ANDERSON, TAYLOR - Crusade

Theoretically, no one was really in charge of Courtney Bradford. Since the Australian engineer was a civilian, his status was somewhat vague and had been allowed to remain that way because he worked well without constraint. Before the Japanese attacked, he’d been an upper-level engineering consultant for Royal Dutch Shell. That occupation allowed him to pursue his true passion: the study of the birds and animals of the Dutch East Indies. Also because of that occupation, however, stuffed in his briefcase when he evacuated Surabaya aboard Walker were maps that showed practically every major oil deposit Shell had ever found in the entire region. There’d been some skepticism that the same oil existed on this earth as the other, but after the success of their first well—exactly where Courtney told them to drill—they were all believers now.

“Of course. Good morning.”

“Good morning to you, I’m sure,” Bradford replied, stepping on the bridge. Sandra just smiled at him. Matt gestured through the windows at the landmass ahead, becoming more distinct.

“Almost home,” he said, with only a trace of irony.

“Indeed,” agreed Bradford, removing his battered straw hat and massaging his sweaty scalp. It was still early morning, but almost eighty degrees. Matt had noticed, however, that Courtney usually did that when he was upset or concerned. “I’ve been studying that map you gave me. The one that was apparently drawn by the Grik captain himself, not the navigational charts with all their incomprehensible references . . .” Matt nodded. Even though the Grik charts were disconcertingly easy for him to read, since much was, horrifyingly, written in English, Matt knew which map Courtney meant. It was just a drawing, really, that basically depicted the “Known World” as far as the Grik were concerned. It showed rough approximations of enemy cities and concentrations, and it also showed much of what the enemy knew of this part of the world—the part that should be the Dutch East Indies. It was much like what one would expect of a map showing “this we hold; this we want.” The farther east it went, the vaguer it became, but Java, Sumatra, and Singapore were depressingly detailed and accurate. There were also tree symbols that represented known cities of the People, and many of those had been smeared with a blot that looked like blood, symbolizing, they believed, that a battle had been fought there. Currently, there was no tree symbol at Baalkpan, but there were two others that didn’t have smears beside them. One was near Perth, Australia, and the other was at Surabaya, or “Aryaal,” as the locals there called it. The map also depicted a massive force growing near Ceylon and Singapore too, which was believed to be their most forward and tenuous outpost.

“Captain, since only Perth and Surabaya appear on the enemy map, we can only assume the next blow will fall on one or both of those places. I’d bank on Surabaya myself. I’m no strategist, but it seems to me, judging by the dispositions on the map, the Grik are planning a major of’s Mate Chack was escorting one of the ‘prisoners’ we rescued from the Grik . . . larder.” Everyone, even Matt, flinched at the memory of that. The creatures had been emaciated and, for the most part, wildly insane. “One of the prisoners was known to him, and delivering him aboard Big Sal was a highly personal act and one that, had I known he was doing it, I certainly would have approved.” He looked at Chack. “The accused pleads guilty, but under extenuating circumstances that include not only family but foreign relations.” Matt had to smile at Gray’s imaginative defense, but his own memory of the event was not amusing. The prisoner Chack escorted was none other than Saak-Fas, the mate of Keje-Fris-Ar’s daughter, Selass. He’d disappeared in battle with the Grik many months before and was considered lost. In the meantime, Selass had developed a desperate love for Chack and had expected him to answer her proposal to mate, after the battle. The scene when he returned her mad, barely living mate to her, a mate she’d never really loved, was heartrending.

“In view of the ‘extenuating circumstances,’ the first charge against Bosun’s Mate Chack-Sab-At is dismissed,” Matt declared. “Mr. Garrett? Have you anything to say on Gunner’s Mate Silva’s behalf?”

Garrett looked at the big, grinning man and took an exasperated breath. “Guilty, sir. His only defense is that some other fellas did it too.”

“Unacceptable. Mr. Dowden?”

“Uh, the next charge is that both the accused became involved in, well, a brawl, sir, and not only were they at the center of the brawl but they started it by striking one another.”

Matt sighed. “I won’t even ask who started it. I know I won’t get a straight answer. Besides, I have a pretty good idea. If I’m not very much mistaken, I expect Chack threw the first punch—”

“He pulled my tail!” Chack interrupted, seething indignantly.

“Did not! I was just holdin’ it. You did all the pullin’!”

“Silence!” Matt bellowed. “Trust me, you both would really rather keep your mouths shut and handle this my way! Silva, your unnatural and hopefully pretend ‘relationship’ with Chack’s sister, Risa, was all very shocking and amusing . . . at first. It’s now not only an embarrassment to this ship but a constant goad to Chack’s self-control. I know Risa’s as much to blame as you are. You’re two peas in a pod, personality wise, if not . . .” He shuddered. “In any event, you’ll cease tormenting Chack with the lurid details of your fictitious ‘marriage’ to his sister and you’ll definitely refrain from any more . . . overt physical demonstrations when you are together. Is that understood?”

“But, Skipper . . .”

“IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?”

“Aye, aye, sir!”

“Very well. It’s pointless to dock your pay, but you’re both losing a stripe and you’re both restricted to the ship for ten days—after we make port. Silva, you’re losing another stripe for AWOL.”

“But—”

“Shut up.” Matt looked at Dowden, who cleared his throat.

“Attention to orders!” he said. Captain Reddy unfolded a piece of paper before him.

“For extreme heroism and gallantry in the face of the enemy, etc., etc.”—he looked up—“I’m sorry to you other guys, but I’m still too damn mad to get flowery. Anyway, with my deepest gratitude, I’m t and sighed heavily. “Boatswain’s Mate Chack-Sab-At and Gunner’s Mate Dennis Silva. Most of you deserve it. Chack, you lose one, you gain one, so you’re back where you started—except for the restriction. Silva . . .” Matt shook his head. “You’re never going to get that first-class stripe if you don’t settle down!” Dennis shrugged philosophically and Matt looked at Campeti, who concluded the proceedings. As they walked back to the pilothouse, Matt and Dowden were rejoined by Sandra and Bradford. Both wore broad smiles. “Cut it out,” he said, almost smiling himself as he mounted the steps. At the top waited Lieutenant Tamatsu Shinya of the Japanese Imperial Navy.

“Mr. Shinya,” Matt greeted him.

“Captain.” Shinya was the sole survivor of a destroyer that took a torpedo meant for Amagi . Somehow, her survivors in the water had been swept through the Squall with the American ships, but before Walker could return to rescue them, they’d been eaten by what was evidently a plesiosaur of some sort, not to mention a ravening swarm of tuna-sized fish that acted like piranhas. They called the fish “flashies” and they were everywhere, at least in the relatively shallow equatorial seas within the Malay Barrier. Shinya alone was saved because he’d been unconscious atop an overturned lifeboat. It had been the first indication to the destroyermen that they were no longer in the world they knew—the first other than the bizarre effects of the Squall itself, of course.