Right now that gives me the creeps like I never had before. So just shut up and give me a bullet, before I beat you to death!”
Stites smirked and opened his bolt, then stared into his own magazine well in horror. Frantically slapping his pockets with increased panic brought no satisfaction. “Jeez, Dennis! I’m empty too!”
Silva was grimly quiet a moment, considering the long trek back to the refinery and the boat. Suddenly he brightened. “Hey, Mr. Bradford!” Courtney paused his examination and looked inquiringly at him. He had every reason to be well disposed toward the big gunner’s mate. After all, he’d gotten quite close to the monstrous creature and witnessed all sorts of movement before it was killed. Silva only hoped Bradford could protect him from the worst of his captain’s wrath. “You got plenty of bullets left, right?”
Bradford sheepishly hefted the Krag. “Indeed. I’m certain I fired several times, there at the end, but somehow I still have as many rounds as I set out with. Strange.”
“Musta had some extras an’ thumbed ’em in without thinkin’. t='1em'›
“Nothing. Right standard rudder, all ahead one-third.”
“Right standard rudder, all ahead one-third,” Kutas replied. “Recommend course two seven five.”
“Make it so. Reynolds, get the sea and anchor detail out of the rain and pass the word for the bosun and exec to join me on the bridge. Spanky too.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.”
To Sandra Tucker, standing on the old fitting-out pier, the new, light gray paint covering the battered old destroyer couldn’t hide her many defects, but it did quickly blend with the driving rain. She felt a lump the size of her fist tighten in her chest as the ship grew ever more wraithlike and ethereal, and she wondered if she’d ever see it again. If she’d ever see Matthew Reddy again. She said a quick, fervent prayer for the ship and all those aboard her-and one in particular. With a sigh, she turned and melted into the throng and made her way through the dripping, awning-covered bazaar, back to her own duties at the hospital.
Lieutenant Larry Dowden, Walker ’s executive officer, reached the bridge first, water running from the brim of his hat. Dowden was of average height and spare, but the young towheaded officer from Tennessee had stepped into his new job with energy and professionalism. He’d been a good choice to replace Lieutenant Ellis, Matt reflected once again, tossing him the towel. Soon afterward, Chief Bosun’s Mate Fitzhugh Gray clomped up the metal ladder and joined them.
“Mornin’, Skipper.” He didn’t salute because technically, as soon as he stepped out of the rain, he was no longer “outdoors.”
Gray was a bear of a man, close to sixty, who’d gone a little to seed on the China Station before the war, but had since trimmed back down and muscled up considerably. He, at least, had thrived on all the activity and adventure they’d experienced since the Squall. He’d always demonstrated a clear-indeed, profound-understanding of the practical; that had perhaps been the very definition of his duty as Walker ’s senior noncommissioned officer. Unlike many in the Navy who had the rank without the skill, Gray had the skill in sufficient measure to apply it beyond the insular world of Walker ’s deck. As Spanky could, when it came to anything mechanical, Gray brought absolute moral authority to any discussion regarding what people were capable of, and his uncannily accurate assessments now included Lemurians as well.
“Mornin’, Boats.”
“I ran into Juan on the way up here and he said he’d be along directly,” Gray said, referring to Juan Marcos, the Filipino mess attendant who had, for all intents and purposes, become Matt’s personal steward. It was never discussed, and it certainly wasn’t official, but that was how it wound up. Juan had seen to that. “He’s bringin’ coffee,” Gray added ominously, but with an entirely innocent expression-quite an accomplishment for him. Matt grimaced. Juan wasn’t good with coffee, never had been. Somehow he couldn’t destroy the stuff that passed for coffee here as thoroughly as he had the “real” stuff, but it still wasn’t exactly good.
“Maybe…”
Walker would’ve spent the war towin’ targets… or bein’ one, and most of her crew wouldn’t have been good for much else either. After that last big fight with Amagi, when we got sucked up by the Squall, none of that mattered anymore.”
A stormy frown creased Gray’s face. “I hate the Japs for what they done to us, and I hope wherever ‘home’ is, our boys are kickin’ hell out of ’em. But we wouldn’t have been helpin’ much, even if we were alive. Back there, Walker wouldn’t have made any difference.” His frown shifted into an expression of determination. “In this world, in this fight against those damn Griks, she has made a difference, and so have all her people. With God’s help, maybe she will again.”
“God’s, and Spanky McFarlane’s,” Matt agreed quietly, referring to Walker ’s engineering officer, who still hadn’t arrived. The diminutive engineer had performed miracles keeping the battered ship not only afloat, but seaworthy, and three of her four boilers were probably in better shape than they’d been in years. Their arrival in Baalkpan, and the necessities of the war they found themselves in, had sparked an industrial revolution of sorts. The Lemurians had already possessed impressive foundries for casting massive anchors and other fittings for the Homes, but the Americans had taught them to make cannon, shot, and other things they’d need. The machine shops on the two destroyers turned out parts for lathes even bigger than themselves, and soon milling machines, lathes, and other heavy tools were operating in huge “factories” near the shipyard. They were running out of certain other spare parts fast, though, mostly bearings and things that Lemurian industry wasn’t yet up to helping them produce. They’d have to figure that out pretty quick.
Gray nodded. “Yes, sir. Please don’t ever tell him I said so, but Spanky’s been a wonder. Him and everybody else.”
“What?” demanded McFarlane, suddenly joining them, dripping like the rest, and striking his distinctive pose: hands on his skinny hips.
“Nothin’,” Gray grumped, recovering himself. “I was just wonderin’ who’s gonna restow that junk your snipes scattered all over my topsides.” He was referring to the disassembled drilling rig.
“Your deck apes,” Spanky replied cheerfully. “That’s their job.”
Walker steamed past Aracca Home, one of the enormous seagoing cities of the Lemurians. She was moving toward the mouth of the bay to relieve Big Sal as a floating battery-a task all the sea folk despised, but knew was necessary. Larger than the new Essex -class aircraft carriers Matt had seen under construction, Aracca, like all her kind, was built entirely of wood. Her hull was double ended, flat bottomed, and diagonally plank laminated to a thickness of six feet in some places. Matt was impressed by the sophisticated design, and knew the ship was incredibly tough. It had to be. Despite the stresses inherent to her momentous proportions (1,009 feet long, with a beam of almost 200 feet), Aracca had been built to last for centuries upon a sea that was much more hostile in many ways than the sea Matt had known before the Squallpite the rain, he saw her people going about their morning chores: preparing fish from the morning catch for drying, once the rain eased, and tending the polta fruit gardens on the main deck that ranged along the bulwark completely around the ship. The main deck was a hundred feet above the sea, and three huge pagodalike structures that served as apartments for many of her people towered above it like skyscrapers. Encompassing the structures were three massive tripods soaring another two hundred and fifty feet above the deck. They supported the great sails, or “wings” that provided Aracca ’s only means of propulsion-other than the hundred giant sweep-oars her people could use for maneuvering when necessary.
Matt was always amazed whenever he looked at Aracca -or any Lemurian Homes. Not only because of their size, but also because of the industrious ingenuity they represented. ’Cats may have been a little backward in some respects when the Americans first arrived, but they certainly weren’t ignorant. He had Walker ’s horn sounded in greeting, and he and the other officers went back out in the rain on the bridge wing and returned the friendly waves they received. Slowly the massive ship receded in the rain behind them.
“I’m already anxious to be back,” Matt said aloud, ruefully.
“We’re getting a late start,” conceded Dowden. He glanced apologetically at Spanky. “No offense, I know you went as fast as you could. It’s just…”
“I know,” Spanky growled. “By the original timetable, we should’ve been on our way home by now. But one thing led to another… It sure would’ve been easier with a dry dock, especially to get at the damage below the waterline. She won’t ever be ‘right’ until we can do that.”
“Agreed,” said the captain, “but that’ll have to wait. New construction has priority, and there just aren’t enough hands, or hours, or days…” He shook his head. “Nothing for it. You’ve done an amazing job, Spanky. All of
