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 massive 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 Clancy we needed a fuse! But nooo!” Tex shook his head disgustedly. “Damn 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 goddamn 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, 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 bastard 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
W alker 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 were on their way here! In the amazing dry dock, weeks of scraping, welding and riveting, heating and rolling Japanese 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 ’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 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 bump against beams or pilings that were not yet free. Within an hour, all the beams had been withdrawn, and once again 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.
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 ashore 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. He was thrilled that it would again become the weapon it had once been, and 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.
“Mr. 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 cock 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.