Distant Thunders

CHAPTER 22

Matt stood on Walker ’s port bridge wing and, for just a while, allowed himself to feel the pure joy of the moment. At long last, his ship was alive again. He felt her sinews coiling for the rush in the vibration of the newly painted rail beneath his hands. Her hasty, impatient breath was in the blower behind the pilothouse. Her muscles were the men and ’Cats who scrambled on the fo’c’sle, a little awkwardly and out of practice perhaps, to single up her lines. Her heart was her own and always had been, but as he stood there, he almost felt her mind merge with his once more, becoming a willing tool for his purpose. Oh, if only Sandra were there, it would be the perfect moment. A measure of her old vitality restored, the ship fairly strained against the bonds that clutched her to the land. She was ready for the long voyage ahead, come what may. Together they’d get Sandra back: the old destroyer and her captain.

“Take in the stern lines,” Matt commanded, and he waited while the task was performed. “Left full rudder,” he called to Kutas, the scarred helmsman. “Port ahead one-third.” The dingy water alongside the dock boiled up through the propeller guard and thunderous cheers reverberated from the crowd gathered to see. Matt scanned the crowd for faces as Walker ’s stern crept away. They were the ones who’d done this, the people of this city he’d grown to love. Partly they’d done it because this ship was their protector, the almost holy talisman that saved them from the Grik. They owed it to her; they needed her still-but the quality of the work they’d done and the inhuman hours that work had required bespoke a labor of love. Matt nodded his thanks to all of them, not only for what they had done for his ship, but for what he knew they’d done for him.

Some of the faces he saw were less jubilant than others. Adar appeared thoughtful, but he waved encouragingly. Judging by his posture, Keje was downright morose. He’d badly wanted to come, but Big Sal would soon join the fleet at Singapore. He couldn’t be in two places at once. Besides, his daughter Selass was sailing as Walker ’s medical officer. They’d become quite close again and he would miss her. Letts looked anxious. He’d complained that he never got to go anywhere, but as Matt had once told him, he’d worked himself out of a job. He had a bigger job now and a very pregnant wife. Riggs looked stoic. Ed Palmer could do his job on the ship, but he couldn’t take over ashore. Perry Brister made an obscene gesture at somebody aft and Matt chuckled, spotting Spanky McFarlane waving cheerily from where the number one torpedo mount used to be. Spanky had left Brister in charge of his division in Baalkpan because there was no way Walker was steaming off without him.

Gazing farther aft, the incongruity of an airplane lashed carefully to the deck behind the searchlight tower struck Matt again. Besides never having seen such a thing on a four stacker before, the Nancy just looked so strange and fragile. He knew it would be great having it along-if it didn’t fall apart. Mallory had assured him the “ships” were tougher than they looked. Matt hoped the same was true for poor Reynolds. The young aviator seemed somewhat lost and all alone standing near the plane.

“Rudder amidships,” Matt called. “Take in the bowline.” A few moments later, he added, “All astern, one-third.” The old ship groaned a bit as the turbines’ gears reversed their thrust, but she did seem. .. tighter than he remembered. As they backed away, the crowd cheered again and Matt kept looking for faces as they grew smaller. Bernie was there, waving happily with the others. He liked his job ashore. Laney was some distance away from him, sitting on a stanchion, probably wondering if he was happy or sad. He caught sight of Pam Cross and Risa standing side by side. Whatever… relationship… they shared with Silva, they were worried about the big ape, and his heart went out to them. The final face he recognized was that of one of the Mice-Gilbert Yeager-standing all alone with his hands in his pockets. Tabby knew Walker ’s systems as well as anyone now, and she’d won the toss. Matt was secretly amazed Gilbert hadn’t just sneaked aboard anyway. He’d done it before. Still, he was probably the most forlorn figure Walker was leaving behind.

“All stop. Right full rudder, all ahead two-thirds!” Matt commanded. The old ship’s stern crouched down and water churned. Almost immediately, she began a looping turn to starboard. “Honk the horn, if you please,” Matt said, and with a shriek of her whistle that drowned any further cheers, Walker sprinted for the mouth of the bay.

“Feels good, huh, Skipper,” said the Bosun as he and Chack appeared on the bridge. Back aboard his Home, Chack had immediately reverted to his role as bosun’s mate. He would have other duties too: his company of Marines would augment the crew, but it also had to drill with the new muskets they’d been issued. Bernie had insisted Walker get the first batch.

“Feels good,” Matt confirmed. “We’ll let things shake down a little; then we’ll start running a few drills.”

“Gonna be a comedy at first,” Gray warned.

“I know. Say, where’s Mr. Bradford? I figured he’d be on deck to enjoy the send-off.”

“Oh, he’s below, still stowing junk he says you said he could bring along, for experiments an’ such.”

Matt laughed. “He hit me with a list and swore he’d stick to it, but I guess I don’t really care what he brought as long as it stays out of the way.” He shook his head, watching as they left the feluccas and fishing boats in their wake. “God, it feels good to be moving again!”

“In case you didn’t notice, we were moving along pretty well on Achilles in that Strakka!” Chack said dryly.

“Mmm. That was quite the thrill ride, but we were being pushed. It’s nice to move that fast on our own!”

They talked amiably until they passed below Fort Atkinson and the report of a gun interrupted their conversation. Then another.

“A salute,” Gray said. The guns kept firing. As the number mounted, Matt turned to Gray, who was staring expressionlessly ahead. When they finally stopped at nineteen, Matt’s tone was ominous.

“Nineteen guns? You told them to do that! Are you out of your mind? That’s nuts… and think of the wasted powder!”

Gray looked at Matt. “Yeah, Adar asked and I told him. And it ain’t nuts! The Secretary of the Navy gets that many, and if you ain’t at least that, what are you? You’d better dip the flag or you’ll disappoint the boys an’ girls in the fort.”

Walker turned north-northeast after clearing the point batteries and islands beyond. Sprinting at the glorious speed of twenty-six knots, she reached the refinery island of Tarakan at dawn the next morning. The growth was beginning to reestablish itself after the vicious but comparatively small battle once fought there, and the ensuing great fire that had ravaged the place. To Matt, it still seemed a little odd to see the Stars and Stripes flying over an island where not a single human currently dwelt. All the workers there were ’Cats-Navy ’Cats, and thus Americans-still… Walker topped off her bunkers and sped on.

A week before Walker sailed, they’d heard the news of Simms ’s fate, when a lone felucca returned to Paga-Daan, Saan-Kakja’s brother’s home. The transmission had told how Simms was approached and destroyed without warning of any kind. Worse, a felucca under the command of Saan-Kakja’s brother himself was also destroyed. Other than a few of Simms ’s crew who’d apparently rowed Captain Lelaa over to Ajax to confer with the hostage takers, there were no other survivors. Saan-Kakja was in a frenzy, understandably, but she was also ready to declare war on the Empire of the New Britain Isles. Matt had to send his personal assurance that the Empire itself might not be to blame, and they’d secured a strong alliance with at least one element of the Imperial Navy. He then had to beg the Paga-Daans to replenish Jenks’s ship when it arrived instead of firing on it. Things were spiraling out of control and, for Matt at least, the all-important war in the west had assumed an almost back-burner status. Meanwhile, he spent more time trying to smooth things over between his Allies than he did running his ship-all while pursuing the criminals who had taken Sandra, the princess, and at least three more of their people. Those hostages might now include Simms ’s captain.

Just as they turned west to cut across the Moro Gulf of the Celebes Sea, they received confirmation that Achilles had indeed reached Paga-Daan and had her fuel replenished. A subsequent transmission from Achilles -O’Casey had apparently finally figured out the device he’d been given-asked why the Paga-Daans had been so unfriendly. Matt had Palmer send a message that explained the new situation-and the Paga-Daans immediately replied that they had not been rude to Jenks. Matt finally summoned Bradford and put him in charge of the diplomatic situation and insisted that it had been his job in the first place.

Walker steamed on, her repaired sonar blasting the depths before her. The sonar had been a major concern, but all the delicate equipment had been above water in the charthouse, so it hadn’t been as difficult to fix as originally feared. They’d installed a pair of the “Y” guns-thanks to Simms, they knew those worked-but it was good to be able to cross deep water at speed. With Bradford finally dealing with diplomacy, Matt was free to drill his crew and get his ship ready to fight.

“Sound General Quarters,” Matt said for the third time that day, and cringed. Of all the things no one had thought to repair, the general alarm was becoming the most obvious. Everything else seemed to be working fine so far, but the alarm, always ill-sounding, now reverberated through the ship like a goose being choked underwater. Despite the comical sound, the crews immediately sprang to their stations. The automatic response had already returned to Walker ’s veterans, and her new draft was quickly picking up the pace.

Fred Reynolds was the talker (he had to have something to do when he wasn’t fussing with the plane) and he began to call out readiness reports from the various stations.

“Engineering reports manned and ready,” he said. “Main battery is manned… and mostly ready. They’re still having a little trouble figuring out who stands where on that Jap gun-I mean, number four.” He quickly recited the rest of the litany. Matt noticed that the young ensign visibly paled when he reported for the plane-dump detail. Matt hoped it would never come to that, but if the plane ever caught fire or was otherwise interfering with the performance of the ship or crew in battle, they had to be ready to throw it over the side. He glanced aft and almost barked a laugh. Once again, he saw a pair of ’Cat mess attendants solemnly, carefully, carrying the Coke machine forward to the companionway under Earl Lanier’s fierce, watchful supervision. Apparently, Earl was determined that providing for the iconic machine’s safety should become as instinctive as any other preparation for battle. It had been severely wounded in action before, and after Earl lovingly and painstakingly restored it to health, he wasn’t going to risk it again.

“Lookouts, machine guns, and damage control, all manned and ready. All stations manned and ready, Captain!” Reynolds finally reported.

“Very well,” Matt said, controlling his voice and looking at his watch with a dissatisfied frown. The time had actually been pretty good, but he had to maintain appearances. “Secure from General Quarters. Continue steaming as before but maintain condition three. I want a few fingers close to a few triggers. There are sea monsters out there, after all.”

“Aye-aye, Skipper. Secure from General Quarters and maintain condition three.”

In the short bustle that followed, while the crew secured their helmets and other gear, and men and ’Cats slid down the ladder from the fire-control platform above the wheelhouse, Courtney Bradford appeared on the bridge. “How invigorating!” he wheezed after the effort of climbing the steps aft. “The old girl seems as good as new and ready for a scrap! It does my heart a world of good, I must say. It feels almost like old times!”

Matt turned to look at Bradford. “You weren’t here for the old times, back before the war. We had some damn good men and we’ve lost an awful lot of them since, but the few who remain, from Walker and Mahan, and a few from S-19, have become something a little more than just damn good men. With them, and their Lemurian shipmates, this old can probably has as good a crew as any four stacker ever had!”

“Quite,” Courtney agreed. “I have always noted how, in the various navies I’ve grown familiar with, each crew contains all the wildly different varieties of specialized skills to operate and maintain their ship at sea and on far-flung deployments. Oddly, however, I’ve also seen how the men who possess those skills set themselves apart from one another as distinctly as, well, different races sometimes do. Aboard here, all those different skills have become wonderfully diffused through necessity. Your crew has become much better educated than is the norm, Captain Reddy, and they have accomplished that feat largely on their own.”

“You’re right, but they’ve had a lot of help,” Matt said. “These ’Cats! They’re smart as a whip, but teaching them stuff has helped all the fellas. I’ve often heard it said that teaching makes a smart man wise. I’m not sure that’s true in a classroom, but out here?” He shrugged. “It sure shows you what you don’t know, and in our situation, you’d better find an answer. Chances are, somebody has one. That’s what’s caused your diffusion of skills.” He waved his hand. “There’ll always be rivalries. The ‘snipes’ and ‘apes’ wouldn’t have it any other way, but that’s good for morale. The thing is, after all we’ve been through and what this crew went through to get this ship back in action, there’s probably not a deck ape aboard who couldn’t lend a competent hand in the firerooms if it came to that. And vice versa. They might gripe, but they could do it and they would.”

“Speak for yourself, Skipper,” said Chief Gray, joining the pair. “Spanky’s still mad that I missed most of the slop work. Says I’m banned from the engineering spaces! Hell, I wouldn’t go down there to piss on him if he caught fire!”

“You see?” Matt said, laughing. “Boats, you’re the exception that proves the rule!” He shook his head. “What does that mean, anyway? What a stupid thing to say.”

“Indeed,” Bradford agreed, lowering his voice. He glanced around as if checking to see who was in earshot. There weren’t many secrets aboard Walker, not anymore, but Bradford had learned that his theories and observations were sometimes prone to… upset sensitive ears. Some of those sensitive ears were already somewhat agitated. Everyone knew Walker was steaming inexorably east and there was a very good chance she’d ultimately pass into waters no Lemurian had ever been. The fact that all the humans and a fair number of the Lemurian old hands seemed so unconcerned kept the edge off among the more strictly pious or superstitious. In this case, however, Bradford himself had become suddenly and surprisingly sensitive to the imperative that they minimize stressful contemplations among certain elements of the crew.

Apparently assured there were no panicky types present, he proceeded. “I have in fact been giving that a great deal of thought. As you know, I’ve been overwhelmed with stimuli, overwhelmed, sir! This world is a cornucopia of delights for a man of my interests. Forgive me if, on occasion, I’ve been diverted from some fairly obvious conclusions that would’ve ordinarily struck me with the greatest importance! It’s the sheer volume of wonders that’s crippled me and I’m but one man…” He paused. “I do hope we may rescue young Mr. Cook. He’s been such a great help…”

“Courtney?” Matt prodded.

“Of course. Where was I? Oh, yes. A mere trivial example of my preoccupation is my failure to extrapolate beyond a few observations I made when we first came to this world. Surely you remember when Miss Tucker and I dissected the creature we killed on Bali?”

The day Marvaney died. “Yeah, I remember,” Matt said.

“Well, you may recall that Miss Tucker and I disagreed about the physiology of the beast? I said it was more like a bird, with its furry feathers and hollow bones, et cetera, and she said its jaws made it a lizard as far as she was concerned-oh, please don’t take this as criticism of the dear woman-but, well, I was right, you see. I admonished her to judge them more by what they were like and less by what they looked like… and I promptly fell into the same trap myself. We bandied the term ‘lizard’ about for so long, I failed to pursue my original course of study. We were a bit busy at the time, as you’ll recall.

“In any event, it was the boy Abel who brought it back to my mind; he was quite fascinated with dinosaurs before his unpleasant experiences turned him slightly against them. But the point is we, the scientific community of which I consider myself a part, have always assumed dinosaurs were cold-blooded reptiles! Monstrous beasts, plodding along, lying in the sun like lizards on a rock, but we were wrong! If the fauna of this world is truly descended from the same fauna as our own, there would be a lot of egg on a lot of faces at the Royal Society, if I could ever report!”

“Well… that’s amazing, Courtney,” Matt said dryly, “but what’s your point? I’m afraid ‘lizards’ has pretty much stuck as slang for ‘Grik.’ I doubt you’re going to get folks to start calling ’em ‘birds’ at this point. Be happy with your win over ‘Lemurians.’ ”

“No! That’s not what I’m saying at all!”

“Then for God’s sake, for once in your life, say what you mean!” hissed Gray, exasperated. Matt looked at the chief and raised his hand, but couldn’t help agreeing with him.

“I’m trying to! Aren’t you listening at all?” Bradford asked forcefully, and Gray rolled his eyes. “The thing is, all my various preoccupations pushed some rather more important thoughts from my head. One such was retrieved by your ridiculous comment that the ‘exception proves the rule.’ I know you don’t believe that,” he hastened to add, “and neither do I. That brings us to some rather disturbing thoughts I’ve had regarding our arrival on this world. We already know we must have been given, or been the victims of, some exception to the rules we knew, because, well, here we are.”

“Clearly,” Matt said.

“We also now know that exception wasn’t necessarily an exception at all.”

“Shit, Mr. Bradford-’scuse me, Skipper-but just spit it out. I’m getting an ‘exceptional’ headache trying to figure you out!” Gray whispered, but Matt shushed him. He thought he knew where Bradford was going.

“Very well,” Courtney continued, a little stiffly. “Jenks’s ancestors came through a… phenomenon much like the one we did. They call it the Passage, and it occurred in relatively close geographic proximity to our Squall. We also agree there may have been other similar such episodes over the centuries. Maybe it happens quite often, in fact, but the transportees are otherwise in smaller, more vulnerable ships with smaller crews, who have no means of protecting themselves in this more hostile world. They either don’t survive the event, or are lost before locals like the Lemurians discover them and give them aid. The mysterious fate of the crew of the Tjilatjap transport, Santa Catalina, and even the original crew of our own lamented PBY would seem to support that theory. As noted, a few men in a fishing boat would have poor prospects of survival.

“We still don’t know what all else might have come through our Squall with us. Four ships now, counting the transport, plus a submarine and an airplane-that we know of. Now we learn of this Dominion that controls a portion of the Americas. Princess Rebecca is a dear child, but her history is not up to that of Jenks or Mr. O’Casey. They told me that this Dominion was founded by some bizarre combination of survivors from an ‘Acapulco’ or ‘Manila’ galleon and remnants of an even older, possibly pre-Columbian American tribe. I won’t go into the details of that twisted union at present, but it was the Acapulco galleon that rang the first warning bell.”

“What are you talkin’ about?” Gray asked. “What’s a ‘Aca-poolco galleon’?”

“What I’m talking about is that whatever phenomenon transported us to this world may not be nearly as unique as we first believed. Whatever conditions arise to trigger it might- might, I say-also ensure that it is a one-way transfer. I don’t begin to understand the mechanics of it yet, but that at least seems certain, since we’ve never encountered any lumbering Lemurian Homes or mountain fish on our world.” He paused. “Or maybe that is the key!”

Captain Reddy and Chief Gray looked at each other. Evidently, Courtney was on one of his stream-of-consciousness rolls, and they might as well let it run its course.

“What key?” Matt prodded.

“Metal! As far as we know, only recently-relatively speaking-has any quantity of metal been abroad on the oceans of this world! Perhaps large quantities of iron contribute some form of electromagnetic aspect to the phenomenon-or the superior conductivity of the bronze guns, copper fittings… precious nonferrous metals of our predecessors… Oh, dear me, Captain, an entirely new avenue of contemplation has opened before me!”

“Well, let’s finish our little trip down the avenue you were already on, for now,” Gray almost pleaded. “What’s Aca-poolco got to do with anything?”

“Oh, dear, I do apologize! Let’s see, yes. Only that our little Squall was not unique. Probably not even regionally unique! There might well be other human civilizations beyond those we know of scattered about this hostile world. Perhaps many more. Now you understand, of course!”

Finally Matt understood. Bradford was right. The question had been sitting there in front of all of them, but they’d just been too busy to notice it and ask. The possible answer chilled him in spite of the warm day. “Acapulco galleons were Spanish treasure ships, Boats,” he explained. “They sailed once a year or so to Acapulco from the Spanish Philippines loaded with loot. We studied Commodore Anson’s circumnavigation at the Academy. He captured one of the things with a fifty-gun ship- Centurion, I think it was-and the loot set most of his crew up for life. At least, that’s the story.”

“So? I mean, it’s a neat story and all, but what good is a bunch of Spanish treasure to us?” Gray still didn’t get it.

“None,” Matt said. “None I can think of now, anyway.” He grinned, but then his expression turned serious again. “The problem is, no Acapulco galleon would have ever sailed into the Java Sea. If that’s indeed what it was, that means whatever happened to us could’ve happened in other places and not just other times, all over the world. Might happen again. To think otherwise would be expecting an exception to these screwy new rules.”

“Indeed,” Bradford said again. “I would think it’s inevitable. Something, some force, connects this world with ours. In the past, our world’s oceans were vast, mostly empty places, yet there have been many unexplained disappearances there. Perhaps some of those unfortunates wound up here as well. But right now, on our earth, a global war is under way and the seas are packed with many thousands of modern, quite seaworthy vessels. If my theory is correct, I fear it’s just a matter of time before we meet another lost traveler like ourselves, and it could happen anytime, anywhere.”

For a long moment there was silence on the bridge. Chief Quartermaster’s Mate Norman Kutas at the wheel, who’d clearly heard at least the gist of the conversation, finally broke it. “Well, if we do run into somebody else,” he said, “I hope to God they’re on our side. We got enough folks mad at us as it is.”

Glaring at Kutas, Bradford lowered his voice still further. “There is yet another quite bizarre possibility,” he said.

“Oh, no,” moaned the Bosun.

Bradford ignored him. “Just as we’ve discovered beyond any serious possible debate that there are two earths, as it were, how can we assume there are not many, many more?”

Walker put in briefly at Paga-Daan, long enough only for Matt to go ashore and express his sympathies and for his ship to fill her bunkers from one of the tankers moored there. There were two so far and more on the way. Most would probably take their time, creeping along the archipelago and down the Mindanao coast. Matt couldn’t blame their captains, but he wanted to make sure the commanders and crews of the ships already there, that had taken the more dangerous route across the Celebes Sea, were recognized. Bunkers full, Walker steamed away before sunset, haze blurring the tops of three funnels.

Churning south-southeast, Matt now had a choice to make. He could continue in Jenks’s wake until he caught the Imperial within two or three days at most, or he could lose another day and swing south to Talaud. Irvin Laumer and his crew had been out of touch since the loss of Simms, and Talaud was a dangerous place. Once he caught up with Jenks he’d be slowed down, regardless, and they had to be closing the gap on Billingsly. Achilles was bigger and faster than Ajax and she’d been replenished periodically, allowing her to steam ahead in the face of contrary or indifferent winds. But where could Ajax refuel? She might have stopped and cut trees for her boiler on any number of islands, but that would have slowed her even more. Matt doubted Billingsly would have done so initially, but chances were the man considered himself safe from pursuit by now. He knew the Alliance had nothing beyond the Philippines, and Simms and the feluccas were the last gauntlet he had to pass. He would be in for a surprise.

But what of Laumer? With the full concurrence of his officers, Matt decided he had to check on the young lieutenant’s situation and at least leave him a transmitter. They recrossed the Celebes Sea in the dark of night and a severe rain squall, sonar pounding the depths. It was in these very waters, this bottleneck to the vast Pacific-or Eastern Sea-that Walker had once encountered two mountain fish in close proximity. The sonar had chased one away and they were pretty sure they’d killed the other one, but there was something about the area apparently, maybe the food-bearing currents, that allowed a higher percentage of the monsters to coexist than usual. In any event, in addition to the sonar, they made the crossing with extra lookouts, keen-eyed Lemurians scanning the sea for basking behemoths under the glare of the searchlights. None were seen.

Dawn revealed Talaud’s hazy outline under an oppressive gray sky. Campeti was serving as Walker ’s gunnery officer for the voyage and he had the deck. He knocked quietly on the charthouse hatch and opened it a crack. Matt had taken to sleeping on a cot inside, intent even in sleep on the green flashes that lit the quiet sonarman’s scope. He liked to be handy if he was needed, but also, even though the new mattresses they’d made for the ship’s crew were comfortable, nobody had gotten around to fixing the fan in his stateroom. It got awfully stuffy in there.

“Captain, you awake?” Campeti asked.

“Sure,” Matt said, sitting up. He glanced at the sonarman. A ’Cat was usually in the chair, but Fairchild, Mahan ’s chief sonarman or sound man, had taken the watch for this stretch. “Anything?” he asked.

“Nothing, Skipper. We’re going too fast to really tell, but since we’re trying to scare stuff off instead of hunting, I guess that’s a good thing.”

Matt grunted. “What’s up, Campeti?”

“Talaud’s off the starboard bow. It looks… kinda queer.”

“I’m on my way.”

Staas-Fin, one of Ronson’s best electrician’s mates, stood behind the big brass wheel and Courtney and Spanky were on the bridge when Matt joined them, putting on his hat. He hadn’t shaved. Of all the crew, Matt always tried to keep himself clean-shaven, but that was hard to do, sleeping in the charthouse. He needed to see if Staas-Fin, or “Finny,” could fix his fan. Otherwise, he might as well give up and grow a beard like the rest of the men. He wasn’t ready to let Juan shave him on the bridge in the captain’s chair. “What’s up?” he repeated.

Spanky pointed at the island. “Well, it looks a little different, for starters,” he said.

“Wow,” Matt muttered, agreeing. The quiescent volcanic mountain he remembered had grown significantly since he saw it last and the thick haze either came from it, or was the aftermath of some action on its part. The air had an acrid taste. The top of the mountain was lost to view, but there were occasional flashes of light, either from lightning or maybe even lava arcing into the sky.

“Fascinating!” Bradford exclaimed.

“Yeah. I hope our guys are all right,” Matt said.

“Hey,” said Spanky, “where’re all the damn birds?” On their previous visit the ship had been swarmed with lizard birds and even some real birds that pestered them constantly and defecated all over the ship. Nobody replied. They had no answer.

Just before noon, Walker rounded the northeast point of the island and entered the wide lagoon where they’d found the submarine. The sky was even blacker, but the air had cleared with a northerly breeze. At least they could breathe. Anchoring in almost the exact spot as before, they swung out the launch and steered for shore. Matt, Spanky, and the Bosun were accompanied by Stites, Chack, and six Marines. The Marines were the ones Chack thought had gained the most proficiency with their muskets.

At first glance, the camp around the submarine looked deserted. A lot of work had clearly been done and the sub itself actually seemed afloat in a basin on the beach. No smoke rose from the generator engine boiler, however, and as they drew near they could see a literal swarm of what looked like bizarre lobster corpses on the beach.

“What the hell?” Gray murmured. The launch’s engine seemed to attract someone’s attention, because as the bow nudged against the sand, a figure stood up from behind hasty-looking breastworks.

“Captain Reddy, is that you?” came a cry. The men and ’Cats jumped out of the boat and advanced. Other faces, eyes drooping with fatigue, peered over the breastworks as they approached.

“My God, Lieutenant Laumer?” Matt asked incredulously. The scruffy beard and tattered clothes left the man almost unrecognizable.

“Yes, sir, it’s me!” Laumer said, grinning. He looked out at the Lagoon. “ Walker, sir! There she is! Boy, is she a sight for sore eyes! Looks almost new!”

“What happened here, Lieutenant?” Matt asked, glancing at one of the dead creatures. It did look something like a lobster, although it was skinnier, proportionately, and appeared less heavily armored. The head was different and the leg arrangement looked more like a spider’s. The pincers were long and tapered like a scorpion’s. Most of the corpses looked like they’d been blown open fairly easily with bullets.

“Well, sir, we’ve been making decent progress on the boat. She should be ready for sea before long. We put diesel in her tanks and have one engine running. The problem is getting her off the beach. We were going to use Simms to dredge a channel, kind of kedge it out, but Captain Lelaa hasn’t returned from her mission to intercept Billingsly.” He looked down. “I was sorry to hear about… what happened at Baalkpan.”

“Yes, well, chasing him is our business now. I hate to tell you, but Billingsly and Ajax destroyed Simms and a felucca commanded by the High Chief of Paga-Daan. Captain Lelaa may have been aboard Ajax when it happened, but there were few survivors otherwise. I’m sorry,” he added when he saw Laumer’s stricken expression.

“But…” Irvin straightened. “That leaves us in kind of a tight spot,” he said.

“I’ll say,” said Gray. “What the hell happened here?”

Irvin rubbed his nose. “A few weeks ago, one of these things got in our basin. Killed one of our guys. We killed it, but it wasn’t easy. Scary as they look, they’re not only quick on their feet, but they can squirt a jet of water like a cannon shot!”

“Indeed?” muttered Bradford, stooping to examine the head of one of the things.

“Yeah. Anyway, we didn’t see any more for a while, but then, day before yesterday, the mountain let loose, bigger than it has yet. We had critters coming at us out of the woods and we figured we’d better fort up. Next thing we knew, all these spider-lobsters, or whatever they are, started charging up on the beach. It started slow, just a few at a time, but it kept growing, so we threw up another breastwork here until we had a little fort. Dug like maniacs! We finished just in time, because the next thing we knew, there were dozens, hundreds of the things! Just about shot ourselves dry.” He shook his head. “The situation looked pretty bleak without more ammo. The new loads work okay, but they sure foul up a gun. The Thompson completely seized up a couple of times and we had to dump it in water.”

Matt took a breath and looked longingly at the submarine. “You’ve done a great job here, Lieutenant, but I think you should prepare to evacuate. We have some ammunition we could leave with you, but not much more than it would take to drive off another assault like this one. Another supply ship is on its way, but it may not arrive in time to kedge out your channel. This mission has already gone above and beyond what I ever expected of you.”

Irvin set his jaw. Later, Matt would realize that he probably hadn’t chosen those last words very well. “Sir,” Laumer said, “with all respect, I think we’ve earned the right to finish this job.” He looked around at the nods of his crew. “We don’t know if the spider-lobsters will even come back. It might have been a onetime deal. Lots of weird stuff going on.” He gestured at the mountain. “I think it has something to do with that. The thing is, if it blows its top, we’ll never get this boat out of here!”

“If it does that, there won’t be enough left of any of you to catch in a butterfly net!” Gray said.

Irvin nodded. “Maybe. But damn it, Captain, we’re almost done! All we need is a couple of weeks with a ship, an anchor, and a windlass!”

“And no storms to fill everything you’ve done in with sand!” Gray added.

“That would be nice,” Irvin admitted.

Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Like I told you once, we need that boat, but we need you and your people more. Here’s the deal. We’ll leave you a transmitter and a receiver. If things get hairy, there’ll be no goofing around! You call for help, understand? Paga-Daan can have a felucca here to pick your people up in just a few days. Leave all the equipment. The same goes for when the supply ship arrives. Use it however you need to, but if things get bad, get the hell out, understood?”

Irvin sighed with relief. For a moment, he’d seen failure staring him in the face and only Captain Reddy could have pronounced that sentence upon him. No storm or spider-lobsters or even a volcano was going to stop him, but Captain Reddy could have. He saluted. “Thanks, sir. We will succeed!”

Matt was moody as Walker steamed out of the lagoon and into the open Pacific. He’d begun to realize the effect his words might have had on Laumer, and even though he hadn’t meant to, he’d practically challenged the young lieutenant to stay. He felt like a heel. He got up from his chair and stepped to the chart table. Kutas had marked the spot where they should rendezvous with Jenks, according to the latest position fixes O’Casey sent. One more day, maybe two, and they’d slow their sprint and take station with the Imperial frigate, maintaining visual contact, but sweeping east while covering the widest possible area. Apparently, the Empire had a few settlements in the Marshall Islands, but according to Jenks, they were notoriously independent places. Billingsly would find no haven there. He must be making for one of the main islands of the Hawaiian chain, probably New Ireland, as Jenks referred to it. The island was a Company hotbed and the center of its administration. New Scotland-was the primary naval base, and Hawaii itself was New Britain. None of the islands seemed “right” to Matt, when he’d looked at Jenks’s charts. Their shapes were distinctly changed from what he remembered. Most geographic differences they’d discovered so far were subtle, but the “Hawaiian” chain was more radically altered. He wondered why that was.

Walker could just barely make it to Hawaii before her bunkers ran dry, but what then? Matt was counting on the tankers following them to the Marshalls-if their crews didn’t chicken out or if mountain fish didn’t eat them. Regardless, Walker would be stuck there until she could refuel. He didn’t know what awaited them in New Britain, but he wasn’t going to arrive with empty bunkers. All he and Jenks could hope to do was catch Billingsly somewhere in the wide expanses that separated the Carolines.

“We’re coming for you, you son of a bitch!” he muttered under his breath.