how ‘civilian’ Grik sea captains act. I guess we’ve probably run across a few before… but they never acted this weird. Hmm.” He motioned a ’Cat midshipman near. “Tell Clancy to send this to Revenge and Tolson: ‘Watch out for something screwy.‘”
“Ay, ay, sur! Anything else?”
Garrett shook his head. “No… just… something screwy-and be sure they know to report it if they see anything that fits that description!”
“What do we do?” Smitty asked. The range was down to nine hundred yards.
Tolson was closing from the west and Revenge was about the same distance to the north of the enemy, steaming into a steady wind on her starboard bow. Greg smiled with appreciation. The new Revenge was fast, and only one of the fore and aft rigged feluccas could have matched her course. It was a near-textbook interception, but the Grik weren’t acting “textbook” at all.
“Do we sink ’em or what?” Smitty persisted.
“I don’t know,” Greg ground out. He shook his head. “How do you know if Grik are trying to surrender?” The very idea of such a thing would’ve seemed impossible not long ago-until an aged “civilian” Grik called “Hij Geerki” surrendered to General Pete Alden and Lord General Rolak during the “Raan-goon” operation. Ever since, the creepy old Grik had been a font of unrestrained information. It was as if, having surrendered, he’d literally, unreservedly, switched sides. Rolak owned him now, body and soul. Greg’s skin crawled. Personally, he’d prefer to open fire and sink every Grik ship in view as soon as in range, but he had to think of the intelligence value! They had Grik “captives” of the “Uul,” or “warrior-worker class,” that understood the Lemurian tongue-back in Baalkpan now-but they couldn’t speak anything anyone understood. Their “Hij” leaders couldn’t speak anything comprehensible either, but many could read and write English, considered the “scientific tongue.” All Grik sea captains were “Hij,” and the prospect of capturing eight more sources of information was a powerful lure.
“Well, let’s leave it to them,” Smitty said. “We can sink some, and if the others want to surrender, let them figure out how.”
Saaran shook his head and his ears twitched negation, even while his tail swished with amusement. “That will just frighten any out of surrendering-if that’s their intent.”
“Whoa!” said Garrett, looking through his glasses. “They’re really starting to bunch up now, all eight. Shortening sail-and those red pennant-flag things are coming down! They’re lowering their flags! They really are surrendering… Looks like they’re taking in all sail and lashing their ships together too. Who the devil told them to do that?”
Smitty snapped his fingers. “The Japs! There’s bound to be Japs on Ceylon. They must’ve told them what to do! Might even be Japs on those ships!”
“When did you ever see a Jap surrender?” Greg demanded, but realized it must be true. They already knew few of the surviving Japanese cared much for their Grik “allies.” He shook his head. “Holy smokes. Pass the word for everyone to hold their fire. Tolson and Donaghey will take a closer look. Signal Mr. Barry to keep Revenge back, but close enough to cover us.” The range was seven hundred yards.
They began spotting gri-kakka, or “pleezy-sores” at about three hundred yards. The big “lizard fish” were deadly dangerous to small boats, and even feluccas. Ships sometimes sank after striking a large one near the surface. “Look at them all,” someone murmured quietly. No one had ever seen such a concentration before, and the closer they moved to the Grik ships, the denser they got-almost as dense as schools of flasher-fish sometimes got- and there were swarms of flashies too! The surface of the sea began to froth as giant fins lanced through the sedately cruising gri-kakka, and bright blood swirled in the water. Gri-kakka reared up, jaws agape, with sharks as large as they were fastened to their bodies, wrenching their heads back and forth. The gri-kakka started turning on the sharks as well.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Garrett muttered. “It’s like some kind of ‘war of the sea monsters’! Better shorten sail, and prepare to heave to,” he told Saaran.
A midshipman slammed to a stop beside him. “Sur, Mr. Clancy say Mr. Chaa-pelle on Tolson don’t like this.” The young ’Cat blinked irony. “He say something ‘fishy.’ ”
Smitty was looking through his binoculars. “Skipper! There’s Griks over there, throwing junk in the water. Looks like… dead stuff! Chunks of meat or something!” He turned to Garrett with wide eyes. “The bastards are chumming all these devils up!”
“Prepare to commence firing! Helm, make your course three, six, zero! We’re getting out of here before something knocks a hole in us, but we’ll blast ’em as we pass! Chumming up herds of dangerous sea monsters is not a peaceful, surrendering act!” He looked at the midshipman. “Tell Tolson we’ll steer out of this feeding frenzy, then paste them!”
The midshipman saluted and started to turn, but then did a double take over Garrett’s shoulder. “Sur!” was all he managed. The officers spun in time to see a cavernous mouth rise from the sea a few hundred yards off the port quarter. Water cascaded down the flanks of the gray-black island of flesh, and the thing immediately surged forward, taking Gri-kakka, “sharks,” and thousands of flashies into its hundred-foot maw.
“It’s a trap!” Saaran yelled. “They have lured forth a mountain fish!”
“Commence firing, all guns!” bellowed Greg. “Port battery’ll concentrate on that big fish! AMF-DiC [Anti- Mountain Fish Destruction Countermeasures] will prepare to fire!”
The great fish, seemingly oblivious of Donaghey, chomped down on its stupendous mouthful and prepared to take it down to swallow. They all knew it wouldn’t go away, however. It would be back to feed and feed until the entire smorgasbord above was consumed, or managed to flee. Revenge might get away, but Tolson and Donaghey were doomed-if they couldn’t scare the creature away. The eight Grik ships were doomed as well, and their crews had to know that. The significance of that didn’t occur to Greg just then. He looked at the Grik, just over a hundred yards off the starboard beam, hoping they didn’t have any “Grik fire” bombs. Tolson’ s guns opened up, and a moment later, Donaghey shuddered with the rolling broadside that thundered out from both sides.
Smoke gushed, choking Greg and Saaran on the quarterdeck until it passed. Smitty was gone, directing his guns. There was a momentous writhing splash to port, accompanied by a deep, bass, bone-tingling, moaning roar. The splash launched a wave large enough to heave the ship on her beam ends, and they saw the mighty flukes of the titanic monster rise in the air.
“Y guns!” came Smitty’s roar from forward, calling on the crews of the mortarlike contrivances that launched “depth charges.” They were the primary, most effective aspect of the AMF-DiC system. They weren’t necessarily meant to harm a mountain fish, but the acoustic assault they created was known to discourage the mammoth creatures. “Drop them a hundred yards off the port beam!” Smitty directed.
Greg turned aft. Depth charges!” he cried. “Set depth for one hundred feet! Roll four!” There were several, staggered whumps; two from the fo’c’sle, and two just behind Garrett on the quarterdeck. Heavy kegs vaulted skyward, almost straight up it seemed. Shortly after, four more kegs rolled into the sea aft, from racks piercing the taffrail. It was at times like this-virtually the only times anymore-that Garrett wished his ship had engines. Certainly, he’d love to be able to flee from a mountain fish, but he wanted to get the hell away from the depth charges they’d just dropped even more. They could break Donaghey’ s back if she wasn’t far enough away. Fortunately, the wind was in her favor. He stared at the great fish. You could never predict how they’d react. The bombs usually scared them away, but cannon fire-especially if it hit-sometimes caused the monsters to go amok and attack whatever shot at them.
Oddly, the huge beast was just lying there, wallowing in the swells like a dead whale surrounded by a school of dolphins. He’d never seen that reaction before. The bombs from the Y guns splashed down about half the distance to the fish. Breathlessly, those around Garrett waited. The Y gun bombs would detonate at thirty feet- probably at about the same time the depth charges blew. Tolson had surely fired her Y guns as well, hopefully in a pattern complementing theirs. The timbers of the ship shuddered again, and the sea around the mountain fish and in Donaghey‘ s wake spalled like cooked flint. With a mighty convulsion of foam and smoke, the waves contorted into an inverted cataract of spume. Despite their fear, Donaghey’ s crew gave an exultant cheer as water rained down on them-along with countless flashies, pieces of flashies, and a ten-foot-long gri-kakka flipper that nearly crushed a ’Cat gunner.
Garrett wiped the lenses of his binoculars with his shirtsleeve, then stared through them again. “Now I’ve seen everything,” he said incredulously. Despite the cannon fire and depth charges, the mountain fish hadn’t moved. It hadn’t dived or swum away, or even attacked. It hadn’t done anything. He looked at Saaran. “Say, you don’t suppose it’s dead?” He looked back at the fish. “You know, I think it’s dead! Smitty!” he yelled. “Get up here, you
