Maelstrom

EPILOGUE

Disaster,” Tsalka hissed mournfully. “Utter and complete disaster.” The rising sun presided over the beginnings of a bright, brisk morning in the Makassar Strait, and of the almost four hundred ships comprising the Invincible Swarm, less than seventy now accompanied the Giorsh, Esshk’s flagship, as it sailed back toward Aryaal. To make matters even worse, most of those ships were empty of all but their crews, since they’d been the ones that launched the southern assault. Never in the millennia-long history of the Grik had there been such a catastrophe. Tsalka sighed. “I did not command here, but that will make little difference to the Celestial Mother. I am regent consort of this territory now, and I am responsible. Would you care to join me, General Esshk, for a final repast? I intend to destroy myself at the midday, with all proper ceremony while it is still due me. You may join me in that as well, if you like.”

Esshk leaned on the rail, his claws gouging the white-painted wood as he stared aft at the mighty plume of smoke still hovering over distant Baalkpan. He sighed as well. “I am honored, Lord Regent, but I shall not destroy myself ance in their desperate attack on the Grik rear. She’d apologized profusely for arriving so late, but Maa-ni-la was now a firm member of the Alliance, and she pledged that more troops and supplies were on the way.

Keje was using the same crutches Gray once hobbled on, shortened to fit his physique. Somehow he’d survived the almost total destruction of Big Sal ’s upper levels, and was found by a rescue party the morning after the battle still sitting on his beloved stool. When Adar tried to suggest he should be High Chief of Baalkpan, he’d refused. Big Sal was his Home. With the sophisticated Lemurian pumps, coupled with the concept of hoses they’d learned from the Americans, he was sure she’d float again. For now he was content to recuperate, aided by the diligent attention of his daughter.

Shinya, Brister, Flynn, and Alden were there, as were Alan and Karen Letts. Letts’s quick thinking in sending out rescue craft had undoubtedly saved most of Walker ’s crew. Not only had they taken her people off, they’d helped get the ship into shallow water. The happy addition of Mahan ’s and Walker’s launches-once the survivors were transferred-aided in that considerably, and Jim Ellis and Frankie Steele piloted the launch-turned-tugboats throughout.

To everyone’s surprise, Walker ’s launch had actually rescued most of the PBY’s crew. Ben Mallory, Jis-Tikkar, and one of the gunners were found clinging precariously on one of the leaking wing floats. Somehow they’d survived the crash and escaped the sinking wreckage. Most of the flashies had been drawn to other parts of the bay. Tikker was in the hospital, but Mallory was, miraculously, uninjured. Sometimes it was like that. A pilot might break his neck when his parachute opened, or crawl out of a catastrophic crash.

Her Highness Rebecca Anne McDonald, princess of the Empire of the New Britain Isles, still wore battered dungarees, fuming at Silva’s behavior and the fact she was now virtually a prisoner of Sandra Tucker and Sean O’Casey. Lawrence and Silva had recounted her exploits during the battle, and if she and her strange Grik-like friend were now heroes of Baalkpan (and represented a possible end to the dame famine to the Americans), they were also never allowed to go anywhere without a particularly attentive escort. Most knew of her status now-such a secret was impossible to keep for long-and it was considered just a matter of time before Jenks and his squadron arrived. Jenks would be disappointed. She intended that her people and her new friends should become allies against the Grik, and though she wanted to go home, she’d already proclaimed that she’d do so only if Captain Reddy took her himself.

Now the gathering stood, silent for the most part, staring at the sad remains of the proud old ship. The flag still flew from the aft mast, and Matt couldn’t bear to see it taken down. Not yet. He remembered the first time he’d seen her, riding at anchor in Manila Bay, in another time-another world. He never would have thought back then that he’d mourn her loss like he did. After what they’d been through and all they’d achieved-and lost-it was like a huge piece of his soul had gone to the bottom with her. Sandra stood beside him holding his hand, a concerned expression on her face. All the pretense of professional distance they’d worked so hard to maintain had gone down with the ship. He needed her now, just as badly as one of her patients might who’d lost a leg.

“Do you think they’ll come back?” Karen Letts quietly broke the silence.

“Sure,” said Gray.

Unconsciously, Karen’s hand went protectively to her lower abdomen, and Sandra smilerecounted spected. She’d seen the signs.

“We’re all on the same footing now, technologically speaking,” Gray continued. “All the modern warships are gone, but they know about cannons, and they’ve still got the Japs to help ’em-if they don’t eat ’em.”

Before they could go out and claim the Japanese survivors, several Grik ships, including one of the white ones, had taken them off. All they found was a single wounded officer who’d decided to defect to the Americans. He was waiting patiently when they finally arrived, having hidden from the Grik, as well as his own people. For now he was under guard, but he’d told them a great deal-not least of which was how Captain Kaufman met his end. The sad aviator’s body had been buried with full honors alongside the others in the little cemetery.

“Not to mention,” mentioned Courtney Bradford dryly, “there are still far more of them than there are of us.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Matt said tiredly. “Even if they don’t, we have to keep after them. Adar’s right; we have to wipe them out.” He paused. “They’re even worse than we thought, and that’s saying a lot. They don’t know how to surrender, and they’re not going to leave us alone. If we don’t chase them now, keep the pressure up, they’ll be back eventually, and all this”-he gestured at the destruction all around, but his eyes never left his ship-“will have been for nothing.”

“How long do you think we have?” Sandra asked. Matt shrugged and looked at Bradford.

“Difficult to say, of course,” the Australian opined. “According to our ‘new’ Jappo-a Commander Okada, if I’m not mistaken-we did hurt them rather badly. It may take as many as three years to make good their losses in ships and warriors. Five at the absolute most. You do understand I’m only guessing?”

“My God. That fast?” Jim Ellis interjected.

“Most likely.” Bradford nodded.

“That means we’ve only about half that time to strike before they’re fully prepared,” Keje said thoughtfully.

“How?” whispered Matt. Beyond his earlier statement of fact, he didn’t really want to talk long-term strategy just then. His heart wasn’t in it. He just wanted to mourn his ship.

“Easy, Skipper.” Spanky grinned. “We’ll build battlewagons!”

Matt blinked. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Ever see a walking-beam steam engine? Put one-a big one-on something the size of Big Sal, stick on some paddle wheels, and pack her full of guns… ’Cat battlewagons!”

Keje was intrigued. “Steam engines… in a Home! Remarkable! You must tell me more, Mr. Maac-Faar-Laan.” Then he shook his head. “First we must consider, however, that we still need more help.” He bowed to Saan-Kakja. “Less now, of course, but Princess Re-beccaa’s people will surely appreciate the necessity of our cause. We must send a delegation across the Eastern Ocean. Take her home, Cap-i-taan Reddy; let her speak for us.” He glanced at Chief Gray. “In light of our victory, they may be… easier to convince than before.”

“Not much time for that,” Matt murmured dolefully, still looking at Walker ’s grave. The destroyer’s speed would have made communications across such a distance much simpler. He sighed. No point in wi› like a victory instead of yet another ordeal they’d somehow managed to survive. Eventually, as the afternoon waned, the friends began to disperse.

Finally alone, as the sun touched the dense jungle horizon, Sandra wrapped her arms around Matt’s neck, pulling him down for a joyful, passionate kiss.

“Gotta go,” she whispered at last, tears streaking her face. “Work to do.”

“I’ll be along.”

“You’ll be all right?”

Matt smiled at her and nodded. “I think I am. Right now, finally, I think we all will be.” She hugged him tight, and as she disengaged herself, her fingers trailing away from his, her smile turned impish.

“Karen’s pregnant,” she announced.

Matt was stunned, as all men are by such sudden, momentous statements. “She didn’t look any different to me.”

Sandra giggled and shook her head. “See you later, sailor,” she said, and stepped away into the gathering twilight.

“Huh,” Matt said, turning to walk along the dock. Eventually he grinned.

A short distance away he was surprised to encounter the Mice sitting on coiled cables and leaning against a fallen piling. All three had their elbows on their knees and their chins in their hands as they stared glumly at their sunken Home.

“Evening, uh… men,” he said, inwardly amused by his own confusion regarding how to address them. The trio began to stand and he waved them back. “Why the long faces?” They looked at him as if he were nuts.

Gilbert hopped up anyway, whipping his hat from his head. No matter how crazy he thought he was, there was no way he could answer the skipper sitting down. “Well, sir, beggin’ yer pardon, but our ship’s, well… sunk.”

“So? We’ll raise her. What’s that compared to everything else we’ve done?” Isak and Tabby both jumped up.

“But… beggin’ yer pardon too, how we gonna patch her?” Isak demanded.

Tabby suddenly blinked inspiration. “We gonna use iron from that Jap ship, ain’t we!” she exclaimed in a passable copy of her companion’s lazy drawl.

Isak stiffened. In a voice both excited and scandalized at the same time, he spoke. “Hally-looya, we’re gonna get our boilers back. .. but goddamn! Jap iron? It ain’t decent!” Catching himself, he yanked his own hat off his head and mumbled, “Sir.”

Matt laughed. “Settle down! Steel is steel. Besides, remember all that scrap we sold the Japs before the war? Maybe Amagi used to be a Packard!”

He was still laughing when he left them talking excitedly among themselves. Slowly he walked around the basin, inspecting the remains of his ship with a critical eye. Inevitably, looking at her, he became more somber. No question about it: raising and refitting the old destroyer would be a daunting task. But they had performed miracles; they could do it again. The mere fact that any of them were still alive was a miracle in itself.

He stopped when he reached the other side of the basin. The ship was farther from him now, and the exposed damage didn’t look so bad. An errant ray of the setting sun managed to blink through the jungopy