There had evidently brder me to fly, but it’s not his fault we got in late. We altered the flight plan a little to increase our search coverage, true, but I’d respectfully point out that we wouldn’t have seen Mahan otherwise.» He shrugged. «We ran into a headwind on the last westward leg.»
Matt nodded. «I’m glad you found Mahan. Knowing she’s safe takes a load off my mind. I just wish you wouldn’t cut it so close. You’re the only pilot we have.»
«Yes, sir. Flying the only airplane. But when we couldn’t raise you on the radio we got worried. The last we knew, everybody was at sea in the path of that god-awful storm. I guess we needed to know we weren’t suddenly all alone.»
Matt studied him in the torchlight. «What would you have done if you found one of us, Walker or Mahan, in a sinking condition?»
«I. don’t understand, sir.»
«Yes, you do. Say it was Walker. No power and low in the water. Just wallowing in the swell.» Matt grimaced. «And nothing but the whaleboat, which is, incidentally, all we have left. This afternoon you might’ve been able to set down, but not this morning. What would you have done?»
The young aviator looked stricken. «I. I don’t know. Maybe.»
Matt interrupted him. «No ‘maybe,’ Lieutenant. There’s absolutely nothing you could’ve done.» He put his hand on Mallory’s shoulder. «Nothing. Not if you’re a responsible officer. This isn’t the world we knew, where you could whistle up some ship to come get us. We’re on our own. That’s why you and Letts should’ve waited another day before coming to look for us.» He smiled and squeezed the shoulder. «By which time — tomorrow — the radio ought to be fixed. I’m glad you’re here, don’t get me wrong, and I’m glad you saw Mahan, but we can’t spare you or that airplane.» His smile became a grin. «It’s going to have to last the whole damn war.» He dropped his hand to his side and nodded toward the chart laid out on a table nearby. Together, they looked down at it. «Now, since you’re in a rescuing mood, I want you to take off in the morning — weather permitting — and find Revenge. We’re going to start on the propeller first thing, but we ought to have the radio repaired by morning. With Riggs gone to Baalkpan, Clancy is chief radio operator and he says with Palmer’s help he can get it done. Clancy’s already fixed the resonance chamber — used a coffee cup for an insulator! — and he says now that the ship’s not pitching her guts out he can re-string the aerial.» Matt looked up at Mallory. «By the way, if the radio’s not working, you don’t fly.» He returned his gaze to the chart. «If you find Revenge and she needs assistance, with any luck, we’ll be able to come and get them.» Matt pointed at the chart. «Concentrate here first,» he said grimly, indicating a large island surrounded by dozens of smaller ones about halfway between Sumatra and Borneo. «I have a feeling that’s where she’ll be.»
Captain Reddy glanced at the group gathered around them. Many were engaged in animated discussions, while some were relaxing on cushions that had been placed under the awning for their convenience. «It looks like I’m going to be here for a while,» he said. «Go get some sleep. You’ll need it.»
«So,» Matt said at last, when the briefings were complete and the «meeting» had been officially under way for some time, «correct me if I’m wrong, but it seems the situation remains unchanged. The battle line is fit for sea, in spite of some slight damage. The B’mbaadan infantry and Rolak’s volunteers have been thoroughly integrated into the AEF and are ready to embark. I have every minated something lying in it.
«Goddamn! It’s a gun! I bet those sneaky bastards filled it full of powder and plugged it up, hoping the fire would cook it off!» He started to run for a fire hose, then stopped dead in his tracks. No time. If he was right, that thing could go off any second. It would take several minutes for the water pressure to build. Without a word, he hopped the rail and began climbing down the rungs.
«Where the hell are you going?» Lanier yelled. «I got an arrow in my gut!»
«I doubt it hit anything vital, you fat tub of lard!» Harvey snarled back. «Don’t just stand there. Get the hose!»
Lanier waddled in the direction of the closest hose reel and Donaghey resumed his descent. The initial flash of the conflagration had diminished considerably to a steady blaze in the forward third of the boat. He could hear crackling as the wood began to burn. The heat pushed almost physically against him the lower he went and he wasn’t sure he was just imagining his skin beginning to blister.
«Hurry up!» he shouted, unsure if the cook even heard him as he gasped for breath in the acrid smoke. Below him, one rung down, he could see through his slitted, watery eyes that a rope had been tied to the ship. With one hand, he reached into his shirt and retrieved a long-bladed folding knife that always hung around his neck on a braided cord. Called a sausage knife, it had a long, skinny blade that was useful for a variety of things. He opened it with his teeth and leaned down to cut the rope that had already started to burn. He was certain he was blistering now and he cried out in pain. He smelled the hair on his arm begin to singe, mingling with the stench of the smoke. He sawed at the rope like a madman. Suddenly, unexpectedly, it parted under his blade and he would have dropped it in the water but for the cord.
The ship’s bell began ringing frantically in the dark, followed moments later by the general alarm. Harvey scrambled back up the side of the ship a few rungs to escape the worst of the heat and looked down at the boat. Slowly, lazily, it drifted with the current. Amid the flames he clearly saw the ruddy shape of the bronze cannon barrel as the fire grew around it. From above he heard shouts and curses and a gurgling stream of seawater trickled on the boat. Other hands had joined or taken over for Lanier and they were finally getting water on the fire. It would still take a while for the pressure to build, one trailing alongside. Crouching on his knees, and with his hat pulled down low to protect his eyes, he laboriously managed to turn the boat. With a growing sense of urgency that bordered on panic, he rowed as fast as he could. He heard the yells of the men on deck — quite a few now, by the racket they were making — screaming at him to stop, come back, don’t be a fool — but there was no choice. He had no choice.
All he knew, as the flesh on his face and hands began to sear and his vision became a red, shimmering fog, was that he had to row. Nothing else in the entire world mattered anymore except for getting that crazy, stupid bomb the hell away from his ship.
He made it almost forty yards.
Captain Reddy paced the deck beside the number two torpedo mount, back and forth, his hands clenched behind his back. Occasionally he ventured near the smoke-blackened rail and stared at the water below. The angry red horizon that preceded the dawn was a singularly appropriate backdrop to the white-hot rage that burned within him. A quiet circle of destroyermen, human and Lemurian, watched him pace, and Sandra and Bradford were nearby as well, conversing in subdued tones.
On deck, trussed up like hogs, were two Aryaalans. Dennis Silva towered over them with a pistol in his hand and Earl Lanier, shirt off and with a wide bandage encircling his midsection, menaced the prisoners with his fishing pole.