenge had been through hell. As soon as the size of the storm became apparent, Rick Tolson and Kas-Ra-Ar knew their only hope was to beat north as far as they could and gain as much sea room as possible before the seas grew too large to do anything but run before them. With grim satisfaction, they’d pounded the lone Grik ship with a pair of broadsides as it drew near. Then, leaving the enemy trailing a shattered mainmast and at the mercy of the coming blow, Revenge went about. The wind drove out of the west-northwest at first, and the ship shouldered her way through the growing swells far into the Natuna Sea.

  For thn one piece she’s fast, well built — thank God! — and weatherly.» Glancing past Kas at one of the many work gangs diligently at their labors, he added, «And she’s got the best damn crew any ship like her ever had in this messed-up world. A destroyerman couldn’t ask for much more.» He paused. «Engines would be nice, but then she wouldn’t need her sails and that’s part of her charm.»

  He became serious again. «But that’s not what you asked.» He sighed. «Yeah, the war’s to blame. Those fishermen on the feluccas, they wouldn’t have been here if not for the war. They’d have been catching flashies and feeding their families instead of fighting for their lives in a storm they couldn’t beat. That’s the war’s fault, not ours. And before you think that if we weren’t fighting the war there wouldn’t be one, try to remember why we fight. It’s fight or die and that’s not much of a choice. You might die if you fight, but you will die if you don’t. If you look at it like that, the War isn’t an excuse but a blessing. A chance for survival.» Rick grew silent and thoughtful for a moment.

  «You know, now that I think about it, it is different here. What I said before is all a bunch of crap. We can shake our heads and say, ‘It’s war,’ because it’s easy and it’s what my people are used to. At home, it might even be true sometimes. The war we left behind might’ve been different, but who’s to say? The Nazis and the Japs were very bad, but most of the time it’s not that black and white. Here? It’s the lizards. Period. They’re the ones to blame. ‘The War’ is what we’re doing to stop the lizards and when you think of it like that, it makes a good explanation.» Rick yawned hugely and then smiled at his friend.

  «I’m tired, and I may not be making a lot of sense, but whatever else I said, I guess what I mean is, if we lost the feluccas, they didn’t die for nothing. They were helping fight the War, and in maybe this one and only instance, war is good.»

  Kas grinned again. «Before the storm came, you certainly seemed to be enjoying it.»

  Rick grinned back at him. «Well, when something needs doing, it always helps to be good at doing it, and we were so, so good»

  Kas suddenly tilted his head as if listening intently. Rick heard it too. Within minutes, the entire crew of Revenge was jumping up and down and pointing gleefully at the sky as the small dark shape of the PBY grew larger and began a rapid spiraling descent. Soon it was skipping tentatively across the tops of the choppy waves until it splashed to a rather abrupt halt some distance ahead of the ship.

  Ordinarily, Revenge would heave to and lower a boat. They were going to have to think of something else this time, since all the ship’s boats had been either lost or badly damaged. This must’ve become apparent to the flying boat’s crew, because as Revenge drew near, a small rubber raft appeared in the water under the plane’s left wing. Almost as soon as it did, however, it began to deflate.

  «Damn flashies,» Rick muttered, realizing the fish must have torn the raft apart. «I wonder what now?»

  Eventually a man and a Lemurian appeared out of the top of the pilot’s compartment and climbed up onto the wing. Slowly,
they made their way to the end and crouched there waiting above the float.

  «Dangerous,» Kas observed.

  Rick nodded and called to the helmsman. «Easy there! Don’t so much as scratch that plane. Captain Reddy would never forgive us!»

  Slowly, Revenge wallowed up to the plane. When she was just a few fingtip, Tikker leaped lightly across. Ed Palmer followed close behind, but with less self-assurance. Waiting hands grabbed him and kept him from falling backward into the water, and his face was drained of color as he stuck out his hand to Rick.

  «Man, are you ever a sight for sore eyes!» Rick said happily as he grasped it. Ed returned the greeting with a small, sickly smile of his own, but he seemed distracted. He was looking around at the ship. In spite of rols throughout, cursing and maneuvering the plane against the swells as best he could. When the six were safely transferred, the Revenge crew who’d assisted with the operation all scampered back aboard their ship to await the oncoming horde. Even Gandy Bowles, whom Rick practically ordered to leave, elected to remain behind. Ed crawled out to the wingtip once more and Rick Tolson met him just a few feet away with a leather-bound book in his hand. He had to shout to be heard over the engines as the PBY cruised alongside.

  «Here’s my log. Give it to Captain Reddy! It’s a damned exciting read, if I say so myself!»

  Ed grabbed his hat before the wind took it over the side. His eyes were stinging. From the salt spray, he told himself. «I’ll give it to him,» he managed to reply.

  «Kas wrote something in there for Keje. They’re cousins, you know.» Ed nodded. Rick spared a glance to the north. The mass of enemy ships was close enough now that individual forms could be seen upon them. Their garish banners fluttered ominously in the stiff west wind. In the distance, still beyond the horizon, a dark smudge of smoke was vaguely visible. Maybe one of the damn things has caught fire, Ed hoped bitterly. They’d cut it as close as they dared.

  «Tell Captain Reddy. thanks,» continued Rick, handing the book across. «Thanks for the opportunity. It’s been a blast. I always knew I was a pirate at heart!» White teeth shone in his tanned, bearded face. «Now get the hell out of here, Signalman Palmer!»