Garret blinked. He'd seen a submarine because he expected to see a submarine. As soon as Reynolds spoke, he realized the young seaman was right. "Jesus Christ! Skipper, it is a fish, or whale or something and it's . . .

I think it's eating those Japs!"

"Commence firing!"

"Aye, aye, sir! Gun number one, range is now, ah, one four five oh! Match pointers! Commence firing!" He was so distracted by . . . whatever was swimming lazily about, snatching the struggling sailors, he didn't press the salvo buzzer. The gun on the foredeck boomed, and a split second later, a geyser erupted a little beyond the target.

"Gun one, correction! Down sixty, three rounds, resume firing!" Three shells slammed out as fast as the breech was opened and another round loaded. A tight group of waterspouts erupted on and around the creature; a tinge of red intermingled with the spray. The thing heaved itself from the water and in the gathering gloom Garrett got an impression of a long, pointed flipper, like a right whale. But he also saw an elongated, toothstudded snout like a crocodile's, snapping viciously at the spume as the beast slapped back into the sea. Two more large flippers churned the surface and propelled the monster beneath the waves.

"God a'mighty."

As they drew near the few remaining men, clinging desperately to floating debris, the surface of the sea churned again with hundreds of silvery shapes schooling around the survivors. Garrett watched in horror as the fish struck. They looked like tuna, but acted like piranha. They were close enough now he could hear the screams.

"All back two-thirds! Right ten degrees rudder!" Matt yelled. He leaned through the shattered window and shouted at the foredeck below. "Boats! Get those men out of the water!" He looked at Tolson and spoke in a more normal tone. "Rudder amidships. All stop. Keep them in our lee." He looked down from the port bridgewing. The sea churned with a horrifying frenzy that brought to mind an old reel he'd once seen of a cow carcass thrown into the Amazon. He'd been fascinated as he watched the voracious fish reduce the carcass to a mere skeleton within moments. Now he fought to control his stomach as hundreds of much larger fish attacked the struggling Japanese in much the same fashion. What were they? He was no expert on marine life by any means, but he'd never seen such a thing. By the expressions on the faces of his men, neither had anyone else. Only Chief Gray seemed immune to the shock. He went about his assigned task with a single-mindedness that Matt could only envy, as though huge sea monsters and man-eating fish lurked in the water every day. Which they did, he supposed, but not like this.

In spite of Gray's efficiency, before he could assemble a party to throw lines to the survivors, there was no one left to save. A froth of flashing fins and teeth marked the spot where the final swimmer had disappeared. The rest of the swarm began to disperse or snatch tiny morsels drifting here and there. Alone upon the gently rolling sea, an overturned lifeboat bobbed with two forms precariously balanced. One seemed unconscious, and the other hovered over the first with a split and badly gnawed oar in his hands. He now regarded the destroyermen with inscrutable Asian eyes. His stoic face hadn't changed expression since he had battled the carnivorous fish and the submarine-sized cross between a whale and a crocodile. We're just different enemies, Matt thought. He turned and saw another face peering anxiously from the ladder, aft. This one belonged to the Australian engineer whom he'd only briefly met.

"May I, ah . . . come up there, sir, for a word?" Matt nodded, and the tall, portly man puffed to the top of the ladder. His sparse, graying hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, and he ran his left hand over it as if feeling for the hat he held in his right. Noticing that everyone on the bridge wore a hat or helmet, he plunked his back on his head. He glanced at the foredeck, where men were throwing lines to the enemy seaman on the boat and trying to convince him to take one.

"Oh, dear. Unimaginable. After what that Jappo's been through, he still won't surrender. I don't suppose you have anyone who can speak to him? No, of course not." Matt looked at him and quirked an eyebrow. He'd noticed before the man's strange habit of answering his own questions.

"Actually, Mr. Bradford, we may surprise you. Quite a few old China hands aboard this ship. Some may have learned a few words."

"Indeed?"

In the end, their translator was not a "China hand" but Lieutenant Mallory, the Army pilot with Captain Kaufman. He spoke a few terse phrases in what could have been Martian for all Matt knew, but the stubborn Japanese sailor finally let his oar slip into the sea and caught the rope. Matt looked up at Garrett. "Get some weapons to those men before they hoist those Japs aboard." He raised his voice to be heard by the men on the deck below. "Where'd you learn Japanese, Mr. Mallory?"

The young officer shouted a reply. "I grew up in Southern California, sir. My folks ran an orange plantation. Lots of Japs in the citrus groves."

"Why wouldn't he take the rope?"

"He said his family, his ancestors, would be ashamed if he surrendered."

"That's nuts! Didn't he see what happened to the others?" Matt shook his head. "How'd you talk him into it?"

Mallory hesitated. "I didn't, sir. But he agreed to let us `rescue' his officer since he's unconscious and can't decide for himself. I told him we'd let him kill himself later if he wants."

"Jesus," someone muttered. Chief Gunner's Mate Sonny Campeti arrived on deck with several Springfields. He quickly passed out all but one, which he kept for himself. The others stood back, their rifles ready, while three men pulled on the rope. The burly Japanese sailor held the other end, bracing himself upon the keel as best he could. Occasionally a jostling wave caused him to glance anxiously at the unmoving man beside him. The supine form's uniform was dark blue. The boat bumped against the hull, and another rope was lowered. Quickly and professionally, the man tied it around his officer's chest under his arms and then stood back, balanced precariously, as the destroyermen hauled the unconscious man to the deck. Without another glance at the men above, he sat down on the boat and put his hands on his head, lacing his thick, powerful fingers together in his hair.

Chief Gray looked up at Matt with an expression that said, "Now what?" and the captain raised his speaking trumpet. "Is he alive?" Gray felt the man's neck for a pulse and nodded. Except for a small gash on his head, there were no obvious injuries. "Take him to the wardroom, under guard."

"Aye, aye, sir."

"What about the other one?" Mallory asked.

"I don't know. Maybe we can lasso him, or something. We can't just leave him here—Jap or not."

"Goodness gracious!" exclaimed Courtney Bradford. He stood next to Matt, looking into the sea. The captain looked at him, then followed his gaze. The dark blue water became much darker directly beneath the boat. Suddenly the creature they'd driven under, or one just like it, rose to the surface, and its gaping, crocodilelike jaws snapped shut on the capsized boat. The thing was enormous! Matt knew the boat must be twenty-five or thirty feet long, and the jaws were very nearly that long themselves. As the boat splintered, Matt heard a shriek and saw the terrible jaws close on the Japanese sailor's legs. Even then, it sounded more like a scream of pain, not terror. He shuddered. The roar of the machine gun just above his head deafened him and an instant later, the bigger .50-cal, amidships, joined in—as did a couple of men with rifles. He hoped a few thought to finish the stubborn Jap, but amid the geysering splashes he couldn't tell. The creature writhed and slammed into the ship hard enough to make him grab the rail. With a huge splash and a swirl of flippers, it disappeared from view.