Maelstrom (41 page)

“So that’s it, then?” Letts asked skeptically. Alden looked speculative but didn’t reply. “Nothing at all?”

“Well, yes, actually,” said Courtney Bradford. He motioned to himself and Nakja-Mur. “What about us? What shall we do?”

Letts looked at him, surprised. “I just assumed you’d help in the hospital. The way you’re always dissecting stuff—you certainly know how to handle a knife.”

Bradford drew himself up. “My dear sir, as I’ve made no secret, I fancy myself something of a naturalist. It’s a hobby. I’ve a great deal of experience cutting things up, but virtually none putting them back together. Certainly you understand the difference? Of course you do!” He shook his head. “No, just give me a rifle—point me where you need me most, I say. Besides, my recent observations about Grik behavior might prove crucial.”

“Trust me, Mr. Bradford, everybody’s up on your ‘observations,’ ” Pete interrupted. “But no offense; if things get bad enough we need your one rifle, we’ll all be bugging out! I’ll give you a Krag—but I’d consider it a personal favor if you’d use it to help guard the hospital. I’m sure Captain Reddy would appreciate it as well. Will you put yourself at Lieutenant Tucker’s service?”

Bradford pursed his lips. “Well, if you insist on putting it like that . . .”

“That still leaves me,” said Nakja-Mur. “I’ve grown old and fat, but I was a warrior once. Not much of one, I admit. This is the first time in the memory of the Scrolls that Baalkpan has ever faced war, but I should be defending my people.”

“You are,” Letts assured him. “You’re leading your people, and your courage is an example to them, as well as us. Besides, I need you beside me throughout the battle. I may need your advice or skill at dealing with people. Also, if something happens to me, you’re the only one who can see the whole picture. You’ll have to step in as Captain Reddy’s chief of staff.”

“Very well,” Nakja-Mur said somberly. “I accept. I will watch you closely to know what to do if that unfortunate event comes to pass. I pray it does not.”

“Me too,” Alan Letts fervently agreed.

One by one, Sandra, Bradford, and finally Nakja-Mur left the balcony to continue their preparations. Only Shinya and Alden remained. Pete suspected Tamatsu had been waiting to talk to him alone.

“I will be honored to command the independent force,” he said at last, “but I wanted you to know I have been engaged in a struggle of . . . honor.”

“I know,” Alden said simply. “Adar told me.”

Shinya looked surprised. “And yet you still trust me to do this thing?”

“Sure. Otherwise I wouldn’t have brought it up. Why, don’t you trust yourself?”

Tamatsu only shook his head in amazement. “You Americans. You assume a great deal. Even I didn’t know, until a few moments ago, which side of the struggle would prevail. And yet you had no doubts?”

“Nope.” Alden sighed. “Look, you said whatever was eating you was a matter of honor, right? I know you pretty well by now, I think. The honorable thing to do in this situation is pretty clear—as long as you’re not going to commit Harry-Carry.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Shinya’s face, but he shook his head. “It isn’t that simple. I gave Captain Reddy my parole, and I’ve since engaged in numerous activities for the common good, I think. That wasn’t inconsistent with my concept of honor. This . . .” He paused. “This is different. If I continue to help you, even to the extent of aiding you against my own people, I will be committing treason in their eyes—and mine. Whatever the reason, and wherever we are, my people and yours are at war, Sergeant Alden.” He took off his hat and scratched his short hair. “However . . .” He stopped again. “Such an interesting word, don’t you think? ‘However.’ I wonder if it was ever intended to be so vague, yet so profound at the same time,” he mused darkly. “However, for whatever reason,
Amagi
’s commander supports the side of purest evil in this war. There can be no honorable explanation for that. On its face, that would seem to make my decision simpler, yet it does not. My people do not have the freedom to choose which policies of our government we will support. As far as
Amagi
’s crew are concerned, ordinary seamen and junior officers—men like me—
Amagi
’s commanding officer is the direct representative of the emperor. Whatever has befallen them, they will follow him because of that, whether or not they believe he is right.” He searched Alden’s face for understanding. “You see it as misplaced obedience to a corrupt commander, and perhaps it is. But to my people, a commander’s dishonor does not reflect upon those under his command, as long as they follow his orders. Regardless of the commander’s motive, obeying him is the honorable thing for
them
to do. Do you see now why I have had such difficulty with this decision? Through their captain, the crew of
Amagi
have become tools of the Grik. Through their honorable service, they are assisting in the commission of evil. That’s the most tragic irony of all.

“So you see, I have not been agonizing over which side is in the right; even from my different perspective, that is obvious. The decision I faced was whether to revert to my status of noncombatant parolee, or openly betray my people, whose honor has already been betrayed by their leader.” He took a deep breath. “I have made that decision. Perhaps my long association with Americans has corrupted me, but I begin to see that blind obedience to a dishonorable command can’t obviate the final, greatest responsibility of honor: to do the right thing. I grieve for my countrymen who have not realized that yet, but I cannot stand idly by.”

“You Japs are so weird,” Alden said quietly. “No offense. What made you make up your mind?”

Shinya considered. “First, it was my realization that, if the roles were reversed, and
Walker
had somehow come into association with the Grik, Captain Reddy would never have aided them as
Amagi
has. If he tried, the crew wouldn’t have supported him. The way the crew of
Mahan
finally decided they could no longer support Captain Kaufman, regardless of rank, is a good example. Then, when King Alcas ordered the surprise attack on
Walker
that killed Mr. Donaghey, Captain Reddy hanged the saboteurs. I saw no injustice there. They were only following orders, but to do such a thing while negotiations were underway—and after we saved them from the Grik—collective guilt couldn’t fail to stain the perpetrators.”

Alden nodded. “Now you know why we were so mad about Pearl Harbor.”

Shinya grimaced. “Perhaps.” He looked out over the wind-ruffled bay. In the far distance was
Mahan
’s battered outline. The low-lying barges and toiling men and Lemurians were barely visible. Preparing.

“In any event, as I said, I will be honored to command the independent force, if you still desire it. The duty will be heavy, should I face my countrymen. I cannot deny that. But it is also, clearly, my duty.” He paused. “As it is my duty to ask for the Second instead of the First Marines. You will need the riflemen as a reserve, whereas if I have to fight, it will be the shield wall and spears.”

“All right,” Pete agreed, “and you’re right. Just remember your promise not to gut yourself if anything goes wrong.” They shared another small smile. “You know what you’re supposed to do. If things get too hairy, pull back to Fort Atkinson or the Baalkpan wall.” He shrugged. “They may not put anyone ashore there at all; flank attacks don’t seem their style. We rolled up their flanks time and again on B’mbaado, and it always took them by surprise. That stuff Mallory said about Tjilatjap keeps coming back to me, though, so keep your eyes peeled.”

The sun was near the jungle horizon when the last cluster of barrels went into the dappled sea. As powerful as he was, Silva hurt all over from the backbreaking chore of manhandling the heavy depth charges. He tried to use his grimy T-shirt to wipe the burning sweat from his eyes, but the shirt was so soaked it only made it worse. He glanced at the mouth of the bay. He was surprised
Walker
hadn’t returned and was struck by the irony of that. On the world they came from, she’d been an insignificant, expendable asset, a relic of an almost ancient war—in terms of technological advancement. She hadn’t been in the same league with her smallest modern counterparts in the Japanese Navy. Most of her sisters weren’t even frontline warships anymore; they’d been converted to seaplane or submarine tenders, minelayers, transports, even damage-control hulks. . . . Now Dennis was surprised she wasn’t already back from facing maybe a hundred enemy ships, with only three sailing frigates to assist her. Nobody else seemed to think it was a big deal either, and he guessed that was really more of a testament to their faith in her captain than the dilapidated ship herself. Still . . .

Several times during the afternoon, they thought they heard the faint booming of
Walker
’s guns, and duller, rippling broadsides of muzzle-loading cannon. Maybe not. The wind was wrong, and the fighting had to be closer than they’d expected if it was so, but regardless,
Walker
and her little fleet were doing their job: buying the time they needed to finish their little surprise.

He looked at the evidence of their hard day’s work. Across the lightly choppy water, hundreds of clustered barrels bobbed from the shallows on one side of the channel to the other. Some supported a deadly cargo. Beyond the barrels, and even mixed with them where they could, they’d set the posts supporting even more explosives. The minefield looked more impressive than it was, and the first storm that came along would carry it away. Eventually the barrels would leak and the depth charges would sink and detonate without warning. That was one of the main reasons they’d waited so long to prepare the “surprise”; so it would be fresh and ready when the enemy came. He noticed there was a kind of vague pattern to the floating shapes, and it occurred to him the pattern was broken along the side of the channel they were on. It’d be obvious to anybody—especially some Jap lookout in
Amagi
’s top—there was a free pass right through the minefield. The other side looked tight, but that was where they’d deliberately set most of the dummies so
Walker
and the frigates would have a safe path to return. He looked tiredly around. There were still ten depth charges left, but all the barrels on the barges were gone.

“Hey, Bosun,” he said, getting Gray’s attention. “I think we missed a spot.” Before Gray could answer, a growing, clattering drone approached from the southwest. Looking up, they saw the abbreviated outline of the PBY. “Coming back,” Silva muttered. “I wonder how far behind our ship is?”

Another drone was approaching. He looked toward
Mahan
, loitering a safe distance from the semicircle the barges had formed, and saw a launch drawing near. A few minutes later it bumped alongside, and Lieutenant Sandison hopped onto the barge carrying a large, canvas-wrapped object in his hands.

“Is this the last of them?” he asked.

“Yes sir,” Gray replied.

“All right. I want you to set them all for, oh, say, a hundred and fifty feet; then we’ll tie a cable off to one and put it over the side.”

“One fifty?” Gray asked, surprised.

“You heard me.”

“But the water here’s only about eighty feet deep.”

“I know. Trust me; you’re going to like it.” Securing one end of the rope to the barge, they dropped the depth charge attached to the other over the side.

“Now,” Sandison instructed, “rig all the rest to slide down the rope so they’ll rest together on the bottom. All except one. Chief? I might need your help with this. I’m a torpedo guy, after all.”

“Well, I ain’t no depth-charge man,” Gray growled. “We ought to have Campeti.” He paused, pointing, while Sandison unwrapped his object. “What the hell’s that?”

“It
used
to be a MK-6, magnetic torpedo exploder. It’s the one we took out of that fish we put in
Amagi
—the one that went off. We worked it over, and now it’s been redesignated the Silly Six, Sandison Surprise.”

“Silly’s right. What the hell’s it good for?”

“Well, as you can see, there’ve been a few modifications.” He held it up. “First, the contact-exploder mechanism has been entirely removed—leaving just the magnetic trip mechanism . . .”

“Okay.”

“. . . which is now just a glorified magnetic switch.” There was a loud splash behind them as another depth charge rolled over the side. Half a dozen men and Lemurians held the rope taut as it sank. “I will next put the switch back in this waterproof shell canister, with the battle-lantern battery for company. . . .”

“I’ll be damned!” Gray muttered, realization dawning.

“Almost certainly,” Sandison agreed. “You’ll see there’re two long wires trailing out of the canister? I want the canister secured tightly to a rope by its handles, the other end of the rope wrapped around the depth charge. Make the distance about sixty-five feet. When you do that, we’ll wrap these two wires around the cable—loosely, with lots of slack—until we get to the charge.”

“But how are we going to set it off?” Gray asked. “If we try to run those wires in through the hydrostatic fuse, the damn thing’ll leak.”

Sheepishly, Bernie fished a hand grenade from his pocket. Two more wires ran out of the top where the fuse had been, and it was carefully sealed around them. “I got this from Reavis. He had the duty.”

“Why that little . . . !” Silva began, gasping from exertion.

“Don’t be too hard on him, Dennis. Spanky gave me a note.”

Gray just shook his head. Another heavy splash. “So,” he said, pointing to another object. “What’s that? It looks like a big-ass cork.”

Sandison nodded. “It’s a float for a Lemurian fishing net. Buoyant as hell. I can’t remember what they call it; ask one of your guys.” He gestured around. “Whatever it is, I think it’s ’Cat for ‘big-ass cork.’ It’ll hold our trigger up.”

Gray stared, hands on his hips. “You know? If that crazy gizmo works, it’ll probably be the first time in the history of the war against the Japs one of those magnetic bastards did anything right.”