Distant Thunders_ Destroyermen Part 12

Irvin knew what had caused Shinya's hesitation. He probably wished he could talk more with Okada, but he and the other j.a.panese officer didn't really get along.

"Yes, sir," Irvin answered. "And I really appreciate the 'Cat lessons, too. I'm still not too good at it."

"You will do fine. Besides, most of your command has at least a smattering of English now." Shinya chuckled. "I expect one day the two languages will intermingle!"

"That would sure be weird," Irvin said, imagining the bizarre combination. He took a breath and looked around, nodding farewell to others he recognized. He was awaiting the arrival of Saan-Kakja so he could officially take his leave. As his eyes swept over the ma.s.sive ship, he was still overcome by the monumental ingenuity that had built her.

The level on which he stood, the battlement, occupied a single deck of the ma.s.sive central superstructure, and the balcony went all the way around it like a giant wraparound porch. Even as high as he was above the surface of the sea and the ship's center of gravity, any sensation of motion was almost imperceptible. Unfortunately, the mammoth vessel's forward forward motion was almost imperceptible as well, by the standards he was accustomed to. With all her wings set and drawing nicely in the brisk morning breeze, motion was almost imperceptible as well, by the standards he was accustomed to. With all her wings set and drawing nicely in the brisk morning breeze, Placca-Mar Placca-Mar, Saan-Kakja's "Imperial yacht," or whatever it was, was barely making five knots. She was just so d.a.m.n slow. There was so much to do, and he was anxious to get on with his mission.

Throughout the weeks they'd been at sea since departing Baalkpan, they'd crept northeast through the home waters of the Maka.s.sar Strait and entered the Celebes Sea. Their average, excruciatingly slow speed of five to six knots had slowed even further while they picked their way through the tangled, hazardous islands off the northeast coat of Borneo before making their island-hugging journey through the Sulu Archipelago. This tedious, circuitous route allowed them to avoid the abyssal depths of the Celebes and Sulu seas-and the monstrous creatures that dwelt there. Among those they were trying to avoid was one so huge that it actually posed a rare but real threat to ships as large as Lemurian Homes.

Mountain fish they were called by some, or island fish by others. Whichever it was, it made no difference. The name wasn't idle exaggeration. Irvin had seen one of the things before, when S-19 traversed nearby seas on her way to Cavite-only to discover the Cavite they remembered wasn't there anymore. That was when his now dead skipper decided they needed a place to hole up before their fuel was gone. The resulting odyssey was what had eventually left the sub stranded on Talaud Island.

Finally, after torturous weeks, Meksnaak, Saan-Kakja's Sky Priest, placed them off the western peninsula of Mindanao. Irvin had to take his word. They'd apparently missed the Sibutu Pa.s.sage in the dark, but finally they'd reached a point where he and his little squadron could part company with the high chief of the Manilos and all the Fil-pin Lands. Despite the frustration goading him to get on with it, he had to admit the ship and the world around it were certainly a beautiful sight. They were on a tack that took them almost directly into the morning sun, and Irvin shielded his eyes against the glare. Lush, unnamed islands speckled the sea directly to starboard, and a larger sh.o.r.e loomed on the horizon. Mindanao, he presumed. Zamboanga. The water was an almost painfully brilliant blue, and was still touched by the golden glory of the new day. It was going to be a hot one, as usual, and eventually the bright, clear sky would give way to rain clouds. Even now, far to the south, a purple squall swept an empty patch of sea.

He hadn't seen the squall that brought the destroyermen and his submariners here. S-19 had been submerged at the time. He had only conflicting descriptions from the destroyermen as to what it looked like. Mostly, they'd said it had been green. He wondered sometimes what he would do if he ever saw one like it. Would he sail into it, hoping it would take him home? Or would he do everything in his power to stay the h.e.l.l out of its way? He hoped the choice would never come. At least, not until he fulfilled his mission. Somehow, right then, making Captain Reddy proud of him was more important than ever getting home.

He shook his head and looked at his own ship, USS Simms Simms. The former Grik Indiaman had been razed like many others and named for Andy Simms, who'd died at the Battle of Aryaal. She was now a United States corvette. She mounted twenty guns and with her once bloodred hull painted black, with a broad white band down her length highlighting the closed, black-painted gunports, she looked nothing at all like her former self. In spite of who originally made her, Simms Simms was a heartwarming sight, loping almost playfully along under close-reefed topsails so she wouldn't shoot ahead of her lumbering charge. was a heartwarming sight, loping almost playfully along under close-reefed topsails so she wouldn't shoot ahead of her lumbering charge.

She was Irvin's only warship; the other vessel keeping close company had been repainted, rerigged, and repaired, but her lines hadn't been altered. She was a transport, after all. A freighter. It was still a heady sight. He'd gone from an inexperienced kid, glad to have a subordinate take over when things got tough, to a commodore, for all intents and purposes. Deep down, he wasn't sure he was ready. This should should be Flynn's job, he thought. Flynn was the one who'd brought them through. But Flynn wouldn't-apparently couldn't-do it. That left Irvin, and one way or another he'd accomplish his mission-if it was possible for anyone to-or die trying. He still believed this was a test of sorts and, for an instant, wondered if Captain Reddy understood the depth of Irvin's commitment to prove himself. He doubted it. Irvin didn't fully understand it yet himself. Besides, the captain had literally ordered him to be careful. Irvin appreciated that and he be Flynn's job, he thought. Flynn was the one who'd brought them through. But Flynn wouldn't-apparently couldn't-do it. That left Irvin, and one way or another he'd accomplish his mission-if it was possible for anyone to-or die trying. He still believed this was a test of sorts and, for an instant, wondered if Captain Reddy understood the depth of Irvin's commitment to prove himself. He doubted it. Irvin didn't fully understand it yet himself. Besides, the captain had literally ordered him to be careful. Irvin appreciated that and he would would be careful . . . but he be careful . . . but he would would succeed, regardless. succeed, regardless.

"Well, Lieutenant Laumer," Shinya observed, "despite your . . . impatience . . . to leave us, you have one final nicety to perform. Saan-Kakja is here to bid you farewell!"

"Yeah, I'm a little anxious," Laumer admitted. "Is it really that obvious?" Shinya only chuckled.

Saan-Kakja approached, attended by Meksnaak and a trio of other functionaries. As always, Irvin was struck by her presence. She was so small, and much younger even than he was, yet she was beautiful. Not in a "girl" kind of way-at least, not a human girl-but like an exotically colored female tiger would be beautiful. Stunning, magnificent, but also a little "cute," in the fashion one might describe a young, predatory cat. Her eyes were something else too, unlike any he'd seen among all the 'Cats he'd met. Safir Maraan was just as beautiful in her own lethal way, but Saan-Kakja still inspired him with a strange sense of protectiveness as well.

"Lieutenant Laumer," she said, her English much improved, "my priests that chart our path tell me we have reached that point where you will leave us. I shall miss your company when we dine, and I shall miss the company and protection of your n.o.ble ships and crews."

Irvin blushed. Saan-Kakja's ship hadn't needed their protection. Hers was probably the most powerful ship left afloat in the world. She'd armed it with cannon before she ever left for Baalkpan, and between the guns Baalkpan lavished on her and the guns constantly arriving from Manila, Placca-Mar Placca-Mar now mounted sixty of the big thirty-two pounders, and had a couple of the new fifty pounders as well. It would take something like now mounted sixty of the big thirty-two pounders, and had a couple of the new fifty pounders as well. It would take something like Amagi Amagi to tangle with her now. "It has, ah, been my honor, Your Excellency. I'll miss you too." He blushed even deeper. to tangle with her now. "It has, ah, been my honor, Your Excellency. I'll miss you too." He blushed even deeper.

"Mr. Shinya says you will not be entirely on your own," she said with a concerned series of flashing eyelids, "but the transmitter you carry is not as strong . . . as powerful as the one Mr. Riggs has supplied to me. You will be able to receive transmissions, sometimes all the way from Baalkpan, but may not be able to transmit that far yourself. Rest a.s.sured, we will hear you and will routinely retransmit any message you send. If mischief of any kind should befall your mission or yourself, do not hesitate to call for help. My brother is High Chief of Paga-Daan, and will receive a communication device similar to yours. He will come to your aid immediately. It will, in fact, be his ships that supply you, if your mission is lengthy."

"Thank you, Your Excellency. On all counts."

Saan-Kakja offered her hand, and for an instant, Irvin didn't know whether to shake it or kiss it. He settled for gently grasping the tiny thing in his own.

"Now, Ir-vin," Saan-Kakja scolded, squeezing firmly with her fingers, "you cannot break me that easily!"

"Of course not, Your . . . my lady."

Saan-Kakja grinned and, with an awkward bow, Irvin stepped away. He shook hands with Shinya again and climbed over the bulwark to descend the rope ladder to the waiting launch below.

"h.e.l.l," he muttered to himself, cheeks still hot. "She's not just beautiful; she's downright mesmerizing. Even in kind of a 'girl' way!"

Simms and her consort hauled away to the east, through the Basilan Strait and across the Moro Gulf. Meksnaak had suggested the gulf might be one of their most hazardous pa.s.sages until they crossed to Talaud, but they met no danger there. A few large gri-kakka surfaced and blew, and some possibly related denizens with short, serpentine necks watched the ships periodically with large, somber eyes, but other than that, all they saw were the myriad seabirds, flying reptiles, and what looked like a cross between the two. Nothing unusual. The birds capered and swooped among the masts, occasionally even snapping at the top men, but the only real harm they caused was the reeking, fishy slurry they dropped and smeared all over the ships. Otherwise, the weather remained fine, the skies no more temperamental than usual, and the sea in no way stirred itself against them. and her consort hauled away to the east, through the Basilan Strait and across the Moro Gulf. Meksnaak had suggested the gulf might be one of their most hazardous pa.s.sages until they crossed to Talaud, but they met no danger there. A few large gri-kakka surfaced and blew, and some possibly related denizens with short, serpentine necks watched the ships periodically with large, somber eyes, but other than that, all they saw were the myriad seabirds, flying reptiles, and what looked like a cross between the two. Nothing unusual. The birds capered and swooped among the masts, occasionally even snapping at the top men, but the only real harm they caused was the reeking, fishy slurry they dropped and smeared all over the ships. Otherwise, the weather remained fine, the skies no more temperamental than usual, and the sea in no way stirred itself against them.

Irvin wasn't much of a practical sailor yet, and he relied heavily on Simms Simms's actual captain, Lelaa-Tal-Cleraan. She reminded him a lot of Silva's supposed Lemurian sweetheart, Risa-Sab-At, with her brindled fur and quick wit. Unlike Risa, however, Lelaa wasn't a born warrior, and she hadn't even seen action yet. Before getting Simms Simms, she'd commanded one of the Navy feluccas. She was was a born sailor, though, and Irvin was learning a lot from her. She'd translated her skill with the fore-and-aft rigged feluccas to the primarily square rig of a born sailor, though, and Irvin was learning a lot from her. She'd translated her skill with the fore-and-aft rigged feluccas to the primarily square rig of Simms Simms with astonishing ease. She was a good, patient teacher and well liked by her crew. She lacked any of Saan-Kakja's cuteness factor, but she was young and still handsome in an experienced, practical way. Irvin had every confidence in her, and the two of them had become fast friends. with astonishing ease. She was a good, patient teacher and well liked by her crew. She lacked any of Saan-Kakja's cuteness factor, but she was young and still handsome in an experienced, practical way. Irvin had every confidence in her, and the two of them had become fast friends.

They tried to keep the Mindanao coast in sight as they worked east-southeast over the next few days. There were islands everywhere, and Lelaa was constantly worried about wind direction, something Irvin, a submariner, had never much considered. Truth be known, he was always more worried about how much water was under the keel and what sort of creatures might be in it. Lelaa was worried too; that was why they hugged the coast-a most unnatural act in a sailing ship. The depths here were unknown, however, and everyone was a little tense as they cruised the edge of the Celebes Sea.

"I like coffee," Lelaa said, staring into her cup with a surprised, wide-eyed blink. She and Irvin were on Simms Simms's quarterdeck enjoying another pleasant morning. "Everyone says it is vile and they don't know how you Amer-i-caans can drink it all the time, but I find it heightens my awareness . . . and I have even come to enjoy the taste. Does that make me strange . . . or even more Amer-i-caan?"

Irvin laughed, then took a small sip from his own scalding cup of "monkey joe." "Well, you've been in the American Navy for some time now, and everybody back home would swear the Navy couldn't function without coffee. I don't think we could've ever won a war without it."

"You have told me of the great battles in your . . . our our Navy's past. Is that how they won? We drink coffee and our enemies do not?" Navy's past. Is that how they won? We drink coffee and our enemies do not?"

Irvin laughed again. "Maybe. If the only difference in a fight is that one side is wide-awake and alert, it might tip the balance. There are other variables, though, that coffee alone can't make up for. Crummy torpedoes, being outnumbered ten to one." His smile faded. "In the war we came from, we drank a lot of coffee, but it wasn't making much difference."

Lelaa took another sip. "I bet it would have, eventually. Maybe in that lost world, it already has."

Irvin grunted.

The alarm bell at the masthead sounded insistently and everyone's gaze turned upward.

"Island fish! Island fish! Three points off starboard bow! Two t'ousand yards! It just came up!"

"Clear for action!" Lelaa shouted, gulping the rest of her coffee and pa.s.sing the cup to Midshipman Hardee. Hardee had been one of the kids on S-19 and had volunteered to return to her. Now sixteen, he was also the oldest boy who'd been aboard her. "Pa.s.s the word for Sparks to wind up his gear!"

"Aye-aye, Captain!" Hardee replied, clutching the cup in both hands. He raced away. "Tex" Sheider, also known as "Sparks," like every communications officer on any Navy ship, scrambled up the companionway from below. He was a small, skinny guy, as many submariners were, and had never seemed to fit his other nickname: Tex. Of course, that didn't matter either. All that mattered was that he was from Texas. There'd once been another Tex on S-19, but he'd suffocated in the battery compartment.

"Captain," Hardee addressed Lelaa. "Sir," he said to Irvin. "I heard the alarm. The guys are winding up the gizmo now." He looked ahead, trying to see the huge fish. A gray-black hump was just visible from deck now. "I sure hope this works," he added nervously.

The Anti-Mountain Fish Destruction Countermeasures, or AMF-DIC, after the British version of sonar-with a couple of extra letters thrown in-were a collection of mostly untried procedures it was hoped would scare the humongous, ship-eating beasts away. All had an acoustic pressure element, which they'd learned through experience might be effective. The first line of defense was literally a giant speaker activated by the ship's communication equipment. A wind-powered generator charged a primitive battery in the "wireless shack" that, when switched through a high-amplitude capacitor, allowed them to boost the output through the simple transmitter Riggs had given them. In this case, instead of routing the jolt of electricity to an antenna, it sent it to a crude speaker mounted firmly to the hull. The result briefly turned the entire ship into a resonance chamber meant to frighten the creatures away.

The second defense, one they knew could could work when properly applied, was a device most of the destroyermen had been familiar with even though work when properly applied, was a device most of the destroyermen had been familiar with even though Walker Walker and and Mahan Mahan had never been equipped with them. It was a form of "Y" gun that used one of the old muzzle-loading mortars they'd employed in the defense of Baalkpan. A weighted barrel of gunpowder rested upon a rack positioned at the muzzle of the mortar, which allowed them to blast the depth charge into the path of an oncoming mountain fish. They knew the monsters didn't like depth charges at all, and they believed the "Y" gun would work fine-if it didn't blow up the ship. had never been equipped with them. It was a form of "Y" gun that used one of the old muzzle-loading mortars they'd employed in the defense of Baalkpan. A weighted barrel of gunpowder rested upon a rack positioned at the muzzle of the mortar, which allowed them to blast the depth charge into the path of an oncoming mountain fish. They knew the monsters didn't like depth charges at all, and they believed the "Y" gun would work fine-if it didn't blow up the ship.

They had a final defense that Jenks had told them the Imperial Navy used at close quarters: an indiscriminate, simultaneous broadside of every gun on the ship. The resulting concussion seemed to disorient the beasts, and although it made them very very angry, only rarely did they manage to destroy a ship with their enraged convulsions. angry, only rarely did they manage to destroy a ship with their enraged convulsions.

"Stand ready to activate your gizmo, Tex," Irvin instructed. Lelaa nodded. "But wait for the word. I know we want to test it, but if that thing leaves us alone, we'll leave it alone. Right now it's just kind of wallowing there, catching some rays."

"Yeah, but it's right in front of us. What if it won't move? Do we go around it, or blast it?"

Lelaa looked at the sky and the set of the sails. "We blast it," she decided. "If we go around, we will lose speed, and I want us to be as fast as we can be if we are forced to use the gizmo." She raised her voice. "Signal our consort to lay aft and follow in our wake. Maybe it won't sense us both. No point in making it feel threatened by our numbers."

Irvin glanced at her and she shrugged, her tail swishing uncomfortably. "If there were ten of us, I might try it the other way," she explained, "but with only two, each less than a third its size . . ."

"It moving, Skipper," came the shout from above. "It know we here! It coming this way!"

Lelaa shook her head and looked at Sheider. "Stand by your gizmo, Tex." She gestured at the cl.u.s.ter of copper speaking tubes beside the wheel. "I will give the order."

"Aye-aye, Captain." With a nervous grin at Laumer, he disappeared below.

The giant was not on an attack run but seemed merely interested or curious, so their closing speed was not that great. Unfortunately, a mountain fish's curiosity often included tasting what it was curious about. At six hundred yards, Lelaa strode to the speaking tube and repeated, "Stand by." No one knew what the maximum range of the gizmo might be, but Riggs had figured it would become unpleasant at about five hundred yards. All they would get was one shot every several minutes. In a wind like this, it would take that long for the capacitor to recharge. If Lelaa had any hope of testing the device any closer, she'd have to try it at maximum range first. She started to say, "Fire," but that seemed inappropriate.

"Light it up, Tex."

For an instant, there was nothing. Then, with a jarring suddenness that surprised everyone, the whole skip began to tremble, accompanied by a dull ba.s.s rumble beneath their feet. The vibration was so intense, it blurred Irvin's vision. After only a few seconds, the sensation pa.s.sed.

"What's it doing?" Lelaa shouted above.

"It p.i.s.sed!" came the shout. "It swim in circle, go ape! Wait! It coming this way, fast! It p.i.s.sed!"

"Ready the forward "Y" gun!" Lelaa commanded. The gun was already loaded and prepared in all respects, but Shipfitter Danny Porter tracked the oncoming target and shifted the weapon accordingly. The "Y" gun had no sights-it was an area weapon, after all-but Danny had a good eye and was a good judge of distance. He'd been striking for gunner's mate, and his surface action station on the sub had been her four-inch fifty.

"Ready when you are, Skipper," he announced tersely over the voice tube.

"Commence firing when you see fit," Lelaa said. Her voice sounded calm, but tinny. "Try to drop the bomb right on its nose."

For a moment, nothing happened. Danny waited, calculating the ship's slight pitch and the range to the target. He'd been allowed only a couple of tests with the new weapon and was no expert by any means. Suddenly, he stepped back.

"Fire!"

Simms's entire fo'c'sle was shrouded with white smoke and a loud, m.u.f.fled whump! whump! jarred the ship. The barrel-shaped bomb emerged from the smoke and tumbled upward into the sky. For a moment, it seemed to defy gravity as it hung there, wobbling, but growing smaller too. Then it began to fall. Everyone was tense, waiting for the plunge. It looked like Danny had missed, or worse, that the bomb might actually hit the back of the creature. Most supposed that if that happened, it might even die, but it would almost certainly lunge ahead and strike the ship before it did. A large concave splash erupted a hundred feet short of the monster, a little to its left. A pressure cap inside the bomb should detonate at about twenty feet. The sensitive nature of the detonator was always a concern when firing the d.a.m.n things. jarred the ship. The barrel-shaped bomb emerged from the smoke and tumbled upward into the sky. For a moment, it seemed to defy gravity as it hung there, wobbling, but growing smaller too. Then it began to fall. Everyone was tense, waiting for the plunge. It looked like Danny had missed, or worse, that the bomb might actually hit the back of the creature. Most supposed that if that happened, it might even die, but it would almost certainly lunge ahead and strike the ship before it did. A large concave splash erupted a hundred feet short of the monster, a little to its left. A pressure cap inside the bomb should detonate at about twenty feet. The sensitive nature of the detonator was always a concern when firing the d.a.m.n things.

The sea spalled into shattered white marble, and almost immediately, a huge cloud of smoke and spray erupted in the charging fish's path. They saw the beast then, beyond the cloud, practically rear itself out of the water. Another momentous splash followed the first, and they glimpsed ma.s.sive flukes pounding the sea-away from them!

"It worked!" came Danny's cry, all the way from the fo'c'sle. A huge cheer erupted, echoed by those on their consort astern. They hadn't seen anything, but they must have guessed the second aspect of the AMF-DIC defense had been a success.

"Outstanding!" Irvin said, stepping to join Lelaa near the wheel. Lelaa was smiling toothily. "Please accept my congratulations! We've got to get a message out right away and let everybody know it works!" Irvin's exuberance was tempered a few moments later when Tex appeared on the quarterdeck. His hair was singed and his shirt looked scorched. "What's the matter?" Irvin asked warily, a sick sensation in his gut.

"Transmitter's cooked. Kaput. All that juice was just too much for it. I told told Clancy we needed a fuse! But nooo!" Tex shook his head disgustedly. "d.a.m.n Boston Mick! I'm gonna cool him off-to dirt temperature! -when we get home! One lousy fuse, but he says, 'You know how hard it is to make them?' Not as hard as it is to make a G.o.dd.a.m.n transmitter!" Clancy we needed a fuse! But nooo!" Tex shook his head disgustedly. "d.a.m.n Boston Mick! I'm gonna cool him off-to dirt temperature! -when we get home! One lousy fuse, but he says, 'You know how hard it is to make them?' Not as hard as it is to make a G.o.dd.a.m.n transmitter!"

"You okay, Tex?"

The smaller, dark-haired man shrugged. "Swell. A little scorched." He looked at his shirt. "I threw the switch, but the transmitter was already on fire fire, so I stifled it with my shirt. Nearly choked myself to death getting it off. Did you know this was the last shirt I had that was made in the U.S. of A.?"

"I'm sorry, Tex. We'll get you another one."

"I want that b.a.s.t.a.r.d Clancy's, if he has one left!"

"What about the receiver?" Lelaa inquired. It was a question Irvin should have asked, but Tex was one of his friends. An old shipmate. One of the few left alive.

"I'll get in there as soon as the smoke clears, Skipper. I expect it's fine. It's just a glorified crystal set. Doesn't really even need power. If we didn't short the batteries, we'll still have juice, anyway. If we did short 'em out, once we get to Talaud and set up the steam generator, we'll have more juice than we need. For anything."

"Can you build a new transmitter?" Irvin asked.

"Could be. It ain't hard, and I've got what's left of Riggs's design to work from."

Lelaa looked at Irvin. "I command this ship, but you command the expedition. What are your views? Should we press on, even without two-way communications? This was a hazardous mission to begin with. . . ."

"We press on," Irvin almost interrupted her. "Captain Reddy knows how hazardous it is, and he knew there was a chance we'd find ourselves out of touch. We'll press on," he repeated, "and accomplish our mission. Tex will make a new transmitter. Even if he can't, we have a job to do. A lot of people are counting on us and I won't let them down."

Lelaa smiled. "As I suspected . . . but I had to ask!" She turned to the 'Cat at the helm. "Steady as you go. Our course remains one five zero."

"One fi' zero, ayy!"

CHAPTER 12.

Walker was about to float again. All Baalkpan had turned out to watch the momentous event, it seemed, and no one really cared anymore if the strangers in the bay knew about it or not. It was a time of miracles. So incredibly devastated by the battle that had once raged here, Baalkpan had become a center of industry, connected with most of the known world by wireless communication! People had built aircraft and flown them over this very bay! Aryaal was retaken and Grik was about to float again. All Baalkpan had turned out to watch the momentous event, it seemed, and no one really cared anymore if the strangers in the bay knew about it or not. It was a time of miracles. So incredibly devastated by the battle that had once raged here, Baalkpan had become a center of industry, connected with most of the known world by wireless communication! People had built aircraft and flown them over this very bay! Aryaal was retaken and Grik prisoners prisoners were on their way here! In the amazing dry dock, weeks of sc.r.a.ping, welding and riveting, heating and rolling j.a.panese steel into new plates, and a final, thick coat of red paint had resulted in this collective achievement. Even if anyone had desired to keep were on their way here! In the amazing dry dock, weeks of sc.r.a.ping, welding and riveting, heating and rolling j.a.panese steel into new plates, and a final, thick coat of red paint had resulted in this collective achievement. Even if anyone had desired to keep Walker Walker's rebirth a secret, it wouldn't have been possible. There was no question Imperial spies were present. In fact, knowing they would be, Letts had counseled Adar to invite invite the Imperial personnel. Their leaders might feel a little foolish learning the ship they'd been so concerned about had been underwater all this time, but the majority of the Imperial sailors who'd come to watch at least acted as excited as everyone else. the Imperial personnel. Their leaders might feel a little foolish learning the ship they'd been so concerned about had been underwater all this time, but the majority of the Imperial sailors who'd come to watch at least acted as excited as everyone else.

Water coursed into the dry dock and swirled muddily around the fresh red paint and wooden braces. Slowly, the polished bronze screws dipped beneath the torrent and constant shouts of encouragement came from men and 'Cats on the old destroyer's deck as they relayed reports from below that all was dry inside. There was a shudder, and the ship eased ever so slightly from the cradle that had held her upright since the water was drained from the basin. Cheers reverberated off the many new buildings when the support beams were heaved from the flood. Line handlers were careful to keep the ship positioned where she was, lest she b.u.mp against beams or pilings that were not yet free. Within an hour, all the beams had been withdrawn, and once again Walker Walker floated free and easy, supported by her own sleek hull. The pandemonium the sight inspired was difficult to credit, and even more difficult for those who hadn't been there for the battle to understand. Tears erupted from hardened warriors from many clans, and many a Marine was misty-eyed as well. floated free and easy, supported by her own sleek hull. The pandemonium the sight inspired was difficult to credit, and even more difficult for those who hadn't been there for the battle to understand. Tears erupted from hardened warriors from many clans, and many a Marine was misty-eyed as well.

In some ways, she looked like a different ship. Her guns and torpedo tubes had been removed, as had the big blower, refrigerator, and the tall searchlight tower. A temporary wooden deck was laid over the openings left from the complete removal of her shattered aft deckhouse. The short mainmast aft remained, defiantly flying the Stars and Stripes, but the tall foremast had not yet been reinstalled. The bridge was vacant and the fire-control platform was bare. Everything that could be removed and reconditioned ash.o.r.e had long since been taken off, and she floated considerably higher in the water than anyone had ever seen her. Still, she floated. All her parts, possessions, and weapons would be returned to her, as would, ultimately, her crew. For now, she floated almost empty of the things that made her what she was; there was no roar of blowers, no machinery noises; she still slumbered, still resting from her grievous wounds, but she was no longer dead. She'd risen from the grave and it was only a matter of time before she'd awake once again.

"Look! Oh, look!" cried Sandra, tears streaking her face.

Beside her, Princess Rebecca hopped up and down, clapping her hands. "Oh, Lady Sandra! Is she not the most beautiful sight?"

Lawrence didn't understand his friend's attachment to the ship. It was but a thing thing. He was thrilled that it would again become the weapon it had once been, and that that made him happy. He was also glad his friends were happy-for whatever reason. He hopped lightly and clapped too, imitating Rebecca's gestures. Dennis Silva stood beside him, fists clenched at his sides, a sheen over his one good eye. Suddenly, he raised a hand and blew his nose in his fingers. Absently, he started to wipe them on Lawrence's plumage. made him happy. He was also glad his friends were happy-for whatever reason. He hopped lightly and clapped too, imitating Rebecca's gestures. Dennis Silva stood beside him, fists clenched at his sides, a sheen over his one good eye. Suddenly, he raised a hand and blew his nose in his fingers. Absently, he started to wipe them on Lawrence's plumage.

"Mr. Silva Silva!" Rebecca scolded, suddenly eyeing Dennis.

"A little snot won't hurt him! Runt's gettin' all frizzed out. Prob'ly oughta' comb a little grease in his hair." Under the princess's continued stare, Silva sighed and wiped his fingers on his T-shirt.

Unexpectedly, Lawrence had begun growing a crest on top of his head that Silva compared to a c.o.c.k roadrunner's. Among the Grik, the only real "crests" of any kind they'd seen had been on dead Hij. Since it was now known the Hij were almost universally older than their Uul warriors, Bradford had ecstatically proclaimed "their boy" must be nearing adulthood, different species or not.

Letts, Adar, and Spanky moved through the throng to join them.

"A h.e.l.l of a thing," Spanky said, his own eyes a little bright. "I never would've thought it."

"I had no doubts," proclaimed Adar. "Once you were over the shock of losing her and had a plan, I knew, sooner or later, Walker Walker would float again. You Amer-i-caans are amazingly ingenious." would float again. You Amer-i-caans are amazingly ingenious."

"Couldn't have done any of it without your your equally amazingly ingenious folk," Alan Letts reminded him. equally amazingly ingenious folk," Alan Letts reminded him.

"Where's Karen?" Sandra asked. "She should be here!"

"She's not feeling too well," Alan said, a little self-consciously. "She's no bigger than you, and with her being somewhere around seven months along . . ."

Sandra laughed. "She's big as a house! I know. Don't worry; she's fine. But she is a little big." Her eyes twinkled. "I still say it's twins!"

Alan pretended horror. "Don't say that anymore!"

Over the tumult, they heard a rising drone and looked at the sky. Not to be outdone, the Air Corps was putting in an appearance. Three planes, or ships, as Mallory demanded they be called for some reason, wobbled overhead in a semblance of a formation. He'd finally won approval for his force to be called the Air Corps, even if most of its pilots were naval aviators. His insistence on the seemingly contradictory term confused everyone. Ben would be at the controls of one, Tikker another, and young Reynolds the third. The Air Corps had eight planes now, and with the implementation of Ben's improvements they'd been declared perfected as far as the fundamental design would allow. Within weeks, there'd be two dozen airplanes and they'd face the distinct problem of having more planes than competent pilots.

Sandra hugged herself. It was all finally starting to come together. After all their hard work and sacrifice, she was beginning to feel, well, optimistic. The war had really just started, but with all the new naval construction under way, the professional army they'd begun, the allies they had working along the same lines toward the same goals-they had airplanes, for goodness' sake!-and now with the resurrection of Walker Walker . . . . . .

"Mr. Chairman," she addressed Adar, "we must transmit the news to Captain Reddy at once! He'll be so pleased!"