Matt lowered the binoculars and a small, wondering smile played across his features. "I don't think so," he said, and added as an aside to Lieutenant Garrett, "PBY."
The plane grew larger, and the sun glinted dully off the dingy blue paint as it banked over the bay. The wings waggled a little, as if the pilot was unfamiliar with the controls—or maybe not. Only one engine was running. The big seaplane thundered low over the water, just a little higher than the small boats' masts. Sheets went flying, and there were many near-collisions as the unearthly monstrosity lumbered by. Matt couldn't help but grin at the startled antics of the fishermen. All the Lemurians on the pier or the destroyer stopped what they were doing and clustered uncertainly together.
The pilot plainly saw them now; he banked the plane harder and then steadied up, aiming for a clear patch of water off Walker's starboard side.
The big rudder kicked rapidly back and forth to compensate for the uneven thrust of the single engine. Wing-tip floats came down and the bullnose with the Plexiglas turret seemed to sniff tentatively at the water. The blue roundels with the white star and red dot stood out against the salt streaks and the stained, off-color paint. It was the most beautiful thing Matt had ever seen. With a great splashing thump, the flying boat struck the water, and its forward progress was almost immediately arrested by the unskilled or underpowered arrival. It wallowed to a stop as the pilot cut power, then increased it. The noise of the port engine was tremendous as the plane gathered speed in their direction.
Nakja-Mur had joined them. "What is that dreadful thing?" he demanded in a shrill voice.
"I suspect it's a friend of ours," Matt replied when Chack translated.
The pilot cut the engine about fifty yards away, and the noise abruptly lessened as the propeller wound down. Matt felt the relief around him.
"Prepare to fend off!" he shouted as the plane drifted closer. "Launch the whaleboat!" In less than a minute, the boat slid down the falls and slapped into the water. As they watched, a windscreen on the side of the pitching aircraft's cockpit slid back and a grinning, bearded face emerged.
"Another Amer-i-caan!" Nakja-Mur exclaimed. "One that flies! Flies!"
He was silent for a moment of sheer amazement, then turned to Matt and grinned. "I suppose I will have to feed that thing as well?"
"How many more . . . unusual friends are you expecting, Cap-i-taan Reddy?" Keje quietly asked. Big Sal 's "captain" was staring at the PBY with open wonder, but it was a serious question.
"I wasn't expecting this one. C'mon, let's meet our mystery aviator."
Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory's entire lower body felt numb and tingly from the long hours in the thinly padded metal seat of the shuddering aircraft. He had difficulty with his feet on the rungs as he ascended to the deck. He couldn't stop grinning, though. An hour before, he'd shut down the starboard engine and feathered its prop to stretch their fuel enough to reach this very bay. It was their final hope. They'd checked Menjangan, and pushed all the way to Alor before turning back. If Walker hadn't been at Balikpapan, he, Perry, and Ed would have been doomed, at best, to a lingering, miserable existence of solitude and privation without hope of rescue. More likely, some unfamiliar denizen would have quickly saved them the trouble. The sight of the old four-stacker nestled snugly against the pier amid the bustle of native people and shipping brought tears to Mallory's eyes. The smoke curling lazily from her aft funnel and the proud flag over her deck convinced him that, whatever the situation, Walker was here voluntarily and therefore they were safe.
He made it to the deck with the help of eager hands and threw a shaky salute at the flag, and another at Captain Reddy. He was startled by the sight of the . . . natives, but not like he would have been a few weeks before.
"Lieutenant Benjamin Mallory, United States Army Air Corps. I request permission to come aboard, sir." He took a wobbly step to make room for those behind him as they also gained the deck.
"Ed Palmer, Signalman, glad to be back aboard, sir," said the second man, his voice hoarse with emotion. The blond-headed signalman from Oklahoma had expected to remain on Mahan only until they reached Perth. His inclusion in the unlucky destroyer's odyssey had taken a toll.
The third was a dark-haired man in ragged khakis who looked vaguely familiar. "Lieutenant jay-gee Perry Brister, request perm—"
"Brister! You're engineering officer on Mahan—you all came from Mahan! Where is she?" Matt demanded.
"We don't know, sir," Mallory replied. "The last we saw, she was off the west coast of Sumatra."
"Sumatra? My God. What was Jim Ellis thinking?"
All three men shook their heads together. "Not Mr. Ellis, sir," Brister said.
"Right," confirmed Mallory. The aviator's grin was gone. "Captain Reddy, it's a long story and you need to hear it now." He gestured at himself and the others. "Could we have some cold water? Or . . . maybe even a Coke?"
"Certainly. Let's carry this conversation to the wardroom and you can tell me all about it after some refreshment." He turned to Dowden as the exec approached. "Is Mr. McFarlane back aboard? No? Then pass the word for Mr. Bradford—he returned from the well site this morning, did he not?" Dowden nodded. "Very well. Ask him, Mr. Letts, Mr. Tolsen, and Mr. Garrett to join us in the wardroom. Better ask Lieutenant Tucker and Lieutenant Shinya as well."
"Sir, Lieutenant Shinya and Sergeant Alden are drilling the militia."
Matt nodded. "Of course." He glanced at the Lemurians. He'd practically forgotten they were there. For a moment he contemplated excusing himself, but realized that if he did, they might suspect he was keeping secrets. That might not be best. They knew something important was going on; after all, it wasn't every day a PBY flew into Baalkpan and landed in the bay. "Our guests may accompany us, if they please, but space in the wardroom's limited. They'll have to leave their escorts behind." He spoke to Dowden, but his words were for Keje. They implied that this needed to remain an upper-level meeting. Keje understood, and spoke to Nakja-Mur.
Carafes of iced tea were on the wardroom table when they filed in.
Like Keje and Adar had been, Nakja-Mur and Naga were unfamiliar with human chairs, but watching Keje's more experienced motions, they managed to make themselves relatively comfortable. Of more interest to them was the egalitarian way the Americans gathered around the same table and drank from the same carafes. Lemurians prided themselves on their social tolerance, and they knew the Americans operated within a system of strict official stratification. For the first time, Nakja-Mur and Naga saw that the American hierarchy had more to do with tradition and institutional discipline than with a concept that anyone, even their captain, was intrinsically superior. Somehow, in spite of their surprise, they were strangely comforted.
They sat for a long moment, drinking, while an oscillating fan stirred the tepid air. The Lemurians drained their tea with relish and then waited patiently while the haggard newcomers rehydrated themselves. Finally, Mallory wiped his mouth and cleared his throat.
"My God, sir, that was welcome. We only carried a little water, to save on weight. Enough to last a few more days, but . . . Anyway, thanks, sir.
Your ship was a sight for sore eyes!"
"Thank you, Lieutenant. Seeing that plane was pretty exciting for us.
But what about Mahan? Where the hell is she and what happened?"
The three men glanced at each other, then haltingly, together, told how Kaufman took over the ship. Matt and the other humans listened in stunned amazement. They just couldn't believe it. Not only was it blatant mutiny, but under the circumstances it was insane. Brister told how Jim tried to take Kaufman's gun away, and he saw the rage on Matt's face when he told him Jim had been shot.