occurred to him that this was only the second time they’d steamed together since being reunited at Aryaal. That other time was only a brief foray when they’d played tug-of-war for Mahan ’s propeller. Now, even if they were making only ten knots, Matt felt a sudden exhilaration. The sound of the blowers so close together, and the swish of the sea as they parted it between them, left him with a sense of companionship he’d missed. Jim Ellis was over there, on that other bridge, and Matt wondered what he was thinking. Maybe the same thing. He suddenly wished it were daylight so the people they defended could see the two destroyers steaming side by side in the bay. The sight might bolster their morale-at least until they saw what they were up against.
Without warning, Matt had a chilling premonition that this was the last time Walker and Mahan would ever be in formation again. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t shake the thought. It was as though the swishing sea were a ghostly voice warning the elderly sisters to say their final farewell, because one, at least, was doomed. Which one? he wondered with a heavy heart. Or would both face destruction when Amagi steamed into the bay? The moment ended when they neared the dock, and both ships reduced speed. Mahan went first to the fueling pier, where her bunkers were quickly filled. Then she moved briefly to the dock, where over half her crew went ashore, leaving fifteen human and twenty Lemurian volunteers aboard-just enough to operate her during the short part she would play. Half her remaining ammunition was off-loaded as well. It had been agreed that Walker would need it more than she.
In less than an hour, Mahan cast off once more, just as Walker was beginning to fuel. As she crept away from the lights on the dock, the jury-rigged Morse lamp on her port bridge wing quickly flashed: “Good hunting. Farewell.” Ellis emphasized his message with a long, harsh toot on Mahan ’s steam whistle.
“Send, ‘Good hunting, God bless,’” ordered Matt. While Walker ’s Morse lamp clacked, he watched Mahan fade into darkness, until she was visible no more.
Near the end of the midwatch, Dennis Silva was supervising the transport of vital tools and machinery from the torpedo workshop to their-hopefully-temporary storage, in hardened bunkers ashore. Everything that could be spared-the lathe, millpers, logs, charts, manuals, and other documents ashore a short time earlier. Even the conduits and bundles of long-bypassed wiring were being stripped from the ship to save the copper wire. Earl Lanier, Ray Mertz, and Pepper gravely removed the restored Coke machine themselves. All told, it was a difficult task, and even though Dennis appreciated the necessity and approved the captain’s foresight in ordering it, the implications were ominous and disheartening.
He’d never been so tired. It had been a grueling day, and even his apparently inexhaustible and irrepressible energy had limits, it seemed. Laney would soon replace him with the morning watch, however, and hopefully he’d get a few hours’ sleep. The captain had already told them the morning general quarters alarm wouldn’t sound. He stopped on the pier, shuffling back from the bunker, and looked at the ship for a moment. She seemed strangely fuzzy in the humid, hazy air, and ephemeral sparks flew like fireflies from last-minute repairs. Her weirdly diffused searchlights beamed eerily downward, illuminating her decks and casting long, twisted shadows. They made her glow like some unearthly, mournful specter, and completing the surrealistic scene, a lively tune squeaked vaguely from Marvaney’s phonograph. Silva felt a sudden chill, and sensed he was moving toward his grave. He shuddered.
“She does look rather ‘creepy,’ as you would say,” came a girlish voice from the gloom, and the mighty Dennis Silva nearly pissed himself.
“What’re you doin’ here, goddamn it?” he demanded more harshly than he meant to.
“I came to see you.”
“Me?” He stopped, peering down at Rebecca’s tiny form. “What for? Why ain’t you with O’Casey or Lieutenant Tucker?”
“I ‘gave them the slip,’ and each thinks I am with the other. Besides, you are my other protector, and I’m perfectly safe.”
“Sure, you’re safe as can be around here, even without a watchdog. Least for now. ’Cats are swell folks. But what’d you wanna see me for?”
Rebecca sighed. “Dennis Silva, you are the most vile, crude, wildly depraved creature… I never suspected such as you might even exist. The spectacle you made of yourself when we arrived! I would scold you for your shamelessness if I suspected you understood the concept of shame, but somehow”-she took a breath and shook her head-“I have come to care for you… to a small degree. I never had a brother, and have always been thankful for it-properly so, it seems-for I find myself thinking of you more and more in that unsettling role. My sense of propriety demands I despise you-and I do!-yet… I also find, like a brother, I suppose, I can’t help but love you just a bit as well.” She grimaced, as if at the foul taste of the words.
Silva cracked. Perhaps it was exhaustion or indigestion, or perhaps some soot from Walker ’s stacks got in his eyes, but suddenly his face was wet with tears, and he’d gathered the girl in a tight embrace. “I’m a rowdy old scamp,” he agreed huskily into her hair. “Can’t help it. But I’d be proud to take you on as my little sister, if you make me. Maybe you can teach me a little about that word, ‘shame,’ you mentioned. Right now, though, you got to r›
“You are unloading things from her in case she sinks!” Rebecca cried, suddenly tearful as well.
“Naw, she can’t sink. We’re just gettin’ a buncha loose junk out of the way. You’d be amazed how cluttered a place can get with nothin’ but sloppy guys livin’ there.”
“You’re lying. You need me, you and poor Lawrence as well. I can’t help but think something dreadful will happen to you both without me to watch over you-and just think how terrified he will be: his first battle, and no one to comfort him… I don’t think anyone really likes him, you know.”
“I like him, even if he is a lizard,” Dennis assured her. “I already said I was sorry for shootin’ him.”
“It’s not the same. I must spend the battle aboard your ship… .” She paused, desperate. “You need me! You will need me before the battle is done; I know it!”
“Now, now, little girls underfoot is the last thing we need in a fight. Lieutenant Tucker’s gonna need you, though, and that’s a fact.” He set her down, wiping his eyes. “An’ one thing I need you to do, if it comes to it, is tell my gals I love ’em all. Would you do that? It’s Pam and Risa. I know you don’t approve, but I do love ’em both.” He smiled. “And you too, doll… I mean… sis.”
Rebecca burst into tears again, and clung to him like a rock in a confused, breaking sea.
“Now run on. I got stuff to do, or the Griks won’t have to get me; the captain will.”
“Very well.” She sniffed, releasing him. “Please tell Lawrence-”
“I will. So long now.”
She watched him turn and walk tiredly-dejectedly, it seemed-to join a group of Lemurians who’d passed them while they spoke, and together they crossed the gangway onto the ship. Still sniffling, Rebecca stood in the shadows for quite a while, looking back and forth. Eventually, convinced there’d be no more arrivals, she strode purposefully in the direction she knew she was supposed to go.
CHAPTER 11
Lieutenant Perry Brister, Mahan ’s former engineering officer, was standing on the southwest wall of Fort Atkinson before the sun came up. It was dank and humid and totally dark. There was no moon, and the stars were obscured by a heavy, drizzly overcast that had moved in during the night. The fort was entirely exposed to the elements, and there was no higher promontory nearby to protect it from the wind or shade it from the sun. If a Strakka ever directly struck it, the damage would be severe. It did enjoy the highest elevation for miles around, strangely enough, and the best view of the strait. It was strange, because, like other little geographic things now and then, Perry didn’t remember the elevation on the point where the fort was constructed being quite this high in “the old world.” He wasn’t complaining, but it often struck him as odd. Everyone always said the planet was the same, just everything living on it was different. That wasn’t always the case, according to Bradford’s “ice age” theory, and Perry agrle ones too. Whatever the reason, Fort Atkinson was a lot better situated than it would have been built on the same stretch of ground back home.
He fiddled nervously with his binoculars. He wanted to raise them and take a look, but it was too early for that. By doing so, he’d only confirm his unease to the defenders gathered nearby. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.
