Maelstrom

CHAPTER 11

Lieutenant Perry Brister, Mahan ’s former engineering officer, was standing on the southwest wall of Fort Atkinson before the sun came up. It was dank and humid and totally dark. There was no moon, and the stars were obscured by a heavy, drizzly overcast that had moved in during the night. The fort was entirely exposed to the elements, and there was no higher promontory nearby to protect it from the wind or shade it from the sun. If a Strakka ever directly struck it, the damage would be severe. It did enjoy the highest elevation for miles around, strangely enough, and the best view of the strait. It was strange, because, like other little geographic things now and then, Perry didn’t remember the elevation on the point where the fort was constructed being quite this high in “the old world.” He wasn’t complaining, but it often struck him as odd. Everyone always said the planet was the same, just everything living on it was different. That wasn’t always the case, according to Bradford’s “ice age” theory, and Perry agrle ones too. Whatever the reason, Fort Atkinson was a lot better situated than it would have been built on the same stretch of ground back home.

He fiddled nervously with his binoculars. He wanted to raise them and take a look, but it was too early for that. By doing so, he’d only confirm his unease to the defenders gathered nearby. He cleared his throat and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Good morning, Mr. Bris-terr,” greeted Muln Rolak from the gloom. The elderly Lemurian held two cups of “coffee.” His English was still barely understandable, but Brister had become fairly fluent in ’Cat. He replied in that language.

“Morning, Lord Rolak,” he said, accepting one of the cups. He looked curiously at the other. “I thought you guys didn’t like this stuff. Only use it for medicine?”

Rolak chuffed. “I need medicine today.”

Perry nodded. He took a tentative sip and grimaced. “If bad taste is the measure of an effective dose, this stuff ought to cure you.”

“I need it to wake me up,” Rolak confessed. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” He scratched at an eye with one of his clawed fingers. “I’ve been a warrior all my life, and have fought many battles.” He blinked. “I’ve not always won, but I’ve usually enjoyed myself-and I always survived. Until the Grik came to Aryaal, I never faced the fear that I might not.” He uttered a grunting laugh. “Now I face that fear every day.” Subconsciously, Perry was fingering the binoculars again. Rolak gestured around them. “These warriors feel it too. All of them. They wouldn’t be sane if they didn’t.” He made a coughing sound that passed for a wistful sigh. “This is not a fun war.” He glanced ruefully at Brister and pointed at the binoculars. “So take a look if it makes you feel better. I doubt anyone will notice.”

Perry felt himself blushing. “You did,” he said.

Rolak blinked with humor. “But that is because I am drinking coffee.”

Slowly the sky began to brighten, and nervous, eager eyes stared hard at the strait. The sun would rise behind them-at least that was the same-so there’d be no silhouettes. They’d have to wait until the sun actually illuminated the water below.

“I see them!” came a shout, and Perry did look then. He squinted hard through the binoculars and adjusted them with his thumb.

“Where?!” he shouted in reply.

“Right there!”

He quickly looked up and saw a ’Cat pointing down toward the very mouth of the bay, and he jerked the glasses back to his face.

“My God.”

The squiggles he’d seen and written off as wave tops suddenly resolved themselves into scores of ships packed impossibly close. He’d been looking mostly at the horizon, beginning to emerge. Looking too far. The thing he’d dreaded to see in the distance was already here.

“Load your gunly, “my command is incapacitated, out of the fight. I’ve moved her to a safe anchorage-I hope-and request permission to resume my previous post here, for the duration of this action.”

Matt glanced at Campeti, who shrugged.

“No complaints from me, Skipper. He’s a better gunnery officer than I am. ’Sides, we might need more than one before this is over.”

“Very well, Mr. Garrett, you have my permission.” Matt looked at Juan. “What are you here for?”

“I promised to bring you this, Cap-tan,” he replied with quiet dignity. “Lieutenant Tucker sent it out a short while ago. I did not want to wake you.”

Matt began to send Juan away, but something in the steward’s manner made him reconsider. Instead he took the bulky package and curiously peeked under the folds. He blinked in surprise and glanced back at Juan, a soft look of wonder on his face.

“Lieutenant Tucker commissioned it,” Juan explained. “She said you once told her we had seen such a thing, and you admired it greatly. The one who made it would take no payment.”

“That was… generous,” Matt said huskily. Gingerly he handed the package to Garrett. “Have this run up, if you please. On the foremast halyard.”

Pete Alden was on the balcony of the Great Hall again, but this time with a far larger group: official gawkers, for the most part, who should have been at their posts. In spite of all their preparations, the attack had come so swiftly and unexpectedly, a measure of confusion was inevitable. Letts was shouting for them to disperse. From Alden’s perch, much of the mouth of the bay was obscured by the south headland, and even as the day began to brighten and the overcast burned away, he could see only the mast tops of the enemy ships. It reminded him of a forest of toothpicks. Fort Atkinson was invisible as well behind a shroud of dense white smoke gouting continuously from the active guns and drifting lazily toward the city. It was accompanied by a constant rumbling sound. It must be hell for the gunners, he thought: gasping and choking and going deaf in the dense, sulfurous haze. He didn’t know how they could even see their targets. Somehow they could, evidently, because even as he watched, another geyser of flames erupted among the clustered masts.

“The fort’s really pounding them,” Letts observed beside him. Most of the gawkers had finally fled, although Pete saw many Lemurians still crowding the nearby dwellings, trying to catch their first glimpse of the enemy.

“Not hard enough,” Pete growled, pointing at the part of the bay they could see. A phalanx of Grik Indiamen had appeared around the headland.

“They’ll be in the minefield soon,” said Letts. “Too soon. Do you think it’ll stop them?”

Pete shrugged. “It might slow them down. Bunch them up. That’ll give the fort more time to hammer their flank.”

“Look!” cried Nakja-Mur, pointing westward, toward the middle of the bay. Under the brightening sky, Walker her rusty funnels, and white water curled from her bow beneath the proud, faded numbers and churned along her side. She was rust blotched and streaked, and all the patches and welds gave her once-sleek hull a leprous look, even at the distance from which they viewed her. But her sad, frail appearance wasn’t nearly enough to offset the impression of bold determination she managed to affect. Straight out behind her high foremast, brilliant and new in the first rays of the sun, streamed a huge American flag. Alden raised his glasses and saw words embroidered on the broad stripes: Makassar Strait, 1 st Java Sea, Escape from Surabaya, 2 nd Java Sea (Salissa), The Stones, B’mbaado Bay, Aryaal, and simply Nerracca. The names of Walker ’s major actions.

“Now, isn’t that just the damnedest thing you ever saw?” Letts managed to say. Pete only nodded. With the size of the lump in his throat, he didn’t trust himself to speak.

Another, different rumbling boom came from across the bay. They watched a dirty gray upheaval of water and debris gush skyward from among the leading Grik ships. The red-painted hull directly over the explosion lifted bodily into the air, breaking its back. It sank quickly beneath the settling spray. Several ships nearby looked mortally damaged, and masts plummeted into the sea or fouled other ships as they listed.

“It worked!” Letts shouted, clapping his hands. “My God, what a mess!” Nakja-Mur clasped his paws together in a gesture of thanks.

“Yeah,” muttert size="3"›Another runner appeared, her yellow eyes wide and blinking with excitement and fright. “The Grik are landing on the south coast, east of the fort!” she gasped. “ Amagi has been sighted to the south, accompanied by another large force!”

“Very well,” Pete replied without inflection, but his chest tightened with the news. Under control, my ass, he thought. It hasn’t even started yet. He turned to Letts and Nakja-Mur. “I ought to be down on the south wall, the way things are shaping up.”

Letts shook his head. “Not yet, Sergeant. The landing in the south might be a feint.” Alden raised a skeptical eyebrow. He didn’t believe the Grik were that subtle. “Even if it’s not,” Letts persisted, “sooner or later they’re going to get past Walker. She doesn’t have the ammunition to hold them forever. When that happens, it might get hairy on the waterfront in a hurry. The only way you can be two places at once is if you’re right here, where you can direct all the defenses.” He shook his head again, apologetically, looking at the man almost twice his age. “But you’re the Marine. I’m just a supply officer.”

A rueful grin spread across Alden’s face as he looked at the fair-skinned… kid, in front of him. “You’re right. I am a Marine, and this standing around is kind of tough to do. But you’re not just a supply officer anymore; you’re the goddamn chief of staff!” His eyes twinkled. “So the next time I start to go off half-cocked, just keep yankin’ my leash!”

Perry Brister could barely talk. His voice was hoarse, and his throat hurt from all the yelling. Not that it mattered to most of the crews manning the big guns on the south and west sides of the fort; they were probably deaf as posts by now, and no longer needed his direction anyway. Their task was simple, if physically exhausting. As long as there were Grik ships below, they’d keep blasting them apart. They couldn’t get them all, of course-there were just too many-but there was no question the Grik knew they were in a fight. As the supply of ready ammunition dwindled, and more had to be brought from the magazines, their rate of fire inevitably fell off, and an ever-increasing number of the enemy slipped through the gauntlet of fire. Also, the guns of the fort simply wouldn’t reach clear across the mouth of the bay, and the enemy seemed to have realized that at last. More and more hugged the distant shore. Still, the slaughter Fort Atkinson had worked so far was beyond anything Brister had expected, and the sea frothed with flashies around the burning, sinking ships.

Brister’s most pressing concern, however, was what was taking place on the other side of the fort. Scores of small boats plied to and fro between half a hundred Grik ships and the shore. The guns on that side were smaller than those facing the sea-twelve-pounders-and were emplaced to defend against a landward assault. So far they’d been silent. Now those that would bear began firing at the boats full of warriors as they neared the beach. The range was extreme, and they had almost no chance of hitting the anchored ships, but an occasional lucky shot spilled a score or more Grik into the deadly surf. In spite of that, a truly terrifying number of the enemy had begun assembling onshore, their garish banners flapping overhead.

“Look!” cried Lord Rolay superficial damage. Occasionally enemy firebombs arced out of the wreckage of ships, but the American squadron stayed beyond their range. The effort to use the things was far more dangerous to the Grik themselves. Matt was bitterly convinced that, with enough ammunition, his little squadron could stop this prong of the invasion all by itself.

They didn’t have enough, however. All the new copper bolts they’d taken aboard last night had been expended, and they’d dipped dangerously into their reserve of high-explosive shells. They’d discovered their star shells were highly effective against the wooden hulls of the enemy, able to penetrate and then set them afire when they burst. But they had only about ten salvos left, and they might need them for illumination when darkness fell. There were still a fair number of armor-piercing rounds in the magazines, but they’d been even less effective than the copper bolts against wooden-hulled ships. They just punched a four-inch hole in one side and out the other, and almost never exploded. It was better to save them for later. Riflemen and machine gunners fired at the barrels floating among the enemy ships. Many were decoys, of course, and a lot of ammunition was wasted sinking them. Silva tried to remember which ones were which, and concentrated only on those he felt sure supported a depth charge. Occasionally he was rewarded by a resounding blast and another expanding column of debris and spray.

The center, for the moment, was secure. The chaos and frustration there had become so intense, Grik could be seen actually fighting one another from ship to ship. It was on the flanks that things were getting out of hand. Ship after ship managed to squirm past the blockage and make its way into the clear. Some fell victim to the shallow water mines, but others got through. On the east side of the bay they came under the guns lining the southern waterfront, and a terrible destruction was heaped upon them. Regardless of losses, the Grik bored in, literally running their ships aground on the open beach between the Clump and the southwest wall of the city. Even as the warriors leaped into the surf and were shredded by the terrible fish, mortar bombs fell on the ships and set them ablaze. And still they came. What was more, an increasing number of the enemy were making it ashore. Whether because there were just so many of them or the carnivorous fish were strutted with their flesh was impossible to say. Whatever the reason, the road to Fort Atkinson was in growing danger of being cut.

Matt couldn’t do anything about that. If Walker moved closer to the waterfront, not only would she interfere with the gunnery from the city wall, but she risked accidental damage herself. Steel or not, the old destroyer’s thin skin wouldn’t stop a thirty-two-pound ball. She could do something about the Grik squeezing through the open lane in the channel, near the west side of the bay, however. Signaling the two frigates to hold where they were, she altered course and sprinted in that direction. An agonized, droning noise rose over the sound of the blower, and the PBY flashed by overhead, a depth charge slung beneath each wing, set to detonate at its minimum depth. Just one more flight , Matt hoped fervently as she passed. Just one more… With luck, Mallory would continue to contribute to the devastation in the center, while Walker raced to secure the flank.

With the snarling, hissing sound of a raging sea, the mass of Grik warriors crashed against the shield wall of the Second Marines and the Tent had torn at them as they charged, and still they came. At three hundred yards, canister and grape from the field battery, as well as the fort, scythed down great gaping swaths of the berserker horde, and still they came. Crossbow bolts and arrows from both sides passed one another in midair, to drive home in shields and flesh. With their smaller, less effective shields, the Grik were savaged by this final fusillade, but even then they didn’t falter. The clash of shields, the shrieks and screams, the bellowed curses, and the ring of weapons merged into a single cacophonous thunderclap of sound when the armies came together. The Lemurian line sagged in two places: first in the center, where the heaviest blow fell, where the walls of the Marines and the Guards came together. Second was at the point where the Guard right was anchored to the fort. Shinya bolstered the center by wading into the fight with his own guards and staff. It was, effectively, the only reserve he had. The pressure on the right was relieved when the two hundred Sularans under Lord Rolak’s command sortied from the fort behind the line, and drove a wedge into the brief gap the Grik had created.

Shinya’s modified cutlass parried and slashed across the top of the shield in front of him. Gaping jaws clamped down and tried to wrench it away, and a spear wielded by one of his staff drove into the top of the creature’s head. Tamatsu crouched down and slashed beneath the shield at feet and ankles on the other side as the wall began to stabilize. His wrist jarred painfully when the blade struck bone, and he was rewarded by a muted wail. A foot slammed down on his sword, pinning it to the ground. With all his strength he twisted the blade and wrenched it back, sharp side up. If there was a scream that time, it was drowned by others. His arms were already throbbing with pain. His left was in the shield straps, and the unending blows were starting to be felt. The awkward angle at which he was using his sword sent fire into his right chest and shoulder. The initial defiant yelling of the Lemurians had all but stopped, to be replaced by the panting and grunting of disciplined troops holding the wall, and heaving against the weight of ten times their number. Their only words were cries of instruction or encouragement to those behind, and the spears of the second rank remorselessly thrust and jabbed.

“Major Shinya!” came a cry behind Tamatsu. He spared a glance in that direction and saw an American shoulder his way through the second line. Without another word, the man rested the muzzle of a BAR atop Shinya’s shield and held the trigger down for a magazine’s burst, sweeping it back and forth. Then he dragged someone forward to take Tamatsu’s place. “C’mon, sir! You got more important shit to do!”

Without resisting, and still a little numbed by the fighting and the close report of the automatic rifle, Shinya allowed himself to be dragged out of the wall. Behind the spearmen, he looked at the sailor. He’d seen him before, he supposed, but they’d never met.

He’d called him sir.

“What are you doing here, ah…”

“Torpedoman First Russ Chapelle. USS Mahan, originally. Donaghey now.” He had to scream to be heard over the roar of battle. “I said I was bored, and Alden sent me and Flynn and some of his sub pukes up the Fort Road. I’m such a dumb ass. We barely made it! Lizards is landin’ hand over fist!”

Flynn joined him, pantinge i› situation! Captain Reddy wasn’t kiddin’ when he said he’d pulled us out of a fryin’ pan just to throw us in a fire!”

Shinya whirled and looked at the hell below the fort, but couldn’t see beyond the Clump to tell what was happening to the north. “I left Ramik and his warriors from Aracca to guard that approach,” he insisted.

Russell nodded. “They’re moving up here. There’s nothing they could do. Goddamn lizards took us by surprise-started runnin’ their ships right up on the beach. Ol’ Ramic never even had a chance to deploy.”

The young female lowered her eyes and blinked. “Of course. I am shamed.”

“Not at all!” Nakja-Mur retorted. “Now, what is your message?”

“Tower one reports a signal from the fort: Major Shin-yaa has withdrawn within its walls. His force is mostly intact, and they continue to engage the enemy, but the landing force is free to move on the city. The fort is under heavy attack, but Lew-ten-aant Brister believes they can hold for now.”

“Did they estimate the size of the landing force?” Alden demanded.

The runner nodded, eyes wide. “Sixteen to twenty thousands-but the landings continue.”

“Very well-thanks.” He turned to the others. “As soon as they join the ones in the cut, they’ll probably come right at us.”

“You don’t think they’ll wait for further reinforcements?” Letts asked.

Pete shook his head. “Not their style. The first try, anyway. I think now it is time for me to go.”

Letts nodded. “By all means.”

“What of the threat from the bay?” Nakja-Mur asked nervously.

“You two will have to handle it. The defenses are stronger there, and the lizards’ll have to land right in their teeth. It’ll be very difficult to consolidate their force. They already have in the south. I think that’s where the main threat lies.”

Alden turned back to the runner. “First Marines, Fifth Baalkpan and Queen Maraan’s Six Hundred will prepare to advance to support the south wall.”

“Reserves already?” Letts asked.

Pete shook his head. “Do the math. The First Baalkpan and the few Manila volunteers are all we have on the south wall. That’s about twelve hundred, counting artillery. There’s no way they can stand against twenty or thirty thousand. I wish the rest of the Manila troops had arrived in time! We’ll pull the Second Aryaal off the north wall and add them to the central reserve.” He cocked his head to one side when the strange thundering sound resumed. Realization struck.

“Son of a bitch! Amagi must be in range. She’s shelling the fort!”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Brister,” said Shinya between deep, ragged breaths. “You timed that perfectly, I believe.”

Brister waved his hand and grated, barely above a whisper, “Your withdrawal was what was perfect. I never would have believed it.”

Shinya had to strain to hear him. “We lost two of the field pieces,” he brooded. “Their crews managed to spike them, but…” He shook his head. “It was that double load of canister from each of your guns just as we came over the wall that kept them off us long enough to re-form.”

“Later you may admire each other’s prowess,” Rolak growled tersely. His own part in the successful maneuver had not been inconsiderable. “Right now there is still a great battle underway.”

The fighting along the north and west walls of the fort was still fierce, but the pressure was easing. It was as if, sensing greater prey ahead, the majority of the Grik were content to leave the fort isolated and continue their push toward the city. Beyond the fighting on the wall, the seething mass sluiced through the gap and down the road. Midage younglings scurried behind the lines, distributing bundles of arrows. Guns barked, spraying their deadly hail into the flank of the mass, mowing great swaths through the rampaging mob, but for all the attention the bulk of the enemy paid them, they may as well not have bothered. “Cut off and bottled up,” Chapelle grimly observed.

Brister’s runner returned. “The message got through,” he announced with evident relief. “The tower confirmed receipt.”

“At least Baalkpan knows what’s coming.” Brister sighed hoarsely.

A high-pitched, deepening shriek forced its way above the din. It sounded like a dozen locomotives barreling directly toward them with their whistles wide open.

“Holy Christ!” Perry blurted, eyes going wide. “I forgot about the Japs!” He threw himself to the ground. Even as he fell upon it, the earth rushed up to meet him and the overpressure of titanic detonations drove the air from his lungs. Clods of dirt, jagged splinters, and various debris rained down, and a heavy weight fell across his back. For a moment he could only lie there, trying to draw a breath. Finally he succeeded, but the air was filled with chalky dust, despite the damp night before, and he coughed involuntarily. The weight came off and he was dragged to his feet. Chapelle’s face appeared before him, looking intently into his eyes. Then it disappeared. Brister shook his head, trying to clear it, and looked around.

A smoking crater was less than forty yards away, and bodies were scattered in all directions. One belonged to the runner who’d just spoken, and most of his head and part of his shoulder had simply disappeared, as if a super lizard had snatched a bite. Another shell had landed on top of the north wall, leaving a big gap surrounded by dazed and broken troops. He wondered why the Grik weren’t already pouring through, and lurched toward the wall and climbed to the top. “Form up! Form up!” he rasped over and over to those standing near. He doubted they could hear him. Even to himself he sounded as if he were shouting through a pillow. Rolak joined him, clutching his bloodied left arm to his side, and together they stared beyond the wall.

Ironically, most of the shells had fallen on the Grik. More smoking craters, surrounded by dripping gobbets of steaming flesh and shattered bone, formed a rough semicircle beyond the fort, extending about two hundred yards into the gap. Many of the enemy closest to the impact points were stunned into motionlessness, while others tried to force their way back through the press in panic. Those were mercilessly slaughtered.

“Thatis side, a the wall beside one of the guns and peered over it. In the middle distance Amagi was clearly visible, surrounded by her grotesque brood.

“What do you hear?” Rolak asked, and Brister sighed.

“Nothing. It worked. They’ve stopped.” For the moment the only sounds were the screams of the wounded, the crackling of fires, and the surflike noise of the Grik flowing past the wall. He pointed at the bay for Shinya’s benefit. “Look down there. We’ve sunk everything in range! Nothing else can even come into this part of the bay without running onto the wreckage of their friends. The battery’s done all it can! Despite all our shooting, the enemy’s getting past us now by hugging the far shoreline. That’s not in range, although the guys have been giving it hell. If we keep firing, all it’ll accomplish is to get us slaughtered.” He paused and looked at their faces. “Together, counting my gunners, we have close to three thousand troops in this fort. We may all die anyway, but I have an idea that might make it more worthwhile than just standing and getting pasted.” A shout rose up from the other side of the fort.

“It would seem our friends are preparing to return,” Rolak stated dryly.

“Swell. Can the guns on that side of the fort keep firing?” Chapelle asked.

“God, I hope so,” answered Brister. “Just don’t shoot at the bay anymore!”

“I still don’t know what you hope to accomplish by this!” Shinya hissed low, as they trotted back across the center of the fort.

“Maybe nothing,” Brister replied. “Maybe everything.”

Pete Alden’s new forward command post occupied a multistory dwelling belonging to one of Baalkpan’s more affluent textile merchants. Like many of her class, she hadn’t originally been a member of the “run away” party, but she’d joined it quickly enough when Fristar abandoned the defenders. Pete didn’t care. All that mattered was that the dwelling afforded an excellent view of the entire south wall. The enemy facing it continued to swell far beyond the initial force that landed north of the Clump and occupied the fort road. Ever since the fort was cut off, thousands upon thousands of lizards had poured through the gap, up the road, and out through the cut, where they deployed into a mile-wide front with their backs to the jungle. Round shot bounded through their ranks from across the killing field the People had cut with such effort. Each shot killed some of the enemy, plowing through their densely packed ranks, but the fire had a negligible real effect. Pete thought it was probably good for the gunners’ morale, though, faced as they were with what stood before them. If the Baalkpan defenders had a wealth of anything, it was powder and shot for their guns. Let them shoot.

He’d have been happy to let the mortars fire as well, and they might have wreaked some real havoc, but they didn’t have as many of the bombs, and the range was a little far-for now. His reserve mortar teams were rushing from the center of the city, and when they arrived he’d have thirty of the heavy bronze tubes at his disposal. He hoped the copper, pineapple grenade-shaped bombs would dilute the force of the Grik assault when it came, preventing it from hitting his defenses as a cohesive mass. Canister ought to blunt the spearhead; hopefully the bombs would shatter the shaft. No was wait and listen as the reports flooded in.

Chack and Queen Maraan scaled the ladder behind him from the level below. A signaler escorted them to his side.

“The First Marines have deployed in support of the Manila volunteers,” Chack said, saluting. As always, the powerful young ’Cat wore his dented helmet at a jaunty angle, and a Krag was slung over his shoulder.

“The Six Hundred and the Fifth Baalkpan are in place as well,” Safir Maraan reported in a husky tone. She was dressed all in black, as usual, and her silver armor was polished to a high sheen.

“Good,” Alden murmured. “We’re going to need them.”

“It’s certainly shaping up to be a most memorable battle,” the queen observed.

“And how,” said Chack, using the term he often heard the destroyermen use. He stood on his toe pads and peered out over the wall. From across the field beyond came the familiar strident, thrumming squawk of hundreds of Grik horns, and the hair-raising, thundering staccato of tens of thousands of Grik swords and spears pounding on shields commenced. “I think they’re about to come,” he said, turning to Pete. “With your permission?”

“You bet. Give ’em hell.”

For just an instant, as he passed her, Chack paused beside Safir. Reaching out, he gently cradled her elbow in his hand. They blinked at each other, and then he was gone. The Orphan Queen’s eyes never left him until he disappeared from sight.

“Gen-er-al Aal-den?” she asked.

Pete nodded, still looking at the enemy. “Yes. Go. I think Chack’s right.” He turned to look at her. “Be careful, Your Highness. I expect I’ll be down directly.”

“The waterfront’s in for it,” Dowden observed, peering through his binoculars. The cork in the center of the enemy advance was out of the bottle, and dozens of red-hulled ships were streaming toward the docks. Most of the mines were gone. Clusters of barrels still floated in the bay, giving the impression that mines remained a hazard, but the Grik avoided those that they could. Kas – Ra – Ar ’s smoldering wreck had finally slipped, hissing steam, beneath the water of the bay, and Matt had ordered Tolson, the last shattered, leaking frigate, to disengage. Her captain, Pruit Barry, signaled a protest, but Matt repeated the order and Tolson was retiring sluggishly, reluctantly, from the fight. She’d given a good account of herself, surely destroying the last of the gun-armed enemy ships in the center, but she’d paid a terrible price. Her sails were tattered rags, and her foremast was gone. Matt only hoped she’d reach shallow water before she sank. The heavy guns of the waterfront defenses opened up as the enemy approached and tore them apart, but unlike the plunging fire from the fort, fewer of the hits were immediately fatal or disabling. In their same old way, the Grik just kept charging through.

“Can’t be helped,” Matt ground out. Her ammunition nearly exhausted, Walker had only two obpt most of them drawn in its direction. Mainly, though, Walker had to remain visible in the bay until Amagi arrived. So far the Japanese battle cruiser was taking her own sweet time. That was as they’d hoped, from a naval perspective, thought Matt, glancing at the setting sun. They’d savaged the Grik fleet without Amagi to protect it, and Walker would be a more difficult target in the dark. But in the meantime people were dying. There’d been no word from Fort Atkinson since it was smothered beneath several ten-inch salvos. Smoke still rose from there, so fighting clearly continued, but the guns overlooking the entrance to the bay were silent.

A continuous, impenetrable pall of smoke obscured the south side of the city as well, and no one on Walker could tell what was going on from her station across the bay. Matt now knew he’d been naive to think he could control the battle from his ship. He could transmit, and presumably someone could hear him, but he couldn’t see any of his friends’ signals at all. It was beyond frustrating, and there was nothing he could do but trust the people on the spot. They were good people, and his presence probably wouldn’t make any difference, but it was nerve-racking all the same. Letts had managed to get a single message to him by means of a small, swift felucca. Several major assaults against the south wall had been repulsed so far, but the last attack had been costly, and actually made it past the moat to the very top of the wall. Most of the casualties suffered by the defenders came from blizzards of crossbow bolts, but the enemy was also employing a smaller version of their bomb thrower they hadn’t seen before. Several Grik would carry the machine between them, and once it was emplaced they could hurl a small bomb about the size of a coconut almost two hundred yards. The weapon had little explosive force, but like the larger ones it dispersed flaming sap in all directions when it burst. It was a terrible device, and the Grik had an endless supply.

Most of the reserve had already been committed, but more Grik continued pouring through the gap and up the fort road. Letts had been forced to strip defenders from unengaged sections of the wall, even as the invading army lapped around to the northeast to threaten there as well. With this new attack on the waterfront, things would get tight.

“Send a message to HQ. Tell them they’re going to have a lot of company along the dock, and there’s nothing we can do about it.”

“They probably know that already, Skipper.”

Matt shrugged. “All the same…” The rattling drone of distressed motors distracted him, and he looked again toward the wreck-jumbled harbor mouth. The PBY was returning from somewhere beyond, its latest load of depth charges gone. Gray smoke streamed from the starboard engine, and the plane, less than a hundred feet in the air, clawed for altitude.

“Mallory must’ve tried to drop on Amagi,” Larry said. “Crazy bastard. Now the plane’s shot to pieces! I thought you told him to stay away from her.”

Matt nodded. He had. He also knew Mallory’s view of the battle was better than anyone else’s. Only Ben Mallory knew exactly how the enemy was deployed, and he must have thought things were desperate indeed to try to tip the balance single-handedly. Amagi must be getting close, and Ben must have thought the defenders couldn’t take it.

The plane rumbled forced tby, heading for the north inlet, where a backup landing ramp and fueling pier had been established. Up close now, Matt saw it was riddled with holes, and a wisp of smoke trailed the port engine as well. Ben obviously had his hands full just keeping it in the air. The navigation lights flashed Morse.

“ Amagi,” Dowden said.

As they watched, orange flames sprouted around the port engine and leaped along the wing, consuming leaking fuel. Black smoke billowed.

“Oh, no,” Matt breathed.

The plane turned into the failing engine, but with an apparently herculean effort, Ben managed to straighten her out with the big rudder and claw for the nearest shore.

“Come on!” someone murmured.

Even as the lumbering fireball fought for altitude, however, throttles at the stops, the fight ended with a suddenness as appalling as it was inevitable. The port support struts gave way, and the plane staggered in agony. An instant later the wing around the engine, weakened by fire, simply folded upward. Flaming fuel erupted, spewing from the sky with a heavy, distant whoosh! and the brave PBY Catalina and its gallant crew plummeted into the sea.

“Get a squad of Marines into the launch to look for survivors,” Matt said huskily. By his tone he didn’t expect them to find any. “Then you’d better resume your station, Larry,” he added, referring to the auxiliary conn. With only the Grik to fight so far, he’d allowed Dowden to remain on the bridge.

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Larry said, still staring at the erratic plume of smoke hovering above the burning, sinking wreckage of the plane. He took a deep breath and looked at Matt. “Good luck, sir.”

“You too.”

Keje-Fris-Ar paced the battlement spanning the width of his Home, his fond eye tracing details he’d so long taken for granted. Even if all went well, his ship-his Home-would likely be reduced to a smoking, sunken wreck in the shallow water off the fitting-out pier. The distant sound of battle in the south had become a living, gasping, thundering throb, and the guns behind the fishing fleet wharf had begun booming as the Grik drew ever closer to his beloved Salissa. They were so densely packed he couldn’t even count them. Far to the west, he saw Walker beneath her massive flag, racing to intercept a red ship that had strayed too close to the inlet. Tiny waterspouts erupted around the Grik as one of Walker ’s machine guns came into play. In spite of his dread of what lay in store for his own ship, he felt a surge of guilt, mingled with gratitude for all Walker and her people had done for them. What they had yet to do. He sent a prayer to the Heavens for their safety, and added one for Mahan as well. The thick smoke had prevented him from seeing the PBY go down.

He knew some still believed the Amer-i-caans had brought this upon them, that the horror they faced was somehow connected to the arrival of the slender iron ships. He also knew that was ridiculous. The Grik had always been there, and today was but a reenactment of that terrible, prehistoric conflict that fraeje grunted. “How did he get up there?” He shook his head. “Never mind. He knows the Jaaps may target the tree and the Great Hall?”

“He does. Suddenly he seems aware of quite a lot. He hopes his prayers will protect them.”

“Do you think they will?”

“No.”

Keje nodded. “Then surely mine won’t do much good,” he muttered wryly. He looked down. When he spoke again, his voice sounded sad, almost… desolate. “Will you pray with me now, Sky Priest?”

Adar blinked rapidly, overcome by emotion. “Of course.” Together with Selass and the few others on Salissa ’s battlement, they faced in the direction the sun had set and spread their arms wide. As one, they intoned the ancient, simple plea:

“Maker of All Things, I beg Your protection, but if it is my time, light my spirit’s path to its Home in the Heavens.”

The traditional prayer was over, but before they could complete the customary gestures, Adar’s voice continued: “I also beseech You to extend Your protection beyond our simple selves to include all here who fight in Your name, even those with a different understanding of Your glory. Aryaalans, B’mbaadans, Sularans, and the others, all perceive You differently, but they do know and revere You… as do our Amer-i-caan friends. Our hateful enemy does not. I know it is.. . selfish of me to ask You to deny so many of Your children their rightful, timely reward in the Heavens, but Maker, we do so desperately need their swords! I beg You not to gather too many in this fight, for even should we be victorious, the struggle must continue, and it will be long, long. Instead, let those You spare be rewarded later, with a brighter glow in the night sky, so all will remember the sacrifice they made!” he lowered his head. “I alone ask this of You. If it is Your will to deny my own ascension in return, so let it be.”

The rest of those present stared at him, shocked by the bargain he’d made, and Keje’s red-brown eyes were wet with tears. Following Adar’s example, together they crossed their arms on their chests and knelt to the deck, ending the prayer at last.

“You take too much on yourself,” Keje insisted.

Adar blinked disagreement. “I only wish I had more to offer than my own meager spirit.”

“Then you may add mine as well,” Keje said, and Adar looked at him in alarm. Once spoken, the bargain could not be taken back. “Idiot. Do you think I would be separated from you in this life or the next, brother? The boredom would destroy me.” He paused. “Two last things; then you must leave. First, if we are victorious but I do not survive, send my soul skyward with wood from Salissa.” He grinned. “Perhaps the Maker did not hear me. Finally, I will trust you to give Cap-i-taan Reddy my thanks.”

Adar embraced him then, wrapping him in the folds of his cloak. “I shall.”

“I say,” exclaimed Courtney Bradford. “I believeejeblock of elevated dwellings and shops, half a mile southeast of the Great Hall. The sheltered area covered almost six acres, and as the hours passed the space was filling with wounded. Nothing of the battle could be seen from where he stood, gazing westward, but the noise was overwhelming, even over the cries of the wounded.

“I think you’re right,” Sandra said tersely. “Now put that rifle down this instant and help me with this patient!”

Self-consciously, Bradford leaned the Krag against a massive “bamboo” support and peered at the limp form placed before her. All around them, other nurses and Lemurian surgeons fought their own battles to save the wounded, even while ever more arrived. Many had terrible, purplish red burns, and their fur was scorched and blackened. Others had been slashed by sword or axe, and many were pierced by the wicked crossbow bolts with the cruelly barbed points. There were few minor wounds. Those were tended by medical corpsmen right amid the fighting, or in one of the several field hospitals or aid stations. Those who were able returned to their posts with a bandage and some antiseptic paste on their wound. Only the most severely hurt were brought before Sandra. In spite of the fact that she was, after all, still just a nurse, she’d become the most experienced trauma nurse in the world. An orderly passed by, lighting lamps with a taper.

“I’d love to help you, of course, but I fear there’s little point,” Bradford said. Sandra spared him a harsh glance, then looked at her patient’s face. The jaw was slack and the eyes empty and staring, reflecting the flickering flame. “Dead, you see,” Courtney continued bleakly. “Perhaps the orderlies would be good enough to fetch us another?”

Sandra closed her eyes and held the back of her hand to her forehead. It was a classic pose, and for a terrifying instant Bradford feared she would faint, leaving him alone to deal with everything. To his utmost relief, she sighed and wiped sweat from her brow. She strode quickly to a basin and began washing her hands. Surreptitiously Bradford yanked a flask from his pocket and look a long, grateful gulp.

“Yes. I’m sure they will,” Sandra said woodenly.

Bradford wiped his mouth and replaced the flask. Then he glanced around. “I haven’t seen young Miss ‘Becky’ since the fighting started. I thought she was in your care.”

“So did I,” Sandra replied, “but she told me last night that she’d decided to stay with Mr. O’Casey at HQ. Said he’s protected her quite sufficiently up till now, and she preferred to stay with him, where she might see more of the ‘action.’ ” Sandra sounded worried, and maybe even a little disappointed. “It’s just as well, I suppose. She should be perfectly safe, and”-she gestured at the wounded-“I doubt this is the best environment for a child.”

“Perhaps…” said Bradford. He lowered his voice. “You do know she represents… considerably more thaer it is, right now I don’t much care. I only hope she’s safe.”

A thundering rumble came from the dock, almost uninterrupted now. They’d grown accustomed to the sound of battle to the south, but this was closer, louder. She looked up worriedly.

“Don’t fret, my dear. They’ll stop the blighters,” Bradford assured her. “It’s all part of the plan, you see. Rest assured, I know everything that’s going on, and it’s all part of the plan.” Sandra noticed that Bradford had picked up the rifle again, nervously fiddling with the rear sight.

“I haven’t heard Walker ’s guns for a while,” she said, drying her hands and motioning the orderlies to bring another patient.

“Ah, well, of course not! She has limited ammunition, you know. Saving it for the Jappos! Besides, you wouldn’t hear her, would you? Not over all that noise!” He waved vaguely westward. “Goodness me!” he said, tilting his head to one side, listening. “They’re really going at it!”

On the waterfront, hundreds of firebombs arced through the night sky, leaving thin, wispy trails of smoke. Most fell behind the line, amid shops and storehouses, and erupted with a searing whoosh! of roiling flames. One fell directly atop a laboring gun crew, punctuated by a chorus of terrible screams. They were cut mercifully short when the ready ammunition placed nearby exploded. The rest of the guns never even slowed their firing, as the densely packed red-hulled ships drew closer and closer to the dock. Pivoting on her cable, Big Sal brought her augmented broadside of twenty heavy guns to bear on the enemy flank, and her well-aimed shots crashed remorselessly through the ships at point-blank range, demolishing those closest to her. But there were so many. With a tremendous shuddering crash, the first Grik ship smashed into the dock, splintering wood, and dropping both its remaining masts upon the anxious horde waiting in the bow. Many were crushed amid piteous shrieks. Regardless, the rest swarmed over the head-rails and onto the dock. Another crash came, and another, as more ships followed the example of the first. The area between the dock and the seawall began to fill with Grik. Some appeared dazed in the face of the onslaught of fire and missiles raining upon them, so close on the heels of their rough landing. Most didn’t even pause. They immediately swept into their instinctual, headlong assault. The slaughter was horrific. Mounds of bodies were heaped at the base of the wall as the big guns snapped out, hacking great swaths of carnage into the surging horde. The docks became slippery with blood and gore, but the furious, ululating, hissing shriek continued to grow as more ships grounded, or warriors leaped across to those that had, and found their way into the assault.

As promised, Adar had taken Selass ashore, but he hadn’t gone much beyond it himself. Now he paced behind the wall with Chack’s sister, Risa, at his side, calling encouragement to Big Sal ’s warriors, who defended this section. They were heavily engaged. A single Grik warrior either vaulted or was launched entirely over the top of the wall and the warriors behind it. It landed nearby with a crunching thud, and, wild eyed and slathering, it tried to rise to its feet. At least one of its legs was broken. Risa quickly dispatched it with a meaty chunk of her axe, and Adar looked at her appreciatively. “Well-done,” he said. “You made that look quite simple.”

“It was,” she answered d/font›

“Even so. I expect you’ve had much practice in war of late.”

Risa shook her head. “Not much, really, since the fight for Salissa. I was on her during the battle before Aryaal. We were late to the fight.”

Adar remembered. “Late perhaps, but instrumental. Both you and your brother have much honor due you.”

Risa blinked, and with a wry grin she shook her head. “You knew, before this all began, that Chack did not even like to fight? He was afraid of injuring someone.”

“I knew,” Adar confirmed. “Your mother was perplexed, but proud of his restraint. She was always utterly without fear,” he recalled fondly. “Where is she now?”

Risa gestured toward Big Sal, invisible through the choking clouds of smoke, except for the stabbing, orange flashes of her broadsides. “Home. She wouldn’t leave. She only ever wanted to be a wing runner; now she is a warrior as well.”

“We are all of us warriors now, I fear. Even your peaceful brother.”

“Even you, Lord Priest?” Risa asked.

“Even I,” he confirmed. “Even I have the battle lust upon me, if not the skill or training in war the smallest youngling has received. I yearn to do as you just did-slay the enemy that threatens my people, our way of life, our very existence as a species.” He looked at his hands, held out before him. “I do not have the skill for that, and after what I saw… once… it’s frustrating. In a way I envy your brother. The skill I now crave came so easily to him, he never even knew it was there. I understand why the B’mbaadan queen thinks so highly of him. Hers have ever been a warlike people, and must recognize the talent”-he blinked dismay-“the gift for war when they see it.”

He straightened. “I’ve learned much, however, about how battles are shaped. Major Shinya and the others have taught me that.”

“How is this battle taking shape?” Risa asked, and Adar sighed.

“Very much as planned, I’m afraid.”

Risa was confused. “But that is good, surely?”

Adar shook his head. “I believe the single greatest lesson in war we’ve learned from the Amer-i-caans is to hope for the best, but plan for the worst. Hope is necessary; without it you’re defeated before you even begin. But you must plan for the worst, so if it happens you will be prepared.” He blinked at her. “I fear this battle is going almost exactly as planned.”

A roar came from beyond the wall, and a new flurry of bolts rained down beyond them. Warriors tumbled from their posts, and Risa hurried to fill a gap.

“I have no objection,” she shouted over her shoulder, “as long as the plan was for victory!”

Perry Brister gulped water from an offered gourd. It soothed the pain in his throat a lwould restore his destroyed voice. Shinya and Rolak also drank as the gourd was passed to them. They gasped their thanks to the youngling who brought it. It had been dark for some hours, but with the fires burning in every direction they could see surprisingly well. Before them now, the coastal plain and the gap were almost deserted. A short while earlier Grik horns had sounded again, from the direction of the city, and as if it had been a dog whistle from hell, the Grik before the fort turned as one and practically fled in the direction of the sound. Across the gap and up through the road cut streamed the Grik as fast as they could, toward Baalkpan. None remained behind to even watch their trapped prey, except the wounded and the dead.

Thousands of Grik bodies lay heaped to the wall, and the three thousand mixed troops occupying the fort had been reduced by nearly a third. Yet they’d held. Now they could begin to prepare for what Brister had been planning ever since he silenced the guns.

“How did you know they would leave?” Shinya finally asked.

“I didn’t,” Brister rasped. “I thought we’d have to fight through them. Those horn calls must have been a summons for all their reserves. They have to be gearing up for their final push.”

They saw nothing of the city besides the flickering light of the fires, and the smoke was so dense they could hardly breathe. Cannon fire still thundered defiantly, however, and bright flashes lit the smoke-foggy sky to the north.

“I suggest we let the troops rest a couple hours, if we can,” Brister gasped. “Then we’ll form them up.”

“I certainly hope you know what you’re doing,” said Lord Rolak.

Perry shrugged. “Hey, this stunt is mainly based on what you guys told me-and Bradford’s cockeyed notions. I have no idea if it’ll work. Maybe we’ll at least create a diversion.”

“It will be better than dying here,” Shinya agreed, “trapped and cut off. You were right to silence the guns. There was nothing more they could contribute.” He paused. “I apologize.”

Brister waved it away. “Nothing to apologize for. I’m sorry I called you a Jap bastard.”

Shinya chuckled. “I called you worse. In Japanese.”

A runner approached. “Sirs,” he said breathlessly, “the iron ship of the enemy is passing into the bay. More Grik ships are leading it in.”

They looked to the west. Even in the darkness they saw the black, pagodalike superstructure of Amagi silhouetted against the sky. Smoke laced with sparks swirled from her stack, and small shapes moved behind the railings as she steamed relentlessly into the bay. It was a terrifyingly vulnerable moment. The ship was absolutely enormous, and in spite of her litany of imperfectly repaired wounds, she radiated an overwhelming, malevolent power. At this range her main guns were little threat to the fort, but the numerous secondaries and antiaircraft armaments certainly were. In the light of the many fires, the occupants of Fort Atkinson had to be visible. Surely they see us, Brister thought.

If theyiv›y past the troublesome fort guarding the mouth of the bay. The Uul that landed on the southern coast seemed to have fared somewhat better.

Tsalka nodded. “At last, perhaps we will gain some advantage for having tolerated those insufferable creatures,” he said, meaning the Japanese.

“Kurokawa’s plan seems to be working, Lord Regent,” Esshk agreed. “His insistence on multiple attacks is contrary to doctrine, and at first glance seems to fly in the face of the very principle of the Swarm-yet never have we been able to utilize so much of our force at once. Many of our Uul have been slain-an unprecedented number, I fear-yet we have certainly ‘softened up’ the prey in preparation for his mighty ship to enter the bay. He did also put a stop to the slaughter of our ships by the guns in the fort. I am inclined to consider it a brilliant tactic.”

“His ‘tactics’ are indeed effective. Wasteful of Uul, but effective,” Tsalka agreed.

“The destruction of the fort of the prey was impressive, and accomplished at such a distance so… effortlessly… We would have to watch these new hunters, even if they were not so disagreeable.”

“Their power is great”-Esshk nodded-“but so is the power of the prey.” He hesitated, then mused aloud, “Worthy prey after all.” He glanced at the regent consort. “Perhaps we should have made the Offer? Never has any Swarm been mauled so. I fear, no matter how this battle turns, even this Invincible Swarm will remain but an empty shell.”

“Perhaps,” Tsalka agreed, and uttered a long, sad hiss. “But that is the lot of the Uul: to die in the battle of the hunt, doing what they love, what they were bred to do. But there is no way we could have made the Offer. We face the ancient Tree Prey, the ones that escaped! They were not worthy of the Offer before, and long have we hunted them. The prey may have grown since last we met, but it’s still the same prey. The Offer cannot be made. Even so, I grieve for the Uul we will lose in this hunt. And I do envy them,” he added wistfully.

“Of course. As do I.”

Tsalka watched the massive iron ship drive deeper into the bay. “We should advance, I think,” he said. “It’s not the place of the Hij to gather the joy of the hunt to ourselves, but I would not have it said the New Hunters alone were responsible for success. I fear the Uul look to the iron ship too much as it is.”

“I agree,” General Esshk replied. “As may we all before this hunt is over.”

“Lookout reports Jap battle cruiser, bearing two zero five degrees!” Reynolds shouted. He gulped. “She’s coming in.”

Walker had been steaming back and forth on the west side of the bay at the mouth of the inlet for over two hours now. To all appearances, she looked as if she were watching the distant battle with impotent frustration, her magazines empty at last. That wasn’t far from the truth.

Matt tried to freeze the expression on his face so the searing apprehension he felt wouldn’t show. All of Walker ’s actions that day, and now into the night, had been building to this precise moment-when she’d deliberately put herself in Aazihat the moment was finally at hand, doubt and fear warred with the certainty of necessity. So far everything had gone as they’d expected. In other words, nothing had broken their way. They’d slaughtered the enemy on a wholesale level beyond comprehension, beyond what any truly sentient species could endure, and reports from the city told of Grik piled as high as the walls. But still they came. It was up to Walker and Mahan now, just as they’d expected and dreaded. It was up to them to strike a blow that might shatter the enemy’s single-minded, maniacal will. To replicate the panic they’d seen in front of Aryaal. Hopefully.

There was no guarantee the enemy would break, even if the plan succeeded. They had only marginal evidence to support Bradford’s theory of “Grik Rout.” They’d seen it once at Aryaal, and once aboard Big Sal. When things had turned suddenly and overwhelmingly against them, and the Grik found themselves on the defense, they’d fled in mindless terror. It was like a dog chasing a bear. The bear was fearless when attacking, but when attacked, its only thought was escape. They were banking everything that the Grik behaved much the same way. There was glaring evidence the reverse was also true, however. When they’d followed the Grik belowdecks on Revenge, the creatures had fought like cornered animals. Of course, that was what they’d been, after all. Just as the bear would finally turn on the dog if it were brought to bay, the Grik fought furiously in the hold of the ship. But there’d been no coordination, no discipline, and it had been every Grik for itself. Except the Grik captain. It hadn’t fought at all, preferring suicide to capture-very much like what little Matt knew about the Japanese. He still wondered if that was significant.

Gray hadn’t seen Grik Rout on Tarakan either. The enemy came ashore and charged and died and killed in the same old way. In the end they’d fought savagely, and the battle raged hand-to-hand-but they’d been cornered too, hadn’t they? The sea was at their back, and there was nowhere for them to go. That had to be their weak spot; Lawrence, as safely as possible ensconced in Matt’s own quarters, believed it might be so. Now all they could do was pray.

At long last the terrible day had dwindled into twilight, and the twilight into an endless, terrible night. The sky was a muddy pall, shot through with flashes of light. Finally Amagi was coming-and Walker was the cornered beast.

Matt raised his binoculars. The dim shape of the battle cruiser was edging past Fort Atkinson into the bay. She was screened by at least a dozen Grik ships, probably there to soak up any remaining mines. One of the ships exploded and abruptly sank, even as the thought came to him. Amagi adjusted her course, carrying her farther into the cleared lane they’d left for her. Matt tensed. The “special” mine was their last chance to do it the easy way, their last chance to survive, more than likely. The minutes passed, and the dark apparition continued to grow, inexorably. Surely she must have passed over Mr. Sandison’s mine by now! He sighed. He’d never really expected it to work. The MK-6 magnetic exploder had let them down so many times, he’d known in his heart it would fail. He was still surprised how let down he felt now that it had once again. That was one break that would have made all the difference.

Matt lowered the glasses and looked at the men around him. He sensed their fear, even in the gloom. They knew their ematch. The game that was called on account of rain almost exactly a year ago would be played out here at last, and the opponent they faced wasn’t only the hulking brute they associated with all their trials; it was the Japs. Somehow that seemed profoundly appropriate. The terrible battle raging around them on land and sea would be won or lost. Perhaps what they did here would influence that, but regardless, this was Walker ’s fight, and Mahan ’s. Nothing anyone else did could influence that. For a moment Matt was silent, remembering the long list of names stricken from the rolls since the last time these three ships met, and he could almost feel the ghosts gathering ’round, expecting him to exact revenge or join them in the attempt. He looked again at the men and ’Cats in the pilothouse, and forced a slight smile.

“Just a few good licks; then we run like hell.” He rolled his shoulders and faced the front. Beneath his hand was the back of his chair, bolted to the front of the pilothouse. Part of the ship. Gently, almost lovingly, he patted it. “One more time, old girl,” he whispered, then raised his voice. “All ahead full. Make your course zero one zero.”

“Ahead full, zero one zero, aye,” came the strained reply.

“Mr. Garrett may commence firing as soon as he has a solution. Armor-piercing.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Reynolds said, and repeated the order to the acting gunnery officer. “Sir, Mr. Garrett wants to know if he should withhold a reserve?”

Matt shook his head. “No. Give ’em all he’s got.”

Even as Walker accelerated, her tired sinews bunching for a final sprint, they saw winking flashes and blooms of fire erupt from the Japanese ship.

Kurokawa was just leaving to return to the more spacious flag bridge-a more comfortable vantage from which to view the battle-when he was stopped by the sighting of the American destroyer. He whirled and paced quickly to the windows.

“Where?!”

“Port bow, Captain,” Sato said in a quiet, clipped voice. Kurokawa rubbed his hands together with glee.

“Commence firing, Commander Okada! I want that ship erased!”

“Yes, Captain.” Sato prepared to relay the order with a heavy heart, but Kurokawa speared him with a cold stare. Sato’s tone had finally penetrated the captain’s euphoria.

“Commander Okada does not approve the destruction of His Majesty’s enemies?” he mocked. Sato turned to him, expression hooded. But before he spoke, something deep inside him snapped and he stiffened to attention.

“On the contrary, Captain. But I remain unconvinced the American destroyer represents His Majesty’s chief enemy in this world.” He looked pointedly at Kurokawa. “We are about to waste ammunition, lives, and possibly an opportunity as well.” Sato knew he’d said too much, and was fully aware of the consequences, but he couldn’k hf they do that, my guess is we’ll crack wide-open. I want you to take personal command of the rifle company, and stand ready to hammer them back if they force a breach. Use the B’mbaadans too. Rifles are great for distance work, but up close you’re going to need swords to back you up.”

“My place is in the line with my Marines,” Chack protested.

Alden suppressed a sad smile. “The rifles are your Marines too. I need someone I trust, who’ll wait till they’re needed, but won’t wait too long.” He paused. “I also need someone who’ll keep his head, and knows when it is too late. If that occurs, pull back immediately. If they knock down the whole line, save what you can and fall back on the hospital. You’ll be in command of the rear guard, as well as the effort to evacuate into the jungle. Is that understood?”

Chack blinked furiously. “You ask too much! To leave my Homes, my people…”

“I’m not asking shit!” Alden snarled. “I’m telling you what you will do! The only thing I’m asking is if you understand your duty.”

Chack slowly nodded. In the distance the raucous horns began to blare. The terrible thrumming sound continued to build until it seemed like thousands of them this time. The thunderous rumble of the shields rivaled even the nearby guns. Across the field in the flickering light, the Grik began to move.

Then, from nearby, a low moan was heard that seemed to have nothing to do with the approaching horde. Pete quickly looked in the direction many heads had turned. On the bay, considerably farther to the north now, a rising ball of fiery black smoke roiled into the air, briefly illuminating the stricken destroyer beneath it.

“Oh, my God,” Alden breathed. “ Walker…”

“Damage report!” Matt bellowed, picking himself up off the deck. He already knew it was bad. He’d felt the heat of the blast, the ship physically yanked from under his feet. Already her speed was bleeding away. Throughout her sortie against the mammoth battle cruiser, Walker had seemed charmed. Salvo after salvo of her armor-piercing four-inch-fifties slammed home with telling effect, each shell blessed, kissed, or sent with a hateful curse. Amagi ’s gunnery went wild, and Matt guessed they must’ve taken out her forward fire control. A few shell fragments from near misses, and some light antiaircraft fire was all the damage the destroyer received in return, in spite of the blizzard of five-and-a-half-inch shells thrashing the water all around her. Taking advantage of this, Walker continued to punish her adversary for several minutes longer than Matt originally intended; he just couldn’t help himself. Reason finally clawed its way back into his consciousness, however, and finally, reluctantly, he gave the order to turn away. Walker raced up the bay toward the north inlet, making smoke.

By then, hidden in the darkness and her dense curtain of smoke, Walker had to have been invisible. The wind was still out of the south, and the man-made cloud spread, wafting around her. She’d ceased firing as soon as she turned, and all lights were out. Where she headed, there were no fires or lights to silhouette her, and overhead no moon b"3"›“All ahead flank!” Matt shouted as his ship slowed even further. A few shells continued falling, but the fire was desultory now. They must think they got us, he realized. Stepping around the chart house and looking aft, he could see why. Walker was afire from just behind the bridge to somewhere aft of the amidships deckhouse. The Japanese shell must have penetrated the fuel bunker they’d installed in place of the number one boiler, and blown burning oil all over the ship. Steam gushed from somewhere to rise and mix with the black, greasy smoke. Even as he watched, hoses began to play on the fires.

“Captain!” Reynolds called behind him. “Mr. McFarlane says the number two boiler took a direct hit, and the fuel bunker’s been punctured! There’s major flooding in the forward fireroom-he says it’s gone, Skipper-there’s nothing he can do. There’s also minor flooding in the aft fireroom he thinks he can keep under control.”

“We’re losing steam!”

“Yes, sir. The valTell them they’d better already be out of the Great Hall, because it’s about to be remodeled.”

Amagi had stopped her advance, and now lay reflecting the fires and the glow of battle right in the middle of the bay. Several Grik ships were still nearby. One looked a little larger than the others. Maybe it was one of the white ones like Mallory had seen, Matt thought, as he watched Amagi ’s main gun turrets train out to starboard. They fired.

Amagi ’s bridge was a shambles. The American gunnery had been remarkably accurate, and several shells impacted uncomfortably close. Two of the bridge officers were dead, and even Kurokawa was lightly wounded when a shell fragment slashed his scalp and severed the brim of his hat. Even so, for the first time since the Strange Storm that brought them here, Captain Kurokawa felt an immense sense of satisfaction course through him. The puny American destroyer responsible for all his aggravation was afire and dead in the water. He’d contemplated finishing her, but she was clearly doomed. He’d let them see the destruction he woug He lowered his eyes in abject misery, and even above the sound of the crashing guns he heard Kurokawa’s thin laugh rise within the confines of the bridge.

Alan Letts heard the incoming rounds. He, O’Casey, and Nakja-Mur, as well as members of the command staff who hadn’t yet transferred to the secondary HQ, were preparing to descend the ladder from the lowest level of the Great Hall.

“Down!” Letts screamed, and for the next several moments there was nothing but the overwhelming sound and pressure of titanic detonations. The entire massive structure of the Great Hall sagged beneath them, and there was a terrific crash from above. Oil lamps fell from the walls and rolled away down the sloping floor. One came to rest beside a crumpled tapestry that once adorned the wall of the entrance chamber, and the beautifully woven fabric began to burn. In the eerie silence immediately following the salvo, a deep, rumbling groan could be heard.

Letts scrambled to his feet and looked quickly around. One of the runners had been crushed by a massive limb. It had fallen from the tree far above and crashed down through all three levels of the hall, driving him through the deck on which Alan stood with its jagged stump. The others rose shakily, but Nakja-Mur still lay sprawled. “Quickly!” he shouted at O’Casey. “We’ve got to get him out now! There may be only seconds before the next salvo!”

Between them and the staff members who’d gathered their wits, they managed to heave the High Chief through the opening and lower him quickly to the ground. By then Nakja-Mur was recovering his senses, and he looked around, blinking surprise. People were running in all directions, and the Great Hall no longer looked quite right. Flames leaped up from nearby structures, and over all there was a wailing, keening sound.

“Take his legs!” Alan yelled. O’Casey could only grab one, but there was plenty of help now. They ran as fast as they could toward the edge of the parade ground, while a sound like a roaring gale and tearing canvas descended upon them.

“Down!”

Even as they dropped, there came again the avalanche of deafening sound and mighty flashes of searing fire as the earth heaved into the sky.

Letts tried to stand, but fell to his knees, stunned by the proximity of the blast. He looked back. Somehow the Great Hall and Sacred Tree still stood, but the building was engulfed in flames. Any shells that actually struck it must have passed right through and detonated on the ground or against the tree itself. Flames licked up and across the huge sloping roof, clawing greedily at the branches above. Smoldering leaves and drifting ash descended all around. Up beyond the light of the fire where the tree disappeared into darkness, they could only just hear Naga’s plaintive, wailing chant.

“So now I see war as you are accustomed to it,” Nakja-Mur rasped beside him.

Letts glanced down and saw that the High Chief had risen to a sitting position. O’Casey just looked stunned. At least he’d acted, though.

“Nobody ever gets accustomedo it, div height="1em" width="1em"›“You all tried to tell me, but I never…” Nakja-Mur’s eyes reflected an expression almost of wonder. He looked back in the direction they’d come. “The Tree…!”

Letts motioned the others to grab him. “Never mind the tree! We have to keep moving away from it, in case they aren’t satisfied with their handiwork yet.”

“The Tree…”

The arrival of the wounded at the central hospital had slowed to a trickle. Not that there was any shortage of them, but with the sound of battle coming from everywhere now, Sandra knew more should be arriving, not less. She saw Courtney Bradford talking with one of the young runners, and she quickly finished bandaging an Aryaalan’s wounded shoulder and jogged over to where he stood.

“What is it? What’s happening?” she demanded. Bradford turned to her, and his face seemed pasty in the torchlight.

“It’s… it’s all going according to plan,” he repeated once more.

She glared at him. “It’s not!” she snarled. “It can’t possibly be! There are no more wounded coming in. Have the field hospitals been overrun?”

“No-no, that’s not it at all. Most of the wounded are returning to the fight, and those who cannot must remain where they are for now. The ambulance corps have gone to strengthen the walls.”

“But… how…” She stopped. “We’re losing then?”

“Not as you would say losing, precisely,” Bradford hedged.

“What were you and that messenger just talking about?”

“Um. Well, you see, I’ve been asked to send whoever can still wield a weapon up to the east wall. It’s not engaged-and probably won’t be,” he quickly added, “but they’ve taken everyone off it to reinforce those areas that are.” He stopped. “We’ve also been told to prepare to evacuate into the jungle if the word should come. If it does, we must move quickly.”

Sandra felt numb. “Is there any word of Walker, or… or Captain Reddy?” she asked quietly.

Bradford’s expression became even more strained, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “ Walker is afire, my dear,” he said gently, “and dead in the water.” He gestured vaguely. “She gave a lovely account of herself but…” He shook his head. “The Japs aren’t even shooting at her anymore.”

Sandra could only stand and stare at him as hot tears came to her eyes. “Mr. Bradford,” she said very formally, voice brittle as glass, “would you be so kind as to cover for me here awhile?”

He gawked at her and then looked helplessly around. “Don’t be ridiculous! I don’t have the faintest idea-”

“Ahead full. Left full rudder! We’ll wiggle around a little until we know whether they noticed the impulse charge.” As the ship came about, Jim moved to the port wing and raised his glasses. First he looked aft, making sure the sharp turn wasn’t too much for the launch to follow; then he looked to Amagi as she appeared aft, beyond the funnels.

“Rudder amidships!” he called. Amagi was still clearly outlined, still busy with her terrible work. She’d taken no notice of what transpired to port. Jim focused the glasses more carefully, then clenched them in his hands.

“No!” he moaned. A Grik ship was slowly creeping up alongside Amagi, the black outline of its masts and sails beginning to obscure the stern of the Japanese ship. “How deep is that fish?” he shouted across the pilothouse. Sandison looked up in alarm and raced to his side.

“Ten feet, more or less.”

“Shit!” Everyone on the bridge was startled by Ellis’s uncharacteristic profanity.

“What?” Bernie asked, then he saw it too. The Grik ship was almost directly abeam of Amagi now. “Maybe it’ll pass under?” he said anxiously.

“Not a chance! Revenge drew thirteen feet, and they’re all about the same!” Jim didn’t stop to consider that, without her guns, the captured ship had drawn only slightly less than nine feet of water. The ship between Amagi and the torpedo was packed with hundreds of warriors, however. In the end, it didn’t make any difference. A brightly luminescent column of water snapped the Grik vessel in half, lifting the stern high in the air. The bow section was already half-submerged when the shattered stern crashed down upon it. A loud, muffled boom reached them across the distance, almost drowned by Amagi ’s next salvo. Jim turned to the helmsman and snarled: “Come about!”

Salissa was dying. All her tripod masts were down, and the pagodalike dwellings within them were a shambles. Fires raged unchecked in several portions of the ship, and only a few guns continued to belch defiance at the enemy. She’d been flooded heavily down so she might avoid major damage below the waterline, but she’d sunk much lower than intended now. Occasionally Keje felt her hull grinding against the bottom as the outgoing tide slowly dragged her across it. Before long she would truly rest on the bottom, one way or another, and the way things were going, there’d be no one left to pump her out.

Keje was sitting on his beloved wooden stool, which someone had brought to him when an enormous splinter of wood slashed his leg. He was still on the rampart-what was left of it-and expected that he had only minutes to live. The Grik had made no real attempt to board Big Sal as yet; they were too preoccupied trying to break through the wall, and it even looked like they’d succeeded at a couple of points. Amagi had made that possible by knocking the wall flat. Somehow the Jaaps must have known they’d been successful and the ensuing salvos were only slaughtering their allies. That was when the mighty guns became devoted to demolishing Keje’s Home.

Keje had never seen Amagi before this night, and he’d been simply incapable of imagining her power. He knew the Amer-i-caans were afrBecause of that he’d known, intellectually, that the Japanese ship was a threat. But deep down, he realized now, he’d really had no idea. They’d been fools to stay and try to resist it! Fools. Cap-i-taan Reddy tried to warn them-to explain what they faced. But he’d been willing to stay and fight, and that had given them heart. Surely it couldn’t be that bad? Keje now knew it was. He’d stayed out of pride and disbelieving ignorance. Friendship too, and a sense of duty to his people, but mostly because he hadn’t truly known.

Alone, perhaps, among all the People now engaged in this apparently losing fight, Cap-i-taan Reddy and his Amer-i-caans had truly known what they faced. But instead of running, they’d elected to stay and defend their ignorant friends. Now, just as Salissa Home lay helpless under Amagi ’s onslaught, Walker lay helpless and burning out in the bay. Keje had no idea what had happened to Mahan, but he suspected the explosion beyond Amagi was probably the result of the weapon she’d been sent to deploy. If that was the case, all was truly lost, and he felt a terrible grief for his friends and his people. Some might get away through the jungle to the east, and perhaps Mahan might yet escape. But for Salissa and her little sister Walker, who’d come to her aid so long ago, Keje was convinced this would be their final fight. Fire blossomed once more from end to end of the massive enemy ship, and he listened to the shells approach. A sudden calm overcame him. At least he’d die with his ship. He hoped the souls of the destroyermen would find their way to wherever it was they belonged, but he also hoped he’d be able to thank them first-and tell them farewell.

“Lookout reports… some kind of explosion west of Amagi!” Reynolds cried. “He said something took out one of the Grik ships on that side. Maybe a loose mine,” he speculated hopefully.

Matt closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He knew instinctively that the explosion had been no mine. It was too coincidental and the setup too perfect. He was convinced Mahan had made her attack and the Grik ship blundered into the torpedo’s path.

“Any reaction from the Japs?”

“No, sir. A searchlight came on for a few seconds and scanned the water close aboard; then it went out. They must think it was a mine.” Like all of them, Reynolds didn’t want to admit their last chance was gone. Then he stiffened, listening to his headset. “We got steam!” he suddenly shouted excitedly. “Spanky-I mean Mr. McFarlane-just reported that they finally managed to make their way to the valve and shut it off! Steam pressure’s coming up, and so’s the water pressure in the mains!”

“What’s the steam pressure?”

“Eighty-five, sir, but coming up fast.”

“Very well. What’s the status on the amidships guns?”

“Unknown, Skipper. It’s still too hot to get up there. None of the ammunition’s cooked off, though, so the damage may not be too bad.”

“Very well. Ask Spanky to report when he’s ready to move.”

Thirtieutenant McFarlane says.”

“Right full rudder, starboard engine ahead slow, port, slow astern,” Matt commanded by way of response. “If the Japs are still looking at us, let’s make ’em think we’re just floating in circles,” he explained.

Chief Gray reappeared on the bridge, looking even worse than before. This time his hands were bundled in rags, and he raised them up and shrugged when he caught the captain’s glance. “Damn valve wheel was hot.” Walker groaned beneath their feet as she began her turn. “You asked for a casualty report,” he said, and Matt nodded. “Four men and nine ’Cats dead. Most of the ’Cats were in the forward fireroom. There’re also eleven more with major and minor burns. Some real minor, countin’ me.”

“The men?”

Gray let out a breath. “Mertz, Elden, Hobbs, and Yarbrough. Mertz was tryin’ to make sandwiches for us.” He snorted. “The galley’s wrecked again and the refrigerator too, this time.”

“Where was Lanier?”

“In the head. That must be his battle station.”

Matt nodded sadly. The list was likely to get longer soon. He watched as the bow slowly came around. He could see Amagi now, dark and malignant. The flashes of her guns left bright red blobs across his vision. A new fire burned fiercely near the dock, and he could see the battle cruiser had turned her wrath on Big Sal. He felt a white-hot fist clutch his chest. “Left standard rudder. All ahead full! Gunners to the amidships platform, if they’re able. Torpedo mount number one, prepare to fire impulse charges! Maybe that’ll shake them up!”

Walker heaved against the unaccustomed weight of the flooded fireroom, but sluggishly she gathered speed. The heat from aft began to ease, now that they were steering into the wind, and a refreshing breeze circulated inside the pilothouse, scouring away the acrid smoke. Matt looked at Chief Gray, standing beside him. Both knew this was the end, but there was nothing left for them.

Gray grinned. “It’s been an honor, Skipper. A strange honor, but. ..” He shrugged. “I always knew we’d make an Asiatic Fleet destroyerman out of you, and we damn sure did.”

“Thanks, Chief.” Matt smiled. Then he raised his voice so the rest could hear. “Thank you all.” He turned. “Reynolds, inform Mr. Garrett he may comm…” He stopped, looking out across the fo’c’sle. A blizzard of fire and tracers suddenly arced out into the night from Amagi ’s port-side secondary armament. The Japanese must have spotted Mahan. Maybe Jim had made the same decision he had. “Commence firing!”

The salvo buzzer rang, but there was only a single report, and a lone tracer arced toward the enemy from the number one gun. They were almost bow-on to Amagi, and just like during their first meeting, if Walker could get close enough, there was little the Japanese could engage her with from that angle. Some of the heavy antiaircraft emplacements situated high on the superstructure could tear them apart, but so far they were silent. Perhaps they’d been hit during the earlier fight? The ten-inch guns were still trained to starbos voiver, and there were a series of explosions in the sea much closer to Amagi than they’d expected.

“Send a final signal to HQ. Tell them…” In his mind Matt saw an image of Sandra Tucker: her sad, pretty face looking up into his as he held her in his arms, tears reflecting the lights of the city that now lay in flaming ruin off the port bow. He shuddered at the thought of all the promise that was lost. He hoped Alan and Karen would survive, and somehow find happiness. “Tell our friends we love them all. God bless.”

Walker ’s deck rumbled as she increased speed, and the buzzer rang again. Amagi ’s foremost turret had begun to traverse in their direction. Wham! The number one gun was rewarded with an impact near the enemy’s bridge. One of Amagi ’s port-side searchlights flickered on again, and the beam stabbed down at the water. Matt was amazed to see Mahan ’s riddled, smoking form illuminated less than four hundred yards from the Japanese ship. Incredibly, a tongue of fire spat from the gun on her exposed foredeck. An almost panicky fusillade churned the sea around the old four-stacker, but few shells were hitting her now. The unsuspected second destroyer had appeared so shockingly close, the gunners were taken completely by surprise. If she could make it just a little farther, she’d be beneath all but Amagi ’s highest guns. If there was a single blessing in all this, powerful as she was, Amagi hadn’t been designed for a knife fight.

Mahan was low by the bow, and smoke gushed from a hundred wounds. Her bridge was a gutted wreck, and yet some hand must still be guiding her, because she forged relentlessly ahead, unerringly aimed at Amagi ’s side. Matt turned his attention back to the battle cruiser. In that instant the sky lit up in front of him, and Walker was tossed into the air like a dog would toss a stick. She came back down with a sickening lurch, and a towering column of water cascaded down upon the foredeck. There was another brilliant flash, and the next thing Matt knew he was facedown on the wooden strakes of the pilothouse, covered with broken glass.

His nose felt as if it had been pushed inside his face, and his lips were hot with the taste of blood. He struggled to his feet and shook his head. His hearing was totally gone except for a high-pitched, ringing buzz that sounded just like the salvo alarm. He couldn’t focus his vision through the smoke filling the pilothouse and the tears in his eyes. For a moment he thought he was alone, because there was no movement whatsoever around him. Wiping desperately at his face with a suddenly dark and tattered sleeve, he finally saw Norman Kutas trying to rise and resume his post at the wheel. Kutas had blood running from his ears. Matt helped him up, and saw his mouth moving in the flickering light, but couldn’t hear what he said. He glanced behind him and saw Reynolds was up, but dazed. Gray was sitting on the deck beside the unmoving form of a ’Cat. Two other men were still down as well. Matt looked through the window.

They were much closer to Amagi now. They’d made it under her main battery-which simply couldn’t depress enough to fire at Walker anymore. They were still racing through a forest of smaller splashes from Amagi ’s secondaries, however. Matt felt the staccato drumming as tracers probed for Walker ’s bridge. He wondered why the number one gun was no longer firing and looked down at the fo’c’sle. A long, deep gouge began near the small anchor crnds and knees, but the rest of the crew was just… gone. Then he saw Dennis Silva’s unmistakable form, closely followed by another man and two ’Cats, dash through the sleeting tracers and duck behind the dubious protection of the gun’s splinter shield. Each had a pair of shells under their arms.

A 5.5-inch shell exploded against the tall foremast behind and above their he"1em"›

The Lemurian fixed him with intense, desperate eyes, and Jim suddenly realized who it was. “I do!” said Saak-Fas. “I help make ready! I know, I… do!” The Lemurian straightened to his full height. “I need do!”

Jim looked at him, but it was hard to see through the darkness and the blood running in his eyes. “It’s my ship. My responsibility,” he gasped. The ’Cat gestured to a form on deck. It moaned.

“ ’Spons-baal-tee?”

Torn, Jim could only stand rooted to the deck. He felt it beginning to settle. Suddenly the Lemurian blinked and began making his way to the ladder at the back of the pilothouse. “I do! No time!” With that, he disappeared down the ladder. Realizing he had no choice, Jim staggered to Bernard Sandison, lying in a pool of blood, and began dragging him toward the ladder.

Saak-Fas stepped lightly down the companionway stairs to the passage leading to the wardroom. The lights were dim and flickering, but that didn’t matter; he could see as well in the dark as the Amer-i-caans could in daylight. Down yet another ladderlike stair, he entered the crew’s forward berthing space. Water was half a tail deep on deck, and more gushed in through great rents in the side of the ship. Forward he sloshed through the rising water, until he came to the passageway leading to the chain locker. The collision damage was more evident here. The deck was buckled beneath his feet and the water was clammy and slick with oil leaking from ruptured fuel bunkers below.

He’d rarely been in the water before, except for baths of course. Other than surf, he’d never stood in seawater up to his waist. That just wasn’t done. He felt a chill at the thought that some flasher fish might somehow have wriggled into the ship, but he knew it was unlikely. Most of the holes were probably too small, and besides, it was after dark. He stopped at the entrance to the passageway and looked inside with a sense of growing peace. The ordeal he’d suffered at the hands of the Grik still tortured him. He’d fought to suppress the terror, the agony of that experience, knowing that somehow, if he did, the Heavens would reward him with the opportunity now at hand.

It had been so hard at times, the added misery he heaped upon himself. The rejection of his beloved Selass, his self-imposed isolation from his people. But everything he did to torment himself further had helped create the buffer that now existed between his mind and the real pain and lingering terror that threatened to drive him mad. He’d passed the ultimate test, and now the reward was near. He looked fondly at the twelve half-submerged depth charges jumbled in the passageway by the collision. He smiled at the feeling of unaccustomed happiness that slowly filled his being. He’d savor the short additional time he’d give the Amer-i-caan, Ellis, to try to get clear. Then he’d strike a mighty blow against the hated Grik and finally end his agony in the same, glorious instant.

“Hold them back! Hold them!” Pete Alden bellowed. Even as he did, the volunteers from Manila broke. It was like a heavy cable supporting far too great a weight. The strands began to separate and fray, snapping and protesting as they did, but inexorably, as the cable began to thin, the m for a moment, just as we did at Aryaal,” she gasped. “It’s like they cannot comprehend defense. If they are not attacking, they are losing.” She shrugged. “But they are so many.”

Pete stared at her, struck by sudden inspiration. He hadn’t been at the Battle of Aryaal, and hadn’t seen what she had. In the heat of battle, he’d completely forgotten Bradford’s crackpot theory. Then, over her head, and far out in the bay where the flashes of Amagi ’s guns had become so common, there was another mighty flash, much bigger than the others. A sheet of fire vomited into the sky, and Amagi ’s stricken silhouette was at the very heart of the massive plume. Many others saw it too, on both sides, and the fighting became almost desultory as thousands of heads turned toward the bay. The noise of the explosion, when it came, was fantastic. Not so much in actual sound, though it was great, but in the sense of size and power it represented over such a great distance.

“My God!” shouted Pete. “It worked! That God-damn, idiotic, torpedo stunt worked!” An enormous, rising, thunderous cheer built throughout the city. “ It worked! ” screamed Pete again as he turned back to look at the stunned sea of Grik. If there was any chance Bradford was right, now was the time to find out. “ Push them! ” he bellowed. “Push them back! Up and at ’em!” He holstered his pistol and unslung his Springfield. “The army will advance!”

Walker staggered under the force of the mighty blast, and the rest of the glass in the pilothouse streamed inward like shattered ice. Kutas cried out, reflexively raising his hands to his face. Matt lunged for the wheel. “Chief!” he shouted. “Get this man below!” He spun the wheel hard to port, preventing the completion of Walker ’s suicidal dash to ram Amagi herself. The ship responded sluggishly, and once again it seemed like her speed was dropping off. He was grateful for the reprieve Mahan had given them, but horrified by her sacrifice as well. In a hidden corner of his soul, he might have even felt a little cheated. A wave of irrational anger swept over him, and he lashed out at Reynolds.

“I want a report from Spanky now!” he shouted.

“I’m trying, Skipper!” The young seaman looked close to tears. “I can’t get through! I can’t get anything!”

“I’ll find out, Captain!” Gray shouted back, as he helped the blinded, moaning helmsman down the ladder. Matt looked back at Amagi. A giant towering mushroom of fire and smoke was still rising and expanding into the dark, hazy sky. At the base of that pyre would be Mahan ’s shattered remains.

“My God.”

He was thankful he couldn’t see Mahan, as Walker ranged down Amagi ’s opposite side. The battle cruiser was beginning to list heavily to port, and a wide strip of red bottom paint was rising into the light of the burning city. They’d make sure, Matt grimly determined, although he couldn’t imagine anyone on Mahan having survived. A dreadful, heavy sadness descended upon him when he remembered Mahan ’s farewell the night before. Jim must have been planning this all along, and never said a word. He continued Walker ’s slow turn to port, and when Leo Davi›now

Across the corpse-choked moat and onto the open plain beyond, the defenders-turned-attackers kept up the unrelenting pressure while somehow, miraculously, maintaining a semblance of shield-wall integrity. The discipline and careful training Alden had insisted on was paying off. Even so, the advance began to slow. The troops were exhausted after the long fight, and the exertion of just climbing over bodies so they could keep slaughtering Grik began to tell. The thousands who fled were being killed by both sides, and the unrouted mass behind them began to move forward bit by bit. The charge finally ground to a halt, and then it was like the field of Aryaal again in yet another way: both battle lines stood in the open without support or protection, and in that situation, the overwhelming numbers of the enemy began to swing the tide back.

Alden slashed with his rifle, butt-stroking and stabbing with the bayonet, as he’d demonstrated so many times on the drill field. His pistol was empty and he had no more ammunition. Before him was a scene from a nightmare hell. Gnashing teeth, slashing weapons, and high-pitched shrieks of pain punctuated the rumbling roar of shields grinding together. The damp earth at his feet had been churned into a bloody, viscous slurry, and the only traction afforded to those holding the shield wall were the mushy mounds of unrecognizable gore half-submerged in the ooze. The frothing, working mass of Grik beyond the shields were illuminated by a red, flickering light from the fires-adding to the unreal, otherworldly aspect of the battle. Chack almost stumbled past him, shouting his name, and Pete grabbed him by the arm. “Where’s the rifle company?” he shouted.

“The machine guns are empty, and I ordered the others to stay on the wall. They’re of little use in this type of fight. If all had bayonets it might be different…”

“Never mind. You did right. Have them prepare to cover our withdrawal. I’m going to try to pull back to the wall.”

“It will be risky. The enemy will sense victory and strike even harder.”

“I know, but that’s all there is. We can’t move forward and we can’t stay here. There’re just too damn many.” Chack blinked reluctant agreement. He turned to run back to the wall and prepare his troops. Then he stopped. Alden looked in the direction he faced and was stunned to see hundreds of Lemurians pouring over the wall and racing over the ground he’d been preparing to yield. More than hundreds, perhaps a few thousand in all, and he had no idea where they’d come from. There simply were no more reserves. Then he saw the proud regimental flags whipping in the breeze as their bearers crossed the wall in the wake of the charge. The Second Aryaal, the Second B’mbaado, and the Third Baalkpan were three he recognized. All were “veteran” units that had been deployed in defense of the shipyard and the north wall.

Screaming their rage, they streamed across the abattoir and surged directly into the faltering line. The weight of their unexpected charge carried the entire shield wall forward into the face of the enemy, and once again there was a distinct change in the Grik. Once again those facing the added spears turned on those behind them, slashing and screaming in panic, and slaying their unprepared comrades before they had a chance to even realize what had happened. The rout began to grow, and the air of terror was 3"› the shield wall churned forward again, it became apparent that many Grik still fighting bore the same wild-eyed expressions as those trying to get away. Something was pushing them from behind, just as the reinforced attack was driving them back. Almost as if it shared a single collective awareness, the entire host suddenly shifted in the one direction it perceived safety might still be found: toward the sea.

What began as a steadily growing tendency to move west quickly built into a panicked rush. Soon the horde of Grik was flowing past the shield wall from left to right with the unstoppable chaotic urgency of a massive, flooding river. Spears continued to slay them as they hurried past, but there was no reaction from those around the victims except, perhaps, to quicken their pace. It was shocking and amazing and dreadful all at once, and a vague cheer began to build as Alden’s troops realized that this time there’d be no stopping the rout. Whatever force enabled the Grik to operate with some semblance of cooperation, cunning, and courage had disappeared just as surely as if the strings of a marionette had been cut.

The cheering grew frenzied when the flag of the Second Marines resolved itself in the flickering gloom beyond the raging torrent of Grik.

“It’s Shinya! Shinya!” came a gleeful shout at Alden’s side. He turned and saw Alan Letts actually jumping up and down and waving his arms in the air. His hat was gone and his red hair was plastered to his scalp with blood and sweat. Mueer from the pilothouse. And so it was there, on Walker ’s bridge, that Matt played tag with the devil.

With the loss of the foremast, the radio was out, and Clancy had been ordered to remove it and place it in the whaleboat-the only boat left. The launch was a shattered wreck, and the other launch never returned from searching for survivors of the PBY. Of course, they’d been steaming at high speed ever since it left. Maybe it was still out there somewhere, vainly trying to catch them.

An intermittent pounding, metallic drumming, came from the front of the pilothouse where bullets struck, but the enemy fire had begun to slacken. Matt saw Spanky crawling across the strakes from the ladders. He was bleeding and seemed disoriented. Matt risked a peek out the window to make sure their position relative to Amagi was unchanged. His hat had been snatched off his head during a recent similar check. “Are you all right?” he shouted.

McFarlane shook his head. “I’m shot, God damn it. How’re you?”

The captain almost laughed. “Nothing, would you believe it?” A throbbing pain resurfaced. “Busted nose, a few scratches,” he amended. “How’s she holding up?”

“The bow’s a sieve, and she’s down four feet by the head. I just came from there. A Jap bullet came through the goddamn hull and got me in the goddamn ass! Everybody’s out of the aft fireroom but the Mice, and they’re in water up to their shins. If we don’t head for shore right damn now, the fish’ll get us all!”

Matt nodded, but at the same time he knew he couldn’t give up. Amagi might be finished- Walker certainly was-but as long as the battle cruiser was afloat, she was a threat. He couldn’t break off before the task was done-not as long as they had a single shell for the number one gun. It had to end here, now. If Amagi got away and somehow survived, Baalkpan would never survive her eventual return. Worse than that, the sacrifice of all those who’d died and suffered this long day and night would have been for nothing.

“Soon,” Matt promised. “We’ll break off soon.”

“God damn it! Why won’t that unholy bitch just sink?!” Silva raged into the night. He could barely see through the blood clouding his vision, and he suspected his left eye was ruined. A swarm of paint chips and bullet fragments were the cause. Even so, he could tell Amagi was listing twenty-five or thirty degrees-but that was where it stopped. Low in the water and creeping along at barely five knots, the Jap was still underway and entering the center of the channel. He’d thrown shell after shell into her stern, and there’d been no visible effect other than a growing, gaping hole in her fantail. Now, no matter how hard they searched, the runners who’d been bringing him shells couldn’t find any more.

Machine-gun bullets still rattled off the splinter shield, but only a few. It was as if the Japanese sailors knew Walker had done her worst, and had nothing left to throw at them. They were going to get away.

“Mr. Silva!” came a cry behind him, and he whirled in shock. Thvis“What the hell are you doing here?” he choked. “Goddamn, there’s bullets and bombs… and we’re fixin’ to sink! Get your stupid asses under cover, for crissakes!”

Rebecca looked at her companion. “Well, Lawrence, clearly we’re not wanted, and apparently they don’t need this as badly as we thought-with everyone running around looking for them!” It was only then that Silva realized the small girl and large, but still sore lizard were struggling with a heavy, four-inch-fifty shell suspended between them.

Torn, he glanced at the retreating battle cruiser. For the moment the incoming fire had stopped completely. Maybe the enemy gunner was out of ammunition-or he’d simply given up. “Shit!” he groaned disgustedly. “Gimme that; then get the hell outta here!” He sprinted across the blood-slick deck to meet them. “Let me guess: Lieutenant Tucker still thinks you’re with O’Casey and vicey-versey?”

“I tried to sto’ her,” Lawrence announced virtuously, but the girl only grinned.

“My safety is still primarily your responsibility, Mr. Silva. I have no control over assumptions others might make,” Rebecca stated sternly. “Besides, whether they like it or not, or even know it, my people must be represented in this fight!”

“Skipper’s gonna kill me,” Silva muttered with absolute certainty, taking the shell in his massive hands. He noticed with a sinking feeling that it was high-explosive. “Here,” he said, resignedly, handing it to the loader, “let’s make it count!” He glared back at the girl. “I’ve pulled some stupid stunts, but this… at least get behind the splinter shield!”

Rebecca’s grin faded. “Your eye!”

“Just a scratch.” Silva turned to Pack Rat, the Lemurian pointer. “Well? Quit screwin’ around, and let ’em have it!”

“You gonna aim for us?” Pack Rat cried sarcastically. His gunners were all Lemurians, too short to look through the sight and push the trigger pedal too. They could elevate and traverse if he guided them, though. He was positive just a few more rounds would finish Amagi, but they just didn’t have them. A single HE shell wouldn’t make much difference.

“Yeah, if somebody’ll load the goddamn thing!” he growled disgustedly. It was then that he saw his trainer was down. “Hey… Lawrence! Get your stripey ass on the training wheel!”

Lawrence’s jaw went slack. “Trainer? I?”

“Yeah, trainer, you! Step on it!”

The breech slammed shut, and Silva squinted with his good eye through the telescopic sight mounted on the left side of the gun. Only the smallest part of his consciousness even noticed when a tiny hand squirmed its way into his clenched, bloody fist.

“Port a little,” he crooned, “port… port… Good! Up, up. .. Good. Shit! Stop when I say ‘good,’ damn you! Down… Good!” He stepped aside. “Fire!” Pack Rat stomped on the pedal. The gun barked and recoiled backward, but Silva was watching the tracer. It struck right in the middle gun

“A hit!” Rebecca cried excitedly.

“Woop-te-do. Might as well throw hand grenades at the bastard,” Silva explained dejectedly. “Well, that’s that,” he said, squeezing Rebecca’s hand before letting it go. Suddenly he hurt all over, and he was sick inside as well. “Beat feet back to the pilothouse. There’s no sense standing around and getting shot if we ain’t got no more bullets! I’ll tell the captain we’re dry.” He started to turn.

“Silva, look!” Pack Rat shouted. Dennis did. Amagi was suddenly leaning a little farther to port and veering hard right.

“What the hell?” he murmured. “Maybe we hit her steering engine or something?” Whether that was the case, or Amagi had simply tired of the dog yapping at her heels and decided to present her remaining broadside of secondary guns and destroy the nuisance that tasked her, Silva had no idea. He knew the latter would be the result, however, and Walker heeled as the captain saw it too. Sluggishly, Walker turned hard a’port, but her grace and quickness were gone. The short delay was just enough to put her at a disadvantage, and there was nothing she could do. Silva clutched the girl to his side and braced himself for the final fusillade, while Amagi continued her sharp turn, out of the main channel, and into the prepared lane they’d left the day before. She was drawing considerably more water this time when she passed directly over the MK-6 magnetic exploder-and the cluster of depth charges it was anchored to.

The sea convulsed around her, just under the number two turret, and her entire bow heaved up upon the gigantic swelling of foam. Then a geyser of spray erupted forth and completely inundated the forward half of the ship. There was very little flash, but the sound of the blast was enormous. Amagi collapsed into the hole the charges left in the water, the sea closing over the bow before it shuddered back to the surface like a submarine. Only now, it was… crooked… somehow. The outline of the ship had visibly changed, and even as they watched, it contorted still more. Water surged near the base of the forward superstructure, but there was red paint visible beneath her pointed bow.

“ Broke her goddamn back! ” Silva bellowed. “I knew it would work!” Pack Rat looked at him incredulously, and Rebecca threw her arms around his waist.

Captain Kurokawa was thrown against the chart table by the force of the blast. His head struck the edge, and he lay stunned for several moments. He comprehended a great roaring, surging sensation, as well as screams and urgent shouts. Amagi heaved beneath him, and the deck began to cant.

“Nooooo!”

He didn’t recognize the cry that escaped his lips. It was primordial. Staggering to his feet, he looked about. All the windows were smashed, and sparks fell like fiery rain from shorted conduits on the overhead. The flames that engulfed his ship aft boiled to unprecedented heights-then began to subside. The tilt of the deck was becoming more extreme. “No!” he shrieked again. The bridge seemed deserted of all but bodies. Those who’d left their posts would pay, he grimly swore. Then he saw movement on the blistered bridge wing. Still groggy, Kurokawa recognized the Amerit="1em" width="1em"›Great clouds of steam and smoke gushed skyward aft as the sea closed over the fires. A heavy detonation rumbled across the water, and soot and steam belched from the stack. Finally the savaged fantail disappeared from view with a tremendous, thundering gurgle of escaping air. Only then did a heartfelt cheer erupt from Walker ’s survivors.

Finally! Matt thought. His entire body felt almost rubbery with relief. My God… Finally! He closed his eyes briefly in thanks. A few Grik ships frantically tacked past the smoldering wreck, headed for the Makassar Strait. Walker had nothing left to shoot at them.

Matt looked at his watch. “Oh two five eight, Mr. Reynolds. Please record it in the log.” He looked at Gray. “Now, if only things are going okay ashore,” he said grimly, watching the fleeing ships. It was impossible to tell if they were going to reinforce the landing in the south, or just running away. He had no idea if they were winning or losing the battle on land, and all of Baalkpan seemed to burn.

“Survivors?” Gray asked with distaste, gesturing at the boats in the water and the protruding pagoda. Matt shook his head.

“They’re fine for now,” he said. “If we take time to bring them aboard, they’ll just be in the water with us. How fast can we push her without putting too much stress on the forward bulkheads, Spanky?”

McFarlane seemed distracted, concentrating. “Six knots?” he hazarded. “Faster than that and you’ll drive her under. Slower and she’ll sink before we get there. I expect you’ll try to make it to the shipyard?”

Matt nodded sadly. “That’s my hope. I’ll angle her toward shore, though, just in case she doesn’t make it.”

He looked back at Amagi ’s wreck as he spun the wheel for home. “I wish Jim could’ve seen this,” he said.

By some freakish miracle of buoyancy, Mahan ’s stern still floated. The entire forward part of the ship had been obliterated by the blast, removing the flooded weight that would have quickly pulled the rest of her down. The explosion also heaved the shattered aft section backward against the continued thrust of her single screw. The watertight integrity was completely gone, however, and the stern was filling rapidly. Escaping air shrieked through the many rents, and the deck tilted ever downward.

Jim and two ’Cats had dragged Sandison into the meager protection of the battered aft deckhouse before the huge explosion drove them to the deck. One of the ’Cats was blown over the side, but the other had been there to revive him. Still lying on the deck, Jim watched with stunned bitterness, and a profound sense of betrayal and futility, as Amagi began to steam out of the harbor in spite of her massive wound. He’d killed his ship, and who knew how many of her crew, for nothing. Then, to his bleary-eyed astonishment, he saw Walker giving chase.

He knew it was a pointless gesture, as futile as his own had been. Walker could never finish the monster with only her lonely number one gun, and clearly d already been removed by the flotilla surrounding her. Several men and ’Cats stood on the fire-control platform, and there was movement on the bridge as well. If Matt still lived, that was where he’d be. She shouldered her way through the throng for a better look, and seeing who she was, most parted and made a lane for her to pass. She didn’t notice them, but if she had, she’d have seen the deferential lowered ears and blinks of respect running through the crowd.

Walker edged into the basin and slowed to a stop less than fifty yards from the pier. The overtaxed launches tried to pull her closer, but it was clearly no use. The ship was going fast. As Sandra watched, the aft fireroom access trunk opened with a clang, and a mist of steam gushed out. A short female ’Cat crawled onto the deck, then reached back inside the opening. With a mighty heave she pulled first one, then another pale, grimy form into the light. Coughing and leaning on one another, the three quickly shuffled under the amidships deckhouse toward the ladder at the back of the bridge. As if she’d been waiting for that very event, Walker finally surrendered herself to the sea. Water crept over the fo’c’sle and coursed into the jagged hole. The rasping blower went silent, but the sound was replaced with a massive, urgent whoosh as the bow dipped lower and lower. With a juddering, grinding thump, it struck the silty bottom. There was an almost dying groan as the rest of the ship quickly settled. All that remained above water was the top of the bridge and her four battered funnels resting at a slight angle to port. Most of the flag was still visible too, jostled by the rising, turbulent froth of escaping air.

There was an audible, mournful sigh from the crowd, replaced by a frenzied cheer when a large, bloodied man above the bridge-whom Sandra recognized as Dennis Silva-gave a jaunty wave with one hand, while the other supported a small girl sitting on his shoulders. Tabby and the Mice stiffly ascended the ladder to the crowded platform, and Sandra felt her heart leap into her throat when Matt climbed wearily up from the bridge to join them. She was yelling now too, waving her arms over her head, and tears streamed down her cheeks.

Wherever she came from, there was no doubt: USS Walker, DD-163, and her lost and lonely crew had found their way home at last.