But I have to rely on your people to do the bulk of the fighting. I can't spare many men for the boarding party and still operate the ship.
Besides"—he gestured at the scota at Keje's side—"few of us are skilled in this type of fighting. Most who are were at the parade ground when we left." He took a deep breath and saw the gleam of anticipation in Keje's eyes. No one had boarded a Grik ship! The glory for Salissa would be beyond compare. The deed would be recorded in the very Scrolls!
Matt held up a hand. "I said I'd like to take it. One thing I've got to check first." He got up, stepped to the aft bulkhead, and activated the engine room comm. "Engineering, this is the captain. Let me speak to Mr. McFarlane."
"Aye, aye, sir." A moment later the engineer's gruff voice said, "McFarlane here."
"Fuel, Spanky."
There was a momentary pause, then a sigh. "Captain, if we reduce speed, secure number three and turn back right now, we might make it in without a tow."
"What about the wood?"
There was silence on the other end.
"We can burn the wood, Spanky."
Lieutenant McFarlane responded resignedly. "Aye, sir, we can burn the wood, but then the boiler'll be down for however long it takes to clean out all the ash, and I can't answer for whether or not it'll screw anything up."
His voice was almost pleading. "Captain, by some miracle we've managed to keep three boilers operational. But there're no major repair parts in the entire frigging world."
Matt's shoulders slumped and he nodded at the intercom as if Spanky was standing before him. "Very well. Prepare to secure number three." He turned to the expectant faces in the pilothouse, then glanced out the windows at the Grik ship little more than a mile ahead. "Damn." He saw disappointment on Keje's face, in spite of the feline lack of expression.
"We'll get another chance. It's time we learned something about your `Ancient Enemy.' We must!" He strode back to his chair and looked at the ship ahead.
"Sink it."
It was dusk when they crept back into the bay. The fuel bunkers were entirely empty and the steam pressure had dropped to the point that maneuvering alongside the dock was out of the question. They dropped anchor close to where they had when they first arrived, and Matt wearily rubbed his eyes. None of the locals came out to see what was happening in the strait in case they needed assistance, and he'd been afraid they'd have to burn the wood anyway. The PBY was floating in its usual spot by the pier and he wondered how much longer it would have been before Lieutenant Mallory squandered some of the precious fuel they'd topped it off with to come and look for them. He saw several figures standing on the wing in the gloom, staring at them even now.
"We'll start ferrying Keje's people ashore immediately," he said. "We'll warp the ship over in the morning."
"Do not be discouraged!" Keje admonished him. He'd gotten over his own disappointment and was now almost giddy with their easy success.
"You've won a great victory, and for my own sake, I'm glad Salissa was with you!"
"He's right," said Sandra. She'd been with them on the bridge ever since it became clear that there'd be no battle casualties. She gestured at the city, the lights even now beginning to burn. The dock was again lined with a chaotic throng, only this time instead of panic there was jubilation.
"Those people saw their enemy for the first time today, many of them, and now they know that enemy isn't invincible. It'll mean a lot."
"It would have meant more if we could've gotten some information, and we still don't know about that third ship." In the last moments before Walker destroyed it, the Grik hoisted the same signal the first one had.
Nothing was seen by the lookout, so even if there had been another Grik nearby, it probably wasn't close enough to see the flags. Still . . .
"As you told me earlier," Keje reminded Matt, "there will be another time."
Matt turned to Bernie Sandison. "You have the watch. I'll escort Captain Keje ashore, or to his ship, if he pleases." He shifted his gaze to Sandra. "Would you care to accompany us, Lieutenant?"
Sandra smiled. "Of course, Captain. Just let me change." She took a step away from him and held her arms out. She was still dressed in the surgical smock she'd put on when the ship went to quarters.
"I don't think—" he began, but Keje put his clawed hand on his shoulder.
"Yes, she should. And so should you, my friend." Keje looked at him appraisingly. "Wear your fine sword and your finest hat. You . . ." He grinned. "We have just won a great victory! We must look the part!"
Isak Reuben and Gilbert Yager sat on the huge wooden cleat the Catalina was tied to and smoked. They were indifferent to the bustle as well as the repeated calls by Lieutenant Mallory out on the plane to put out their cigarettes. Occasionally, a reveling Lemurian coughed in surprise as it passed through the blue cloud surrounding them. The Mice paid no heed.
Finally, Mallory squatted near the wingtip of the flying boat, almost at eye level and just a few yards away. He decided to try reason.
"Look, fellas," he said, almost shouting over the throng, "if you don't give a damn about yourselves, think of the plane. Nobody smokes around airplanes!"
Another boatload of Big Sal's warriors arrived on the dock to be received with cheering calls and stamping feet. Isak took another puff and looked at him. "Don't care about your damn plane, Army Man," he said.
"All it did was sit there and . . . float, while our home was out there by itself!"
"Typical," snorted Gilbert.
Mallory was in no mood to be harsh with the men—especially now.
He did wonder where they'd gotten all the smokes, though. For the last hour, all they'd done was sit there and chain-smoke the damn things.
Must've been Alden. The big Marine always had cigarettes. Some said when he came aboard in Surabaya, his duffel was stuffed with them. He must have loaded them down. And no wonder. Both the men were covered from head to foot with thick, sticky crude. It was matted in their hair and saturated their clothes. All that showed through the slimy black ooze was the whites of their eyes and, of course, the cherries on the ends of their cigarettes. He tried a different approach.
"But, fellas. This is a Navy plane!"
The next time the launch maneuvered to the pier it unloaded to a renewed crescendo of acclaim, which reached a furious peak when Matt, Sandra, and Keje climbed onto the dock. The triumphant crowd immediately mobbed them. Nobody really knew yet what had happened in the strait, but Walker was back and the enemy was gone. For now, that was enough. Sergeant Alden forced his way through the press and spoke briefly in the captain's ear. Matt stood at least a head taller than most of those around, and he looked about for a moment, his gaze finally settling on the Mice. Isak sucked down a last lungful of smoke.
"Crap. I bet he makes us put 'em out." Both men stood, leaving sticky blotches of tar on the cleat where they'd been. The captain was moving toward them. Finally, he stopped a few yards away, as if afraid to come any closer with his high-collar white uniform on. The contrast between them couldn't have been more profound. A strange, instinctual awareness blossomed in the back of Isak's mind, and his right hand moved upward in an unfamiliar, half-forgotten fashion, gluing his index finger to his forehead.
"We found oil, Skipper, if you please. Not an hour after you left this morning. Right where that Aussie said it'd be." He paused suddenly, at a loss. He didn't think he had ever spoken to an officer before he'd been spoken to. The smile that spread across the captain's face emboldened him, however. "Good thing you weren't there, sir. 'Specially dressed like that."