Rising Tides

CHAPTER 10

North of Tjilatjap (Chill-chaap)

“ Lawsy, what a creepy place,” Isak Rueben mumbled softly.

“You said it,” Gilbert Yeager agreed. “Gave me the willies when I was here the first time. Didn’t’spect ’em ta send me back.”

“We need you,” Major Benjamin Mallory called back from the front of the boat. “You and a couple of the Marines are the only ones who’ve been here before.”

“So I’m kinda a guide?” Gilbert asked.

“That, and our resident expert on conditions at the site,” Mallory replied.

“That mean you’ll take my advice?”

Mallory paused before answering. Gilbert and Isak, both of Walker ’s “original Mice,” were capable of some of the most… unusual… thought processes he’d ever encountered. “Within reason,” he said at last.

“Then keep yer damn voice down… sir,” Gilbert hissed. “They’s some nasty boogers in this here water!”

Mallory nodded. He would try. The problem was, he was so excited he could barely contain himself. Ever since Mr. Ellis and his expedition discovered the wreck of the Santa Catalina in this swampy estuary north of Tjilatjap, or “Chill-chaap,” he’d been so anxious to salvage her-and especially her miraculous cargo-that sometimes he thought he’d burst. In his excitement he’d mentally dismissed or disregarded the dire warnings of Ellis and Chack. They’d been very specific about the terrible nature of the few threats they’d actually encountered. Both were certain that other, possibly more dangerous creatures lurked in and around the wreck. Gilbert was certain of it too, and he took every opportunity to remind anyone who’d listen.

Mallory looked around, taking in the water, the shoreline, and the dense jungle that bordered it as his large steam-powered flat-bottomed barge towed several other heavily laden barges upstream. The jungle did look spooky, and he noticed several big swirls in the murky black water as they proceeded. Other than that, however, it was an unusually beautiful day. Even the humidity wasn’t quite as oppressive as usual. Lizard birds and other flying creatures capered ceaselessly above, defecating all over everything and everyone, but that happened everywhere he went. Despite all the warnings, he just couldn’t summon enough anxiety to displace his eagerness to get there and get started.

He did recognize the possibility that he was being just a tad rash, and perhaps even irresponsible, but everyone-Adar, Letts, Ellis, even Captain Reddy-knew he would be. That was why he wasn’t in charge! Lieutenant Commander Russ Chapelle was in overall command of the expedition, and it was his job to do all the worrying. That suited Mallory just fine. He had a specific, important job, and the less he had to worry about other things, the better. He knew he’d have to take care, though; he had quite a few people under his personal direction and enough of the warnings had seeped past his enthusiasm for him to recognize that Santa Catalina and her environs were a dangerous place.

Russ Chapelle stood beside Mallory in the lead barge. USS Tolson was his first command, and leading this expedition was his first truly independent mission. For a former torpedoman aboard USS Mahan, he had a lot of responsibility heaped upon him. It may have seemed odd to those who didn’t know him, but while he was highly conscious of the responsibility, it didn’t really worry him that much. In an infant but growing Navy that had already seen so much desperate action, he’d seen more than his share on land and sea. He’d earned a level of confidence in himself that comes only with experience. He knew some people often compared him to Silva, and the thought amused him. He liked Silva, and he did have a lot in common with the maniacal gunner’s mate. There was a profound difference, however. Whereas Silva had learned little from his own vast experience except how to be a better warrior, a better killer, Chapelle had learned to temper his boldness with caution. On a steamy, bloody, chaotic night, not yet a year ago, Russ Chapelle had learned that the reaper wouldn’t take IOUs forever. Despite all his injuries, Silva still hadn’t figured that out.

In any event, Chapelle was fully aware of the dangers the expedition faced, and he was mentally prepared for other things as well, even worse than they knew about. Chill-chaap had once been a thriving city, much like Baalkpan, before the Grik came and literally exterminated it. According to Keje and many of the other ’Cats he’d spoken to who’d once traded there, even less was known about the jungle surrounding Chill-chaap than was known about the area around Baalkpan. Doubtless there’d been Hunters, like the one Silva called Moe, who’d agreed to accompany them here, but to the land folk who once inhabited the city, the jungle beyond it was a mystery. Now, only about two years after Chill-chaap was sacked by the Grik, the insatiable jungle had reclaimed it. The dwellings were covered with greenery and the pathways were impenetrably choked with vines and briars. No one could live there now without burning the entire area to the ground and starting over from scratch. He knew how hard the people of Baalkpan worked to keep the jungle at bay, how difficult it was for them to maintain the open killing field beyond the ramparts. He had a sudden mental image of what Baalkpan would look like now if they’d lost the great battle there. It wouldn’t be as bad as Chill-chaap had become-yet-but within a few years it would be impossible to tell it ever existed.

He frowned. That reminded him of something else that was bothering him. As soon as the discovery of the ship had been reported, a small contingent of Sularan troops was immediately dispatched to the ruined city. They’d landed with a pair of heavy guns, their only duty being to keep an eye on the river mouth and drive away any snooping Grik ships that came nosing around. They were to remain concealed and not reveal themselves to any passersby, and only fire on anything that tried to enter the river itself. They hadn’t been on station very long, a little over a month perhaps, and a Navy ship had resupplied them just a couple of weeks before. Yet when Tolson arrived accompanying Mallory’s flotilla, after they rendezvoused east of the Bali Strait, there was no sign of the Sularans. Their guns remained, strategically placed but with vines already crawling up the carriages. A few things had been found lying about-a sword, the implements for the guns, a few personal items. That was it. He couldn’t believe the Grik had taken them. The guns had not been fired; their bores were clean. The powder kegs and shot crates were scattered and broken, but nothing had been taken. Most telling of all, if the Grik had come, they certainly wouldn’t have left the guns. The loss of the Sularans was a tragedy, but the mystery of what became of them loomed menacingly over the entire expedition.

“We’re gonna be openin’ the lake purty soon,” Gilbert warned. “Maybe you’ll get to see some o’ them big-ass duck critters!”

“What duck critters?” Dean Laney demanded grumpily, showing some mild interest for the first time since he’d set foot on the barge. The big machinist’s mate was still angry about being sent on the mission in the first place. He’d had a cushy berth back in Baalkpan, running one of the machine fabrication factories, but Laney’s biggest problem was that he was universally considered a jerk. He’d lorded it over the ’Cats in his division to such an extent that, war and all, there’d nearly been a strike. Adar and Letts hoped if they got him back aboard a ship, back within a recognized Naval hierarchy, he might settle down. He was too distracting to keep around and too useful to shoot. The scheme had worked-a little. He wasn’t throwing his weight around quite as much, but he was bitter about being equal to or outranked by men and ’Cats he’d once had under his thumb.

Gilbert stood up, pointing. “Them ones, over there! See? Hey! Mr. Chapelle, we might wanna either speed this tub up or slow it down. I don’t know which. There’s some critter here in this water that eats them things!”

They were all looking at the “ducks” now. They were huge, goofylooking things, maybe as big as a giraffe. Gilbert knew their legs were about as long as what was visible above water. A couple had reddish wattles dangling from their very ducklike bills and bluish crests on their heads. Most were a mottled brown all over, not unlike the drowned trees and other vegetation protruding from the surface of the widening swampy lake. Still several hundred yards away, the entire herd or flock or whatever it was looked directly at them, their long necks stretched out like turkeys trying to get a better view, heads bobbing almost comically from side to side. Most of the men and ’Cats on the barges were doing the same.

“I guess we should slow down,” Gilbert decided. “Last time, the thing that got one didn’t make its move until after we scared the ducks and they took to hurryin’ off.”

“Very well,” Chapelle agreed, and nodded at Bosun’s Mate Saama-Kera at the throttle. The black and white Lemurian, unavoidably known as “Sammy” now, tightened the valve with an “Ayy, ayy, sur,” and the train of barges began to slow. “How much farther to the wreck?” Russ asked.

“Yeah, where is she?” demanded Mallory anxiously.

Gilbert was flustered. He’d only recently begun Talking to officers. Having them ask him for guidance was utterly beyond his experience. He retreated a step and looked at Isak, who wore a face that seemed to say, “No good’ll ever come of puttin’ yerself forward.” Of course, it was too late for that advice. Besides, he suddenly realized he’d just now provided guidance without even thinking about it when he suggested they slow down… and they had! “Uh,” he managed, “we was a little further along when Mr. Ellis asked that damned Rasik that very thing… sirs. The ship was almost growed to the west bank, yonder, maybe a little around that bend.” He stared hard for a moment, concentrating, trying to recall. “As a matter o’ fact, I don’t remember that there bend. I b’leeve the jungle’s growed out an’ plumb gobbled up the ship!”

Gilbert was right. The closer the barges chugged to the “point,” the clearer it became that the jungle had indeed engulfed Santa Catalina. They caught occasional glimpses of rusty iron, and even a vine-wrapped cargo boom was identified, jutting from the mass. Only near the waterline were the old hull plates somewhat visible. The vines grew down to within a few feet of the water and abruptly stopped, as if something in or on the water fed on them, keeping them trimmed as high as they could reach, like trees in a goat pasture. Then again, maybe the vines couldn’t abide salty water. This lake had obviously once been smaller-and fresh-until something, an earthquake or a flood, caused a break into the estuary. Now the tide rolled in, poisoning the rotting stumps that lined a much smaller beach.

Laney was peering over the side into the brackish water as they neared the old freighter. “What about flashies?” he asked, suddenly nervous. He had a right to be. One of the few truly heroic deeds Dean Laney could claim was his work to replace Walker ’s screw with one of Mahan ’s. The dreaded flasher fish had nearly beaten him to death even through a sail they rigged to protect him.

“Cain’t be many of ’em,” Isak said with just a trace of sarcasm in his reedy voice. “I don’t think them duck-o-saurs’d just wade off in amongst’em. Maybe the water ain’t salty enough for ’em.” He grinned. “Or maybe whatever eats duck-o-saurs cleaned ’em out! Glad I ain’t a diver!”

“God damn you, Isak!” Laney snarled. “I guess we’ll find out when I tie a line around your scrawny neck and throw you in to see what eats you!”

“Silence on the barge!” Chapelle growled. “I’ll decide who gets eaten around here!” He made sure Ben Mallory wasn’t paying any attention. The Army aviator was fixated on the ship ahead. He looked at Laney and lowered his voice. “I may be an ‘officer’ now, with my own ship and everything, but except for Mr. Mallory, every human on this trip is a ‘chief ’ now. Whether they’re new chiefs or ex-chiefs, it makes no difference. You know what that means. If you’ve forgotten, you better remember right quick. There’s rules, Laney, and you’ve been on the edge of breaking one of the most important ones for a long time! Why do you think you’re here? Real officers have fancy words for it, but I call it the ‘everybody hates his guts and wants him dead’ rule. Officers have fancy charges, sentences, and lots of different punishments for it too. Chiefs only have one. Do I make myself clear?”

Laney gulped and Chapelle raised his voice just a little so the nearby’Cats could hear as well. “That reminds me. A lot of you guys are ‘new,’ and don’t know what a real hero Major Mallory is. You’re Navy… men. Destroyermen and Marines. You make fun of the Allied armies, and that’s fine. They make fun of you. That’s the way it works. But as we go aboard that ship, remember we’re all here for Major Mallory. Our reason for being here is the cargo on that ship, and that cargo belongs to him. Is that understood? He may not be ‘Navy,’ but he’s the ‘Air Minister,’ and that means he even commands the Naval Aviators, God save us. In fact, they’re the Naval Air Corps now. That means even though I command this expedition, he outranks the hell out of me.” Russ paused and glanced at Ben. He was surprised to see the flier looking back at him. He hadn’t realized he’d been talking that loud.

“Thanks, Captain Chapelle. No need to puff me up in front of the fellas, though. I’m sure we’re all here for the same reason. To win the war.” He gestured up at the ship that now loomed above them, dripping vines like a vast green waterfall. “It’s been kind of a secret, I guess. Mr. Ellis tried to keep it one for a while. I don’t know how many of you have heard, but this old ship, out here in the middle of this crummy place, might just help us win the whole damn war.”

The steam barge pulled the others as close alongside the ship as possible. Gilbert could tell there was no way they could board on the side closest to the shore as they’d done previously, and he said so. The jungle had already taken a hold on the ship to a remarkable degree when he’d last seen it, but he was amazed by how much worse it was now.

“The Marines will go first,” Chapelle said to Lieutenant Bekiaa-Sab-At on the next barge. Bekiaa was originally from Big Sal ’s forewing clan and was yet another one of Chack’s many cousins. She was brindled like her relatives and had trained under Risa. She wasn’t as

… freespirited… as Risa, but she’d seen action at the Baalkpan docks at the height of that terrible battle.

“Be careful,” Gilbert warned. “There was some sort of Marine-eatin’ booger in the aft hold.” He gestured up at the tangled mess. “No tellin’ what’s moved in since.”

“Charlie Company!” Bekiaa called to the Marines on the second and third barges. “Prepare to grapple!” She waited briefly while the thirtyodd ’Cats that had accompanied them from the ship prepared. “Execute!” Heavy treble hooklike implements arced upward, trailing stout lines, and disappeared into the foliage. Raucous, indignant cries filled the air as flocks of lizard birds exploded from the mass and swirled above them, along with a cloud of flying insects. Most of the hooks caught something when they were pulled taut, and after heaving the barges closer, the Marines scampered up the lines. Many had to hack their way through and over the bulwark to the deck, but when a sufficient number had managed the feat and there’d been no cry of alarm, Bekiaa grabbed a dangling rope and scurried up after her troops.

Chapelle grinned at Ben Mallory. “Now we just wait a little while for them to check things out. It won’t be long before you can kiss your prizes!”

Something big jostled the barge from below, spilling the men and’Cats to the deck.

“Whoa there!” chirped Isak, grabbing for the bulwark. The barge tilted and creaked as whatever it was slowly scraped along its bottom. All the men had Springfields and a couple of the ’Cats had Krags. All went for them at once, snatching them up or unslinging them from their shoulders.

“Goddamn!” bellowed Laney. “It’s one o’ them pleezy-sores!”

The barge righted and something cruised away from it, rough, pebbly back, streaming water. There were big swirls alongside like it had very large flippers, or maybe feet like an alligator. An extremely long tail slithered through the water behind it, probably providing most of the propulsion.

“What is that thing?” Mallory asked. Already, seven rifles and a pistol were aimed at it. Moe, the Lemurian Hunter, had his massive crossbow leveled at the beast. “It’s too damn big to be a croc… Isn’t it?”

“Hold your fire!” Chapelle ordered. “We might just piss it off. Maybe it’ll leave us alone.”

“Nothin’ ever leaves us alone,” Gilbert predicted darkly.

“It come back!” Moe exclaimed.

“What is happening?” Bekiaa shouted from above.

“There’s some big beastie down here, Lieutenant!” Chapelle replied. “You stay right where you are!”

The creature described a long, leisurely arc, settling on a heading that would bring it back to the barge. It didn’t accelerate or anything, so maybe it was just curious. Of course, they could see only a small fraction of its mass and they already knew it was big enough to overturn the barge. Its curiosity might kill them. ’Cats on the other barges had clustered near the middle, clinging to the heavy machinery, tool crates, and supplies. The few Marines who’d remained behind aimed muskets at the thing as it approached. It slowed.

“Ugly devil,” Laney said.

The head was fairly clear now and it didn’t look like a croc. It was huge, about four feet wide and maybe seven feet long, but it was broader and more rounded and there were no grotesque, interlocking teeth. The eyes, while mounted like a croc’s, were even larger in proportion to its body and possessed an almost mesmerizing, alluring quality. If Courtney Bradford had been there, he would have been fascinated, but he also would have told them that the shape of the head was cause for greater concern than any crocodile.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” Mallory said.

With an erupting spray of water, something pink, shiny, and rather bulbous darted from the creature’s suddenly gaping mouth and slammed into Sammy, knocking him back against the hot, exposed boiler. Just as quickly, the ’Cat was jerked toward the bulwark. He hadn’t even had a chance to cry out. For an instant, everyone was too stunned to react-everyone but Moe. The powerful old Lemurian dropped his crossbow and clamped onto Sammy’s legs. The blur of motion slowed just enough for the others to see what was happening. Sammy was still sliding toward the open mouth, with Moe along for the ride, but now realization had dawned.

“Shoot it!” Russ yelled. Seven rifles cracked almost together and Ben’s pistol barked quickly, filling the sudden silence while the others worked their bolts. Muskets roared from the other barges and heavy lead balls slapped into the monster’s body while the riflemen fired another volley into the thing’s head. Both its eyes were reduced to spattered, gelatinous orbs, and white bone glared around a ragged, bloody gash between them. It started to convulse.

“Grab Moe!” Russ shouted, and Isak and Gilbert dove on the ’Cat. The creature in the water jerked backward and began to flop and roll. Sammy shrieked in agony as the massive “tongue” was torn away, leaving his entire arm and shoulder naked of fur. The terrible beast continued to flail with wild, mindless abandon, sometimes lunging almost entirely out of the water and drenching the barges when it splashed back down. Once, its whipping tail nearly swept the Marines in the second barge over the side, but eventually the convulsions ebbed. Finally, the mighty lake monster floated still, the brackish water around it turning black with blood under the afternoon overcast.

Bekiaa’s corpsman had crossed from the adjacent barge and was tending Sammy’s wound. A lot of skin had come off with the fur.

“You okay, Moe?” Gilbert asked.

“Swell,” the nearly toothless ’Cat replied, using the term he’d heard Silva use so often. It sounded strange coming from him.

“Well, you done good,” Gilbert said. “You know, I bet that was the booger that got Chack’s Marine in the aft hold of the ship! Chackie said he was there one second, standin’ on some ammo crates to stay outta the water and then”-he snapped his fingers-“pop! He was gone.”

“Stands to reason,” Chapelle replied. “If it wasn’t the same one, it was probably something like it. That thing was damn big, though. I hate to think there’s a hole in the ship big enough for it to come and go.”

“Maybe it growed some since then,” Isak said hopefully.

“There not be many monsters like that, big as that, ’round here,” Moe said judiciously. “Be like too many super lizards in one place. I bet they no agree so well. We git off boats quick now, though. Bloody water, big food, other things come soon, I bet too.”