Into the Storm (49 page)

Matt and Sandra remained at the celebration long enough to be polite, but the seep and other intoxicants flowed freely enough that they doubted their early departure was even noticed. It was the first time Matt had allowed the crew to really cut loose, and he was a little nervous about that. They’d been told to have a good time (they’d earned it), and there was much to celebrate. He just hoped they wouldn’t celebrate too hard. They’d destroyed two Grik ships and they were beginning to hate the Grik almost as much as the Japanese. The Mice found oil right where Bradford said they would and the Australian’s prestige soared. He was last seen sprawled, insensible, on a pillow with Nakja-Mur. The Mice had disappeared. Matt suspected they’d crept back aboard the ship, and he hated to tell them they were still needed at the well. Again he felt a thrill at the prospect of full bunkers. These long weeks he’d felt so helpless, unable to
do
anything, and he was haunted by the fact that, somewhere out there, was
Mahan
. With fuel, they might still save her. What haunted him more, however, was his battle with priorities, and his growing uncertainty over whether
Mahan
topped the list.

Intensely aware of each other’s presence, Matt and Sandra strolled quietly and companionably in the direction of the pier. When they reached it, the dock was empty, but it hadn’t been for long. A launch burbled slowly to the ship, filled with destroyermen in various states of animation. They were required to report aboard by 0100, and none were to remain ashore overnight. Dowden had gathered a few sober men and formed a “flying” shore patrol and was already sending those who’d become too rowdy back to the ship. He’d make sure they were all rounded up.

They stopped near the cleat where the Mice had been sitting, and Matt remembered to keep his distance. He still wore his sole surviving “dress” uniform. Some men in the launch began a song, and because of Sandra’s presence, he cringed when he recognized it. The words carried over the water even above the boat’s loud motor—it was plain the men were far more interested in volume than quality. The loudest voice sounded suspiciously like Lieutenant McFarlane:

“Nice night,” Matt said, lamely trying to distract Sandra from the chorus, but it was no use. It was the men’s favorite part and they always belted it out.

Matt glanced at Sandra, expecting to see her cover her mouth with her hand in shock or something, but instead she grinned.

Sandra did cover her mouth now, giggling. The boat was nearing the ship. There was no moon and in spite of her new, lighter shade, they only vaguely made out
Walker
’s form in the darkness. She seemed forlorn out there with no lights, and moored away from the dock like an outcast. The song’s last verse reached them with less vigor, as if the singers sensed the mood of loneliness as they came alongside. Or maybe now, after all they’d been through with the old four-stacker, they were less inclined to hurt her feelings. The last verse was more somber anyway.

“They’re fine men, Captain Reddy. Your crew,” Sandra said softly.

“Yes, they are.” He sighed. “And that makes it even harder.”

“What? Using them up?”

He looked at her, surprised, but nodded. “Yeah, and that’s what I’m doing. I’ve gotten them into a war I know nothing about.” He shook his head. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I know there wasn’t a choice. We haven’t had a choice since we went through the Squall. I’m not even complaining about that. However inconvenient it’s made our lives, it saved us. It’s just . . .” He couldn’t tell her how he felt. Especially couldn’t tell her about the doubts and nightmares and guilt he felt over
Mahan
. He’d made so many mistakes! And he definitely couldn’t tell her how he felt about her. He changed the subject.

“You came out on the old
Langley,
right?” She nodded. The
Langley
was America’s first real aircraft carrier. She’d been built on a merchant’s hull and had a goofy flight deck erected above the superstructure, earning her the nickname
Covered Wagon
. By modern standards, she looked very strange and was too small and slow to be considered a real carrier anymore, even before the war. She’d been transporting P-40s to Java when Japanese planes hammered her. She was helpless under the assault, and it was the most terrified Sandra had ever been—up to that time.

“We’d been on sweeps off Bawean Island, looking for the Jap invasion fleet for Java when we heard about
Langley
,” he said. “We were heading to Surabaya to refuel when Doorman turned us around.” Matt’s voice became a quiet monotone as he stared across the water at
Walker
’s silhouette. “The Japs
were
off Bawean. We’d just missed them. We took off so fast,
Pope
couldn’t catch us.” He grimaced. “Not that it made any difference. As soon as we cleared the mines, we came under air attack again and there was nothing we could do but take it. We had a total of eight fighters left, and the Dutch were saving them to use against the invasion as it landed.” He snorted. “Eight planes weren’t going to stop the invasion force, but they might’ve helped us find it, and kept the Jap planes off our backs.” He was silent for several moments before he continued. Sandra waited patiently, quietly.

“The Jap screen for the invasion convoy wasn’t much heavier than us, for once, but we had no air cover at all. The Japs corrected their fire with spotting planes throughout the battle. It was a hell of a thing to see, though. Cruisers aren’t battleships, but even cruisers look damned impressive steaming parallel, blasting away at each other. Of course all we could do was watch.” He took a deep, bitter breath.
“Exeter
got hit, and a few minutes later,
Kortenaer
took one of those big Jap torpedoes. She just blew up.
Edwards
was right on her tail and had to swerve. By the time we went past, she was upside down, folded in half. We didn’t see anybody in the water.

“
Electra
, one of the Brit destroyers, made a torpedo attack alone, to distract the Japs from finishing
Exeter
. She was flying the biggest flag I ever saw . . .” Taking off his hat, he passed his hand over his head and stared at the lights on the water, remembering. “I guess every Jap ship in the line concentrated on her. All we saw was waterspouts, then steam and smoke . . . then nothing.” He shook his head with sad amazement. “It was getting dark and I guess Doorman’d had enough. We charged in and launched torpedoes while the cruisers turned away, but nobody got a single hit.”

He shrugged. “We did break the Jap formation, though, and Doorman got away. You got to give him credit for guts. As soon as we gave them the slip, Doorman went looking for the transports again. We didn’t. We were out of torpedoes and nearly out of fuel, and our engines were finished after running thirty knots all through the fight. Binford ordered us back to Surabaya.”

The launch’s engine could be heard again as it shoved off to return to the dock and await another load.

“Doorman wasn’t an idiot. I didn’t like the way they put him in charge, but his biggest problem was he never knew what he was up against, never knew what he was facing or even where the enemy was. Now I know how he must’ve felt. We don’t
know
what we’re facing either, and like I said when we first helped
Big Sal . . .
” He stopped and looked at her. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad we did! These people, Keje, Adar, Chack, even Nakja-Mur, they’re good people. They’ve helped us and deserve our help in return. I just didn’t feel right getting the men involved in a war we know nothing about. The Grik are bad news, maybe even worse than the Japs. They need to be defeated and, however it happened, we’re here now, and we’ll never be safe until they are. We’ve had it pretty easy so far, but there has to be more to the Grik than these little two- or three-ship task forces. Somehow, we’ve got to find out!”

“How?”

He grinned at her. “I don’t know, but I’m working on it. Any ideas?”

Sandra smiled. She suddenly knew he would never have shown such vulnerability with anyone else on the ship. He wouldn’t have spoken of any of this. What did that mean? “What happened to Doorman?” she asked. Matt’s grin vanished.

“He ran into the Japs again that night.
DeRuyter
and
Java
were sunk.
Exeter
and
Encounter
made it back to Surabaya—where you came on the stage.
Houston
and
Perth
got slaughtered trying to make it through the Sunda Strait.”

“All because they didn’t know what they were up against.” She looked speculatively at the PBY floating nearby. “But now we have air cover and the enemy doesn’t.”

He followed her gaze. “Well, yeah, but unless we can make more fuel for it, it won’t be much help. That’s not out of the question, and we’re going to try. Mallory says it’ll burn gasoline, which we should be able to do, but it needs high-octane stuff. I don’t know squat about that, but Bradford does and as soon as we have a decent reserve for the ship, he’s going to try to sort it out.” He shrugged and looked at the Catalina like one might a worn-out horse, wondering if it had the stamina for a few more miles or not. “Of course, parts to keep it in the air are even more impossible than the things we need for the ship.”

“How much fuel does it have?” Sandra asked. “Enough to look for
Mahan
?”

When Matt answered, his voice was without inflection. It was a habit she’d noticed he used when he’d agonized over a decision and come to one he didn’t like. “Maybe. But fuel’s not really the issue. We tanked her up, and we have enough in drums on the ship to fill her again. But even if we had all the fuel in the world, I can’t send anyone up in that thing unless
Walker
’s close behind. Not unless I have to. Riggs thinks he can fix its radio, and that might make a difference. Until then, I won’t chance stranding somebody. It might also be different if we had some idea where
Mahan
is, but we don’t. ‘West of Sumatra’ a few weeks ago is too damn vague to risk men’s lives. For all we know, she’s sunk . . . or the Grik have her already.” He sighed. “My conscience tells me to chase her as soon as we have the fuel; she’s my responsibility. But
Walker
’s my responsibility too, and I won’t risk her on another wild-goose chase until we know the other team’s lineup.
Mahan
and our friends’ll have to wait—they’d understand.”

“Do Mr. Mallory and Mr. Brister understand?” she asked. “I know they’re pretty hot to look.”

He set his jaw. “It doesn’t matter if they understand. It’s my responsibility.”

“It does matter. They feel like they left them too. I think you should talk to them. Explain.” She hesitated, and bit her lip before she spoke again. “Weren’t you just criticizing the Dutch for being too timid with their planes?”

Matt smiled, acknowledging the hit, but shook his head. “It’s not the same. That plane is precious, beat up as it is. But I
will
risk it if I have to, and I’m pretty sure I will. But only in coordination with the ship. If I learned anything from Admiral Doorman—or the whole experience of the Asiatic Fleet—it was to never ride a tricycle in front of a steamroller with your eyes closed. Are the Grik a steamroller?” He shrugged. “The ’cats make ’em sound scary enough—and they are scary—but if all they have in the Java Sea is a dozen ships—” He grinned. “Ten now—maybe they’re the tricycle and we don’t have anything to worry about.” He held his fingers apart. “We were
that
close to maybe finding out today. Just a few gallons of fuel might have set our minds at ease. Now . . .” He paused. “Unlike Admiral Doorman, I don’t intend to chase shadows or hang ourselves out in the breeze until—” He stopped, and a strange expression crossed his face. “Until they come to us . . .” He grinned. “Or maybe I will!”

“What?”

“Just an idea. I’ll tell you later.” He gestured at the arriving launch, and one of the men clambered onto the dock. He seemed surprised to see the captain. “Are you ready to go back to the ship, Skipper?”

Matt glanced at Sandra. She shook her head.

“Not just yet.”

Another man climbed from the boat, cursing. It was Tony Scott, trying to get farther from the water—at least until the next load forced him to cross it again. The two destroyermen stayed discreetly out of earshot.

“You’re not using them up,” Sandra said in a quiet voice. “The men, I mean. The world—this world, the one we left—it doesn’t matter. The world uses them up despite anything you do. If you’re not careful, you
can
use yourself up. You love your men. They know it and so do I.” She looked up at him and, for a moment, he saw the lights of the city shining in her eyes. “And we all love you for it. That and other things.” He swallowed, trying to remain impassive. What did she mean by that?

“We love you because we know you’ll do whatever you can to keep us safe. But we also know we’re at war. No matter what else has changed, that hasn’t, and sometimes you have to risk the thing you love to keep it safe.” She nodded toward the ship. “They know that, and they know because you’re the man you are, you’ll risk them if you have to.” She sighed. “When we have fuel, we could just leave. We could go to the Philippines, or Australia. Maybe find fuel there. Eventually get to Hawaii, or even the West Coast. Maybe there aren’t any Grik there. Maybe there’s something just as bad, but what if there’s not? We’d be ‘safe,’ but what then? We
need
friends if we’re going to survive, and we’ve been lucky and made some. They happen to be in a fight for their lives. Besides being the best way to keep us safe, in the long run, helping them is the right thing to do. Your men understand that, Captain Reddy, and I bet if you put it to a vote, most would choose to stay. They know they might die. Life on a destroyer’s dangerous work. They could have died ‘back home’ any day of the week, a thousand different ways, before the war even started. So the best way you can ensure that most won’t die is to continue doing your job the best you know how. And when the time comes, fight your ship! Don’t worry about what you can’t control—just fight to win!” She grinned then, her small teeth flashing. “And quit feeling guilty for getting us into this mess! It was an accomplishment, not a failure!”