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  In spite of Gray's efficiency, before he could assemble a party to throw lines to the survivors, there was no one left to save. A froth of flashing fins and teeth marked the spot where the final swimmer had disappeared. The rest of the swarm began to disperse or snatch tiny morsels drifting here and there. Alone upon the gently rolling sea, an overturned lifeboat bobbed with two forms precariously balanced. One seemed unconscious, and the other hovered over the first with a split and badly gnawed oar in his hands. He now regarded the destroyermen with inscrutable Asian eyes. His stoic face hadn't changed expression since he had battled the carnivorous fish and the submarine-sized cross between a whale and a crocodile. We're just different enemies, Matt thought. He turned and saw another face peering anxiously from the ladder, aft. This one belonged to the Australian engineer whom he'd only briefly met.

  "May I, ah . . . come up there, sir, for a word?" Matt nodded, and the tall, portly man puffed to the top of the ladder. His sparse, graying hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and he ran his left hand over it as if feeling for the hat he held in his right. Noticing that everyone on the bridge wore a hat or helmet, he plunked his back on his head. He glanced at the foredeck, where men were throwing lines to the enemy seaman on the boat and trying to convince him to take one.

  "Oh, dear. Unimaginable. After what that Jappo's been through, he still won't surrender. I don't suppose you have anyone who can speak to him? No, of course not." Matt looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. He'd noticed before the man's strange habit of answering his own questions.

  "Actually, Mr. Bradford, we may surprise you. Quite a few old China hands aboard this ship. Some may have learned a few words."

  "Indeed?"

  In the end, their translator was not a "China hand" but Lieutenant Mallory, the Army pilot with Captain Kaufman. He spoke a few terse phrases in what could have been Martian for all Matt knew, but the stubborn Japanese sailor finally let his oar slip into the sea and caught the rope. Matt looked up at Garrett. "Get some weapons to those men before they hoist those Japs aboard." He raised his voice to be heard by the men on the deck below. "Where'd you learn Japanese, Mr. Mallory?"

  The young officer shouted a reply. "I grew up in Southern California, sir. My folks ran an orange plantation. Lots of Japs in the citrus groves."

  "Why wouldn't he take the rope?"

  "He said his family, his ancestors, would be ashamed if he surrendered."

  "That's nuts! Didn't he see what happened to the others?" Matt shook his head. "How'd you talk him into it?"

  Mallory hesitated. "I didn't, sir. But he agreed to let us `rescue' his officer since he's unconscious and can't decide for himself. I told him we'd let him kill himself later if he wants."

  "Jesus," someone muttered. Chief Gunner's Mate Sonny Campeti arrived on deck with several Springfields. He quickly passed out all but one, which he kept for himself. The others stood back, their rifles ready, while three men pulled on the rope. The burly Japanese sailor held the other end, bracing himself upon the keel as best he could. Occasionally a jostling wave caused him to glance anxiously at the unmoving man beside him. The supine form's uniform was dark blue. The boat bumped against the hull, and another rope was lowered. Quickly and professionally, the man tied it around his officer's chest under his arms and then stood back, balanced precariously, as the destroyermen hauled the unconscious man to the deck. Without another glance at the men above, he sat down on the boat and put his hands on his head, lacing his thick, powerful fingers together in his hair.

  Chief Gray looked up at Matt with an expression that said, "Now what?" and the captain raised his speaking trumpet. "Is he alive?" Gray felt the man's neck for a pulse and nodded. Except for a small gash on his head, there were no obvious injuries. "Take him to the wardroom, under guard."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  "What about the other one?" Mallory asked.

  "I don't know. Maybe we can lasso him, or something. We can't just leave him here—Jap or not."

  "Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Courtney Bradford. He stood next to Matt, looking into the sea. The captain looked at him, then followed his gaze. The dark blue water became much darker directly beneath the boat. Suddenly the creature they'd driven under, or one just like it, rose to the surface, and its gaping, crocodilelike jaws snapped shut on the capsized boat. The thing was enormous! Matt knew the boat must be twenty-five or thirty feet long, and the jaws were very nearly that long themselves. As the boat splintered, Matt heard a shriek and saw the terrible jaws close on the Japanese sailor's legs. Even then, it sounded more like a scream of pain, not terror. He shuddered. The roar of the machine gun just above his head deafened him and an instant later, the bigger .50-cal, amidships, joined in—as did a couple of men with rifles. He hoped a few thought to finish the stubborn Jap, but amid the geysering splashes he couldn't tell. The creature writhed and slammed into the ship hard enough to make him grab the rail. With a huge splash and a swirl of flippers, it disappeared from view.

  "Goodness gracious," said Bradford again, his voice subdued by awe.

  Matt stood transfixed, but for only a moment. Then he bellowed to the men below. "Boats, get somebody down there to check the hull for damage. Whatever the hell that was, it bumped us pretty good." For a moment nobody moved, but finally the Bosun stirred.

  "Get the lead out, you miserable girly saps! The Skipper gave an order! Ain't you never seen a sea monster eat a Nip before? Shit!"

  With that, Matt turned, walked woodenly back to his chair, and sat. Out there, off the port bow, the sun finally vanished entirely beneath the blackening sea, and he removed his hat and plopped it on his lap. He felt like the reserve of adrenaline that was supposed to last his lifetime had been completely tapped out that day. He was so tired. Finally he sighed and rubbed his face.

  "Mr. Tolson, take us back to Mahan. Hopefully, she's ready to move.

  Secure from general quarters, but keep men on the machine guns for a while." He yawned tremendously and glanced at the men looking at him, still stunned by what they'd seen. "It's been a hectic day," he whispered.

  CHAPTER 3

  They ran south all night at twenty knots. The two operational boilers on each ship could have carried them faster, but with all their damage, twenty knots was a sufficiently hair-raising speed. Repairmen labored on, exhausted, trying to accomplish tasks while under way that ordinarily required a yard. Shoring timbers pushed warped seams together and shipfitters welded them instead of waiting for rivets. They had too far to go. Matt briefly considered returning to Surabaya, but with all the enemy activity, they'd probably wind up trapped. Ceylon was still within reach, fuel-wise, but the only reason that had been their original destination was that its yard facilities could handle Exeter. With the British cruiser lost, there was no reason to go there. Wiser to make for Perth, Australia, where some of their sisters had gone.

  It was a cloudless night, but the moon was the merest sliver. It provided just enough light for Mahan to follow their wake. Matt pitied her shorthanded, exhausted crew. Walker had lost more than twenty killed herself—almost a quarter of her complement—and another eight were seriously wounded. But Mahan had more than sixty dead. She was a floating morgue. Most of her casualties occurred when a ten-inch shell destroyed her bridge. Other men were lost in the aft deckhouse and fireroom.

  It was a miracle that either ship had survived. The only things that saved them were getting in close where Amagi's main guns couldn't engage . . . and the Squall, of course. Matt shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the memory. The Squall had been unusual in itself, but then a whole string of strange events followed. The ravenous fish, the "sea monster" (he couldn't think of anything else to call it). Then there was the odd lack of radio traffic. The radiomen and electrician's mates had studied the equipment carefully and found nothing wrong, but everyone was exhausted and they must've missed something. It was that simple . . . Matt's eyelids fluttered open again, and he shook his head to clear his blurry thoughts. Instead,
his chin slowly drooped until it rested on his chest.

  The midwatch would be coming on soon, he thought muzzily. At least some of the men could sleep. Poor Richard. Up in the crow's nest all day long, only to die when they were so close to safety. He'd done his duty, but he'd missed the sea monster. Jim missed it too, as had everyone on the other ship. They were lucky. At least it won't swim in their dreams. It's already in mine and I'm not even asleep.

  He was snoring lightly. Garrett, his neck and hands covered with gauze, had the deck. He stepped quietly over to stand beside his captain, lest he fall from his chair. He caught the eyes of the other tired men and held a finger to his lips.

  Matt came awake in a blurry, gray dawn. He blinked, rubbed dried grit from his eyes, and looked around. Lieutenant Dowden was nearby, conversing in quiet tones with the Bosun. Matt felt a surge of irritation at being allowed to sleep, but it was immediately replaced by a vague sense of guilt at having done so. Wry acceptance followed. At least now he could face this new day without dropping from exhaustion.

  "Coffee?" he croaked.

  Almost before the word was uttered, Juan Marcos appeared at his elbow, steaming mug in hand. Juan was the officers' steward and the only Filipino who hadn't—understandably—jumped ship when they left the Philippines. He beamed as his captain took the cup and nodded his thanks. Raising it to his lips, Matt took a tentative sip. "That's good," he said, and sipped again. "Very good, Juan. Best coffee you've ever made."

  A wounded expression clouded the Filipino's face. "But Cap-tan Reddy, I did not make it!"

  Matt glanced at Gray, who suddenly looked away. "Well . . . of course I just woke up and it's my first cup. I'm sure it just tastes so good because I really needed it."

  The Bosun coughed to stifle a laugh. Juan took good care of them, given his limited resources, and no one would have dreamed of hurting his feelings. But his concept of good coffee was . . . different from everyone else's.

  "No, Cap-tan Reddy. I'm sure it is very good. Better than mine." Juan spoke with brittle formality. "One of the nurses made it. The seсorita nurses," he added darkly as if to say it might taste good, but would probably poison him. "Now you are awake, I will bring you a breakfast I doubt they could match!"

  Matt chuckled. "I'm sure you will, Juan. I'm starved!" The Filipino summoned all his dignity—a most impressive quantity—and left the bridge. Matt raised an eyebrow at Chief Gray and shook his head. He then turned in his chair to glance astern.

  "She's still hangin' tight," Gray said, referring to Mahan. Matt could just make her out in the grayish-pink morning half-light. He stood, stretching his arms over his head. He felt like he'd been thrown from a horse, but except for minor cuts from broken glass, he'd escaped the previous day's battles without injury. "Where are we?"

  Dowden stepped to the chart table, and Matt and Gray joined him there to peer at the map. "Here, sir," Dowden said and pointed. "Just about exactly."

  Matt looked at the indicated position and then stared out the windows. It was difficult to tell, but he thought he saw a landmass ahead. "I'm not enthusiastic about running Lombok or Bali Strait in daylight," he said. "If the Japs are here ahead of us, it would be simple for them to put a stopper in the bottle. There're only so many holes in the Malay Barrier. Even after all the running around we did yesterday and last night, we're only about three hundred miles from where we started. They could easily have beaten us here."

  "Yes, sir," agreed the Bosun. "And they don't even need ships." He pointed at the map. "A couple of planes patrolling here, or here, and they'd have us. They couldn't miss us. We're in no shape to dodge dive bombers."

  Matt rubbed the stubble on his chin and nodded thoughtfully. "What's this?" He pointed to a sliver of land off the northeast corner of Bali.

  Dowden leaned closer. "Ah . . . Menjangan Island. It looks like it's only about two and a half miles long. The chart shows a narrow channel between it and Bali that's about a mile wide."

  "What if we eased in there and hunkered down for the day, and then ran Bali Strait tonight?" Matt mused aloud. Dowden looked unconvinced, but Gray was thoughtful.

  "Looks like plenty of water. The channel shows a hundred forty feet. There's about three fifty all around. The currents look okay." He looked at Matt. "Bali Strait wouldn't be my first choice in the dark; it's so narrow. But the Japs might think that too. It sounds good, Skipper."

  "Yeah, but we know there's Japs on Bali," added the captain darkly. "After the fiasco in Badung Strait, there was nothing we could do about it. That should have been different." He sighed. "It all depends on how far they've advanced. We know their force wasn't very big and they'll be concentrating on securing airfields." He deliberated. "Bali's pretty big and they went ashore on the far side of the island. Worst case, they might've sneaked a few observers in to watch the strait, but I can't imagine they'd waste their time watching that little gap beside Menjangan. It doesn't go anywhere." Dowden was nodding now. Their only other option was a daylight run through a very confined stretch of water.

  "We lie doggo for the day," Matt decided. "It'll give us a chance to patch some holes. Besides, I'd like to get with Jim. I need a real report on Mahan's condition, as well as our own." He stared at the map a few moments more. "I wonder what kind of cover Menjangan has. A lot of these little islands are just jungles poking out of the sea. That'd be perfect for our needs. Some are barren volcanic rocks too." He looked around the pilothouse questioningly. "I've never been there." Dowden and Gray were both shaking their heads, and no one else spoke up. "Send for Mr. Bradford. Maybe he knows."

  "Aye, aye, sir."

  The Bosun followed Matt to the bridgewing, where they stood silently staring aft at Mahan. Matt grimaced. "By the way, Boats, how are our other `passengers' making out?"

  Gray arched an eyebrow and then snorted. "Well, Skipper, I've been a little busy, and they might've strayed from my immediate presence a time or two . . ."

  Matt chuckled. "But, Boats, you're not just a chief, you're the Chief. The Bosun! You're supposed to know everything that happens on this ship."

  Gray grunted noncommittally. "Yes, sir. Lieutenant Mallory pulled his weight. He helped out a lot hauling ammo and if it weren't for him, I guess we'd've had to leave the Nip. He'll live, by the way." He glowered. "On the other hand, Kaufman's a wonder. He ran around all day, gettin' in the way and tryin' to tell everybody what to do. Finally, Campeti got fed up. He handed him a four-inch shell and told him he could carry it to the number one gun or he'd cram it . . . down his trousers . . . and throw him over the side."

  Matt started to laugh, but the humor was replaced by anger at the selfimportant idiot who'd harassed his men during battle. He forced himself to maintain a placid expression but was shocked by how quickly his outrage flared. "What about the nurses? I heard one was killed."

  Gray nodded. He put his hands in his pockets, but quickly withdrew them. When he answered, his voice held genuine regret. "Yes, sir. She was a pretty thing too. Leslie Runnels, or Ranells, or something. She was helping Doc with Rodriguez when they got hit. Rodriguez'll be okay, though. The cut on his leg wasn't very big, but they nearly didn't get the bleeding stopped. Cut an artery, I guess." He was quiet a moment, but when he continued, he was shaking his head. "The shell that got Doc and the nurse couldn't'a missed Rodriguez by a foot. The other nurses took over and did just fine. Their lieutenant—Tucker's her name—just jumped right in. I looked in a time or two, bringin' guys in, mostly, and there she was, shells slammin' through the ship, smoke and blood all over the place . . . and her stitchin' and cuttin' and giving orders as calm as you please, and her no bigger'n a button. I don't know what we would've done without her.

  Would've lost more men for sure." He stopped. "They went through hell, though, all of 'em, and that's a fact. We had a lot of wounded—and them losin' one of their own . . ."

  "I'll have to thank her. Thank them all." Matt took a deep breath and let it out. "I have a rough idea of our casualties. I want the spe
cifics, names and such, when I take a report from each division. A lot of letters to write . . ."

  Courtney Bradford chose that moment to ascend the ladder and present himself. "I understand you need a pilot for these mysterious seas? Of course you do, and I'm just the fellow! The marine life around Menjangan is exquisite! Simply exquisite! There are no shallows, you know, just a sheer underwater cliff with all manner of fascinating creatures clinging precariously to it! Once I lowered a net and dragged it up the side and was amazed by what I found. Amazed!"

  "Yes, well," replied Matt, taken aback. "I'm afraid we won't have time for sightseeing. I'd forgotten, though. You said you were a naturist?"

  "Naturalist, actually. It's a hobby of mine. I planned to write a book one day." He shook his head wistfully. "This confounded war has certainly inconvenienced me, let me tell you!"

  "What exactly does a naturalist do?"

  "A naturalist, dear boy, is one who studies nature. It's a dreadfully inclusive term, but I'm a dreadfully inclusive naturalist. Most of us tend to have a specialty, but I have broader interests, shall we say. I'm not really an expert on anything, but I know a little about quite a lot. In fact, my book wasn't to be a treatise on any particular thing, per se, but more a general discussion of the various fauna of this region as a whole, don't you see? Of course."

  They'd moved into the pilothouse as they spoke, and the rest of the watch were surreptitiously straining to listen to the strange Australian.