salvage. Third, again according to our spotters, the Grik spent a lot of time and effort on the port facilities. They may not have a dry dock, or otherwise be up to Baalkpan’s standards, but they’re better than anything in Aryaal. I want those facilities intact.” He looked around the compartment, meeting every gaze. “Finally, the spotters have seen a little compound where a few Japs are being held. We have to save them.”
There were a few mutters of protest and others looked uncomfortable. A few tails swished indignantly. Matt held up his hands. “I know what you’re thinking: what for?” He sighed. “Two reasons, really. No, three. First, chances are, if they were helping the Grik of their own free will they wouldn’t be in a compound. Second, we might be able to get some information out of them. They’ve been to Ceylon and they know what the defenses are like. They’ve had a far different experience than Commander Okada, and they might even be willing to actively help us. Finally, and most important… we just have to, is all. If the spotters had seen a compound full of ’Cats, we’d have to save them, wouldn’t we?”
“Of course,” Safir replied. “But these Jaaps are the enemy too, are they not?”
“Maybe not. Just because some Aryaalans once followed an evil king, are they evil too? Maybe some are, and I’m sure Lord Rolak has his eyes out for any such, but not all. And personally, I’d rather kill each and every one of them with my bare hands than leave them to the fate they might face at the hands of the Grik.”
Finally, there were nods in the room, and a few comments of support.
“Very well,” Matt continued, “with that, I’ll let Generals Alden, Rolak, and Safir Maraan enlighten us with their brilliant plan to accomplish all these objectives.” He winced at Pete. “Sorry about the last addition, but I only just heard.”
“It’s okay, Skipper. I think we can add it in.”
“Do you think, General Alden, you might add in some supporting role for Achilles?” Jenks asked.
Matt had actually been expecting the offer. He and Jenks might never become friends, but they’d developed considerable mutual respect and even admiration during the commodore’s frequent visits aboard Donaghey. Matt also knew that the very savagery of their enemy had gnawed at Jenks since he first set foot on the Aryaal dock. He’d slowly come to the same conviction his princess had: sooner or later, the Empire he served most certainly had a stake in this fight.
Pete glanced at Matt and saw him nod. “Why, of course, Commodore. Always happy for another gun platform, especially one as maneuverable as yours.”
“My Marines are at your disposal too,” Jenks added, “as a reserve if you need it, or possibly as a flanking support of some kind?”
“That’s very generous,” Alden said, recognizing that the offer was smart as well. Throwing Jenks’s untried Marines into a pivotal part of the plan at the last minute might wreck the whole operation, and Pete would never have done it. The Imperial clearly recognized the latter, at least. This way his troops could participate on some level and he avoided the insult of a refusal. Jenks was pretty sharp, Pete decided. “We could use a little more flank security, with all those Grik hunters running around,” he said. He advanced to the chart tacked to the bulkhead. “Now, here’s the deal. The operation”-he grinned-“is called Singapore Swing. At oh one hundred hours tomorrow morning, the fleet elements will be in position off these beaches, here, here, and here…”
CHAPTER 17
I t was long after dark when Silva’s hunting party neared the environs of Baalkpan. The bearers had dragged the masses of meat on travois down to the original riverside fueling pier and transferred it to square, flat barges. From there, they slowly towed the barges to the city behind Scott’s launch. As usual, Moe didn’t accompany them past the pier, but disappeared into the jungle as soon as the hunt was done. Even Silva didn’t know where he lived, and he was probably the closest thing to a friend the old Lemurian had. The sun went down quickly, as was its custom, and for a time the large, voracious insects pestered them as they traversed the estuary. The breeze of the bay protected them a little as they drew nearer the city.
“What the devil?” Silva asked as they caught sight of the old fitting-out pier. The city was lit up like it hadn’t been in a long time, and a major party appeared to be under way.
“Most interesting,” observed Bradford. “One would like to speculate that they’ve heard the news of our return after such an auspicious and successful venture as ours today, but I honestly doubt that’s the case.”
“Nobody invited you to a party neither?” Silva grumped.
“Indeed not. I can’t imagine what might have transpired in our absence to cause such revelry. Perhaps the war is over?”
Silva grunted. “We musta missed something, but I doubt that’s it. Besides, they wouldn’t dare win the war without lettin’ me in on it. I’m gonna personally poke that Sequestural Lizard Mother through the head with one o’ Lanier’s U.S.-marked butter knives. I told the skipper so. If she fell off the pot an’ broke her neck, I’m gonna be mighty sore.”
Abel stirred from where he’d been sleeping curled up next to Lawrence in the stern sheets. “Look!” he said a little blearily. “ Walker is lit up! Her aft searchlight tower has been reinstalled and they are shining the light about!”
“Ahhh!” roared Silva when the beam rested momentarily on the approaching launch and its train of barges. He shielded his eyes from the painful glare. “Goddamn EMs are horsin’ around! They musta managed to twist a couple o’ wires together an’ thought that was worth a hootenanny!” He chuckled. “Maybe Rodriguez’ll point the light at Laney! He can’t stand that stupid prick. ‘Hey, Ronson, what’s that smolderin’ pile o’ bones?’ ‘Oh, that’s just Laney. Thought I saw a roach on deck!’ ” Silva laughed.
Abel looked at him in the reflected light-the searchlight beam had passed on-and wondered just how serious the big man was. There were persistent rumors that Silva had actually tried to kill Laney before. Abel usually doubted it. He’d discovered that Silva was particularly skilled at killing things that he really wanted dead. But he’d also learned Silva was only slightly more predictable than the weather.
“Hey,” Dennis said, addressing the coxswain, “after we drop our load, take us over there, willya?” He was pointing at Walker. The coxswain was a Lemurian, one of Keje’s officers learning powered-ship-handling skills so he’d at least have some sort of a clue when it came time for Big Sal to join the fleet. “Whatever’s goin’ on, it looks like it has to do with our ship, so I figure anybody that’s anybody’ll be there. We can report in and find out what’s up at the same time.”
“You betcha,” came the high-pitched response.
The launch’s nose bumped against the pier and Silva winced to think what Tony Scott would have said, but he sent Bradford and Abel up the rungs to the dock. Lawrence scampered up without assistance and Silva followed him. There was clearly a party atmosphere, and it seemed as if most of the city had turned out to see the show. It took Dennis only a few minutes to figure out what all the ruckus was about. Through the noise of the revelers, mostly Lemurian but a few human as well, a long-unheard but intimately familiar sound reached his ears. He turned and stared at the ship.
Smoke was rising from the aft funnel, the number four boiler, and the blower behind the still-stripped pilothouse roared with a steady, healthy, reassuring rumble. He’d expected it any day now, just not today. He knew the reconstruction of the numbers three and four boilers was almost complete and the starboard engine, that gloriously complicated Parsons turbine, had been carefully overhauled, but the blower motor and both the twenty- five-kilowatt generators had still been in the “powerhouse” when his hunting party set out that morning before dawn. For the longest time, all he could do was stand and stare.
Walker was alive again. She inhaled, exhaled, and her proud heart stirred once more. Her lifeblood flowed to the boiler, where hellish fires flared and water flashed to steam and sang joyously through the pipes to her turbines. At least one refurbished generator fed electricity to her blower and the spotlight. Silva’s eye patch felt soggy and his good eye quit working right. Someone was calling his name, but it just didn’t register at first. He noticed a slight weight land upon him, pulling his neck forward with small, strong arms. The passionate kiss suddenly inflicted on him finally brought him to his senses and he realized Pam Cross had jumped on him like a kid on a set of monkey bars. The small nurse clung to him and the curves pressed against him brought a smile to his tear-streaked face.
“Why, there you are, my little honeydew!” He still held the massive rifle in his right hand, but his left arm was
