“Very well. Sparks? Does the communications division have anything new?” Matt knew it didn’t. He’d asked Riggs several times that day and left standing orders that if they received anything at all, he was to be informed at once.
Riggs shook his head. “Nothing, Skipper. The equipment’s operating perfectly. Everything checks out. There just isn’t anything to hear.” Everyone already knew it, but to hear him say it again only deepened the gloom.
Matt sensed the darkening mood and pushed quickly on. As he often did, he turned to the Chief to boost morale. “Any major holes left, Boats?”
“Nothing you’d call major,” he replied with a hesitant grin. “The old gal’s always leaked like a sieve. No matter how many holes we patch, she was riveted together, and there’s probably not a seam in her bottom that doesn’t seep, but damage control’s done a hell of a job.” He glanced at McFarlane and grinned even bigger. “Apes and snipes been working together so well, it ain’t natural. We haven’t patched holes in the funnels and such, but everything that’ll let water in has something welded over it.”
McFarlane nodded. “She’ll float, Skipper, and as long as we have power to the pumps I’ll keep her pretty dry.” He looked around the table. “She needs a yard, though.” There were grim nods.
“We know, Spanky,” said the captain quietly. “Anything else on your end?”
McFarlane shook his head, conscious that he’d lowered everyone’s spirits again. “Uh… no, sir, not really. I was thinkin’, though. As long as we’re trying to conserve, we might want to figure out more ways to do it. Like, we might have the apes leave off chippin’ and paintin’ until we figure out what to use for paint when we’re out. That sort of stuff.”
Gray started to protest that if his holy deck wasn’t maintained in these tropical waters, there’d soon be no deck to maintain. But you couldn’t use what you didn’t have. “Spanky’s right,” he admitted grudgingly. “I know how the apes’ll moan if they can’t perform their favorite pastime.” He grinned encouragingly and there were scattered chuckles. “But we have only so much paint. I have to paint the welds, but maybe we can let the cosmetic stuff slide.”
“That’s a good point,” said Matt. He turned at last to the supply officer, Alan Letts. Letts was a skinny kid from North Dakota with red hair and extremely fair skin, complete with freckles. He hated the sun, and even brief exposure left him resembling a radish. He was rarely seen above deck, and then only in the shadows, as if direct sunlight would melt him down to a puddle of wax. His sincere antics to avoid sunlight were vastly amusing to the crew, and he was very popular. He was a good sport too, and no matter how sensitive, his skin was also thick. Sometimes, in a spirit of fun, he allowed sailors to escort him around the ship with a Chinese parasol. Despite his efforts, even as he sat in the wardroom, great patches of chalky skin dangled from his face and arms and small specks had settled to the table. He was a good supply officer and knew all the bureaucratic angles, but those no longer applied. His greatest flaw, from Matt’s perspective, was a complacent laziness. He suffered from the endemic Asiatic Fleet disease of “go with the flow.” Matt hoped he could make the transition to the new imperative.
“How does it look for supplies?” the captain asked.
“We’ll be okay for a while. We loaded up before we left Surabaya. Nobody wanted to leave anything for the Japs.” Letts’s eyes flicked toward their guest. “At present consumption, meaning normal, we’ve got three weeks, easy, before we feel any pinch on perishables. The refrigerator’s stocked up. After that, we have canned stuff for about that long.” He grimaced. “I’m not counting Vienna sausages. We better find something else before we’re down to that, or there’ll be mutiny in the chow line.” He brightened. “Even if we don’t cut back, we’re in good shape food-wise for a month, month and a half.”
“We can’t cut rations,” pronounced Matt decisively, “not as hard as the men are working. Besides, that’d really wreck morale. We’ll just have to find food.” He looked at Courtney Bradford, and his eyes twinkled. “I wonder what dinosaur steak tastes like?” There was general laughter at Bradford’s incredulous expression.
“Eat dinosaurs? My God. The man’s talking about eating dinosaurs!” the Australian muttered to himself.
Matt returned to Letts. “Fresh water?”
Walker’s boilers were an open feed-water design, so they used seawater for steam, but the crew needed fresh water for cooking and drinking. The storage tanks were small and, even in normal times, bathing was a luxury. The men often lined up naked by the rail for a good spray-down with the fire hose. The salt water drove them nuts when it dried and caused rashes and other discomforts, but it was refreshing.
“Water’s a problem,” admitted Letts. “With the condensers in the shape they are, we have about a month’s worth, at current usage.”
“Okay. So we need fuel, ammo, food, water.” The captain arched an eyebrow at Gray. “And paint.” There were more chuckles despite the fact that no one knew where to find any of those things. “What else?”
“About a million things, Skipper,” Letts replied, “but those are the most immediate. I’m sure Lieutenant McFarlane could add quite a list of spares, but-”
“Right. Make a list of everything we need, but more importantly, figure out how we’re going to get it. Use anybody you need, but find answers.” Matt swiveled in his chair to look at Courtney Bradford. “Would you mind being conscripted?”
The Australian took his pipe from his mouth and his eyes widened with pleasure. “Delighted, Captain! Delighted. How can I assist?”
“Work with Letts to sort this out. You’ll be his special assistant. I know this isn’t the same world you were such a student of, but you must have a better idea where we can find supplies than any of us do. Agreed?”
“Absolutely, Captain Reddy. I’ll do my best!”
“Of course you will.”
Matt glanced at Sandra when he said it, and saw the twinkle of amusement in her eyes. He smiled at her. He was pleased. All in all, the discussion had gone fairly well. His people were engaged, and actively working to solve problems. Morale was better than he would have expected, and the crushing terror of their situation was kept at bay-for now-by a veneer of normalcy. The tasks were unusual, but the familiarity of doing them within the extended family that was the crew of USS Walker was reassuring.
Throughout the conversation, Lieutenant Shinya was silent. After the initial hostility, he seemed to have been forgotten, and he just listened. He was amazed by the familiarity with which the Americans talked and worked together. No one was afraid to speak, not even the most junior person present. It seemed chaotic compared to his more-regimented experience, but it also appeared effective. There was no hiding the fact that they were in a predicament, but there was no hesitation to mention failings that might reflect poorly on any department. That made it easier for the captain to assess the situation. He doubted a similar meeting aboard his own ship would have progressed as well, and he felt strangely refreshed.
Just then, Juan entered the compartment with his carafe and began filling cups. He paused by Tamatsu. His face bore a look of anguished loathing, and Shinya was reminded that, no matter what, he was still considered an enemy. Juan took a deep breath and started to tilt the carafe. It began to shake. Suddenly he slammed it on the table as if the handle was too hot to hold. He looked at Matt in horror.
“I-I am sorry, Cap-tan Reddy,” he whispered. “I cannot.” He then drew himself up and strode through the curtain into the passageway. Everyone watched him go, except Tamatsu, who continued to stare straight ahead, but his gaze seemed somewhat lower. Matt sighed. Nothing was going to be easy.
Walker steamed leisurely in a west-northwesterly direction for the remainder of the day, back across the Flores Sea into the Java Sea once more. The sea picked up toward evening, and a gloomy overcast obscured the growing moon. Matt ordered the running lights lit-unthinkable just days before-and stationed men on the two searchlights. They were to sweep the horizon at ten-minute intervals, both to show the lights and to see what they could. The ship began to roll as the swell increased just enough to remind everyone that regardless of war, dinosaurs, sea monsters, or even strange beings on giant ships, ultimately, Walker’s greatest adversary was the very element for which she was made.