At the Midway (70 page)

He broke the surface next to the ram.  The realization that he was so close to staying alive spurred his panic.  He reached for the fly screws on his helmet but could not get a grip.  A dark veil covered his vision.  He saw the ram an arm's length away.  Encumbered and nearly asphyxiated, he might as well have been facing a chasm, but he noticed the movements of the creature were causing the ship to swing at its anchor.  If he could time his move as the ram neared him....

There!
  He saw his moment and leapt.  Landing, he immediately began sliding down the deadly snub nose.  Sweet Jesus, he was underwater again!

His hands scooted down the slippery incline.  For an instant, he was terrified he would slip off the end.  But the ram leveled off and he was able to keep his hold.  Crawling towards the prow, he again broke the surface.  He slammed his faceplate against the upper slope of the ram.  After three tries, the glass shattered.

The cuts on his face were like blessed snowflakes.  He arched back, gasping deeply, as though trying to suck air off the horizon.  He was given a start when he saw a ghastly giant staring down on him.

It was the
Florida's
bronze figurehead.

His laughter was cut short when he saw the body.  What was left of the boatswain bobbed in the shadow of one of the sponsons.  Only then did Beck realize how much more dangerous it was standing out on the diving platform than it had been to dive.

0646 Hours

When Gilroy came topside and saw Midway in the distance all the stories he'd ever heard of men jumping ship on some exotic isle swam through his imagination.  In his haste he did not stop to consider the size of the refuge--that a handful of men could find him in less than a day, a full complement in less than an hour.  His delusion made miles out of sandy yards.  He could not wait to escape into the perceived hinterland.

What was that to starboard?

He went to the edge of the deck
-
-
and for the first time saw the beast.  It was twisting down, going eye
-
to
-
eye with Ensign Garrett on the barge.  Gilroy felt as if the top of his head was coming off.  Lord God, Lord Almighty, the golden scarab in the Almighty Flesh.

And there was the ensign
-
-
damn fool trying to stare God down.

There could be only one reason for God to be on earth.  Gilroy had no doubt of what would happen to him at the Second Coming.

He's come for me
.

Looking at the damage around him, the crushed casements, the scorched superstructure
-
-
and smelling the distinctive waft of death from the bodies still trapped
-
-
Gilroy realized the
Florida
could not stand up to the creature
.  Of course!  Who can stand up to God? 
He subdued the voice at the back of his mind. 
One cannot escape from God, either.

And there was his opportunity, right under his nose.  The landing platform was out.  Next to it was a small motor launch brought back by volunteers from Midway.  The two men inside were working on the engine with frantic haste, though there was more fumbling than finesse in their mechanics.  They were supposed to motor out and help transfer the cables from the barge.  Their nervousness was understandable.  On the landing stage were two other men holding ropes--as well as the remains of the three men who had tended the umbilicus and air pump engine that kept Beck alive.

Everyone else on the quarterdeck was preoccupied with events to starboard.  That left Gilroy with only a handful of husky sailors to overcome.

All unsuspecting.

The force that urged him was not opium, but withdrawal from opium.  His strength was sudden, unexpected.  He felt as though two halves of his being, long separated, had rejoined.  With wholeness came complete focus and utter concentration of purpose.  In his mind he was already jumping out of the launch and wading ashore, smooth cool clam shells massaging his bare feet, sand squeezing between his toes.  Only a few nonentities stood in his way.

He took up a monkey wrench left near a casement by a damage control team.  Dashing to the aft gangway, he raced down the grated steps.

"Is it coming back?" one of the men on the landing asked.

Gilroy's answer was a blow from the heavy wrench that caved in the young man's skull.  The other man on the stage made confused movements.  Although the air pump belt was broken, the generator continued to chug, the belt whipping loosely, the exhaust snarling puffs of smoke.  On the near side of the stage were two rifles.  Gilroy dropped the wrench and swooped one up before the bluejacket on the landing could reach him. The way he drew back the bolt, the sailor could tell he was not going to waste time with a warning.  As the gun came up, he leapt into the water.  When the men in the boat saw him swinging in their direction, they followed suit.

To Gilroy's elation, the launch's engine was idling smoothly.   Everything was falling into place.  He cast off and started the launch in a wide semicircle abaft the
Florida
.  He began to laugh.  Perhaps some men were destined to escape their fate.

0702 Hours

The creature continued to orbit the
Florida
, the tug and barges like a one-man tribe besieging a wagon train.  It was a bizarre, deadly
-
looking ritual that the serpent frequently interrupted, coming in to nudge the tug or the loose barge.

The barge on which Garrett was stranded floated sluggishly away from the
Florida
.  A few glimpses were caught of the ensign scrambling across the black hill of coal.  The barge might take a long time sinking.  Or it might suddenly plummet underwater.  Either way, Garrett's situation was desperate.  Twice the creature returned and nosed through the coal heap, as if reconsidering the ensign's palatability.  Soon after, Garrett vanished from sight.

Three-inch fire from the tug pestered the creature intermittently, but did not dissuade it from giving the
Iroquois
a few rough shoves.  Amos found it difficult enough handling the tug and its lopsided cargo.  Every time he eased close to the
Florida,
the serpent pressed its brow to the larboard beam and nudged it away.  Amos found it frightening--and fascinating.  It was as if the creature was treating the tug and loose barge and the battleship like bowling pins, setting them up in just the right way--so it could knock them down in a preferred order.  Its strength was amazing.  The spokes of the wheel were forced out of his hands again and again, though the creature seemed to be giving them no more than a tap.  At one point, he was thrown off the wheel so hard he was certain some of his hand bones were broken.

0713 Hours

Captain Oates was utterly mystified by the creature's behavior.  Not attacking, not retreating.  It was like the soul of a storm--on the verge of blowing itself out, then coming up again.  He watched it carefully, searching for method.

The creature paused next to the ship and studied an object floating on the water.  Oates focused his binoculars on it... and finally understood.

"Goddammit! 
Goddammit
!"

The junior officers nearest him jumped back, startled by the almost maniacal ferocity of the captain's rage.

"Our own
garbage
!  It's sniffing at us like a dog at a pail.  Goddammit!  Grissom!  Grissom!"

The first lieutenant cleared his throat.  "Aye, sir."

"Oh."  Oates swept the perspiration from his face with an angry hand.  "Notify the galleys: no more scraps over the side.  Nothing.  Not a bone, not a can."

"Does that include our dead, sir?"

Oates stared at him.

"Aye aye, sir."

Oates returned his attention to the tug and barge.  Breakfast scraps were strewn in their lee.  Whoever was piloting the tug was maneuvering the barge over rinds, bones, guts and whatever else was left over from the morning and the night before.  All unsuspecting, they had been chumming the sea.

"Can't you bring that fo'ard six-incher to bear?" he demanded of the ordnance officer.

One of the midshipmen on the wing spoke, but Oates did not hear him.  The creature had begun swinging towards the tug again
-
-
but broke off abruptly.  Its attention had been captured by the small motor launch speeding in the direction of the atoll.

"Who is that?" Oates demanded, unable to determine the man's rank through his binoculars.

"Sir!" said the OOD.  He had just received the report of Gilroy's murderous activity and his theft of the boat.

"Not now, man!" Oates watched as the creature made a great gliding turn and bore down on the launch; although it had already covered half the distance to the lagoon, the creature closed the distance rapidly.

"That poor, brave lad…" Oates murmured, certain the man was sacrificing himself so that the coal could be loaded.

The
Florida
shuddered as Amos nudged the barge against the collision mats lashed to her lee.

"Stand by for coaling!" Oates commanded.  "If we waste this opportunity, the ghost of that man will haunt us forever."

0718 Hours

When it became obvious that he could not out-race the creature, Gilroy swung about hard in an attempt to jink out of its path.

Suddenly, he heard laughter.  He jerked his head around, certain someone was coming up behind him.  But he was alone.

The creature dove only once.  For most of the brief chase its long neck was raised far out of the water, bobbing like a football player trying to tackle a running back.  There was an almost playful bounce to its maneuvers, as though it was happy to have such a lively target.  Before Gilroy could complete his turn, he was forced back towards the reef.

He was being corralled.

Again, the laughter.

"If there's someone back there, give me a hand!" the stoker screamed.

The laughter was only briefly interrupted.  When it resumed, Gilroy chanced another backward glance.  All he saw was the creature, looming thirty yards off his quarter, making a strange tweaky noise with each dip of its head.

Laughter
-
-
forward
!

"Ah!" Gilroy cried, finally cognizant of the source. "It
is
funny!"  He turned the wheel hard again, facing into the sun's golden scarab.  It was the revelation he found so humorous.  You did not know how stacked the game against God was until He came down
-
-
as a corporeal Being
-
-
to get you.  All of Gilroy's prayers were shouted back into his ears
-
-
and they were the funniest things Gilroy had ever heard.  He might as well have cursed the Almighty from the beginning, for all the good prayer had done him.  It made no difference.

The boat's wake was broken as the creature swept through on the turn.  For an instant Gilroy thought he might slip by its right flank.

The serpent abruptly jutted its head sideways, brushing his port beam and staving the gunwhale.  The engine gave a mechanical shout, flooded, choked, died.  Gilroy was flung over the wheel and nearly slid over the prow.  He clambered back just as the creature snapped at him.  The teeth clanged like a castle gate.  Gilroy cowered behind the motor housing in the center of the boat.  Water washed over the broken gunwhale and sucked around the housing. Leaning down, the creature nibbled at the varnished wood.  Then it hinged its jaws wide and plunged through the boat, taking half the boat and all of the man to the deepest crater of hell.

0721 Hours

With the barge secured to the
Florida
, the
Iroquois'
passengers climbed, rolled and slid their way over the coal to reach the nearest judas ladder.  Hamilton Hart stormed up, then waited impatiently for Singleton.

"Come on, man.  We still have the better part of a day.  If we can get enough men on this, we can finish before dark."

It was only a short distance to the deck, but the rungs had been twisted during the last attack.  Hart was compelled to reach down and help the doctor up the metal twirl.

"We have to see the captain," Singleton began as the first lieutenant approached them.  "Or Grissom."

"Lieutenant Grissom is dead.  I'm acting executive officer.  Captain Oates is quite busy at the moment.  So am I.  We have to get this coal loaded."  He shifted them to the side with a brusque sweep of his arm.

With desperate haste men jumped into the barge with handfuls of canvas sacks.  Once filled, they were loaded into the cargo net.  While the net was swung over the open cargo hatch, firemen in the hold began plying their rakes and trimmers.