"They're fine men, Captain Reddy. Your crew," Sandra said softly.
"Yes, they are." He sighed. "And that makes it even harder."
"What? Using them up?"
He looked at her, surprised, but nodded. "Yeah, and that's what I'm doing. I've gotten them into a war I know nothing about." He shook his head. "Oh, don't worry, I'm not feeling sorry for myself. I know there wasn't a choice. We haven't had a choice since we went through the Squall.
I'm not even complaining about that. However inconvenient it's made our lives, it saved us. It's just . . ." He couldn't tell her how he felt. Especially couldn't tell her about the doubts and nightmares and guilt he felt over Mahan. He'd made so many mistakes! And he definitely couldn't tell her how he felt about her. He changed the subject.
"You came out on the old Langley, right?" She nodded. The Langley was America's first real aircraft carrier. She'd been built on a merchant's hull and had a goofy flight deck erected above the superstructure, earning her the nickname Covered Wagon. By modern standards, she looked very strange and was too small and slow to be considered a real carrier anymore, even before the war. She'd been transporting P-40s to Java when Japanese planes hammered her. She was helpless under the assault, and it was the most terrified Sandra had ever been—up to that time.
"We'd been on sweeps off Bawean Island, looking for the Jap invasion fleet for Java when we heard about Langley," he said. "We were heading to Surabaya to refuel when Doorman turned us around." Matt's voice became a quiet monotone as he stared across the water at Walker's silhouette. "The Japs were off Bawean. We'd just missed them. We took off so fast, Pope couldn't catch us." He grimaced. "Not that it made any difference. As soon as we cleared the mines, we came under air attack again and there was nothing we could do but take it. We had a total of eight fighters left, and the Dutch were saving them to use against the invasion as it landed." He snorted. "Eight planes weren't going to stop the invasion force, but they might've helped us find it, and kept the Jap planes off our backs." He was silent for several moments before he continued. Sandra waited patiently, quietly.
"The Jap screen for the invasion convoy wasn't much heavier than us, for once, but we had no air cover at all. The Japs corrected their fire with spotting planes throughout the battle. It was a hell of a thing to see, though. Cruisers aren't battleships, but even cruisers look damned impressive steaming parallel, blasting away at each other. Of course all we could do was watch." He took a deep, bitter breath. "Exeter got hit, and a few minutes later, Kortenaer took one of those big Jap torpedoes. She just blew up. Edwards was right on her tail and had to swerve. By the time we went past, she was upside down, folded in half. We didn't see anybody in the water.
"Electra, one of the Brit destroyers, made a torpedo attack alone, to distract the Japs from finishing Exeter. She was flying the biggest flag I ever saw . . ." Taking off his hat, he passed his hand over his head and stared at the lights on the water, remembering. "I guess every Jap ship in the line concentrated on her. All we saw was waterspouts, then steam and smoke . . . then nothing." He shook his head with sad amazement. "It was getting dark and I guess Doorman'd had enough. We charged in and launched torpedoes while the cruisers turned away, but nobody got a single hit."
He shrugged. "We did break the Jap formation, though, and Doorman got away. You got to give him credit for guts. As soon as we gave them the slip, Doorman went looking for the transports again. We didn't. We were out of torpedoes and nearly out of fuel, and our engines were finished after running thirty knots all through the fight. Binford ordered us back to Surabaya."
The launch's engine could be heard again as it shoved off to return to the dock and await another load.
"Doorman wasn't an idiot. I didn't like the way they put him in charge, but his biggest problem was he never knew what he was up against, never knew what he was facing or even where the enemy was. Now I know how he must've felt. We don't know what we're facing either, and like I said when we first helped Big Sal . . ." He stopped and looked at her. "Don't get me wrong, I'm glad we did! These people, Keje, Adar, Chack, even Nakja-Mur, they're good people. They've helped us and deserve our help in return. I just didn't feel right getting the men involved in a war we know nothing about. The Grik are bad news, maybe even worse than the Japs.
They need to be defeated and, however it happened, we're here now, and we'll never be safe until they are. We've had it pretty easy so far, but there has to be more to the Grik than these little two- or three-ship task forces.
Somehow, we've got to find out!"
"How?"
He grinned at her. "I don't know, but I'm working on it. Any ideas?"
Sandra smiled. She suddenly knew he would never have shown such vulnerability with anyone else on the ship. He wouldn't have spoken of any of this. What did that mean? "What happened to Doorman?" she asked. Matt's grin vanished.
"He ran into the Japs again that night. DeRuyter and Java were sunk.
Exeter and Encounter made it back to Surabaya—where you came on the stage. Houston and Perth got slaughtered trying to make it through the Sunda Strait."
"All because they didn't know what they were up against." She looked speculatively at the PBY floating nearby. "But now we have air cover and the enemy doesn't."
He followed her gaze. "Well, yeah, but unless we can make more fuel for it, it won't be much help. That's not out of the question, and we're going to try. Mallory says it'll burn gasoline, which we should be able to do, but it needs high-octane stuff. I don't know squat about that, but Bradford does and as soon as we have a decent reserve for the ship, he's going to try to sort it out." He shrugged and looked at the Catalina like one might a worn-out horse, wondering if it had the stamina for a few more miles or not. "Of course, parts to keep it in the air are even more impossible than the things we need for the ship."
"How much fuel does it have?" Sandra asked. "Enough to look for Mahan?"
When Matt answered, his voice was without inflection. It was a habit she'd noticed he used when he'd agonized over a decision and come to one he didn't like. "Maybe. But fuel's not really the issue. We tanked her up, and we have enough in drums on the ship to fill her again. But even if we had all the fuel in the world, I can't send anyone up in that thing unless Walker's close behind. Not unless I have to. Riggs thinks he can fix its radio, and that might make a difference. Until then, I won't chance stranding somebody. It might also be different if we had some idea where Mahan is, but we don't. `West of Sumatra' a few weeks ago is too damn vague to risk men's lives. For all we know, she's sunk . . . or the Grik have her already." He sighed. "My conscience tells me to chase her as soon as we have the fuel; she's my responsibility. But Walker's my responsibility too, and I won't risk her on another wild-goose chase until we know the other team's lineup. Mahan and our friends'll have to wait—they'd understand."