Chack fell out of the battle line to catch his breath. Only so many fighters would fit in that limited space, and mercifully, it allowed them to rotate out briefly every now and then. He was panting with exhaustion, and his tongue lolled, but miraculously, his only wound was a shallow slash across his left shoulder. He trotted to a freshwater barrel and drank greedily. The water had a reddish tinge from bloody hands that had reached for the cup, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was the soothing liquid wetting his parched throat. Dropping the cup back in the barrel, he looked about for a moment.
Younglings, garden tenders, and other old ones raced or crept back and forth, depending on their ability, carrying water to the fire. Their efforts, while noble, were in vain. Chack felt a growing dread that no matter how the battle went they were all going to burn. The entire forewing was gone, and the flaming debris had fallen on the tower, adding to the conflagration. It would all be for nothing. He hoped with a surge of grief that his sister was already dead-at least then she wouldn’t die in the flames. In bitter resignation, he hefted his bloody axe with aching arms and turned back toward the fight-just in time to glimpse two large columns of water straddle the lurking Grik ship, and a mighty explosion of fire and smoke at its waterline that sent it rolling onto its side.
“My God, sir! How can we not take sides! Just look over there!” cried Bradford incredulously.
Matt stared at him, his face granite. “I didn’t say we wouldn’t help. I said I wish we didn’t have to-because when we do, we take sides. We know nothing about what’s going on. For all we know, those. .. attackers are the good guys! Just because they look like the lizards on Bali doesn’t mean they are the same. What if somebody judged our actions simply because we look like Germans? Also-and I’ll only tell you this once, Mr. Bradford-you’re on my bridge at my sufferance. One more outburst and I’ll have you removed. Is that clear?”
“Will you remove me too?” demanded Sandra, her eyes flashing like pistol muzzles.
Matt sighed angrily. “Lieutenant, I wish you weren’t here now. We may be about to go into battle. In case you’ve forgotten, you have a battle station!”
She stared at him, unrepentant and smoldering. The rest of the men in the pilothouse very studiously observed anything but the confrontation with their captain. Even so, it was plain that their sympathies rested with Bradford and Lieutenant Tucker.
“Look,” said Matt, as reasonably as he could, “this isn’t our fight…” He immediately raised a hand to ward off interruption. “Yet. I feel inclined to help the-what did you call them? Lemurians?” Bradford nodded determinedly. Personally, he had had quite enough of this monkey-cat or cat-monkey business. “I feel inclined to help them too,” Matt repeated, “but we are all alone out here. If we do, we might get involved in an all-out war, and we have no idea what resources the enemy has. We damn sure don’t have any. Besides, look at those ships! Unlike the… Lemurians… those lizard people have ships right out of the eighteenth century. Our eighteenth century! The similarity in design is too perfect to be coincidence! They must’ve had contact with other humans! Maybe other people came through a squall-or something like we did-before. Don’t you see? If that’s the case, maybe these lizards can tell us about them! Maybe they’re still here!” He was silent for a moment as he let his point drift home. “If we shoot at them, I doubt they’ll give us answers.”
He swiveled in his chair, gazing through the windows at the battle, closer by the moment. “On the other hand…” he murmured darkly, and said no more. The Lemurians were certainly outnumbered, and given the obvious disparity in the ships’ speeds, there was no question who started the fight. So far, none of the creatures seemed to have noticed their approach. With the smoke so thick and the fighting so intense, that was understandable. But sooner or later, they would be noticed. Maybe the sight of the destroyer would have the same effect as before, and everybody would just stop what they were doing and stare. That might provide an opening. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was all he could think of short of going in with guns blazing.
In spite of his argument, he knew, deep down, that was what he wanted to do. Marvaney’s death was still fresh, and the creatures battling the Lemurians certainly resembled the ones that had killed him. Besides, from what he saw, they weren’t any more civilized than their apparent cousins on Bali. He might lose the chance to gain vital information, but sometimes you had to do something just because it was right. “Let’s see what happens,” he said at last.
“Captain, Mr. Garrett says they must’ve seen us,” said Reynolds. “One of the lizards is coming about. Range is now twenty-one double zero.”
Matt saw the change in aspect as the ship tacked, headsails filling and pulling it around. He’d walked the decks of the USS Constitution as a kid and was struck by her uncanny resemblance to the ship that was turning to meet them. The color was different-this ship was painted entirely red-and there were no gunports, but otherwise it looked just like an earlier version of the old frigate, even down to the number of masts and the sail plan. “Slow to two-thirds,” he commanded as the range diminished.
“Twelve double zero,” said Reynolds behind him, parroting Garrett’s estimate as the range wound down. The lizard ship was wearing a lot of canvas and Matt estimated its speed at eight to ten knots. Respectable, but troubling. This bold, all-out approach was more like the behavior of the Bali creatures than he quite liked. They didn’t seem overawed by the destroyer at all, or even carefully curious like the Lemurians had been. They acted more like they were trying to come to grips.
“Nine hundred yards, sir.”
“Slow to one-third. Come left thirty degrees. Guns one, three, and four will track the target.”
“Bridge,” came the voice of Elden. “A lot of those lizard critters are gathering in the target’s bows… They have swords and shields.” The final words were incredulous.
“Pass the word for Chief Campeti. Have him issue rifles and sidearms to any deck personnel not part of the gun crews. Prepare to repel boarders.” Matt was struck by the strangeness of the order even as he gave it. Probably not since the War of 1812 had the captain of a U.S. warship given the order to repel boarders on the high seas. He allowed himself an ironic smile. “At three hundred yards, the number three gun will put a shot across her bow if she doesn’t ease off.”
He glanced at Sandra and Courtney Bradford. They watched with mixed expressions, but at least Bradford’s ire had faded. Matt raised an eyebrow with a look that seemed to say, “What were we arguing about?” and lifted his binoculars again. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine. Elden was right. A large group of lizards stood in the bow of the oncoming ship, brandishing swords, spears, and garish shields. Their toothy mouths were open wide in an unheard shout or chant. Many clashed their weapons against their shields and seemed quite exercised. Even more ominous, many were holding what appeared to be grappling hooks, and as he watched, more and more joined those already poised on the fo’c’sle. There were hundreds of them, just on that one ship.
“Three hundred yards!” came Reynolds’s breathless report.
In a calm voice, devoid of inflection, Captain Reddy uttered a single word. “Fire.”
He never lowered his binoculars, but watched as the number three gun crashed and, a bare instant later, a geyser erupted between Walker and the approaching ship. A sheet of water cascaded down on the lizards and sent a few of them scrambling. But far from having the desired effect, the shot seemed to make those remaining in the bow redouble their clamoring and yelling. A moment passed, then another, and the ship showed no sign of turning or heaving to.
Suddenly, at two hundred yards, something roughly the size of a medicine ball arced lazily up, high in the air, from amid the gathered lizards. An instant later, a second object rose, and then a third. Everyone in the pilothouse saw them with unaided eyes. The objects reached apogee, tumbling end over end and trailing wisps of smoke. Down they came, closer and closer until two plummeted into the sea scarcely a dozen yards off Walker’s port beam. On impact with the water, they ruptured and a ball of fire rose skyward and burning fluid of some kind spread flames upon the waves. The third was closer, and when the projectile ruptured, burning fuel actually washed up Walker’s side, just below the number one gun.