refused to get rid of them, calling them “survival rations.”
After cordial greetings, the officers in the wardroom ate in silence, for the most part. It was the Lemurian way not to discuss matters of importance during a meal, and Matt thought the custom made sense. Instead of talking, he enjoyed his fne th brown, cat-faced bear was Keje-Fris-Ar, High Chief of Salissa Home- Big Sal, as the Americans called her. Matt was glad his friend Keje felt free to make the trip. Like the other Homes in the alliance, Keje’s would take its turn guarding the mouth of the bay, but under the command of his cousin, Jarrik-Fas, she didn’t really need him for that. Also, he’d finally decided to allow some of the “alterations” Letts and Lieutenant Brister had beenfo›“It’s a shame we missed Donaghey ’s christening, but we should be back in time for the others. I understand Donaghey will sail within days, in an attempt to rescue more of Queen Maraan’s people from B’mbaado.” He glanced at Chack for some reaction, but there was none. Everyone knew he and the B’mbaadan queen were besotted with each other. They also knew that, regardless of risk, she’d accompany the expedition.
“Next, as you know, we should reach Tarakan Island tomorrow morning. The supply ship set out more than a week ago, so she should be waiting for us now. We have much to do there, obviously, but I don’t want to linger longer than necessary. We’re constrained by time and fuel, so hopefully we can off-load all the equipment and personnel in a single day and be on our way. We still have a long trip ahead of us.” The others murmured agreement, and he turned his attention to Shinya. “Chief Gray will be in overall command of the operation. He’ll have to coordinate the off-load with Spanky, but once we’re gone, he’ll be in charge. That being said, have you decided who will command the security force?”
Shinya was silent for a moment, looking at the Bosun. He knew Matt was giving him an out. Of all the crew, Gray had probably maintained his hatred of “Japs” more fiercely than anyone else. In that one respect he seemed almost irrational. Shinya didn’t even think it was personal; the man had, after all, once saved his life. But Gray couldn’t get over the fact that when they went through the Squall, three months after Pearl Harbor, his son was still listed as missing. The younger Gray had been aboard the USS Oklahoma, one of the battleships sunk in the attack. She’d capsized and settled, upside down, to the muddy bottom of the harbor, trapping countless souls aboard. Many had never even known who was attacking them. Even though Shinya hadn’t been there, he knew Gray could never forgive him-for being a Jap.
“I will command the security force,” he said at last, “if Mr. Gray has no objections.” The Bosun only grunted. “Chack will command the Marines remaining aboard the ship.”
Matt nodded thoughtfully, noting the tension between the two. It would probably actually be better to leave them both there, he decided, and let them sort things out. He didn’t think either would let their animosities interfere with their duties. Besides, if things got out of hand, they were still close enough to Baalkpan for the Bosun to send Shinya home on a supply ship.
“Very well. Fifty Marines will land from the supply ship, and we’ll leave twenty of ours behind. That should be more than sufficient to deal with any local menace. I’d highly recommend beginning defensive fortifications, however. Seventy Marines and about a hundred workers from the Sixth Baalkpan might seem a formidable force, but if only one Grik ship should come as far as Tarakan, you’ll be outnumbered two to one-and we know the Grik usually operate in threes.”
“Of course, Captain Reddy. Defenses will be my first priority.”
“Mine too,” the Bosun growled.
“Of course. Now, Mr. Bradford, I assume it will be no inconvenience for you to accompany the landing force? Bear in mind your primary duty will be to pinpoint an appropriate place to sink the first well and establish our refinery. Fascinating as I’m sure you’ll find them, don’t be distracted by every new bug and beetle you come across. I promise you’ll have plenty of opportuuJnities to play tourist later on. Just find them a place to drill; then get back aboard.”
“I suppose I can delay my explorations for the sake of the war effort,” replied Bradford with a rueful grin, “but really, I must protest. Plotting the best spot to drill should not be difficult at all. Tarakan was a veritable island oil well before the war. The Jappos snapped it up right quick, let me tell you!” He glanced at Shinya. “No offense personally, I’m sure! Anyway, the place looked like one great refinery sprouting from the very sea. You could poke a hole in it just about anywhere and find oil, I expect. It’s disgraceful how little time you’ve included in your schedule for scientific discovery.”
“Discover a magic twig that, when waved about, will erase the Grik from the world and I shall devote myself to carrying you to unknown shores for the rest of your life,” Keje barked, and everyone, even Gray, laughed at that.
“Details, then,” said Matt, smiling, and the discussion began in earnest.
CHAPTER 3
Another beautiful morning dawned over the Makassar Strait, and even before Matt could see much beyond the fo’c’sle, he heard a cry overhead from the crow’s nest. Moments later the talker repeated the belated report of the lookout.
“Tarakan Island, sir, off the port bow.”
Binoculars swung and Matt raised his own to his eyes. It was difficult to tell, but he thought he could discern a vague, bulky outline of black against the darkness. Slowly, as more light gathered around them, the shape became more distinct.
“Well, gentlemen, it seems we’ve arrived.” He looked at Keje, standing beside him. “You’ve been this way before; does that look like the coastline in your Scrolls? It doesn’t much resemble the Tarakan I remember.” The last time Walker steand now a land possession as well, but most realized the war required considerable adjustment to the way things had always been. A few, like Keje, and possibly Queen Maraan, were even beginning to envision the far more radical adjustment of combining the alliance into a unified nation. In any event, there were so many willing recruits for the American Navy, they didn’t have the ships for them all. Nakja-Mur was trying to help. Just as Matt gave his first “prize” to Nakja-Mur (Revenge) so Baalkpan would have a physical presence in the expeditionary force, some of the prizes they’d captured after the escape from Aryaal had gone to the Americans. Even Nakja- Mur’s beloved “new construction” ships were being placed under Matt’s authority. The combined alliance would eventually have a navy of its own, but in the meantime, the Amer-i-caan Naa-vee was the “academy,” the school where their own people learned their craft, as well as the necessary discipline to employ it.
An example of Matt’s “prize” Navy became visible south of the island. It was the “supply” ship USS Felts, named for Gunner’s Mate Tommy Felts, who died saving Captain Reddy’s, Keje’s, and Chief Gray’s lives at the Battle of Aryaal. Felts was actually rated a ship-sloop in the new/old way they’d resurrected of defining such things, since she mounted only twenty guns, but despite her original owners she was a beautiful sight. She was on a tack taking her directly into the morning sun, and Matt shielded his eyes against the glare. The water was an almost painfully brilliant blue, and was still touched by the golden glory of the new day. At present it was still somewhat cool as well. It would soon warm up, and at some point there would almost certainly be rain. Even now, in the distance, a vigorous squall pounded an empty patch of sea. He contemplated it for a moment, as he always did, hopelessly unable to prevent himself from wondering what it had been about the Squall that brought them here that had, well.. . brought them here. If they ever entered another with that strange green hue, would it take them back again? Home? He massaged his temples. Would he really want it to?
He shook his head and looked at Felts. The former Grik “Indiaman” was now a United States sloop. Her once bloodred hull was painted black, with the exception of the broad white band down her length highlighting the closed black-painted gun ports piercing her side. One of Matt’s decrees as supreme commander had been, with the exception of “spy” ships that would retain Grik colors, all allied warships (other than the two old destroyers) would be painted in the same scheme that adorned their final sailing cousins on that other Earth long ago. He was glad he’d made that choice. The total difference it made in their appearance went a long way toward divorcing the ships from the terrible creatures who built them, and it was easier to look at them, and live on them, and give them proud names, if their loathsome makers were not so closely associated with them anymore, even by color. And red, the color of blood, was easy to associate with the Grik. Now, in spite of who made her, Felts was a heartwarming sight, loping almost playfully along under close-reefed topsails so she wouldn’t shoot ahead of the approaching destroyer.
