Matt could see her barge in the water, coming their way. “Ahead slow,” he called to the helmsman. “We’ll bring her in our lee as she closes.”
The bosun’s pipe twittered, and Carpenter’s Mate-now Lieutenant (JG)-Sam Clark arrived on deck, followed by his Lemurian sailing master and second in command, Aarin-Bitaak. Clark was from Mahan, and had been given Felts because of an extensive sailing background. He was raised building boats in his father’s shop. his salute.
“Am I glad to see you guys!” Clark exclaimed, then winced and added, “Sirs!” Matt made no comment. He normally didn’t discourage familiarity between his officers and himself, but in public, which they now were for all the crew to see, he expected proper behavior. It was as important to morale as it was to discipline. Clark was young and exuberant, and not quite used to being an officer yet. He’d understandably want an assignment like Rick Tolson had had: essentially, harassing the enemy any way he could. He wouldn’t enjoy being a freighter, but that was part of the responsibility of command: doing what you were told whether you wanted to or not. Duty was the same for anyone in the Navy, but with command came the added responsibility of inspiring an equally disgruntled crew with the importance of the task. Exuberance must be leavened with introspection, and at least the appearance of calm confidence. Matt suspected Lieutenant Dowden or maybe even the Bosun might slip Clark a word or two before he left.
Clark continued: “We’ve been tacking back and forth for two days. We tried to anchor, but the tidal race around these islands is something fierce! We had a hard time getting everything ashore.”
“I assume you managed?”
“Yes, sir. All baggage and supplies are ashore, and the Marines have established a defensible beachhead.” He paused and shook his head. “I have to say, sir, getting the brontosarries ashore was a task I’d sooner not have to repeat.” Matt could imagine. Brontosarries were pygmy versions of the dinosaurs they so closely resembled from the fossil record and were indigenous to most of the large regional landmasses. Bradford proposed that one of the reasons their charts were a little off, regarding various coastlines, was that this Earth might be experiencing an ice age of sorts, lowering the sea level. He believed whatever event caused evolution to take such a drastic diversion here was also at work on the planet. Therefore, the seas were not quite so deep as they should be. Perhaps, aeons ago, an even more severe ice age left many of the islands connected in some way. That would explain why brontosarries and other large creatures, clearly unfit for a long swim in such hazardous seas, might be as prolific as they were.
Regardless, the beasts they’d brought were domesticated and “trained”-if such a word could be used regarding a creature with roughly the intelligence of a cow-to provide motive power for the drilling rig. The task of not only transporting them (small as they were, compared to their ancestors they were still twice the size of an Asian elephant) but off-loading them and rafting them ashore must have been harrowing, to say the least. Inexperienced as Clark was, it spoke well of him that he’d accomplished it.
“Very well.” Matt grinned wryly. “We’ll try not to delay you much longer”-the young lieutenant winced again-“but I’ll trouble you for your boats and crew to help us unload as well.”
“Aye, aye, Captain Reddy!”
Clark was right about the tide. When it came in, it did so with a mounting fury, and when it ebbed, the drop was equally dramatic. In between, the currents surged and swirled so violently they were forced to moor the ship fore and aft (with plenty of water under her keel) to begin off-loading the large pieces of the rig. This took much longer than Matt had been prepared forker had all of Mahan ’s for this trip, while new ones, using the salvaged engines of the old, were built at Baalkpan to replace those that were destroyed) plied back and forth from the beach carrying supplies and personnel, as well as the smaller parts of the rig. The heavier pieces were swayed out, causing the ship to lean noticeably to port, and lowered onto barges and rafts that were then either towed or heaved ashore by the monstrous beasts of burden. The loud bellows of the Bosun and the croaky shouts of the Mice made sure everything was accomplished as quickly and efficiently as possible, and by the afternoon watch, the transfer was finally complete. Matt moved to stand next to Bradford, who leaned on the bridge wing rail, intently studying the island through his binoculars. He was clearly impatient to go ashore.
“Take the Mice, Silva, and a dozen Marines, and find a suitable well site as quickly as you can. Shinya’s going to be tied up with the security situation, but I’m sending the Bosun to chivvy you along, so don’t go chasing lizards and bugs, clear? Also, the Bosun’ll be in charge after we leave, so make sure you mention any pertinent observations you make to him.”
“Absolutely clear, Captain! I’ll impart what wisdom I may… and obey Mr. Gray’s every whim. But are you certain I mustn’t remain here to help? I’m sure there’s much I could contribute.”
“Absolutely positive. Remember, this is just our first stop. We’ll be crossing deep water for the first time. Just imagine the strange creatures we may find on our next landfall. Besides, we might even see a ‘mountain fish’ and get to try our experimental defenses!”
“My God! Of course you’re right, Captain. I’ll certainly be of more use later on. I fear my current excitement must have addled my thoughts.”
“Good. For now, though, prepare to go ashore”-he raised a warning finger-“but don’t get sidetracked.”
“I don’t even know why I’m here, Goddamn it!” Dennis Silva complained. “I’m still restricted to the ship!” He gestured at the impenetrable jungle around them. “This look like the ship to you, Bosun?”
Chief Gray shook his head, avoiding another branch Silva let spring back toward his face. “It damn sure don’t look like Tarakan Island!” he gruffed. “We steamed right by it when we retreated from the Philippines. Iexcitnted was only about two miles inland. We should be there… well, now.”
Silva looked around. “Why can’t we just burn the bastard off?” He was the tallest in the group and was suffering the most. At one point he’d grumblingly suggested they name the place “Spanky Land” after Walker ’s engineering officer. He didn’t say why. They’d been searching for three hours, but the twists and turns the game trail took made it impossible to go straight to the spot Bradford wanted.
“That big ape Silva might actually have a point,” grumbled Gray. He kicked the mushy jungle floor. “If we could even get this shit to burn, I’m for trying it. Wait for a day when the wind is right…”
“Outrageous!” Bradford declared. “You’re contemplating ecological
… murder! It would be a crime against nature and humanity to raze this island. I’ve already glimpsed many creatures I’ve never seen on the mainland! They might exist nowhere else!”
Gray sighed. “If you’d let me finish… I wasn’t talking about burning off the whole damn place, just part of it. Besides, you can’t tell me there’s never been a lightning fire here. If we do it-if we can do it-we’ll be careful.”
Somewhat mollified, Courtney considered. “Well, yes, that might work. But you’d have to be very careful indeed.”
Silva glanced back at the Bosun and rolled his eyes. “There wadn’t nothin’ here on the ‘old’ Tarakan,” he said.
“Well… of course not, but that’s entirely different.”
“How’s that?”
“Because,” Gray remarked cynically, “there was nothin’ left for him to ogle before. Now there is.” His tone changed. “I’m sorry, Mr. Bradford, but we’ll do whatever we have to, to get oil outta this rock. If that means burning the whole thing down, we will. We’ll try to be careful, but the ‘needs of the service,’ et cetera, not to mention the needs of our allies and ourselves, must be met. Now, how much farther?”
Bradford sighed. “I suppose this is as good a place as any. The captain was adamant that we be back aboard before nightfall.” He glanced absently at his watch, but couldn’t see the numbers through his sweat-streaked glasses. He took them off and wiped them vainly on his sweat-soaked shirt.
Suddenly there was a violent commotion to the side of the trail, and something upright, about the size of a large crocodile, lunged from its hiding place and snatched one of the leading ’Cats by the arm. With a shriek of pain and terror, the Lemurian was dragged into the impenetrable gloom.
“Shit!” Silva bolted forward, even as the others backed away in fright. Several were bowled over by his rush. Another scream marked the place the ’Cat disappeared, and he knelt and fired at a dim shape in the darkness. He fired again and again, on semiautomatic, and his efforts were rewarded by a different type of shriek, and muffled, panicky jabbering. On his hands and knees in the damp mulch, he scurried into the tunnel of brush.
“Well, don’t just stand there, you useless sons of bitches!” roared the Bosun. He dashed forward, ded by
“We been ashore, Laney,” Gilbert grated. “You know, with the shore party.”
Laney’s face clouded. “That don’t cut no ice with me. I don’t care if you been ’rasslin’ sea monsters, you’ll
