“You reckon they go there to die? The old ones, maybe?” Gray ventured gruffly. Matt looked at him carefully. At sixty-something, the Bosun was still a pillar of strength, but he’d begun to make comments now and then, as if starting to feel his age.
Jenks shrugged. “That would seem a sound assumption, but not all the migrants are of the largest size. Perhaps some grow bigger than others, but based on size alone, one would infer specimens of all ages make the trip.”
“Fascinating!” Courtney gushed. “Tell us more about these flying creatures, these ‘dragons’!” he demanded.
“They can be a menace,” Jenks confessed. “They look much like the ‘lizard birds,’ as you call them, or the small ‘dragon fowl’ we hunt at home, with fowling pieces, but they’re much larger. Bigger even than the ones Mr. Bradford compared in size to an albatross.” He paused, looking at Courtney. “Speaking of those midsize creatures, did you know, though seen throughout the isles of the Empire, and even as far as the continental colonies, they’re known to nest only on a small atoll in the Normandy Isles, far to the west of New Wales?”
“Oh my,” said Bradford.
“About these ‘dragons,’” Matt persisted. “You say they’re a menace? I guess they fly, but they don’t… spit fire or anything?”
“Heavens no.” Jenks chuckled. “But they’re large enough to snatch seamen from ships, and they’re quite clever, I’m afraid. They carry their prey to great heights and dash it against land or sea to kill it or render it senseless before they eat it. They’ve been known to bombard ships with rocks in excess of a hundred pounds.”
“Shit!” the Bosun exclaimed.
Bradford eyed him. “Please. It is Christmas!”
“I was about to beg pardon,” Gray defended himself.
Spanky clomped up the stairs aft. “Mornin’, Skipper,” he said. “Everybody.”
“And a Merry Christmas to you!” Courtney said sourly.
“Yeah. Hey, what’s this about ‘dragon bombers’?” he asked. Matt filled him in. “Wow. Better get busy training the ’Cat gunners to hit flying targets!”
“Hey, you’re right,” said Campeti. “I’ll get with Stites and see how we can do that without wasting a bunch of ammo. Maybe those Jap pom-poms we mounted where the numbers three and four torpedo mounts used to be’ll come in handy for something.”
“Do it,” said Matt. He looked at Jenks. “What other… surprises can we expect?”
“Probably not much you haven’t already seen, at least at sea. The gri-kakka, you call them, are considerably larger off the coast, and something like your ‘flashies’-perhaps the same species-are just as thick in the shallows as you’re accustomed to within the barrier. Sharks too, like the one that disabled Revenge and caused all that trouble for Task Force Garrett.”
“Say,” said Campeti, “I wonder how that’s going?”
Matt shook his head. “No way to know. The comm post we set up on that mountain on New Britain can probably still hear us; our transmitter is a lot more powerful. But Palmer said everything from there finally faded out last night. We’re cut off, comm-wise.” He brightened. “At least we know Admiral McClain, the fleet, and our oilers are on the way-a day late.” He shook his head. “Nothing for it, I guess.”
“Skipper, you know no big fleet ever sailed on time, with such short notice,” Spanky consoled.
“Keje and First Fleet did,” Matt replied. “And so did Task Force Maaka-Kakja.” He rubbed his face. “I hope that was the right thing to do. With that murderous Jap ’can running around…”
“I told you to expect such things,” Bradford reminded him. “My theory regarding how objects and people arrive on this world is still all ahoo, but I’m convinced that metal and magnetism, or electrical conductivity is somehow involved. With a global war underway back home, brimming with magnetic or conductive weapons scattered prolifically about, we’re likely to have more visits here as time goes by.”
“I’m not so sure,” Matt said slowly. “I mean, I agree with your theory for the most part, but I’m not convinced that nothing from ‘here’ ever wound up ‘there.’”
Courtney stared at him blankly.
“Jenks’s ‘dragons,’” he explained. “The ‘sea monsters.’ If a few things from here got snatched the other way over time, that could explain a lot of human mythology.”
“Don’t forget the ‘mer-lizards’ of Chill-Chaap!” the Bosun snorted through clenched teeth, trying not to laugh.
Courtney’s eyebrows furrowed. “Blast!” he said suddenly. “My beautiful theory is assailed! Now I shall lie awake at night, trying to reconcile this new variable, deprived of sleep!”
“Don’t sweat it.” Matt laughed. “When you get it all sorted out, I’m sure it’ll make perfect sense. Remember, we came with the ship, and we’re not magnetic!”
“But…” Courtney clamped his mouth shut. The ’Cats on the bridge were just beginning to “believe” in the invisible force of gravity. He didn’t want to distract them with even more “invisible” powers just now. Maybe some of the ’Cat EMs would understand, and he was sure Matt did, despite what he’d just said. Spanky and Palmer probably did as well… Suddenly, he realized he’d inflicted consideration of the greatest “invisible” power of all upon Walker ’s crew just that morning. He shook his head. “I am the most incredibly inconsistent creature alive,” he admitted.
“Yeah, but at least you’re consistently inconsistent,” Gray jabbed.
“Lookout reports a sail, off the starboard bow!” Minnie interrupted.
“Range?” Matt asked, raising his binoculars.
“Lookout say ‘on horizon.’ It so clear, an’ with no range-finder.
…”
Matt thought for a moment. The sea was calm, the sky cloudless.. . and the kid needed to get back on the horse. “Call the air division to action stations and have them stand by for flight operations,” he ordered.
Lieutenant Fred Reynolds heard the call he’d both dreaded and craved. He yearned to get back in the air, but he hated that somebody had to ride the “Nancy” with him-somebody who might wind up dead because of him. Kari Faask, his friend and former spotter/wireless operator/ bombardier and copilot, had remained aboard despite Selass-Fris-Ar’s misgivings, but she was still recovering from serious wounds. Fred spent almost all his off-duty time with her, escorting her around the ship, gently helping with her therapy-and generally treating her like a china doll. It helped salve his conscience. His first real taste of responsibility as an officer had resulted in a lost plane, a wounded friend, and a severely shaken self-confidence that hadn’t had much to rebuild on. He’d manage, he was a good flier, but without Kari in the backseat… He wondered who Mr. Palmer would replace her with.
The deck crew chief, Jeek, met him as he emerged from beneath the amidships deckhouse and handed him his leather helmet, goggles, and scarf-pretty much the only “special” equipment he required to fly. After his previous flights in the open-air cockpit, he’d taken to wearing a peacoat, which he already had on. It seemed hot as hell right now, but he’d welcome the coat’s warmth when he got in the air. Jeek escorted him to the “new” plane they’d assembled from parts stowed in the torpedo workshop, aft. Jeek, or somebody, had painted the word “No” on both sides of the forward fuselage this time. Jeek had painted it on Fred’s first plane after he returned from the action against “Company” warships sent to intercept them, and Reynolds somehow contrived to shoot his own plane in the nose with a. 45. Despite his resistance, the tradition stuck, but now it seemed appropriate. He viewed the warning as a reminder not to pull any stupid stunts.
“The engine is still warm,” Jeek assured him, uncharacteristically serious. He worried about his pilot and the funk he’d settled into. “We ran it up for morning GQ.” Implicit also was Jeek’s reminder that Fred should have been there for that. Reynolds looked at the plane and did a quick walkaround. It looked just like his old one, a PB-1B with its broad, high wing and single four-cylinder engine. If not for that and the reversed position of the prop, the thing looked much like the old PBY Catalina that inspired its form.