18
Jack sat against a small charred log and counted the bodies. Three hundred and twelve of the kind and gentle villagers were lying dead in the early morning light. The sun rose against the backdrop of smoldering grass huts and the meager possessions of this simple people. He knew that at least some of the villagers had escaped the carnage, but he suspected they would never see them again. How could trust ever be regained once lost? Their lives had been affected by strangers more than once, and in all instances, the newcomers had fallen far short of a just treatment of these natives.
“It’s not your fault, Jack.”
Collins looked up and shaded his eyes from the sun rising behind Carl. The career navy man sat at the end of the burned log and lowered his head.
Jack and Carl looked from the scene of devastation around them as Charlie and Jenks walked up. Jack stood, as did Everett. They were all covered in soot and were filthy from searching for survivors inside their shattered homes. Ellenshaw was worse than anyone. He was burned in several places, and his hair was even more of a mess than ever. Beyond Charlie’s condition, they could all see the morale of the combined sailors and marines had taken a serious hit. Russian marines sat with American marines, and all were in shock at what had happened. One such Russian was holding the broken hockey stick he had given one of the male children. He angrily threw it away and then stood and left.
“My search parties have not turned up any more of the surviving islanders, Colonel. I am afraid we have made our friendship with the native people a moot and very much lost point after this.”
They turned and saw Kreshenko and his XO, Dishlakov, as they examined the village for the first time. In the rising sun, they closed their eyes against the devastation.
“Captain, it’s time you chose a side.”
Kreshenko looked at Jack, as his words seemed to have fallen on deaf ears. Captain Kreshenko held the look a moment and then turned away. Dishlakov looked as though he wanted to say something but stopped short. He turned and followed his captain.
“Second Captain Dishlakov,” Collins called out to the man’s retreating form. He slowed and then stopped without turning. “We are all responsible for this slaughter.”
Dishlakov hung his shoulders and then left the clearing.
“We’re going to have to do this without them, Jack,” Carl said as he watched the second captain vanish into the scorched undergrowth.
Collins looked around him at the burned homes of their new friends. His mouth went into a straight line.
“I agree. But first, our friend Henri has a job to do,” Jack said as he removed the radio from its case. “And I’m going to help him.”
Carl watched the colonel turn away to speak privately with Farbeaux, and he didn’t like the look on Jack’s face one bit.
Jack had his eyes closed inside the darkened and air-conditioned interior of the Shiloh’s CIC. Everett, Henri, and Ryan, along with Captain Johnson, sat beside him as their eyes watched the screen above them. The view was aerial, and it showed the vastness of this violet sea. The drone had been launched five hours before, and even on its power-conservation settings, it was now low on power without seeing anything to the southwest. Their theory on a reef or another small island was now getting weaker and weaker.
“That’s it, Captain. We have hit the PNR. We have to bring her back to the barn,” announced the young lieutenant JG from his seat.
“The point of no return had been reached, Colonel. We have to bring back the drone or lose her.”
Collins opened his eyes and sat up. “Bring her back. This is like searching for a needle in a stack of other needles.” Jack stood and stretched. He slapped the operator on the back. “How long until you can get the remote recharged and in the air again?” He glanced at the digital watch on the bulkhead. “We have to find out where these creatures come from and if the Russians have any surprises for us out there.”
“Thirty minutes’ return trip and another twenty to change her batteries and another five to download her old programming and install new.”
Captain Johnson silently nodded in agreement.
The remote control operator sat up straight in his chair and then gestured toward the monitor.
“We have something, thirty-six miles out.”
On the monitor, the men inside the CIC saw an amazing sight. The complex makeup of natural coral material spiraled into the afternoon sky. In brightly colored towers made up of the organisms that constituted the living reefs of coral, they saw the home of the aquatic species that had been allied with Salkukoff. The computer display, as generated from the visual information supplied to Shiloh by their drone, scrolled across the screen. The system immediately identified no fewer than seventy of the giant coral towers as they rose from a naturally supported bed of reef that stretched for fifty miles or more. Jack saw thousands of boats tied up in and around this exotic community.
“Look. As clear as the water is, you can see the structures are more under the water than they are above,” Ryan said as he leaned closer to the monitor.
Battlements and other defensive positions lined the uppermost reaches of the coral towers. They could see thousands of the aquatic species as they went about their chores for the day. It was almost medieval in its makeup.
“Charlie should see this,” Carl said as he watched the amazing scene below the drone’s cameras.
“Captain, sonar.”
Johnson moved quickly to his four sonar operators. He leaned in and saw their waterfall displays and immediately saw the anomaly. Then as he watched, the contact went dark again, and the waterfall display of color went back to its pristine shape of straight lines.
“Have you checked your equipment?”
“Yes, Skipper. Diagnostics says we are back to 100 percent reliability. There is something out there.”
“What is it?” Jack asked as he, Carl, and Jason crowded around.
“A soft sonar contact bearing the same course as that reef. Not sure if it’s real or not. Hell, it could be below or above the water. Being just over the horizon, radar is no good.”
Collins moved away, deep in thought.
“I can tell you’re thinking the same thing I am. Why would Salkukoff leave his only way back home?” Carl said as Ryan also nodded in agreement that it was indeed strange for the Russian to take that chance.
“He has to have an alternate source of the phase shift equipment. My guess is another ship.”
They all turned back to the monitor that was being overflown one last time by the drone. They had garnered the attention of the Wasakoo, as many of them were pointing to the sky. By their frantic gestures, the sight of the strange birdlike drone awed and confused the aggressive species.
“Look at their boats,” Ryan said as he placed a hand on the shoulder of the operating lieutenant. “Can you come in tighter on their watercraft?”
The operator brought the drone into a shallow dive toward the towering coral city. The drone leveled out, and the camera zoomed in tight.
“They look like giant abalone shells, or maybe oyster. You can clearly see the inside, and it sure looks like mother-of-pearl.”
Ryan was right, and the observation made sense for this waterborne species. With the world lacking in any sustainable wood, at least in this part of their world, material from the seas would be their only source of craftwork. On the screen, the view got even lower. The sails on most of the craft were furled, but the observers could see many of the soft-skinned creatures run to and fro in near panic. They could see that the appearance of the flying machine had upset them to no end.