“He knows.”
Nakja-Mur spoke and Chack translated once again. “Two flasher-fishers arrived this morning with news of three Grik ships, nosing about in the strait. They didn’t believe they were seen, but the Grik have never been so close. We’re not ready to fight and I fear we will never be. All these preparations you make-the paint!-do not seem to make us more ready to fight!”
“We’ll fight them first, if we must, until your people are ready. That was the plan from the start. But to fight, my ship must be ready!”
Off in the distance, they heard the low rumble of thunder.
“What will you do about the Grik in the strait?”
“If they enter the bay, we’ll destroy them. If they linger nearby until we have fuel, we’ll hunt them down and destroy them. You have my word. But you must talk sense to these complainers!”
Nakja-Mur looked steadily at him for a moment, then jerked his head downward in a Lemurian nod. The distant thunder continued to build, but it was drowned out by the number four boiler blowing tubes. They all looked aft and skyward as the soot settled on the deck and those working there.
“Goddamn snipes!” bellowed Gray, striding purposefully toward the aft fireroom hatch. “There’s wet paint up here!” Captain Reddy stifled a grin. The thunderous drone rose a little higher in his consciousness.
“Maybe the High Chief of Baalkpan would like to tour the ship?” he said, but tilted his head, listening. With a start, his eyes widened in recognition and he glanced at the crow’s nest. Empty, of course. Garrett was on the fire- control platform, however, and he’d heard it too. Their eyes met as realization dawned. The general alarm began to sound.
“General quarters! General quarters! This is no drill!” came Larry Dowden’s voice over the speaker. “Captain to the bridge!”
Matt darted from the midst of the Lemurian delegation, ran through the chaos of the weather deck, and clattered up the ladder to the bridge. With no one to tell them different, the Lemurians followed after him. Men and ’Cats scampered everywhere, some purposefully, others less so, and Nakja-Mur was nearly sent sprawling by an ordnance striker carrying ammunition belts as he rocketed up from the companionway.
“What’s happening?!” he angrily demanded.
“Something interesting, certainly,” Adar replied.
Matt was gasping by the time he reached the fire-control platform. He snatched the binoculars someone offered and began scanning the sky.
“There, sir. Aft, bearing one two oh! Coming right up the bay from the strait! It’s… it’s an aircraft!”
“Agreed!” Matt snapped. “But what’s it doing here and whose is it? Stand by all machine guns, Mr. Garrett, but hold your fire!”
They waited tensely, the men exchanging nervous glances while the clattery radial engine drone slowly grew more pronounced. Chack and Keje had joined them.
“What is that flying thing?” Keje’s voice held an edge.
“Airplane,” Matt murmured absently.
Keje glanced at the defensive preparations under way. “And I thought the Grik were a strange menace,” he muttered. “You will fight this aarplane? It will attack?” Keje cast a quick glance at Big Sal, moored helplessly to the pier. He’d never heard of a flying creature large enough to threaten people, but he’d seen coast raptors snatch fish from the water, and he suspected how vulnerable they would be to something as big as what he saw now. Obviously, by their actions, the destroyermen believed it might be dangerous. “Will it attack?” he asked again, more insistently.
Matt lowered the binoculars and a small, wondering smile played across his features. “I don’t think so,” he said, and added as an aside to Lieutenant Garrett, “PBY.”
The plane grew larger, and the sun glinted dully off the dingy blue paint as it banked over the bay. The wings waggled a little, as if the pilot was unfamiliar with the controls-or maybe not. Only one engine was running. The big seaplane thundered low over the water, just a little higher than the small boats’ masts. Sheets went flying, and there were many near-collisions as the unearthly monstrosity lumbered by. Matt couldn’t help but grin at the startled antics of the fishermen. All the Lemurians on the pier or the destroyer stopped what they were doing and clustered uncertainly together.
The pilot plainly saw them now; he banked the plane harder and then steadied up, aiming for a clear patch of water off Walker’s starboard side. The big rudder kicked rapidly back and forth to compensate for the uneven thrust of the single engine. Wing-tip floats came down and the bull-nose with the Plexiglas turret seemed to sniff tentatively at the water. The blue roundels with the white star and red dot stood out against the salt streaks and the stained, off-color paint. It was the most beautiful thing Matt had ever seen. With a great splashing thump, the flying boat struck the water, and its forward progress was almost immediately arrested by the unskilled or underpowered arrival. It wallowed to a stop as the pilot cut power, then increased it. The noise of the port engine was tremendous as the plane gathered speed in their direction.
Nakja-Mur had joined them. “What is that dreadful thing?” he demanded in a shrill voice.
“I suspect it’s a friend of ours,” Matt replied when Chack translated. The pilot cut the engine about fifty yards away, and the noise abruptly lessened as the propeller wound down. Matt felt the relief around him. “Prepare to fend off!” he shouted as the plane drifted closer. “Launch the whaleboat!” In less than a minute, the boat slid down the falls and slapped into the water. As they watched, a windscreen on the side of the pitching aircraft’s cockpit slid back and a grinning, bearded face emerged.
“Another Amer-i-caan!” Nakja-Mur exclaimed. “One that flies! Flies!” He was silent for a moment of sheer amazement, then turned to Matt and grinned. “I suppose I will have to feed that thing as well?”
“How many more… unusual friends are you expecting, Cap-i-taan Reddy?” Keje quietly asked. Big Sal’s “captain” was staring at the PBY with open wonder, but it was a serious question.
“I wasn’t expecting this one. C’mon, let’s meet our mystery aviator.”
Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory’s entire lower body felt numb and tingly from the long hours in the thinly padded metal seat of the shuddering aircraft. He had difficulty with his feet on the rungs as he ascended to the deck. He couldn’t stop grinning, though. An hour before, he’d shut down the starboard engine and feathered its prop to stretch their fuel enough to reach this very bay. It was their final hope. They’d checked Menjangan, and pushed all the way to Alor before turning back. If Walker hadn’t been at Balikpapan, he, Perry, and Ed would have been doomed, at best, to a lingering, miserable existence of solitude and privation without hope of rescue. More likely, some unfamiliar denizen would have quickly saved them the trouble. The sight of the old four-stacker nestled snugly against the pier amid the bustle of native people and shipping brought tears to Mallory’s eyes. The smoke curling lazily from her aft funnel and the proud flag over her deck convinced him that, whatever the situation, Walker was here voluntarily and therefore they were safe.
He made it to the deck with the help of eager hands and threw a shaky salute at the flag, and another at Captain Reddy. He was startled by the sight of the… natives, but not like he would have been a few weeks before.
“Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory, United States Army Air Corps. I request permission to come aboard, sir.” He took a wobbly step to make room for those behind him as they also gained the deck.
“Ed Palmer, Signalman, glad to be back aboard, sir,” said the second man, his voice hoarse with emotion. The blond-headed signalman from Oklahoma had expected to remain on Mahan only until they reached Perth. His inclusion in the unlucky destroyer’s odyssey had taken a toll.
The third was a dark-haired man in ragged khakis who looked vaguely familiar. “Lieutenant jay-gee Perry Brister, request perm-”
“Brister! You’re engineering officer on Mahan-you all came from Mahan! Where is she?” Matt demanded.
“We don’t know, sir,” Mallory replied. “The last we saw, she was off the west coast of Sumatra.”
“Sumatra? My God. What was Jim Ellis thinking?”
All three men shook their heads together. “Not Mr. Ellis, sir,” Brister said.
“Right,” confirmed Mallory. The aviator’s grin was gone. “Captain Reddy, it’s a long story and you need to hear it now.” He gestured at himself and the others. “Could we have some cold water? Or… maybe even a Coke?”
“Certainly. Let’s carry this conversation to the wardroom and you can tell me all about it after some refreshment.” He turned to Dowden as the exec approached. “Is Mr. McFarlane back aboard? No? Then pass the
