Bashear eyed the Australian coldly. "You callin' me a liar?"

Gray interrupted. "These Komodo lizards—"

"Dragons, sir. We in the scientific community call them Komodo dragons. Varanus komodoensis, to be precise." Bradford sniffed.

"I don't care if they fly and blow fire out their ass," Gray growled impatiently. "Are they poisonous? One of my men was bitten."

Bradford blinked, his contention forgotten. "Oh, dear. Yes indeed, they're extremely poisonous—or rather, their bite is highly septic. We believe it has to do with bacteria in their mouths—" The Chief merely glanced at Bashear, who interrupted Bradford again.

"Skipper, with your permission . . ." Matt waved him on and Bashear hurried away.

Bradford turned and walked onto the starboard bridgewing and peered at the island, which was becoming more distinct. Suddenly he stiffened. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, look! Someone lend me a glass, I beg you!" The assistant gunnery officer, Ensign Pruit Barry, shrugged and handed him his binoculars.

"There! Oh, there! There are two of them!" Matt joined him and raised his own binoculars for a look. On the beach, in the dwindling mist, was a pair of extremely large lizards. They appeared to be ten or twelve feet long from their blunt-nosed snouts to the tips of their whip-thin tails. They crept down almost to the water and seemed to stare at the pair of destroyers, their beady eyes fixed on the ships. "Oh, my goodness, they are big!" chortled Bradford excitedly. "They're the largest I've ever seen. And their color! Green and red! Amazing!" Then, as they watched, one of the lizards raised itself onto its hind legs until it gained a nearly entirely erect posture. It stood with its head bobbing up and down as if testing the air. Bradford gasped.

"My God! Oh, Captain, I must go ashore! Look at that! It's standing up! My God! This must be an entirely new species! Never before seen! Just think of it!" Matt lowered his binoculars and turned to the man. "Captain," Bradford continued, oblivious to Matt's stare, "I insist you allow me ashore! I must have a closer look!"

When Matt spoke his voice was quiet, but he couldn't hide his incredulity. "Mr. Bradford, have you entirely forgotten yourself?"

The Australian wrenched his gaze from the beach and regarded Captain Reddy. His mouth hung open as if to protest, but then it clamped abruptly shut. With a mournful expression, he nodded. "Of course, Captain. Of course." He sighed. "I apologize. It's not every day a man of my interests observes a new species, particularly one this important." He glanced wistfully at the island. "Just one more debt I owe those miserable Jappos."

Matt nodded understanding. "I think we're all keeping score." He turned to Dowden. "It doesn't look like we'll be able to secure to the island. We'll remain at anchor here. Every pair of eyes not otherwise occupied will watch for aircraft, and I want to be ready to move in a hurry."

Matt suddenly reflected with surprise that he'd already begun addressing Lieutenant Dowden as Walker's executive officer. With Jim gone and the other senior officers dead, he was the obvious choice. He'd been Jim's assistant and he'd filled in for him often enough. In many ways, execs had the hardest job on any ship, and this wasn't the time to appoint somebody unaccustomed to the role. He was just a "jay gee," and very young for the job, but with a war on he'd likely be a full lieutenant by the time they got to Australia anyway. He would do fine. Besides, the only other possibilities—within the chain of command—were Alan Letts, the (j.g.) supply officer, Garrett, and Spanky. Spanky and Garrett were essential where they were and Letts was . . . a disappointment. He was a good guy and knew his job, but he wasn't very industrious. Walker needed a go-getter right now, and the willowy, blond-haired lieutenant from Tennessee certainly fit that description.

Matt mentally shook his head and continued. "Chances are they won't spot us, though. They'll be looking at the strait. Signal Mahan and ask Mr. Ellis if he's comfortable coming across for an hour or so, or whether he'd prefer to report by Morse lamp."

Matt sat on the bunk in his small cabin and tested his freshly shaven chin with his fingers. It had been difficult negotiating the razor around the painful glass cuts scattered across his face. Satisfied, he finished dressing and looked in the mirror over his desk. Better, he thought. The quick shower he'd indulged in had helped. His eyes were still red and there were circles underneath them, and he was still so tired that when he blinked it seemed his eyelids moved too slowly and then tried to stick together. He sat back on the bunk and listened to the growing conversations in the crowded wardroom. If only he could lean over and lie down. Just for a minute. The cramped, uncomfortable bunk was the most inviting thing in the world at that moment.

Someone knocked on the doorframe. "Sir?" said Garrett hesitantly. "Everybody's here." Matt sighed and rose to his feet. Squaring his shoulders, he stepped through the doorway and down the short corridor into the wardroom. Most of his officers and department heads—many new to their jobs—were there. Ellis and a bandage-swaddled ensign named Tony Monroe had come from Mahan. Monroe was assistant navigation officer and aside from Perry Brister, her chief engineer, the sole surviving officer. Brister remained on Mahan to continue repairs—and so there'd be at least one officer aboard her if they had to move in a hurry.

Three of the nurses and the Army pilots were also in the room. Courtney Bradford leaned against the far bulkhead since there were too few chairs, and Juan circulated through the crowd filling coffee cups from the two carafes in his hands. Everyone was sweating in the stifling heat, and cigarette smoke eddied and vented away through the punctures in the hull that made up two of the wardroom walls. In the general hubbub, the captain wasn't immediately noticed. Garrett shouted over the din:

"Captain on deck!"

Everyone came to attention, with the exception of Captain Kaufman, who continued leaning against the bulkhead with an expression of hostile disdain.

"As you were, gentlemen . . . and ladies," Matt added for the nurses' benefit. Even exhausted, he noticed that the nurses were young and attractive, and he recognized the one who had brought coffee to the bridge and made a small nod of appreciation. One of them, though, the lieutenant, returned his gaze with a frank appraisal of her own.

What Sandra saw was a very tired young man who'd been violently forced to shoulder extraordinary responsibilities under very stressful— and unusual—circumstances. They all knew their predicament, or at least thought they did, and it was no secret that there'd been strange goings-on.

She detected uncertainty beneath his veneer of confidence, but whether that reflected the situation, the unusual events, or the heavy burden of responsibility for two badly damaged ships and all their people, she didn't know. Instinctively, her heart went out to him. She was a nurse, and she knew when a man was suffering, even through gritted teeth. Though his injuries were superficial, the wounds to his ship and her people were reflected in his eyes.

Matt had the uneasy feeling, looking into her green eyes, that the nurse lieutenant saw beyond his facade of calm, and he quickly turned his attention to the room. "First, our own condition: I don't have all the details yet, but I have some idea. We can steam, our leaks are under control, and we have fuel for a twenty-knot run to Perth. Since our plans are contingent upon Mahan's capabilities, however, I think Mr. Ellis should start."

Jim nodded and cleared his throat. "Thanks, Skipper." He looked around the compartment. "Mahan took a hell of a beating. She's not sinking, but everything topside is a wreck. Half her crew is dead and there're twenty wounded. Some seriously." He looked at the surprise on the assembled faces. "Yeah, that's a pretty lopsided number," he said grimly.


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