back within a recognized Naval hierarchy, he might settle down. He was too distracting to keep around and too useful to shoot. The scheme had worked-a little. He wasn’t throwing his weight around quite as much, but he was bitter about being equal to or outranked by men and ’Cats he’d once had under his thumb.
Gilbert stood up, pointing. “Them ones, over there! See? Hey! Mr. Chapelle, we might wanna either speed this tub up or slow it down. I don’t know which. There’s some critter here in this water that eats them things!”
They were all looking at the “ducks” now. They were huge, goofylooking things, maybe as big as a giraffe. Gilbert knew their legs were about as long as what was visible above water. A couple had reddish wattles dangling from their very ducklike bills and bluish crests on their heads. Most were a mottled brown all over, not unlike the drowned trees and other vegetation protruding from the surface of the widening swampy lake. Still several hundred yards away, the entire herd or flock or whatever it was looked directly at them, their long necks stretched out like turkeys trying to get a better view, heads bobbing almost comically from side to side. Most of the men and ’Cats on the barges were doing the same.
“I guess we should slow down,” Gilbert decided. “Last time, the thing that got one didn’t make its move until after we scared the ducks and they took to hurryin’ off.”
“Very well,” Chapelle agreed, and nodded at Bosun’s Mate Saama-Kera at the throttle. The black and white Lemurian, unavoidably known as “Sammy” now, tightened the valve with an “Ayy, ayy, sur,” and the train of barges began to slow. “How much farther to the wreck?” Russ asked.
“Yeah, where is she?” demanded Mallory anxiously.
Gilbert was flustered. He’d only recently begun Talking to officers. Having them ask him for guidance was utterly beyond his experience. He retreated a step and looked at Isak, who wore a face that seemed to say, “No good’ll ever come of puttin’ yerself forward.” Of course, it was too late for that advice. Besides, he suddenly realized he’d just now provided guidance without even thinking about it when he suggested they slow down… and they had! “Uh,” he managed, “we was a little further along when Mr. Ellis asked that damned Rasik that very thing… sirs. The ship was almost growed to the west bank, yonder, maybe a little around that bend.” He stared hard for a moment, concentrating, trying to recall. “As a matter o’ fact, I don’t remember that there bend. I b’leeve the jungle’s growed out an’ plumb gobbled up the ship!”
Gilbert was right. The closer the barges chugged to the “point,” the clearer it became that the jungle had indeed engulfed Santa Catalina. They caught occasional glimpses of rusty iron, and even a vine-wrapped cargo boom was identified, jutting from the mass. Only near the waterline were the old hull plates somewhat visible. The vines grew down to within a few feet of the water and abruptly stopped, as if something in or on the water fed on them, keeping them trimmed as high as they could reach, like trees in a goat pasture. Then again, maybe the vines couldn’t abide salty water. This lake had obviously once been smaller-and fresh-until something, an earthquake or a flood, caused a break into the estuary. Now the tide rolled in, poisoning the rotting stumps that lined a much smaller beach.
Laney was peering over the side into the brackish water as they neared the old freighter. “What about flashies?” he asked, suddenly nervous. He had a right to be. One of the few truly heroic deeds Dean Laney could claim was his work to replace Walker ’s screw with one of Mahan ’s. The dreaded flasher fish had nearly beaten him to death even through a sail they rigged to protect him.
“Cain’t be many of ’em,” Isak said with just a trace of sarcasm in his reedy voice. “I don’t think them duck-o- saurs’d just wade off in amongst’em. Maybe the water ain’t salty enough for ’em.” He grinned. “Or maybe whatever eats duck-o-saurs cleaned ’em out! Glad I ain’t a diver!”
“God damn you, Isak!” Laney snarled. “I guess we’ll find out when I tie a line around your scrawny neck and throw you in to see what eats you!”
“Silence on the barge!” Chapelle growled. “I’ll decide who gets eaten around here!” He made sure Ben Mallory wasn’t paying any attention. The Army aviator was fixated on the ship ahead. He looked at Laney and lowered his voice. “I may be an ‘officer’ now, with my own ship and everything, but except for Mr. Mallory, every human on this trip is a ‘chief ’ now. Whether they’re new chiefs or ex-chiefs, it makes no difference. You know what that means. If you’ve forgotten, you better remember right quick. There’s rules, Laney, and you’ve been on the edge of breaking one of the most important ones for a long time! Why do you think you’re here? Real officers have fancy words for it, but I call it the ‘everybody hates his guts and wants him dead’ rule. Officers have fancy charges, sentences, and lots of different punishments for it too. Chiefs only have one. Do I make myself clear?”
Laney gulped and Chapelle raised his voice just a little so the nearby’Cats could hear as well. “That reminds me. A lot of you guys are ‘new,’ and don’t know what a real hero Major Mallory is. You’re Navy… men. Destroyermen and Marines. You make fun of the Allied armies, and that’s fine. They make fun of you. That’s the way it works. But as we go aboard that ship, remember we’re all here for Major Mallory. Our reason for being here is the cargo on that ship, and that cargo belongs to him. Is that understood? He may not be ‘Navy,’ but he’s the ‘Air Minister,’ and that means he even commands the Naval Aviators, God save us. In fact, they’re the Naval Air Corps now. That means even though I command this expedition, he outranks the hell out of me.” Russ paused and glanced at Ben. He was surprised to see the flier looking back at him. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking that loud.
“Thanks, Captain Chapelle. No need to puff me up in front of the fellas, though. I’m sure we’re all here for the same reason. To win the war.” He gestured up at the ship that now loomed above them, dripping vines like a vast green waterfall. “It’s been kind of a secret, I guess. Mr. Ellis tried to keep it one for a while. I don’t know how many of you have heard, but this old ship, out here in the middle of this crummy place, might just help us win the whole damn war.”
The steam barge pulled the others as close alongside the ship as possible. Gilbert could tell there was no way they could board on the side closest to the shore as they’d done previously, and he said so. The jungle had already taken a hold on the ship to a remarkable degree when he’d last seen it, but he was amazed by how much worse it was now.
“The Marines will go first,” Chapelle said to Lieutenant Bekiaa-Sab-At on the next barge. Bekiaa was originally from Big Sal ’s forewing clan and was yet another one of Chack’s many cousins. She was brindled like her relatives and had trained under Risa. She wasn’t as
… freespirited… as Risa, but she’d seen action at the Baalkpan docks at the height of that terrible battle.
“Be careful,” Gilbert warned. “There was some sort of Marine-eatin’ booger in the aft hold.” He gestured up at the tangled mess. “No tellin’ what’s moved in since.”
“Charlie Company!” Bekiaa called to the Marines on the second and third barges. “Prepare to grapple!” She waited briefly while the thirtyodd ’Cats that had accompanied them from the ship prepared. “Execute!” Heavy treble hooklike implements arced upward, trailing stout lines, and disappeared into the foliage. Raucous, indignant cries filled the air as flocks of lizard birds exploded from the mass and swirled above them, along with a cloud of flying insects. Most of the hooks caught something when they were pulled taut, and after heaving the barges closer, the Marines scampered up the lines. Many had to hack their way through and over the bulwark to the deck, but when a sufficient number had managed the feat and there’d been no cry of alarm, Bekiaa grabbed a dangling rope and scurried up after her troops.
Chapelle grinned at Ben Mallory. “Now we just wait a little while for them to check things out. It won’t be long before you can kiss your prizes!”
Something big jostled the barge from below, spilling the men and’Cats to the deck.
“Whoa there!” chirped Isak, grabbing for the bulwark. The barge tilted and creaked as whatever it was slowly scraped along its bottom. All the men had Springfields and a couple of the ’Cats had Krags. All went for them at once, snatching them up or unslinging them from their shoulders.
“Goddamn!” bellowed Laney. “It’s one o’ them pleezy-sores!”
The barge righted and something cruised away from it, rough, pebbly back, streaming water. There were big swirls alongside like it had very large flippers, or maybe feet like an alligator. An extremely long tail slithered through the water behind it, probably providing most of the propulsion.
“What is that thing?” Mallory asked. Already, seven rifles and a pistol were aimed at it. Moe, the Lemurian Hunter, had his massive crossbow leveled at the beast. “It’s too damn big to be a croc… Isn’t it?”
“Hold your fire!” Chapelle ordered. “We might just piss it off. Maybe it’ll leave us alone.”
“Nothin’ ever leaves us alone,” Gilbert predicted darkly.
“It come back!” Moe exclaimed.
