high and dry.
“Should we go down?” asked the Marine he’d handed his spear to. She was a female, young and attractive. Her real name was Blas-Ma-Ar, he suddenly remembered, after spending most of the day trying to recall it. He could never forget how and when she’d become a Marine, or the ordeal she’d once endured, but the name that always stuck in his mind was the one Chief Gray had given her: Blossom.
“I think not, for now,” he answered softly. “Most of what is here looks to be much the same as what is on deck. Let Cap-i-taan Ellis discover what it is. If it is a good thing, we will know we have more of it.” He shook his head. “I dislike moving any nearer the dark water below until we know what manner of creature dwells within this… human grave of a ship.” The others nodded eager agreement and they retraced their steps. A trip through the engineering spaces seemed appropriate now, as they worked their way to the aft hold. In the corridor, they passed staterooms filled with decaying matter. Some doors were shut, and when they forced them open, they were gratified to see far less damage within the compartments. They found a few more books, in much better condition, and one such room even held a modest armory of unfamiliar weapons and rectangular tins of ammunition. These they carried up to the deck in two trips, along with their booty of books, before proceeding aft.
The boiler room was partially flooded, as Chack had suspected, but a meager light filtered through the grungy, vine-choked skylights, making visibility slightly better. They worked their way carefully along the highest catwalk. A sudden flurry of probably nocturnal lizard birds, disturbed by the lantern, frightened them, but Chack quickly recovered. He wanted to see where they went. They swooped around the space shrieking and flapping until they found a large gap between two twisted plates not far above the waterline. Like sand poured from a cup, they burst through into the daylight beyond.
“So she was sunk here,” he surmised. “Or damaged elsewhere, and this is where she came to rest. Curious.”
Unlike the boiler room, the engine room was relatively dry. There was water, but not much more than might be accounted for by a year and a half of seepage through riveted seams. They wouldn’t be steaming her out of here, but the sight of the rusty but intact machinery was encouraging. Finally, they reached the aft hold and here they found their greatest surprise. More crates like those forward, and many smaller crates filled the space. Everything was a jumble, but Chack recognized hundreds of wooden boxes-maybe thousands-spilling rectangular, green metal cans like those that held ammunition for the big Amer-i-caan machine guns. Enough light diffused into the compartment through the murky water to indicate a substantial hole below the waterline.
“Another wound here then,” he said. “Probably the fatal one. Still, though tossed about, many of the boxes are dry. Some are right below us,” he said, pointing. “It looks like each intact box contains several ammunition cans. Let us claim as many as possible. Proof of the importance of our discovery!” The sight of so much clearly useful ammunition and the better light and visibility subdued his earlier caution. They laid down their burdens and the Marine who’d been holding the lantern descended a ladder to the top of a heap of boxes. Chack was the strongest of the three, so he positioned himself halfway down the ladder, where he might pass the boxes up to Blas-Ma- Ar.
“Here’s somethin’ might work,” Isak said, returning with a small hand maul, a heavy, rusty chisel, and a piece of pipe.
“Sure,” Ellis said. “Let’s open this one.” He’d been trying to choose the worst of the rectangular monstrosities, hoping the mysterious contents were already damaged by the elements and opening it wouldn’t make any difference. The crates were unbelievably stout, built to take significant abuse. He hated to crack any of them, fearing he might ultimately only expose the contents to further, more rapid corrosion. But whatever they held, it would be a while before anybody could come retrieve four-ton crates from a swamp! They had to know what was in them.
“Here, give me that,” Ellis said. Isak handed over the chisel and Ellis positioned it on a seam. “Now the hammer. If I let you do it, you’ll knock my fingers off.”
With deft blows, he drove the chisel in, moved it over, and did it again. When he’d loosened an entire seam, he began prying at it with the chisel until they could insert the pipe in the gap. “Give me a hand,” he said, and Isak and the Marine leaned on the pipe with him. A tortured greeech sound came from the crate. “Again!”
They worked the pipe up and down, much as Jim had done with the chisel, taking occasional anxious looks into the dark interior. “Once more at the top and bottom, and I bet one of us can squeeze in there if we hold it in the middle!” A little more effort and it was done. Jim inserted the pipe in the center of the seam and handed it over. “Pull!” he said. The gap widened and he knocked a few nails over with the hammer. Then he stuck his head inside.
“Great God Almighty!” he said, his voice muffled.
“Well, what the hell is it?” Isak demanded acerbically, losing patience.
For a moment, Jim couldn’t speak. Before him, as his eyes adjusted, he saw a bright, greasy metal spindle with only slight surface rust. Beyond was a triangular joint with bolts conveniently screwed into six holes. Still farther in he made out a radiator and the beginnings of a distinctive, Curtiss Green-painted shape that he’d never, ever expected to see again. Pulling his head back out, he looked at his companions with wide eyes. “Nail it up tight, fellas,” he said. “As tight as you possibly can.” He looked around at the other, similar crates and a slow grin spread across his face.
“Well… what the goddamn hell is it?” Isak demanded.
“Ah, they are pleased. I am so glad!” Rasik said to Koratin. The two had stayed back, near the bulwark, talking.
“So it seems. They also seem to have forgotten all about you.”
“How convenient.”
“Indeed.”
“What is the plan?”
“Simple. Do you see that Marine with the Amer-i-caans? He is one of us. He will continue to distract Cap-i- taan Ellis and the wiry one while we take a boat ride.”
“The other Marines?”
“With us.”
“How delicious!” Rasik exclaimed. “They meant to maroon me, and I will maroon them! A shame we cannot kill them and take their weapons, but with half our group ordered to remain with the boat…”
“Precisely. It might prove dangerous. Now all we need to do is slip back down the net while they exult over their prize! After you, Lord King.”
Down in the half-flooded aft hold, they heaved the heavy crates up one after another until Chack’s shoulders screamed in agony and the others were panting with exertion. Through their increasingly concentrated toil, none of them noticed when it suddenly grew darker in the chamber for a moment as something moved through the light- giving rent in the ship’s side. They felt it, though, another vibration like the others, but clearly here.
Chack looked down at the upturned face of his Marine on the diminished stack of crates. “Up!” he shouted. “Out of the hold!” He turned to race up the ladder, to get out of the way. Blas-Ma-Ar heaved frantically against the crates stacked above to make room for him to pass and so neither ever saw what got the other Marine. They heard a heavy splash and felt the entire ship judder slightly. More splashes came when the stack of crates collapsed into the water, but by the time Chack reached the top and spun to offer his hand, the other Marine was gone. There’d been no scream, no shout. Nothing but the splash. Chack snatched his Krag and frantically searched the water. He thought he saw a dark shape near the hole in the ship and fired, but all that apparently accomplished was to create an impenetrable haze of gun-smoke. He roared in frustration and fired again anyway.
“Cap-i-taan! Cap-i-taan!” Blas-Ma-Ar was pulling on his leather armor. “He is gone!” Chack shook her off and chambered another round. The almost youngling’s voice turned hard. “Cap-i-taan Chack-Sab-At, we have lost a Marine. He died bravely doing his duty. How many lives is this ammunition worth? We still have our duty as well!”
Chack took a deep breath. “Very well. You are right, of course. Come, help me with these crates, but stay alert! There may yet be other dangers within this foul place!”
“Was that shots? That was shots!” Jim exclaimed. “Muffled in the ship. Chack!” He looked around. “Hey, where’s Koratin and Rasik?”
“They left,” the Marine with them said simply.
“ What? Wait, never mind that now. C’mon!” Jim snatched his Springfield and raced toward the hatch he’d
