“Uh, Captain Tolson,” Palmer said hesitantly, using the honorary but still appropriate title for the commander of any ship. “Can you make this thing go any faster?”
Rick Tolson was taken aback by the abrupt question. “Why?”
“Lizards. Coming this way!”
Rick quickly glanced around. Yeah, she was hammered, but with her guns, she still ought to be able to hold off a couple of enemy ships at once, if she had to.
“No, but we ought to be okay. Guns’ll keep them off us.” He looked at Kas, smiling. “Oh, well, back to ‘the War.’ And you wanted to throw the guns over the side when we started taking water!” he said. Kas began to reply but Palmer interrupted.
“No, damn it!” he said harshly. “You don’t understand!”
They stood at the taffrail, staring aft while the horizon filled with enemy sails.
“Does Captain Reddy know about this?”
“I don’t know,” Ed confessed. “We’ve been transmitting, but we’re pretty far and the atmospherics are lousy.”
“How many can fit in the plane?” Rick asked quietly.
“Uh, maybe twenty or thirty of the little guys. Hell, they don’t weigh much. The trick’ll be finding a place to cram them all,” Ed replied.
“They weigh more than you think. They’re all muscle.” Rick shook his head. “If you flew due east, you could set them on Borneo. With weapons, many would survive the predators and they could easily evade the lizards if they went ashore looking for them. Three-hour round-trip to get back and pick up another load . . .” He sighed. “Not enough time. I’ll get you twenty. I don’t know how, draw lots or something, and you get them the hell out.”
“Twenty besides you and Gandy Bowles? I’ll ask Lieutenant Mallory if we can haul that many.”
“No,” Rick said. “Gandy should leave, but I’m not going anywhere. If we can’t all get out, then I stay. It’s my ship!”
Ed’s mouth dropped open and he just stared. He couldn’t help it. “Yeah, but, Captain—Rick—there’s two hundred ships over there, maybe more! I like cat-monkeys a lot, don’t get me wrong. I think they’re swell, but we need you! There’s only about a hundred and thirty humans in the whole wide world, as far as we know!”
Rick smiled. “C’mon, Ed. There’s more of us somewhere, even if it’s just where we came from.” He turned and looked upon the wide-eyed, blinking, but otherwise expressionless faces that stared back at him. The faces of his crew. “Revenge needs me more.”
Six members of Revenge’s crew, those most seriously injured in the storm, were carefully swayed over onto the PBY’s wing and gently stowed inside. Mallory remained at the controls 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!”
Ed nodded again, and standing as straight as he dared on the swooping wing, he braced to attention and threw Rick Tolson the best salute he knew how. With that, he turned and made his way carefully back to the space between the engines. Mallory throttled back so as not to blow him into the sea, and Palmer dropped down into the pilot’s compartment and disappeared.
Calmly, Captain Tolson, commander of Revenge, turned to Kas-Ra-Ar. “Clear for action!” he said, the grin still on his face. “Boy, I get such a kick out of saying that!”
“That’s it? Six?” Mallory demanded. Ed nodded without a word. “Shit!” shouted Ben in frustration. “Now I know what the captain meant when he asked me what I’d do!” Ed had no idea what he was talking about, but given the context of the situation, he could make a pretty good guess. “All right,” Mallory said at last. “Strap in. As soon as we’re airborne, try to raise Walker again. You have ten minutes. Then I want you on the nose gun. Tell those ’Cats in the waist to get ready too.” He fiddled with the throttles as he turned the plane into the wind. “Maybe if we strafe ’em a few times we’ll scare ’em off,” he added doubtfully.
The engines roared and the hull pounded and thundered beneath their feet as the plane tried to increase speed, but instead it just seemed to wallow through the choppy swells.
“C’mon! C’mon!” Mallory shouted, and slammed the throttles to their stops.
“What’s the matter?” Palmer shouted from behind him. Tikker sat, perfectly still, both eyes clenched shut.
“Oh, ah, nothing, Ed. It’s just a little rougher than I’m used to!” His voice was vibrating sympathetically with the airplane.
“I’m gonna be sick!” Palmer moaned when the plane pitched nose-first into a larger wave that seemed to arrest all forward motion. “Air-sick and seasick all at once!”
Surprisingly, particularly after the sensation of slowing down, the Catalina suddenly clawed its way out of the water. It clipped the top of another big wave with a resounding boom and a cascade of spray, and then slowly, laboriously, lumbered into the sky.
“Yes!”
At five hundred feet Mallory banked and began a slow turn back toward the crippled ship. The enemy was alarmingly close. Beyond the shock he felt at the sheer number of the things, Ben couldn’t imagine how they’d gotten here so quickly. Before the storm, there’d been no evidence such a force even existed—much less was planning to advance. It must have come from somewhere else, close on the heels of the storm, using the very fury of its trailing edge to make them fly. But why now? What was the rush? Ben was certain it was a response to the defeat they’d been handed at Aryaal, but how in blue blazes had the word spread so fast? And how could the enemy have possibly gathered so many ships so quickly? One thing was certain, though; the allied invasion of Singapore was off.
“Get on the horn! We have to tell Captain Reddy!” he cried.
“Maybe that’s a little more important than shooting up a few of them?” Ed suggested.
“Sure. But it won’t hurt if we do. They don’t have anything that can reach us this high, do they?”
“You’re asking me? Hell, we’re just scouts! We haven’t even seen a real battle yet.”
“We’re about to,” Ben muttered. The enemy ships appeared to be making at least eight knots, while Revenge was barely making three. Mallory orbited the Catalina above her for several more minutes while Palmer tried to contact the destroyer. The Grik would be in range of Revenge’s guns very soon.
“What’s the scoop, Ed?”
“I don’t know. I think we’re transmitting, I don’t see why not, but there’s a hell of a lot of noise. Probably just out of range.” He grunted. “They might be hearing us,” he added lamely.
“There’s smoke,” Tikker said, speaking softly for the first time in a while and pointing at the horizon. “Black smoke. It looks like it’s coming from a b
lack island, like a—how you say? Vol-caanno?”
“Volcano,” Ben agreed absently. “No shortage of those hereabouts.” He continued to crane his neck and stare intently at the drama unfolding below. Never had he felt so helpless, so utterly useless. It was like some horrible nightmare, to stand impotently by while others needed him so desperately and there was absolutely nothing he could do.
Revenge began her fight. Even as he watched, the whole side of the friendly ship disappeared behind a cloud of white smoke. Twelve-pound shot from ten guns shivered the sails of one of the approaching ships, and pieces of debris splashed into the sea around it. It was exhilarating and it felt good to see, but in the face of the descending avalanche, it was nothing. “Give ’em hell, Rick,” he whispered. “All right, Ed, get in the nose!” He pressed his microphone. “Waist gunners, I know you haven’t had much practice, but you know how to operate your guns. They’re packed so tight down there you can’t hardly miss, but try to concentrate on killing Grik. You can’t do enough damage to enough ships to make a difference. Remember, short, controlled bursts. We might be able to make ammo again someday, but machine-gun barrels are gonna take a while. Hang on!”
He banked sharply toward the advancing line and the massive flying-boat thundered over, just three hundred feet above their masts.
“Commence firing!” he shouted. “Just the ones closest to Revenge! Damn, what I’d give for a couple of bombs right now!” His last comment was drowned by the staccato bursts of one .30- and two .50-caliber machine guns. The firing in the waist was accompanied by high-pitched squeals of delight. The airframe vibrated more than usual with the recoil of the guns and Ben continued his tight-banking turn to keep his indicated targets in range. Geysers of water marched from ship to ship and then disappeared when the bullets struck wood. Tightly packed Grik warriors were slaughtered in droves.
“Let ’em have it!” Ben screamed. Revenge vanished behind another cloud of smoke and this time the foremast of one of the closest ships tottered into the sea. Dragged around by the trailing debris, the ship veered sharply to port and speared into another Grik ship sailing directly alongside. Others slammed into the entangled wrecks from behind and it looked to Ben like a giant chain-reaction pileup on the highway.
“Hell, yes! Outstanding!” he shouted as still more ships added to the catastrophe.
“What are those ones doing?” Tikker asked, pointing. Ben looked. Several ships had broken from the pack and were trying to cut Revenge off. If they crossed her bow, the ship’s guns wouldn’t bear and they’d be free to grapple. Once that happened, it would be all over but the dying.
“New targets!” yelled Ben. “Engage the ships out front! One of them looks different . . . bigger! And the hull’s white and gold—not red. I bet it’s special somehow. Give it an extra dose!” The nose gun and the port .50 stitched the sea around the unusual ship. Splinters and debris erupted and bodies fell, while others tried to surge away from the impacts. A few even fell into the sea.
“I’m empty!” came a frustrated, keening shriek from aft. So much for controlled bursts. Ben stomped on the right rudder pedal and banked the opposite direction, allowing the starboard gunner a chance.
“Make ’em count!” he snarled. The plane rattled as the other gun resumed fire. Down below, Revenge was wreathed in smoke. Bright jets of flame stabbed out at irregular intervals. Several enemy ships were almost upon her and they were being systematically dismantled. Masts crowded with struggling forms fell into the sea and at least one of the enemy was dead in the water, its shattered bow dipping low. So far, none of the enemy had employed their “Grik Fire,” however. They seemed intent on coming to grips with Revenge, whatever the cost.
“They want her in one piece,” Ben surmised aloud. There was nothing he could do about it. Ed’s gun had fallen silent in the nose. The PBY wasn’t carrying much ammunition—it was never imagined that it would need more than would be necessary to keep a threat at bay while it took off. Much like what had happened right after they discovered it. Now, even as the starboard waist gun continued to stutter, grappling hooks arced through the air, trailing their lines behind them like hundreds of spiders casting their webs.
“Damn it!” Ben exclaimed. His voice cracked. “They want her guns!”
Ed reappeared at his shoulder. “Rick won’t let them take her,” he said with sad, quiet certainty. Even as they circled, watching with sick fascination, more and more enemy vessels crowded forward like ants upon a stricken comrade. Revenge had disappeared entirely within the forest of masts and the only way they could tell her position was by the proximity of the strange white ship and the hazy column of smoke that still rose from the center of the mass. The final waist gun was silent now, but still Ben orbited above. On the decks of the outer ships, Grik waved their swords at them and made taunting gestures.
There was a brilliant flash of yellow fire and a billowing cloud of smoke. Masts toppled outward from the blast like trees on the slope of a volcano and fiery debris rocketed into the sky. The plane was buffeted by the shock wave of the explosion and Ben fought the wheel to regain control. He quickly banked again to see the results through his suddenly unfocused eyes. Eight or ten ships had been in close contact with Revenge when she blew herself up. Two were just gone, and three more were smoldering wrecks. Vigorous fires had taken hold on several more and the smoke added to the vast pall now drifting down wind. Of Revenge and the white ship that had been beside her, there was no sign.
“That’s the style,” muttered Ben. His voice was almost a sob. He gently eased back on the controls and the Catalina began to gain altitude.
“Are we leaving now?” Ed asked.
“I guess,” Ben replied. “I just couldn’t before. Not while there was anybody down there who could see us.” Ed nodded understanding. “Besides, the captain . . . everyone will want to know how it ended.” He sighed. “One more thing, too. I want to get a solid count of how many ships they have. We’re still the ‘eyes’ of the fleet.”
At three thousand feet, Ben circled again while the others counted the enemy.
“Jesus, there’s a lot of them. I’ve lost count twice,” Ed said.
“It doesn’t have to be perfect. What do you have, Tikker?”
“Three hundred ten, but that’s not all I see, that’s all I can count. There’s more on the horizon.” Tikker squinted again. “There’s that Vol-caanno still.” He shook his head. “It looks closer now.”
For the first time, Ben really looked to the north where Tikker had spotted the smoke. Sure enough, a solid black column was slanting away to the east. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. “What the . . . ?” He leveled out and pointed the Catalina north, toward the distant smudge.
“What is it?” asked Ed.
“I dunno. It looks like . . . but that’s impossible.” Frozen mercury poured down his back.
“It is!” Ed exclaimed excitedly. He was looking through the binoculars now. “It’s a ship! A modern ship! Burning coal, by the look of her. That’s why all the black smoke.” He hesitated and his face assumed a troubled expression. “But what the hell is she doing running around with a bunch of lizards? Look, they’re all around her!”
“Maybe they captured her? She had to have gotten here the same way we did. Hell, they nearly got us, remember?”
Ed was still staring intently through the glasses. “Jeez, that’s not just any ship, it’s a warship! She looks bigger than the goddamn Arizona!”
The icy mercury running down Ben’s back was suddenly joined in his stomach by molten lead. “Give me those!” he said, snatching the glasses away. “Tikker, take the controls!”
The Lemurian stared, wide-eyed, at the wheel in front of him and then grasped it in both of his clawed hands. The tone in Ben’s voice told him that any fooling around wouldn’t be acceptable. He clenched his teeth and held the wheel as tight and steady as he could. Ben adjusted the objective until the image became crystal clear. His subconscious mind screamed in p
rotest and he almost dropped the binoculars. Even at twelve or fifteen miles the silhouette was unmistakable. He’d seen it before. The last time had been three-quarters of a year before and he’d been standing on Walker’s gun control platform with belts of .30-cal over his shoulders.
“This day just gets worse and worse,” he said at last.
“What?” demanded Ed.
“You remember that Jap battle cruiser we fought past to duck into the Squall that brought us here?”
“Yeah . . .” Ed’s face went white.
“That’s her. Amagi.”
“Son of a bitch!” Ed snarled, “I knew it! The lizards are Japs! Sneaky sons of bitches!”
“We don’t know that. The Japs might be lizards.”
“What do you mean?”
“The lizards might’ve captured her. Learned how to use her. We don’t know that they’re working together. That’s how they got their sailing ships, remember?” He looked through the binoculars again. “Trouble is, I don’t think we dare get close enough to find out. If they are Japs, they’re working with the lizards. They’ll blow us out of the sky. If they’re lizards, it’s clear they got the Japs to show them how to operate the ship. They may not have thought they needed to learn about antiaircraft fire, but we’re slow as hell. They might still blow us out of the sky. We’ve got to warn the captain!”
“How close would we have to get . . . to know?”
“Close enough to see if there’s Japs or lizards on her. We’d probably be in range by then.”
“What about her flag?” Ed asked. “The lizards have all kinds of flags of their own. If they had the ship, they wouldn’t leave the ‘meatball.’”
“Good point. We might get close enough to see that before they shoot us down.” He shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter, though. Whatever flag she’s flying, we’re screwed.”
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