The female had clearly been in the fighting. Sandra had treated others as well. The first time she removed a bloody leather tunic from one of their “professional” warriors and discovered furry breasts beneath, she was shocked. Adar and his entourage were standing right there, though, and made no sign that the discovery of a female in the ranks was unusual. As she’d said earlier, the semi-nudity didn’t surprise her-although she’d finally rounded savagely on Silva and his buddies when she overheard their comments about the “cat-monkey booby farm”-but she hadn’t been prepared to find females not only fighting for their lives in a desperate situation but doing so as actual warriors.
After a time she grew inured-if not accustomed-to the apparent fact that among Lemurians there was total equality of the sexes. At least as far as warfare was concerned. But in this instance there seemed a contrast between that and the tender, very human concern she saw of a male for an injured female. She moved toward them unobserved. Adar was busy discussing something with Shinya and another Lemurian who’d approached. Silva, “distracted” again, suddenly noticed she’d wandered off and hurried after her, lugging his BAR. The big Lemurian straightened and regarded them as they neared. The female tried to rise, but Sandra made a lay-back motion with her hands and crouched beside her. The male and Silva remained standing, facing each other.
A quick survey showed Sandra no obvious life-threatening wounds, but there was a nasty cut above the left eye, slick with the healing lotion that Lemurians seemed to use as liberally as Mercurochrome. A possible concussion, then, but the eyes were alert. She smiled and crossed her hands over her chest. “Sandra,” she said. The female’s eyes fluttered rapidly and she glanced at the male who was now staring intently at Sandra as well.
With a wince, the female raised her left arm and patted herself. “Risa.” Then she pointed at the male and said, “Chack.”
Shinya and Adar joined them. “Lieutenant Tucker, Adar tells me their leader, Keje-Fris-Ar, desires we attend him once more.”
Sandra nodded, but reached out and gently patted Risa’s hand before she stood. “Very well, but please ask him to tell this one I hope she feels better soon.” She turned to Silva. “Stay here, and when Ensign Theimer and Pharmacist’s Mate Miller arrive, tell them whatever they do, don’t act like they’re taking over-just assist any way they can. Understand?”
“Yes, Miss… Lieutenant Tucker. I’ll tell Reavis and Newman that very thing, but me and Felts’ll tag along with you.”
“Really, Mr. Silva, that’s not necessary.”
He grinned. “Maybe not, ma’am, but I think we will anyway. Skipper’d have us thrown to the fishes if we let you out of our sight.”
Sandra sighed. “Very well. If you feel you must loom menacingly in the background wherever I go, I’ll not upset you by protesting further, but promise you’ll do so as peacefully as possible?”
“Absolutely, ma’am,” Silva said with an expression of purest innocence. “Everybody’ll tell you I’m as peaceable a critter as there is.”
Near dusk, the launch bumped into Walker’s side for the final time that day, and the passengers carefully climbed the metal rungs to the deck above. The nurses went first. The one named Theimer seemed almost catatonic, and Lieutenant Tucker had to help her up. Tony Scott had noticed she wasn’t quite with it when he took her across, but she looked even worse coming back, and she hadn’t said a word either time-not that he paid much attention, or even really cared. He just wanted out of the boat. He’d been in the launch most of the day, with the terrible silvery fish- and occasionally larger things-bumping against it. He’d controlled the urge to fire the Thompson over the side in mounting terror, but he hadn’t set it down all day. Now all he could think about was getting something more substantial than the wooden hull of a twenty-six-foot boat between him and whatever lurked below the surface of the water he’d always loved. He scrambled up last, urging Silva ahead of him.
“Calm down, Tony. What’s your rush?” jibed Silva as he neared the top, over Scott’s labored breathing below.
“Goddamn you, Silva! If you don’t hurry, I guess you’ll find out in a minute when I throw you in the water!”
Silva laughed as he clambered onto the deck and turned to offer the coxswain his hand. “Hell, they’s just fish, Tony, just like sharks. Sharks ain’t never spooked you before.”
As soon as he gained the deck, Scott moved quickly to the center, as far from the water as possible. Silva and Felts followed. Miller, Reavis, Newman, and the two nurses went below while others hoisted the launch aboard. Scott took a cigarette from Felts and lit it with trembling hands. He took several deep drags, eyes flitting nervously from point to point but carefully avoiding faces. “I been on the water all my life,” he said at last. “I grew up in Fort Lauderdale and had a sailboat, a fourteen-footer I’d take on the open ocean in the Gulf before my daddy figured I was old enough to drive.” He drew in another lungful of smoke. “Had some scrapes, too. Bad weather. Sharks…” He glanced at Silva, searching the big man’s face for ridicule. He shrugged. “From then to now, I ain’t ever been afraid of the water.” He shuddered. “Until today. It started creepin’ up on me when I went across to Mahan right after the Squall, but I guess it finally got the better of me. Even those critters that got Marvaney didn’t spook me like that constant bumpin’ all day long. Knowin’…” He shook his head and looked back at Silva. “They ain’t just fish, Dennis, and this ain’t the Java Sea. Not anymore. I’ve known it from the start, but with everything going on, it just never sank in till today. I finally realized the water ain’t even just the water anymore. The water’s death, fellas, and if I had my druthers, I’d never go near it again.”
He’d been speaking in quiet tones, but evidently louder than he thought. They heard a gruff laugh and turned to see Dean Laney by the rail, leaning on the safety chain by the number one torpedo mount. The big machinist’s mate wore a sadistic grin.
“Don’t that beat all? The coxswain’s afraid of the water! Har! I bet you’ll be strikin’ for snipe now, so you don’t have to look at it no more! ’Course, when I tell ever-body what a chickenshit deck-ape you are, Spanky won’t even take you as a bilge coolie!”
Scott bristled, but Silva held him back. Then he grinned and sauntered over to the stanchion next to Laney. He peered over the side.
“Woo, Laney, you’re so brave! I ain’t never seen a snipe this close to the water before! I hope you’re holdin’ that safety chain tight. I wouldn’t want you to fall!”
“Hell with you, Silva! Least I ain’t scared of the wa… Aaah!”
He shrieked when Dennis pulled the pin on the stanchion that held the chain in place. He went over the side and the chain went taut with a clanking thud heard over Laney’s high-pitched scream. Silva looked down and saw the machinist’s mate bouncing against the hull, mere feet above the deadly sea, hands clenched tight on the chain, his upturned face contorted by a grimace of terror.
“SHIT! Help! Help! Goddamn you to hell, Silva! HELP ME!”
“But you ain’t scared of the water, Dean,” Silva called down mildly.
“I… I am scared, damn you! HELP ME!”
Silva heard running feet, and Felts and Scott grabbed the chain and started pulling.
“Shit!” exploded Scott. “You could’a killed him!” Other men arrived and between them they soon had Laney on deck, gasping and shaking, tears in his eyes.
“You could’a killed him!” Felts accused under his breath. Silva shrugged, then squatted and looked Laney in the eye.
“Damned ol’ rusty pin must’a gave,” he said. “No tellin’ what might happen if a fella ain’t careful what he does-or says.” He stood and laughed. “Whoo-ee! Lucky you was holdin’ that chain, Laney! Gives me the willies. The very idea of fallin’ in the water scares the shit out’a me!”