As he climbed, he heard the Chief mutter, "Real cute. If I ever hear you call the captain `boy' again, I'll toss you in the wake!"

In spite of his concern, Matt couldn't help but grin as Bradford sputtered and protested and apologized at once. Gray thinks he was spinning an educated fish story, he thought, but I'm not so sure. We definitely saw something eat those Japs, and it was damned real. Every now and then, something turns up that scientists thought was extinct forever. Maybe this— he didn't even try to pronounce it—is one of them?

On the fire-control platform, he exchanged greetings with the morning watch and peered ahead at the landmasses looming before them. The flanks of both islands were shrouded in fog, but it wasn't too dense. It was unusual in these seas, but it shouldn't hazard navigation and it might help conceal them from planes. After a while he returned to the pilothouse.

Mahan followed closely behind as they crept carefully—with just a few suggestions from their guide—into the narrow, hazy strait that separated Menjangan Island from Bali. On the foredeck, the Bosun bellowed commands at the special sea and anchor detail. The anchors were dropped, and several men from each ship motored ashore on Menjangan with a heavy hawser. The bridge crew watched anxiously as the boats became vague shapes in the fog.

"You did instruct them to stay out of the water, I'm sure?" asked Mr. Bradford in a nervous tone. Matt glanced at him.

"You don't think there might be more of those fish here?"

Bradford shook his head. "There shouldn't have been any where we saw them."

Matt grunted agreement. "I wouldn't worry. After yesterday, I doubt anyone wants to get wet."

The anchors held well enough and they could have stayed right where they were, but Matt wanted to snug up as tight to the bank as they could and camouflage their ships with foliage from shore. It was strangely quiet. The roar of the blowers had faded to a steady rumble. There was only the slightest breeze, and the gentle swell of the strait lapped innocently against their battered hull. Men brought thin mattresses from below and spread them on deck to sleep away from the stuffy berthing spaces. Others continued making repairs. As always, Matt was struck by the contrast.

His destroyermen were capable of amazing feats of courage and endurance while on watch, but only because when they weren't, they could sack out anytime, anywhere, and in any situation. Many of the men shuffling about looking for a place to stretch out had been awake for thirty-six hours and more. Most who were busy had managed at least a little sleep during the night. He watched as two "snipes" emerged from below, squinting, as if even the fog-filtered morning light hurt their eyes. Beneath the grease and sweat-streaked soot covering them, he saw their pasty skins and realized they were the two firemen everyone called the Mice. He didn't remember ever seeing them above deck. They looked around, very much like mice that had just chewed through a wall into an unexplored room. Finally, they climbed the ladder onto the amidships deckhouse and crept to the ready ammunition locker behind the number two gun. They lay down on the bare deck and were probably asleep before they'd even finished moving. Of all the men, the damage-control parties and the engineering division had suffered the worst, he thought.

He joined Lieutenant Dowden, staring intently in the direction the boats had gone. They were visible in the thinning fog, tied to the rocky shore, but there was no activity. The island beyond the landing faded into haze, but they had the impression it was covered by dense brush and stunted trees. A prickly sensation of apprehension crept into his chest, but he shook it off. They would be searching for trees large enough to secure the hawsers to. Perhaps it was taking longer than expected to find any suitable ones.

From the island, they heard a muffled shot. Then another. They both raised binoculars and tried to pierce the haze. Three more shots thumped from shore, and without lowering the glasses Matt shouted up at the platform above. "Make ready on the starboard .30-cal, but hold your fire until I give the word!" The canvas cover on the gun was snatched away and a new belt of ammunition prepared.

Gunner's Mate 2nd Class Dennis Silva, ordinarily gun captain on number one, was on the trigger. He was probably the best they had and would have been a credit to the ship—if he weren't more often an embarrassment. He was tall and powerful and kept his hair burred so short he might as well have shaved it. Aboard ship, he was usually competent and professional, but ashore he was completely unable to behave. He always reminded Matt of a quote he once read: "Maleness gone berserk." That described Dennis Silva to a T. Matt would have restricted him to the ship for life, but he'd just go AWOL (he'd done it before) and wind up in more trouble than he could be rescued from. He was Walker's Hercules—a valuable man, but he required . . . supervision. Now Silva peered at the boats like the rest of them, his hands on the weapon, but the muzzle was pointed up and away. One of his minions, Tom Felts, held the belt of linked cartridges.

"I see them!" exclaimed Dowden, pointing. Emerging from the gloom were several men. Two were helping a third. They reached one of the boats and piled in, pushing off from shore. There were a couple more shots and then the rest of the shore party ran down and hurriedly cast off the second boat. Matt heard the motors cough to life, and then the boats were speeding back toward Walker.

"I don't know what they're shooting at, Silva," Matt called above, "but keep that shoreline covered."

"Aye, aye, Skipper."

A few minutes later, both boats bumped alongside and the men climbed out, sending the injured crewman ahead. Matt was surprised to see a couple of the nurses waiting for him on deck. Bosun's Mate 1st Class Carl Bashear, who'd commanded the party, lingered over the wounded man and spoke to one of the nurses. Then he puffed up the ladder to the bridge.

"Skipper, we couldn't secure the hawsers," he said. He was breathing hard and his black hair was plastered to his skull. Even with the haze, the temperature was already over eighty degrees and the humidity was horrible.

"I can see that. What happened? Who got hurt?"

"Lizards, sir! It was lizards. Big ones."

"Impossible!" snorted Courtney Bradford.

Matt shot the Australian a look that silenced him. "What do you mean? What lizards? What were you shooting at?"

Bashear's breathing began to slow. "Damned if I know what I mean, Skipper, but there were lizards. We'd split up and were looking for some good trees to tie off to, and a couple more to drop in the water to make a pier. All of a sudden, Leo Davis takes to hollerin' that somethin' had ahold of him! Me and Vernon and Scott ran over there, and sure enough, this big-ass—'scuse me, sir—this dern big lizard has chomped down on Davis's leg and is draggin' him off."

Bradford was about to burst. "But—but—" he stammered. Matt held up his hand and motioned Bashear to continue.

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir. Anyway, ol' Davis is carryin' on that he's bein' ate, so we took to shootin' at the lizard. Me and Scott had rifles." He stopped a moment, and thankfully took a long gulp from a Coke the Bosun handed him. He smacked his lips. "Well," he continued, "it turned him loose and come at us." He shrugged. "We shot it some more. I'm pretty sure we killed it. Anyway, we grabbed up Davis and headed back to the boat. All of a sudden, there's more lizards, so we shot at them too. I guess we nearly didn't make it. All we had was the shells in the guns. And like I said, Skipper, those lizards was big."

"Preposterous!" sputtered Bradford. "The only `lizards' that might attack a man are on the island of Komodo. That island, sir, is two hundred nautical miles from here. The great reptiles inhabiting it are found there and on a couple of small neighboring islands. Nowhere else. Certainly not Menjangan! My God, man! I've been here myself, and there are no such creatures! I don't believe there are even the smaller monitors."