Crusade d-2 Page 2
«In view of the ‘extenuating circumstances,’ the first charge against Bosun’s Mate Chack-Sab-At is dismissed,» Matt declared. «Mr. Garrett? Have you anything to say on Gunner’s Mate Silva’s behalf?»
Garrett looked at the big, grinning man and took an exasperated breath. «Guilty, sir. His only defense is that some other fellas did it too.»
«Unacceptable. Mr. Dowden?»
«Uh, the next charge is that both the accused became involved in, well, a brawl, sir, and not only were they at the center of the brawl but they started it by striking one another.»
Matt sighed. «I won’t even ask who started it. I know I won’t get a straight answer. Besides, I have a pretty good idea. If I’m not very much mistaken, I expect Chack threw the first punch»
«He pulled my tail!» Chack interrupted, seething indignantly.
«Did not! I was just holdin’ it. You did all the pullin’!»
«Silence!» Matt bellowed. «Trust me, you both would really rather keep your mouths shut and handle this my way! Silva, your unnatural and hopefully pretend ‘relationship’ with Chack’s sister, Risa, was all very shocking and amusing. at first. It’s now not only an embarrassment to this ship but a constant goad to Chack’s self-control. I know Risa’s as much to blame as you are. You’re two peas in a pod, personality wise, if not.» He shuddered. «In any event, you’ll cease tormenting Chack with the lurid details of your fictitious ‘marriage’ to his sister and you’ll definitely refrain from any more. overt physical demonstrations when you are together. Is that understood?»
«But, Skipper.»
«IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?»
«Aye, aye, sir!»
«Very well. It’s pointless to dock your pay, but you’re both losing a stripe and you’re both restricted to the ship for ten days — after we make port. Silva, you’re losing another stripe for AWOL.»
«But»
«Shut up.» Matt looked at Dowden, who cleared his throat.
«Attention to orders!» he said. Captain Reddy unfolded a piece of paper before him.
«For extreme heroism and gallantry in the face of the enemy, etc., etc.» — he looked up» I’m sorry to you other guys, but I’m still too damn mad to get flowery. Anyway, with my deepest gratitude, I’m t and sighed heavily. «Boatswain’s Mate Chack-Sab-At and Gunner’s Mate Dennis Silva. Most of you deserve it. Chack, you lose one, you gain one, so you’re back where you started — except for the restriction. Silva.» Matt shook his head. «You’re never going to get that first-class stripe if you don’t settle down!» Dennis shrugged philosophically and Matt looked at Campeti, who concluded the proceedings. As they walked back to the pilothouse, Matt and Dowden were rejoined by Sandra and Bradford. Both wore broad smiles. «Cut it out,» he said, almost smiling himself as he mounted the steps. At the top waited Lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya of the Japanese Imperial Navy.
«Mr. Shinya,» Matt greeted him.
«Captain.» Shinya was the sole survivor of a destroyer that took a torpedo meant for Amagi. Somehow, her survivors in the water had been swept through the Squall with the American ships, but before Walker could return to rescue them, they’d been eaten by what was evidently a plesiosaur of some sort, not to mention a ravening swarm of tuna-sized fish that acted like piranhas. They called the fish «flashies» and they were everywhere, at least in the relatively shallow equatorial seas within the Malay Barrier. Shinya alone was saved because he’d been unconscious atop an overturned lifeboat. It had been the first indication to the destroyermen that they were no longer in the world they knew — the first other than the bizarre effects of the Squall itself, of course.
Since then, Shinya, who had studied in the United States, had given his parole and had become a valued member of the crew. He was an excellent swordsman, if not in the traditional Japanese style, and he was a big help to Sergeant Alden, the Marine from the doomed cruiser Houston, whom they’d also carried from Surabaya. Together, they were building an army based on historical principles the captain had suggested. Matt had realized early on that the only way they could counter the overwhelming Grik numbers was with discipline — specifically, the Roman shield wall, backed by spears and archers. At least that’s what they’d need in an open-field fight. Shinya also understood Latin, which was, amazingly, the language of the Ancient Scrolls of the ’Cats. Not because it was taught them by Romans, but because that’s the language the sailing master of the HEIC (Honorable East India Company) ship Hermione chose to teach them and communicate in.
Matt suspected the earlier visitors did it to remain as enigmatic as possible, since there was evidence they’d already encountered the Grik, even before one of their ships was taken by them. The rest of the «Tail-less Ones» of that long ago visit had sailed into the «Eastern Sea» beyond the «edge of the world» and disappeared from Lemurian history. Matt suspected they were still out there, somewhere. British Indiamen often carried passengers and deportees, so there was reason to believe they’d survived. Anyway, that’s how they first communicated with the ’Cats; Bradford and Tamatsu Shinya spoke the «Ancient Tongue» of the Lemurian Sky Priests.
Valuable as Shinya was, many of Matt’s destroyermen still hated his guts simply because he was a «Jap.» Matt respected him and trusted his honor, but even he couldn’t put Pearl Harbor — and everything that had happened since — completely out of his mind. Chief Gray openly loathed him, despite saving his life in the recent battle. Tony Scott told him something he hadn’t even known about the Bosun: his son had been on the Oklahoma when she capsized and sank to Pearl Harbor’s muddy bottom.
«Where’s Pete?» asked the captain, referring to the Marine.
«He’ll be along,» Shinya replied. Even as he spoke, Alden and Chief Gray arrived on the bridgetly just as unimaginative, but Spanky had recently learned there was more to them than met the eye.
Normally, their skins were pasty with a belowdecks pallor they worked very hard to maintain, but now their exposed skin still bore the angry red-brown tans they’d accumulated while operating the first oil rig outside of Baalkpan. A rig they designed based on a type they were intimately, if ruefully, familiar with from their years in the oil fields before they escaped that hated life and joined the Navy. Now they were back at it and not happy at all.
Matt looked back toward Borno. He thought he could just make out the mouth of Baalkpan Bay. «We’re all going to have to do things we hate, I’m afraid, before this is over.» He sighed. «It’s going to be a hell of a homecoming,» he added nervously.
As the day wore on and the crew went about their duties, Walker towed her prize ever closer to Baalkpan. The nearer they got, the more traders and fishing boats paced her advance. Opening the bay, the old destroyer steamed toward her customary berth near the shipyard and the fitting-out pier. They had been gone less than two weeks, most of that time laying their trap for the Grik scouts they engaged. The battle itself took only a day, and the return voyage took three. The people had known the outcome, however, since the very day after the fight. The radio in the precious PBY was working now, and there had been constant reports. Then the big seaplane had flown out with passengers to examine the prize. Some, like Bradford, stayed with the returning ships, but those who returned on the plane were strangely tight-lipped. No matter. The dismasted hulk trailing in Walker’s wake was sufficient proof to the populace that the expedition had been a success.
As always, Matt was struck by the sight of the large, strange, but exotically beautiful city of Baalkpan. The unusual architecture of the multistoried buildings was strikingly similar to the pagoda-like structures that rose within the tripod masts of the great floating Homes. Some reached quite respectable heights and were highly decorated and painted with bright colors. Some were simple, one-story affairs, but all were elevated twenty or more feet above the ground by multitudes of stout pilings. Chack once told him that was done in order to protect against high water and «bad land lizards.» It was also tradition, which Matt supposed was as good a reason as any.
He’d never seen any creatures ashore that could threaten anyone twenty feet above the ground, but he was assured they did exist. He believed it. There was certainly plenty of bizarre fauna in this terrible, twisted world.
Among the pilings, under the massive structures, was what some would call the «real» Baalkpan. It was there, beneath the buildings themselves or colorful awnings stretched between them, that the city’s lifeblood pulsed. It was a giant, chaotic bazaar that rivaled anything Matt had seen in China, or heard of anywhere else. Little organization was evident, beyond an apparent effort to congregate the various products or services in strands, or vaguely defined ranks. From experience, Matt knew there was no law or edict that required this; it was just practicality. This way, shoppers always knew where they had to go to find what they wanted. Along the waterfront, fishmongers hawked the daily catch with an incomprehensible staccato chatter. Beyond were food vendors, and the savory smells of Lemurian cooking wafted toward them, competing with the normal harbor smells of salt water, dead fish, and rotting wood. Still farther inland were the textile makers — weavers, cloth merchants, and clothiers. Closer to the center of the city, near the massive Gallll milling near the red-hulled ship cheered louder as a cloud of steam and a deep, resonant shriek jetted from the whistle and the amazing iron ship raced upstream, raising a feather halfway up her number, smoke streaming from three of her four funnels.
«Let ’em have a good time for a while,» Matt said, his voice turning grim.
«Aryaalans!» snorted Nakja-Mur later that evening, standing on Walker ’s bridge where she was again tied to the Baalkpan docks. He hadn’t waited for Matt to report. As soon as Walker returned from fueling, he and the just-arrived Keje tromped up the gangway. «You ask me to risk everything for those unfriendly land-bound. heretics?» Matt and Keje had been describing the details of the battle and the capture of the enemy vessel. The account turned to the discovery of the enemy charts, or «Evil Scrolls of Death,» as Sky Priest Adar insisted they be called. That led to their theory of an impending Grik attack on the people of Surabaya: «Aryaalans,» as they called themselves. Chack was present to interpret, but so far, between Keje, Nakja-Mur’s rapid advancement in English, and Matt’s slowly growing proficiency in Lemurian, he hadn’t been needed.
Matt sighed. «With respect, my lord, it’s essential we go to their aid if they’re attacked.»
«But why? Let them fend for themselves, as do we. They were invited to the last gathering and they chose — as always — not to dampen themselves with the company of sea folk!»
Matt was tempted to point out that Nakja-Mur was, however sensible, the very definition of a landsman. But to be fair, the People of Baalkpan were every bit as sea-oriented as the people of Old Nantucket ever were. They built and repaired ships and they dealt in the products of the sea’s capricious bounty. Their livelihood was entirely centered around maritime toil and commerce. Whereas the Surabayans were.
«Just what the hell is it about them you don’t like?» Matt asked in frustration.
«They. they are heretics!» Nakja-Mur proclaimed.
«Why?»
Nakja-Mur shifted uncomfortably and paced out on the port bridgewing. Matt and Keje followed him there, and Larry Dowden joined them. There was a reduced watch on the bridge since they weren’t under way, but a torpedoman had been tinkering with the director connections. Matt motioned for him to leave them and the man quickly gathered his tools and departed.
«Why?» Matt asked again.
«Perhaps you should ask Adar.»
«I can’t. He and Bradford ran off to study together as soon as we rigged the gangway. Who knows where. Besides, I have to ask you because you’re the one whose opinion really matters, in the long run, and we have decisions to make. you have decisions to make. I know, traditionally all ‘High Chiefs’ are equals here, but surely you know that in reality you’re a little more ‘equal’ than the others? You have the largest force and Baalkpan’s the most populous city this side of Manila — and it’s on your industry we all depend.»
Nakja-Mur grunted, but his tone wasn’t unfriendly. «I have heard it said you’re the most ‘equal’ among us, because of this ship.» He patted the rail under his hand.
Matt shook his head. «Untrue. Without you and Baalkpan, this ship would most likely be a powerless, lifeless hulk on a beach so, bound together, but as great as that combined strength might be, it’s not enough and it’ll be even less if Surabaya falls. We need those people on our side — not filling Grik bellies!»
Nakja-Mur recoiled as if slapped, but then nodded. «The Aryaalans are fierce warriors,» he conceded, «but they do not revere the heavens.
They may worship feces for all I know, but the sky is not sacred. When Siska-Ta went to them to teach the wisdom of the Scrolls, she was cast out and nearly slain.» He made a very human shrug. «They are heathens, but their religion is unimportant to me. We are not intolerant of the beliefs of others. Many folk of other lands — even some upon the sea — do not believe as we do and yet we remain friends. Did we not befriend you and your people?» he asked.
Matt didn’t point out the probability that they thought then — and probably still did — that the destroyermen had very similar beliefs to their own, and he remembered the scene Adar made in Walker’s pilothouse over the charts displayed there. He’d thought they mocked him with apostasy at the time, since the Ancient Scrolls or charts of the Sky Priests are not just maps but holy relics on which are woven the tapestry of Lemurian history in the words of the Ancient Tongue — Latin. Their religion is not based on the Scrolls, but they’ve become integral supplements — along with a few twisted Christian concepts that may have been passed inadvertently by the previous «Tail-less Ones» almost two centuries before. Matt had picked up a little Lemurian theology and, although it was fundamentally a form of Sun worship, he knew the heavens — and the stars in particular — represented far more than simple navigational aids. Since that first awkward moment, religion had not been much of an issue and he’d concentrated on other things. Maybe he needed to bone up. He would talk to Bradford.
«What confirms the depravity of the Aryaalans, however,» Nakja-Mur continued, «is that they often war among themselves! They are constantly at war, one faction against another, and they often repel visitors with violence. I cannot help but wonder, even if we aid them, will they not simply turn on us as yet another enemy?»
«We have to try.»
«Perhaps. But it will take another meeting, I suppose, and you will have to be very convincing.»
«Sure,» said Matt. «We’ll have another meeting. We need one, bigger than before. But that’s beside the point. Have you boarded the Grik ship yet? Spoken to any of the survivors?» Nakja-Mur shook his head. «You need to do that. Then you’ll understand. This is a fight to the death. To the end. Total war and no more goofing around. Even if you could flee, like the sea Homes can, they’ll catch you eventually because that’s what they do.» Matt paused. «You told me before we left on the last expedition to find out what we could, that you’d do anything to keep the Grik away. Did you mean that?»
«Of course!»
«Well, then, if we’re not going to fight them here, we’ll have to fight them somewhere else. Let’s do it where we might have some help.»
The gathering in Nakja-Mur’s Great Hall was even larger than when they’d debated the previous expedition. This time the massive structure was nearly packed. Those present weren’t just the High Chiefs of the Homes in the bay either, but their advisors, Sky Priests and senior war leaders as well. Alden, Shinya, along with their Marine and Guard officers and senior NCOs, represented Baalkpan’s armed forces. As predicted, some sea Homes left, althouf the now «veteran» Marines who’d participated in the bloody boarding action stayed busy drilling everyone on the new, larger parade ground that used to be jungle. There was no more complaining, and even the warriors from the Homes in the bay rotated ashore for drill. And in the harbor, the unpleasant, unwanted task of
refitting the Grik ship progressed.
Matt wasn’t entirely clear about Lemurian funeral conventions, but he knew they preferred to be burned so their life force, or soul, could be carried to the heavens with the rising smoke. There, they would rejoin in the firmament those who’d gone before. He wasn’t sure if the People believed they became stars after death, or if the stars guided their journeys there much as they did below. Maybe a little of both. It was clear to him, however, that the ’Cats would really have preferred to just burn the thing that they believed still held the souls of Lemurians who’d been tortured and eaten by the enemy. He tried to explain that if all went well, the Grik ship would soon become the second-fastest gun platform in the world. Much as he’d have liked to defer to their cultural preferences, they didn’t have time to build another ship of the type. They would start some, certainly, and incorporate many refinements, but for now he was going to need that ship.
The People were aware of the advantages. They knew how fast and maneuverable the enemy ships were, compared to their own lumbering Homes. The idea of arming such a ship with cannon appealed to them as well. They just didn’t want to use that ship. It was the one instance where Captain Reddy’s military plans were met with real resistance. He sympathized, but he wouldn’t bend. The crisis was finally solved by Adar, who argued that the trapped souls would surely welcome the chance for revenge, and using the tool of their own murderers to help claim that vengeance would make achieving it all the more sweet. They would clean it out and give it a name. They would re-rig and repair the damage it had suffered, but unlike Walker, or Big Sal, or, hopefully, Mahan, it would never, could never truly be a live thing.
Matt was grateful for Adar’s assistance. He hadn’t been sure which side of the argument the Sky Priest would take. Nakja-Mur’s aged Sky Priest, Naga, had begun to defer more and more to Adar in matters of «belligerent spiritual guidance.» Big Sal’s «head witch doctor,» as he was sometimes affectionately called by some Americans, had almost visibly swelled in importance and prestige. He didn’t flaunt it, and he certainly didn’t abuse the power, but he did have greater influence than ever before. His approval had been key. In word and deed, Adar had become the most outspoken advocate of this «total war» no matter what it took. He’d taken to heart his vow not to rest until the Grik were destroyed. At Adar’s urging, in spite of their distaste, gangs of workers dutifully, if uncomfortably, toiled on the Grik ship, getting it ready for sea.