«Where’d he go?» questioned Ben.
«Straight out, away. Direction. nine. nine clocks?»
«You get that, Ed? I think it’s working. Keep your eyes peeled.»
«I got it.» Palmer strained his eyes through the cloudy Plexiglas. The plane and all its components had been through so much, looking for a plane through the turret was like looking for a minnow in four feet of murky water.
In any event, it took much longer than any of them expected for the Dave to get around in front of them. Maybe it was being careful, or maybe it truly was damaged and had lost some speed. Whatever the reason, when Ed first saw the enemy plane, it was already closer than they’d hoped to spot it, but it was doing exactly what they’d expected: going for the PBY’s remaining engine from the front.
«There he is,» Ed announced, more calmly than he felt. «I can’t judge distance through this crummy glass, though. You’re going to have to tell me when he’s in range.»
«Uh, he’s already shooting at us, so whenever you’re ready.»
«Have you seen this can of ammo down here?» he demanded hotly. «This one can of ammo? I need him closer!» A few bullets began to strike the plane.
«He’s getting closer!»
«Just a few more seconds!» Ed could see the plane clearly now. If it was damaged aft, he couldn’t tell, but it was coming straight in, yellow flashing from its single forward firing machine gun. More bullets were hitting the PBY and Ben’s voice grew more insistent. Even Tikker’s voice rose in an indignant shriek. Ed paid no attention — even when one bullet grazed the curved Plexiglas mere inches in front of his face. He was concentrating on the sights. They were crude and pretty much limited to known ranges, but he aimed carefully at the steady target of the biplane’s round engine, raised the sights a little, and started to fire. He wasn’t using short bursts like he ought to have; he was trying to hose out a solid wall of lead that the seemingly flimsy biplane couldn’t survive. Evidently, by the sounds of impact, that’s what the enemy hoped as well.
Finally, exultantly, he saw a flash and a gout of smoke erupt from the Dave’s engine, and the plane seemed to wobble as if the pilot was struggling for control. Ed let out a whoop, but an instan secondaries or fragments. Beyond the fortifications, Matt saw little change to the city he’d come to think of almost as home, but the fortifications themselves made a profound difference.
In the distance, tied to the old fitting-out pier, was Mahan. A wisp of smoke coiled from her number one stack and she seemed to be nearly half covered by Chief Gray’s new light gray paint scheme. Matt knew Jim wouldn’t be goofing around with paint if a lot of his ship’s other issues hadn’t already been resolved.
By contrast, if the city and its surroundings looked different now than they had when Walker led the Allied Expeditionary Force to raise the siege of Aryaal, the destroyer had changed just as much. Gone was her own dazzling light gray paint. Instead, the elderly ship was almost a uniform orange color, with heavy, darker streaks down her sides. Harsh red rust shone through the smoke-blackened sections, and the large numbers, 163, that had stood so tall and proud at her bow were nearly obliterated. Clusters of splinter wounds and a few larger holes were visible in her flanks, and streams of water coursed over the side as beleaguered pumps struggled to force it out of the overloaded, battered hull. Alone she would have been a dismal, dispiriting sight, but the hundreds of hollow-eyed, bedraggled Lemurians packing her top-heavy deck gave testimony to the greater tragedy.
Because of her arrival, even with all the preparations under way, thousands of people were on hand to witness her slow approach to the dock. The contents of the radio message detailing the events of the night had rapidly spread. There was no reason to conceal the fact that Nerracca and most of the people aboard her were lost. It would have been a greater shock to the morale of the defenders if they’d known nothing until Walker came in alone. The one thing that mitigated against total despair was the obvious fact that Walker had put up a hell of a fight and had saved as many as she could. So strong was the Lemurian faith in the old destroyer’s power, they felt sure if Walker looked this bad, surely Amagi was in much worse condition — if she had in fact survived. Most of them couldn’t conceive of the difference between the two ships’ relative size and power, and Walker’s daring, vengeful counterattack had been duly reported as well. It was still a somber crowd that waited to greet the survivors.
Finally, a sharp, congratulatory toot! toot! and a cloud of steam issued from Mahan’s repaired whistle and the trancelike immobility of the crowd was broken. Dockworkers shouldered their way through and positioned themselves to catch lines thrown by destroyermen on the ship. Up close, Walker looked even worse and the smoke and steam that rose from her aft stacks resembled nothing so much as an exhausted gasp. Gangplanks were rigged and the stunned survivors began to disembark. Some were met by family or acquaintances who had already arrived on Humfra-Dar. Big Sal was in the bay but hadn’t yet reached the dock. No one aboard her would have any idea what had taken place. Walker flew only a cryptic signal as she churned past her lumbering old friend. «Glad to see you. Must off-load passengers before we sink.»
Most of the survivors weren’t met by anyone. They just wandered around in small, confused groups as though in a daze. Most were females or younglings who’d lost everything they ever knew. They’d suffered the trauma of leaving their homes and had nearly been killed at sea. Many of their loved ones were dead. Now they were cast on the shores of an unknown, alien land. Fortunately, someone in a position of authority had their wits about them, and squads of way. At the urging of officers, the crowd began to disperse and return to their now even more insistent chores. When a lane was cleared, the wounded were carried ashore. There were quite a few.
Matt watched from the port bridgewing while Sandra supervised below. Beside her still was Queen Maraan, giving support and encouragement to the injured — no matter where they were from. Matt’s admiration for the Orphan Queen had grown even greater than before. He knew she was a strong and respected leader to the people of B’mbaado, but she’d also shown herself to be wise and compassionate to her former Aryaalan enemies and strangers as well. He was certain she’d be a major unifying figure and a force to be reckoned with in the events that were to come. Beside him stood Chack, watching as well. The young Lemurian was tired but surprisingly alert after spending virtually the entire night in the crow’s nest. Matt nodded toward the queen.
«Go give them a hand if you want,» he said with a small smile. «Or you can hit the rack. It’s your choice.»
«If it makes no difference to you, Cap-i-taan, I will help the ladies.» He grinned.
«That’s fine, but be back aboard by the first watch. We’ve got a hell of a mess and the Chief’s going to need your help. Try to get some sleep between now and then. It’s going to be a busy night.»
«Aye, aye, Cap-i-taan.» Chack saluted him and bailed down the ladder. Matt shook his head. Very carefully, he tried to stretch. Not long before they opened Baalkpan Bay, he’d finally convinced Sandra to remove the rigid strapping that held his arm immobilized. He felt no pain at all from his ribs and the wound through his shoulder had healed remarkably well. That seemed to be the case with every patient treated with the infection-fighting goo. Sandra knew where it came from now — fermented polta fruit that was further processed in some seemingly mystical way — but she still didn’t know what made it work and she yearned for a microscope to study it with. Matt didn’t care what the stuff was so long as it worked and he was eager to get his considerably atrophied arm back in service. He stretched a little farther, tensing the muscles, and tried to raise the arm from his side. Salvos of pain shot in all directions, and with a wince he let the arm drop. The pain lingered, throbbing with heat, but as it began to subside, he tried again.
«Ahh!»
Deciding to delay his therapy a little longer, he looked back down at the dock. A procession of Guardsmen dressed in the colors of Nakja-Mur’s cla
n had arrived and Nakja-Mur himself was ascending the gangway with Alan Letts and Jim Ellis. Despite the mess and the chaos on deck, Chief Gray managed to assemble a side party to receive them and the sound of his bosun’s pipe twittered from below. A few moments later, the two men and the rotund Lemurian leader were admitted to the bridge. Out in the open air, salutes were exchanged and Jim and Alan extended their hands in heartfelt relief. To Matt’s surprise, Nakja-Mur enveloped him in a crushing embrace.
«Ah!» Matt said again, clenching his eyes shut.
«I am so glad you and your ship did not die!» the High Chief exclaimed in much improved English. He was oblivious to the pain he’d accidentally caused.
«Me too,» Matt agreed, once he could trust his voice. «Nerracca wasn’t so lucky.»
Nakja-Mur nodded grimly. «A terrible thing. I am deeply grieved and angered by its loss. As I am for Revenge.» Matt remembered that almost the entire crew of Revenge had come from Baalkpan.
«Revenge died wchine, the damn Japs got my spice locker! The last black pepper in the whole wide world’s just. gone! Sneakiest stunt they’ve pulled since Pearl Harbor!» Lanier’s tone began to return to normal as he seethed. «Bastards!»
Tabby was surprised by the cook’s priorities, but Isak and Gilbert both nodded solemnly. «It’s a hell of a thing,» Isak agreed. «How’s your gut feelin’, Earl?» Lanier glared up at him.
«None of your goddamn business, snipe!» He straightened up on the stool as best he could and pulled his shirt closed over his grimy bandage. «Now you’ve stolen the best sammiches I had left, why don’t you quit goofin’ off and get back to work! I can’t fix the whole ship by myself!»
They crossed the deck and ducked under the bridge beside the radio shack. Clancy was inside with the hatch open. His earphones were on his head and he nodded as they passed. Who knew what he was listening for. Going through the hatchway that led onto the foredeck, they emerged into sunlight again. Finally they’d found a place that hadn’t been damaged the night before — beyond a few dents and scratches from shell fragments — and so, for now at least, it was probably the quietest place on the ship. They crawled up under the splinter shield of the number one gun and stretched out in the sparse shade beneath it.
«Laan-yeer is a strange man,» Tabby observed at length. «He think whole ship — just so he have galley.»
«Yeah,» Isak agreed from beneath his right arm, which rested across his eyes. «But we’re sort of the same way, I guess. Nothin’ really matters except our boilers. Spanky has it tough. He has to worry about the boilers and the engines. Other stuff too. Chief Gray’s like that with the topsides. But that’s just the way it is. Everybody has a particular part of the ship that it’s their job to take care of. Nobody could do it all.»
«Except the cap-i-taan,» Tabby said thoughtfully. «He have to worry about everything. Not just all ship, but everything.»
They lay quietly for a moment, listening to the racket from aft.
«Yeah,» Yager breathed at last. «I sure wouldn’t want his job.»
MAELSTROM
Coming from Roc in February 2009
There was a new rumbling sound below, but it went unnoticed by the eight-year-old girl swaying in the sailcloth hammock. Her slumber was already filled with the incessant rumbling and groaning of the working hull and the endless, hissing blows of the pounding sea. Then came another rumble and another, each more insistent than the last. Still she didn’t stir from her dream. In it, she’d been swallowed by a leviathan, just as she’d dreaded since before the strange voyage ever began. Every night, as soon as the lids closed over her large, jade-colored eyes, the same terrible dream came again. She was in the very bowels of the leviathan and the rumbling, hissing roar was the sound of its belly digesting the ship. The voices came — there were always voices — excited, urgent. Voices in a tone entirely appropriate. Of course there would be dreadful voices in a dreadful dream. She knew what would happen next.
She was facedown on the thundering deck and only her tangled bedding protected her delicate nose from the fall. Her eyes were instan feet.
«We must put her in a boat this instant!» he cried. His voice had returned to what was surely a more normal growl.
«My thanks, good sir,» Kearley replied. «I appreciate your assistance.» The man spared him an incredulous glance. Now that he recognized the girl, there was no question he would die to save her.
The girl was oblivious to the exchange. Around her in the darkness there was no longer any doubt: her terrible dream had come to life. Helpless canvas flailed and snapped and the once fascinating scientific intricacy of the rigging was a hopeless mare’s nest of tangled lines. A constant, deadly hail of blocks and debris fell from above. Beyond her immediate surroundings, she dimly saw the bow, twisting and bent, jackknifing ever upward until the bowsprit pointed at the sky. The fragile paddle wheels on either side, amidships, resembled twisted flowers, shorn of their petals. Steam and smoke jetted from the funnel. In the center of this catastrophe, the deadly sea coursed into the ship.
Then, past the bow, coal dark against the starry horizon, she saw a monstrous form. It was clearly the great leviathan that had destroyed the ship — possibly entirely by accident. It may have simply risen from the depths, unknowing and unconcerned, to inhale a cavernous lungful of air. Perhaps only then did it discover the water bug on its back. No matter, it noticed it now. Even as the girl watched with unspeakable dread, the island-sized creature completed its leisurely turn and came back to inspect the wounded morsel in its wake. The big man saw it too.
«Into a boat!» he bellowed, carrying her to the larboard rail, where a dozen men frantically tore at the quarter-boat tackle. «Make way, damn ye! Can ye not see who I bear?» A wide-eyed young officer motioned them through the gathering throng that regarded the boat with frantic, greedy eyes.
«Are you a sailor?» the officer demanded of the big man. «You are not one of the crew.»
«I was a sailor once,» he admitted. «And a soldier. I’m a shipwright now, bound for the yard at the company factory.»
The officer considered. «Right. Take her aboard under your protection. As soon as you launch, you must hold the boat close so we may put more people aboard.» He cast an appraising glance. «You do look strong enough.»
Before the girl could form a protest, she was hoisted over the rail by the man’s powerful arms and deposited in the boat. Quick as a goat, he followed her and turned to accept the bundles hastily passed to him. A sailor jumped aboard too, encumbered by a double armful of muskets, which he quickly stowed. The girl found her voice.
«Master Kearley!» she wailed. «Master Kearley, you must come too!»
«I will, my dear,» came a muted cry beyond the desperate mass.
«Lower away!»
The boat dropped swiftly to the water and struck with a resounding smack.
«Fend off, you lubbers!» came the cry from above. «Hold her steady, now! I will send them down two at a time on the falls!» The big man looped a rope around his powerful forearm and pulled with all his might while the seaman pushed against the hull with an oar.
«Let ’em come!»
The girl gave voice to such a sudden, piercing, gut-wrenching shriek of terror that for an instant, in spite of their own fear, everyone froze to look. A massive
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Crusade d-2 Page 22