Rising Tides

CHAPTER 4

Talaud Island

Lieutenant Irvin Laumer felt the tremor through the hull of the old submarine, S-19, even over the vibrating rumble of the big starboard NELSECO diesel. The battered submarine was entirely afloat now, in the sandy pit they’d carved around it, which meant the tremor must be bad indeed if he felt it through the water. He looked at Machinist’s Mate Sandy Whitcomb, who was tinkering with the diesel, adjusting it. Sandy glanced back at him, catching his eye. He felt it too. Together, they just stood there in the engine room, sweating in the dull glare of the electric lights that glowed with the power the generator was packing into the batteries. The tremor continued. Radioman Tex Sheider stuck his head into the compartment through the forward hatch. His bearded face was flanked by a pair of’Cats, and it would have been a comical scene if not for Tex’s expression.

“You better get a load a’ this, Skipper,” he said.

“On my way,” Laumer replied. “Where’s Midshipman Hardee?”

“Topside.”

Laumer exchanged another tense glance with Whitcomb and hurried after Tex. The almost bare aft berthing space had been converted into a workshop where many of the boat’s systems were undergoing repair, and they had to weave their way among the various ongoing projects before reaching the even more cramped control room. Climbing the forward ladder, they exited onto the deck, just in front of the conn tower and aft of the boat’s four-inch-fifty gun.

For just a moment Laumer looked around. The excavation around the boat had filled with water during a small storm the week before, which meant any remaining repairs below the waterline were out of the question. It was just as well. The boat was as tight as they had any reason to expect after wallowing on the Talaud Island beach for the better part of a year and a half. The rudder, shafts, and screws seemed relatively straight. The only thing they hadn’t been able to fix was a warped starboard diving plane. They’d managed to straighten it a little, so it shouldn’t cause a problem on the surface, but it had little range of motion. Of course, the last thing any of them ever wanted to do was take S-19 underwater again.

He quickly noted that their tender, perhaps whimsically named USS Toolbox still floated where she should a couple of hundred yards offshore. As an auxiliary, she carried only a few guns to save weight for things Irvin’s project might require, but like so many Allied ships, she was a highly modified Grik prize captured after the battle of Baalkpan. Even as he stared at her, Laumer began to feel a little dizzy and her masts almost seemed to blur.

“At the mountain, sir! Look at the mountain!” Hardee blurted. Laumer turned to see and automatically looked up. And up.

“Jumpin’ Jehoshaphat!” exclaimed Shipfitter Danny Porter, joining them from below. Far in the distance, a massive mushroom cloud of dark ash piled high into the otherwise clear late-afternoon sky above the volcanic mountain that dominated the island’s landscape. The ash resembled a titanic, roiling, spreading blot in the heavens.

“What do you think, sir?” Tex asked. “Maybe it’s just a fart, like all them others.”

“Bigger this time,” Porter said. “Might be just clearin’ its throat for something really big.” That was the closest anyone had come to suggesting that the Talaud Island volcano might “pull a Krakatoa” since Laumer’s own long-ago ill-considered comment.

“Shut your hole, you mindless monkey turd!” Tex demanded. “You’ll jinx us for sure.”

“Maybe not,” Laumer said thoughtfully. “According to reports from Mr. Ellis, and now General Alden too, Krakatoa hasn’t ‘pulled a Krakatoa’ on this world. They said they saw it, and it’s a humongous mother, but all the ’Cats who hang out around there say that aside from spewing a lot of red fire, it never does very much.”

“Well,” Porter said, “ just because Krakatoa hasn’t ‘pulled a Krakatoa’ doesn’t mean Talaud’s not fixing to pop its cork.”

“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’m going to feed you to the spiderlobsters if they come back,” Tex declared.

Laumer put his hand on Tex’s shoulder. “Skip it,” he said. “You’re both right.” He looked at Porter. “You do need to lay off. You’ll upset the fellas.” He forced a laugh. “Shoot, you’ll upset me. You’re right, though; I don’t know anything about volcanoes, but that thing’s starting to give me the creeps.” Even as he spoke, the tremors slowly subsided and the relief he felt around him was palpable. He sighed. “Anyway, we’ve got to find some way to pick up the pace. Adar hasn’t come right out and ordered us off the project, and neither has the Skipper, but I guarantee Toolbox has already reported this latest burp. Her captain isn’t any happier about hanging around here than we are, and I can’t say I blame him. If we don’t wrap this project up pretty quick, I expect we will be ordered out.”

“Maybe the transmission didn’t get picked up,” Tex said. “Comm’s been pretty spotty.”

“Maybe not,” Irvin agreed, “but they’ll send it again. It usually does get through at night.”

“Well, so what’s left?” asked Porter. “We’re afloat and the starboard diesel’s up and running. We could get the boat underway.. . well… today, for that matter, if only…”

“Yeah,” agreed Laumer, gazing at the beach-locked puddle the submarine floated in. “If only.”

“Sid has six boats, nearly a hundred ’Cats, and the whole Toolbox dredging us a channel. They’re going as fast as they can,” Hardee defended.

“I know. They’re all doing a swell job.” Laumer looked back at the mountain and rubbed his face with his hands. “We’re going to get some ash tonight. Make sure everyone’s under cover. Bring them on the boat if you have to. Maybe we can get an early start in the morning.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Irvin took a last look around at the battered submarine that he was determined to deliver-intact-back to Captain Reddy, and the ’Cats working so hard to help him succeed. Then he glared at the mountain in the dwindling light. He was on the very brink of accomplishing his mission-and the almost more important mission he’d set himself: to prove he was worthy to join the “Captain’s Companions,” those who’d been with Reddy from the start. To be considered worthy of that, he’d do whatever he had to-even if it killed him. To accomplish so much only to have it threatened by a volcano, a force of nature, seemed wildly unfair, but he would manage. Somehow, he would succeed. Pacing to the hatch, he prepared to descend the ladder and go back to helping Whitcomb. Before he did, he stood up straight and shook his fist at the distant smoky peak. “You won’t beat me,” he warned. “By God, you won’t.”