"Keep hold of yourself," Mallory said. "Remember, we're going to fly to Ceylon and save the day. Stick to the plan!" Brister simmered down, but all he wanted to do was kill the Army captain with his bare hands.

"Let's just shoot him with the thirty in the nose," Palmer said through a clenched-teeth grin.

"Won't work. Like Mr. Ellis said before he got sick, he's got too many on his side. Even if we got him, there might be a bloodbath. Some of 'em are crazy as he is, and they have all the guns."

"Okay," said Mallory, adjusting the throttles so he wouldn't smack the boat as it came alongside. "I'll stay with the plane—I have to. Get all the fuel and anything else you can think of. Maps, more food, whatever.

Maybe even more people, but don't be too obvious. We know he won't let Mr. Ellis come."

"Right." Together, Perry and Ed jumped in the whaleboat.

"You really did it!" Kaufman gushed. "Did you have much trouble?"

"No," lied Brister cheerfully. "Piece of cake. Let's hurry up and get the fuel on board. The quicker we're back in the air, the quicker we'll be in Ceylon!"

Kaufman refused to allow anyone to accompany them. Three was enough, he said, to risk on such a dangerous flight. Perry did manage to slip away to "get some gear," and he went to see Jim Ellis before he left the ship. Jim was trying to climb the companionway stairs when he found him, supported by crutches and Pam Cross and Kathy McCoy. Beth Grizzel wasn't there.

"You made it," he said. "Thank God."

"Yes, sir. Thank God. No thanks to that bastard Kaufman. He left us to die."

"I know. Listen, you must find Walker! Kaufman's nuts; half the crew's nuts. It's just a matter of time before he kills us all. You know as well as I do, Ceylon's not there. There's no telling what is. Find Walker, find Captain Reddy . . ." He gasped from the effort of his words and exertions.

"We will."

"Tell him I'm sorry I failed him. I'm sorry I let the men down."

"It's not your fault, sir!"

"Isn't it?" Jim sighed. "Maybe not, but it's my responsibility."

"He shot you!"

Jim laughed bitterly. "A good commander would have shot him first!

Now get your ass out of here before Kaufman starts nosing around!"

Perry looked at the two nurses. He hated to leave them behind, but Kaufman wouldn't part with them. The surgeon was acting funny, and the nurses were it. There were still a lot of wounded on the ship. Besides, their errand might be doomed from the start. They had only so much fuel and they had no idea where Walker was.

"Aye, aye, sir." Perry Brister said, and shook Jim Ellis's hand. Pam stepped quickly forward and planted a kiss lightly on his cheek.

"For luck!" she said, then punched his shoulder. Hard. "Tell Lieutenant Tucker we're keeping the faith." She glanced at Kathy and grimaced.

"Two out of three anyway. Beth's as crazy as Kaufman." She shrugged and kissed him again, on the mouth this time. "Double luck! Now git out'a heah!" Blushing, Perry saluted Lieutenant Ellis and raced for the boat.

Later, when they thundered into the darkening sky and circled the lonely, misguided ship for the last time, Brister thought he caught a glimpse of Lieutenant Ellis leaning on his crutches by the rail, a small group gathered around him.

The two and a half weeks since Walker's arrival had been a whirlwind of frantic activity. Despite acknowledging the danger they faced, Matt suspected the 'Cats weren't quite prepared for the pace the destroyermen set.

The trauma of getting their economy and society on a war footing was causing a stir, but Matt and his crew knew what had happened at Pearl Harbor and Clark Field. They'd seen what happened at Cavite. They'd learned a hard lesson in preparedness, and as long as their fortunes were tied to those of their new friends, they wouldn't let them waste time they might later regret. Big Sal 's crew was equally motivated, and repairs to the big ship moved apace. The very day after the "party," Walker was moved to the pier and as extensive an overhaul as possible began. The number three gun was repaired, and all the circuits coordinating the main battery were checked and spliced. Steaming on only the number four boiler to maintain electrical power, they checked the other boilers and repaired firebrick. There was nothing to be done for number one so it was stripped and prepared for disassembly and removal. Spanky wanted the space for more fuel bunkerage—once they got fuel.

The Baalkpan Lemurians were just as amazed as Big Sal's that Walker was made of steel. Whenever the welders went to work, the pier lined with spectators watching the sparks and eye-burning torches with as much enthusiasm as if it had been a fireworks display. Iron wasn't unknown to the People, but it was so hard to smelt that it was little used. Dave Elden had spent two years in a steel mill in Pittsburgh. He'd already talked to the proprietors of the foundry on the northeast of town, where he'd gone to have brass fittings cast. He reported they used the sand-cast method almost exclusively but were very good at it and there would be almost nothing they couldn't cast with a larger furnace and a little guidance. He even figured he could get them started on iron if a source for ore could be found.

Half the snipes set out into the jungle with Courtney Bradford and about a hundred natives in search of oil. The procession had looked like a nineteenth-century safari. They hadn't searched long before they found a likely place. Bradford's charts and journals were helpful, and he had most of the Dutch surveys. As long as everything was the same geographically, there was every reason to believe that oil could be found in the same places it had been back "home." He hadn't yet shared his theory, but they'd all been very busy. Matt already suspected what the gist of it was and looked forward to the discussion, but for now there was too much to do.

Materials were rafted upriver to the site, where, under the direction of the Mice, the men were constructing something called a Fort Worth Spudder. Captain Reddy had heard of the device but never seen one. His interview with the strange firemen was . . . an experience. He'd seen them many times, of course, but he didn't remember ever speaking with them.

Their conversation about the rig was what he imagined it would be like to talk to an opossum with a parrot on its shoulder. But they convinced him they knew what to do and how to do it. He just hoped they could explain it to others in a coherent fashion.

At the same time, men worked hard converting the tubes of the number three torpedo mount into a condensation tower. A place was being prepared near the drill site for their little refinery. A fueling pier with water deep enough for Walker to clear the silty riverbed was already under construction. The torpedo tubes were just a temporary expedient. Eventually they would build larger towers with greater capacity. But for now the empty tubes would have to do.

Lemurians scampered all over the ship, helping as best they could.

Often they got in the way, but shorthanded as the crew was, the benefit of their curious, good-natured assistance outweighed the aggravation. Chack became like a Lemurian bosun's mate, and his coordination of the native labor was indispensable.

One morning, a large cart pulled by a "brontosarry" and driven by Alan Letts arrived, much to the delight of those aboard. The sight of the fair-skinned supply officer sitting on a seat under a colorful parasol— behind a dinosaur's rump—even brought a smile to the Chief 's face. The crew's amusement quickly waned when they discovered what the cart was so heavily laden with. Somewhere the suddenly surprisingly resourceful supply officer had discovered keg after keg of white paint. Gray was guardedly ecstatic. He insisted on testing it, since nobody knew what was in it, or whether it would stick to steel. He wasn't about to let them smear a "bunch of whitewash" all over his topsides. When it proved satisfactory, he immediately began pestering Letts to find something they could mix it with to make a proper gray.