“I’ve… studied history a little,” Matt said self-consciously. “I’ve often wondered ‘what if’ about a lot of things. I suppose every historian does, whether they admit it or not. What if the South had won the Battle of Gettysburg, for example, or that Serb hadn’t shot the archduke of Austria? Things might’ve been different. Maybe a lot different.” He looked at the Australian. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Maybe nothing,” said Courtney Bradford in a cryptic, falsely cheerful tone. “Maybe everything.”
The sun rose sharp and fierce in a cloudless sky. The storm, if it could be called that, was over, leaving only a slight chop as Walker eased back into the gap between Bali and Menjangan Island. All through the night they’d searched but found no sign of Mahan, and everyone harbored a forlorn hope they’d find her where they left her. Matt considered it possible, even likely, that if Jim couldn’t nurse his ship all the way to their rendezvous, he’d bring her back here, thinking it the first place Matt would look. Unfortunately, when they cleared the shoals and nosed into their previous anchorage, they were disappointed.
Bali remained a clear reminder that they were lost to the world they knew, its shores still teeming with unlikely creatures and its unterraced coastline a vast, panoramic plain broken by copses of unfamiliar palmlike trees. Again the crew lined the rails to stare. Unlike the sea-normally a destroyerman’s natural element, but now one that inspired dread-the land seemed populated by comparatively pastoral creatures. They all remembered the lizard that bit Leo Davis and made him so sick, but that was on Menjangan Island. Maybe they weren’t on Bali. The pygmy “brontosauruses” and other apparent herbivores browsed, cowlike, in full view and in broad daylight, seemingly content and unafraid of predators.
They crept closer. The outdated charts showed plenty of water, but Matt figured two hundred yards was close enough, and they dropped the hook once more. He peered at the shore and Courtney Bradford already had his “own” binoculars up. Matt wasn’t sure whose they’d originally been, but possession being what it was, he doubted the owner would get them back. He shook his head with a little grin.
“Lieutenant Dowden, you have the deck. We’ll remain here for the day and hopefully Mahan’ll show up. Double lookouts at all times. I’m not really worried about Japs anymore, but anchored, we can’t maneuver. I think we’ve had enough surprises for a while. In the meantime, you’ll plot a course for Surabaya. If Mahan doesn’t show by dusk, we’ll proceed there.” He looked at Bradford and saw the desolate expression. His grin returned. “Mr. Bradford, Mr. Letts, and a small party will accompany me ashore. Have Campeti break out Springfields, sidearms, and ammunition for a party of eight. Hmm, better make that ten pistols, and throw in a tommy gun and one of the BARs. We’ll leave two men and the Thompson with the boat.”
He studied the contrast between Bradford’s excited happiness and Lieutenant Dowden’s horror. He chuckled. “Don’t worry, Larry, we won’t wander off. In fact, I don’t intend to leave sight of the ship. It’s time we saw face-to-face what we’re up against. But if we get in over our heads, be ready to blow the hell out of anything we can’t handle. Understood?”
Dowden swallowed. “Yes, sir. Aye, aye, sir.”
Silva hefted a BAR and a bandolier of ammunition. He flashed his friends a toothy grin. “I’m goin’ a’huntin’!” he said as he took his place with the other members of the shore party, climbing down into the whaleboat. They were Carl Bashear, Mack Marvaney, Glen Carter, and Alfred Vernon. Tony Scott and Fred Reynolds would remain with the boat on the beach. They were in it now, waiting for the others. Silva watched Marvaney climb down ahead of him. His expression was wooden, almost vacant. “Cheer up, Mack!” he said. “It’ll be a hoot!” Marvaney glanced up at him and smiled, but the expression never reached his eyes.
Reynolds stood in the bow with his Springfield at the ready, and Scott fiddled with the throttle, a Thompson slung on his shoulder. Blue smoke rose from the idling motor as one by one the party descended the rungs welded to the side of the ship. The captain went last and he paused before he did, looking briefly at the faces nearby. Lieutenant Garrett wore an anxious expression, and Matt winked.
“You and Larry take care of my ship, hear?” His eyes flicked toward number three. It was manned, and already trained to port. Stites was its captain and he met Matt’s gaze with a confident nod. He nodded back and looked at Garrett. “Carry on, Lieutenant,” he said and disappeared over the side. As soon as he stepped into the boat and found a seat, Scott advanced the throttle. With a gurgling rumble they left Walker’s comforting side and steered for the mysterious shore.
Immediately, they felt the bumping, and several men exchanged nervous glances. Even Silva gave a start when something hit the hull under his foot. They knew it must be the vicious silvery fish-or something like them-but fortunately nothing bigger saw fit to taste the boat. In spite of the heat, gooseflesh crept along Matt’s arms at the very thought of falling overboard. The memory of the feeding frenzy for the shipwrecked Japanese was vivid.
There was a breeze out of the south-southwest and the sea was still choppy. Little packets of spray misted them as they neared land. The sky was almost painfully bright and clear, and its contrast with the shoaling water became less and less distinct. The greens of vegetation were more or less as they should have been and the sun was as bright and hot as always. Letts tried to keep his lotion-smeared skin under the shade of a wide straw hat. The normalcy of the scene only accentuated the striking abnormality of their situation and the impossible creatures grazing along on the coastal plain ahead.
There were no breakers, only a gentle surf washing onto a beach of gray-black volcanic gravel. The bumping subsided and then stopped completely a few dozen yards from shore. All the same, no one was anxious to step into the water, regardless how shallow. Scott skillfully nosed the whaleboat through the surf until they felt a crunchy resistance as it slid to a stop. For a moment everyone looked at the few yards of water between them and land. They could actually see the bottom, but there was nervous hesitation all the same. With a short bark of a laugh, Silva hitched up his gun belt and hopped over the side. The other men sheepishly did the same and Matt stepped up through the empty seats, jumped out into the shallow surf, and waded ashore with outward unconcern. Letts and Marvaney brought up the rear. Reynolds and Scott carried a line and began looking for something to tie it to.
“You men stay here,” said the captain. “Keep a sharp lookout and don’t goof around. We won’t be far and if we hear you shoot, we’ll come running. If you have to, cut your cable and clear off the beach, but hang close enough to come back for us. If you hear us shoot, stay here and prepare to shove off. Understood?”
“Aye, aye, sir,” they answered in unison.
Bradford was already hurrying excitedly away from the beach with a couple of hesitant men behind. Matt sighed and raised his voice. “We’ll all stick together, if you please!”
They marched inland in a loose column of twos, watching their flanks with care. Matt had grown up around weapons and had hunted all his life, so the Springfield he carried was a familiar and welcome companion. Especially now. He and Bradford walked side by side at the front of the column, looking at their surroundings. The grass was deep, waist high in places, and the broad, spiny leaves reminded Matt of johnsongrass. There were no brambles or thorns or such, but the grass was distinctly uncomfortable to walk through. Maybe more like South Texas cordgrass, he thought. Ahead was the first herd of the animals that looked like brontosauruses. They fed on the leaves of strange-looking palms that stood in a large clump. The way they moved and the sounds they made seemed entirely appropriate and very elephantlike. Any similarity ended there. Their necks were as long as their bodies, and they stood stripping vegetation much higher than any elephant ever could have.